Somnium

by Steve Moore

  Is not the flesh I have both soft and warm?

  And now it longs for passionate caress,

  So come away to some wind-shelter’d spot

  And give free rein to amorous delight…

  [Exeunt kissing, left]

  SCENE TWO: The same spot, some time later. The picture of Selene on the ground. A glow, as of Moonlight, at left. Enter AURORA, right.

  AURORA:

  But once I’ve travell’d swift around this peak,

  And yet my mistress’ voice already drops

  To private whispers, soft seductive sighs…

  How oft does silence interrupt her words,

  Her lips now gagg’d by mortal kisses hot!

  Those kisses turning giggles swift to moans,

  Those moans each moment far more passion’d grow;

  She gasps and some new liberty allows,

  That liberty now taken brings a sigh…

  Well, let them frolic so, this must be fate.

  There’s naught to do but circuit once again.

  [Exit left]

  [Enter PERSES, right, with bow and quiver]

  PERSES:

  My master following, I have arriv’d

  On Latmos’ peak, and found his tether’d horse;

  But of my prince himself, no sign at all.

  Perhaps no longer does he walk this Earth;

  Yet servant’s duty calls me, honour too,

  To seek my prince on this wild mountain peak.

  I’d curse the Moon that thus afflicts him so,

  Yet rather give it thanks for shedding light—

  [Sees picture on the ground, picks it up]

  But hold! What’s this I see upon the ground?

  Selene’s picture that I drew myself

  So little time ago—now cast aside!

  An ill-foreboding steals upon my heart!

  [Crosses toward left]

  And see, this light which first I thought the Moon

  Instead upon the mountain has its source!

  I fear that sprites make mischief here tonight,

  And terror makes me reach for bow and shafts!

  Perhaps an arrow will defend my prince,

  Or better still myself, if need should rise.

  But soft, I hear a voice upon the wind…

  [Peers through bushes, left]

  ENDYMION [Off]:

  O eyes, o lips, o flesh! O bliss divine!

  PERSES:

  Is this my prince entangl’d with a wench?

  ’Tis strange, but—nay! No earthly girl is this!

  The glow I saw which lights these hills so bright

  Doth shine out from that woman’s monstrous form!

  ’Tis some foul mountain-sprite disguis’d most fair,

  My prince entrancing, sucking out his life!

  I see the old diviner’s words come true;

  She drags him down to dark oblivion sure,

  And all too willing goes he, like a fool!

  Yet how can such a one as I now help?

  Were I a fighting man mayhap I’d charge,

  My blood run hot, and swift this demon slay…

  But sight of this foul witching, I admit,

  My knees doth shake, and chills me through and through.

  A shaft must speak on my behalf instead

  And may the Gods and Fates make true my aim!

  [Draws arrow and nocks it]

  Forgive me, prince, for though it seems to you

  I steal your joy away, these joys are false,

  Are best forgotten and will vanish straight

  When this good arrow hits the demon-mark!

  [Shoots, toward left. SELENE screams, off]

  My shaft is true, I think, all praise the Gods!

  Well done is this, deserving good reward!

  [Enter AURORA, running, from right]

  AURORA:

  What deed unspeakable is this, you wretch?

  PERSES:

  Another! Coming on me fury-like,

  And I’ve no time to draw a second shaft!

  AURORA:

  I hear my mistress scream and find a cur

  With murd’ring weapon tightly clasp’d in hand!

  Whate’er’s occurr’d, vile man, you’ll know this true—

  By dawn your soul in Hades will reside!

  PERSES:

  I pray to all the Gods ’tis otherwise!

  But prayer goes oft unanswer’d—let these feet

  Assist these finest words with swiftest flight!

  [Exeunt running]

  SCENE THREE: A cave on Mount Latmos. Enter SELENE (front) and AURORA, carrying ENDYMION between them, an arrow in his back.

  AURORA:

  My Lady, should it comfort you at all,

  Then know the wretch who shot this shaft is dead!

  Pursued by me, he pass’d your grieving self,

  Saw all too well his deed’s result, most foul,

  Then running swift he came upon a cliff

  And plung’d all screaming into Hades’ maw!

  SELENE:

  It comforts me, Aurora, not at all!

  O awful night! O vile and cackling Fates!

  A bronze-tipp’d shaft has stole your life away,

  Beloved prince, but still the fault is mine…

  AURORA:

  The fault is yours, My Lady? Say not so!

  How can this be? I saw the one myself

  With bow in hand and holding still like shaft!

  SELENE:

  The fault is mine, I say, it surely is!

  If I’d not dallied on this night-dark Earth,

  Abandoning my barge and proper state,

  This handsome prince would now be living still!

  AURORA:

  Restrain these tears now; ’tis the shaft, not you…

  SELENE:

  Foul shaft! This wood was once a living tree,

  These feathers once a flying goose adorn’d;

  Now dead, they both together have conspir’d

  To aid that black-heart murd’rer kill my love!

  Away! I cannot bear this bloody sight!

  [Pulls out arrow and throws it aside]

  AURORA:

  His soul has fled away then, Lady mine?

  SELENE:

  It yet remains, but life will not return.

  His noble soul still flutters here within,

  Retain’d by love and powers mine alone;

  Yet nothing can revive this handsome frame!

  [Cradles his head to her breast and weeps]

  Ah woe! We barely had begun to love,

  Some fifty kisses given and receiv’d,

  When like some vicious parody of Fate—

  Like little Eros’ dart—an arrow struck

  And found his heart, the seat of all his love,

  And still’d life’s bubbling fountain, lightning-swift!

  AURORA:

  Why not to high Olympus travel now

  And beg almighty Zeus on bended knee

  Restore his life, and love return to you?

  SELENE:

  Ah no, for Father Zeus would merely laugh

  And call me fool to love a mortal so!

  Besides, it cannot be, for should I leave,

  My dear Endymion’s soul would slip away

  And darkest Persephone clutch it tight!

  AURORA:

  Then what’s to do, my Mistress? All is lost!

  SELENE:

  Aye, lost for me, at least! All lost as soon

  As sweet Endymion’s life was snatch’d away,

  My arms embracing him, my lips on his!

  AURORA:

  And yet perhaps this bitter grief will fade

  To naught with passing time and length’ning years.

  Away now, let the silver barge—

  SELENE:

  Be still!

  Unfeeling girl! Have you no wits at all?

  How plain that love has never touch’d your heart!


  Can you not see? Endymion sleeps for now,

  And while I yet remain he’ll slumber still;

  My touch divine alone retains his soul—

  By leaving I consign him straight to hell!

  AURORA:

  Forgive me, Mistress, for I did not think.

  And yet this cave is no appealing place,

  E’en with your love, to pass away the years…

  SELENE:

  Then should you wish, Aurora, leave and go

  To high Olympus, barge, or Earth below.

  I give you freedom, but myself will stay

  And with this sleeping prince I’ll make my home.

  AURORA:

  But, Mistress, think, how long can this endure?

  SELENE:

  How long? Why, through eternity, of course!

  Eternity… now, after all, it’s short!

  Nay, hardly time enough to hold my love

  And count out kisses press’d upon his lips!

  Perhaps a kiss will stir his soul to dream;

  In dream he’ll know Selene loves him still.

  Yes, now I see it clear: a life of sorts

  Can dear Endymion still enjoy in sleep.

  Ah, lips still warm, now feed upon my kiss!

  Here’s one, my prince, and two, and more to come;

  And with our arms entwin’d and lips press’d close

  We’ll share this cave on Latmos ever more.

  Eternity. Who measures such a thing?

  CURTAIN

  Endimion Lee, he watched all lachrymose, to see his own play so performed, and more, the lovely Moon played so sweetly by herself. And when she joined him afterwards, and kissed his tears away, he asked her why she’d done so.

  ‘To encourage you to further efforts,’ first she said, ‘for as we know that by ‘Selene’ you hint ‘Elizabeth’, so in time you’ll do again, by other lunar names; and this is what I’ll ask of you. But more of this anon.

  ‘And more, to give you confidence in what you wrote, before you offer it to the Queen herself. To give a first performance in the Lands of Moon and Dream; and is that not amusing? To consecrate your work, as well; for if your Goddess was not pleased, she’d hardly deign to act it. And last, to show you that, writ or not, we really do have all your works stored safe here in the library.’

  And then she kissed him once again, and asked him how he thought her acting was; and he could only kiss her, oh so sweetly, in reply.

  Saturday, 13th October 1803

  At one this morning, Cynthia kept her promise; came into my room all night-dressed, kissed me fondly, glanced at what I’d written, said I was by far too much in love with Diana of the Moon, and in these hypocritic days I’d surely cause a scandal. I told her that I hardly cared; two readers were enough for me, and well she knew the other.

  She smiled and then expressed surprise at just how much I’d written; as if somehow I’d cheated. I forthwith did confess the Endymion play I’d written back at home, not long after I escaped from school, and brought it in my trunk. I’d never thought to place it in my Somnium, but something (someone?) told me there it did belong. And because I always trust these ‘whispers of the other’, so it was included. She nodded then, sighed something of a ‘youthful effort’, said she understood now just why Selene rode a barge, and not the chariot that I’d given her in Somnium; and then she smirked and told me ‘Aurora’ was a Latin name, ill-fitting with the Grecian others. She looked so saucy as she said it, I greatly wished to spank her.

  She told me next The Bull had never had a better Friday night. She said my ode was all to blame; I told her it was nothing of the sort, but rather of the darling girls it did its best to describe. She laughed and said I probably was quite right; and if all her sweethearts had their maidenheads by evening’s end, they probably owed them more to Flora’s pistol-butts, wielded all too freely, than any other cause. Then all those lovely girls were at my door, so sweetly blowing kisses, and calling Cynthia away. And so she left, and left me to my writing.

  I fell asleep full-clad at four, hardly having written more at all; there was too much to think on. At eleven in came Flora and dear Cynthia (I no longer see a reason now to lock my door), with hot water, soap and a razor frightening-sharp. I had begun to grow a beard, but Cynthia would no longer have it: Endymion, she told me, was ever-young and not maturely bearded. I acquiesced; I do not argue with two beauties, especially when one of them has a razor. So Flora shaved and Cynthia smiled and I just sat. When all was done, ‘to test the smoothness’, the pair of them they kissed me on the cheeks. A tittering at the doorway told me I had yet a greater audience.

  It seems now then that, whenever I step out of my room, I find myself encountering, or surrounded by, the most startling examples of feminine pulchritude. Yet I know my Liz would be nothing discomforted amongst them; indeed, as she belongs in any company of angels, so she belongs with these. Cynthia does not call them angels, though. She laughs and calls them ‘Flora’s nymphs’, or sometimes her ‘lovely daughters of the Moonlight’ or, most simply and affectionately, ‘my girls’. But whence she found such extraordinary creatures, or how so quickly, I cannot quite conjecture, although I think I see her reasons. Perchance when Jude Brown led his masked and thievish crew, she might have been thought guilty by association with their heinous crimes. Surrounded now by soft and laughing-eyed young maidens of surpassing beauty, whatever crimes there may be committed hereabouts, suspicion is hardly likely to fall upon the charming mistress of The Bull.

  Indeed, Cynthia seems quite content to leave the running of the inn to Flora, as capable in mind as she is startling in looks. I mentioned this at dinner, and asked dear Cynthia how she now intends to spend her time. ‘We,’ she told me, ‘will continue our explorations of the cellar’s mysteries. And you,’ she said, ‘will write your book, not for your sister, or any other love, but for, and inspired alone by, me.’ So big-eyed and so earnest, and so lovely, was she as she said this, that for a moment I believed her quite completely. And then, perhaps, my face betrayed another betrayal that I felt, and she laughed, and kissed me on a sudden, and told me that I could write for any that I wished, so long as she was woman, and young and beautiful, and if I thought her of the Moon; and so long as, no sooner had I written, she would be the first to hear it. I thought back then to Severndroog (if ever that lovely night had happened), and how the Moonlight had glinted softly in her eyes as she had spoke to me, and burnished up her chestnut locks; and I said yes, and promised that, if ever the book was published, I’d dedicate it both to lovely Liz, my sweetest sister, and to darling Cynthia who is, quite simply, I know not what. She is too much surprising.

  His fairest queen Diana left him then, and when she next appeared she wore a scanty garment made of cloth of gold, all shaped up like a doe-skin; and that was all she thought to wear. Her lovely loins were barely hidden; one sweet breast uncovered, bare; the dress strapped but one shoulder. Naught else but golden necklaces, crescent, bracelets and large rings for both her ears and fingers; not even shoes, and nothing making up her face.

  A little elf she was, so small and barefoot, pattering sweet about the room and half-dressed like a big-eyed child. Another look, at all that ivory flesh exposed, and gold; and but for moving all about, chryselephantine statue then he thought her.

  So simply dressed to please, he never thought her sweeter, more lovely or divine.

  He sat her on his knee, clipped her close and kissed her.

  ‘You’ve a question in your mind!’ she chuckled then, unmindful where his hands were all a-roam and giving kisses one for one.

  ‘If you know that, my darling girl,’ he said, and hugged her closer, ‘then I don’t have to tell you what it is. You can simply answer.’

  ‘To make you feel the more at home!’ she told him, lovely-eyed. ‘But many things I’ve done for that, so many questions that could answer. The one you had in mind was, why does Somnium look in part like Nonsuch, Greenwich, or old Eltham
?

  ‘I told you that I dreamed it here, my love, and so I dreamed it in a form that you would recognise. I dreamed it like the palace of your mighty queen, and yet I glorified it all the more, to make it like the palace of a Goddess. Your queen she is quite special now, but I am rather more.’

  ‘You are indeed, my sweet,’ he told her twixt his kisses, ‘and if I said that in the real world, sedition’s price I’d pay! And worth it, well enough!’

  ‘Oh, say not so, my love!’ she told him, all a-horrored. ‘I know sedition’s vicious cost, and would not have you hung. Your legs should only kick to dance, your yard should stand for love, your tongue… oh slip your sweet tongue ’tween my lips… and never more speak such nefandous words!’

  He kissed her as she wished, and held her oh-so-close. And so the minutes passed away, before they spoke again.

  ‘Dear heart,’ she said at last, ‘do nothing to endanger your sweet life. For though it means I’ll wait the longer, till we can be one… still each minute of your days and nights, I’ll watch them from the Moon. And, love, I could not bear to see you suffer. Live out all your natural span in loving me, and do the task I’ll set you. And then, my man, the kisses that I give you now, they’ll seem as nothing, though they seem so sweet, compared to what’s to follow.’

  ‘My love, my queen,’ he told her then, although the words would barely come, ‘your word it is my dear command. So, no more jests. I would not have you all upset, my sweetest dear, although to kiss your tears away, such bliss I’d truly think it. And now, my elfin sprite, continue on with what you meant to say.’

  ‘I meant to say, beloved man, that if familiar stones they pleased you not, then on the instant, with a twitch of dream, we’d change them. So, shall I show you things today, that you have never seen? That never were on Earth before, although I ever had them in the Moon? Or else I’ll make this Alexandria if you wish, where Alexander strutted proud and Cleopatra worked her wiles, where all the Ptolemies took their sisters off to bed. Or old Baghdad, and all my nymphs, they’ll play your houris if you wish. Or Semiramis’ Babylon… I’ve always thought her half of me… or Zenobia’s Palmyra. My love, I want to please you.’