LEVIATHAN

LEVIATHAN

Mid-Mediterranean. Sunrise after a night of storm with the sea swaying prodigiously. A great Venetian argosy has been wrecked overnight; ships and men have disappeared, leaving only the cargo spread out upon the waters. Momently new treasures from the ship’s holds float upward and, reaching the surface, are swept hither and thither for miles: Persian rugs, great lengths of brocade, boxes of spice, made from tropical leaves and bound with dried vine; and an apparently interminable swathe of gray silk unwinding from its ivory standard.

In the foreground a mermaid is feeling her way among the stuffs with considerable distaste. To one used to the shadowed harmonies of deep-sea color these crimsons and oranges have no attraction. Brigomeïdé has the green wiry hair of her kind, entangled with the friendly snail; the iridescent shoulders of all sea-women, and the gray thin mouth.

Suddenly she comes upon The Prince. The royal divan has been swept from the decks, and while the huge pillows are gradually soaking up the water and floating away, their Prince lies on them unconscious. For a moment the mermaid watches him open-mouthed. She steals nearer and holding on to the tassels of seed-pearls, leans cautiously over and scans his face long and wonderingly. She sighs faintly, splashes a little in discontent, and then gazes upon him again with a frown of concentration.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

It’s breathing. He has not lost—what they call—the soul. I wonder where he keeps it. It is the great difference between us; we sea-people have no soul. I wonder where he keeps it! I have heard that it can be seen at times, in the eyes. Perhaps if I borrowed it from him while he slept he would never miss it. No,—I will ask him for it.

[She claps her hands suddenly to awake him, falling back, at the same time, into the water. The young man does not stir. She grows angry. She strikes the water sharply with the palms of her hands. By quick degrees a circling wind rises; great fantastic waves rear themselves, robed in silk; they break over the divan and the Prince stirs. Immediately Brigomeïdé strokes the water to a stillness, and fixes her attention on the young man.]

THE PRINCE

My father, take not your hand away. My brothers, why have you ceased talking? Where am I?—All is lost! Ave Maris Stella!

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[Watching him intently.]

How could you sleep so—during the storm?

THE PRINCE

You—you are out of a dream. You are out of my fever. Yes, yes—the storm—you—all this is but the painting of my fever. I shall awake in Venice with the lute-player fallen asleep by the window. I will call to him now and he will wake me up: Amedeo!—Lute-player! Shake me out of this dream!

[The silence that follows is filled with the crackling noise as the pith fillings of the heavier cushions become saturated.]

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[Harshly.]

Who is it you are calling to? There is no one here, but you and me only.

THE PRINCE

Amedeo!—he does not answer: this is real. But you, you are dream; you are illusion. Ave Maris Stella!

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[Indignantly.]

I am not dream. I am not illusion. I am royal among all sea-women—I am of the Third Order; on the three great tide days I am permitted to bind my hair with Thetis-Agrandis and wear in my ears the higher Muria.

THE PRINCE

You are out of an old ballad, taught me as a boy, and you have come back to me in the last hour on the tide of fever. In a moment my dream will have passed on from you.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[Vehemently.]

You think I am only dream because ... you have heard it said ... we sea-folk have no souls.

THE PRINCE

Soul nor body.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[More softly.]

Tell me where it is you keep your soul. Have you it always with you?

THE PRINCE

[As a great pillow floats away from under his hand.]

Flos undarum! Save me! Deliver me! Hear my prayer!

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Who are you speaking to? Did I not tell you there was no one here but you and me only?

THE PRINCE

You! Tell me we where is shore. You can swim for days. Draw me to some island. I will give you great riches ... all you desire.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Give me your soul. All my days I have longed for two things, black hair and a soul. I have not lacked anything else. I will draw you to your home, if you will give me your soul.

THE PRINCE

[Violently.]

It cannot be given away. No one has seen it; it cannot be felt with hands; seen or tasted.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

And yet they say it is the greatest thing in the world; that without it life is a cold procession of hours; that it gives all sight to the eyes, and all hearing to the ears ... you are mocking me! I see in your face that you have it now!

THE PRINCE

Yes, and am about to lose it.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Give it to me, and I will bring up from the bottom of the sea your father and your brothers. I will return to you all the pearls that have fallen here, and draw you softly into the narrows of Venice.

THE PRINCE

[As the water closes over him.]

Amedeo!... Lute-player!

[Brigomeïdé turns away contemptuously.]

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

It is something you cannot touch or see. What could I do with it so?

[The Prince rises, dead, entangled in scarves. Brigomeïdé stares into his face long and earnestly.]

It is true! There is something gone ... that lay about his eyes, that troubled his mouth. The soul, perhaps.

[She claps her hands. From a great distance a sea-serpent swims hugely towards her. He is caught in the trailing lengths of gray brocade.]

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Gog-etar! There is no longer anything precious in this man. You may divide him among your young.

LEVIATHAN

It is terrible here, lady. These spices have made the streams unendurable. By to-morrow morning the waters will be tainted as far as Africa. Already my young are ill, lady. They lie motionless in the mud, dear lady. It is terrible to see them so....

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

I do not want to hear your troubles. Take this man away.

LEVIATHAN

Thanks, gracious lady. Perhaps these hateful essences will have made him endurable....

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Cease!

[He drags The Prince away. The frustrated Brigomeïdé starts to comb the shell out of her hair, singing. Suddenly she breaks her song and adds musingly.]

Perhaps it is better, although your body has passed to Leviathan, still to have another part of you somewhere about the world.