Isola; or, The disinherited: A revolt for woman and all the disinherited

SCENE I.

A small room, sparsely furnished, in the Prison of Grillaway. The room is the cell of a first class misdemeanant. The windows are barred and look out on to exercising ground, which is surrounded by high walls. The cell in question is that of Vergli, who is confined therein.

Vergli, Solus: “Saxscober a free country? No, indeed! A slave of mummified and ancient laws, Created by the undeveloped brains Of men emerging from the feudal state. Must Evolutionism be controlled By relics of a past barbaric age, When human beings had no right to think And fashioned rules to suit their daily needs? What right have dead men to control us now? Must we be governed by their narrow vision? Shall rotten laws be solely the support Of an increasing substance, whose new needs Require the nourishment of true reform? Oh! prison bars, ye gaolers mute and dumb, Guess ye the torture which consumes my soul, Longing for freedom, longing for the pow’r To strike to earth Injustice and Untruth, And raise upon their ruins fairer scenes? Alas! for Evolutionism, who Will keep our party solid? Who will lead, Now I am a caged pris’ner in this hole? Scrutus and Verita will do their best, Good faithful hearts, yet lacking influence, And minus that great pow’r which can enthuse And weld together diff’rent characters. Well, I must seek to use the pow’r of Thought, And draw towards me that which my heart loves, Isola, can I make thee think of me? Can I enthuse thee to take Vergli’s place? The people love thee, thou can’st lead them well, If thou wilt take the lead, I have no fear. Isola, thou whom this lone heart adores, Although thou can’st not love me in return, Thy heart being wedded to Escanior, Wilt thou not fill the place I cannot fill? See, I will waft to thee intense desire, And by the force of thought fill up thy soul With the ambitions influencing me.”

He seats himself as he speaks, and leaning his head in his hand, seeks to attract Isola to think of him and take up his cause by stepping into the breach which he has been forced to abandon. Suddenly he looks up, and intense relief is in his face as he exclaims: “A great calm fills my soul. I seem to hear The whisper of an inward voice, which says: ‘Vergli, fear not, Isola fills the breach And will uphold your cause till you are free.’ Is it a dream or glad reality? I feel it is the latter. As my thought Has sped into the mind of Isola, So has hers come to mine and brought me cheer, And filled my spirit with intense relief. Oh! Thought so wonderful, which has evolved A mind from matter and, endowed with life By this same matter, can magnetic-like Attract to us flashes of hidden things, As thou increasest in us, wilt thou not Vibrate into us knowledge now unknown, Knowledge of space and of infinity, Of what has been, and of what is to be, By some attractive force whose law is vague And still quite undeveloped in our minds, Yet, all the same, a law as positive As that great law which rules the Universe? If this attractive law can magnetise Mind unto mind, will it not magnetise Those hidden facts which, still unknown, ne’erless Are facts which Thought will some day penetrate And draw into our minds, thus fashioning A knowledge now unrealised, unknown. Yes, mighty, energetic, living Force— Give it what name you will, it matters not— Thy pow’r will wax so great within our brains As to attract to us that which we seek. As Thought meets Thought, or draws it from afar, As I have drawn the thought of Isola, So shall this unseen, veiled, but true reality Conquer the secrets of the Universe And give Materialists the light they need. Develop it, all scientific men! It is as much a substance, though unseen, As any of the unseen substances Which influence Creation’s mighty laws. Have you not studied much those things we see, And drawn conclusions from the truths unveiled? Go, study now the Unseen, cultivate That undeveloped faculty, whose sight Will penetrate the mysteries of Life And open up the mists enshrouding death. Oh! learned men, how unlearned yet ye are. ‘What! Thought a substance?’ sneeringly you ask. ‘I think it is,’ all humbly I reply, ‘It is a thing which, though unseen, vibrates With delicate pulsation all its own. Thought is the substance which shall solve the past And open wide the future to our eyes.’ Yes, Isola, my soul no longer fears, I feel that thou, attracted by this force, Wilt do as I desire and do it well. A woman who has buried Superstition And scorned to make herself the slave of Man, Albeit she is his loving friend and mate, Can lead and will lead on Humanity To win its freedom, and to recreate Noble conditions, elevating all By evolutionary principles. I feel thy answer to my mute appeal Circling around me like a soft, soft wind, Caressing with kind kiss my anxious brain And soothing it as sleep lulls tired thought. For thought being real and not imaginary, A substance not a shadow, form unseen Of ethereal property, can tire and hang Limp and all unemotional at times, Or dulled by over-use of its great pow’r Which sleep and rest restore unfailingly. My thanks Isola. From afar thy thoughts Have come to cheer me in my prison cell, My soul’s at peace. I hear thy whispered words ‘I come, Vergli, fear not, All shall be well.’”

Enter a Warder. “Your pardon, Sir, your lawyer’s clerk is here, He bears an order of admittance, too— Is it your pleasure I should show him in? He bade me say his mission was of note, Requiring your immediate attention.”

Vergli. “Pray show him in, my friend; I’ll see him now, ’Tis not so lively here that I should shun Or shirk communion with a fellow man, Even although it be a lawyer’s clerk, Whose visits mean a bill of long proportions, When that which he may do, or may not do, Is done or left undone. Oft’ner the last! Methinks if we paid by results, the Clique Known as solicitors and barristers Would find their present lucrative profession, Somewhat the contrary! ‘No fish; no pay,’ Would make these gentlemen a bit more keen And less inclined to pile up the expenses! Poor Vergli! But for thee, kind Isola, He could not have engaged the services Of one of these noteworthy gentlemen, To pick his pocket so to line his own! However, here he comes. I will attend And learn the purport of his mission here. Good evening, Sir. Vergli you wish to see? He am I, and the Prince of Scota, too.”

Warder. “I’ll leave you to yourselves. A Trinity Is rarely company, and often breeds That most ungainly infant, Controversy. Ring, when you have adjusted your affairs.”

Maxim. “Hist! Vergli; I am Maxim. Have a care. Ears are awake and eyes wide open, too. Secrets are not well kept in prison walls, There are too many listeners about. In a few days your trial will take place, Counsel is offered by the Government; Your grave Solicitor refused, howe’er, And said that ‘Vergli would defend himself.’ I just think that he will, and rightly, too; For one speech from his lips is worth ten score Of speeches from the windbags of the bar, Who set much store upon their oratory— Pricing it highly, changing briefs to gold And turning inside out their clients’ pockets.”

Vergli (laughing): “’Tis true, young clerk. Society’s odd ways Are manifold; but, all drift down the tide Whereon the bark of Might o’er-rides poor Right Seated in her frail skiff, and runs her down. ‘Out of my Way!’ cries Might. ‘Am I not large? Are you not frail and of no consequence? The weak should die, the strong alone prevail And Might rule over Right.’ This is the law, Or rather as it is administered. And how can it be ever otherwise, Until to Earth we strike the selfish creed, Which prating loud a few great Moral Truths, Forthwith defies them, and sets up a reign Of Superstition and of Mummery? Then, when men like myself would strike it down And change those civil laws which owe their birth To priestcraft and religious tyranny, Who in the past were Sires of many sins, They are cast into prison instantly And doomed therein to waste Life’s precious days. Oh! when will Man learn to be kind to Man And practise brotherhood throughout the world?”

Maxim. “Not yet awhile; but some day it will come, As sure as Night comes after Day, and Day Follows on Night, ever unerringly. But, Vergli, you’ll prepare your own defence, Although I fear nothing will clear your crime; The Ardrigh knows acquittal means his doom, And ev’ry influence which he commands Will be exerted to o’erthrow your cause And bolster up his own. Alas! I fear That nothing will avert your punishment. Think, Vergli, of the Pow’rs that you oppose, Think of the forces all arrayed in line Ready to crush you to the earth, to kill. ’Tis an unequal fight. Oh! Vergli, pause! Think of the future, think of liberty, Think of the horrid doom which will be yours. Be wise and claim King Hector’s clemency, Humble yourself to say the word ‘Forgive’; Plead guilty, crave his Mercy, quit the Cause Of which you have so rashly made adoption.”

Vergli. “Hush! Maxim. Hush! ‘Never!’ is my reply, I mean to fight the Ogre Superstition, I mean to cry aloud the Woes of Man Born of that ancient and insensate lie, I mean to ask for Justice. If I fall Others will rise to fill the breach I quit. I war not against law and order, or Against the King and Government. I fight Against oppressive customs and beliefs, And social tyrannies which weigh men down, Making both men and women common slaves— Especially the latter. What I seek Is to give all Life’s opportunity. I prate not of the word Equality I know, that until Man attains Perfection, Equality is quite impossible; But give to all that pressing human right, The right to live, to work and to enjoy The recompense which is the due of toil, And opportunity to claim it, too. No, Maxim, tempt me not; my mind’s made up, I fight for all the disinherited.” [Rings.

Enter Warder: “You rang, Sir. Have you finished with your clerk?”

Vergli. “Yes, thank you, warder. Business is arranged, To-morrow follows my Solicitor.” (To Maxim) “Remember to enjoin on him to come.”

Maxim. “I will not fail. He’ll come assuredly.”

A small villa standing in a pretty garden, surrounded by a high wall, in a quiet part of the suburbs of Elsington, and not far from the public gardens and the King’s Palace of that name. In a sitting room in the villa, seated at an escritoire, is Isola. She is no longer Queen of the Saxscober people, King Hector having obtained a divorce; and she is secretly engaged in carrying on the evolutionary agitation of which Vergli, before his arrest, was the leader. It is the day of his trial on a charge of conspiring against the Church and State laws of the Kingdom of Saxscober. Isola is dressed in male attire; her long hair has been cut off and now curls about her head in short tresses. Her disguise is complete and her appearance that of a slight youth.

Enter Verita (similarly disguised). She closes the door and says: “The trial is proceeding. Vergli’s speech Was something too magnificent for words, It held the Court enthralled, spellbound and mute; A dropping pin might have been heard, indeed, So still sat silence on the list’ning crowd. Truly he rose unto the great occasion And looked the Prince of Scota ev’ry inch. Majestic wrath fell from his scornful lips And bitter and sarcastic were his words. He seemed inspired. Thought flowed like running stream, Sparkling his wit, full of convulsing humour; Then pathos and hard-headed Fact spoke out And touched and forced conviction each in turn. If eloquence and truth could save Vergli, ’Twould not be long before our chief was free; And yet, Oh! Lady Isola, I feel That he is doomed. The verdict will be ‘Guilty.’”

Isola. “Hush, Verita, you must not name me thus; Remember I am ‘Fortunatus’ now. Yes Fortunatus, evolutionist, Deputed by Vergli to lead his cause. What matter if the wise men find him Guilty? We’ll save him e’er he reaches Grillaway. All is arranged, Vulnar is on the spot; The prison van goes down a quiet street Ere entering the crowded thoroughfare; A carriage and fleet-footed horses wait, And Vergli will be many miles away When they are searching for him in the town, Making conjecture as to where he is! Hasten now, Verita, back to the Court, Tell Scrutus that I go to join Vulnar, Bid him apprize us of the verdict quick, He knows where we will be. Ready, Waiting; He knows full well the part he has to play, Now go. Heav’n grant the Verdict will be fair.”

In the High Court of Justice. The Judge has completed his summing up. The jury, after a brief delay, have found the prisoner guilty of conspiring against the Church and State, a crime in Saxscober punishable with death. The usual question has been put “Say, prisoner at the bar, have you any reason to give why sentence should not be passed upon you?” and Vergli, who has been standing with folded arms, unfolds them and bows his head slightly in assent. The hum of voices in the Court, which had broken out when the foreman of the jury had uttered the word “Guilty,” at once subsides and a great silence falls as Vergli begins to speak.

Vergli. “Reason to give against my murder? Yes. For Murder it will be assuredly. What right have you to take from me God’s breath, Because I seek to see His laws prevail? What is my crime? To have demanded Truth? Truth in religion in the place of Sham? Yes, I have asked for that and pleaded, too, For a vast Revolution in the laws. I claim to be King Hector’s eldest son, The heir apparent to the Monarchy; I am the Prince of Scota, Prince Bernis By Natural law is not the King’s wife’s son. I claim that my dear Mother was that wife, I claim that she with Hector should have reigned, Reigned as a reigning not a Consort Queen; I claim the parents’ right, of either sex, To reign before their children. Out on laws Which make a child usurp its Mother’s place, Or, if a female be an elder child, Ousts her from heirship on account of sex! Imbecile law! Worthy of priestly craft, Worthy of Superstition and Saint Saul, Of men bedridden with such mistresses As are these soulless and unnatural laws. All law is bad which Nature has not framed, Be it of Civil or Religious sex, And all Religion is a cursèd lie Whose God is otherwise than Nature’s form. Away with your man-shaped and cruel God, In whose own image you declare you’re made, Faith! He must be an ugly Barbary Ape, If the majority of men reflect His Godlike features in their ill-formed masks. But here I fling to Earth the Monster creed With which you mystify our early years, Distort our reason, warp our faculties; And make that fatal transformation scene In Human character, which would be kind And sensible and brotherly in love, Were it not for the Orthodox tirade That moulds it with false teachings and precepts Throughput the whole of Life’s sad Pilgrimage. What right have you to make of Life a hell? To disinherit men of their just rights? Follow out Nature. To the fittest give The right to lead, to rule, to fashion law. The fittest should survive, the unfit pass Into the force that can evolve anew A better Life from Mediocrity. Men should not starve while others feast and laugh. By what Almighty Law of Nature’s God Do men step into Life outcasts and slaves? Why? Yes, why? I ask; for Opportunity Is Man’s inherent right. Sex should not be The disability you’ve made of it. Give all an equal opportunity, The fittest will arise and lead and rule, And make this world a heaven where now ’tis hell. Let all men work from Monarch to workman, Let all reap benefit from honest toil. Let Life be made Co-operative and See to it that Injustice shall be slain. Build up a new religion based on Love, Away with Cruelty to Man or Beast; Beasts have their rights just every much as Man, Are they not our own kin, our mute, dumb friends? We have no right to torture them for sport, For Scientific purposes or food. Blood was not made for Man’s consumption. Grain And fruit, and vegetables, and nuts and herbs Are what God Nature gives him for his food; And Health demands he should adopt as such. Give us a kind religion. Let the Truth Be the magnetic influence of our lives. Let Sham and Superstition be condemned As false and hideous idols of the past. Down with all law in Church and State which kills The holy rights of Nature, our true God. Oh! Woman, wake! Crush the black snake Untruth. Wake! Woman, wake! And you shall wake the World. Are these the sentiments which merit death?” [Cries of “No! No!” and “Yes! Yes!” “Should they not rather live eternally? Are they not true? Is not all Truth divine? What! Treason is it to condemn a lie? What made the lie? God? No. Just little Man. Man, still in an imperfect, undrilled state. Shall lies or laws based on them be immortal? Not so, I say. They must be executed. Vergli will be their executioner. Is he a Revolutionist? No, no. He is an Evolutionist. That’s all. Kill him? You cannot! Thought will never die, It is a part of Immortality. Silence this body? That which gives it life You cannot kill, because it is of God. It is that which is speaking to you now. Silence it? Never! ’Tis eternal Life. For Thought is Life and Life which cannot die, It is the Soul and deathless part of Man.”

[He ceases speaking. Loud applause breaks out which is with difficulty suppressed. The judge assumes the Black Cap and pronounces the death sentence. It is received in contemptuous silence by Vergli and gloomy silence in the Court.

As the prisoner is led away, Verita manages to pass near him and whispers: “Hist! Vergli! Isola is all prepared. Fear not! Ere long thou shalt be free as air.”

SCENE IV.

A quiet side street in the City of Infantlonia, leading from the crowded thoroughfare of Rolling Motion to that of Drifting Tide. Off this side street runs a mews, the stables lining one side thereof, and a long wall facing them the other. This wall encloses a garden, lying at the back of an unpretentious house looking into the quiet street. It has been purchased by Vulnar, Lord of Avenamore, in the principality of Bernia; and is occupied by one Fortunatus, the youthful leader of the Evolutionist Party.

Fortunatus (entering the garden from a room on the ground floor): “Time’s dragging slowly. Scrutus should be here To tell us what the verdict is. Methinks ’Twill be one quite in keeping with the faith Which cries aloud ‘Judge not,’ and yet condemns Unceasingly all those who mock at it. Vergli will be condemned. Of course he will, Or I have much misjudged the character Of the fierce opposition of that clique Called ‘Church and State,’ which rules our destinies. Vergli will be condemned. A gibbet tree Will be the offering of barbarism— That ugly child, offspring of Superstition, Who crushes thought and dulls the intellect, Degrades the Woman and deforms the Man. Man who might be so noble, but for it. Let them condemn you, Vergli. Have no fear, We’ll save you, Prince of Scota. Escanior Loved you, Vergli; Isola loves you too, Because Escanior loved you, and because You will not trample Woman to the ground And bid her hearken to the great Saint Saul. You know her degradation is Man’s shame. You scout the orders of Most Holy Church. You advocate Fair Play to all Mankind, Mercy and tenderness unto the brute. You are a Man, as every Man should be— Brave, without fear, yet tender, loving, kind. Vergli, e’en if I feared the hand of Death, I’d grasp it eagerly to set you free. Let them condemn you. Freedom shall be yours, E’en though I lose thereby Sweet Liberty.”

A shrill whistle sounds in the street. Isola quickly draws one of these from her breast pocket and blows a clear note upon it, then passes rapidly through a door leading from the garden into the mews. The movement of many men’s feet can be heard therein. From afar a rumbling sound is heard, and the rapid trot of horses sends its echoes ahead. In the mews stand Vulnar and Fortunatus. Past them rushes a wild, eccentric looking man, singing:

“The Canyons are coming, They are not afar, The pigeons are homing, Go forth to the war, Strike hard for the freedom Of God’s noble son; They’d give him a cold tomb, We’ll give him Life’s Sun.”

Vulnar (in a low voice): “Ready, men! Ready! Hold yourselves alert! Hark! ’tis the rumble of the prison wheels. Make ready to rush forth at the first sign From Fortunatus. Watch his every move, You know the signal. Steady! Vergli’s life Hangs in the balance. All depends on you. Hark! It comes nearer, that revolving sound, That rumbling and that rapid, ringing trot, Hush now; all eyes on Fortunatus! Hush-sh-sh.”

Fortunatus, standing near the entrance to the mews, looks round suddenly, and drops a handkerchief. Instantly a score or more of men rush out into the street. A prison van, surrounded by mounted police, comes by at a rapid trot. The head of every horse is seized, and revolvers held pointed at their riders, others emptying the holsters of their captives. Vulnar, Scrutus, and Fortunatus make straight for the door of the van and demand, from the policeman inside, admittance. He refuses.

Vulnar. “Then, stand back, man, care for your life, have care! We’ll fire and smash the lock. Here, Volio, boy, Fire through the keyhole; quick, no time to lose, So ho! well done, you’ve shivered it in two. Open the door. Be quick. Vergli, art there? God bless thee, Vergli; we’d all die for thee.”

Vergli is hurried into the mews by Vulnar, Fortunatus and Scrutus, and disappears from sight. At the same time the reins are taken off the van horses, and bridles slipped off those of the mounted men. All is confusion, during which the conspirators, all of whom are masked, slip away unobserved. Some time elapses before the rescue becomes known. Policemen hurry to the spot. The van is entered and the policeman inside is found to be dead. He had not taken Vulnar’s warning, and the bullet which smashed the lock had entered his heart. (This rescue scene is taken from a notable one some ten years ago.)^[4]