ARTHUR. (Shouting over his shoulder.) He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
The lights now reveal enough for us to see that he has found himself in an unmistakable, if rather severely functional, fiftteenth-century Italian garden, with, at one side, the balcony of a house, from the window of which is shining a light.
But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
Juliet, in the person of EDNA SELBY, appears at the balcony above.
It is my lady; O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
EDNA emits a melodious sigh and gives a sad shake of the head.
She speaks, yet she says nothing; and what of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.
He comes forward, then leaps back.
I am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
EDNA emits another melodious sigh, and rests her cheek thoughtfully upon her hand.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
EDNA. Ah me!
ARTHUR. She speaks:
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o’er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
EDNA. O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
ARTHUR. (Aside.) Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
In the intense excitement of his passion he gives a boyish leap on to a garden stool. EDNA’S glance momentarily wavers from the upper regions of the theatre, on which her eyes have been sentimentally fixed since the beginning of the scene.
EDNA. ’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What’s Montague?
Darling, are you going to do that tonight?
ARTHUR. What?
EDNA. That little jump.
ARTHUR. Well – yes – I thought I would. Why? Does it bother you?
EDNA. No, darling. Just so long as I know, that’s all.
ARTHUR. Sorry, darling. That’s quite all right. Let’s go back. (To prompt corner.) Yes?
JOHNNY, (From prompt corner.) ’Tis but thy name –
EDNA. (Sharply.) No. Before that. I want to give Mr. Gosport the cue for his little jump.
JOHNNY. (Off.) What little jump, Miss Selby?
EDNA. The little jump he does on to that stool.
Enter JOHNNY.
JOHNNY. Mr. Gosport doesn’t do a little jump, Miss Selby.
EDNA. Yes, he does do a little jump. He’s just done a little jump.
JOHNNY. He’s never done a little jump before.
EDNA. I know he’s never done a little jump before. But he’s doing a little jump now. He’s just put a little jump in.
ARTHUR. Look – I don’t think I’ll do the little jump, after all.
EDNA. Yes, you shall, my darling. You shall do the little jump. It looked very charming – very youthful. (To prompt corner.) When Mr. Gosport says: ‘Shall I speak at this?’ he does a little jump on to a stool. Now what’s my line before that?
JOHNNY. (Going off.) And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
EDNA. (Resuming her pose.)
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
ARTHUR does his leap again, only this time it is, perhaps, not quite so boyish as before.
ARTHUR. Shall I hear more or shall I speak at this?
EDNA. ’Tis but thy name that is...
