Paris and CEnone Laurence Binyon Trice I/- net London A. Constable ftf Co. Ltd. 1906 PARIS AND GENONE B Y THE A UTHOR OF " PARIS AND (ENONE" PENTHESILEA: A Poem. Crown 8vo, 35. 6d. net. "A poem such as Matthew Arnold might have added to the series of dramatic idylls or brief epics that began and ended with ' Balder Dead ' and ' Sohrab and Rustum.'" Gttardian. PARIS AND CENONE BY LAURENCE BINYON AUTHOR OF " PENTHESILEA," "THE DEATH OF ADAM," ETC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED LONDON ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO., LTD. 1906 DS'p PARIS AND CENONE. A TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT. SCENE: Mount Ida, At the right a hut covered with vines, half seen. In the background trees and bushes with an opening near the centre, through which a path descends into the plain of Troy below. Evening falling. Two girls, PYRGO and MELISSA, appear through the opening, having climbed the path. PYRGO enters first. Pyrgo. COME, we are late. Melissa. Oh, I am out of breath. Pyrgo. The woodcutters are waving us good-night. See what a pile of timber they have made; And still the tallest oak-tree is to fall. Melissa. I love to watch them : let us wait a moment. Look, they are tugging at the cords, it quivers, It cracks and rocks. How fearfully it hangs! It is falling, look! still falling; it is down! Oh, what a groan ! Did Hector fall so grandly When fierce Achilles smote him? Even so He must have fallen. 6 PARIS AND CENONE. Pyrgo. Shame on you, Melissa! Have you the heart to name that day of woe? The broken heart of Troy sent up that day A groan, which even now is in my ears. I heard it on the mountains, and I wept, Although I knew not what great cause I had. Melissa. I was a child then. But I wonder much What was the wailing that to-day we heard Down by the city gates. These many hours They have been closed, and the plain empty; yet When we passed by this morning, how we saw The battle run like breakers in a bay, Tossing with plumes and lances! Pyrgo. Come away. The pathway will be dark under the trees. Melissa. Pyrgo, is Priam dead, or Agamemnon? Or is it fair Prince Paris? What hath happened? Pyrgo. Hush, lest GEnone hear you, and her eye Look askance on you ; she has power to change The bloom upon your cheek, and wither up The udders of our sheep and waste our flocks. Melissa. She has no power to lure her Paris back. Pyrgo. Yet she can charm the almost dead to life. When Meladon was bitten by the viper Two summers past, and all his flesh was cold And pale as mushrooms, she found certain leaves PARIS AND CENONE. 7 That sucked the poison sweetly out, and now Melissa. His cheek is brown as any hazel nut. How strange! Had I such magic at my will, Soon would I lure Prince Paris to my feet. Pyrgo. You have not seen his lady Helen's eyes! Melissa. But she is Greek, and Menelaus' queen. Pyrgo. Hush! Melissa. Is it here she dwells? Pyrgo. [Nodding.] Still beautiful She is, for I have seen her, and they say She was once happy. But we loiter long. Come, come. Melissa. I'm following. Oh, a violet! I should have crushed it with another step. It is all dewy, and it smells of spring. The first found is the sweetest. Pyrgo. [ Climbing a steep path at the right] Take my hand. Look down, there is a litter coming up. Melissa. And it has stopped among the woodcutters, The bearers speak with them. Oh, let us stay. Pyrgo. We must not, hush! QEnone's coming forth. [ The girls, often glancing back, ascend the path at the right. CENONE comes out, right. 8 PARIS AND CENONE. During the following speech she brings out logs from the hut, and piles them, one by one, in the centre of the stage. CEnone. Last night I dreamed of Paris. There he seemed To rise upon the darkness, Oh, how pale! Some mortal languor had subdued his limbs: His head drooped backward, heavy like a flower When hail has hurt it: his lips moved not, but His gaze was of a spirit deep in pain. One arm hung listless; but I thought the other Was in the motion to stretch out toward me, Then paused, as if unwilling so to plead. An evil omen ! yet, that arm toward me Half lifted, and that look ! If he be wounded, what is that to me? In Helen's arms he rests, and Helen's hands Are soothing his hot temples ; he looks up In Helen's eyes. You little tender shoots upon the vine You swell with the sweet spring, how can you swell So confident and blithe? Can you not feel Already ere your grapes have coloured round And ripened, the rude hands of vintagers, Strong-fingered jesting boys and laughing girls, Crush your red blood to make the merry wine? So my hope grows, and so its blood is crushed To make the mirth of others ; and yet still I hope ! Was ever woman fool as I ? They call Cassandra wretched, because none Believes her word, yet she at least believes. \She kindles a fire* Break into flame, shoot bright, my signal fire! PARIS AND CENONE. 9 Once you could call my Paris up from Troy! He left the dances and the feasts for me. Clear burns the old wood. O that my heart were old, Old, sere, and dry, and burning in this flame, That I might perish clean in the white fire, Forget, and have no aching at my breast, No waking out of dreams, quite, quite forget. They call me sorceress, Imagine I have power to sway the moon And lead astray the stars: and power I have, As shepherds know, to heal the serpent's bite. Young Meladon I healed, though he was dying, And gave him to his weeping love again. Oh, that day I was happy. Even to-day I saw on yonder crag the little herb Which in my hand was life, shooting afresh. To others I can still bring life and joy: Only myself I have no power to heal. [She lies down by the fire. Ten years, ten years, gone like a single sigh! For me; but not for him! Oh, he is changed. He is not now that Paris, whose young brow Shone like a god's, to look on whom was hope, To hear, delight. He goes to Helen now. The evening brings him. Miserable me! Ah yet, The queen of Menelaus cannot know The glory of the spring, when we were young, When O that hour of hours ! he stole to me Full of the wondrous news How he, the shepherd's boy, whom all men praised And all men loved, who kept their flocks from harm, Who slew the wolf and lion without fear, A 2 io PARIS AND CENONE. How he was Prince of Troy, and Priam's eldest son. Oh, royal were the thoughts of his heart's youth Poured out for me that day. Ah me, the first Of all those thousand kisses that of old Would naturally flower upon his lips! I only have the honey of those hours, Those old hours, those sweet hours. . . . [ The voice of PARIS coming up the hill, faintly heard.] CEnone! CEnone. That was my love's voice! No, no. Paris. [Nearer, .] CEnone! CEnone. Oh, I fear. Paris. \Appear ing. ~\ CEnone! CEnone. Defend me from ill dreams! He is so pale! [Rising to her knees and turning round. Why comest thou again this second time? Oh, Paris, is it over? Art thou free? Dear spirit, leavest thou the world to take Farewell of thy CEnone? Now at last The sweetness runs about my heart again. Paris, my golden Paris, glide not yet To Lethe water; let me bless thee first, Because my name was still upon thy lips. Remember me, beloved! Paris. [Moving a pace nearer ^\ Fear me not. It is no fleshless phantom, but myself, Paris! I breathe, my heart yet beats. Be glad! PARIS AND CENONE. u The signal fire is kindled; I am come. CEnone. Touch me not, mocker. Now I hate you. Go. Paris. CEnone, I am Paris, whom you loved. What sudden madness changes you? even now The words of love sound blessed in my ears. CEnone. I thought you dead, I thought you freed, I thought Your death-delivered spirit flew to me. Oh, never else would I have spoken so! You shame me, you betray me. When I thought That you were that dead Paris whom I loved, Alas, that moment I was happy: now It is a dream; now you are Helen's. Go! Paris. CEnone, I am wounded, I am dying! Here on my shoulder where your head was used To rest above the beating of my heart, And your soft hair flowed over both my arms, And your sweet breath was mingled with my own, Here, here hath Philoctetes' poisoned barb Grazed the firm flesh; a little wound it is, But pierces me with agony, and now From head to heel through all my veins I burn, I burn with fire all Simois could not cool. But you, that know the power of every herb, Heal me, for only you can heal me now, CEnone! CEnone. Go to Helen, ask of her. Paris. Speak not of her. Would I had never crossed 12 PARIS AND CENONE. The salt blue seas that smiled before my sail On that too prosperous voyage! Would that storms Had drowned me deep under the senseless surge, Or ever I had seen Eurotas' banks And Lacedaemon's hills. Would I had stayed For ever here on Ida, our dear home! CEnone. The web once woven we cannot unweave. Paris. The unkind gods made me their instrument. CEnone. They chose you, Paris, for your fickle heart. Parts. I have been fickle, yes, and wandered far, But the heart comes home at last ; I come to you. As I came hither, every step shed off Days, years, and brought me nearer to my youth. The springs of Ida murmured to my soul, Sick with this endless toil in blood and spears, There where I played to you whole summer days Upon my shepherd's pipe. The woodcutters Remembered me, and wept to see my pain. They loved me well of old and love me still, Though now it is far different from then, When I was young on Ida, and was famed For fighting with wild beasts and not with men, Not with revengeful men, whose murderous swords I am cursed for bringing on my country now! The shepherds praised me, that I slew the wolf And hunted the lion afar; and strangled the bear in his den: They called me their strong Helper in their songs, Made feasts for me, and I was crowned with flowers, PARIS AND CENONE. 13 And many a maiden pined to have my love, But I loved you, CEnone, and you loved me. Oh, had it always been as it then was! CEnone. Ah, ah! alas! as then it was, alas! But vain is looking back ; this is the end. Paris. CEnone, heal me; I grow faint, I die. CEnone. So Helen cannot heal you, cannot kiss The life back, though she kiss a thousand times ! To me, to me your heart cries in its pain : I only hold the door to your desire. What if I open it? Find you that so sweet Which is to me the driving of a nail Each day the deeper, here? [Beating her breast. Paris. Oh, misery! CEnone. [ To herself.} I cannot bear this longer. Paris. Ah, see now How low is Paris fallen at your feet; He is dying at your feet. Since love is gone, And pity gone, while yet your Paris breathes, Recall the time when he was what he was, Not what he is ; CEnone, once, but once, Those happy hours remember! CEnone. Have I not Remembered them? Those soft uncounted hours, Spun for our pleasure out of smoothest wool, I never knew their sweetness till 'twas gone, 14 PARIS AND CENONE. And Life unmasking showed her Fury face, And knotted the remembrance for my scourge. Paris. Oh, wretch, wretch, perjured, base wretch that I am! I left a ruby richer than the world In this true heart. I have no will to live, I have deserved to die this bitter death. Look on me gently, CEnone, turn your face Once more, for the last time, on dying Paris, Who loves you, loves you. \He faints. (Enone. {Lifting his head to rest on her lap.'] No, no, Paris, live! I have been cruel ; dear, unclose your eyes. Look up, look into mine. I weep for you. You shall not die. Paris. [Opening his eyes.~\ I love you. (Enone. It is sweet. Paris. CEnone, let me die but in your arms! CEnone. You shall not die, for I will heal you. Paris. Weep not, CEnone! (Enone. Let them drop, The tears that comfort me. Your head upon my breast As it was in the old days ! Paris. Kiss me! PARIS AND CENONE. 15 CEnone. Your lips are cold. Paris. [Raising himself with a gesture of despairing energy.] CEnone, bring me life! CEnone. [Shrinking, as if frightened] I go, I bring you life. [She rises to go. Paris. I shall live, I shall live, I shall live! CEnone [Turning round as she goes y and seeing his face] Ah, ah! what strange smile now is on your face, It is not love, Oh, now, it is not love. 'Tis confident and cold. Paris. [Imperiously] CEnone, life! CEnone. Blind, credulous and foolish that I am, I see too clear, it is not me he wants, 'Tis only life. Paris. CEnone! CEnone. Smile again, For when you smile I hate you. I must hate, Or lose my very reason. Oh, my heart, 'Tis more than I can bear. He does not love me! He never loved. He never understood What to love is, he only thought to cozen With tender words my tender and weak heart, And lure this wretched gift of life from me, And when 'twas won to triumph and to smile Into the arms of Helen. 16 PARIS AND CENONE. Paris. Madness, hear me! (Enone. No, no, no, never more! Paris. CEnone, stay! ' [GENONE rushes out at the right. PARIS tries to follow her, but sinks down. Empty now is the world. Thou must die, Paris. Now, had I strength, here would I strike myself. As she condemned me, I condemn myself. I am a king's son ; I have been greatly loved. This is the end of all, to die alone And to deserve no other death. Come quickly, Darkness! Let me forget what thing I am. Helen! but no, I must not think of her. Farewell for ever! All is forfeited [He calls to his attendants below. Corythus, Corythus! Emathion! It comes, it comes, incredible dark death. Would it had been with shouting and with spears, That I might rush and wrestle with my doom. Not stealing in this waft of violets, To slay me with the sweetness I have lost. {After a pause, the two appear from below in haste. Come to me. Bear me away. There is no hope. Corythus. Oh, my dear prince! Paris. Bear me away, but no, Not down to Troy, for all men hate me there. PARIS AND CENONE. 17 When I am dead, still let my body be Where I am loved, on Ida's pleasant side; Nor let the Trojan rabble rail on me, And grin upon my fall. There 's many a man Would stone my very body on the pyre Or have it thrown to dogs. It shall not be. Bid these good shepherds and these woodcutters Make me a pyre out of the trees I knew I played my pipe beneath them as a boy, But gladlier would I hear them toss in flame Than rustle leaves in springtime any more. Corythus. It shall be done. Emathion. Woe for us all ! Corythus. The gods Foreknew this thing; they have prepared a pyre. The woodcutters have felled the trees this day, It stands below. Little I thought to see Upon that wood the body of my prince. Paris. Lay me on that, and set a torch to it This very night. Corythus. So soon? Emathion. Thou must not die. Paris. Let them not come From Troy to fetch me, let my body burn Even when the breath is from me. The great flame Shall summon all the gazing eyes of Troy i8 PARIS AND CENONE. And feast their hearts that hate me. But O thou, My father Priam, thine old heart prepare For this last grief that shall bow down thy head The last of many griefs : yet thou wilt weep, I know, even for me who brought them all. [A paroxysm seizes him. My strength goes from me. Hold me, both of you Nay, I will stand alone. Helen, oh, Helen! [PARIS reels, is caught by the Attendants, who bear him slowly ; with murmured lamen- tations, down the path. After a pause the voice of CENONE is heard timidly raised as she returns. CEnone. Paris! . . . Answer, speak . . . {when there is no answer^ Paris, the herb Is in my hand, the leaves that bring you life. {Appearing and looking round for PARIS, then stopping in despair. Alone and dying in this darkness, oh, Where have I driven him? Where lies he now, Fainting, perhaps, and fallen on the rocks? Help me, help me! Will no one help me! I cannot see clear what I have done. I was the wronged one, but now It is I who am cruel, and he I see him beautiful and suffering there Torture, torture! I love him not, no, no, I love him not: And yet, and yet, I will not have him die. Wretched and desolate I seemed, But surely then I was happy, As now I am wretched indeed. PARIS AND CENONE. 19 How cold it grows, cold as the grave. Paris, Where are you? Come, come back! [The last words are spoken as she goes out searching among the thicket at the left. HELEN, in a dark robe, appears between two trees. Helen. I saw from far flames trembling in these trees Like many shaken swords; and on the air A cry lamenting down the darkness came. I find a silence, ashes, solitude! Yet in my mind that flame, that cry, gone on Before me like dishevelled mourners pass, Proclaiming through the streets of all the world " Paris is fled from Helen! " Whither now? What matters it? The lost may meet the lost. My feet are bruised, I care not; on, to seek him, Starve with him on these stony hills, or be Slain by him in his madness: rather that Than linger in the loathing eye of Troy. (Enone. [Heard without, crying.'} Paris ! Helen. Who in this desert calls on Paris? (Enone. [Hurriedly appearing.] I! If you have found him, bring me straight to him. Helen. Know you not then the face of Helen? (Enone. Ah! Helen. Why stand you now so frozen at my face 20 PARIS AND (ENONE. Who were this instant like a burning flame? CEnone. I am CEnone. Helen. Live the dead? Alas! The world is filled full of my enemies. (Enone. Away, away! for when I look on you A snake bites in my heart to poison it, And turn me from the thing I mean to do. Paris, I will. ... I know not what I say . . . Fill my thoughts, Paris! Helen. Paris is not here. CEnone. I left him here; some swoon has taken him, Crawling, so faint he was, among the rocks, Alas, alas ! But I must find him ; see, Here are the herbs that I will heal him with. Helen. miserable boast of foolish herbs, When Paris is forsaken of the gods, Helen of Paris ; Troy to-night 's a grave, And all that was of honour upon earth Trodden to mud and ashes. {Cries heard below. CEnone. He is there! What moments have I wasted! Now at last 1 have found him; now he shall be healed, shall live. Helen. And when you have healed him! CEnone. When I have healed him? . . Oh! . PARIS AND CENONE. 21 [ With a sudden change and impetuous gesture. Take you the herbs ! Helen. I have no faith in them. CEnone. Take you the herbs! Look, there are many leaves, And you must lay them close upon the wound, They will draw out the poison, he will sleep. Haste, he is dying, haste. Helen. From you? I cannot. CEnone. Is it so little to have given you this, Who have taken everything I had from me, Given her whom I have hated every hour These ten years, such a gift? Is it not enough? Go, go! Helen. I fear you, you would humble me. CEnone. He is dying; go! Helen. Give me them. [ Turning, she is about to go, wJien a faint glare, brightening every moment, appears beyond. What is that? Is Troy aflame? CEnone. It is not Troy. Helen. The flames Shoot up into the dark ; the trees stand round ; 22 PARIS AND CENONE. And there are faces in the glare, a throng All round it, motionless; why move they not? See others come, women and men, and kneel, And bow their heads. CEnone. It is a pyre that burns. Helen. And on the pyre it is not he! CEnone. Tis he. Helen. {Dropping the forbs.~\ Now in my enemies' land I am alone. CEnone. Oh, that those flames were streaming over me ! Helen. They blind me, roaring between me and him, They have devoured my Paris, he is dead, Paris, for whom I crossed the bitter sea. Ah, Ah, But those that hate me live, and only they. CEnone. Now, Helen, shall our hearts be proved by fire, Your love and my love. Will you not go down, Down to that pyre, and take the kiss you crave, And fold him in your arms to be your own In dying as in living? Will you not? [HELEN shudders and is silent. Then leap, you flames, I bring you fuel fit, A heart that hungers to be fire. So, so, Die down, and cower, and tremble, and recoil A moment, to soar up more ardently And wrap me closer, closer to my love, My love with me at last. Paris, I come! PARIS AND CENONE. 23 [CENONE disappears down the hill. HELEN gazes after Jier in horror; then, when a loud cry of many voices is heard below, and the flames leap up, sJie covers her face with her robe, as the curtain falls. CHISWICK PRESS: PRINTED BY CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-32m-8,'57(.C8680s4)444