(r= Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/collectedplaysOOphilrich COLLECTED PLAYS THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK ■ BOSTON - CHICAGO ■ DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO COLLECTED PLAYS BY STEPHEN PHILLIPS THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1921 All rights reser-veJ Copyright, 1902, 1904, igo6, 1908, 1910, 1921, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1921. S. Cushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. PREFACE I REMEMBER my father as a big man, with a beautiful, but rather sullen face, and eyes full of strange, sad melancholy, as if the soul were always dreaming and yearning, and reaching . for heights unattainable. He had about him a presence of mystery and of power ; that sense which one may feel to exist, but which one may never describe in the language of words. To strangers he was cold, impassive and re- served, which gave to him an aspect of sombre- ness, but to those whom he knew to be in sym- pathy with his greatness of thought he became at once a being of quite natural impulses, and on these occasions, when he felt at ease, the light of genius that burned unwaveringly within him would burst into visibility with a power and wonder that could not fail to impress. Often, under the midnight stars, he would 787303 PREFACE pace the ground, giving utterance to those beautiful ideas, in a loud, vibrating voice, full of the intensity and clearness, the spiritual tone and exquisite charm, of which he alone was the master. He was passionately fond of music and the haunting strains of some old song, or refrain, ' would sometimes awaken a beautiful thought within him, and while he was transmitting it <^ > to paper, he would ask for the particular piece to be played again, and perhaps again, until he had finished and was content. Strangely enough he preferred the most simple music, especially an old song if it were at all sad, or had an air of dreaminess about it. He had a magnetic personality. When once i one had heard him reciting some lines in his \ remarkably expressive voice, one invariably wished to linger to hear more, if one had a sense of the beautiful or the divine. Poetry was his chief and most constant com- panion, for he was not a mere conjuror of words or phrases, as a workman carves mechanically at his bronze, but a spirit of wild passion, calm PREFACE vii philosophy and sometimes of deep sadness, as the mood took him. And very often he had periods of such sadness, when he could write only of sorrowful things, and these, I think, contain some of his best work. It would be hard to find a more beautiful lyric, in regard to its sadness and trance-like simplicity, than this : "Beautiful lie the dead, Clear comes each feature, Satisfied not to be, Strangely contented. Lik e shi^, the anchor dropped, Juried every sail is ; Mir i;ored with all their masts 'jv.eV-«.?w,^ In a deep water." The clearness, the directness and the appeal of every word goes straight to the slumbering soul and awakens it to the delight, the fragrance and joy, which has, for the moment, eluded it. Then, too, the quality of his tragedy was al- most supreme. Just a few lines, taken at ran- dom, from "Paolo and Francesca" viii PREFACE "What rapture in perpetual fire to burn Together ! — where we are in endless fire. There centuries shall in a moment pass, And all the cycles in one hour elapse ! Still, still together, even when faints Thy sun, And past our souls Thy stars like ashes fall, How wilt Thou punish us who cannot part?" ' As a poet, dealing with the quietness and constancy of sorrow, or with the temperamental fires of tragedy, he was, I believe, standing, with firmly planted feet, upon a pinnacle of the mountains, where the fickle storms of criticism could not reach him. It seems that now, after the turmoil of war, during which there was no leisure for Art, the time has arrived when his work should be placed before the reader once more, so that he or she may have an opportunity of judging its excel- lence, for although he was not the greatest of poets, he deserves a little niche, even a partially secluded one, in the eternal framework of immor- tality. Stephen Phillips, Jun. AsHFORD, Middlesex, England. TABLE OF CONTENTS Aylmer's Secret Ulysses The Six of Damd Nero Faust Pietro of Siena AYLMER'S SECRET A PLAY IN THREE SCENES BY STEPHEN PHILLIPS CHARACTERS Aylmer The Creature Miranda, Aylmer' s Daughter A PLAY IN THREE SCENES Scene. — Aylmer's Attic in Soho Time. — The Present AYLMER'S SECRET SCENE I Scene. — Soho^ London. Time. — The Present. A room fitted up as a laboratory, filled with mortars, batteries, etc., and other scientific instruments. (Body of Creature at hack, hidden by curtains.) Window at back. Cur- tain drawm before window across room. Lamp burning on table. [Aylmer seated at table, alone. Nightfall. Aylmer. [Agitated — rises and goes to win- dow. It comes, it comes ! At last the night comes on 3 4 COLLECTED PLAYS That I so long have looked for : I have lived But for this night. To-night I bring to trial, Put to the test, the labours of a life. As I look back upon the years, I see One long, one mad pursuit. But is it mad ? This night shall prove. \Walks restlessly up and down. The study of the stars, Of stones, of plants, of creeping things, of all This visible world sufficed for other men — They left me still unsatisfied. [Pauses in his walk — stands still. I sought For that which lay behind all sciences — For that without which they are cold, dead things — COLLECTED PLAYS S The very principle and breath of life, Which God first breathed in Adam. [Pauses, then sits, throws himself back in chair. And this thing Possessed me like a passion, strong as love Or hate 1 Men came to me and said : "Beware ! for there are limits set for man Beyond which if he goes he sins." I see No limit set to knowledge. Who shall say, "Thus much it is permitted thee to know,— No more"? Or where doth Nature stay her hand? So, like a dreamer standing on the edge Of some vast precipice, as he looks down, The very depth and terror of the place 6 COLLECTED PLAYS Draws him to leap, and lose himself in air ; — So I, long gazing, felt the wild impulse To plunge in the unknown. Here, in this room. I lived alone, above the streaming life And roar of London, which has pass'd me by, Still mingling chemistry with chemistry, [Rises and holds lamp to the different in- struments lying in the room. Until at last I wrung from cylinders, Batteries, mortars, engines, crucibles, This awful fire, this very breath of life, This secret, first of secrets and the last. [Goes up and draws curtain, disclosing body of the Creature. Here lies a human frame, which I have toiled COLLECTED PLAYS 7 And toiled on, year b}' year, that it might be A fitting mansion for so high a guest. Look on him, Nature, scan him, search him well, Created bone for bone and vein for vein Like thy first Adam. Look on him again. — WTiat is there lacking? Where doth he fall short ? In muscle, organ, tissue, fibre, nerve? [Goes, holding lamp, up to high shelf, and reaches phial. And thou dost hold a mightier secret yet — Or all my life is vain ; — an essence pure, Which shall have power upon those lifeless limbs That they shall rise and stand and walk to me, 8 COLLECTED PLAYS Here, in this very room. Ah ! Why do I shudder ? Why have I hidden here, away from men, Like an assassin — bolted out the world As from a soHtary crime ? Not dared To ask Heaven's blessing on my enterprise ? Long years have I looked forward to this night, And now this night has come, [Puts down lamp on table. I fear : and why ? [Holds up phial, and looks at it. 'Tis but the last of all discoveries. Galileo, Newton, Herschel trod the same Path that I now tread ; I but bring their seed To harvest. Has not Nature, has not God As He led them, led me, too, by the hand, COLLECTED PLAYS 9 And shall I now draw back ? Surely, to doubt Were greater blasphemy than to defy Him. [Miranda's voice is heard outside. Listen ! [Stands listening. My child's voice! Is it hers? or that — Who knows? — of a better angel? And it seems To call me back from what I was about To do. [Sees phial in his hand. Shudders, and slowly retreats to shelf and puts hack phial, still listening, face towards sound. Let me put back this phial. [Voice ceases. lO COLLECTED PLAYS Ah! Now it has ceased ! I feel in me again The longing I have felt before, to leave For ever this unnatural Ufe, to dash That phial to the ground, and to return Once more to human love, to human life, And lay this fevered head in my child's lap. MiiL\N. [Heard of.] Father ! Father ! Aylmer. She calls me ! Voice. [Otitside.] Father, may I come in a moment? Aylmer. My child, I have forbidden you to come in here. Leave me for this night to myself. Voice. Only a moment, father ! [Aylmer draws curtain back, concealing COLLECTED PLAYS ii body. Unlocks door. Enter Miranda. She stands a moment, looking round; shudders, and then comes to Aylmer, and puts arms round his neck. MiRAN. Father, when will you leave this dreadful room, with all these ugly instru- ments, wliich make me shudder even to look at them? What is it you work at here, all alone? Can't I help in some way? I am sure that I could. You used to be glad to have me with you, and now I scarcely ever see you. I only hear you pacing up and down this room night after night, and mutter- ing to yourself. I am so lonely by myself. And whenever I speak to you, it is always, "Some other time — some other time." 12 COLLECTED PLAYS [Rises petulantly.] I was your daughter once — long ago — but now you have another daughter whom you love much more — Science. Aylmer. Science, my child, is an exacting daughter. MiRAN. She exacts too much ! Oh, father, is it right for you to be so much alone? Perhaps I am not like other girls, who care only to be loved. But I should be quite happy if you would let me watch over you. Then I should be content. But now, my Hfe is so vain. I have this great need at my heart — something to love, something to cherish. Let me love you, father ! Let me be near you, as I used to COLLECTED PLAYS 13 be. You do still care for me, father, don't you? Aylmer. Care for you ! You are the only thing I love ; and, after to-night, the old days shall come back. I have one more great experiment to make before dawn, and then I mil seal up this chamber for ever, and we will be together, with nothing to part us any more. [They embrace. MiRAN. This shall be the last night, then ? Aylmer. The very last. To-morrow, early, I will wake you, and we \vill go out together, and look on Nature at her sunniest. And now leave me. And yet, why should you leave me ? No, no ! Stay by me, stay by 14 COLLECTED PLAYS me, child. I am better when I am with you. Save me — save me ! Do not leave me to myself to-night ! [Sinks wildly into a chair. MiRAN. Ah, you are ill. Let me lead you out of this hateful room, and never enter it again. Come ! Aylmer. No. It was only a passing weakness ; I am well again now. [Rises, mastering himself] I am strong. [Aside] I will not go back nor falter. [Aloud] This night I must spend alone, for on this night I either succeed in the labours of a Hfe — or I fail. MiRAN. [Reluctantly] Well, if it must be so — good night. But this is the last night you will sit up alone, is it not, father? COLLECTED PLAYS ^5 Aylmer. The last. MiRAN. [At door] Remember, you prom- ised! To-morrow I claim you for myself. Good night. {Exit. [Aylmer locks door, walks slowly hack to table and sits down. Aylmer. I am a man again! I feel, I love ! And tliis unnatural and feverish fire Leaves me, and a more sober glow comes back. And yet I must go on. The night is spent. I must to work. [Draivs curtain. Were it not for the sake i6 COLLECTED PLAYS Of future ages, I should pause before I wakened thee, thou still, inanimate clay. Thou art at peace as yet. How many men Groaning beneath intolerable lives. Had they been offered choice — to lie for ever, As thou Hest now — would have refused this gift Of feverish Hfe I give to thee ? 'Tis we, We who have lived, who envy thee thy sleep. Yet, why do I dream here? The morning comes Upon me, and I must to work. Oh, why — Why do I still draw back? O, Thou great God, Who hast made life, and given hfe to me, If Thou art wroth, — or if I now usurp COLLECTED PLAYS I7 Thy high prerogative — or if I go Beyond the boundaries Thou hast set for man ; If there be worlds forbidden, regions sealed To us Thy creatures, where to breathe is sin, — Then, ere it be too late, consume me ! Let The lightning, flashing Uke Thy unsheathed sword, End me, now, where I stand in very act To babble Thy holy secret to the world ; For, if I live, I must go on. [Pause. Nothing ! Nothing ! Why, I am raving ! To what end these cries? 'Tis but the last of all discoveries, And I shall make it. [Reaches down phial and stoops over body. I 8 COLLECTED PLAYS Then drink thou down this. How my hand shakes ! [Pause — rises. I must be calm, take breath. Now I am master of myself. [Again stoops over body. Once more, I pour into thy veins the fire of fires. [Long pause, after placing phial to Crea- ture's mouth. Motionless still ! [Starts hack. Ah ! Am I going mad ? I see a faint flush on his face ! Is it the light Thrown from the lamp ? [Brings lamp and looks at body. COLLECTED PLAYS 19 No, no ; I see it still ! [Throios himself in chair by table. I dare not look again. [Pause. Was that a sigh ? [Pause. Again a shuddering sigh ! A moment more, and he will move — will live ! . . . I'll slay thee, ere it be too late. To slay thee Ere yet thou art aUve can be no crime. [Advances again to body. I will not have thy Hfe upon my hands. No 1 It is now too late ! He stirs — he stirs ! And if I kill him now, I smother life. [Pulls blind aside. Dawn enters chamber. 20 COLLECTED PLAYS The dawn — the dawn ! The world wakes, and thou, too. Art waking ! Waking ! Is it pain to thee To hve ? And costs it such a struggle then ? Thou comest into Hfe with agony, Imploring to be left alone, — to sleep On, as thou hast slept. Strange ! [More light. The sun is up ! And come, thou rising sun, rise, too, on him As upon other men. Why thy bright rays Search him. He shall not flinch before thy light. If he be false — counterfeit man — a dream, Then find him out ; let him dissolve and melt Away before thy beams — a midnight vision. COLLECTED PLAYS 21 No ! He shall live, and shall rejoice in thee ! [Creature slowly rises. He comes and kneels before Aylmer. As he kneels. Aylmer drops phial witJi crash on ground. O, great God, WTiat have I done ? Kneel not — kneel not to me ! O God, forgive me ! KneeHng before me ! This is a sin — idolatry 1 I am no God, But man, as thou art. Rise, I conjure thee ; rise. [Creature slowly rises and sinks on chair. The dawn foods the chamber. Blinded with the light, Creature's head sinks on his hands. 2 2 COLLECTED PLAYS [Aylmer retreats with eyes still fixed on him to door and exits. [As he locks door outside, Curtain de- scends. SCENE II Scene. — The Same. Three months are supposed to elapse between Scenes I and II. Time. — Evening. [Aylmer seated at table. Aylmer. Three months have passed since this Creature whom I created broke out of this dim room — how, I know not. When at last, I dared to enter here again to look on him, I found him gone. Then I breathed freely, and thanked Heaven, which, in its COLLECTED PLAYS 23 mercy, had lifted this burden from me, and suffered this haunting \'ision to depart. To have kept him imprisoned here for ever would have been impossible, and yet, if I had suffered him to pass this door, he might — who knows ? — have met my child. Ah, Heaven, save me from that ! Three months have passed, and he has not returned. And now, how should he? Xo, they can never meet. How will it fare with him out yonder in the world? Even now, perhaps, he is lying cold and stiff on some bleak London pavement — or, if not dead, he is lost in this vast city. He is gone ! And I feel once more at peace. He is gone — and with him is gone the former life, solitary, feverish, un- 24 COLLECTED PLAYS natural. Earth wins me back again from those unhallowed toils to the arms of my child — to the life all men should live — loving and being loved. What is this Crea- ture to me now but a vision ? — a vision of the night — • that night when I had well nigh lost my reason to see him kneeling before me, and — [Enter Miranda, carrying flowers Ah, Miranda ! MiRAN. Look, father! Do look at these flowers. You have shut yourself up here so long, you have almost forgotten there were such beautiful things as these springing all the time in the world outside. Smell them. Aylmer. Yes, they rebuke me. Shut up COLLECTED PLAYS 25 here, alone, brooding over those instruments, all my life I have let the beautiful fresh world go by. These smell of rain and earth. MiRAN. Yes. [Begins to arrange flowers about room, then stops in dismay] Oh, I could do nothing for this room till those instruments were cleared away. Do you know, I have a new idea. I mean to make this my special room, and — [Aylmer shudders. — have my piano in here. We are to be together now; and this old fortress where you had entrenched yourself so long, I have stormed. Aylmer. Well; have your way. I have surrendered to you. 26 COLLECTED PLAYS MiRAN. Ah, father ! you shall never be lonely again. Aylmer. My child, you need have no fear. That old, sinful life is gone. I can- not even look at those instruments without loathing. No ; that night was the last, as I told you. I and Science took leave of each other then for ever. [They embrace and exit Aylmer. MiRAN. What a new man father is ! In that one night, he broke with the associations of a life-time, and said farewell to Science for ever. Did he succeed that night in his great discovery? I suppose not; and now he has resigned himself to tranquillity and — me. Well, he shall not return to his old, COLLECTED PLAYS 27 lonely life again, if I can help it. No; he has shaken that off for ever. [Walks round room, arranging flowers. [The door opens and the Creature ap- pears in entrance. Crea. This is the room where I first saw light ; but it is changed. Ah ! who is that beautiful being? Will she despise me as all others do ? [Miranda turns and sees him at door. MiRAN. Who are you? Who told you to come here ? Who directed you ? Crea. I have been here before. Miran. Before? Crea. Yes. Miran. When? But it is cruel to ask 28 COLLECTED PLAYS you questions. Sit here a moment. I will bring you some wine. {Exit. Crea. [Looking round] Once more within the room where I was born ! There, on that floor I struggled into Hfe. Life? Is this Hfe ? To be despised and shunned by all ! Yet she has not turned from me. [Re-enter Miranda. MiRAN. Now, drink this. It will give you strength. [Pause, in which he drinks. Can I help you? Crea. You help me by speaking to me. I could bear my hfe if I might hear a word of pity now and then. COLLECTED PLAYS 29 MiRAN. Is your life, then, so wretched? Crea. There is little I can tell you. My past life I cannot remember. All that I feel is in the present. I have never heard, till now, the sound of one kind word. MiRAN. How strange ! Crea. I have wandered up and dowTi the pavements of this vast city. I have begged food from door to door, and been repulsed and cast out, again and again, till sheer misery drove me to speak the language those about me spoke. I cannot tell you why, but men seemed to shrink from me as from a man apart from other men. Even the homeless beggars with whom I crouched in some dark archway, to escape the \vind 30 COLLECTED PLAYS and rain, turned from me. Even those houseless wanderers, whose misery should have made them my companions, never spoke to me. Were we not all exiles to- gether? Together at war with the world? And should not this have made us friends? But, no ! I have seen them leave the door in whose shadow I took refuge, and face the wild weather, trust themselves to the pitiless skies rather than to me. The rest I had borne — the weakness, the hunger, the blows — these I had borne as I saw others round me bearing them. But that I could not bear — I could not bear ! MiEAN. They shunned you because you could not help them. Beggars are like the rich in this. COLLECTED PLAYS 31 Crea. It was not that. It was not that. MiRAN. It was that, and that alone. But tell me more. Crea. Then, at last, this great loneliness wrought on me so that I said, I will go back to this room, and ask shelter of him who owns it. / have some claim on him, I think. He will not let me die. MiRAN. Let you die ! Why, do you know who owns this room ? My father ! Crea. Your father 1 MiRAN. Yes. He will not turn you away. He is all kindness and gentleness. Crea. He must not find me here with you. I will go. 32 COLLECTED PLAYS MiRAN. Stay, stay ! You shall not go. You have some claim, you say, on my father. You know him, then ? Crea. Yes. All my life I have known him. Never were two so closely bound together. MiRAN. You fear him? Is it not so? He has seemed to you cold, stern. For a long time even I, his daughter, thought of him as you do; but lately he has given up that lonely, studious Hfe in which you knew him. He has given up his scientific studies, which made him seem cold and hard. I think he failed, one night, in some great experiment. Crea. [^sic^e.] He did fail. COLLECTED PLAYS 33 MiRAN. And after that night, he gave it all up. Men have no business to shut them- selves up, away from those who love them, prying and peering into what Heaven never meant them to know. But all that is over now. Oh, you will find him changed. If you have any claim on him, stay here and I know he will help you. Crea. Will you plead for me, if I stay? MiRAN. I will. [Creature sighs in happiness. He has knouTi what it is to be lonely. He will feel for you all the more because he has felt. Crea. Ah, you do not know what it is to have this great need at your heart — this 34 COLLECTED PLAYS continual crying out for love, and never to find it. MiRAN. Yes, I have felt a little what you feel; when my father was wrapt up in his studies — and I would have given worlds for a look now and then, to show I was not quite forgotten. Crea. Ah ! Do not speak of your father. Tell me of yourself. You, too, have felt, you say, this great desire. Have pity then on me. I am in this great world, I know not why. Alone I have wandered through the streets, alone have lived. Alone, alone for ever ! MiRAN. Ah ! do not say that. Crea. Tell me — tell me, why do men COLLECTED PLAYS 35 shrink from me? It seems there is a great gulf fixed between me and all mankind. A gulf I cannot pass. I see them on the other side — those human beings I love, but who love me not ; I see them, but I cannot reach to them. Oh ! will there never come a day when one of them will look across and see me — on the other side! Oh! shall I ever hear a voice out of the world of men saying, "Come," or shall I ever feel a hand stretch- ing across to lift me over the wide gulf and set me there as a human man with human men! Ah! might I dare to think that you — you have not turned from me — you do not start from my touch — you do not loathe me, — pity me, pity me a little ! 36 COLLECTED PLAYS MiRAN. Loathe you ! Why should I ? I pity you from the bottom of my heart. Crea. Now, I have found what I had sought so long ! At last — at last I am pitied, I am loved a little ! Oh, let me have one to speak to, one to whom I can cling. Do not forbid me now ! I only know that I was scorned, and I am pitied ; I was loathed, now I am loved; I was lonely, now I have a friend ! I must love you or I shall die. [Miranda makes a movement. If I have hurt you, forgive me. Now I would live on. Life to me now is beautiful. Now, let the great world go by for ever. I am happy ! [A step is heard. Ah! he is coming! I know his step, and COLLECTED PLAYS 37 tremble at it. He will tear me in pieces ! Hide me — hide me from him ! MiRAN. Be still ! Be still ! Crea. He will send me away from you. I shall lose you. MiEAN. Whoever it is, he shall not hurt you. I will stay by your side. Why, it is my father's step. Come ; take my hand. [Enter Aylmer. Aylmer. Come back ! Come back ! [Creature throws himself at Aylmer's feet. MiRAN. Rise, rise. No need to kneel. Father, here is a poor outcast. He says he has some claim on you. Aylmer. None. Miranda, leave us to- gether. Leave him to me. 38 COLLECTED PLAYS Crea. Your promise ! Stay by me ! Aylmer. Miranda, leave him at once, and for ever. Let go his hand. You know not what you do. And you who have crept back here, I banish you from this room. I command you never to see or hear her voice again. Back — back into the streets which you have left. MiRAN. Father ! You surely would not cast him out. He has suffered so much. Aylmer. So have thousands ; but they suffer on. I tell you, I had rather see you in your grave than holding his hand, as you do now. Quit this — creature whom you see cowering on the ground before me. For you to see him, to touch him, is pollution. COLLECTED PLAYS 39 MiRAN. Ah ! you are cruel. Aylmer. Am I to be obeyed, or not? MiRAN. I owe you all duty. That I know. But I have other duties. I am a woman born into the world to pity and con- sole, by a right divine as your command. I told you, and I tell you now, I have felt a want all my life — something to shelter, something to protect. I had hoped it might be your old age; but you drive me from you by these cruel words. You have left me alone all this while to think for myself — to teach myself — while you sat apart, deep in science. Well, I have lived this life. I have learned to think for myself, and I feel — I know that I should pity this poor outcast. 40 COLLECTED PLAYS Aylmer. Then, hear me ! I demand that you leave his side. MiRAN. Why ? Why ? Aylmer. I will not tell you why. I will not tell you more than this. Is it not enough ? I command you to leave him. [Miranda slowly and reluctantly leaves Creature, and crosses to door, where she stands during the rest of speech. As for you, you have no claim on me. You have left me, and I will not shelter you. Yes, you have come back, like the fiend to the haunted man. But I will cast you from me. I have awakened, and I see a new hfe opening out before me — a life of love, of peace, at last; and you shall not stand between me COLLECTED PLAYS 41 and my hopes. Hence, thou plague — thou monster! Hence out into the streets, and die ! Die quickly ! Crea. Oh ! Oh ! MiRAN. I cannot bear this 1 I will stay by you ! [Miranda, who has been standing at door, at Aylmer's last words comes to Crea- ture a)td stands by him. Aylmer sinks despairingly down. END OF scene SCENE III [Creature sleeping at back. Enter Aylmer with a light. Aylmer. He sleeps ; and he must not wake. Even now 42 COLLECTED PLAYS He has divided me from all I love. My child has turned from me. He must not live. It is no sin for these my hands to strangle What these my hands created. God Himself Slays every day what He Himself created, Haunted, perchance, as I, even in His heavens, By cries and wild upbraidings of His creatures, Which follow Him and will not let Him rest. He takes the life He gave : then, why not I? O wretched, paltry end ! That this my work, For which alone I lived : my dream, my goal — Cries out for death, to be unmade, undone ! That these same hands must shatter what they shaped ! COLLECTED PLAYS 43 Yet he must go. It is not me alone He menaces, but he has touched my child With his pollution. Anything but that ! Yet, if I slay him, am I quit of him, Therefore, for ever ? That if this faint spark Of life that I have lit — if this survive Beyond the grave, how will it be hereafter? Will he not meet me in that other world, With those imploring eyes entreating me A place of rest? In which of you, ye stars, Appointed homes for spirits, into which, If he ask shelter, will he be received ? Will he not wander on for evermore From world to world, as here from house to house, A stranger looking in upon a feast? 44 COLLECTED PLAYS Shall I not see him, alien that he is, Cast out, a lie, a lone, unnatural thing, Counterfeit coin rejected at God's mint, Not with His image stamped, as other men? Will he not then come back to me, and I Be forced to cherish him there, even as here? Heaven grant this fire of life, in rashness lit, May die out here for ever ! Else I see No end, no limit to my folly. Space Will cast him back on me. Eternity Consign him to my keeping evermore. He wakes ! The Creature. [Waking] Give me thy hand. Art thou not near me? No, She is not here ; and thou hast parted us. COLLECTED PLAYS 45 Ah ! was it not enough, thou hard creator, To force me into life, unripe and harsh, Not coming Uke a flower thro' the earth, Eased with a thousand dews and many rains, But dragged into existence? To what end? That thou might'st be a god. Shall I forget The pain, the agony of hearing still That strong, o'ermastering voice that called to me To live, still fighting to be left alone ? Shall I forget the pangs of being born ? When every sense was forced upon me, till I was compelled to see, to hear, to feel. And burning life came in my veins like fire. And to what end? That thou might'st be a god. 46 COLLECTED PLAYS But was not this enough ? At length I lived. I stood before you, and you quaked and fled From your creation, leaving me alone. From that dim casement I looked down and saw Life streaming on below me, and I chafed At this my prison, and broke out of it. I wandered forth into the world of men. My heart went out to them : I sought their love, Prayed for it, as a beggar prays for bread. I found no mercy and no pity. Cast Out Hke a dog from every door, the rain Beat on me, and the night made me afraid. All loathed me, and all started from my touch, As, by an instinct all too true, they felt COLLECTED PLAYS 47 My being was not theirs, my birth not theirs. At last, outworn and faint, I crept again Back to this room ; thinking at least thy pride Would not permit the life thou gav'st to fail. And then I found, oh ! at the last I found One that would not reject me, knew not how To scorn. She shrank not from my touch, and she — She, out of all the hurrying, heartless crowd — Turned back, and spoke to me. They were the first Soft words my ears had heard. She made me feel That there was no great bar, no mighty gulf Set between me and all mankind alive. Long had I yearned to love and to be loved, 48 COLLECTED PLAYS And now, as in a moment, it had come. I loved her, and she seemed to feel for me. Then, as I sobbed and kissed her hand, I heard Thy step far off — ^ I heard, and knew at once Thee, my creator. And I trembled then Even to behold thy face. I knew that I Had been too happy, and thou, striding in, With that same voice which called on me to live, Forbad'st me love. Aylmer. Control thyself. Crea. What is Control ? Thou gav'st me no control, but life. And without love I cannot live my life. O my creator, pity me a little ! {Kneels. COLLECTED PLAYS 49 Aylmer. Rise from your knees. Crea. Or, if I may not love, May not be loved ; if thou hast given me life. And then deniest me that on which Ufe lives, Then slay me now. Oh, send me back again To the darkness whence I came, and to the blank From which thou formed'st me. Nothing is alone Save me. I only go companionless. Aylmer. I will not hear! Thou askest love of me Thou lucky mingling of dim chemistries, . Thou monster, bitter fruit of impious years, To breathe with thy composed, unnatural breath ^ COLLECTED PLAYS Upon her face, pure as the face of Heaven ! Oh! horrible! Crea. Slay me, then. Let me not thus linger on, Living, yet gasping for the breath of life. Aylmer. I will not slay thee. For thou art the crown And flower of all my Hfe ; the end, result Of long, laborious years. Weak as thou art, Suffering and wretched, yet art thou a man As other men, perfect in every sense. From the four winds I gathered thee together. The dews, the saps, ay, the great Sun himself Have I made minister to thy creation. All My Hfe without thee is a waste, a blank. For thy sake I am old before my time. COLLECTED PLAYS 51 I have sold sleep for thee, that thou might'st stand Before me, as thou standest, perfect man And thou art dear to me. Crea. Must I Kve on? Aylmer. I will not slay thee. Crea. Then, let my lonely life Be near her and lie round about her path. Ah, let me see her, catching but a glance To treasure up and feed on by myself. Aylmer. Thou shalt not see her. Find some other out. Thy ways and hers are parted evermore. Crea. Can'st thou deny me? May'st tJwn one day feel As I feel ! May the God who gave thee life 52 COLLECTED PLAYS Make it a fever in thy veins, to cool At one touch only, only at one voice, And may that touch thou yearnest for, that voice Be unto thee a thing forbidden, dead ! May He look down out of His terrible Heavens, And say, "As thou forbadest thy creation To love, so I forbid thee ! " May'st thou pray To die, and death shall be denied thee ! Then, When love is to thee what it is to me. Then shalt thou turn, and cursing thy Creator, Execrate Him as thee I execrate, Casting thy life back in His teeth, as I Cast mine back upon thee ! [Falls. COLLECTED PLAYS 53 Aylmer. What ails you ? Say Crea. I am dying of thy cruelty. I am failing ! Oh ! call her. Let me see her. Call her quick. [Enter Miranda.] MiRAN. I am here. Aylmer. He has called for you. He is dying — failing fast. Crea. Ah, you have come ! I cannot Hnger on In life, since love I may not have ; and now I am dying. Miran. But / love and pity you. Crea. It may not be. Ah ! were it not for you, I could almost believe this were a dream — 54 COLLECTED PLAYS This little feverish hfe that I have lived — ■ A dream that I could gladly shake from me, And sleep again. But you have made it real, Too real ! and I have felt too much to think This were a vision. I could have forgot The agonies of birth, the wanderings ; But this I cannot put away — forget, As I came into Hfe with agony, So I am leaving it with ease. I seem To ebb away, and you are growing dim. Yet I still cHng to life, for you are here. Give me more life ! Ah ! let me not sink back Into a place where she is not — a blank ! Give me the torture and the loneUness ; Give me the burning sun, the world of men, The cursed, forbidden Hfe, but only you — COLLECTED PLAYS SS I cannot lose you ! [Appeals to Aylmer, who sits silent. You will not let me die ? To die while you are living at my side ! To have seen you, and to lose you ! Oh, can this Be possible ! Is torture such as this Permitted ? This grim life I would not leave, For you have made it dear to me. Aylmer. [Comes to him, much moved] Forgive me, poor lone being ! I have brought This agony upon you ; I have made You feel : have put you on the rack. O God ! I have brought more suffering into Thy world. Crea. It had been better had you let me rest. I have known sorrow, which I had not then. But I shall never see you any more. S6 COLLECTED PLAYS Nor you — nor you ! — MiRAN. We have a faith which says That, in another world, we yet may meet Those whom we loved, and see them face to face. Crea. Ah ! but your faith is not for me. I am A thing apart. Your beautiful promises I have no share in. Others — others may meet But I no more shall see you. Never more ! [He dies. Aylmer and Miranda hanging over him. MiRAN. Father, what was he to you ? Aylmer. He was — my child ! CXJRTAIN ULYSSES A DRAMA IN A PROLOGUE & THREE ACTS BY STEPHEN PHILLIPS CHARACTERS ON OLYMPUS Zeus (^Jupiter), with thunderbolt. Poseidon {A'epiune), with trident. Hermes {Mercury), with caduceus and winged sandals. Athene {Minerva), with spear, shield, and regis. Aphrodite ( Vemis), with roses and doves. Ares {Mars),v/\ih spear and shield; Apollo, with lyre; Heph^stus {Vtilcan), with hammer and pin- cers; Demeter {Ceres), with cornsheaf, wreath, and veil; Hestia {Vesta), with veil and sceptre; Arte- mis {Diana), with bow and quiver; Ganymede, cupbearer to the gods. ON EARTH Athene. Hermes. Calypso, the Nymph of the Island Ogygia. Ulysses. Penelope, his wife. Telemachus, his son. EURVCLEIA, his old nurse. Antinous (young, insolent, splendid) 1 ^, . ^ ^ . . . Chief Suitors to Eurymachus (mature, politic, specious) > Pfnelope Ctesippus (elderly, rich, ridiculous) J Eum>eus, a swineherd. 7 8 CHARACTERS Melanthius, a goatherd. Peir^us, a steward. Pheidon, a gardener. Melantho \ Clytie V handmaidens. Chloris J Elpenor ) ., > sailors. Phocion ) Suitors, Handmaidens, Attendants, Sea-Nymphs, Sailors, etc. IN HADES Ulysses. Hermes. Ghosts of Ph^dra, Eurvdice, Suicides, Lovers, and Children. Charon. Ghost of Teiresias (a prophet). Ghost of Agamemnon. Ghost of Anticleia (the mother of Ulysses). Furies, Tantalus, Sisyphus, Prometheus. PROLOGUE ULYSSES PROLOGUE The curtain rising discloses the summit of Olym- pus, an amphitheatre of marble hills in a glimmering light of dawn : where the hills fall away, a distant view of the world, with countries and rivers, is seen far below. Near the front are the seats of the gods, cut in an irregular semicircle in the rock. As the scene pro- gresses the morning light grows clearer, descend- ing gradually frotn the mountain summit over the figures of the assejnbled gods. In the centre, Zeus, with the empty seat of Hera beside him; to his right Athene, Apollo, Artemis, Hermes, II 12 ULYSSES and Hestia; to his left Poseidon, Demeter, Ares, Aphrodite, and Hepilestus. Athene. \_Comes forward with outstretched armsJ] Father, whose oath in hollow hell is heard ; Whose act is lightning after thunder-word ; A boon ! a boon ! that I compassion find For one, the most unhappy of mankind. Zeus. How is he named? Ath. Ulysses. [Poseidon starts forward, but is checked by Zeus. He who planned To take the towered city of Troy-land; A mighty spearsman, and a seaman wise, A hunter, and at need a lord of lies. With woven wiles he stole the Trojan town Which ten years battle could not batter down : UL YSSES 13 Oft hath he made sweet sacrifice to thee. Zeus. \_Nodding benevolently^ I mind me of the savoury smell. Ath. Yet he, When all the other captains had won home, Was whirled about the wilderness of foam ; For the wind and the wave have driven him evermore Mocked by the green of some receding shore ; Yet over wind and wave he had his will, Blistered and buffeted, unbaffled still. Ever the snare was set, ever in vain; The Lotus Island and the Siren strain ; Through Scylla and Charybdis hath he run, Sleeplessly plunging to the setting sun. Who hath so suffered, or so far hath sailed. So much encountered, and so little quailed ? Zeus. What wouldst thou ? 14 UL YSSES Ath. This ! that he at last may view The smoke of his own fire upcurling blue. Poseidon. \_Starti71g forward with menacing gestured] Father of Gods, this man hath stricken blind My dear son Polyphemus, and with wind. With tempest and a roaring wall of waves, I fling him backward from the shore he craves. Sire ! if this insolence unpunished go We soon shall lack all reverence below; It. will be said, 'The arm of Zeus doth shake, Let none henceforward at his thunder quake ! * [Zeus moves uneasily. This man is mine ! \_Sinkes trident on ground."] By me let him be hurled From sea to sea, and dashed about the world ! Ath. Hath not Ulysses through such travail trod ULYSSES 15 As might appease even anger of a god ? Monarch of monstrous rage — l^Wifh furious gesture at Poseidon, Thou who dost launch The crested seas in streaming avalanche ! Lord of the indiscriminate earthquake throe, Of huge and random elemental blow, Thou who dost drink up ships, and swallow down AHke the pious and the impious town, Whose causeless fury maketh men mistrust If there be gods, or if those gods be just; Thy rancour is eternal as thy life. Thy genius ruin, and thy being strife ! Pos. {_Tauntingly.'\ And thou, demure de- fender of chaste lives. Smooth patroness of virgins and of wives, I'll pluck from thee the veil thy craft doth wear, The secret burning of thy heart declare. i6 UL YSSES Thy marble front of maidenhood conceals Such wandering passion as a wanton feels. What is thy heavenly sympathy but this, To find occasion for Ulysses' kiss? I will proclaim thee to Olympus — [Poseidon and Athene start forward, threat- ening each other with trident and lance, Zeus. Peace, Children, and from your shrill reviling cease ! Do thou, Poseidon, for thy part, revere The dower of her divinity severe : And, daughter, gird not at his gloomier might. His spoil of morning wrecks from furious night. Endowed is he with violence by that law — Which gives thee wisdom — and thy father awe. Ath. Of reverence speak'st thou? Then Ulys- ses urge Back to his home irreverence to scourge; ULYSSES 17 There weeps his wife Penelope, hard driven By men who spurn at law and laugh at heaven. A swarm of impious wooers waste his halls, Devour his substance and corrupt his thralls: They cry about her that her lord is dead, They bay around her for the marriage bed — Zeus. [_Solemniy.'] Ulysses shall return ! Pos. \_Starting forward.'] Cloud- gatherer, stay ! Zeus. Yet canst thou work him mischief on the way. In thy moist province none can interfere; There thou alone art lord, as I am here. Where bides the man? Ath. Calypso this long while Detains him in her languorous ocean-isle, Ogygia, green on the transparent deep. There did she hush his spirit into sleep, B 1 8 UL YSSES And all his wisdom swoons beneath the charm Of her deep bosom and her glimmering arm. . Release him, sire, from soft Calypso's wile, ""^Q-^ And dreamy bondage on the Witching Isle. Zeus. {Oracularly. "] Go, Hermes, and unweave ( i^ her magic art. Then let him choose ; to hnger, or depart. Yet ere he touch at last his native shore Ulysses must abide one labour more. Athene. Say ! say ! Zeus. The shadowy region must he tread, And breathing pace, amid the breathless dead, The track of terror and the slope of gloom, To learn from ghosts the tidings of his doom^ ' Ath. O spare him, Father, spare him — Zeus. He must go From dalliance to the dolorous realm below. ULYSSES 19 Ath. Remember, sire, she snared with spells his will. But his deep heart for home is hungering still. Hermes. \_Mischievously , pointing at Apollo.] And, sire, remember, we are gods, yet we From human frailties were not ever free. If even immortals genially stray, Shall we be merciless to mortal clay? But lately the sun-god himself was seen Snatching at Daphne's robe upon the green. Aphrodite. [ With soft insinuation. '\ And even thou, O Father — in thy youth — Didst feel, at least for mortal women, ruth. To Leda, Leto, Danae, we are told. Didst show thee on occasion tender — [Zeus thunders softly. General suppressed laughter among the gods. Zeus thunders loudly: all the gods abase themselves. ao ULYSSES Zeus. Hold ! 'Tis true that earthly women had their share In this large bosom's universal care, That Danae, Leda, Leto, all had place In my most broad beneficent embrace : True that we gods who on Olympus dwell With mortal passion sympathise too well. [^Sighs deeply. But, daughter, 'tis not I that do impose Upon Ulysses this the last of woes. I to no higher wisdom make pretence Than to expound eternal sapience. It is that power which rules us as with rods, Lord above lords and god behind the gods; Fate hath decreed Ulysses should abide More toils and fiercer than all men beside: Heavily homeward must he win his way Through lure, through darkness, anguish, and delay. UL YSSES •! Ath. Yet swear he shall return ! Zeus. If ^^ can dare Through shadow of the grave to reach the air. Ath. Then swear it by the Styx ! Zeus. . I swear it. {Rolling thunder is heard beneath. Herm. Hark ! 'Tis ratified by rivers of the dark ! Ath. I'll to Telemachus his son, and fire His heart to prove him worthy of his sire. {To Hermes.] Thou to Ogygia in the violet sea, To touch Ulysses and to set him free. {Exit Athene. Pos. And I, Ulysses, will thy bark waylay ! And though thou must return, thou shalt not say Thou wast afflicted lightly on the way. {Exit Poseidon. 22 UL YSSES Zeus. \To Hermes.] Hermes, command Ca- lypso to release Ulysses, and to waft him over seas ; Yet she shall not forewarn him that his fate Permits him homeward but through Hades' gate. \^Exit Hermes. \To Ganymede.] The cup, bright Ganymede! Ah, from the first The guiding of this globe engendered thirst. [Zeus drinks : Olympus fades. ACT I ACT I Scene I Forecourt of the palace of Ulysses at Ithaca^ with stone seats disposed around it. Towards one side, the front of the palace, with portico and pediment richly decorated in the Mycencean style. Separated from this, a building contain- ing the women'' s apartments, from a gallery in which a flight of stairs leads down into the court. A boundary wall encloses both build- ings : in the interval betiveen them, the moun- tains of Ithaca are seen above the wall. To the right a low colonnade, over which appear the trees of the orchard — apples, pears, figs, 25 26 UL YSSES etc., with a great vine trailing into the court. In the court, a scetie of luild laughter, uproar, and prodigal confusion : some of the Suitors dancing in abandonment with the Handmaidens, while others pour out of the central door of the palace to join the rout. Telemachus is seen sitting moodily apart. At last the dance ends in breathless disorder. Ani'inous. Come, Clytie, I have no breath left, sit on my knee and drink from this cup ! No ! I'll have fresh wine. \_Pours it on floor.l^ A fresh jar. Ctesippus. Now may the Lady Penelope defer her answer so long as she pleases. This way of life suits me. \_A Handmaid empties cup of wine over hitn.'] Fetch up fresh jars from the cool earth ! ULYSSES a? Melantho, \_Entertng from door in wall to left of house, and holding up key.'] I have the keys of the great wine vault. PEIR.EUS. Ah ! you have stolen my keys ! How shall I meet Ulysses ! \_Ererrone laughs. Mel. Come with me, some of you, and bring up fresh jars. [^Exit 1VIEL.A.NTHO With three Suitors. Enter three Haxdmaids, loaded with floiuers and branches of fruit — figs, apples, pears, grapes, pomegranates, folloiued by Pheidon. Chloris. See ! see ! we have stripped the great orchard. Here ! here ! \Tliey fiing fruits and flowers over Suitors. 28 UL YSSES Pheidon. Princes, princes ! Years and years have I tended these plants and trees, and in a moment they are torn up, and all the fruitage of the summer squandered. Ah ! if my master should return ! Ctes. That need not trouble you. \_All laugh. \_A wild scene of flinging fruits and red, white and purple flowers ensues. Re-enter Melantho and SiriTORS, rolling fresh jars of wine. Antin. Break off the necks, and let the wine run on the floors — I'll cool my feet ; and drench this wreath again ! Ulysses is dead, or if he live, we are masters here to-day. \^Jars are broken, wine flows on floor. All. Ha! Ha! Ha I UL YSSES 29 Enter Eurycleia, the old nurse, followed by two faithful Handmaids bearing work- baskets, etc. EuRYCL. O, you vile handmaidens ! that sit on princes' knees and drink the wine of your master who was ever kind to you. Girls. La ! la ! la ! la ! la ! EuRYCL. Oh ! may you never come to a husband's bed ! but wither unwooed to the grave ! Antin. The old dame is envious ! Here, Ctesippus, you still lack a damsel. Take her and comfort her ! Kiss her, kiss her, Ctesippus ! EuRYCL. Wiser to let her be ! {They drag Ctesippus to Eurycleia and push him towards her. Ctes. Her time is past — young lips for a man of my spirit. 30 ULYSSES Mel. Men reach not for withered apples ! Clyt. Parchment face ! Mel. You skin hung in the wind to dry 1 All. Ha! ha! ha! EuRYCL. O ! when Ulysses shall return — All. Ha! ha! ha! EuRYCL. For return he shall — All. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! EuRYCL. O ! then may he not spare you, women though ye are, but strike you down with the men — fools ! wantons ! thieves ! Mel. \_To faithful Handmaids.] Why slave under that bitter hag when you can have the kisses and the gold of princes? Antin. What would he do — one man amongst us all? EuRYCL. Kill you ! kill you ! kill you ! Ulysses ! Ulysses ! \_She is hustled off. UL YSSES 31 Enter other Suitors dragging in Eum«us, the swineherd. Suitor. Here is the man who sends us the lean swine. Antin. Bring him before me ! EuM. Princes, I am but a serving- man and have respect unto my lords. Shall I serve up a dish that would poison the great princes? A>rnN. Poison us? Ctes. {Turning pale.'] What does he say? EuM. My lords, a fever is fallen upon the swine ! To eat them were death. Ctes. Ah ! ah ! A Suitor. What, what, Ctesippus ! Ctes. Ah ! the pain ! the pain ! I am poisoned! {Alllaugh. Do I swell? do I swell already? 32 UL YSSES Suitors. {With mock solemnity P^ Farewell, farewell, Ctesippus, thy death is on thee ! Ctes. Help me within doors ! Ah ! ah ! {Exit Ctesippus, supported by Hand- maidens. Antin. \To EuMiEus.] This is a lie ! EuM. There are but two left of the whole herd, and already I like not the countenance of one of them ! Antin. It is a lie to keep us from our food ! Melanthius. [ Obsequiously^ Believe him not, most noble Antinous ! But I, it is my pleasure to bring you what I have; fat kids; sweet morsels for my noble lords. He hath hidden the swine away, most mighty Antinous. Antin. Go, drag him out, and drive in the swine. Suitors. Come, come : show us the swine ! ULYSSES 33 EuM. And so I will. \_Aside.'] But not the fat ones. [^Exeunt Eunleus and Suitors. Antin. [^To Servants within.'] A fresh feast, and swiftly ! \^To Suitors and Handmaids.] Meantime a brief sleep, for the sun bears heavily on us. Come, Clytie, my head on your lap. A Suitor, And you with me, Melantho. \_The Suitors He down in various attitudes with the Handmaidens. Re-enter Ctesippus, who starts in horror, Ctes. Ah ! they are dead already. Antin. Cease, old fool, and sleep awhile. [Ctesippus ties down. Athene appears, and stands by Telemachus. Athene. What man art thou? c 34 UL YSSES Telem. O goddess bright ! Ath. Be still; Where is Ulysses' son? Telem. I am he. Ath. Thou he ! Where is Ulysses' son? Gone on a journey? Or dead, that this is suffered in his halls? Telem. Nay, goddess ; I am he ! {^Buries his face in his hands.'] Ath. Art thou his son? Art thou the child of the swift and terrible one? Could he who shattered Troy beget thee too? What dost thou here, thy head upon thy hands, While all the floor runs with thy father's wine, And drunken day reels into lustful night? What more must these men do to make thee wroth ? How scratch, how bite, how wound thee to find blood? UL YSSES 35 O, should Ulysses come again, how long, How long should strangers glut themselves at ease? Why, he would send a cry along the halls That with the roaring all the walls would rock, And the roof bleed, anticipating blood, With a hurrying of many ghosts to hell When he leapt amid them, when he flashed, when he cried. When he flew on them, when he struck, when he stamped them dead ! Jp ! up ! here is thy Troy, thy Helen here ! Telem. Goddess, I am but one and they are many. Ath. Thou art innumerable as thy wrongs. Hist ! how they sleep already like the dead ! [Athene disappears. 36 ULYSSES Telem. How would my father find me should he come ! Weak, weak ! How have I raged and fumed in vain, And pondered on the doing ! Now to do ! \^He starts up. \_Dunng the ensuing speech of Telemachus, the Suitors gradually awake and rise, some stretching themselves and yawning. Antinous and Eurymachus, and the rest ! Too long have I borne to see you snatch and spoil, And eat and swill, and gibe and ravish. Now, Now from this moment I'll stand master here ; Lord of my own hall, ruler of this hearth. I'll flit no more a phantom at your feasts. Discouraged and discarded and disdained. I am the son of him whom all men feared, And if he live I hold his place in trust ; If he be dead I stand up in his room. UL YSSES 37 Now on the instant, out ! out at the doors ! [Antinous yawns loudly. Ctes. Are we awake, or do we all still dream? Telem. Take wing, you vultures that too long have perched ! Hence, hence, you rats that gnaw my father's grain. EuRVM. I rub my eyes: is this Telemachus? Telem. I'll have no tarrying ! Out, out ere ye wake ! The spirit of my sire descends on me, And 'tis Ulysses that cries out on you; You by the throat, Antinous, I take. \He makes towards Antinous, who still holds Clvtie in his arms, while she laughs impudently at Telemachus. Antin. Softly, sir, softly ! Clytie, do not laugh, This is your lord ! 38 ULYSSES Ctes. I like to see such mettle ! EuRYM. Be not too rough with him, Antinous \ Antin. a moment, sir, before you cast us out — \_IIe laughs, as do the others till he recovers himself. Before you cast us out — as easily Doubtless you could ! A Suitor. We are helpless and o'er- matched ! EuRYM. Sad Ithaca, when such a tyrant rules ! Ctes. Reach down thy father's bow and shoot us dead ! Telem. \_To himself, while Eurymachus and other Suitors at back are consulting in whis' pers how to deal with hijn.~\ Fool, fool ! I have but made myself a jest : It was not thus Athene meant. Fool, fool ! ULYSSES 39 EuRYM. [ Coming fonvard to Telemachus from others at back.'] One word ! You say that we devour your halls, That we are vultures, rats. Yet answer this, Do we bide here, then, of our own indining? We come to woo your mother — are your guests, And we would have an answer ere we go ! All. An answer, yes ! Antin. {Starting up.] An answer from her lips, Which one of us she chooses for a husband. Have we not seen moon kindle after moon And still she puts us by ! How long, how long ! Telem. Eurymachus, I have blustered windy threats ; But 'tis a grievous office thus to sit A master and no master in my halls : And still I say you do me injury, Devouring thus the substance of my sire ! 40 ULYSSES Antin. Then let your mother make her choice of us ! Would she have strength and splendour of the limbs, Sap of the body and youth's burning blood, I Httle doubt on whom her choice will fall. EuRYM. Nor I — would she have prudence in her lord And craft. Ctes. And I say nothing, but I know A woman before prudence chooseth gold. Antin. \Striking table ^ And till she answer, none, not Zeus himself Nor all the gods shall turn me out of door. EuRYM. Come, drink, Telemachus ; we wish thee well. 'Tis difificult for thee : I'd be thy friend. Come, lad ! \_Putting his arm about Telema- chus.] UL YSSES 41 Telem. I'll not drink with you. What to do ? EuRYM. Now that this little tempest is o'erblown, Sing to us, minstrel, and chase wrath away. Come and sit near to me, Telemachus. Ctes. [/« lachrymose matiner.'] Sing, minstrel, sing us now a tender song Of meeting and parting, with the moon in it; I feel that I could love as I loved once. \_Sighs deeply. All laugh. Minstrel. O set the sails, for Troy, for Troy is fallen, And Helen cometh home ; O set the sails, and all the Phrygian winds Breathe us across the foam ! O set the sails unto the golden West ! It is o'er, the bitter strife. At last the father cometh to the son, And the husband to the wife ! 42 ULYSSES \_During this so7ig Penelope has softly de- scended, accompanied by two Handmaids, and stands listening unnoticed. She holds her veil before her face. And she shall fall upon his heart With never a spoken word — Pen. \_Dropping veil.'] Cease, minstrel, cease, and sing some other song; Thy music floated up into my room. And the sweet words of it have hurt my heart. Others return, the other husbands, but Never for me that sail on the sea-line. Never a sound of oars beneath the moon, Nor sudden step beside me at midnight : Never Ulysses ! Either he is drowned Or his bones lie on the mainland in the rain. [^The Suitors gather around her admiringly and importunately. UL YSSES 43 Antin. Lady, he sang to chase away our wrath. Thy son, Telemachus, upbraids us all That we stay here too long, and cries, * Out ! out!' But we await your answer, still deferred : Deferred from day to day, from month to month. I, I at least no longer will be fooled, Whose pent and flooding passion foams at bars. Choose one of us, and they — the rest — will go ! Pen. Ah ! sirs, remember that I but delay To choose till I have woven at the loom A shroud for old Laertes. Melan. O my mistress ! How canst thou stand and lie to noble men? O Princes, I have spied on her, and she At night unravels what she wrought by day. Ye'U wait a long time if for this ye wait. Pen. Melantho ! I was ever kind to you. 44 UL YSSES Antin. We are tricked then ! All. We are duped ! EuRYM. O she is subtle ! Pen. Princes, you drive me like a hunted thing To feint and double thus. Ctes. a game they play ! The mother fools us and the son reviles us. She thinks us asses, and he calls us rats. Am I then Hke a vulture or a rat? Telem. Mother, 'tis true I did upbraid them all; I am called master here, but am no master; Lord, but I rule not ! smiled at and passed by, A shadow while these men usurp my halls. EuRVM. \_Goifig to Telemachus, and laying hand on his shoulder.'] Lady, indeed your son hath much excuse, And for his sake I'd urge you to make answer, UL YSSES 45 For his sake and the sake of this dear land, Which hes now with defenceless coast, a rabble Leaderless, laws and altars overturned. Let then your son rise in his father's room. Ctes. Let the boy take the reins and drive : but thou Depart with one of us ; and better sure A live Ctesippus than a dead Ulysses. EuRVM. \_Poifiti>ig to Telemachus.] Thy duty points thee to thy son that lives ! Pen. Is it so, child, this brooding on a dream Hath kept thee from thy kingdom? I am wrapt So in my husband I forget my son. Telem. Mother, although my ofifice here is hard, Yet would I rather lie out by the door, Cursed, spat on, offal thrown to me for food, 46 VL YSSES Than any grief of mine sliould hasten you To answer with your Ups but not your heart, Or be the cause of your departing hence. Pen. And yet I see 'tis so, and that deal ghost Excludes the Hving child : forgive me, son. [^To the Suitors.] Yet, sirs, I cannot on the in- stant choose : I lose your faces in the thought of him. Not on the instant — give me a brief space ! Then will I choose as husband one of you. Ctes. Though she looked straight before her didst thou see How her eye wandered toward me? EuRYM. She looked not On me : that argues in a woman love. Antin. See, the young moon hath not begun to quicken. UL YSSES 47 And on the evening hangs awaiting Hfe. We'll give thee time till yonder moon is full : Then shalt thou choose from us. Till then ! No more. Pen. I will do so. Telem. Mother, think not that I — Pen. My child, I have no blame for you at all. EuRYM. \_To Suitors.] Thy answer, then, when that faint moon is full ! Antin. I challenge any here to hurl the quoit : To the market-place. EuRYM. Haste, then, ere it grow dark. [Telemachus again comes forward to Penelope. Pen. Go with them, child ! Nay, thou hast done no wrong. \^Exeunt all but Penelope, who stands stretching out her arms in the darkening twilight. 48 UL YSSES Where art thou, husband ? Dost thou lie even now Helpless with coral, and swaying as the sea sways? Or dost thou live, and art with magic held By some strange woman on a lone sea isle? Yet we are bound more close than by a charm; By fireside plans and counsel in the dawn — Like gardeners have we watched a growing child. Thy son is tall, thou wilt be glad of him ; All is in order; by the fire thy chair, Thy bed is smoothed, but now these hands have left it. Thou knowest the long years I have not quailed. True to a vision, steadfast to a dream, Indissolubly married to remembrance ; But now I am so driven I faint at last ! Why must my beauty madden all these wolves? Why have the gods thus guarded my first bloom? UL YSSES 49 WTiy am I fresh, why young, if not for thee? Come ! come, Ulysses ! Burn back through the world ! Come, take the broad seas in one mighty leap, And rush upon this bosom with a cr\', Ere 'tis too late, at the last, last instant — come ! {Again the Messtrel's song is heard as the scene changes. Scene II The shore of Ogygia with the sea-cave of Calypso. A vine full of fruit trails over one side of the cave, and round about it grow whispering poplars and alders, from under which rillets of water run to the sea. Beyond, a verdant shore, with thickets of oleander, etc., and the ship of Ulysses lying beached. Within the cave a fire burning gives out the smell of sawn D 50 UL YSSES cfdar and sandal-wood. The sun behind is sinking, and the loatt-r is golden, while over all broods a magic light. A chorus of Ocean- Nymphs is discovered dancing and singing on the sands. Enter along the shore Ulysses and Calypso. Cal. Art thou content then, utterly content ? Ulys. I'll drift no more upon the dreary sea. No yearning have I now, and no desire. Here would I be, at ease upon this isle Set in the glassy ocean's azure swoon, With sward of parsley and of violet, And poplars shivering in a silvery dream, And smell of cedar sawn, and sandal-wood. And these low-crying birds that haunt the deep. Cal. Thy home, then ? Hast no thought of it at all ? ULYSSES 51 Ulys. It seemeth to me like a far, faint place. Cal. Rememberest thou thy wife ? Ulys. \^Dreamily,'\ As through a mist : And dim she seems, and muffled, and away. Those crimson lips again ! O eyes half-closed, That closing slowly draw my soul from me ! Thou fallest back, thy hair blows in my face, And all the odour goeth to my brain. Cal. Come ! I would have thee sleep upon this bank Till the first star shall light us to our couch Of o'erblown roses and of fallen leaves. \_She leads Ulysses out and he lies upon a bank. Thy purple cloak, wilt have it so, or so? Now sleep, my love : thou canst not go from me. \She returns and passes within the cave. \_Calling the Nymphs about her: 52 UL YSSES The golden shuttle and the violet wool : And all ye nymphs sing to me while I spin. Nymphs. \Singing.'\ From the green heart of the waters We, old ocean's daughters, Have floated up with mortal men to play ; Out of the green translucent night Up to the purple earthly light, To dance with creatures of a day. For alas ! we have seen the sailor asleep Where the anchor rusts on the ooze of the deep. But never, never before Have we seen a mortal dance on the long seashore. Herm. \_Appearing, unseen by Calypso and her nymphs, and standing over Ulysses where he lies asleep^ Ulysses, thralled by passion this long while. ULYSSES 53 I lift from thee the glamour of this isle. Olympian wisdom bids thee waken free Of white Calypso's glimmering witchery. Behold, I raise from thee the magic woe : \_Touching him with caduceus. Now lies it in thyself to stay or go. [Hermes stands aside and watches Ulysses, whoy slowly awakening, begins to gaze and stretch out his anns over the sea. NvNiPHS. [ Watching Ulysses from the mouth of the cave and singing.'] See, see Ulysses, weary and wise. Sing low, sing low with downcast eyes; For he rouses at last. And his eyes are cast To the land where his spirit would be, Over the violet sea. 54 UL YSSES Alas for the arms that yearn ! Alas for the eyes that burn ! Ulysses — Ulysses — ah ! \They all start up as Hermes steps sud- denly amongst them. Cal. Hermes, I know thee, though too rarely seen ; What is your will with me ? Art thou from Zeus ? Some word of Zeus thou bringest; let me hear. Herm. Lady, who sitteth there upon the shore ? Cal. It is Ulysses. Ah, 'tis not of him? Herm. There sits the man of whom I came to speak. Cal. Say then ! Herm. Thus Zeus commands : that you set free Ulysses. ULYSSES 55 Cal. Ah ! Herm. And waft him on the deep, If in his heart he hungers for his home. Cal. He is most happy and forgets his home. Herm. Yet if he shall desire at last his hearth — Cal. He will not — no ! — Herm. Then shalt thou waft his sails. Cal. He shall not go ! Herm. But Zeus commands. Cal. I say He will not care to go, doth not desire ; To leave me hath not entered in his heart. Yet will I set him free if he so choose ; But I am sure of him. Herm. And he shall have More peril being gone, down into hell Must pass, and view the hollow night of things. 56 UL YSSES Cal. This will I tell him. Herm. No ! for Zeus forbids. Farewell, Calypso — linger I may not. \_Exit Hermes. Cal. I cannot doubt thee, and the spell was strong. \_She goes to the door of the cave and calls Ulysses three times. At last he hears and rises, then comes slowly down to her rubbing his eyes like one awakening from a trance. Cal. Art thou Ulysses that so slowly comest? Who hath bewitched thee that thou gazest past me? And thou wert wont to rush into my arms ! \She leads him within the cave — Ulysses still seeming numbed and changed. Ulysses, there hath been a god with me, A messenger from Zeus. Come from the shadow, UL YSSES 57 That I may see your face. Thus Zeus commands : * If sad Ulysses yearns to see his home — ' S^He starts and gazes again seaward. Ah ! you would go then ! back the bright blood comes, And to your eyes the sea-light ! Ulys. Goddess — I — Cal. ' If sad Ulysses burns to see his home,' Then Zeus commands me that I let you go. Ah ! set your teeth upon your hps : but still I hear wild music at your heart. Ulys. \_Beginning to recover and realise.'] O whence Comes this release— or— this command of Zeus? Cal. O spoil it not ! then thus comes this release. The gods have pity on you, seeing you Unwilhngly beguiled by cold Calypso. 58 UL YSSES And more ; I am to swell your aching sails, And breathe you with a breeze over the deep : Only if you desire — 'tis in your will. Well ! well ! Why do you gaze so in my eyes ? Ulys. I have learned to dread what cometh suddenly. And sniff about a sweet thing Hke a hound : And most I dread the sudden gifts of gods. Cal. Gifts! Ulvs. I would say commands — this is some lure. Swear suddenly 'tis not ! {Harshly and quickly. Cal. Is this thy voice? Put me upon my oath, and I'll swear false. I tell you out of a sad heart the truth. Ulys. \Still hmtating.'] Who bore this mes- sage down? Cal. Hermes. ULYSSES 59 Ulys. a most Garrulous god ! Cal. He came from Zeus himself. Ulys. And Zeus himself I trust not over-far. Hurler of bolts ! I speak it reverently. \_Seizing her arm. I will not loose you, till you swear by Styx, River of hell, the dreaded oath of gods. Cal. I swear to you by Styx, river of hell ! Ulys. {_Breaking away.'] O then the ship, the ship ! Cal. \_Detaining him.'] A moment yet ! Kiss me, dear guest ! My love for you is deep, But ah ! not deep enough to wish you home. Ulys. The gods command : we mortals but obey. Cal. Why will you leave me? I must let you go, But not without a reason : must I ? Speak ! 6o UL YSSES I do but ask the why of what must be. '\_He kisses her absently. Is this Ulysses' kiss? Ulys. Goddess, this news Makes me forgetful. Cal. Worse and worse ! Ulys. Again \_Kisses her. Cal. This out of gratitude? And when you gaze Into my eyes you see a world beyond. \^He again moves to go. Yet stay ! I do not ask for the old look, Or to Ue nearer in the deep of night : That's ended like a song. But I will know Why you so burn to sail; why suddenly I touch these arms of stone, this hand of flint, Why suddenly your eyes peer seaward, why UL YSSES 6l All in one moment you are mad for home. Is it your wife whom you at last remember? Penelope? — doth she not drag her feet A little as she walks ? — slow — but how chaste ! If I could see her, I would understand. Ulys. I'd not compare Penelope with thee. Cal. I have shown you amorous craft, tricks of delay, Tears that can fire men's blood; you must for- get These, and return to simple husbanding. Hath she the way of it? all the sweet wiles? The love that shall not weary, must be art. Ulys. She hath no skill in loving — but to love. Cal. And are her eyes dark; dark, yet with lightning ? Never a blue eye held a man like thee. Ulys. I have forgot the colour of her eyes. 62 UL YSSES Cal. Patient and fair and comfortable? yes? Stands she as I do? Is her head so poised? Ulys. How should a mortal like a goddess stand ? Cal. And can she set a rose in bosom or hair? Ulys. She hath a wisdom amid garden flowers. Cal. Doth she sing sweet? Ulys. The songs of my own land. Cal. \SHddenly?^ She hath forgotten thee, so long away. Ulys. I would remind her with what speed I can. Cal. Remember, she is mortal : she must die. Ulys. Therefore I flee the faster to her side. Cal. O what an end ! You two will sit in the sun. And challenge one another with grey hairs. Ulys. And so to spare your eyes I would be gone UL YSSES 63 Ere this my head to such a greyness grow. Cal. How shall my heart contend against your brain ? Now by that time I thought eternity, By long sea-evenings when all words would cease, By all the sad tales of thy wandering, Sad tales which will be happy to remember, Tell me the reason of this haste to go, 'Tis she, I know ; I want no words to tell me. But is it she? And now I do recall Even in your wildest kiss a kiss withheld. Even in abandonment a something kept ; When veil on veil fell from you, still a veil. When you so poured your soul out that a woman, Even a woman, had in her heart said ' now ! ' I felt in all that sweet a something stern. 64 UL YSSES Ulys. Why harp upon my wife? You being woman Too much exalt the woman : a thousand calls Are ringing in my ears : my mother pined — Cal. When did a lover heed a mother's woe? Ulys, My father desolate or dead : my son — Cal. No father nor no son could launch that ship. Ulys. My comrades, then ! [Ulysses' comrades meanwhile are wander- ing at back. Whatever my inclining, They still have homes which I must think upon Who took them far. Cal. Friend hath killed friend for love. Ulys. My empty throne and my neglected land : Duty — UL YSSES 65 Cal. O ! hath it come to duty now? Duty, that grey ash of a burnt-out fire, That lies between a woman and a man ! We fence and fence about : tell me the truth. Why are you mad for home? I'll have the truth, Once and once only, but the living truth. Ulys. [/« a wild burst.'] Then have the truth ; I speak as a man speaks ; Pour out my heart like treasure at your feet. This odorous amorous isle of violets, That leans all leaves into the glassy deep, With brooding music over noontide moss. And low dirge of the lily-swinging bee, — Then stars like opening eyes on closing flowers, — Palls on my heart. Ah, God ! that I might see Gaunt Ithaca stand up out of the surge. You lashed and streaming rocks, and sobbing crags, E 06 UL YSSES The screaming gull and the wild-flying cloud : — To see far off the smoke of my own hearth, To smell far out the glebe of my own farms, To spring alive upon her precipices, And hurl the singing spear into the air; To scoop the mountain torrent in my hand, And plunge into the midnight of her pines; To look into the eyes of her who bore me, And clasp his knees who 'gat me in his joy, Prove if my son be like my dream of him. We two have played and tossed each other words ; Goddess and mortal we have met and kissed. Now am I mad for silence and for tears, For the earthly voice that breaks at earthly ills. The mortal hands that make and smooth the bed. I am an-hungered for that human breast, ULYSSES . 67 That bosom a sweet hive of memories — There, there to lay my head before I die, There, there to be, there only, there at last ! [Calypso weeps. Ulysses comes and touches her softly. Remember, Goddess, the great while it is, How far, far back, alas how long ago ! Cal. \_Clingifig about him.~\ Now wilt thou leave me, now, close on the hour Of silent planets luring us thro' dew, And steady pouring slumber from the waves, Wave after wave upon the puzzling brain? Ulys. My wife, my wife ! Cal. And, mortal, I will breathe Delicious immortality on thee. Stay with me, and thou shall not taste of death. Ulys. I would not take life but on terms of death. 68 UL YSSES That sting in the wine of being, salt of its feast. To me what rapture in the ocean path Save in the white leap and the dance of doom? O death, thou hast a beckon to the brave, Thou last sea of the navigator, last Plunge of the diver, and last hunter's leap. Cal. Yet, yet, Ulysses, know that thou art going Into a peril not of sky nor sea, But to a danger strange and unimagined. Ulys. I'd go down into hell, if hell led home ! Cal. {^Resignedl}\\ Call up your comrades ! Bid them hoist the sails ! Ulys. Comrades ! {^He lifts his arms and cries to his followers, who co7ne rtaining to him, leaving the Nymphs on the shore.'] Great hearts, that with me have so long Breasted the wave and broken through the snare, UL YSSES 69 Have we not eaten and drunk on magic shores? Your hands here ! \They crowd round him eagerly, some clasp- ing, others kissing his hands. Comrades. O great captain ! Ulys. Have we not Heard all the Sirens singing and run free? Com. Lead ! lead ! Ulys. Close, close to me ! have we not burst Up from the white whirl of Charybdis' pool? Com. Storm-weatherer ! mighty sailor ! \_They clasp his knees. Ulys. What say you? Shall we put forth again upon the deep? Co^L We will go with thee even into hell ! \_They raise a great shout. Ulys. Then Zeus decrees that we again set forth And break at last the magic of this isle. JO ULYSSES Com. Yet whither — whither? Ulys. Would ye see at last Gaunt Ithaca? Com. Ah, God! Ulys. Would ye behold The bright fires blaze and crackle on your hearths ? Com. Torment us not ! Ulys. Would you again catch up Your babes? Com. Have pity ! Ulys. And clasp again your wives ? Com. Cease ! cease ! Ulys. Then homeward will we sail to-night. Com. \_With amazed cries.'] Home? Home? \_A wail of Nymphs is heard on sands. ULYSSES 71 Ulys. Now lay the rollers under her, And you make taut the ropes, you, hoist the sails, And run her down with glee into the deep ! Com. \_Rushing off in various directions.'] The ship ! the ship ! Ithaca ! Praise the gods ! Cal. \_Coming out with cup.] The cup, Ulys- ses ! Drink to me farewell ! Ulys. {Taking cup.] First unto Zeus that would not have us die. But suffered us to see our homes again. Farewell, Calypso, the red sun half way Is sunk and makes a firelight o'er the deep. Cal. Remember me a httle when thou comest To thine own country. Say farewell to me, Not to the thought of me ! Ulys. I will not. See ! The ship moves ! Hark, their shouts ! She moves ! she moves. 72 UL YSSES Hear you the glorying shingle cry beneath her? She spreads her wings to fly upon the deep ! \The cries of Ulysses' crew are heard as the ship is shoved down and they climb in. Ulysses springs in and stands in the stern. Men. We float ! we float ! Ulys. Now each man to the oar And, leaning all together, smite the sea ! For it is fated we shall see our homes ! [ The ship puts off, and the wind raised by Calypso fills the sails. Cal. I breathe a breeze to waft thee over sea ! Ah, could I waft thee back again to me ! \_The ship gradually disappears, the Joyous chorus of Ulysses' boatmen dying off as the wailing of the Nymphs becomes louder. A cloud gathers over the scene. UL YSSES 73 \The curtain descends, but rising again dis- covers the ship, now a black speck on red sunset, and Calypso standing alone looking after it across the sea. [ Wailing of Sea-Nymphs. CURTAIN ACT II ACT II Scene I A gloomy barren shore, loith black broken cliffs and a fetv cowering trees : at the back the entrance to a vast cave. Enter Ulysses slowly, armed and carrying a hunting spear; he gazes about him. Ulys. a dark land and a barren ! Hither urged By strange and cold compulsion of the sea, What hope for us of shelter or of food? A grassless, fruitless, unsustaining shore ! I have outpaced my comrades. [ Calls'^ Phocion ! Elpenor ! The gods lied to me who swore That we should see our homes again. Yet now, 77 78 UL YSSES What breathed sweetness as of blended flowers? Nearer and nearer still ! Enter Athene. Athene ! Thou I Preceded by the fragrance of thy soul. Ath. Ulysses, know'st thou to what land thou art come? Ulys. I know not, but I know the gods did lie Who swore that I should see at last my home. Ath. The gods lied not, for thou shalt see thy home. Ulys. ^^Eagerly.'l Ah ! Ath. If thou hast but courage to descend Thither ; to gather tidings of thy land There, in the dark world, and win back thy way. Ulys. What world? UL YSSES 79 Ath, Doth not the region even now Strike to thy heart? These warning cypress trees, This conscious umbrage cowering to the ground, The creeping up of the slow fearful foam ; Rocks rooted in th^ terror of some cry That rang in the beginning of the world : All nature frighted into barrenness. Lo, mortal, here the very gate of death. And this no other than the door of hell ! [Ulysses falls on his face. Swoonest thou down, Ulysses? Wouldst thou see Thy home? Ulys. My home, alas ! Ath. Thither ! Wouldst thou Catch to thy breast thy wife? Ulys. My wife, my wife ! Ath. Thither! 8o UL YSSES Ulys. \_Rising wi/dfy.'] Who should endure this? Back to the sea! Back to the wild sea ! Farewell, Ithaca ! To the wild winds ! Penelope, farewell ! \_Makes to go, Ath. Ulysses! \_He stops. Hast thou that in thee which 1 Have vaunted of thee 'mid the mighty gods, And have stood surety for thee in high heaven? Ulys. Hast thou no pity? Ath. More than ever a woman ; But as my pity, so my pride in thee. Ulys. Why unto me, to me alone, is heaven For ever cruel? Have I not borne enough, Cyclops and Sirens and Charybdis' whirl, Ogre and witch and dreadful swoop of winds, That hell now stands between me and my home? UL YSSES 8l Ath. The Power that is behind the gods decrees To make a fiery trial of thy spirit. Ulys. Is there no other way? Ath. Thither alone, Led by cold Hermes, who alone of gods May pass that portal. Now, Ulysses, learn What first must be encountered, and o'ercome. Right in the threshold Hunger stands, and Hate, And gliding Murder with his lighted face. And Madness howling, Fear, and neighing Lust, And Melancholy with her moony smile. And Beauty with blood dripping from her lips. Then shalt thou view the inmost house of woe, And all the faint unhappy host of hell. If these thou canst endure and pass, thou shalt Hear tidings of thy home and of thy wife. Emerge and come at last to thine own land. F 82 ULYSSES Ulys. The gods lay on me more than I can bear. Ath. Thy native shore ! Ulys, The darkness and the dead ! Ath. Thy warm fire-blaze ! Ulys. The grave and all the grief! Ath. Voice of thy wife ! \_Famt wailings from the abyss. Ulys. That crying from the deep ! Ath. Dare, dare it ! Ulys. Is it sworn I shall return Upward and homeward? Ath. In thy will it lies. Thou, thou alone canst issue out of hell. Ulys. Then? Then? Ath. Thou shalt return. Zeus give thy voice. \Thunder. Ulys. I go ! ULYSSES 83 Ath. Now thou art mine ! \_She vanishes. Comrades. \_Beard off.'] Ulysses! Where? Enter Comrades. Elpenor. We have found thee, captain ! Another. Does this land give aught That we can eat? Another. Or drink? Another. O good roast flesh ! Another. Even bread were something. Another. Great Ulysses, speak ! [Ulysses remains with fixed gaze on the en- trance of the cave. Another. What hast thou speared for supper, hunter fleet? [Ulysses slowly turns and looks on them. 84 UL YSSES Ulys. Listen ! \_A sound of cries, at first faint, rises. They all come round him fearfully. Three times the cries arise, each time louder. Phocion. Who are they that cry up from the earth ? Ulys. The dead ! Com. The dead ! Phoc. And this? What is the place? Ulys. We now are standing at the door of hell! [They shudder away from him in silence, all but Phocion. Phoc. Come ! come away ! Ulys. No ! for I must descend. Thus only can we reach our homes again. ULYSSES 85 Phoc. In every peril have I been with thee : Let me be with thee here ! Ulys. \_Tender/y.'] My Phocion ! Elp. I am an old, old man ! am long for- gotten Even by my dearest. Let me go with thee ! Ulys. It may not be : leave me, and say no word ! \_They gradually disappear. [Ulysses advances and peers into the dark. A long solitary cry causes him to reel back, and he seems to hesitate, when again Athene stands opposite him S7niling. After a mute appeal to her for help, she vanishes. He again ad- va?ices, but recoils as from some terri- ble sight. Heilm. [ WithinP^ Ulysses ! 86 UL YSSES Com. \^From a distance^ Ulysses ! [Ulysses after a momenfs pause gradually and fearfully descends. Scene II The descent into Hades. As the stage is dark- ened waitings are heard and a sound of moaning wind which ceases as Scene IL dis- closes a world of darkness with all tlmigs im- palpable, save for a precipitous descent dimly seen, and at its foot a livid river flowing, a black barge floating on it. There is a continual movement as of wings and flying things. A sudden flash of Ulysses' armour discovers him beginning to descend warily with Hermes in silence. Ulys. Darkness ! Herm. Descend ! UL YSSES 87 Ulys. Thy hand ! I fear to fall. Herm. Thou, thou alone canst downward tread. Ulys. But this! Is it ocean, land, or air? I grope down, down ! \Pausesr\^ A whist world ! but for whirring as of wings. \JJe looks dowji intently. Is that a forest yonder, that sways and sighs With a vast whisper? yet no trees I see. And there, what seems an ocean : yet no wave ! The wonder of it takes away the fear. {They descend further. Ulysses pauses as a faint cry is heard. Listen ! \_Again the cry comes, nearer. Again, and nearer. What cry, so feeble and so frail? 88 UL YSSES Herm. It is the cry of children that died young. The glitter of thy armour lures them toward thee. \The Spirits of Children flit about him unth wistful cries. Ulys. Little bewildered ghosts in this great night ! They flock about me — Herm. Wandering on their way To banks of asphodel and spirit flowers. Ulys. Ah, a girl's face ! A boy there with bright hair ! He is new come and is not listless yet. And thou dost make a little prattling noise And hast not learned to speak ! A Child. O the bright armour ! Another. O father, bring us to the place of flowers ! UL YSSES 89 Another. We have lost our way ! Show us the grassy fields ! [Ulysses makes appealing gesture to Hermes, who stands silent. Ulys. I cannot bring you, children, to those flowers. \_The Children fiit away with wistful cries. Ulysses starts forward. And 'tis not from the prattle of dead babes I shall have tidings of my home, my wife. Down and yet down ! \_Again they descend. [Shapes of Furies appear circling in the air. Hermes, I am pursued. But O by whom? As sharks to him that drowns, They make toward me, sidelong swimming shapes ! 90 UL YSSES I'll draw my sword. \He draws his sword and thrusts vainly at the Shapes. Herm. What use to strike at phantoms? The Furies these, who hurrying to the earth To scourge the wicked, scent thee in mid-flight. Ulys. [/« terror?^ Over and over me ! and round and round ! They'll search the guilt out in my secret soul. Their eyes go through my body to my heart ! I am but a man ! I am all black within ! They leave me, they hft their faces to the wind ! Upward they rush ! Herm. A sudden scent from earth ! \They again descend. Ulys. More and more difficult — yet down and down ! UL YSSES 9» And now I seem to wade, and now to part Entangled branches, now pass through a cloud. {^He pauses.'] Hermes, a sighing near my feet, as of reeds. And now about me phantoms, men and women. [Phantoms of Suicides rise about him. One hath a scarred throat, and that woman holds Poison as in a phial — what are ye? First Phan. \_To Ulysses.] Thou, thou hast life in thee, and flesh and blood. See, see the man is in the body yet. Ulys. What are ye? Second Phan. Spirits of those who cast away Sweet Ufe and slew ourselves with violent hands. \_The Phantoms circle about him. First Phan. In madness I ! Second Phan. And I in jealousy ! 92 ULYSSES Phan. of Ph^dra. Me ! Me ! Knowest thou not me? Phsedra was I, The queen that burned for cold Hippolytus, Who scorned me till I knotted here the noose. Ulys. And art thou Phaedra? Ph.«dr. Give me back the sun And all the scorn again ! Only the sun ! First Phan. Seest thou that glimmer? there still gleams the world ! Phantoms. [ Together. '\ Back : take us back ! How soon these wounds would heal ! Ulys. O ye that being dead, so love the light ! Yet is there not some dear and favourite field, Some holiest earth where each of ye would be? Phantoms. [ Wheeling round.'] Ah, ah ! Ulys. Doth one of you perchance remember UL YSSES 93 A windy land that stands out of the sea Gull-haunted, and men call it Ithaca? {The Phantoms float away with sad cries. A pause. No ! not from babes nor these who slew them- selves Wring I one word of that which I would know. Ah ! bring me to that ghost that shall reveal ! \_Again they descend, but Ulysses pauses. Herm. Why tarry we, Ulysses? Ulys. Hermes, this world Begins to grip my heart with gradual cold ! how shall I descend in flesh and blood Unready and unripe ? I have not died : Therefore I fear ! You gods, first let me have The pang, the last sweat and the rattling throat, The apparelling and the deep burying, \nd die ere I descend amid the dead. 94 UL YSSES Herm. 'Tis in thy will. Remember Ithaca. Ulys. [ With effort.'] Down, down ! Yet terror hath ta'en hold on me. \_The burning forms of Lovers suddenly surround him. O what are ye? What fire consumes you still? First Phan. We are the spirits of lovers who still love. Ulys. Did not the cold grave all that burning quench ? Second Phan. No ! for that fire did eat into our souls. Phan. of Eurydice. Look upon me ! I am Eurydice That for one moment was so near the day, When Orpheus backward looked, and all was night. O lay me on his heart again ! [_The Phantoms wheel about him. UL YSSES 95 Phan. of Protesilaus. Ah ! come, Laodamia ! Phan. of Phyllis. \Woman!\ O Demophoon ! Another. O fire that dies not with our death ! Another. Alas ! Ulys. Do I not burn for a breast unreachable, And languish for one voice I may not hear? For her that weepeth by the rolhng sea, Penelope ! [Phantoms disappear with wailings. No answer still, no word ! That oath was hollow as this hollow world Which said I should hear tidings of my home. Where is that spirit that shall tell me? Herm. Lo ! The foot of the descent ! Ulys. Have I then come Thro' hell at last : now surely — now to hear. 96 UL YSSES Herm. No, for the river waits thee and the barge. Ulys. What river? Herm. See ! the creeping Stygian stream, The mournful barge in which thou must embark And drift thro' more tremendous torments, ere Thou shall have tidings of thy home and wife. Ulys. [JViMy.'] Is't not enough to have de- scended hither Breathing and in the flesh? Now must I drift Upon the dreadful river? Spare me, Zeus ! Athene, who didst never leave me yet, Athene! hearken! — even she forsakes me. O Hermes ! Herm. None can aid thee but thy will, Ulys. [ IVif/i a cry.'] On, Hermes, on, even to the river of hell ! [^TTiey approach the river, and Hermes enters UL YSSES 97 the barge, but as Ulysses is embarking Charon starts fonvard oar in hand. Charon. Stay thou ! The flesh still chngs about thy limbs, The blood runs in thy veins ! Rash fool, for- bear ! - Here is no passage save for spirits ! Back ! Back to the earth or fear some monstrous doom. S^He thrusts Ulysses aside. Herm. Charon ! by heaven's permission comes this man. Take thou thy oar and urge us down the stream. \_They begin to drift, and now they pass the woe of Tantalus and the fruit. Lo ! Tantalus in his eternal thirst Still reaching at the fruit he may not grasp. See how the wind carries the branches from him. 98 UL YSSES Ulys. Ah ! Tantalus, do I not reach and grasp not? \_They pass the woe of Tantalus and drift onward, when suddenly on the bank Teiresias the Seer starts forward. Teir. Ulysses, art thou come, then? Is no toil Too hard for thee that thou must drift thro' hell? Ulys. Teiresias, prophet true ! of all men thee, Thee do I thirst to hear, now shall I know. Shall I return unto my home at last? Teir. Thou shalt return. Ulys. O Zeus! Teir. Yet with sheer loss Of all thy comrades under tempest crash. Ulys. Alas ! Teir. And to a home of strife and storm ; UL YSSES 99 To deadlier peril even than here in hell ; To danger and to darkness shalt return. Ulys. And she, Penelope — doth she still live? Teir. She lives. Ulys. O thou kind heaven ! and holds she true? Teir. She lives. Ulys. O if thou hast a heart, though dead, Thou wilt not leave me thus. Teir. She lives : farewell. \_The Shade of Teiresias disappears ; agai?i they drift onward. Ulys. ' Lives ' and no more is worse to me than 'dead.' Would that I had known nothing ! onward — on ! This fire he hath put in me I must quench ! \_They pass the woe of Sisyphus and the stone. lOO UL YSSES Herm. See Sisyphus that in his anguish rolls Upward, ever, the stone which still rebounds. Mark how the sweat falls, and what whirl of dust ! Ulys. Ah, brother, such a stone I roll in vain ! There is no torment here that is not mine. l_T/iey pass the woe of Sisyphus, and again drift on. Ulys. Is there not one of all these ghosts that throng The bank, one only, that can tell me truth. Hermes ! yon spirit lordlier than the rest With something in his pace familiar : See how he cometh thro' the other shades With such imperial stride and sovereign motion. Herm. {To Shade.] Stay thou ! \_The Shade turns, disclosing the form of Agamemnon. Ulys. Ah, mighty Agamemnon ! king ! UL YSSES loi royal 'mid the dead as in the light ! 1 am Ulysses : often we took counsel Under the stars, in the white tents, at Troy. Now speak to me : a hving man I come Amid the dead for tidings of my wife Penelope. Doth she hold true to me? Ag.\m. Ulysses, fear thy wife ! Fear to return. Ulys. What? What? O speak ! Agam. Thy wife awaits thee now Coiled like a snake to strike thee with her fangs. Ulys. Unthinkable ! Agam. She weaveth death for thee ! Ulys. Horrible ! Agam. Look on me, me whom my wife False Clytemnsestra lured unto the bath And struck me here where now thou see'st the wound. 102 UL YSSES I that first night did bathe in my own blood, The first night, the sweet night of my return. Ulys. \_Bowing his head.'] O Agamemnon ! Agam. She while I did fight About Troy city for ^gisthus burned, She snared, she slew me, then with him she slept. Ulys. Penelope ! I'll kiss thee and fear not. Agam. Never so sweet was Clytemnaestra's kiss As on that night, her voice, never so soft. \_The Shade of Agamemnon disappears, and again they drift onward. Ulys. Are these the tidings, these for which I dared This darkness and the very river of hell? I'll not believe it. O for some fresh voice ! On, on ! I cannot hear worse words than these. \_They pass the woe m. These were the lips that kissed thee, This was the very breast which gave thee milk, And this the voice that sang thee into sleep. Ulys. What brought thee to thy death? Anti. Waiting for thee, Waiting and weeping, and long wondering. Ulys. Alas, alas ! and mother, she? she lives — But stays she true to me? A>rrL Child, I have come But lately to this place, and when I died Still was she true to thee, and knew not time. Ulys. At last, at last the word tliat lighteth hell ! One word ! and thou alone, mother, couldst speak it ! Thy voice alone : thine out of ail the dead ! io6 UL YSSES Anti. It seems no farther off than yesterday That she and I were standing hand in hand Looking for thee across the misted sea. [Uu^ssES weeps. But child, tho' lately I did leave her crue, What hath befallen since? Ulysses, home ! I am aware of tumult in thy halls. Confusion and a roar of hungry voices, And peril closing round Penelope : Fierce peril, child ! O hasten ! Ulys. Ah ! what peril ? Anti. I know not : but the time is short : she hath Swift need of thee : haste, haste ! tho' how I yearn To keep thee for a little comfort ! yet Home, get thee home ! Ulys. Farewell, mother — farewell! \The Ghosts begin to surge about him. i'LYSSES 107 Anti. Speed, speed ! [Ulysses rushes to the foot of the descent, and stumbles upward, a multitude of Shadows swarming with cries about him. Ulys. She lives, and she is true to me. But she hath need of me ! Up to the earth ! [Ghosts wheel about him with cries. whirhng dead ! And a great swirl of souls. Wife ! wife ! I come. [ Cries. Ithaca ! Ithaca ! \_Fiercer cries. 1 gasp and fight toward thee ! Still endure ! Think me not dead ! O hear me out of hell ! \_Fiercer and louder cries of the whirligig dead. Ah ! shall I reach that glimmer? Upward, up ! Faint not, Penelope : faint not, endure ! ACT III ACT III Scene I 77/1? seashore of Ithaca veiled in a sea-j?iist, the petit-house in front of the hut of EuM^us the stvineherd dimly visible up stage. Ulysses, aged by suffering and exposure, is tying asleep under a tattered sea-cloak ; on one side of him stands Athene, on the other Poseidon. « Ath. [ With outstretched artn.'] Depart, Posei- don ! Thou canst vex no more Ulysses, who now sleeps on his own shore, By hunger withered and by tempest wrung, From toil to toil, from hell to shipwreck flung. Here let thy buffetings and fury end ! Ill 112 ULYSSES Pos. He shall not rest ! Even here his limbs I'll rend : Back to the foam-path shall the man be hurled, To plunge and tumble on the watery world ! Ath. Let Zeus then from Olympus give a sign, And thunder answer to my prayer or thine. Pos. [^Raising his hands.'] Father of gods ! to me be vengeance given, That none henceforward mock the might of heaven. Ath. Father, permit the man peace in his home. And lift at last the wandering curse of foam. [Zeus thunders, Athene makes gesture to Poseidon. Pos. Highest, I hear thy thunder and obey ! \_Going. Woe to all ships 1 meet upon my way. \^Exii Poseidon. ULYSSES 113 Ath. {^Bending cn'er Ulysses.] At last I ease thy bosom of its sighs, And close the tribulation of those eyes. Soft as a sister over thee I bend, Mortal, and move as an immortal friend. There is no earthly burning in this breast. No fever, but this love is rich in rest ; The wistfulness of women I may feel, And mine the faithful smile, the hands that heal ; But what in them is passion falls from me Only as dew doth in benignity. Yet once more will I tr>^ thee, to make clear If yet thy wit is nimble ; and appear As a young goatherd from the pasture near. \_Tiirmng before she goes. Hath the wave rusted thee, or damped thy skill? Of all thy tasks the fiercest waits thee still, H 114 ULYSSES Ere I restore thee, at the destined time, To armed splendour of thy manhood's prime. \_Exii Athene. Ulys. \^Dreaming of past labours^ Ah, loose me to that music ! Cut these cords ! Hark ! breakers thro' the gloom ! Reef, reef the sail ! \_He 7vakes and gazes about him. Some god hath cast me forth upon this land ; And O! what land? So thick is the sea-mist, All is phantasmal. What king ruleth here? What folk inhabit? — cruel unto strangers, Or hospitable? The gods have lied to me When they foretold I should see Ithaca. This is some swimming and Cimmerian isle, With melancholy people of the mist. Ah ! Ithaca, I shall not see thee more ! [He sits down in dejeetion ULYSSES 115 Enter Athene disguised as a young goat- het'd tvith a cloak and a staff. Ulys. Sir, I pray you tell me what land is this? Ath. First tell me, sir, of yourself, and from what country you are come. Ulys. {^IVith rapid affable mendacity^ My name is Neleus and in Crete was I born ; my father Melampus, and my mother Arcite. But I, sir, have a man's blood on my hands and therefore am fugitive, and seek refuge here if any may be found. Ath. {^Aside in delight.'] He hath his tale on the instant ! Ulys. But now tell me what is this shore on which I am cast up? Ath. Hast heard men speak of Ithaca? ii6 ULYSSES Ulys. \_Represstng sudden Joy.'] Ithaca ! Somewhere have I heard the name, but where? And is this Ithaca? Ath. Even so. Ulys. Is it an island or part of the main- land? Ath. An island surely. And hast thou heard never of our king? He is far-famed. Ulys. How is he called? Ath. Ulysses. Ulys. Ulysses ! Did he not sail with other chiefs against Troy city? Ath. Even so. But now we know not if he be alive or dead. Ulys. I fear that he is dead. Ath. Hast any certain news? Ulys. None certain, but I much fear that he is drowned in the salt sea. ULYSSES 117 Ath. \_Delightedly.'] Yet might his wife enter- tain thee kindly. Ulys. His wife — {^checking himself \ Ah! had he a wife ;* Ath. Surely — her name Penelope. Ulys. Penelope ! and it seems to me that her name too I have heard. Ath. O ! well said, Ulysses. Thou art never wanting. Ulys. \Startingr\^ Stranger ! Ath. I am Athene, and have taken this shape but to try thy wit. Ulys. Goddess, how shall men know thee? And yet while thou wast speaking I was aware of a tone more sweet than mortal; but would not betray thee. Ath. O excellent Ulysses, who standest there and fearest that thou art dead ! I have more Ii8 ULYSSES joy in thee than before, for thy craft is in no way abated. Ulys. But ah ! I am fooled again ! Goddess ! Is this Ithaca indeed — this very earth? Ath. Behold ! \_The sea-mist slowly unrolls, discovering the land. Ulys. Slowly the mist fades ! Ah ! the cypress tree I was so proud to plant as a boy ! and there The cave forbidden which I therefore loved ! Brighter, more bright ! The crest of Neriton ! The rustling glade there where I killed the boar. Now all the land gleams : look you there ! the ridge Where the young laughing babe Telemachus First clapped his hands at sight of the sea : and 01 ULYSSES 119 Yan holy winding path where last I kissed Penelope, who toward me swayed and spoke not. I came there down the slope most lingeringly, And turned by the myrtle tree, and turned and turned. Goddess, I cannot see for the great tears. There ! there ! the very peak to which she climbed Waving a sea-farewell with helpless hands ! O verdure to the sea-man that's come home ! O light upon the land where I was born ! dear, dear Earth, thou warm mother of me, Art glad, art glad in thy brown bosom ; here 1 kiss and kiss thee : here I fling me down And roll and clasp and cover me with thee ! \_Starting up Ah ! 'tis a dream : O God, it is a lure ! I20 ULYSSES Incredible that ever I can rest ! I am fooled by the old sea-magic : my home trembles : An apparition of the glassy deep, A fading island that we come to never ! Is it rooted, rooted fast and cannot fly? I shall go mad if I am fooled ! Speak ! speak ! Is this the earth, the earth where I was born? Ath. Ulysses, 'tis at last, 'tis Ithaca ! Ulvs. Ah ! \_Sol>s, overcotne by emotion, then slowly'] I have been but a little while away then. And suffered the great sea as in a dream. But she, Penelope? She lives, I know. And she holds true : but peril closes round her — What peril? Ath. Up, Ulysses, from the ground ! ULYSSES 121 Art broken down ? Fury, not tears, I ask ! Up, up ! thy wife by suitors is beset Who waste and strip and drink away thy home : She is hard driven and on the point to yield. Ulys, Dogs ! Dogs ! Ath. Wilt thou not rush upon them straight And slay them? smite, and on the instant? Ulys. No : I'll crouch before I spring, spy ere I leap. Ath. O wise, still wise ! Now have I tried thee sure. Rage doth not make thee rash ! No more I doubt. Now bow thy back ! and cast on thee that cloak. Thou art so marred with the sea misery That none will know thee : lean thee on this staff, 122 ULYSSES And as a beggar knock at thy own door, And weave in thy own halls these wooers' doom. [ Going. Ulys. Now dost thou leave me, in so fierce a pass? Ath. I'd see thee stand alone; 'tis sweet to those In heaven at seasons to withhold their aid. But I am ever with thee, unto the end. Strike not, Ulysses, till I send the sign. Ulys. What sign ? Ath. a lightning flash : till then forbear. Ulys. \_Asstimtng his disguise and recognizing the hut of Eumceus.'] Ah ! the old swine- hut : lives Eumaeus yet? \_Exit Athene. \_He walks slowly towards the hut. EuM^us is heard within : * G-r-r Antifious, in ULYSSES 123 Eurylochus, g-r-r Ctesippus.' EumvEUS comes out to the pent-house in front of the hut, carrying a pointed stick. EuM. Away, old beggar ! Here are no leav- ings for you ! Ulvs. Sir, but a handful of husks that the swine have left. EuM. Out ! These are Ulysses' swine : they leave nothing. Ulys. Sir, I fall with hunger. EuM. And so perhaps even now does my mas- ter. Ulys. I have tidings of your lord Ulysses. EuM, That's an old tale with you beggars — you have all seen Ulysses, and then you are well fed by his queen Penelope. \^He begins ?naking a mash for the swine.'] One saw him in Troy- land, another in Crete, another saved him from 124 ULYSSES drowning, another saw him drown but could not save him. One hath a lock of his hair, another the string of his sandal. Dost carry anything of his about thee? Ulys. I do. EuM. And what? Ulys. His hunger. EuM. Away, you saucy beggar, or I'll loose his dogs on you : yet no. His wife will be wroth if any are turned away who can tell of Ulysses. Is thy lie ready, is it a good lie? Ulys. Sir, I beseech you, food ! EuM. Come in, then, and earn thy supper. I am not fooled like a woman : fill that jar with water, and pick up these fallen acorns. [Ulysses obeys. "] Where hast thou seen him then ? There is but one place where he has not been seen — Ulys. What place is that? UL YSSES 125 EuM. In hell : I recommend hell to thee : no beggar hath yet bethought him of hell. Ulys. But this would not please his wife? EuM. No, but 'twould set her mind at rest con- cerning him. Here's a piece of fat chine for thee. Ulys. Humbly I thank you. EuM. His swine are well kept stiJl — Ulys. And for that I thank you. EuM. \_Prodding swine outsid'.'] G r-r-r Anti- nous, Ctesippus ; in Eurymachus. Ulys. Are swine so called. EuM. I name these three aft^f the chief suitors, and when rage swells to bursting, I strike them so : a poor vengeance, but ready at all hours. Ulysses 1 Ah ! year after year have I been faith- ful to thee, master, and of each ol thv swine can I give account ! 126 ULYSSES Ulys. But he being far off, thou hast no need to be over-careful. EuM. I have the greater care because of the smaller need. Ulys. But if he be dead ! EuM. I'll not believe that till I hear it from his own lips. Ulys. But this Ulysses — so I have heard — was but a careless ruler, and little beloved. EuM. Old man, hast a mind to finish thy supper? Ulys. I have indeed : for my hunger is no whit abated. EuM. Then let no ill word escape thee of Ulysses, or thou wilt go hungry away ! Ulys. And his queen, Penelope? EuM. She, poor lady, is so driven by the ras- cal wooers that this very night is she to choose one of them for husband. ULYSSES 127 Ulys. This night? EuM. Yea, indeed, for this night the moon is at the full. Ulys. Take me to her, even now : my hunger is gone from me. EuM. Come, then, for the sky pales toward twilight ! \_A sound of running is heard.'] Hark! Ulys. A sound of running, and the feet nm across my heart. \_Aside.'] EuM. Back! 'tis Telemachus, Ulysses' son, rushing hither ; and see, men pursuing him to take his life. Ah ! that spear grazed his neck. Master, master ! Enter Telemachus breathless, faint with running. Telem. Eumaeus, let me die here in this faith- ful spot ! I am pursued by men set on by the 128 ULYSSES wooers ; I cannot turn ; from each bush they start. I'll die here with my face to them : but you — ah, old man ! EuM. An old beggar with the old tale of your father. \^The pursuers appear: two or three hang back, and two follow to the door of the hut. Telem. Fly, old man. EuM. They are upon us. Telem. Father, let me die as thy son should. Ulys. \_A beating at the door.'] Stand back ! Within, both of you ! I will speak with them. Telem. Wilt die then? Ulys. I do not intend so. In ! I'll have my way. [Ulysses from entrance of hut approaches the foremost of the two pursuers. ULYSSES 129 Ulys. Sir, sir, I die of hunger— I pray you. First Man. Out of my way, old dog ! Pylas, in ! Ulys. Thus do I clasp your knees, and entreat. First Man. Loose me, rags ! [Ulysses tightens his grip. Ulys. I will not loose you till you give me food. First Man. Help, Pylas, help ! his arm holds like iron ! Help, help, he pulls me down like a hound at my throat. [Ulysses hurls him doivn and springs at his throat. Telem. Take not his life : he is a hired thing. Who set you on to murder m.e? Pylas. [Ulysses suffering hiin to rise.'] Eury- machus. Telem. Ah, he whose arm is ever around my neck. [Ulysses re/eases Pylas, who limps away. I30 ULYSSES Second Man. I'll fly a land that breeds such beggars as this. Telem. Thou hast saved me — me, who am not of thy blood. Thou hast o'ertasked thy strength and tremblest : lean On me : give me thy hand. Ulys. \_Aside.'] I fear to touch it. Telem. Still thou art trembling. Come ! \_Again holds out his hand. Ulys. Suffer me, sir, To kiss this hand. \_He kisses Telemachus' hand aftd bows over it. Telem. Sorrow not thus, old man ! Lift up thine eyes. Ulys. I cannot yet : thine arm ! [Telemachus leads hi?n a step or so ULYSSES 131 There hath been a time When I had led thee thus, ay, step by step. Telem. Thou hast not looked into my face once. [Ulysses looks slowly up intc his face, laying both hands on his shoulders : he looks long on him, then bows his head. Ulys. Ah ! Thou art the son of Ulysses, art thou not? Telem. Ay, of Ulysses, him that comes not back. Ulys. I saw thy father on a lone sea-isle Once, and he spoke thy name. Telem. O what said he? Ulys. Only thy name. He looked o'er the wide sea. And softly said, ' Little Telemachus.' Telem. [Dashing tears from his eyesT^ Thou hast seen him ! art the nearest thing to him. 132 ULYSSES Ulys, And I had a sacred word from him to thy mother. Telem. Come tell it to her now, ere 'tis too late; .Suitors like wolves about her howl ; and she Must choose this very night of the full moon. Ulys. Haste, haste ! EuM. \_Comifig out.'] Old man, a cup of wine for thee, Thou'lt have no further need of any lie. Thou hast saved her son, and thou art sure of supper. Ulys. [^Drinking.] Is this Ulysses' wine? [EuM^us nods. 'Tis a good wine. \_He sets cup down suddenly, pointing to the sky, in which the full moon has become faintly visible. The moon, the moon : come. \^He starts to go. ULYSSES 133 EuM. How didst thou guess That way leads to the palace? Ulys. I came here Once as a boy, long since : my father brought me. [EuM.EUS retires again within the hut. Young sir, a moment : and this way — apart. We two are going into mighty peril. And the end who knows? now lest we meet no more, Wilt thou not kiss this grey head once? may'st thou Never such sorrow know as I have known ! [Telemachus bends over Ulysses' head and kisses it. Ulysses is shaken. From here thy palace roofs can we descry : See'st thou that upper chamber looking south? There wast thou born upon a summer night. Telem. But thou then? 134 UL YSSES Ulys. I stood by the door in fear. \^He thro7Cis back the tattered cloak and raises himself to his height. Child, I begot thee. Telem. Father, art come home? \^He falls in Ulysses' arms. Ulys. Askest thou proof? Telem. I feel that thou art he : I know it in every vein and drop of blood. Thou art ragged? Ulys. But to weave these wooers' doom. Telem. Eum?eus, hither ! my father is come home. EuM. \_Appearing at door.~\ Hast no likelier tale for me than that? Call me not from the pig-mash. Telem. Hither and see. [EuM^us comes down. Dost thou not know him? ULYSSES 135 EuM. \_Gazing at him.'] Sir, I know you not. Ulys. You that are human know me not : and yet If Argus my old hound should see me now, Though he were dying he would wag his tail. EuM. [_Confiisedfy.'] Argus, old Argus ! Ulys. And for further proof, The scar made by the boar in yonder glade ! [^He dares his knee. EuM. \_Embracing his knees.] O master, O my man of men — at last ! Ulys. Rise, 'tis no time for tears. Ye'll go with me? EuM. To death. Ulys. Yet I mistrust ye. Telem. Father ! Ulys. Not Your love : I doubt your wisdom and your craft. 136 ULYSSES When ye shall see me buffeted, reviled, Ye will forget I am a beggar man. EuM. We will revile thee more and taunt thee worse. Ulys. Can ye be very patient? for I know not As yet what I shall do : I wait the sign From her, that goddess who hath brought me hither. Telem. We will be very patient till the end. Ulys. Come then : but I will enter last, alone. Remove you every weapon from the hall. But leave three spears, three shields, upon the walls That we may snatch them when our need is come. Now haste — \_They start to go. Yet stay; if any ask of you ULYSSES 137 Why ye have thus removed the spears and shields Have ye bethought you of your answer? Telem. No. Ulys. Then say ye have removed them lest the smoke Should tarnish them ! EuM. Master, I know thee now. Thy old craft ! \_The full moon at this point shines forth brightly. Ulys. Lo, the moon already bright ! \_Exeunt. Scene II Interior of the hanqueting-hall in Ulysses' palace. The walls richly decorated and encrusted with coloured patterns, bosses and friezes of ani- mals, etc. Two columns plated with bronze 138 ULYSSES sustain the roof, the central part of which is raised so as to admit the light. On a wall hang the three spears and three shields as ordered by Ulysses, and in another place his bow in a richly-decorated case. The hall is lighted by lamps held by Attendants. The main entrance from ivithout is through a doorway with a raised threshold in the cen- tre of the stage at the back : this door stands open to the vestibule and the moonlight : a staircase on the left leads up to another door opening into the women's apartments. A dais extends along the back of the hall : on this and on the floor to right and left are disposed the tables and couches where the Suitors are discovered revelling, with the faithless Handmaidens interspersed among them and drinking from their cups, and Attend- ULYSSES 139 ANTS standi fig by and serving. Telemachus sits at the head of one of the tables. hi the cefitfe of the hall is an open space, zoith a fire burning on the hearth in the midst, and beside it the chairs of Penelope and the Minstrel, the former unoccupied. Phemius the Minstrel is seated in his chair by the hearth, singing — Great is he who fused the might Of the earth and sun and rain Into draughts of purple hght, Draughts that fire the heart and brain : Let us praise him when the goblets flash in light And the rapture of the revel fills the brain. What were revel without wine ? What were wine without a song ? I40 ULYSSES Let US hymn the gift divine With a music wild and strong, With a shouting for the god who gave the wine, And a guerdon to the minstrel for his song. Blest is he who strikes the lyre At the feast where princes quaff: Higher -mounts the mirth and higher. Loud and louder peals the laugh — [Phemius breaks off suddenly^ gazing on the Suitors in horror while a dim tnist comes down on the hall and the moon- light is obscured. Antin. What ails thee, man? EuRYM. Why dost thou stare on us? Phem. O wretched men ! What doom is coming on ye? UL YSSES 141 What mist is this that overspreads the world? Shrouded are all your faces in black night ! {_They laugh together softly and sweetly. See how the feast is dabbled o'er with blood, And all your eyes rain tears, and though ye laugh Sweetly on me, ye laugh with alien lips ! [Again they laugh sweetly upon him. And a voice of wailing arises and all the walls Drip fast with blood, yea, and with blood the roof ! [They laugh again. And the porch is full and full is the court of ghosts And spirits hurrying hell-ward in the gloom, Yea, and the light hath perished out of heaven ! Laugh not so idly on me with your lips. But arise and flee ! your doom is at the doors. 142 ULYSSES [Phemius hurries out of the hall. The viist clears and Ulysses is seen standing on the threshold in the central doorway unohsen^ed by any. Antin. Madness is come upon him ! EuRYM. O, a poet ! Ctes. He hath taken from me all desire for food. And there! is that blood there? Eurymachus ! Am I not rosy and round as ever I was? EuRYM. You are, Ctesippiis. Ctes. And I see no ghosts. Antin. He hath drunk o'ermuch : hence all this mist and blood. EuM. \_To Telemachus.] O master, see you that old beggar man? Say, shall I put him from the door? Out, out ! [ With exaggerated roughness. UL YSSES 143 Ulys. {^Coming down into the hall.'] I crave a word, sir, with Ulysses' son. Which is he? EuM. There ! Ulys. ^^Approaching Telemachus humbly.'] Suffer me, sir, a word 1 I bring you tidings of your father. Telem. [ With si?niilated harshness.] O ! The old tale ! Ulys. \_Cringingly.] Sir! Telem. Out with thee ! EuM. Out ! Telem. Or stay ! Thou shalt have leave to limp from guest to guest And eat what thou canst beg. As for your tale. My father is long dead. 144 UL YSSES Ulys. Then first from you I beg a crust of bread, or sip of wine. Telem. Here's for thee. \_Tosses him bread. Ulys. Humbly, sir, I thank you. \^He passes from guest to- guest. A Suitor. Here. \_PusJies wine-cup to hitn. Ctes. My appetite is fled : take what you will. EuRYM. Here is a gristly morsel for old gums. Mel. \_To Antinous, as Ulysses approaches.'] Antinous, keep the old man far from me ! He'll soil this robe ; and hath a smell of swine. Ulys. I would not soil you, lady; but you, sir — Antin. You louting beggar, I have nought for you ! From me ! \_IIe strikes him on the mouth. UL YSSES 145 EuRYM. He stood thy buffet like a rock ! Ulys. O my deep soul, endure ! Telem. \_Starting up.'] Antinous, I'll have no beggar struck within my halls ! Antdj. Oho ! And did I strike one of thy blood Or of thy guests? Thou filthy beggar, off! \_Stnkes him again. Ulys. Athene, patience ! EuM. All my blood boils up. [Throws log savagely on fire. Ulys. [Comi/ig near to Antinous.] O noble sir, of all who feast around. Tall men and fair, thou art the fairest far, And splendid in thy youth and in thy strength. But I am old and many have I seen So fair, so strong, fallen into misery, Princes whom in their pride the gods laid low. Remember in thy strength the evil days. K 146 UL YSSES Antin. {Starting up.'] This dismal beggar I'll endure no more, Who gibbers at the feast of evil days. Away with him or I will hurl him forth. Ctes. a sad feast this — the minstrel first sees blood : And now this beggar croaks to us of age. Clyt. Since he came in we are all grown miserable. Mel. Sirs, drive him forth, that we may laugh again Suitors. [Rising from the tables.'] Out with the old crow ! cast him out : away ! {They come round Ulysses and hustle him to the door. Telem. I say the old man shall not be thrust forth. {Aside to Ulysses.] Is it now, father, is it now? UL YSSES 147 EuM. When, when? Suitors. \_Husiling Ulysses.] Out with him ! Handmaids. Spit on him ! Suitors. Unloose the dogs ! Ctes. \_Inferposing.'] A word, a word 1 thy mother still delays : Let us beguile the time ; leave him to me. And we'll wring laughter from this kill-joy yet. \_To Ulysses with mock deference^ Give me your hand, old man ! [Ti? Suitors.] These beggars all Were princes once. Now hearken ! Sir, I see Behind these rags and filth what man thou art. Tell us — and now I look on thee I mark A something noble in thy air — thou hadst A palace once, and riches, hadst thou not? Ulvs. a palace and great riches had I once. \_Generai laughter. 148 UL YSSES Ctes. {^To Suitors.] What said I ? Yet in rags the great are known. Wast thou not in old days thyself a king? Ulys. In the old days I was myself a king. \_All laugh heartily. Ctes. \To Suitors.] Hush ! \^To Ulysses.] Look around; even such a hall hadst thou. Ulys. \_Gazing sloivly around.'] Once did I feast in some such hall as this. Ctes. Not by thine own fault (ah ! I know it well) But by some anger of the gods thou art fallen. Ulys. The gods, the gods have brought me to this pass. Antin. Impudent liar! Ctes. And thou didst leave behind A wife most beautiful, a queen of women ! UL YSSES 149 Telem. How long will he endure? EuM. O for a blow ! Mel. He is growTi cautious, he'll not speak to that. Clyt. His wife ! Some addled hag that tend- eth swine ! Mel. Was woman found to mate her with such mud ? Telem. His spirit is dead in him. EuM. Thou art broken at last ! Cl\t. He speaks not ! See, the old fool's eyes are dim. Mel. [Jf'i//i mock caress.'] O shall I kiss thy tears away, my love? Chlor. Thy wife is old : wilt thou have me, fair youth? Cl\t. O wouldst thou take me, bridegroom, to thy halls ! ISO ULYSSES EuRVM. Cease, cease ! Ye all mistake. He hath come here A suitor for Penelope. Antin. \_Thro7infig cup at him.'] Then take This gift to aid thy suit. A Suitor. \_Throwing a bowl.] And this. Ctes. \Throwing a scrap from the feast.] And this. Others. \_Casti7jg things upofi him.] And here : and here. Ctes. Now up and urge thy suit ! Telem. \_To EuMiEUS.] Why wait a word that never comes? The swords! EuM. Stay, stay : he looks on us, and his eye burns. ULYSSES 151 Enter Penelope down staircase from the upper chambers; she walks slowly and sadly to her chair beside the hearth in the centre of the room. Suitors. \_Making way for her and then gath- ering to right and left of her in the central space.'] The Queen, the Queen ! Antin. Now be the bridegroom chosen ! EuRYM. Lady, this is the night when thou shalt choose. Grave is thy mien : here's that shall make thee smile. Bring forth this wooer lordliest and last. Ctes. These rags are but a guise : a noble man ! Pen. \_To Telemachus.] Child, knowest thou this old man whom they mock? 152 UL YSSES Telem. Mother, it is an old poor beggar man Who says that he brings tidings of my father. Wilt thou not hear him, mother, ere thou choose? EuRYM. Art thou still eager, lady, for new lies? Antin. Art thou not weary of these beggars' tales? Pen. I have been too oft deceived : now my still heart I bare no more to every beggar's eye : Sacred shall be this hunger of my soul And silent till the end — \To Telemachus, who makes signs to her."] What wouldst thou say? Telem. \Taking her apart.'\ Mother, a word; but a word. Antin. \_Interpflsing.'\ Stand back, young sir ! There shall be no more plots between you two. \_Murm7irs of assent. UL YSSES 153 Nor beggars weave another web — of lies. The moon is full ! Now shalt thou choose at once. Telem. Mother ! Antin. An end of tricks ! Some Suitors. Thy word, thy word ! Others. Now answer ! Others. Now no more delay ! All. Choose, choose ! \They all crowd about Penelope to hear her decision, Ulysses in the meantime crouching in the ashes by the hearth. Ulys. Goddess, hast thou forsaken me at last? Telem. \_To Ulysses.] A moment, and too late ! Ulys. I wait the sign ! Pen. Speak any then who will : I'll answer him. 154 ULYSSES Ctes. 1 claim to speak the first. EuRYM. By right of age. Ctes. Lady, I cannot speak as a raw boy, But as a man of comfortable years ; Though in my youth more terrible was none To foemen ; and I like not to remember The blood that I have spilt. Behold me now A man not old, but mellow, like good wine, Not over-jealous, yet an eager husband. This figure something of Apollo lacks, But though I might not catch the eye of a girl, Still a wise woman would consider well. Ponder by nights ere she would let me go. Yet I would urge less what Ctesippus is Than what Ctesippus has the power to give. \_To Attendants.] Now hold up to the moon that glimmering robe ; Turn it this way and that ; this coffer now, ULYSSES 155 With armlets of wrought gold, brooches of price, And golden bowls embossed with beasts and men ; These draught-boards, ivory inlaid with silver, That glistering tire and these enamelled chains. Lo, whatsoever woman can desire I'll give thee without pause and without stint, Wilt thou but suffer me to lead thee home. Pen. Ctesippus, not the glory of gems or gold Can move me : hath the sea a pearl so rich As dead Ulysses which it treasureth Far down, far from these eyes? Rather would I Possess some rag of him drawn up perchance By nets of seamen hauhng 'neath the moon Than all these jewels glistering at my feet. How couldst thou think to please me with these toys, When in that chamber I have garnered up IS6 UL YSSES Garments more rich to me, faded and dim, Old robes and tarnished armour loveHer far? Those hadst thou seen, thou couldst not offer these. EuM. \^To Ctesippus.] Now thou hast leave to go — \Murmurs. Your pardon, princes. EuRYM. Lady, I bring no gauds of pearl and gold, I know thou art not this way to be lured. I share thy grief for him who now is dead : Noble was he, a wise man and a strong. O were he here, I first would clasp his hand. A moment till my voice return to me. \_He bows his head on his hands. But she who sits enthroned may not prolong The luxury of tears ; nor may she waste ULYSSES 157 In lasting widowhood a people's hopes, So hard is height, so cruel is a crown. Thou art a queen : a moment then for grief; Then for the people what remains of life. I offer thee the comfort of high cares, And consolation from imperial tasks : To share with me the governance of a land And bring thy woman's insight to the state. The touch that's gracious, deft, and feminine. Sea-gazing consort of a hero dead Reign thou with me ; and find in rule relief ! That thou no longer art a girl, and green. Troubles me not ; rather I prize thee more For that long suffering and sleeplessness And the sweet wisdom of thy widowhood. Thou hast caught splendour from the sailless sea, And mystery from many stars outwatched; IS8 UL YSSES Rarer art thou from yearning and more rich. Humbly I would entreat you for my answer. Pen. Sir, could I list to any, 'twere to thee : Fair were thy words, and such as women love, And thou hast found my brain, but not my heart, Feigning a ruth I felt thou didst not feel. Ask me not to forget in public good This solitary, dear, and piercing loss. Rather would I remember one dead man, Wasting the years away, and yet remember, Than rule a living kingdom by thy side. Alas ! I am a woman utterly ! Antin. Enough of jewels, and enough of thrones ! Would these men lure thee? I by thee am lured. For thee, O woman, thee alone, I thirst. ULYSSES 159 Time, that doth mar us all, and dims, and damps, Ashens the hair and scribbles round the eye, Weareth not thee, thou miracle, away. Ever in beauty waxing without wane. No more I'll toss upon a burning bed. Leap out at midnight on a smouldering floor, Pacing, pacing away the aching night. Thou, thou didst light this fire, and thou shalt quench it. Telem. \_Aside to Ulysses.] Dost thou hear, father? Ulys. Goddess, now the sign ! Antin. Or, if thou will not, I'll compel thee. \_Murmurs. O! I care not for your murmurs : I risk all ! Come now away ! or on the instant I l6o UL YSSES Will catch thee in these arms up from the- ground And fling thee o'er my shoulder, and run with thee As from a house aflame. Telem. I'll spill thy blood. Ulys. Unleash me, goddess, let me go. EuM. Up, up ! Antin. For what dost thou still wait? For whom, for whom? Thy husband? he is dead, drowned in the ooze : The fish are at him now in the deep slime. Pen. O! Telem. {To Ulysses.] Art thou tame? Ulys. I bite these bloody lips. Antin. Or if he be not dead, what is he now? UL YSSES " i6i A shambling shadow, a wrecked, mumbling ghost, A man no more : no better than yon beggar That huddles to the fire : so bowed, so worn, So ragged and ruined, and so filthy and fallen ! Look on that beggar ! There thy husband see ! Pen. Splendid Antinous, I tell thee this ; That if my husband on this moment came In by that door even as yon beggar man, So bowed, so worn, so ragged and so fallen. Him would I rather catch unto this heart And hold his holy ruins in my arms, Than touch thee in thy glory and thy strength. Ulys. {Starting up.'] O nobly spoken ! [ Uproar. Suffer an old man ! Antin. Now answer. EuRYM. Lady ! l62 • UL YSSES Ctes. Bring those robes again ! Pen. {^Bewildered r\ Sirs, but one moment, will you give me leave? Then do I swear by all the gods to choose. A womanish last request — a silly favour ! Antin. O ! EuRYM. \Fawning on /ler.^ Lady, I will not refuse thee. Pen. 'Tis That I may satisfy me if this beggar Perhaps doth bring me tidings of Ulysses. Antin. This but to put us by ! EuRYM. [6"//// fawns.'\ Suffer her, sirs - \The Suitors 7-etire sullenly up. Penelope comes back to her seat at the fire beside which Ulysses crouches. As she ap- proaches him he trembles. ULYSSES 163 Pen. Old man, wilt thou deceive me yet again ' Be not afraid : there's nought in me to fear. Ulys. I'll not deceive thee, lady : nearer draw And motion all away ! [Penelope signs to all to move away Canst thou endure The shaft of sudden joy, yet make no cry? Pen. Though I shall fall I'll not cry out : say, say. Ulys. Ulysses lives — thou art gone white — be still ! Grip fast thy chair and look upon the ground ! — And he is very near to thee even now. Pen. Where, where ? Ulys. This night is he in Ithaca ; Perchance even now is rushing to his halls ; Might at this moment come in by that door. Pen. How shall I trust thy tale? If thou sayest true Thou ne'er shalt beg again. 1 64 UL YSSES Ulys. I come from him. Pen. What is thy name ? Ulys. Idomeneus from Crete. He charged me with these tidings — and this ring. Pen, This would he not have given : O this was pulled From his dead finger ! Ulys. Lady, if I lie, — If on this night Ulysses comes not home, — Then give me to thy thralls to slay me here. Pen. Ah ! they will kill him. Ulys. Fear not ; he is wise. Only do thou each moment still delay Thy answer. Pen. Yet what plea? Ulys. Propose to them Some simple trial whereby thou mayst choose. Pen. What, what ? UL YSSES 165 Ulys. The bow : is that Ulysses' bow ? Pen. Cherished and daily suppled by these hands. Ulvs. Say thou wilt choose whoe'er shall bend his bow. But still to interpose some brief delay, Call you some woman forth to bathe my feet. Pen. Melantho, bring clear water hither and bathe This old man's feet. Mel. I ? I'll not touch his feet, For I can touch the lips of better men. Ulys. Lady, some woman that hath seen much sorrow As I have. Pen. Eurycleia, bathe his feet. [EuRYCLEiA brings water iti a brazen vessel to Ulysses ; as he lifts his robe she sees the scar and drops the basin. 1 66 ULYSSES Eur. The scar there. Ulys. Wouldst thou slay me? hold thy peace. Pen. What ails thee, Eurycleia? Eur. O my mistress ! These old hands tremble even at such a task. Antin. \_Advancing.'] Now, lady, now ! This is delay enough ! Hast thou at last heard tidings of thy lord? Doth he come home to-night? Pen. Alas, alas ! He is drowned, and from his finger, lo ! this ring. Antin. Thou'rt satisfied at last? Suitors. Now answer : choose. Pen. No one of you I like above the rest. Yet have I sworn to choose : so I will put This matter to a simple trial. UL YSSES \fi-j Suitors. What ? Pen. See where behind you hangs Ulysses' bow. He that can bend his bow and loose a shaft, Him will I take as husband from you all. \They rush to take it. Suitors. The bow ! Pen. {^Staying them.'] My son alone shall reach it down, After such time shall be the first to touch it. [Penelope retires down to watch the trial. TELE^L\CHUS brings down the bow and a sheaf of arrows. Ctesippus advances, and after much groaning and panting fails to string it. Ctes. Easily in the morning could I bend it, But I have supped ! [EuRYMACHUS essays to string it and fails. 1 68 ULYSSES EuRYM. Lady, wilt choose a husband For brutish force? what play hath the mind here? [Antinous fails to string the bow. Antin. If I can bend it not, no man can bend it. Pen. \To Others.] And will you not essay? or you ? Others. Not we. Another. Where craft and strength have failed- what use for us ? Pen. I will wed no man till he bend that bow. \_Angry murmurs among the Suitors. [^Lightning flashes ; Ulysses recognises by the sign that the tnoment for action has come. Ulys. [^Rising.'] Lady, and princes, but to make you sport, I will essay to bend Ulysses' bow : \_Lou(l laughter. UL YSSES 169 To make you sport — for I have supped full well. Antin. Impudent rags ! Thou shalt not vie with us. TelExM. The beggar shall make trial : come, old man ! Ctes. The old man ! excellent ! All. \_Laughing loudlyr\ The beggar man ! EuRVM. Come forth, thou wooer lordliest and last. Antix. Here is a broad mark for thy shaft, old man. Pen. Ah, mock him not ! Ulys. Sirs, but to make you sport. \^He totters towards the bow. Athene, strength ! O if my might should fail me ! \He takes the bow, and after simulated faltering, strings it amid the affiazed si- lence of the Suitors. He springs to his l^o ULYSSES height, and appears in his own likeness, his rags falling from him, and disclos- ing him armed afid in the full glory of manhood. Dogs, do ye know me now? Pen. \_Riishing towards him.'] Ulysses ! Ulys. Back ! Suitors. \_Amazedly amid themselves.'] Ulysses ! is it he ? Is it he — Ulysses ? [Ulysses shoots, killing Antinous, laho falls. Ulys. Who is for me? The swords there and the shields ! Telemachus and EuM/EUS snatch down the weapons, and arming Ulysses and them- selves, stajid by him. EuRYM. \_Coming over fawningly from among the Suitors towards Ulysses.] Hero restored, I'll stand by thee for one ! UL YSSES 171 Ulys. \Striding out and spearing himP^ Would'st fawn on me ? go fawn among the dead. [EuRYMACHUS falls. The Suitors, findmg no weapons on the walls, crowd waveringly together. Ctes. ^^Encouraging them.'] We are ten to one : crush, crush them by sheer weight. \_The Suitors ?nake a headlong rush upon Ulysses and his companions, but are stayed in mid rush by thunder, lightning, and supernatural darkness, followed by the apparitio7i of Athene standing by Ulysses. Suitors. The gods fight for him. Fly! we are undone. [Athene and Ulysses with Eujleus atid Telemachus fall on them, atid they are driven in fierce brief medley, visible by 172 ULYSSES flashes of lightning, and ivith noise of groans and falls, out headlong through the door. Soutids of slaughter con- tinue to be heard frotn the court with- out. The darkness lifts, discovering Ulysses standing on the threshold at the upper end of the hall, Athene still at his side. He turns, laying by sword and shield, while Penelope gazes in passionate uncertainty toward him from the corner of the hall. Ulys. \_Solemnly^ First unto Zeus and to Athene praise ! Go all of you apart ! even thou, my son, And leave me with Penelope alone. Ath. Thou art come home, Ulysses ! Now farewell ! For violated laws are here avenged, ^^ ULYSSES 173 And I, who brought thee through those bitter years, Those bitter years which make this moment sweet, I, even, in this moment have no share. [Athene disappears. [Ulysses afid Penelope slowly approach each other across the hall, with rapt gaze, hesitatingly. Then she is folded to his breast in silence, while the voice of the Minstrel is heard without, repeating the words of the song from the first Act, And she shall fall upon his breast With never a spoken word, and the fire on the hearth, which has burnt low throughout this scene, leaps up into sudden brightness. CURTAIN NOTE BY THE AUTHOR The methods and limitations of epic and drama differ completely : and in attempting to write a play on the story and character of Ulysses, as they are known to all the world from the Odyssey of Homer, the first thing needful is to sacrifice five-sixths at least of the episodes which give that poem its enchantment. Some writers who have made the attempt have even judged it best to omit the entire tale of the hero's wan- derings, and to treat only those of his actions which take place after his return to Ithaca. Both M. Ponsard, in a lyrical drama written to Gounod's music, and Mr, Robert Bridges, in his poetical play, ' The Return of Ulysses,' have fol- lowed this plan. 175 176 ULYSSES As the reader has perceived, I have gone farther back in the story, and taken in two of Ulysses' earUer trials, the sojourn with Calypso and the visit to Hades, which seemed to me to afford matter for telling dramatic presentment and dramatic contrast. And I have tried to weave these adventures, together with the return to Ithaca and the final discomfiture of the suitors, into the fabric of a properly-knit play ; 1 with what measure of success it must be for readers and playgoers to decide. For the rest, the scholar will have found in the foregoing scenes some things strictly accord- ing to Homer, and some loosely so : but others not according to him at all, as for instance the stay with Calypso made to precede the descent among the dead instead of following it ; Calypso herself endowed with some of the attributes of UL YSSES 177 Circe ; Hermes, the chartered escort of the dead, given as a guide to Ulysses through Hades ; Hades itself conceived on lines which are Vir- gilian rather than Homeric ; the action at the swineherd's hut, and that in the palace at Ithaca afterwards, re-arranged, re-imagined, and above all unsparingly accelerated and cut down. In the author's mind all these liberties were an essential part of his dramatic scheme ; nor can the need for similar liberties be well escaped by any practical playwright who chooses to work upon materials supplied either by history or by epic. As to the material presentment of the play, my warmest thanks are due to Mr. Tree for an enthusiasm and a generosity which have admitted no obstacle in the attempt to realise on the stage the best conjectural picture of the Homeric world which could be devised. The attempt is M 178 ULYSSES new, and the result is a spectacle richer, more barbaric, many-coloured, and full of fantasy than could have been obtained by adopting the con- ventional classical costumes and familiar building styles of later Greece. The architecture and its decoration, designed by Mr. W. R. Lethaby, have been based on recent discoveries of the Mycenaean age. For the dresses (since the Myce- naean costume, so far as it is known to us, would be ill suited to the stage) Mr. Percy Anderson has gone back to the very earliest Greek sculp- ture, and to vases of the sixth and seventh cen- turies B.C. Both these gentlemen, as well as the author and manager and their valued helper Mr. Lionel Hart, have been greatly aided in their work by the zeal and learning of Dr. A. S. Murray, Mr. Sidney Colvin, and other friendly authorities of the British Museum. ^ p Printed in the United States of America. THE SIN OF DAVID BY STEPHEN PHILLIPS ACT I CHARACTERS Sir Hubert Lisle. Hubert, Colonel Mardyke, Cotton, Finch, Marsh, Crablove, Iron, Joyce, A Doctor. Ratcliffe, Miriam, Martha, i Commander of the Parliamentary forces 171 the Fenla?id. {The child of Lisle and Miriam in Act III. Of the Parliamentary army, owner of Rushland, the headquarters of the army. Officers of the Parliamentary army. A lieutenant. {Servant of Mardyke ; afterward of Lisle. ill'ife of Mardyke ; afterward of Lisle. Sister of Mardyke. Officers, Nurses, Soldiers, etc. The period of the play is that of the English Civil War between Charles I and the Parliament. THE SIN OF DAVID ACT I Time. — Summer of 1643, the first year of the war: noontide. Scene. — Hall of Rnshland House, the head- quarters of the Puritan army in the Fen- lands. On the left a flight of steps leading up to a turret-chamber. A door on either side, on the right eonnnunicating outward, on the left imvard. Ai the back, a door flanked by recessed windoivs opens on a terrace beyond, with foliage of poplars and 9 lO THE SIN OF DAVID alders, and a distajit view of the Fens. Various military officers are standing in silence, with bowed heads and folded hands, as in prayer, around a table covered with papers. Mardyke stands at the head of the table. Mardyke. \_After a pause.'] Now, sirs, that we have sought the Lord in prayer, Each one in silence, will we hear and judge, Knowing ourselves His mortal instruments. All we with clean hearts unto judgment come; Yet in Thy sight no human heart is clean ; And if we punish others, we ourselves THE SIN OF DAVID 1 1 Are ready to abide Thy punishment. \^Thcy sloivly seat tJicmselves. Read, Captain! Who is charged with mutiny, With plunder or with harryings or with flame, Making God's army of the Fenland mocked, A hissing and abomination, yea, A laughter sweet unto the PhiHstine, And all our fire, our kindling, and our zeal, As ashes fallen, and as the greyness of ashes ? Read! Cotton. \_Rising with papers in his hand.'] There is nothing here of mutiny. Nor here is any charged with drunken rage, 12 THE SIN OF DA VI D With plunder or with harryings or with flame, To make God's army of the Fenland mocked. But one among us is of carnal crime Loudly accused : 'tis charged against him here That he by violence hath a maid undone. [^Murmurs. His name Lieutenant Joyce : who on this cry Arrested and close-guarded waits without. Finch. Is this already pubHc in men's mouths, So noised we cannot overpass it, sir.? If not, 'twere well to mingle poHcy THE SLY OF DAVID 13 With zeal, and hush it for the larger good. Marsh. Publish it not, lest we be pointed at. Such is our cause a little smirch undoes it, By its own virtue the more vulnerable : Greatness hath often by a whisper crashed. Cotton. The thing is public and the wayside talk ; The clucking housewife hath it, and the crone Mumbles it sitting half-out in the sun. Mardyke. PubUc or no, I palter not with heaven. The sin is sinned ; and if we punish not, Then stand we here partakers of the sin. 14 THE SIN OF DAVID Crablove. Doth Joyce deny this? Let us hear him speak. [Mardyke motions to bring in Joyce. Cotton. Freely he hath confessed and bides the issue. Enter Joyce, giiarded Mardyke. Lieutenant, publicly you stand accused Of a young maid's enforcement: what say you In answer? Joyce. I make answer, " It is true." Mardyke. None here can come be- tween thee and thy God. Yet in mid-madness didst thou not recall That thou wert more than Joyce : an officer THE SIX OF DAVID 15 In this our righteous warring; that you brought This holy host into derision? Speak, Joyce. Her face was close to me, and dimmed the world. Yet have I fought, and in the front of all. Shall one mad moment all those hours outweigh } Who being human is for ever sure .'* Mardyke. \_Rising.'] God needs not thy polluted arm henceforth. He asks not Captain, no, nor man-at-arms Of heart unclean : thou shalt not fight for Him. Take him away ! thy punishment with us. \_Exit Joyce, guarded. l6 THE SIN OF DAVID Now, sirs, he hath confessed, his sentence Ues With us. Finch. You, sir, who fought with Eng- Hsh Vere At Heidelberg, at Mannheim and Ostend, Where'er the persecuted faithful fell. Whose fame still clings about the vines of France, How dealt ye in those camps with carnal crime ? Mardyke. Our cause, as now, required our spotlessness, And we on grave occasion visited Such sin with death ! Enter Ratcliffe, zvitJi letter THE SIN OF DAVID 17 Ratcliffe. a letter, sir, post-haste. Mardyke. \_After glancing at letter^ Summon your mistress and my sister here. \_Exit Ratcliffe. This letter, sirs, concerns us all — I'll read. " I, Sir Hubert Lisle, being appointed by the Parliament to the command of their levies in the Fenland, where, as I hear, there is much need of enkindling, do pro- pose, by your leave, to make Rushland House my headquarters. I know that your zeal will not refuse me this if it be any way possible ; but I pray you excuse me to your lady for so sudden demand on her B 1 8 THE SIN OF DAVID kindness. I follow hard on this letter, and am minded to stir up such a fire in this region as shall not easily be put out. " Hubert Lisle." \_Aniinated murmurs. Sirs, with my wife I must have speech forthwith, And make such preparation as I may. \TJie officers retire in eager dis- cussion on to the terrace at back, and from time to time they are visible conversing together during the scene which follows. Mean- while Miriam and Martha enter. Miriam stands submis- sively before Mardyke, who, intent THE SIN OF DAVID 19 Oil letter, does not observe her for a moment. Mistress, you must prepare, and instantly, For entertainment of Sir Hubert Lisle, Sent hither to command our Fenland host. Learn then what manner of man is he who comes ; One sprung to arms from England's chivalry. Despising lure of courtier or of priest, To fight the fight of freedom and of God : In foreign battle nursed, yet not as we, Stricken and bowed, but in his flush of strength ; Quickly provide, then ! Stand thou by his chair 20 THE SIN OF DAVID And bring with thine own hands the cup of welcome : See he lack nought thou canst bestow. But hither! \_She turns to go. Miriam ! heed well that you displease him not By silly gaud on bosom or in hair, Lest he account thee light, a daughter of Gath. I'll strip this chain from thee ; these wanton beads, Meshes of Satan, grind I into dust. \_He snatches chain roughly from her and tramples it under foot. You, Martha, with a graver thought assist My wife. Receive this guest as from the Lord ! {Exit Mardyke THE SIN OF DAVID 2i Miriam. \Treinbli>ig.'] Am I not as that chain, trod underfoot, Chidden and checked even more than when a child ? Martha. My brother sternly broods, but loves you still. Miriam. Why, Martha, why could I not ever stay His daughter 1 So my dying father left me, When side by side they fought at La Rochelle ; And as his daughter grew I up submiss ; Why must he then make me his wife? Martha. Perchance To shelter you, and comfort his grey heart. 22 THE SIN OF DAVID Miriam. I am no wife to him ; and the waked woman Within me cries against the yoke and loathes it. Martha. Why to so loathed a marriage did you yield } Miriam. How could my orphanhood withstand his will .-* Did I not owe him all, refuge and bread, And sheltering sustenance .'' Could I take all, And then refuse that petty price " myself," Sole price which he who gave so much required .■* Well I have paid to the full ! He starves my soul, THE SIN OF DA VID 23 He locks my spirit up and keeps the key. Martha. Say not there is some other — Miriam. No one. No. My misery is faithful to him. Martha. Child, What is't you sigh for, whither would you fly .'' I cannot understand. Miriam. Nor I myself; And 'tis the very blindness of this beating That makes of me a creature so unhappy, And unto thee a plague. Martha. Never, my child. Miriam. O thou dear Martha, living without sin. 24 THE SIN OF DA VID And reputably rusting to the grave, Thou vacant house moated about by peace, Thou shadow perfect, and thou blameless ghost, I cannot feed my soul on " Thou shalt not." I'll fight 'gainst numbness, wrestle against rust. There's the arch-foe of women ! this doth kill us. Not pain, nor secret arrow of the mid- night That quivers till the bird-song, ended faith, Mortal surprise of marriage, nor the dawn THE SIN OF DAVID 2$ Of golden-vista'd children clouded quite, Nor fallen loneliness where love hath been. These, these are understood, wept o'er and sung. But worse, ah, worse the folding of the hands, The human face left by the tide of life, The worm already at the human heart. Martha. Sooner the worm than guilt within the heart. Miriam. No ! I would rather drench my soul in sin So I might feel this fire and grip this glory. The colour and the bloom and the music of life ! 26 THE SIN OF DA VID Martha. Miriam ! no more I'll listen to you. Know That He who gave us life ordained us law. Miriam. Law ! And is law then but to bind and freeze .-' By law the lightning spurts, and the earth quakes, And the spring surges thro' a million buds ; And law is filled with rushings and with thunder. Martha. You must endure. Thy an- cestors and mine Went for their faith to torment and to fire. Miriam. Ah, for their faith ! I hope my blood is theirs. THE SIN OF DA VID 27 And I would splash the flames about my head Gladly as in a bath for splendid death, But for this life no life I was not born. Martha. When there shall come a child — Miriam. Ah, speak it not! A child of him ! I sicken, I quake at it ; My very flesh doth shiver. Think you I Could squander upon any child of him The brooding balm and wistful riches, all The holy longing that on summer evens Arises homeless in my silent heart } Babes that we love, we must have loved ere birth. [Ratcliffe enters behind and beckons to 28 THE SIN OF DA VID the officers outside. As he passes Miriam, he picks up chain and gives it her. She gives him her hand, zvhich he kisses. She smiles sadly on him. He goes out. Martha. See, they return. Come, then. Give me the keys ! Miriam. Ah ! might this tumult find at last a goal ! \Exeunt Martha a7td Miriam. Reenter slowly military officers, who seat themselves at the table. Lastly enter Mardyke. He sits at the head Mardyke. Do Thou, O Lord, direct a- right our minds, THE SIN OF DAVID 29 And our decision be unto Thy glory ! Your judgment, sirs, upon Lieutenant Joyce ! Shall we but cast him from us as unclean? Or shall we punish carnal crime with death ? Finch. Purge we our army of the sin- ner ; yet See we deter not by too fierce a doom Others that waver still from taking sword. Iron. If outrage be not punished the whole land Rising in wrath against us will take sword. Cotton. My voice also for death; when war begins, Mercy at first is cruelty at last. Marsh. Break him, but leave him lei sure to repent. 30 THE SIN OF DA VI D Crablove. Enough we cast him straight- way from among us. Mardyke. For death my voice ; else every one of us Will into holy battle go unclean. Finch. \_Rising.~\ The vote is even! Marsh. What shall now decide t \Tr7impet heard. Enter Ratcliffe, hurriedly Ratcliffe. Sir Hubert Lisle, sir, ridden furiously. Mardyke. {Rising^ Lisle, our com- mander : his the casting vote. \_TJiey all rise. Finch. On him alone the burden and the issue. THE SIN OF DA VID 3' Enter Lisle, spurred, and spattered with mud. Mardyke advancing, Lisle takes him by the hand, and they stand looking at each other for an instant Lisle. God save you, sirs, what busi- ness of the camp Presses; what labour from the Lord awaits me? Mardyke. \^Motioning Lisle to head of table.'] This on the instant then: Lieutenant Joyce, Of this God's army, charged with carnal crime In that he hath enforced the innocent And brought a young maid into public shame. 32 THE SIN OF DA VID This he denies not. Now Jhree voices here Cry that we purge this holy host of him, So satisfied ; and three that he shall die. With thee the casting vote. The Lord speak through thee. Lisle. \^Rising.'\ Sirs, in no common quarrel are we up, Nor to a slight fray have we girded us. But are embattled for dear liberty, Dear liberty to righteousness affianced, That each man on our English soil hence- forth Shall live his own life out beneath the sun, Master of his own conscience, his own soul. THE SIN OF DA VID 33 And answerable only to his God : For this and no less thing rise we in arms. For this the noble hath disdained his ease, For this the gentleman forsworn his hearth, For this the yeoman left his glebe un- ploughed. For this doth brother clash with brother, friend With friend, and father smiteth his own son : For this have we preferred, rather than reap A servile tilth, to trample the sown field And springing pasture to incarnadine. But vain the father's and the brother's blood, c 34 THE SIN OF DA VID Pasture ensanguined and abandoned hearth, And worse than vain our Hberty at last, If we have builded it with hands defiled. \Miirtmirs of admiration. Therefore I show no mercy on this man. Death ! Let him die. Mardyke. Bring in Lieutenant Joyce. Enter Joyce, guarded Lisle. Lieutenant, for the sake of that high cause For which we are embattled, and which thou Hast stained, I sentence thee forthwith to death. Joyce. Death ! Lisle. To a soldier 'tis a little thing. THE SIN OF DA VID 35 Joyce. I do not count death as a little thing. I cannot go* out of the warm sunshine Easily ; yet I am a gentleman And I can die. Lisle. Hast anything to say } Joyce. Thou who so Hghtly dealest death to me, Be thou then very sure of thine own soul ! Lisle. I fear not that ; and less do I fear death. [Lisle dismisses Joyce and gjiards. \_Drawtng his sword. '\ And judge me, Thou that sittest in Thy heaven, As I have shown no mercy, show me none ! 36 THE SIN OF DAVID Deal Thou to me what I have dealt to him. Nay, more ; not the mere death that he shall die, Strike at the heart, the hope, the home of me. If ever a woman's beauty shall ensnare My soul unto such sin as he hath sinned. [Miriam has entered with wine and stands waiting. Lisle, lowering his sword, sees her before him and stands motionless. Mardyke. Sir Hubert Lisle, my wife ! To her I leave you. \Exit Mardyke and others. Miriam pours out wine and proffers Lisle the cup. THE SIN OF DA VI D 37 Lisle. \_Taking cup.'\ Lady, I thank you, and must ask your pardon For breaking in on you so suddenly And so disordered — I would say — but you. You are not of our country ? Miriam. No, of France, And I was born in the sun's lap — will you Not rest awhile .'' \_SJie moves as if to conduct him. Lisle. {^Hcsitating.^^ You are then of ■ that land Where flows the crimson wine that now 1 drink ? Is't not so ? Miriam. Even so. 38 THE SIN OF DAVID Lisle. \^Holding up the wine.~\ And in such glory- Have you fared hither to us over sea. Miriam. Will you not rest 1 [Again movmg. ] Lisle. \_Going, then again /iesitating.'\ I thank you. Miriam. • See — this way. Lisle. And you — how long since is it that you left Your southern vines .? Miriam. I came here as a child ; My father died at La Rochelle. Lisle. Alas ! Miriam. Committing me to Colonel Mardyke's care, THE SIN OF DA VID 39 Who was his comrade then. Lisle, And who is now Your husband ? Miriam. Yes. Your room, sir, eastward lies. Lisle. I will come with you — and these glimmering fens, Do they not pall after the southern glow } Miriam. I am grown used to them. Lisle. And yet it seems Strange in the drear fenland to light on you. Miriam. How still the air is : scarcely can one breathe. A storm approaches — \_Hesitating7\ Will this war soon end ? 40 THE SIN OF DA VID Lisle. Not till we triumph — or — darker it grows. This leads us to the garden ? See how still That poplar, conscious of some heavy fate! That breathless alder ! Like to guilty souls Against a coming judgment. Miriam. \_Hesitating.'] Is there aught Wherein I still can serve you .'' Lisle. \_Coming toivard her.'\ No, I thank you. Miriam. I have made all ready — ■ \_Hesitates.~\ Lisle. Every bird doth cower. THE SIN OF DA VID 41 Miriam, \Going, but returning.~\ I have laid some books within your room — you read Much — so they say — I thought — how the air faints As though beneath some suffocating clutch ! Lisle. Darker and darker yet — what books are dear To you ? Miriam. Old histories. Lisle. That mandolin — You touch it in the twilight .-' Miriam. Not with art. How the air sighed then ! Nearer comes the storm j 42 THE SIN OF DAVID A moment and ' twill break above our heads. Lisle. \Coming dose to her.'] Sweet after battle must thy music be. \_A sudden sound of musketry heard without. Miriam. What sound was that.-* That was no thunder-peal. Lisle. Lieutenant Joyce of this God's army, shot By my command ! Miriam. What crime hath he committed That you take on you God's prerogative Of death } Lisle. How can I name it to you ! He THE SIN OF DAVID 43 Hath sinned against a maid. Miriam. But such a doom ! Lisle. No doom too harsh ! In this our virgin cause We of that sin must purify us — thus. [Lisle boivs to Miriam, zvJio goes off sloivly and trembling. Lisle starts to folhnv her, but controls himself ivitJi effort. He goes slowly to back, and as he s tabids looking out, a low mutter of thunder is heard. ACT II ACT II Time. — Three zveeks later: night. Scene, — The same as Act I. Miriam and Martha discovered, Miriam touching man- dolin absently. Martha at work on em- broidery, a lamp beside her. Miriam. {_Sings.'\ I Red skies above a level land And thoughts of thee ; Sinking sun on reedy strand, And alder tree. 47 48 THE SIN UF DAVID II Only the heron sailing home, With heavy flight: Ocean afar in silent foam, And coming night. Ill Dwindling day and drowsing birds, O my child ! Dimness and returning herds, Memory wild. Martha. What sorrow of the gloaming dost thou sing .-' Miriam. Of some bereaved woman in the Fens. \Casti71g aside instrument and coining over to Martha. THE SIN OF DA VI D 49 O Martha ! Martha. Well, child — will you help me here ? These eyes begin to fail in lamp-light now. Miriam. {^Kneeling by ker.'] Dear Martha ! Martha. Ah ! just here I cannot — well, Weary of music ^ Miriam. Let me lay my head Here in thy lap as in the olden days Then when I was a child. Martha. You'd have me idle As you are, — there, then ! \Taking her face in her hands. Miriam. Was I a bad child, Martha } so THE SIN OF DAVID Martha. Ah, no ! but headlong ever and rash. Miriam. Cruel.'' Martha. Not with intention. Miriam. Ah, but still Of others too regardless } Martha. As a child is. Miriam. I am so happy; let me hide my face Here. Martha. If so happy, child, why so afraid } Miriam. No ! not afraid. Martha. I am glad that you are happy, That shows me you are humbler, that your heart THE SIN OF DAVID 51 Is tamed ; thence only cometh happiness. Miriam. \_Looking uj>.'] I am not tamed ! Martha. Well — more at rest then. Miriam. Rest ! Martha. Now you are weeping. Who shall guess your soul, Miriam .-• So happy now, and now wild tears. Miriam. You know, you know, I would not hurt you, no, Nor — him, not willingly — never was cruel. Martha. You say you would not hurt me nor — Miriam. Your brother. Martha. Your husband. Miriam. No — not willingly — and yet — 52 THE SIN OF DA VID Martha. What would you say ? Miriam. Nothing. I know not what. \^She again takes up mandolin, then casts it down, coming to Martha again. Martha, dear Martha, why are you not kind? Martha. Kind ! you to say I am not kind. Miriam. O, kind — But — but you love me deeply, do you not.'' Martha. What need to ask .■" Miriam. Whate'er I did, me, me You love ? Martha. I fear so ; but you will do nothing I could not also love. THE SIN OF DA VID 53 Miriam. I cannot tell. {Then suddenly. 1 Come, give me both your hands. I hold you fast — You cannot fly — look not on me. I fear, I fear to be alone with him — the stranger, Within our gates — cast me not from you yet! Martha. {Rising.'] If this be true, it is a deadly sin ! The blackest — to your knees and seek your God. But I'll not think it, cannot imagine, dream it. 'Tis folly, the fruit of too much idleness. But hearken, Miriam! though it be but folly, 54 THE SIN OF DAVID It must be plucked from out you, flung away, Else I will seek my brother out, I am His faithful friend — but 'tis unthinkable ! Enter Mardyke, hurriedly, with a letter in his hand, accompanied by Ratcliffe Mardyke. [To Ratcliffe.] Summon the council hither, on the instant ! \_Exit Ratcliffe. {Turning to Miriam.] Idle — still idle! and in time of war! A night of peril! yet the strings are heard. Mistress, bestir you ! To your household tasks, THE SIN OF DAVID 55 And make this dwelling ready for the night ! And then to bed ! else will I lock you up : Provide you bread to eat, water to drink, I'll starve this fiend of indolence out of you. Martha. Brother, you speak not wisely. Mardyke. Ah, do you Sustain her.-* Martha. 'Tis not wise to use her thus; I tell you, 'tis not wise ; such roughness makes All women desperate. Mardyke. Wisdom from women ! Martha. You would not have your way ' with me thus — nor Will you with her — your wife. 56 THE SIN OF DA VID Mardyke. Leave us together. \_Exit Martha. That which I spoke, I spoke it not in jest. I who have warred, and still do war for God, Will keep a diligent wife, a quiet house, Still and severe as fits our sacred cause. You hear me .-* Miriam. Sir, you hurt my wrist — forbear. Mardyke. Remember ! To your duties — then to bed! \_Exit Miriam. Meanwhile the officers enter How long, sirs, must we tarry idle here .-• THE SIN OF DAVID 57 On all sides are we hemmed; where shall we strike ? Iron. Where is Sir Hubert Lisle? Mardyke. Shut in his room. Iron. The peril gathers, yet that vacant chair ! \_Murmurs from officers. Sirs, I will speak no treason, yet we marvel Why thus we are hemmed in idle. I will voice The general fear; he who should lead us, faints. \Mtirmnrs of assent. Who captains us? One, dazed and dubi- ous. Sir Hubert Lisle is fallen into a trance. S8 THE SIN OF DAVID What purpose hath he, what direction, torn This way and that, hither and thither blown ? Now he commands, anon he counter- mands ; Now is he hot for battle, now he cools, This man, who fell amidst us like a brand. And all the night he paces to and fro. Murmuring and wrestling as with one unseen. What curse lies heavy on him, or what spell ? Now let him wake, or be some other chosen. \_Murmurs. THE SIN OF DA VID 59 Mardyke. Lift we a prayer that heaven restore his mind. Iron. Yet, while we pray, is Rupert thundering down. Enter Lisle, dreamily, with roses in his dress Lisle. Forgive, I pray you, sirs, this tardiness. Sirs, you all frown on me and stare distrust. I have fallen into a lethargy of spirit Which even now is passing from me. Friends, Let me not lose your faith. Mardyke. Sir, we but ask Some guiding from you, and some certain light. 6d ■ THE SIN OF DA VI D Darker our fortunes grow, on all sides pressed, And threatened north and west. Where shall we strike ? Iron. I say, take water northward and relieve Fairfax in Hull. Mardyke. Or threaten suddenly Newark, where now are horsemen swarm- ing thick Upon our flank. Crablove. And, sir, still Willoughby In vain beleaguers Castle Bolingbroke. Mardyke. Quick flies the night. Shall we aid Willoughby .'' Or hurl a force on Newark, or free Hull } THE SIN OF DAVID 6i Lisle. {^Hesitatingly?^ To me it seems 'twere wiser here to bide, • \_M?trmHrs. Holding the Whitton and the Welland line, Breaking the foe with bog and with mo- rass ; Here let us lie, alert, but not o'er-hot. We have much need of discipline severe, Patience and quiet rule and still debate. Till each man shall attain self-mastery. Now leave me, sirs ; for I must meditate. And wrestle in spirit lest I be o'ercome. \_Excu7it officers, sullenly shaking their heads. Mardyke. \^Rising.'\ I will go up to the turret-room, and mark 62 THE SIN OF DA VID If, in God's book, some chapter or some verse May give us warning in our present need. [Mardyke, unlocking case, takes down Bible, and ascends to tower with lighted candle. Lisle sits plunged in gloomy revery and studying a map distractedly. Miriam passes across the stage hurriedly, with keys at her girdle. Lisle, seeing her, comes fof'ward. Lisle. Lady, will you not touch the strings again } With music lift from me this heaviness } Miriam. I may not, sir. I am accused of sloth. THE SIN OF DAVID 63 And must about the business of the house. Here are my keys. Lisle. \^Seeing her wrist-l See, you have hurt your wrist. Miriam. 'Tis nothing. Lisle. But 'tis bruised as by a blow ! Miriam ! — my heart spoke then. This burn- ing silence, Secret eye lightnings, and deep mutual sighs, And darting comprehensions of swift thought. Must break in words at last. Miriam. \Tremhling.'\ I will not hear them. Lisle. Hear them ! and then do with me what you will. When I spurred hither, all on fire for God, 64 THE SIN OF DAVID Then did I gallop into human flame. Cold I had lived, pure, narrow, temperate, A girded swordsman pressing to the mark. So rode I through that gate. Then sud- denly Thy beauty like a tempest fell on me ; And in one moment was I rent and riven. Stunned is my life ; I wander, and I grope. My voice in the council falters ; in mid-act This lifted arm falls at thy floating face. They waver like to mist the ranks of war, They waver and fade ; he fades, the armed man, And spurring armies in a vision clash. Or would I pray and upward fling my hands } THE SIN OF DA VJD 65 To thee I pray, thee, thee, with cries be- seeching. I am lost, lost ! Miriam. O, I would be to thee As gentle as the grass above the dead ; And have I been but darkness, and a sword } Lisle. No ! for a revelation breaks from thee. Thou hast unlocked the loveliness of earth, Leading me through thy beauty to all beauty. Thou hast admitted me to mystery, Taught me the different souls of all the stars ; Through thee haVe I inherited this air, E .66 THE SIN OF DAVID Discovered sudden riches at my feet, And now on eyes long blinded flames the world. Thou shattering storm, thou eve of after blue, Thou deluge, and thou world from deluge risen, Thou sudden death, and thou life after death ! \_A pause while she stajids trembling. You speak not. Give me but a human word. Miriam. O, all my life has listened for thy step ! Lisle. How have I walked in glory unaware ! THE SIN OF DA VID 67 O, let your dear soul forth ; stay it not now ! Miriam. For thee alone came I into this world, For thee this very hair grew glorious, My eyes are of this colour for thy sake. This moment is a deep inheriting, And as the solemn coming to a kingdom. Lisle. Apart we two did wander in- land ; now Listen, the ocean of infinity ! Life hath no more in it. Miriam. \_Lying in his arms.~\ My final peace ! Lisle. Peace ? 68 THE SIN OF DAVID Miriam. Doth the word seem cold? A woman's peace, It hath all fire in it, and burneth white. Lisle. Peace ! Is there peace while all — Miriam. Wake me not yet, Not for this moment ! Lisle. While this dreaming love Gives you the language of a child or a bird, Of a light and liquid rapture. Miriam. Speak not yet Too human and too grave. Lisle. Yet every way I look is darkness ; for each moment war THE SIN OF DA VID 69 May call me off. Miriam. Peer not into the dark. Lisle. Else will it swallow us. O sud- denly We two must hew us out a path. Miriam. Disturb not This hush and church of passion with the world ! Lisle. How thy speech wantons, while I stare at life ! Miriam. Hush! I am lifted even above hope ! Lisle. He, he — Miriam. Thou hast my spirit, be content. O, all that in me wanders and is wild 7iCr, THE SIN OF DA VID Gathers into one wave that breaks on thee! Lisle. And I must bide, till this full beauty drop Which even divinity did flush to dream. Thou witherest like a virgin at his side. \_A sudden trumpet. They start apart. Miriam. Hark ! Lisle. Tidings from the camp ! Miriam. I'll leave you, then. \_Soimd of Jiurried steps. Lisle. Some business easily despatched ! Miriam. I'll walk Here, on the terrace, till you shall decide This petty business. THE SIN OF DAVID 71 Enter soldier, with letter, accompanied by Finch Lisle. A brief "Yes" or "No." \^Exit Miriam. Lisle takes letter and reads it silently. Ah! Finch. You are stricken, sir ; lean on this arm. Lisle. No ! but stand by ; this matter presses. Go ! \_Exit soldier and Finch. [^Reading aloud. "To Sir Hubert Lisle, Commander: " The Castle of Bolingbroke still bays all attack. Those whom I have with me are 72 THE SIN OF DAVID too few : the breach I have made too slight. Another day and relief bursts upon us from Newark. "There is no way but by sudden on- slaught, and that by daybreak. Who then shall lead this } Whom hast thou in the army of such desperate valour, that, in scorn of life, he will adventure .'' For he who shall lead such onslaught, may already count himself as dead. Yet, on this hazard, stand our fortunes in this region. Hast thou a man of such fiery zeal that others follow him } Then, send him quickly. Let him know what peril awaits him ; but yet that on his peril hang our hopes. THE SIN OF DA VID 73 " Knowing well thine own spirit, I entieat that thou thyself shalt not so adventure ; for thy life is of the worth of many cities. Speed ! Speed ! " VVlLLOUGHBY." [Lisle sits doivn and spreads letter before him ujider lamp. And why should I not send — him ? He is ripe With such experience as none other hath In breaches and in onslaughts both in France And in the foreign fenland ; he, I say. Of all the host is the one only man, The apparent instrument. I do but send 74 THE SIN OF DA VID Him whom the peril asks, by man un- blamed. With God how stand I ? Vain to palter there. I'd have the husband dead that I might clasp The wife secure. If then behind the deed The mind can murder, and the heart can kill; Then this mere silent wish, born of the brain, Might instantly start up a living thing And able, without hands, to strike .'' What were I better than the lurking thief, Or hired assassin steahng from behind, THE SIN OF DA VID 75 To stab him in the back ? He shall not go. Let him succumb to the slow hour, or drop By sudden death-shot in mid-battle, or sink In casual fever— I'll not do this thing. Rather myself will go; leave pure this house. And hurl this lured soul upon the breach. \^He starts to go when Miriam enters softly, behitid, from moonlit terrace. Miriam. Hast thou despatched ? Lisle. Ah, thou 1 Miriam. Hast thou not yet Determined } 76 THE SIN OF DA VI D Lisle. \_Hesitating as he gazes at her^ No, not yet ; there's more in this Than I had looked for. Miriam. [^Stretching out her arms for letter^ May I read it.? Oft, A woman's mind is lightning, where men grope. [Lisle refuses to give letter to her. So weighty is it t Lisle. Even with Hfe and death. Nay, more : who knows } with all eternity. Miriam. {^Quickly ^ Not perilous to thee .-' Lisle. Perhaps ! Away ! Thy moonlight loveliness disturbs me. Miriam. Words To make me stay ; but, yet, I will not. I THE SIN OF DA VID ^^ Am heavy with the treasure thou hast given me, And I will steal within and spread it out. I long to lock me in and be alone With these new riches in the dimness. Lisle. Ah ! Come back. Miriam. {Laughing softly.'] I shall disturb thee. Lisle. Yet stay on. Can you not hear Time rushing past our ears, With audible, irreparable flight.? Miriam. {Gazing outzvard a7id sighing.'] How e'en the Fenland hath grown fairyland And all these levels gleam as passionate 78 THE SIN OF DA VID As the high gardens of Assyrian kings. I shall not sleep — I cannot tell thee why — \_Leaning toward hint. Oh, thou dost know ! Good night ! Lisle. Thou shalt not go. Thy hair hath slipped, and showers round thee. Now, I hold thee all dishevelled in the moon ; I cannot clasp thy spirit ; thee, I ask, Thus in thy glorious body — thee ! Miriam. I tremble. Lisle. That smile hath made a mist of all the world. Miriam. \_Starting from him.'] Listen, one Cometh on us. THE SIN OF DA VID 79 Lisle. Who ? Miriam. Alas ! \RusJies from him. Lisle. \Coming wildly down from ter- race into the room, sees the letter and snatches it up. Steps are heard, and Mardyke is seen slozvlj descendi^ig the stairs. Meanwhile the moon is clouded, and a light rain begins to fall. '\ Old man, within this moment hast thou died. Enter Mardyke, with Bible, which he lays on table. Mardyke. It seemed, a while since, that a trumpet blew; Still, by the book I sat; but have not found 8o THE SIN OF DAVID Chapter or verse that lights our present need. What tidings from the camp, what sud- den word ? Lisle. Prepare to spur at once to Bolingbroke. Mardyke. Now on the instant } Lisle. On the instant. Thou Art needed there. Grave conference is held. Thy famed experience in foreign siege The general asks. Thee only can I send. Mardyke. The moon is quenched ; yet lighten Thou this dark. Thou great Taskmaster, if unto Thy service Me Thou hast called, I go and murmur not. THE SIN OF DA VI D 81 Lisle. Arm thee and quickly, ere the blinded dawn Peer on the drizzling levels. Fast ! Away! Mardyke. With joy I go. I thank Thee, O my Lord, That Thou hast not discarded me as old, A cumberer of the ground, a lopped branch, But Thou hast service still for these grey hairs. Light though the task, I'll kindle it with fire. Restore to these old bones and cramped limbs Speed and the ancient strength of other days F 82 THE SIN OF DA VID Then when I battled and bled at La Rochelle. Ratcliffe ! at once my armour, and my horse. {Exit Mardyke. Lisle. [ Taking pen and writing^ " I send you the man fitted for our purpose ; of mighty zeal and valour, and one that can enkindle others to a hazard. Let him, then, lead this assault. He knoweth his own peril and wherefore he is sent. He himself beareth this letter. He bringeth his life in his hand. Send me swift news of the assault — and of him." [ Voices are heard, and the sound of running to and fro. Reenter THE SIN OF DA VI D 83 Mardyke, half-armed, zvith Rat- CLiFFE, tvho hastily helps him to finish his arming. Mardyke. ^To Ratcliffe.] Buckle me closer there ; and, here, more room. Ratcliffe. Thy back lies open here! Mardyke. In such a cause I fear no stab in the back; the front is all. Lisle. Here is a letter: into Wil- loughby's hand Deliver it. Mardyke. Shall I be long from home.? Lisle. I think not — till to-morrow at sunset. Reenter Miriam from the other side 84 THE SIN OF DA VID Miriam. Whither so suddenly, in the dead night ? Lisle. Your husband summoned to the camp, straightway. Mardyke. Our officers hold conference; no more. My voice is needed ; prattle not — to bed! Woman hath no concern in this. Miriam. But when Shall you return } Mardyke. To-morrow, by sunset. [Lisle goes out on terrace. Miriam watches Mardyke finishing his arming. My sword, now ! THE SIN OF DA VID 85 Enter Servant, hurriedly Servant. Sir, the horse stands. Miriam. \_To Mardyke, w/io goes to the door.'l Sir, good-night! Mardyke. There, then — {^Kisses her 071 forehead.'] Such joy have I in buckhng me Again in armour, all things I forget; Suddenly wife and home are gone from me. [Miriam goes from him to the door. Good-night, Sir Hubert. Peace be on this house ! Lisle. {^Coming down.] Sir, shall I go in place of thee 1 'Tis not Too late! 86 THE SIN OF DAVID Mardyke. Have I not prayed ? The Lord hath chosen. \_Exit Mardyke zvith Ratcliffe. Lisle goes out on terrace — soimd of hoofs galloping azvay ijito the night. A cold gliimner of dawn appears far off. Miriam. When doth the conference end .-* Lisle. To-morrow ! Miriam. Then, A httle while is ours. So cold .^ But now — Lisle. A moment, Miriam ! I must think alone. I am sore troubled. THE SIN OF DA VID 87 Miriam. Kiss me — I will go. [Lisle makes movement as though to embrace her, but cannot. Am I despised, then, that I could not hide What burned in me .-' I should have fenced and fenced And so had reverence — you despise me ? Lisle. Ah ! The starkness of the dawn is at my heart. Miriam. O, how I scorn myself — and yet — [^Putting her hand on his shoul- der and looking in his face.~\ Good- night! \_Exit Miriam. Lisle. I ne'er did love thee so as at this moment. 88 THE SIN OF DA VI D As he ttirfis, enter Ratcliffe Who's there ? Ratcliffe. I, sir. Lisle. Well, well.? Ratcliffe. The holy Book! I come to lock it safe. Each night it is My master's custom. Or, I'll leave it thus; If haply you would seek in it some verse To light our present trouble. Lisle. Leave it, then ! \^Exit Ratcliffe. A sallozv gleam of dawn falls on the Book, as Lisle opens and reads; and the sound of galloping hoofs is borne back once more on the wind. " And it came to pass in the morning, THE SIN OF DAVID 89 that David wrote a letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of Uriah. And he wrote in the letter, saying, Set ye Uriah in the forefront of the hottest battle, and retire ye from him, that he may be smitten, and die. "And the men of the city went out and fought with Joab : and there fell some of the people of the serv^ants of David ; and Uriah the Hittite died also." \^A faint sound of galloping hoofs is again heard, and then ceases. ACT III ACT III Time. — Five years later. Scene. — A room in a house on the out- skirts of the towji of Wakefield. At back a windoiv looks out on the open coutitry. On its right a door communi- cates zvith the outer courtyard; on the left another opens into the sleeping rooms of the house. Lisle discovered, seated, with papers before him ; on one side Ratcliffe, on the other two officers in attetidance. 93 94 THE SIN OF DA VID Lisle. Old Ratcliffe, ask my wife to come to me. Stay! She was hushing up the child to sleep, Low singing over him ; say will she come If he is sleeping now. \Exit Ratcliffe. Sirs, we have seen Three years of seeming peace; yet here I hold Letters in Fairfax' hand; he apprehends In Kent and Essex disaffection ; speaks Of imminent trouble. What of Wakefield then And all this region ; see you any cause Here for disquiet } THE SIN OF DA VI D 95 Officer. None, sir, save from bands Roaming in indolent undiscipline. Hither and thither, plundering purposeless. Lisle. No smouldering mischief then.'' Officer. None visible. Enter Miriam %vith child. Officers retire Miriam. Hubert — he will not sleep, but must put on His sword and strut with it. Ah ! let him stay. Lisle. Well — well! thy sword already girded on, Yet, sir, they tell me that no peril threatens. \To Miriam.] How straight he stands! His colour too not bright 96 THE SIN OF DA VID Nor dull ; but with a blander glow of blood. I think that he hath more of me than thee. Miriam. No, Hubert, no. Lisle. His eyes ! Those are my eyes. Miriam. Only in colour! but that way they ope Wide at the world, that is all mine. Lisle. Perhaps. Miriam. Then, too, his mouth } Lisle. Mine, mine in every curve. Miriam. If you had watched him smile as close as I You would not say that; all his smile is mine. THE SIN OF DAVID 97 I grant that when he frets, his mouth will drop Like to his father's. Lisle. So! from thee his joy, From me his sadness. Miriam. Hubert, no ! when he Doth sadden, that same dimness o'er him comes As upon me. Lisle. Will you claim all of him ? His eyes, his mouth, his sad hour and his bright ? His hair, now, see that curl behind the ear. Come, you must yield me that. Miriam. O, that perhaps. G 98 THE SIN OF DAVID Lisle. Will you not leave me any part in him ? Miriam. Oh, yes ! his cry when he would fight off sleep. Lisle. \_Lmig/nng.'] Well, well, sweet, we will quarrel over him No longer; he is fair and strong and bright. How his young face hath mellowed our first passion. What flamed then is a glow more beautiful. Yet is thy love of me not less .'' Miriam. How — less? Lisle. The former fury hath gone out of it, The pulsing life, the blinding dance of blood. THE SIN OF DA VID 99 Miriam. The child hath brought a tremble into it. I am grown fearful for the sake of him ; I dread the rustle of angels in his room Lisle. And now doth he divide what once was mine Wholly. Miriam. Ah, no ! he hath enriched that love. Once did it live upon thy look, thy voice, Thy strength, thy courage, and thy con- queror soul, This was enough, God knows. But, Hubert, now We two together to behold our boy. lOO THE SIN OF DAVID That we have reared and planted sunward, grow, While all our sighs like breezes come to him, And all our tears fall down on him like rain. I thought thou never couldst be more to me ; But now is added to that rapturous fire Much that perhaps of men is not esteemed, But to a woman meaneth half her life. To hold our sweet night council o'er his day, To exchange bright understandings silently At little words of his ; to bend, we two Over him dreaming while thy hand on mine THE SIN OF DA VID loi Tightens a moment ; then to watch to- gether Some little way of thee or me appear Sudden in him ; to feel our daily Hfe Grow solemn at his voice : to see our spirits, Close though they met in kiss and breathed word, Visibly here commingled and made flesh. Lisle. Now blows the future sweet into our eyes. And even peril treadeth upon grass. Enter Ratcliffe Ratcliffe. a sudden messenger from Pomfret ridden ! Enter messenger, hurriedly I02 THE SIN OF DA VID Messenger. Sir, all the country around Pomfret walls Is risen up ; the castle is cut off : We foraging without, found no return. They signal for relief ; and one even now Behind me rideth furiously, I fear Bringing worse news. Lisle. \To Ratcliffe.] Bid Arlington prepare With all our horsemen instantly to spur To Pomfret; then if he who rides behind Bear us worse tidings, I myself will lead. \_Exit Ratcliffe witJi messenger. Miriam. \_To child, zvho falls back on her shoulder.'] Ah, darling! Lisle. How, what ails the child } THE SIN OF DAVID 103 Miriam. There, there, Is thy head heavy ? On my bosom then. Lisle. Now, Hubert, little Hubert, draw thy sword ! \Child attempts, but fails to draw sivord. See thus ! \_Drazviiig /lis oivji.^ Not even a smile ! Why he would laugh And leap at this an hour since. Miriam. He is heavy. Hush ! do not speak to him. Lisle. [^Bending over hiin.~\ What dreams I have For thee. Miriam. What dost thou dream ? Lisle. He shall be tall I04 THE SIN OF DA VID Miriam. No taller than thyself. Lisle. I'd have him shoot Beyond me both in inches and in deeds. Miriam. A soldier } Lisle. No ! when he shall grow a man The land will cry for rest. I see him then A healer and a closer up of wounds. His task shall be to obliterate and soothe; To bind, not break ; to mingle, not to mar ; His counsel breathing on our England balm. This labour more than battle asks a man. Miriam. It is a noble dream. Lisle. And shall come true. Or he shall build in new lands over sea Some virgin commonwealth. THE SIN OF DAVID 105 Ratcliffe. \_Entcring hastily.'] A horse- man, sir, Spurred sweating to the gate. Lisle. Summon him in ! Enter soldier, breathlessly Soldier. From Pomfret, sir, where we are hard beset. The town may fall each moment, totters now ; And only in the sight of thee is hope. Lisle. [_To Miriam.] Dear, I must go. \_To soldier.'] Tell Colonel Arlington That I myself will lead ; let all stand by. RatcHffe, a breastplate and a helm enough ! [Ratcliffe hastily arms him. Old man, why do thy fingers fumble thus, io6 THE SIN OF DA VI D Or have thine eyes dimmed suddenly ? Apace ! Ratcliffe. O, sir, this very night-time, five years flown, Thus armed I my old master, when he fell By Castle Bolingbroke, Lisle. This very night ? Ratcliffe. This night ; when I did leave the holy Book Unlocked for you to search it. Lisle. I remember. Ratcliffe. Again the night is here! My fingers fumble About the straps as then. Pray God this night May not see dawn Hke that! THE SIN OF DA VID 107 Lisle. Leave me — enough. S^Exit Ratcliffe. \_Astdi'.'] I sent him then ! Now I myself must go. Miriam. [ To cldld, zuiih iv/iom she is walking to and fro.'] Now thou art hot, now cold. Lisle. Art thou, dead man, Urging me down that road where thee I sped.' Miriam. \^B ringing child to Lisle.] Hubert, his face ! Lisle. \_Suddenly, gazing on child.] Or, or — give me the child. Miriam. What's this } Lisle. \_To child.] Close, close, your arms about my neck. io8 THE SIN OF DA VI D No peril visible or invisible Shall touch you so enfolded. Miriam. Why so fearful^ So on a sudden ? Lisle. Is our son watch'd o'er.? Guarded each instant? Miriam. Hubert ! Lisle. Wife, I speak not Of common perils, but — of the approach Of malice superhuman. Ah ! forgive me. There came a little cloud upon my brain. Take him within ; summon the doctor straight. He is ever within call. Then send him here THE SIN OF DAVID 109 That I may speak with him. \_Kissing child and looking after them. \_Exit Miriam zvith child. Why on this night Doth the child sicken suddenly? Ah, folly ! Childhood is quickly sick and quickly well. \_A pause. Or do the dead remember still? Perhaps The spirit of the murdered fresh in wrath Leaps out upon his murderer, but in vain. Baffled by loss of corporal faculty. May he not then a spirit vengeance seek, A vengeance not of hands, and learn to blight And cripple ; and perhaps the matin chill no THE SIN OF DAVID Can use, and all the fatal airs of night, And can direct the wandering malady Whither he will ? If he then whom I slew Is aiming in such vengeance at the child ? Wilt thou revenge thee on bright curls and cheeks, And wilt thou lunge, grey swordsman, at a babe ? Enter doctor, from witJim Now, doctor, now ! How is't with him ? Doctor. He lies In some mysterious languor, and my art Reaches him not. Lisle. Is then the malady To human healers new } Doctor. To me at least. THE SIX OF DAVID III Lisle. Is it not written in thy cate- gory ? Doctor. I cannot reach the seat and fount of it. Lisle. Stands it not on the Hst, the cause, the cure ? Doctor. Show me the cause ; then will I find the cure. Lisle. What symptom hath he? Or what certain sign ? Doctor. No spot hath he, nor fever rash ; yet fever. Lisle. Doth he cry out } or lies he silent still ? Doctor. He makes no cry, yet strug- gles as he lies. 112 THE SIN OF DAVID Lisle. With what doth the child strug- gle, how beset? Doctor. He seems to fend a some- thing from his throat. Lisle. \_With a cry.'\ Thou dead man, take thy fingers from his throat; He is a young thing and a little — ah! Back to him, doctor, linger not — yet stay ; Think you that heaven doth ever intervene With special sickness, and for some rank fault In us, doth strike us there where most we love .'' Doctor. 'Tis our presumption to imag- ine it. We fancy those regardless-rolling orbs. THE SIN OF DAVID 113 Themselves inhabited, tremendous worlds, Night-lights to reassure us in the dark. We colour with our trespasses the eclipse, And hear paternal anger in the storm ; Impute to sickness wrath, vengeance to death, And memory to unrecording Nature. Lisle. Perhaps — back to his bed. Doctor. What man can do I'll do. \^Exit doctor. Lisle. [ With uplifted hands.'] O, Thou that sittest in Thy heavens. Mine was the sin ; be mine the punish- ment. But let him live. End me with lightning, or 114 THE SIN OF DAVID In fever let me burn down to the grave, But let him live. Make ashes of my life, Take from me every hope — but let him live! Strike here, here, and not otherwhere ! Or if I may not look for mercy, yet must she, Who of that murder goeth innocent. Walk with me hand in hand into this fire? By our two souls that anchor on his life. O, wilt Thou smite where all is holiest. Smite at the very fount of hope and faith. And wring the spirit for the fault of flesh ? THE SIN OF DAVID 115 Or if with mine her doom entangled be, What hath he done that he must pay the price ? What crime committed save the being born ? Then must my sin cancel for him the light, Put out the recent sunbeam, and make blank The murmurs and the splendours of the world ? Father, by that hour, when Thou wast dimmed To human in the clouds on Calvary ! — Enter soldier, suddenly 1 come, but to a phantom conflict there; n6 THE SIN OF DAVID I leave behind the real battle here. \_Exit Lisle. \_After a pause, Ratcliffe slowly enters and puts out the lights one by 07ie, and goes out, leaving the stage in complete darkness. After a pause a female figure is seen issuing from the door o?i the left, zvho goes over to the ivindow at the back, atid, withdraiving slowly the curtain, the glimmer of dawn is seen. She stands a moment gazing outward ; a single sigh of wind is heard. Enter Ratcliffe, wearily, from the door oti the right. He is about to cross the THE SIN OF DAVID 117 room zvJien the zvoman stops Jiim ivitJi finger on her lip and points to door of sleeping room. Rat- CLIFFE retires, bowing his head. As the woman crosses back to the door on the left, she is met by a nurse, who with whispers gives her an empty phial. The woman goes ont with this by the door ofi the right, the nurse re^naining at the other door, and listening. She then starts and Jiurries inward. The woman returjis ivith the phial and is met by the doctor, issuing from door on left. He has a glass, and, holding the phial to the light, pours ii8 THE SIN OF DAVID some of it out carefully, drop by glimmering drop. Meanwhile the room is growing gradually lighter and more light. The nnrse now quickly emerges.^ touching the doctor and motionijig within. She and the doctor retire within, the woman standing beside the door viotionless. Reenter Ratcliffe hastily a7id stealthily ; he draws the woman into the middle of th'e room a7id points to window, while a noise of hoofs is heard approaching and ceases outside. A soldier nozv enters hurriedly, but, about to speak, is motioned to siletice by Ratcliffe THE SIN OF DAVID 119 and the woviaii. Ratcliffe takes soldier dozvn. Ratcliffe. Your news ? But soft, in whisper. Soldier. Victory ! Pomfret relieved ! — Sir Hubert from hot fight Returning — well-nigh home — already. Listen. \Far off is Jicard the sound of the Puritan hymn of victory. It grozvs londer and louder. There is a sound of commotion ivithoict, and enter Lisle, casting aside his armour as he comes, followed by certain captai7ts. I20 THE SIN OF DAVID Lisle. How is it with the child ? \The woman and Ratcliffe motion him to silence. Woman. Hush, sir, be still. The moment is approaching and the struggle. Lisle. Let me go in to him. Hold me not back. \He rushes to door, but is met by nurse, with finger on lip. She stands before the door. Nurse. Hist ! do not now disturb him. Now is come The moment when he wakes or sleeps for ever. THE SIN OF DA VID I2i [Lisle signs to officers to withdraiv, which they do in silence ivitJi bowed heads, and stealthily folloived by Ratcliffe. The nnrsc and woman retire witJiin, silently. Lisle, left alone, goes to zvindozv at back, and, holding 7ip his hands, causes the chanting of the soldiers, ivJiich has come nearer a7id neai'er, to subside a7id cease. He comes down to the door and stands by it, breathing heavily. Lisle. God ! God ! Reenter doctor, who stands with bowed head at door, njuioticed at first by Lisle, zvho at length sees Jiim The child is dead ? 122 THE SIN OF DAVID Doctor. The child is dead. \_Exit back into room. Lisle. The sin of David mine, and mine the doom ! Would I had found the death I sought with passion, There in the storm of swords round Pomfret keep ! Yet she — 'tis she whom now I must re- member ; She is alone with him and makes no cry. No ! she is very silent : most she needs My arm supporting, and upholding words. With her must I abide, lift, and sustain her. Enter Miriam. She stands alone by the door. THE SIN OF DA VI D 123 Miriam. What have I done, that God hath taken my child ? Lisle. \_Hesitati71gly and tenderly. '\ How should thy deed bereave him of his breath } Miriam. \^Slowly recognising Lisle.] And thou I thou wast his father, wast thou not .'' Lisle. And am thy husband upon w^hom to lean. Miriam. How have I sinned? 1 do not understand. Lisle. O, Miriam — Miriam. Wherefore was he dangled bright Before my eyes a moment — then with- drawn ? 124 2"i¥^ SIN OF DAVID He had just learned to run alone ; and I Had taught him a few words — and he is gone. Lisle. How can I help you but a little, tell me .-' Miriam. The causeless theft! I say it were relief To feel that here I paid for some far sin. Sooner heaven's ire than heaven's indiffer- ence ! O, Hubert, yes — on me this doom has fallen. Lisle. On thee ! Why thee ^ Miriam. I rushed into thy arms In headlong passion and in frenzied blood. THE SIN OF DA VI D 125 And recked not of my husband, nor of law. This is my punishment ! Lisle, Why charge thyself ? Shall we accuse us of the frozen bird, Plead guilty to the fallen buds of spring? Miriam. That bud was mine; and I have cankered it : And though my boy came from me with- out spot. And though his body from the scythe of Death Lieth as sweet as mown grass in the even. Yet on his soul were deep transmitted stains, And tell tale scars, to spirits visible. 126 THE SIN OF DAVID Lisle. Peace ! Miriam. I am held unworthy, as who should say — " She is unclean : ah, trust her not with babes." Sir, I was no fit mother for your child. Lisle. Miriam ! Miriam. A mother } No ! not even a nurse. I had known too much to dare undress thy babe. Where lived I ere I came into your service ? Mad you made close enquiry — you had straight Discharged me. THE S/N OF DAVID 127 Lisle. Wife ! Miriam. Yet there where he is gone, There's none so pure could tend on him as I. So brood above his opening eyes at dawn. When was I wanting found ? When, for one instant ? When was I caught a sentinel asleep .'' What flash of absence, lightning of repose, Is urged against me ? Why, I did behold And hear the coming hours approach like foes, The night a thief, the stars with poised spears, The sun Hke an incendiary rushed. Lisle. Beloved ! 128 THE SIN OF DAVID Miriam. Yet that madness all outweighs ; In blind blood have I sinned, and he is struck. And you ! I have made you suffer ! You'll not speak. Yet the gripped hand, the soldier-silence tell. Mercy, mercy, my lord ! \_SJie casts herself at his feet. Lisle. In mercy rise ! Cling not about my feet ! Loose you my knees ! I will not see you suffer or abased ! Shudder away from me ! Mine was the sin. I, I alone have brought this vengeance down. THE SIN OF DA VID 129 Miriam. Ah ! Lisle. He that was your husband — Miriam. What of hmi } Lisle. Fell in the wild assault of Bolingbroke. Miriam. Yes, yes! Lisle. Yet died he by no accident. Miriam. Hubert, this is all dark ! Lisle. Whoe'er should lead That desperate onslaught, he must surely die. I sent your husband. Miriam. Knowing this.? Lisle. Because 1 knew it. I'll not spare myself ; LU bare This traitor heart unto your eyes at last. I am no common murderer, Miriam. I I30 THE SIN OF DAVID I slew not in the open, nor in haste, Nor wracked with jealousy : I trapped him to it, Beguiled him with some common con- ference, Then wrote a letter marking him for death. And watched him ride, dying, into the night. Miriam. Therefore wast thou so cold, and could'st not kiss me. Away ! Lisle. He stood between us. Miriam. Touch me not! Lisle. The path to you across his body lay. THE SIN OF DA VID 131 Miriam. Blood is upon you ! Lisle. Yet — yet ! Miriam. Not his blood, murderer! Lisle. And if murderer I be, Then for thy sake am I a murderer. Miriam. No ! not of him. Lisle. Of whom then } Miriam. Of my child. Lisle. That which I did, I did with reeling sense ! 1 see the moon still on thy tumbled hair. That smile that made a mist of the great world. Miriam, O will you dare to make me your accomplice .'* 132 THE SIN OF DAVID 'Twas I that set you on, I beckoned you ? Lisle. No ! but thy moonlit beauty mad- dened me. Miriam. Ah ! will you speak of beauty at this moment .-' This beauty ! and my boy so close and cold, I sicken through all my body. Then these eyes That still shine, and these lips that dare to speak, This bosom, very snow from hills of Hell, This flesh which still I wear, whispered you on .'' This body was the bait then and the lure THE SIN OF DAVID 133 That Woo'd you to that murder — and, my God, This — this conceived my darhng ! Dead is he ? When was he ever otherwise than dead ? As soon as quickened, sentenced, judged already. Long, long ere he was born. Lisle. I, I alone Am stained. Miriam. \In frenzy^ Fll mar this body — loose your hold. Grasp not my wrists — this poison-tree I'll cleave. Lisle. On me thy fury ! Me ! Here is thy aim! 134 THE SIN OF DAVID I only have sinned ! Miriam. \_With gradual calm.'] Yet this did lure thee on. Now on the wild night-festival of sense The spirit morning dawneth — or is't per- haps Merely the drunkard's morning penitence — A misery matutinal ? All our marriage Had from the first this taint on it. No more We'll meet, nor ever touch hands, nor for a moment Glance in each other's eyes, for here I see God's finger fallen. [ With a certain zveayy s%veetness.~\ Hubert — it is past, THE SIN OF DAVID 135 My wrath with thee — but let us fly each other. Between, an angel stands with flaming sword, And at his feet the body of our babe. Quickly ! Apart ! Let water roll between us ! Away, like those first parents out of Eden ! Fiery behind us gates of Paradise! Lisle. Yet was her hand in his for all the wrath. Still, still you love me ? Tell me this at least / Miriam. Yes ! but our love is as a thing accursed. Lisle. Woman, I grope to find you, but I cannot. 136 THE SIN OF DAVID O, is there no way to you, and no path, No winding path ? Miriam. No way for thee to me. Lisle. Dear, have I lost you utterly } Miriam. For ever ! Lisle. God, can thy sea divide as does this sea, O God, what is Thy severing grave to this } \_A pause ; then, appJvacJiing her wistfully. '\ The child did you resemble in his smile. Yet me about the brow a little. Miriam. Hush ! Lisle. Leave me not utter darkness, give me some Gleam of a far-off meeting ere we die, THE SIN OF DA VID 137 Somewhere at last, at last in a strange land, Or shingle at the ending of the world ! Miriam. I am utterly a-cold and without hope. I would creep in beside the dead for warmth. Lisle. Being so cold, love, whither will you wander .'' Miriam. Away! to live with all dumb things that yearn. I'll nest with thee, thou mother bird re- turned, I feel thy dreadful circlings in my blood. I'll be the friend of the robbed lioness; Above me, lo ! the unhindered desert moon! 138 THE SIN OF DA VID I am stone to human life henceforth ! Yet, if I feel, I feel we two must part. Lisle. \_After a struggle. '\ Come, then. Good-by. Give me your hand once. Miriam. \_Tuniing and seeing him.'] Ah ! Why did you turn his eyes upon me then } 1 cannot go for a moment. Lisle. \Coming close to her."] Why at all.? Miriam, it seems that now for the first time We two are joined together, man and wife. [_She snakes to go."] No, listen ! Then go from me if vou will. THE SIN OF DAVID I39 Our former marriage, though by holy bell And melody of lifted voices blest, Was yet in madness of the blood con- ceived, And born of murder: therefore is the child Withdrawn, that we might feel the sting of flesh Corruptible ; yet he in that withdrawal. Folded upon the bosom of the Father, Hath joined us in a marriage everlasting; \_She raises her head.'] Marriage at last of spirit, not of sense, Whose ritual is memory and repentance. Whose sacrament this deep and mutual wound, I40 THE SIN OF DA VID Whose covenant the all that might have been. {^Solemnly. '\ And to this troth majestic shadows throng, And stand about us in dumb sympathy. In presence of these silent witnesses, And one perchance that carrieth now a babe, I take in mine thy hand and call thee wife — Wife, wife, till the grave-shattering trumpet ! Miriam. Yet I want the little hands and feet of him. Lisle. Dear, in a deeper union are we bound Than by the earthly touch of him, or voice THE SIN OF DAVID 141 Human, or little laughters in the sun. We by bereavement henceforth are be- trothed, Folded by aspirations unfulfilled, And clasped by irrecoverable dreams : \_She falls with a ay on his heart, where he holds her fast.'] Last, by one hope more deep than cer- tainty, That though the child shall not return to us, Yet shall we two together go to him. Miriam. {^Slowly taking his hand to lead him.'] Will you come in with me and look at him .'' \_Exeunt slowly, ivith bowed heads. NERO BY STEPHEN PHILLIPS CHARACTERS Nero Britannicus Otho Seneca . BURRUS . TiGELLINUS Anicetus A Seaman. Parthian Chief British Chief. Xenophon Slave to Nero. Agrippina Octavia Poppaea Acte LOCUSTA Myrrha Handmaidens, Spies, etc, Emperor of Rome. Nero's Half-Brother. A Young Noble. Ministers of State. A Physician. Nero''s Mother. Sister to Britannicus. Wife to Otho, afterwards to Nero. A Captive Princess. A Poisoner. Maid to Poppaea. Five years elapse between Acts I and II; two years between Acts III and IV. ACT I NERO ACT I Scene. — The scene is in the Great Hall in the Palace oj the Caesars. At the back are steps leading to a platform with balustrade opening on the air, and beyond, a view oj the city. [On the right of the stage is a cedarn couch on which Claudius is uneasily sleeping. On the right is a door communicating with the inner apartments. On the left a door communicating with the outer halls. 3 4 NERO ACT [Xenophon is standing by the couch oj Claudius. x\grippina is sitting with face turned to an Astrologer, who stands at the top oj the steps watching the stars. [LocusTA is crouching beside a pillar, right. A meteor strikes across the sky. The Astrologer, pointing upwards, comes down the steps slowly. Astrologer. These meteors flame the dazzling doom of kings. [Agrippina rises apprehensively. Xenophon. Caesar is dead ! Agrippina. The drug hath found his heart. [To LocusTA, who steals forward. I NERO 5 Locusta, take your price and steal away ! Sound on the trumpet. Go ! your part is done. \Exit Locusta. \Trumpet is sounded. That gives the sign to the Praetorians Upon the instant of the Emperor's death. [^Answering Trumpets are heard. Hark ! trumpets answering through all the city. Xenophon, you and I are in this death Eternally bound. This husband have I slain To lift unto the windy chair of the world Nero, my son. Your silence I will buy With endless riches : but a hint divulged Xenophon. O Agrippina, Empress, fear not me ! 6 NERO ACT Agrippina. Meantime his child, his heir, Britannicus, Must not be seen lest he be clamoured for. So till the sad Chaldean give the sign Of that so yearned for, favourable hour, When with good omens may my son suc- ceed, The sudden death of Claudius must be hid ! Then on the instant Nero be proclaimed And Rome awake on an accomplished deed. Xenophon. Then summon Claudius' musi- cians in To play unto the dead as though he breathed. Agrippina. Call them ! A lulling music let them bring. \Exit Xenophon. \She turns to Astrologer. I NERO 7 O thou who readest all the scroll of the sky, Stands it so sure Nero my son shall reign? Astrologer. Nero shall reign. Agrippina. What lurks behind these words ? There is a 'but' still hovering in the stars. Astrologer. Nero shall reign. Agrippina. The half! I'll know the rest. Astrologer. Peer not for peril ! Agrippina. Peril ! His or mine ? Astrologer. Thine then. Agrippina. I will know all, however dark. Finish what did so splendidly begin. Astrologer. Nero shall reign, but he shall kill his mother. Agrippina. Kill me, but reign 1 8 NERO ACT Enter Seneca Seneca. The trumpet summoned me, And I am here. . Agrippina. Seneca ! Speak it low ! Caesar is dead ! Nero shall climb the throne. Seneca. I will not ask the manner of his death. In studious ease I have protested much Against the violent taking of a life. But lost in action I perceive at last That they who stand so high can falter not, But live beyond the reaches of our blame ; That public good excuses private guile. Agrippina. You, Xenophon and Burrus, stand with me. I NERO 9 Enter Burrus, right. He salutes the corse of Claudius Burrus. Obedient to the trumpet-call I come. Agrippina. Say, Burrus, quickly say, how stands our cause With the Praetorians who unmake and make Emperors ? Burrus. The Praetorians are staunch. And they are marching now upon the Palace. Agrippina. Will they have Nero? Burrus. Yes, and double pay. There is a murmuring minority Who toss about the name Britannicus. These may be feared ; let Nero scatter gold lo NERO ACT There where dissension rises — it will cease. Their signal when they shall surround the palace, The gleam of my unsheathed sword to the dawn. Agrippina. Stand there until I have from him the sign, Then let thy sword gleam upward to the da^^^l. [Turning and pointing to body 0} Claudius. That is my work ! Also, I must betroth Nero unto the young Octavia, And with the dead man's daughter mate my son. This marriage sets him firmer on the throne, And foils the party of Britannicus. [To BuRRUS.J You for the army answerable stand. I NERO II \To Seneca.] And, Seneca., I have entrusted Nero's mind To vou, to point an eaglet to the sun. Nero? What does he? Seneca. Nero knows not yet That Claudius is dead. Rome hath not slept, But to the torch-ht circus all have run To see him victor in a chariot race, Whence he is now returning. A night race By burning torches is his newest whim. Agrippina. a torch-lit race ! And yet why not? My child Should climb all virgin to the throne of the earth, Not conscious of spilt blood : and I meantime Will sway the deep heart of the mighty world. 12 NERO ACT The peril is Britamiicus : for Nero, Careless of empire, strings but verse to verse. How shall this dove attain the eagle cry? Seneca. Be not so sure of Nero's harmless- ness. Agrippina. What do you mean? Seneca. By me he has been taught, And I have watched him. True, the harp, the song, The theatre, delight this dreamer : true. He lives but in imaginations : yet Suppose this aesthete made omnipotent, Feeling there is no bar he cannot break, Knowing there is no bound he cannot pass; Might he not then despise the written page, A petty music, and a puny scene? I NERO 13 Conceive a spectacle not witnessed yet, When he, an artist in omnipotence, Uses for colour this red blood of ours, Composes music out of dreadful cries. His orchestra our human agonies, His rhythms lamentations of the ruined. His poet's fire not circumscribed by words. But now translated into burning cities. His scenes the lives of men, their deaths a drama, His dream the desolation of mankind, And all this pulsing world his theatre. \Steps heard without. The dead man's children startled from their sleep 1 Britannicus, Octa\da, wondering. 14 NERO ACT Agrippina. Till the auspicious hour he is not dead. OcTAViA and Britannicus enter OcTAViA. We could not sleep : father is very sick. We fancied every moment that he called us. Britannicus. And then these meteors full of coming woe OcTAViA. So brilliant and so silent ! O, I fear them. Britannicus. Is father yet awake? We want to ask him — [They approach the couch. Agrippina interposes. I NERO 15 Agrippina. Do not disturb your father for this night. OcTAViA. We will not speak, nor make the smallest sound To wake him. We must kiss him ere we sleep. Agrippina. Children, he is in need of some long rest. Go back to bed : your father sleepeth sound. Britannicus. I will go in to him, I will — and you Are not our mother. By what privilege Do you thus interpose yourself between A father and his children ? Agrippina. Would you then Trouble him, when to sleep is all he asks? Octavia. Only a moment ! But to see him ! i6 NERO ACT Agrippina . No ! Come softly back to bed ! no — no — this way ! Britannicus, with the first peer of light You shall behold your father; but not now. So the physician, Xenophon, enjoined me. Now take Octavia's hand — so, both of you. [OcTAViA holds her face to be kissed. To-night I think I will not kiss you, child. Good-night, good-night. [Exit OcTAviA and Britannicus. Seneca. How often have I taught And written, ' Children shall not be beguiled Even for good ends.' And yet, the single lie Must, for the general good, be spoken ; yet NERO 17 [Musicians meanwhile have entered, aiid are playing dreamy music. Agrippina turns to Astrologer, holding out her arms. Agrippixa. How long till Rome shall greet her Emperor ? Astrologer. Behold the heavens ! The moment ! [Exit Astrologer. Agrippina. Give the sign ! [Sounds of acclamation and cries 0} 'Nero.' BuRRUS draws his sword. BuRRUS. See the Praetorians ! Seneca. Nero returns. l8 NERO ACT Enter a Herald gorgeously dressed, hear- ing a silver wreath. Messenger. From Nero unto Agrippina greeting ! He comes a victor from the chariot race. [Sounds of acclamation grow louder, the crowd of Nero's friends and satellites pours in: last comes Nero dressed as a charioteer. Agrippina. [Touching Claudius' body.] That music be a dirge : Caesar is dead. [Nero pauses wondering. Claudius is dead. Reign thou. Ave Caesar ! [BuRRUS leads Nero to back of platform, and addresses the soldiers at back. t NERO 19 BuRRUS. Caesar is dead ! Behold Caesar ! \A great shout 0} 'Nero!' 'Caesar!' Meanwhile Agrippina and Seneca are listening close together. Discordant cries are heard of ' Britannicus ! ' A slave or attendant on Nero scatters gold in the direction 0} these discordant cries, which gradually subside, and are lost in one long shout oj 'Nero, IniperatorJ Nero motions for silence. Nero. [Turning to Court.] Behold this forest of uprisen spears, Symbol of might ! But I upon that might Would not rely. You hail me Emperor — Then hail me as an Emperor of peace. First, I declare divinest clemency. 20 NERO ACT No deaths have I to avenge, no wrath to bribe, No desperate followers clamouring for spoil; Pardon from me may beautifully fall. Next, I bestow full liberty of speech; I will not sway a dumb indignant earth — Emperor over the unuttered curse. Were I myself the mark, I will not flinch. Yet citizens, if freedom of the tongue I grant, I'd wish less freedom of the feast. Then all informers who he life away I'll heavily chastise ; let no man think With hinted scandal to employ mine ear. Last, over all my earth be perfect trust, That every tribe and people, dusk or pale, Legions extreme and farthest provinces, I NERO 21 May know that this my hand which striketh down The oppressor and the tyrant from his seat Shall raise the afflicted and exalt the meek. And if this burden grow too vast at times, Then, mother, teach thy son to bear the load. \Exit Court. Agrippina. [Rushing to embrace him. He is vested with the purple and laurel wreath. The body 0} Claudius is borne off. Exit BuRRUS. 'Nero comes down.] Nero, thou art my son ! Nero. To rule the world. How heavy is the sceptre of the earth ! Agrippina. [Coming down.] Nero, upon this arm behold I clasp 22 NERO ACT This amulet. One dawn two murderers Despatched to kill thee, stealing to thy bed Were frightened by a snake which from be- neath Thy pillow glided. From that serpent's skin I made this charm. Wear it, and thou shalt prosper ; But lose it, look thou for calamities. Seneca. [Prepares to go also.'] You will need sleep, sir, for to-morrow's task. Nero. \In terror. \ I am not pale? Not heavy-eyed ? Seneca. No ! No ! Nero. An artist, whatsoever mood he rouse In others, should himself be ever still. Where is a mirror? I NERO 23 Seneca. Sir, one graver word. To-morrow when you first shall sit in judg- ment, And set your name unto the scroll of death — Nero. [Gazing at himself in mirror.] Ah! Must I sign death-warrants? Then I wish This hand had never learned to write. Seneca. Dear pupil ! Agrippina. Your pupil now the awful purple wears. You tremble but to grasp the pen ! But they Who dyed it thus, feared not to grip the brand. Nero. [Again looking in mirror.] It is an act to me unbeautiful. To scatter joy, not sadness, was I born. 24 NERO ACT Agrippina. It is an act to you most neces- sary, If you would sit secure where I have set you. Now the light things of boyhood, toys of youth, Unworthy that stern seat, you must discard. Acte, the playmate of those careless hours. Henceforth must be forgotten : you shall wed A royal consort — young Octavia, The child of Claudius, of the imperial Hne. Seneca. My peaceful counsel you will not forget. Nero. [Turning to Seneca, ajjectionately.] Old friend, I am not hke to wade in blood. Thee at my side ! I think upon the dooms Of Juhus, Caius, and Tiberius, All Emperors — all miserably slain. I NERO 25 Seneca. This dawn art thou the master of the world; Then tremble at the task to thee assigned. Meekly receive the purple and the wreath, And on thy knees accept omnipotence. Good-night, dear pupil! May my teaching lead Thy solemn opportunity aright ! \Exit Seneca. Nero. You powers sustain me to endure this weight ! Mother, I shall go mad ! Agrippina. Not while this hand Is on thy brow, and this voice in thine ear. Nero. To rule the world ! Agrippina. We two will rule the world. 26 NERO ACT Nero. We two? Agrippina. When you have need of me, then call me. Nero. I ever shall. I need you at this moment More even than when my toothless gums did fumble About thy breast in darkness of the night. Agrippina. My dear, dear son ! And Nero, well I know That you could never hurt or injure me. But you will not forget who set you here — You will not, tell me? Nero. Never, mother, never ! Agrippina. Mothers for children have dared much, and more I NERO 27 Have suffered ; but what mother hath so scarred Her soul for the dear fruit of her body as I ? Thy birth-pang was the least of all the throes That I for thee have suffered — a brief pain, A little, Httle pain we share with creatures; But what was this to torments of the mind, The dark, imperial meditations. Musing with eyes half-closed in moonless night ; The crimes — yes, crimes, the blood that has been spilt — Why, I have made a way for thee through ghosts. Nero, you'll not forget? Nero. Ah ! Never, never ! Agrippesta. My son, this very night it was foretold 28 NERO ACT 'Nero shall reign, but he shall kill his mother.' Tell me the stars have lied. Nero. YSmiling.^ The stars have lied. Enter Burrus BuRRUS. The pass-word, sir, to-night? Nero. The best of mothers. Agrippina. Kiss me; we both of us must sleep awhile. \Exit Agrippina. Nero goes up, gazing out on the city as the dawn comes on greyly. Nero. O all the earth to-night into these hands Committed ! I bow down beneath the load, Empurpled in a lone omnipotence. 1 NERO 29 My softest whisper thunders in the sky, And in my frown the temples sway and reel, And the utmost isles are anguished. I but raise An eyelid, and a continent shall cower ; My finger makes the city a solitude. The murmuring metropoUs a silence, And kingdoms pine in my dispeopling nod. I can dispearl the sea, a province wear Upon my little finger; all the ^Ainds Are busy blowing odours in mine eyes, And I am wrapt in glory by the sun, And I am Ut by splendours of the moon. And diadem 'd by ghttering midnight. O ^^ine of the world, the odour and gold of iti There is no thirst which I may not assuage; 30 NERO ACT There is no hunger which I may not sate ; Naught is forbidden me under heaven ! \With a cry.] I shall go mad! I shall go mad ! [AcTE steals in noiselessly, and waits till he turns, then comes down to him. My Acte ! AcTE. [Shrinking.] O, I seem so far from you, And so beneath you now; your care hence- forth The world and nothing less. Long have you been Nero to me, but Caesar must be now, High throned, the nations crawling at your feet. And yet be sure that if on some far day I NERO 31 The throne should pass from you ; if you should stand Lonely at last; your friends all fallen away From you ; the laurel upon other brows Set ; were you dyed in blood deep as the robe That folds you ; were you dead in rags reposing, Yet would I find you, cover up your face, Taking the last kiss from your Hps, and I Would gently bury you within the earth. Nero. x\h ! AcTE. And though none came nigh you, being dead, Who were in life so thronged about and pressed. One hand at least would duly pluck you flowers, One hand at least would strew them on your grave. 32 NERO ACT Sleep now, and I will charm these eyes to close. \She takes a harp, and as she plays Nero drops off to sleep. She, seeing him so, softly kisses him and noiselessly disap- pears. Meanwhile Nero turns un- easily in his sleep, and a procession of dead Emperors passes — Julius, cover- ing his face, but withdrawing his cloak to gaze a while on Nero; Tiberius; Caius wounded; Claudius holding a cup. Nero rushes forward, uttering a cry. Acte again re-enters at the sound. Nero, what ails you? Nero, how the drops Stand on your brow ! I NERO 33 Nero. There, there, I seemed to see As in procession the dead Emperors : JuHus, Tiberius, Caius, Claudius, All bloody, and all pacing that same path. AcTE. \Trying to lead him on the opposite way.] There is another path, will you but take it. [Nero is led by her a little way, then hesi- tates, still gazing after the procession of Emperors. Gradually he looses Acte's hand, and she leaves him, gazing. ACT II ACT II Scene. — The same, hut signs of excessive luxury and projusion. Rich carpets, gilded pillars, etc. As the scene opens, strange oriental music is heard, with singing. Girls enter slowly and place wreaths round the various statues of Nero, who is depicted now as Apollo singing, now as a charioteer. [AcTE is reclining on a couch. The time is broad noon. A faint exotic odour pervades the palace. 1ST Maiden. O Lydia, I am drowsing, and my hands Can scarcely wreathe the Emperor as x\pollo. 37 38 NERO ACT 2ND Maiden. Ah, crown this carefully! To-day he sings In public; as Apollo will return So cro^vned, so garbed. 1ST Maiden. How is that wreath dis- posed ? 2ND Maiden. Excellent ! 3RD Maiden. O please tell me how to droop These scarlet flowers. 2ND Maiden. About the lyre then, thus. 4TH Maiden. This bust now of the Emperor as a boy? 1ST Maiden. O, covered with white flowers and birds of spring. 5TH Maiden. This charioteer: with green I have dressed that. 11 NERO 39 3RD Maiden. Yes, for the Emperor's col- our is the green. 1ST Maiden. Now all the busts are wreathed. 2ND Maiden. What more to do? 1ST Maiden. All is arranged. How heavy are my eyes. 3RD Maiden. And this low music on my spirit hangs. 4TH Maiden. And the faint odour steals upon my hair. 1ST Maiden. [Moving up and leaning out.] See, all the city is a solitude. 2ND Maiden. All Rome is gathered in the theatre To hear the Emperor sing. 40 NERO ACT 5TH Maiden. O, I should sleep On such a noon, in such a throng. 1ST Maiden. That sleep Would have no wakening, if your eyes but closed While Caesar sang. 4TH Maiden. To-night there is a feast. Have you remembered ? 3RD Maiden. Yes, the dancing girls From Egypt are arrived. 1ST Maiden. We are to strew Do\STi from the ceiling flowers upon the guests. \They recline in various attitudes about the seats and pilars. n NERO 41 Enter Seneca and Burrus BuRRUS. Ah, Seneca, five years since Nero climbed The throne: and in this ver}- chamber, now So changed, this odour — pah! This was the place. Grim, bare, for mihtar}- virtues apt. Seneca. .\nd he how changed ! The boy who dream.ed so high Of mightiest empire and unmeasured peace, All I had taught him lost; by flatter}' sapped, Jewelled and clothed as from the Orient, He sings and struts with dancers and buf- foons. AcTE. [Starting up.] And you, when have you two dissuaded him? 42 NERO ACT Or when forbidden ? Do you teach him shun Languor or luxury? You lure him thither. Seneca. 'Tis true that we have not dissuaded him, But out of high deliberate policy Have suffered him to tread the path of folly Rather than mischief. We have ruled the world With wisdom these five years while he has played. AcTE. What of Poppaea, Otho's wife. Have you Restrained that madness? Rather have you not Screened it and fed it? Seneca. With the same design; Better that he should vent his madness thus n NERO 43 In pastime to the State not perilous, Amuse himself with her rather than Rome. AcTE. A woman without pity, beautiful. She makes the earth we tread on false, the heaven A merest mist, a vapour. Yet her face Is as the face of a child uplifted, pure ; But plead with lightning rather than those eyes, Or earthquake rather than that gentle bosom Rising and falhng near thy heart. Her voice Comes running on the ear as a ri\ailet ; Yet if you hearken, you shall hear behind The breaking of a sea whose waves are souls That break upon a human-cr}-ing beach. Ever she smileth, yet hath never smiled, 44 NERO ACT And in her lovely laughter is no joy. Yet hath none fairer strayed into the world Or wandered in more witchery through the air Since she who drew the dreaming keels of Greece After her over the Ionian foam. BuRRUS. Better an Emperor fooled than Rome undone ! AcTE. Though all unite to drive him to his doom, Yet I will not forsake him till he die. \Exit AcTE. [Meanwhile there is an uneasy movement among the Girls, as at the approach of something sinister. Tigellinus enters, gasping. II NERO 45 TiGELLiNUS. [Looking after Acte.] She is a Christian ! BuRRUS. Tigellinus ! TiGELLINUS. I Come from the theatre. For three hours have sat In the first bench, and feared to wink or cough. The Emperor sang, and had for audience The flower of Rome. In torment did we sit, Nobles and consuls, captains, senators, Bursting to laugh and aching but to smile. Higher and higher rose the Emperor's voice, But no man ventured to relax his lips. And all around were those who peered or crept, Inspecting each man's face, noting his look. To sigh was treason and to laugh was death, 46 NERO ACT And yet none dared be absent: how were you Excused ? BuRRUS. I pleaded the old wound. Seneca. And I Reception of the Parthian and the Briton. TiGELLINUS. I Say not so much against his moody freaks, But to be called from bed to hear him sing — O, I must have my sleep at night — well, well — To graver things. Still the conspiracy Of Agrippina swells: she aims to make Her son a toy, a puppet, while she pulls Unseen the secret strings of policy. Seneca. Is't not enough to bear upon her back Stripped continents ? To clasp about her throat II NERO 47 A civilisation in a sapphire, or That kingdoms gleam and glow upon her brow. Now doth she overstar us hke the night In splendour. Now she rises on our eyes Da\Miing in gold; or like the blaze of noon Taketh our breath on a sudden ; or she glides Silent, from head to foot a glimmering pearl. But this is woman's business: 'tis not so To listen screened to the ambassadors, To ride abroad with Nero charioted, Or wear her head upon the public coins. TiGELLixus. And she intends this very day to hear The Briton, seated by the Emperor' s side. Otho has joined her too. 48 NERO ACT Seneca. But from what cause? TiGELLiNUS. He is married. BuRRUS. Ah, Poppaea! TiGELLiNus. Jealousy Hath driven him into Agrippina's snare. Fury at Nero's madness for his wife. Now what if we could raise Poppaea up" As Agrippina's chief antagonist: We match the mistress 'gainst the mother — pit Passion 'gainst gratitude — a sudden lure 'Gainst old ascendency, the noon of beauty Against the evening of authority, The luring whisper 'gainst the pleading voice, The hand that beckons 'gainst the arm that sways. And set a woman to defeat a woman. II NERO 49 To Nero I have whispered that she dotes Upon his poems, on his rhythm hangs And cannot sleep for beauty of his verse. Seneca. This day must Nero leave his mother's lap, And stand up as an Emperor, and alone. \T rum pet. BuRRUS. Hark ! Caesar is returning. \Sounds heard of Nero approaching amid cries of 'O thou A polio T 'Orpheus come again ! ' Then enter Nero with a group of satellites, Tigellinus, Otho, and pro- fessional applauders and spies. His dress is of extreme oriental richness, and profuse in jewels: his hair elaborately curled. He carries an emerald eye-glass, and appears E 50 NERO ACT ]a'mt from the exertion of singing, from which contest he has just come. Nero. This languor is the penalty the gods Exact from those whom they have gifted high. Seneca. [Coming forward.] Sir, late arrived from Parthia and Britain — Nero. [Starting up.] A draught ! [Much hurry, zeal, and confusion among courtiers. This kerchief closer round my throat ! [They tie a kerchief round his throat. Was I in voice to-day ? The prize is won, But I would be my own competitor And my own rival. Was I then in voice? Chorus. O Memnon struck with morning, nightingale, II NERO 51 Ghost-charming Orpheus, O Apollo — god ! Satellite. O Caesar, I am one who speaks right out; If it means death, yet must I speak the truth. Thy voice was harsh. Nero. Was it so, friend? Satellite. Harsh and uncertain. Had it been another Who sang, it would have ravished every ear, But thee must I remember at thy best, And what in others we count excellence In thee we count a lapse, and falling off. Nero. There's a good fellow ! Seneca. Caesar ! Nero. But a moment ! 52 NERO ACT 1ST Spy. [Stealing forward.] Licinius smiled, sir, at thy final note. Nero. Nothing ! an artist must bear ridicule. Were I incensed, I were ridiculous Myself. 1ST Spy. Shall nothing then be done? Nero. Nothing ! 2ND Spy. [Stealing jorward.] Sir, Labienus, in thy second song Coughed t\\ice. Another Spy. [Cringing.] Nay, Caesar, thrice. 2ND Spy. What punishment? Nero. None ! Interruption must I learn to bear. What patience must we own who would excel ! II NERO 53 Anger I never must permit myself, Or ruffling littleness to this great soul. 3RD Spy. [Creeping forward.] Sir, Titus Cassius yawned while thou didst sing. 4TH Spy. Nay, Caesar, worse, he slept, and must he live? Nero. [Gently.] No! he must die: there is no hope in sleep. Witness, you gods, who sent me on the earth To be a joy to men : and witness you Who stand around : if ever a small malice Hath governed me : what critic have I feared ? What rival ? Have I used this mighty throne To baulk opinion or suppress dissent? Have I not toiled for art, forsworn food, sleep, And laboured day and night to win the crown, 54 NERO ACT Lying with weight of lead upon my chest? Ye gods, there is no rancour in this soul. \Thunder. Silence while I am speaking. He must die, Because he is unmindful of your gifts And of the golden voice on me bestowed. To me no credit ; and he shall not die Hopeless, for ere he die I'll sing to him This night, that he may pass away in music. How foolish will he peer amid the shades When Orpheus asks, 'Hast thou heard Nero sing ? ' If he must answer ' No ! ' I would not have him Arrive ridiculous amid the dead. Seneca. Caesar, the Parthian and the British chiefs. 11 NERO 55 Nero. I cannot, sirs, so suddenly return Unto life's drear}^ business, or descend Out of the real to the unreal : from that Which is to that which is not. Leave me still. From art to empire is too swift a drop. Otho. Now what to do? Still drags the o'erlong day. We have driven, we have eaten, we have drunk. But all the brilliance is a burden still. Anicetus. No cloud upon the noon of this despair. O for some edge, some thrill unknown ! LucAN. Remorse ? [Nero shakes his head. Seneca. Jealousy then? Nero. No, no — we have outlived 56 NERO ACT All passions: terror now alone is left us. I have within me great capacities For terror : fear, the last, the greatest passion ! Otho. Can one rely on death for something new? Some other life perhaps. Seneca. The gods forbid ! The Power that sent us here would lead us there. One sample is enough. LucAN. Death's a dull business, Of that one may be sure. What says the poet ? 'When I am dead, let fire devour the world.' [Nero starts at these words and comes among them. Nero. Nay, while I live ! The sight ! A burning world ! 11 NERO 57 And to be dead and miss it ! Tliere's an end Of all satiety : such fire imagine ! Born in some obscure alley of the poor Then leaping to embrace a splendid street, Palaces, temples, morsels that but whet Her appetite: the eating of huge forests: Then with redoubled fury rushing high, Smacking her lips over a continent, And Hcking old civihsations up ! Then in tremendous battle fire and sea Joined: and the ending of the mighty sea: Then heaven in conflagration, stars Hke cin- ders Falling in tempest : then the reeUng poles Crash : and the smouldering firmament subsides, And last, this universe a single flame ! 58 NERO ACT [Otho, seeing the steward and musician, who have entered, speaks. Otho. Nothing is left us but to eat and drink. [Takes hill of fare which the steward passes to him. Nero. The feast ! [Takes bill of fare from Otho. You understand that in the perfect feast To please the palate only is not art, But we should minister to the eye and the ear With colour and with music. Introduce The embattled oysters with a melody Of waves that wash a reef — whence do they come? Steward. From Britain, sir. Nero. Perhaps an angrier chord U NERO 59 Of island surf might be permitted then. From Britain? Now I see thy uses, Britain. Britain is justified : she gives us oysters, And therefore Claudius invaded her. Sausages upon silver gridirons? Steward. Yes. Nero. Dormice with poppies and milk honey? There A slumberous music, heavy lingering chords. Ah! shces of pomegranate underneath. Snow — purest snow of course. Steward. 'Twas not forgot. Nero. Then glorying peacocks: here a sounding march. Something triumphal — even a tritlc loud. And, ah ! the mullets ! You remembered them? 6o NERO ACT Steward. O Caesar, yes. Nero. Let the^e be introduced By some low dirge. And let us see them die — Slow dying mullets within crystal bowls, Dying from colour unto colour: now Vermilion death-pangs fading into blue — A scarlet agony in azure ending. There we have colour ! And at last the tongues Of nightingales — the tongues of nightin- gales ? O, silence with the tongues of nightingales. \Re dismisses Steward. ] TiGELLiNUS. Sir, grant us three a moment's audience. [Nero dismisses friends and satellites with gesture. n NERO 6i Seneca. Your mother, sir, this very day intends To hear the British chiefs in audience, Sitting beside you. Know then that the world Will not endure to have a woman's rule. BuRRUS. No, nor the army. TiGELLiNUS. And thy mother laughs In public at thy verse. Nero. She has no ear. I pity her — remember what she loses. TiGELLiNUS. Ah, be not laughed at, sir, be it not said Nero is tied unto his mother's robe. Be brilliant, cruel, lustful, what you will, But not a naughty child, rated and slapped. 62 NERO ACT Poppaea too, she will not suffer you With her to indulge your fancy. Seneca. Caesar, rise! BuRRUS. Rise — rise, and reign ! TiGELLiNUS. And be no more a doll That dances while she pulls the string be- hind. Then young Britannicus ! Nero. O nothing ! TiGELLINUS. Yet He is winning on the people : he hath charm, His voice is sweet. [Nero starts. Caesar, I judge it not, But speak the common drift; and his re- cital, 11 NERO 63 So I am told, has for accompaniment Gesture most eloquent. [Nero is more and more roused. His poems, too! Nero. [Breaking the silence.'] His poems ! Why, why, not a Une will scan To the true ear; and what variety, I ask you all — what flow, or what re- source Is shown ? A safe monotony of rhythm ! \He paces to and fro angrily. TiGELLiNUS. Caesar, I cannot speak to such a theme. Merely Rome's mouthpiece. Nero. And his gesture, why, 'Tis of the Orient, and gesticulation 64 NERO ACT More happily were called ; never a stillness, Never repose, but one wild whirl of arms. TiGELLiNUS. I spoke not of fulfilment, but of promise, The artist's dazzling future. Nero. A sweet voice ! Rome hath no critics ! I would write a play Lived there a single critic fit to judge it. Whether a dancing girl kick high enough — On this they can pronounce : this is their trade. With verse upon the stage they cannot cope. Too well they dine, too heavily, and bear The undigested peacock to the stalls. TiGELLiNUS. Should Agrippina on a sudden change Her front, and clasp hands with Britannicus ? 11 NERO 65 Nero. Your words awaken in me a new thirst. Seneca. Sir, hear the Parthian and the British chiefs. Nero, ^oing to the throne.] Summon them ! [Exit Seneca. Think not, though my aim is art, I cannot toy with empire easily. The great in me does not preclude the less. [Re-enter Sent:ca with Parthlan and British Ambassadors, jollowed by the Court. Sent:ca brings forward the Parthian Chiefs, when Agrtppina enters magnificently dressid and begins to mount steps oj throne. Nero witJi courteous decision brings her down. F 66 NERO ACT Mother, this is man's business, not for thee. You jar the scheme of colour — mar the effect. Parthian. Caesar, we starve: all Parthia parches : all Our crops sun-smitten bleach upon the plains. We ask thy aid. Nero. And ye shall have my aid Even to the fullest: further, I will open The imperial granaries for your people's wants. Parthian. Caesar, we thank thee: and if ever thou Shouldst need the Parthian aid, whate'er the cost That aid thou shalt find ready at thy side. - \Exil. II NERO 67 British Chief. Caesar, the tax that thou hast laid on us Remit, we pray thee, else we rise in arms And will abide thy battle. Nero. So ! You dream That Caesar being merciful is weak. I who can succour, I can strike; I'll launch The legions over sea, and I myself Will lead them, and the eagles will unloose Through Britain — I who sit on the world's throne Will have no threatening from Briton, Gaul, People or tribe inland or ocean-washed. The terror of this purple I maintain. You are dismissed. 68 NERO ACT [Nero, spreading his hands, dismisses tlic Court, and conies down to his mother. Nero. Now, mother ! Agrippina. I will speak With you alone, not compassed by these men. [To Seneca and Burrus.] To me you owe the height where now vou stand. Who took you, schoolmaster, from exile ? Who Unstewarded you, Burrus? If I have made, I can unmake — Now leave me \nth my son. [ToTiGELLiNUS.] You are self-made. Gods! I'd no hand in that ! [Exeunt Seneca, Burrus, and Tigellinus.] Nero, have you forgot who set you there? NERO 69 Nero. Not while I hear it twenty times a day. Agrippina. You should not need that I remind you of it. Nero. K kindness harped on grows an injury. Agrippina, Are you the babe that lay upon my breast? Nero. I was: but I would not He there for ever. Agrippina. Have I not reared you, tended you, and loved you ? Nero. Yes, but to be your puppet and your toy. Agrippina. Boy, never since I first looked on the sun 70 NERO ACT From man or woman had I insolence, Who have sistered, wived, and mothered Emperors. Nero. I speak no insolence — you weary me! Agrippina. Gods ! you have hit on a new thing to tell me. [Coming to him.] Does your heart beat ? Are you all ice and pose ? Has nothing gripped you — is there aught to grip In you, pert shadow. Have you e'er shed tears ? Nero. For legendary sorrows I can weep : With those of old time I have suffered much, And I, for dreams, am capable of tears ; II NERO 71 But not for woe too near me — and too loud. Agrippina. O wall of stone 'gainst which I beat in vain ! Nero, I will do much to win you back For your own sake: and though it hurts me sore, Your passion for Poppaea I will aid. When did a mother yield herself to this? Nero. When had a mother such a lust for rule That she could even yield herself to this? Agrippina. [Clasping his knees.] Child, I have done with scorn, with bitter words. With taunt, with gibe. Now I ask only pity — 72 NERO ACT A little pity from flesh that I conceived, A Httle mercy from the body I bore, And touches from the baby hands I kissed. Nothing I ask of you, only to love me, And if not that, to bear with me a while, Who have borne much for you: no, Nero, child, I will not weary you, I yearn for you. Forgive me all the deeds that I have done for you, Forget the great love I have spent on you. Pardon the long, long, life for you endured. [Nero is moved and kisses her, then speaks with effort. Nero. Mother, if I have seemed to be forgetful. II NERO 73 Or cruel even, impute it not to me But to tiie State. [Agrippina starts. 'Tis thought that neither Rome, The provinces, nor armies, will endure To see a woman in such eminence. Therefore, it is advised that you retire To Antium a while, and leave Rome free. Agrippina. [Starting up.] Leave Rome! Why, I would die as I did step Outside her gates, and glide henceforth a shadow. The blood would cease to run in my veins, my heart Stop, and my breath subside without her walls. 74 NERO ACT All without Rome is darkness: you will not Despatch my shadow down to Antium? Nero. We were remembering your toils, your age. Agrippina. My age ! Am I old then ? Look on this face, Where am I scarred, who have steered the bark of State As it plunged, as it rose over the waves of change ? I was renewed with salt of such a sea. Empires and Emperors I have outlived; A thousand loves and lusts have left no line; Tremendous fortunes have not touched my hair, Murder hath left my cheek as the cheek of a babe. II NERO 75 \At this moment Burrus, Seneca, and TiGELLiNUS return, hearing the scene; and as Agrippina continues her impre- cations, the Court return and stand in groups listening. Agrippina. My age ! Who then accuses me of age? Was this a flash from budding Seneca, Or the boy Burrus' inspiration? Say? Do I owe it to the shrivelled or the maimed? Seneca. Empress, it is determined you retire. And you will better your own dignity And his assert, if you will make this going To seem a free inclining from yourself. Agrippina. Bookman, shall I learn policy from vou ? 76 NERO ACT Be patient with me. Nero, you I ask, Not schoolmasters or stewards I promoted. Is it your wih I go to Antium? Speak, speak. Be not the mouthpiece of these men : Domitius ! Nero. Mother, 'tis my A\ill you go. Agrippina. Then, sir, discharge me not from your employ Without some written commendation That I can tire the hair or pare the nails. That those who were my friends may take me in! Nero. Lady ! Agrippina. O, lady now ? Mother, no more 1 II NERO 77 Nero. [Pacing fiercely to and fro.] Beware the son you bore: look lest I turn ! Chafe not too far the master of this world. Agrippina. See the new tiger in the dancer's eye: 'Ware of him, keepers — then, you bid me go? [.4 pause. Then I will go. But think not, though I My spirit shall not pace the palace still. I am too bound by guilt unto these walls. " Still shall you hear a step in dead of night ; In stillness the long rustle of my robe. So long as stand these walls I cannot leave them. Yet will I go: behold you, that stand by, A mother by her own son thrust away, 78 NERO • ACT Cast out — ha, ha ! — in my old age, infirm, To totter and mumble in oblivion ! Nero. \To Seneca and Burrus.] A little violent that — did you not think so ? And yet the gesture excellent and strong ! Agrippina. Romans, behold this son : the man of men ; This harp-player, this actor, this buffoon — Nero. Peace ! Agrippina. — sitting v^here great Jul- ius but aspired To sit, and died in the aspiring: see, This mime — my son is he ? And did I then Have one mad moment with a street musi- cian? Seneca. Have you no shame? n NERO 79 Agrippina. This son now sends me forth, Yet it was I, his mother, set him there. \Murmur. And, ah ! if it were known at what a price, Witness, you shades of the Silani ! Seneca. Peace ! Agrippina. And witness Messalina on vain knees ! \Murmur. And witness Claudius with the envenomed cup. Nero. Silence, or Agrippina. Not the seas shall stop me now. Racing on all the shores of all the world. Witness if easily my son did reign, So NERO ACT I am bloody from head to foot for sake of him, And for my cub am I incarnadined. \Murmur. I'll go, but if I fall, Rome too shall fall : I'll shake this empire till it reel and crash On that ungrateful head; and if I fall, The builded world shall tumble down in thun- der. \Murmur. Ah! [Seeing Britannicus.] To my arms, boy! [Snatches him to her side.] Tremble now and shake ! Here is the true heir to the imperial throne, Deposed by me, but now by me restored. [Uproar. n NERO 8i I'll to the Praetorians ! ]^lamour. To the camp ! And there upon the one side they shall see Britannicus the child of Claudius, And me the daughter of Germanicus; And on the other side a harp-player, A withered pedant, and a maimed sergeant, Disputing for the diadem of the earth. Come, Caesar, away to the Praetorians ! \ExU Agrippina leading Britannicus, followed by Court in great excitement, all but BuRRUS and Seneca, Tigelli- Nus and Nero — a blank pause. Seneca. How what to do ? Tigellinus. Already can I hear 82 NERO ACT The roar of the Praetorians and their march, This time to crown another. Burrus, you Command them. Burrus. They would tear me into pieces, As hounds a master entering in on them Unrecognised, if Agrippina once Halloed to them the name ' Germanicus.' TiGELLiNUS. Surely Britannicus must be our aim: He gone, what threat, what counter-move hath she? Removing him, we take the sting from her; Then let her buzz at will. Burrus. But he is gone. Seneca. Even as an eagle snatches up a babe, So Agrippina caught him up and flew. II NERO 83 TiGELLiNUS. For once my wits are lost. Seneca. Still, what to do? [Nero has been sitting with his back to them, suddenly rises. Nero. Leave this to me! TiGELLiNUS. O Caesar! Nero. [To Anicetus.] Go thou fast And intercept my mother on her way, And say thou thus: 'Nero thy son repents His former ire and cancels the decree For Antium ; and prays thou may'st return To supper, as a sign of amity, And bring with thee the prince Britannicus.' [Anicetus is going, but Nero stops him. And as you go, send in to me Locusta. [Exit Anicetus. 84 NERO ACT I have conceived — not fully — but conceived The death-scene of the boy Britannicus. Leave this to me. TiGELLiNUS. O Caesar! Nero. It shall be Performed to-night at supper: get you seats; It shall be something new and wonderful, Done after wine, and under falHng roses; And there shall be suspense in it, and thrill : It shall be very sudden, very silent, And terrible in silence — I the while, Creator and arranger of the scene, Reclining with a jewel in my eye; And Agrippina shall be close to me, Aware, yet motionless : Octavia, Though but a child, yet too discreet for tears. II NERO 85 This you may deem as yet a little crude, But other details I will add ere supper. [Seneca withdraws in horror, as do the others, slowly. Seneca. Here's what I feared ! TiGELLiNUS. His eyes now ! Yet how calm ! So steals the panther, stirring not a leaf ! [Exeunt slowly Seneca, Tigellinus, and BuRRUS. Nero walks to and fro, con- structing the scene in pantomime to him- self. LocuSTA enters down, right. Nero. You are Locusta, and your trade is poison. [She makes obeisance. [Uneasily.] Is poison but a trade with you, or art? 86 NERO ACT Surely to slay is the supreme of arts; And with no ugly wound or hideous blow, But beautifully to extinguish life. Have you some rare drug that kills suddenly? As I have planned it, I can have no pause — Death must be sudden — silent. And my guests Must not be wearied with a pang prolonged, And there must be no cry. That understand. [LocusTA, grovelling at his jeet. LocusTA. O Caesar, such a drug is known to me, — But I will not reveal it. Nero. Die then. LocusTA. Die ? O, I love life, but this I'll not reveal. n NERO 87 Nero. Ah, you must live — you are an artist too. LocusTA. I have a poison that is shpped in wine — Not nauseous to the taste. Nero. An artist still ! Let me have that, and suddenly. And Hsten — The cup presented to Britannicus Must be too hot : so that he calls for snow To cool it. In that snow the poison lurks. \_Exit LocusTA. [Anicetus hastily returns. Anicetus. O Caesar, the Augusta had not left The palace; and now, o'erjoyous at thy words, 88 _ NERO ACT She will be present at the supper-board, Bringing with her the prince Britannicus. \Seruants enter with various dishes and arrange the tables and couches for the guests, .and supper begins. [They all recline amid a low hum 0} con- versation. Dreamy music is heard, which might be a continuation of the music played before. Nero reclines at the head of the central table between Agrippina and Octavia. Poppaea is a prominent figure. Britannicus, with other youths^ lies at a side table. Seneca, BuRRUS, and Tigellinus present with other members of the Court. At a sign from Nero dancing girls enter and per- n NERO 89 ]orm a strange, wild measure, ajtcr which the hum oj conversation is re- sumed. Again, at a sign jrom Nero, odours are spurted over the guests amid cries of delight. [At a sign from Nero, flowers descend from the ceiling. At first lilies, then of deeper and deeper colour. At last a tempest of roses which gradually slackens. Nero. Britannicus, I voice a general wish. Sweet is it, early and thus easily To have garnered fame: the cro^vn is for the few, And these .are tasked to reach it ere they die. 90 NERO ACT Oftener the laurel on grey hairs is laid, Or on the combed tresses of the dead. [Britannicus goes to. the top of the stairs to recite, and at a sign from Nero wine is handed to him. Britannicus. This is too hot : some snow to cool it : so — [Cold snow is put in and he drinks. He then recites. Beside the melancholy surge I roam — A sad exile, a stranger, sick for home: A prince I was in my far native land Who wander to and fro this alien sand : Riches I had, and steeds, a ghmmering crown ; Never had known a harshness or a frown. Now must I limp and beg from door to door, 11 NERO 91 Wet with the storm, or in the sun footsore : I, by a brother's cunning dispossessed, Crave for these languid hmbs a place of rest. Pity me, robbed of all ! \He gives a cry and jails headlong. His limbs quiver a moment and then are still. Meanwhile the shower 0} roses has slackened. There is a dead silence, and in the silence slowly all the guests turn and look at Nero, who rises, with the emerald in his eye. Nero. Lift up the prince and bear him to his room. I do entreat that none of you will stir Or rise perturbed: my brother, since his birth, 92 NERO ACT II Was ever thus : the fit will pass from him. Refill the cups : proceed we with the feast ! \There is an attempt to renew the feasting, but soon a scene of uproar and confusion arises, and the guests leave the tables in alarm. [Agrippina alone remains unmoved, and then, as the guests have departed in dis- order, she confronts Nero alone. Agrippina. Thou hast done this. Nero. Mother, I am thy son ! ACT III SCENE I Scene. - - Nero's private chamber. Enter Nero hastily and perturbed, followed by Seneca, Burrus, and Tigellinus, his privy-councillors. Burrus. Caesar, still glides the dead Bri- tannicus About the palace, and his memory Your mother, Agrippina, uses: makes Out of his ghost a faction for herself. She grows a pubUc peril ; much you owe To her, but more to Rome ; from Antium She rages disappointed to and fro. 95 96 NERO ACT III Me for your army you hold answerable, But can no longer if you suffer her To lure the legions from their loyalty. Her creatures whisper to your sentinels, Corrupt your officers, inflame your guards. A sullen silence on the camp has fallen, A word, and it will roar in mutiny. TiGELLiNUS. Everywhere steal her agents and her spies, Gliding through temples, baths, and theatres; Possess all angles, corners, noonday halts. And darknesses ; they flit with casual poison Softly; the city secretly is filled With murmurs, Hfted eyebrows, and with sighs. The mischief's in the very blood of Rome Unless the sore that feeds it is cut out. sc. I NERO 97 Nero. Why, I myself have \'isited the fleet With Anicetus: sullen droop the sails Or flap in mutiny against the mast. Burdened ^\ith barnacles the untarred keels, Drowse on the tide with parching decks un- swabbed. And anchors rusting on inglorious ooze. All indolent the vast armada tilts, A leafless resurrection of dead trees. The sailors in a dream do go about Or at the fo'c'sle ominously meet. Should any foe upon the sea-line loom They'll light with ease upon an idle prey. And yet I felt the grandeur of stagnation And the magnificence of idleness. 98 NERO ACT III BuRRUS, She hath seduced the breast-plates and the sails. Nero, \phtr acted.'] Here I pronounce her exile. TiGELLiNUS. Whither then ? Anicetus. To Britain send her. There for Claudius I fought; a melancholy isle, alone, Sundered from all the world; and banned by God With separating, cold, rehgious wave, And haunted with the ghost of a dead sun Rising as from a grave, or all in blood Returning wounded heavily through mist. Her rotting peoples amid forests cower, Or mad for colour paint their bodies blue. sc. I NERO 99 There in eternal drippings of the leaf Or that dead summer of the living fly, And by the eternal sadness of the surf, Ambition cannot hve, hope cannot breathe. Even the fieriest spirit there will rust Or gutter Uke a candle in the rain. To Britain send her. TiGELLiNUS. Never isle remote On the sad water, never desert sand In trembling flame, nor rock-built prison-house Shall tame her: there's the danger, that she lives. While she hath life, it is no matter where, While she hath breath, no other dares to breathe. Not Caesar, even ! loo NERO ACT III Nero. This breath to her I owe. TiGELLiNUS. [Cautiously and slowly watch- ing Nero, as do the others.] Caesar, there is a region of exile Whence none hath yet returned — your par- don, sir — Nero. [Starts and turns away.] No, no, no ! I remember very clear How gently she would wake me long ago. BuRRUS. Then be thy mother's son still and surrender This toy of Rome to her : she bought it you : Now, wearied, give it back! Nero. Ah, patience, sir! I cannot in one moment gird myself To murder all these kisses, and she hath SC. I NERO A vastness in this narrow world so rare, A sweep majestical about the earth — True, that she hath no ear for verse TiGELLiNUS. For thine. Nero. Yet passion, fury, and ambition, these Are primal things in our elaborate age. Ill can we spare them. BuRRUS. Now, 'tis you or she. Nero. A little time in which to fix my mind. I go to Baiae; for I am not housed Here as I should be : all the palace seems To me a hovel; scarcely can I breathe. I should be roofed with gold, and walled with gold, Should tread on gold ; and if I cast mine eyes I02 NERO __ ACT III Over the city, they should view a scene Of spacious avenues and breathing trees, And buildings plunged in odorous foliage. This is a petty city: I have thought It might be well to raze it to the ground And build another and an ampler Rome, More worthy site for this imperial soul. I'll go to Baiae, there to dream this dream. TiGELLiNUS. Might I propose you go not all alone ? At times the answering flash from other eyes Can aid the mightiest; and a woman's thought Nero. Yes — Yes — Poppaea ! BuRRUS. Otho will be jealous. sc. I NERO 103 TiGELLiNUS. And is already dangerous ; he has joined The Agrippina faction. Nero. He must be Promoted then to — Lusitania. TiGELLiNUS. Thule were safer — still. Nero. Here I appoint him Sole governor of Lusitania. To Baiae now — Poppaea — a new Rome ! \ExU Nero. TiGELLiNUS. He hesitates — but I will see Poppaea : She can find means we cannot, and we thus Can use her beauty for our pohcy. [£:reMw/ TiGELLiNUS, BuRRUS, Seneca, and Anicetus. SCENE II Scene. — The tiring chamber of Poppaea — signs of luxury, implements of a Roman lady^s toilet of the period. Poppaea reclining, with a single maid. Poppaea. Myrrha, more gold upon these builded curls. How often, child? Myrrha. Mistress, forgive me. [A slave has entered. Poppaea. Well ? Slave. Mistress, the Emperor's minister, TigelHnus. [Poppaea signs Myrrha to go. 104 sc. n NERO 105 Enter Tigellinus TiGELLiNUS. Lady, I am loth to interrupt this toil, But come on a secret errand. Popp.aj:a. Well, what is it? Tigellinus. Long have I watched you, and to me it seemed You had some mighty ^^^sh within your soul As yet unspoken? Ah, I know it well. You would climb high, even to the very height ? Popp-\EA. IRising.^ I would. TiGELLixus. You would be — mistress of the world ? POPPAEA. Ah ! io6 NERO ACT III TiGELLiNUS. And shall be: we aim at the same goal. You from ambition, I from pohcy. PoPPAEA. Speak clearer. TiGELLiNUS. 'Tis our wish to free young Nero From Agrippina's dangerous dominance — To free him of her quite. Now she too stands In your own path. Your loveHness may work Upon him: and we with poHcy the while — Will you make cause with us? PoppAEA. I understand. You need this beauty as an added bait To lure when pohcy can drive him not. What do I gain at last? sc. II NERO 107 TiGELLiNUS. The throne itself. Octavia is a shadow : cannot stand Between you and the world : but Agrippina, Never will suffer you while she has breath. POPPAEA. I will not tempt him to a mother's murder. TiGELLiNUS. Nor do we ask it : only that you draw His wandering fancy from her with a sweet Interposition of this loveliness, Free him of her, then bind him to yourself. PoPPAEA. I will attempt it. I will fly at it. I go to him to Baiae this same day. TiGELLiNUS. Remember all the earth is in thy reach. \Exil TiGELLiNUS.] io8 NERO ACT III POPPAEA claps her hands — enter various maids POPPAEA. Lorilla, see, this henna is o'erdone. LoRiLLA. O pardon, mistress. PoppAEA. And you, Lalage, My lips more brilliant. Lalage. Yet PoppAEA. Remember, child, That I walk ever veiled : what in the sun Glares, being veiled a finer richness takes And more provokes : how many struggling flies This veil, the web of mine, hath struggling held Which else were freed ! [Gazing at her face in mirror. Ah ! this left eyebrow — who ? Who painted this? sc. II NERO 109 Maid. [Trembling.] I, madam. POPPAEA. You are young : Else I would have you stripped and lashed till blood Flew from you. Maid. Mercy ! PoppAEA. Call old Lydia. Lydia, this eyebrow — the old touch. Lydia My hands Tremble, but I'll essay. PoPPAEA. [Gazing in mirror.] So — that is well. Children, when there shall come, and come there must, ' The smallest marring wrinkle on this face, And come there must — our bodies fall like flowers, iio NERO ACT III This face shall feel the ruin of the rose — When time, howe'er light, shall touch this cheek, Then quick farewell ! Listen, I will not Hve Less lovely, nor this cruel beauty lose, And I perforce grow kind : I'll not survive The deep dehcious poison of a smile Nor mortal music of the sighing bosom That slowly overcomes the fainting brain. It shall not dawdle downward to the grave ; I'll pass upon the instant of perfection. No woman shall behold Poppaea fade : And now to Baiae ! Myrrha. Thence the Emperor Hath sent three messengers already. Poppaea. Ah ! sc. II NERO III Blue Baiae, warm beside a sparkling sea Where I will win young Xero — and the world ! Enter Otho hastily Otho. The Emperor hath sent three mes- sengers Demanding you for Baiae: yet am I Not asked : what means this lonely summons, ^^^fe ? PoPPAEA. Can you not trust me? Otho. When I gaze on you, Yes — when your voice is murmuring at my ear, Yes — but at times when I am pressed by crowds Or yearn alone beside the breaking wave 112 NERO ACT in POPPAEA. Will you not trust me? Why then do I go? Is't for myself ? You know \yell — 'tis for you; To praise the Emperor's verses — but for you ; To applaud his feeblest gesture — but for you ; To coax from him a kingdom — but for you ! Yet are you angered. Otho. 'Tis a perilous game. Nero may ask more of your loveliness. PoppAEA. A woman may surrender inch by inch Even to the edge of shame : then sudden rise Unmelting ice. Otho. Poppaea, I like it not. PopPAEA. All is for you. SC. I NERO 113 Enter an Officer with Attendants Officer. Sir, from the Emperor. Thus Caesar saith: 'Hereby do we decree Otho, our bosom's friend, sole governor Of Lusitania : with imperial leave Whom to appoint, dismiss: all revenues In his control: thither let him proceed To-morrow ere sunset.' Otho. [Looking at Poppaea, then turning /(? Officer.] I shall obey [Exit Officer and Others. Dismiss the slaves. Poppaea. Otho, I swear Otho. Dismiss them. Poppaea. Myrrha, stay by me! On my knees I swear 114 NERO ACT III Otho. Stand up! You knew this? POPPAEA. Dear, I never could Otho. [Taking her by the arm.] You go to Baiae into Caesar's arms. I am — promoted — to the ends of the earth, Anywhere, anywhere, so I be not there To interrupt. [He throws her from him — snatches his dagger. PoppAEA. Kill me then if you will. Here — here ! I will not flinch, so I die true. You'll not suspect my corpse. Otho. It has been planned. Thought out, and timed — for in his deepest plot sc. II NERO 115 Our Nero has an eye for drama still. He hath imagined that which now we act. POPPAEA. Kill me — I love you ! Ere you strike, one kiss. Otho. Ah ! \Recoiling.'\ PopPAEA. But one kiss — a kiss of olden days, When we two were most happy : Caesar was not, And you had laughed at him ! A harp-player, But not my man, my Otho ! Think you I Who have had these arms about me, and these lips Bum up my own, could languish for a mime ? I am a child — I have done wrong — forgive it — Ii6 NERO ACT III I sighed for thy advancement — speak to me ! Now slap my hands or send me to my bed, I am a baby in these deep affairs. Otho. Go not to Baiae then: depart with me To Lusitania; words I'll count no more, But deeds — to Lusitania, come with me. POPPAEA. Is it wise to disobey — is it wise, I ask? Set me aside, be mindful of yourself. Otho. So you'll not come? PopPAEA. For you alone I linger. I'll tarr>' but a little while behind you. And when I come, I'll greet you full of riches. Otho. I dread to leave you in your love- liness. sc. II NERO 117 POPPAEA. Then I'll not go with you. Otho. You will not — Why ? PopPAEA. Because you will not trust me. Show to me That you can trust me, Otho; and what joy, What satisfaction can you have to drag Your wife behind you, from dull jealousy Because you do not dare leave her behind For fear — I'll not be such a wife. Otho. Poppaea, No more I'll ask you to depart with me, I'll go alone : but this remember still — Gay have I been, a spendthrift and an idler, A brilHant fly that buzzed about the bloom. But I had that in me deep down, and sdll, Of which you, you alone, possess the key, Ii8 NERO ACT III A sullen nobleness to you disclosed E'en then with shame: and by no other guessed. This you well know : betray not that at least ; For even the lightest woman here is scared, And dreads to dabble deeper in the soul. We have no children, PoppAEA. [Coming to him and putting up her face.] Am I not child enough Who should be woman? You shall kiss these lips Once ere you go — so close they are to you. Otho. The gods laugh out at me — but I must kiss you. PoppAEA. Can I not help your prepara- tion? sc. II NERO 119 Otho. No. I shall not go with pomp ; but as a soldier. POPPAEA. I think you are still angry? Otho. No ! Farewell, I have brief time. PopPAEA. Ah! take me with you, then. Otho. What ! You will come ? PoPPAEA. I wish — I wish 'twere wise. My love shall bear your htter all the way. \Exit Otho hastily. Re-enter Maid Maid. Has he gone, lady? Had I such a man I could not let him part thus, not for Caesar. I20 NERO ACT III POPPAEA. For Caesar ! No : but Caesar means the world ! For Baiae ! The new gold-dust ! Maid. Here, I have it. PoppAEA. Bear it yourself — entrust it to no other. \Exeunt. SCENE in Nero's Private Chamber in the villa at Baiae, looking directly upon the bay. Left, doors leading into the apartments. The water laps close up to the marble quay or terrace on which the action takes place. Right are seen prows of galleys at their moorings. Beyond is the curving slwre 0} the bay, crowded with villas and temples. The scene is of extreme southern richness and serenity. Time won. ""Nero is pacing restlessly to and fro. Enter a servant. 122 NERO ACT III Nero. The lady Poppaea! Is she yet arrived ? Servant. Sir, an hour since. Nero. [Impatiently.] Then why is she not here? [Exit Servant. An hour since : yet she lingers while I ache With passion. She comes not, still she delays. To fly to her? No, 'twere unworthy of me — And yet, and yet — Ah ! I must go to her. Enter slaves bearing Poppaea on litter Poppaea. [Standing aloof and veiled.] Caesar, by thee thrice summoned, I am here. What is your will? Nero. To have you at my side. sc. Ill NERO 123 PoppAEA. Caesar, I am thy subject, and obeyed Unwillingly. Nero. Unwillingly ? PoppAEA. I come In loyalty: what service can I render? If none, then suffer me now to depart. I tremble to be seen with thee alone; No whisper yet has touched me. Nero. So you come. But out of loyalty. PopPAEA. As fits thy subject. Nero. No, I am thine ! PopPAEA. Caesar, I will not hear, I must not if I would — that you know well. Nero. You come in cold obedience? 124 NERO ACT III POPPAEA. I have said so. Yet Nero. [Eagerly.'] Well — well PoppAEA. Nero — nay, Caesar — my lord. Nero. Nero, I'd have you say. PopPAEA. That slipped from me — Is't treason? I know nothing of the laws. Nero. You come because thrice sum- moned ? PoppAEA. In my mind There lurked another reason for my com- ing. Nero. What then? PoppAEA. A thought that like a captive bird sc. Ill NERO 125 I have kept warm about my heart so long I am loth to let it fly forth to the cold. Nero. [Approaching her.] Tell me this thought. POPPAEA. Then, Caesar, I have long Brooded upon the music of thy verse. It doth beset me — and, O pardon me, If, little fool that I am, I longed to speak But once alone with him who made it. Now, What have I said? I will return forth- with. Nero. O not thy beauty moves me but thy mind ! PoppAEA. I think I have some little ear for verse. There is one line 126 NERO ACT III Nero. Yes — yes POPPAEA. Of burning Troy — 'O city amorous red, thou flagrant rose' Nero. A regal verse! But the arm ex- tended thus Toward doomed IHum. Say on. PoppAEA. My eyes Are filled with tears. Nero. Remove thy veil and weep. PoPPAEA. [Starting back.] For no man — save my husband — O my lord ! He is despatched to Lusitania. Nero. Know you not why? ■ PoppAEA. I know not — cannot guess. Nero. That he might stand no more be- tween us two. sc. Ill NERO 127 POPPAEA. O sir, he is my husband, and my way Is with him wheresoe'er he go. My duty Nero. But your indining? PoppAEA. That I will not say. But Lusitania is henceforth my home. Nero, I will speak truth : I'll not deny There is some strange communion of the soul 'Twixt you and me: but I'll not yield to this. No, nor shall you compel me, Caesar: I Will follow Otho even to banishment. There are more sacred things in my regard Than mutual pleasure from melodious verse. Nero. Nothing, when soul meets soul without alloy. 128 NERO ACT III PoppAEA. I fear you do forget I am a woman. Dear to us before all are household cares. Nero. O to the average, not to thee. PoppAEA. Farewell ! Nero. You shall not go thus. PoppAEA. Caesar, chain me here. But in neglected duty I shall pine. Nero. [Angrily striding to and jro.] Ah! PoppAEA. And imagine that he did not live — That I were free to indulge this panting soul — Still there are bars between us none can break. Nero. You mean my wife Octavia? PoppAEA. Well — and yet Not she, perhaps. sc. Ill NERO 129 Nero. Who then? What other bars? POPPAEA. Your mother Agrippina. Nero. Still my mother ! PopPAEA. She would not bear it: would command her son To leave me: a younger woman has no hope Against her. Nero. I am not her lackey. POPPAEA. No ? Ah, but her child, and bom but to obey. And yet though wiser, mightier, than my- self, You shall not find in her a listener So still, so answerable to your mood. And, I will say it, you'll not find in her One who has dived so deep into your soul. 130 NERO ACT III Who sees — I cannot flatter — sees that great- ness Which she too long keeps under: were I you I would be Caesar, spite of twenty mothers, And seem the mighty poet that I am. I'll go. Nero. You madden me POPPAEA. Farewell again. Nero. Poppaea, go not, go not. All the east Burns in me, and the desert fires my blood, I parch, I pine for you. My body is sand That thirsts. I die, I perish of this thirst. To slake it at your Hps ! You madden me. \JIe seizes her cloak and she stands re- vealed. sc. Ill NERO 131 Goddess ! What shall I give thee great enough ? I'll give thee Rome — I'll give thee this great world, And all the builded empire as a toy. The Mediterranean shall thy mirror be, Thy jewels all sparkling stars of heaven. The orb of the earth — throw it on thy lap But for a kiss — one kiss ! POPPAEA. But Agrippina? Nero. Agrippina ? PoppAEA. No — I'll not think of it ! I'll have no violence for my sake com- mitted. If by some chance unlocked for she should die, 132 NERO ACT III If in some far, far time she should succumb To creeping age — then Nero. Then ? Enter Messenger hurriedly Messenger. Sir, urgent business — The State demands you. Nero. \Furiously.'\ Pah! — the State! POPPAEA. O Nero! Remember first the State — me afterward ! Nero. Empress ! \lB.e leads her out. [He returns and stands as in a dream while the Councillors enter. BuRRUS. How long? How long, sir? Agrippina sc. Ill NERO 133 Is drawing to her net the dregs of Rome, Makes mutinous the rabble and the scum. [Nero makes weary gesture. Seneca. And, sir, she has not scrupled to enroll The ragged, shrieking Christians, who wash not, The refuse of the empire, all that flows To this main sewer of Rome she counts upon. TiGELLiNUS. [Stealing forward.] And, sir, if these things move you not — a letter. Nero. [Reading.] ' I, Agrippina, daugh- ter of Germanicus, of Claudius widow, of Nero mother, hereby do declare that though I have sat tame under private injuries, I will not forgo my public privileges, nor consent to be banished from high festival or cere- 134 NERO ACT HI mony. I purpose then to be present at Baiae at Minerva's feast, together with the Emperor, and will hold no second place. This is my ancient right and to that right I cleave. 'The Augusta.' Seneca. This is her ultimate audacity. TiGELLiNUS, And this our utmost oppor- tunity. Nero. Sirs, seeing that the State demands this life, Seeing that I must choose 't^^ixt her and Rome, I do consent to Agrippina's death. The State like Nature must be pitiless, And I must ruthless be as Nature's Lord. But I'll be no Orestes, I'll not lift This hand against her: see you then to that! sc. Ill NERO 135 It is enough to have conceived this deed. The how, the when, the where, I leave to you. TiGELLiNUS. She is delivered now into our hands, And runs into the toils we had not set. In Baiae no Praetorians are camped, No populace inflamed in her cause; A solitary woman doth she come. Caesar, receive her graciously and well. Smile all distrust away and speak her soft, While we devise for her a noiseless doom. Anicetus. Caesar, a sudden thought hath come to me. A pleasure pinnace lies in Baiae Bay Buih for thyself: on this let her return In the deep night after Minerva's feast. 136 NERO ACT III Or supper given in sign of amity. I will contrive a roof weighted with lead Over the couch whereon she will recline. Once in deep water at a signal given The roof shall fall: and with a leak prepared The ship shall sink and plunge her in the waves. In that uncertain water what may chance? What may not? To the elements this deed Will be imputed, to a casual gust Or striking squall upon the moody deep. Nero. Wonderful ! This gives beauty to an act Which else were ugly and of me unworthy. So mighty is she that her proper doom Could come but by some elemental aid. Her splendid trouble asketh but the sea sc. Ill NERO 137 For sepulchre : her spirit limitless A multitudinous and roaring grave. Here's nothing sordid, nothing \-ulgar. I Consign her to the uproar whence she came. Be the crime vast enough it seems not crime. I, as befits me, call on great allies. I make a compact ^\ith the elements. And here my agents are the \tx\ \^^nds, The waves my servants, and the night my friend. BuRRUS. Suppose the night be clear, with a bright moon, A calm sea. Nero. On the moon I can rely. Last night I wrote to her a ghmmering verse; She is white with a wan passion for my lips. 138 NERO ACT III, sc. III The moon will succour me. Depart from me — Trouble me not with human faces now. \Exeunt Councillors. [Meanwhile Poppaea appears behind in a gorgeous dress with white arms extended against the curtains. SCENE IV Scene. — The same — glittering starlight. Enter various servants hearing wine-jars and dishes from the inner supper-room, in pro- cession. Then Burrus, Seneca, Anicetus, and Tigellinus. Burrus. 'Tis not man's work to witness this. I have fought Neck-deep in blood and spared not when the fit Was on me, but I cannot gaze on this. Have you a heart, old man? 139 I40 NERO ACT III TiGELLiNUS. No, not in hours Like these: the brain is all. I fear, I fear him The last farewell — he \\ill not bear it out ! Seneca. How to excuse my soul, yet I am here. Was this mere acting, or a true emotion? Anicetus. a httle of both, but most, I fear it, true. Tigellinus. Is all prepared and timed? No hazard left? Anicetus. Yonder the barge with lights and fluttering flags. The canopy whereunder Agrippina Will sit is heavily weighted: at a sign A bolt withdrawn TAdll launch it on her head. sc. IV NERO 141 Enter Nero Nero. I cannot do it: if she goes, she goes. I cannot say farewell, and kiss her lips, Ere I commit her body to the deep. TiGELLiNUS. All hangs upon the fervour of farewell, The kiss, the soft word, and the hand de- tained, All hangs on it; go back. Nero. 'Tis difficult. [Nero turns. Enter Agrippina. Come out into the cool a moment, mother. Agrippina. This seemeth like to old days come again. 142 NERO ACT III Evenings of Antium with a rising moon. [Stroking his hair. My boy, my boy, again ! Look in my eyes. So as a babe would you look up at me After a night of tossing, half-awake, Blinking against the dawn, and pull my head Down to you, till I lost you in my hair. Do you remember many a night so thick With stars as this — you would not go to bed, But still would paddle in the warm ocean Spraying it with small hands into the skies. Nero. Yes, I remember. Agrippina. Or when you would sail In a slight skiff under a moon like this. Though chidden oft and oft. Nero. Ah ! I recall it. sc. IV NERO 143 Agrippina. a wilful child — the sea — ever the sea — Your mother could not hold you from the sea. Will you be sore if I confess a thought? Nero. Ah ! no, mother ! Agrippina. So fooHsh it seems now. Awhile I doubted whether I should come. Nero. Why, then? Agrippina. Now, do not laugh at me — I say You will not laugh at me? Nero. No ! Agrippina. Why— I thought That you perhaps would kill me if I came ! Truly I did ! Nero. I kill you ! 144 NERO ACT III Agrippina. 'O,' I said, ' I have wearied him : he is weary of his mother.' Nero. Oh ! Agrippina. In my ears there buzzed that prophecy — 'Nero shall reign but he shall kill his mother.' [Nero starts. Agrippina. Now — now — I had not told you had I not Been above measure happy. Now no more Wild words, no more mad words between us two, Who all the while are aching to be friends. O how your hands come waxen once again Within my own : again behind your voice The hesitating tardy bird-Hke word sc. IV NERO 145 And the sweet slur of 'r's.' O but to-night Even grandeur palls, the splendid goal : to-night I am a woman and am with my child. \A pause and she strains him to her. Beautiful night that gently bringest back Mother to son, and callest all thy stars To watch it. Quiet sea that bringest peace Between us two. Hast thou not thought how still The air is as with silent pleasure ? Child, Is not the night then more than common calm ? Nero. A sparkling starlight and a windless deep. Agrippina. Never until to-night did I so feel The lure of the sea that lures me to lie down 146 NERO ACT III At last after such heat. Ah, but the stars Are faUing and I feel the unseen dawn. Son, I must go at once. Where is my maid To wrap me? Sweet and warm now is the night And I am glad I had prepared to go By water, not by land. Enter Servant, hurriedly Servant. O Caesar! Nero. Well? Servant. Thy mother's galley by a randon: barge Was struck, and now is sinking fast. Agrippina. Alas ! Now must I go by land. sc. IV NERO 147 Nero. Yes, go by land. [TiGELLEsrcJS signals to Anicetus. Anicetus. Yonder there lies a barge with fluttering flags, A gilded pinnace, a light pleasure-boat Built for you ^\-ith much art and well designed. Will you return in her? Easily she Can swing round to the landing-stage. Agrtppina. Yes — yes — I'll go in her — Why not ? Nero. It was foretold Enter x\cceronia, who elaborately wraps Agrippina Agrippina. Nero, my maid a moment to enwrap me. 148 NERO ACT III \As the wrapping is finished. I have slept ill of late : but I shall have A soft and steady breeze across the bay. I shall sleep sound. Now, Nero, now good-bye. For ever we are friends ? Nero. Good-bye: yet stay ! [During this dialogue he is continually de- taining her. Have I been kind, this last hour? Say. Agrippina. Most kind. Nero. You have no need to go this moment — one More moment of thee, mother. Agrippina. You shall see me To-morrow. Will you cross the bay to me, Or shall I come to you? sc. IV NERO 149 Nero. I'll come to you To-morrow! Ah! to-morrow! But to-night. Now let me have you once more in my arms. [Detaining her. Is old Cynisca with you still? Agrippina. [Going.] She is. Nero. Stay, stay, give her this ring: she nursed me. Agrippina. Yes. I see you have my amulet. Nero. O yes. Agrippina. So bright the night you'll see me all the way Across the shining water. Nero. [Clinging to her.] O farewell! Agrippina. [Descends to water.] Good- 150 NERO ACT III night, child ! I shall see you then to- morrow. Already it hath dawned. Nero. Mother, good-night. \Exit Agrippina. TiGELLiNUS, \To crew in barge.] Strike up the music there, a joyous strain ! And sing, you boatmen ; the Augusta comes. [Sounds of joyjul music are heard, and singing, as the pinnace puts off with measured beat 0} oars. Nero. It hath put off : she hath gone : she sitteth happy. See, the dead woman waves her hand to me. Now the bark turns the headland. sc. IV NERO 151 Anicetus. But will soon Steal into sight, well out upon the bay. TiGELLiNUS. Caesar, let none deny thou art an actor. Nero. {Passionately?^ Was I all actor then ? That which I feigned I felt, and when it was my cue to kiss her, The whole of childhood rushed into the kiss. When it was in my part to cling about her, I clung about her mad with memories. The water in my eyes rose from my soul. And flooding from the heart ran do\vn my cheek. Did my voice tremble ? Then it trembled true With human agony behind the art. Gods ! What a scene ! TiGELLiNUS. Listen ' 152 NERO ACT HI Anicetus. She is well out, Glassed in the bay with all her lights and flags. Soon will a crash and cr)' come in our ears. Nero. [Going out.] How calm the night when I would have it wild ! Aloof and bright which should have rushed to me Hither with aid of thunder, screen of lightning ! I looked for reinforcement from the sky. Arise, you veiling clouds; awake, you winds, And stifle with your roaring human cries. Not a breath upon my cheek ! I gasp for air. [To Others.] Do you suppose the very elements Are conscious of the workings of this mind? So careful not to seem to share my guilt ? Yet dark is the record of wind and wave. sc. IV NERO 153 This ocean that creeps fawning to our feet Comes purring o'er a million wrecks and bones. If the cold moon hath sinned not, she hath been pri\y. She aids me not, but watches quietly. A placid sea, still air, and bright starhght. Anicetus. But Caesar, see, a gradual cloud hath spread Over the moon ; the ship's light disappears. She is vanished. Xero. She is veiled from sight. TiGELLixus. My eyes Can find her not ; she is enwrapped in mist. Seneca. A dimness and no more. BuRRUS. And silence. Nero. Hush ! 154 NERO ACT III How wonderful this waiting and this pause. Could one convey this in the theatre? This deep suspense, this breathlessness ? Per- haps. The air weighs on the brain — what sound was that? TiGELLiNUS. Nothing, sir. Nero. In this thrill a leaf would thunder. \A pause. I never noted so exactly how The shadow of that cypress falls aslant Upon the dark bank yonder. BuRRUS. Would it were over ! Nero. Feel you no shuddering pleasure in this pause? But me this fraught expectancy allures; sc. IV NERO 155 The tingling stillness, for each moment now The crash, a cry, may come, but it comes not. TiGELLiNUS. Anicetus, have you bungled? \A cry is heard far off, and a crash, then silence. Nero. It is done. I cannot look : peer seaward, one of you — What do you see? Seneca. Darkness, and veiled stars. Nero. Is there no shimmer of a floating robe? Pierce through the darkness! BuRRUS. Nothing visible. Nero. I seem to see her lying amid shells, And strange sea-things come round her wonder- ing, 156 NERO ACT m Inspecting her with cold and rheumy eyes. The water sways her helpless up and down. BuRRUS. Caesar, you have no further need of me? Nero. [Dreamily.] No, sir. BuRRUs. Good-night, and pleasant be thy dreams. Seneca. Or me ? Nero. No, no ! Seneca. At least bear witness, sir, I had no hand in this: but was compelled, A loth spectator, to behold thy deed ! Anicetus. Caesar, you'll not forget the service done? Nero. Never shall I forget thee, Anicetus. Leave me alone. sc. IV NERO 157 \Exeunt all but Tigellinus, who creeps back again. Tigellinus. Sole master of the world ! Caesar at last : the Emperor of the earth, Now thou art free — to write immortal verse, To give thy genius wing, to strike the stars. And thou hast made this tragic sacrifice. Slaying what is most dear, most close to thee, To give thy being vent and utterance. Apollo shall reward thee for this deed. Nero. Go to thy room, old man, and — wilt thou sleep? Tigellinus. Already I am drowsing; early then To-morrow I will come to you. Nero. Good-night. 1 58 NERO ACT in TiGELLiNUS. Caesar, good-night. \Exil TiGELLINUS. [Thunder heard. Nero. Ah ! thunder ! thou art come At last, too late ! What catches at my heart ? I — I — her boy, her baby that was, even I Have killed her: where I sucked there have I struck. Mother ! Mother ! [He drinks. The anguish of it hath taken hold of me, And I am gripped by Nature. O, it comes Upon me, this too natural remorse. I faint ! I flinch from the raw agony ! I cannot face this common human throe ! Ah ! Ah ! the crude stab of reality ! I am a son, and I have killed my mother ! sc. IV NERO 1 59 Why ! I am now no more than him who tills Or reaps : and I am seized by primal pangs. Mother ! [H'e drinks. The thunder crieth motherless. Ah ! how this sword of Hghtning thrusts at me ! O, all the artist in my soul is shattered, And I am hurled into humanity, Back to the sweat and heart-break of mankind. I am broken upon the jagged spurs of the earth. I can no more endure it. Mother ! \He drinks again, walking distractedly to and fro, not looking seaward. But as he at last turns, slowly out from the sea appears the figure of Agrippina with dripping hair, who comes slowly towards him in silence. i6o NERO ACT III, sc. IV \IIe cries aloud and falls in a swoon. She comes and looks at him. Agrippina. Child ! [She stoops, removes the amulet from his arm, flings it into the sea, and passes out in silence. SCENE V Scene. — The same. Dawn breaking; Nero discovered lying in a swoon. Nero. [Slowly.] Dawn ! In the night o'er- past a lightning flash ! Ah ! I remember — here my mother's ghost Stood — on this ver}' ground — I feel the air Still cold from her — and here the Hghtning burned. So I awake my mother's murderer. That was her ghost that stole on me sea- marred, Silent — the ocean falling from her hair. M l6l l62 NERO ACT III Enter Tigellinus TiGELLiNus. Caesar at last ! Sole master of the world ! Nero. O Tigellinus, in the mid of night, The spirit of my whelmed mother stole Hither upon me, dumb out of the deep. Heaven gave a flash : I saw her face and fell. Tigellinus. Her spirit ! Better that than she herself. Dismiss dark fancies now — this day thou art free. Nero. No, but enthralled by her for ever- more. She is my air, my ocean, and my sky. Tigellinus. The night has wrought this sickly mood on you — sc. V NERO 163 Natural — it will pass. Nero. Never, O never ! You flatter, you console, you would assuage, But you are human, can forget and change. But yonder rocky coast remembers yet. That countenance changes not : that conscious bay Maintains its everlasting memory. This privy region saw, and it shall see For ever what was done. The amulet ! Filched from me ! Was it then a ghost I saw ? Enter Seaman hurriedly^ followed by Burrus Seaman. Caesar, my news must plead for tliis intrusion. I was aboard the ship whereon the Augusta 164 NERO ACT III Set sail : when the roof fell, thy mother's maid Cried ' Save me ! I am the Emperor's mother ! ' Straight Crushed under many a blow, she dropped and died. But silently thy mother Agrippina Shd from the ship into the water and swam Shoreward. With white and jewelled arms she thrust Out through the waves and lay upon the foam. We heard her through the ripple breathing deep, And when we heard no more, we watched her still — Her hair behind her blowing into gold sc. V NERO 165 As she did glimmer o'er the gloomy deep; And all the stars swam with her through the heavens, The hurrying moon Hghted her with a torch, The sea was loth to lose her, and the shore Yearned for her; till we lost her in the dark, Save now and then some splendid leap of the head. Nero. You know not if she be alive or dead? Seaman. Caesar, rejoice — thy mother lives. Nero. She lives ? Seaman. When I at last touched shore, I spoke ^^^th two l66 NERO ACT III Night-wandering fishermen. These two, it seems, Had borne her in their boat across the bay To her own villa. Nero. [Falling hysterically on neck of Sea- man.] I am no murderer then! TiGELLiNus. Have you considered, sir, what now may urge Thy mother, Agrippina, knowing all. Seeing that by no chance or accident Or sudden flurry of the ocean floor The ship collapsed. Safe is she, but how long? Will she not burst upon us suddenly? Sir, she must die to-night. Nero. I'll not attempt sc. V NERO 167 A second time that life the sea restored ; She is too vast a spirit to surprise. Even Nature stood aloof My mother shall be gloriously caged, Imprisoned in purple and immured in gold. In some magnificent captivity Worthy the captive let her day decKne. [Shouts witlwut: enter BuRRUS.- BuRRUS. Caesar, great news I bring: the Armenian Lies helpless on Tigranocerta's plain O'erwhelmed by Corbulo, and the huge host Dissolved. Armenia lies beneath your feet: Rome yearns to welcome you. Nero. To Rome I go Free-souled and guiltless of a mother's blood, i68 NERO ACT III Resume the accustomed feast, the race, the song, And I shall be received with public joy And clamour of congratulating Rome. [Great cheering without : exit Nero. [A pause. TiGELLiNUS. Burrus, she'll strike at us whate'er the cost : She'll slay the ministers if not the master. Burrus. We are both dead unless some sudden scheme — Enter Anicetus at back [Turning.] Here is another doomed as we our- selves. TiGELLiNUS. Ah, Anicetus ! Agrippina lives, sc. V NERO 169 And she will launch her vengeance on us three, But first on you : you first set Nero on — You first proposed the scheme. You on the sea Bungled — Now on the land retrieve the error. To you we look. Enter Poppaea \rom behind and stands listening. Anicetus. My error is repaired Already. I first heard the Augusta lived, And instantly despatched a faithful troop To slay her at her villa o'er the bay. TiGELLiNUS. How shall we know if they have found and slain her? Anicetus. All this I have arranged and clearly planned. lyo NERO ACT iii If they shall find that she hath fled to Rome, Hark for one trumpet-call across the bay: If they have found her at the villa, then Hark for two trumpet-calls across the bay: If they have found her and have slain her, then Hark for three trumpet-calls across the bay ! \A hurst 0} music without, and sounds 0} advancing procession. [Enter soldiers and satellites, with attend- ants bearing a litter. Lastly Nero. TiGELLiNUS. Now as a conqueror in tri- umphant vein Ride through the thundering ways of risen Rome, Anticipating the Armenian car. ^ sc. V NERO 171 Nero. {Ascending litter.] Set out for Rome ! And you, accusing coasts, Accuse no more. Guiltless I say farewell, And with a light heart journey toward Rome. Joyous I go, for Agrippina Uves. [A great triumphal shout swells up again, and to the sound 0} military music, Nero and the procession pass off. Meanwhile TiGELLiNUS is left in a listening attitude, POPPAEA stands breathless at back. There is a pause. Then a trumpet-call is heard far off; a second; and a third. PoppAEA rushes to Tigellinus and clasps his hand. ACT IV SCENE I Scene. — A tower overlooking Rome, Enter Seneca, Burrus, and Physician Seneca. How dark the future of the Empire glooms ! Burrus. Now the Gaul mutters : the Prae- torians Sullenly snarl. Seneca. The Christians privily Conspire. Burrus. The legions waver and whisper too. Seneca. [To Physician.] What of the Emperor? 175 176 NERO ACT IV Physician. Through Campania He rushes: and distracted to and fro Would fly now here, now there ; behind each woe He sees the angered shade of Agrippina. Now hearing that Poppaea sinks toward death, Hither is he fast hurrying. Seneca. Ah, Poppaea, No sooner Empress made than she must die BuRRUS. See: she is carried hither. Seneca. Here to look Her last upon the glory of the earth. [Exeunt Seneca, Burrus, and Physician. [Poppaea enters, supported by handmaids. sc. I NERO 177 She takes a long look at Rome, then is assisted down to couch. PoPPAEA. Give me the glass again : beauti- ful yet ! Tliis face can still endure the sunset glow, No need is there for me to sue the shadow, Perfect out of the glory I am going. Myrrha. Lady, the mood will pass : still you are young. Poppaea. Why comes not Nero near me? O he loathes Sickness or sadness or the touch of trouble Myrrha. Nay, lady; hither he is riding fast, In fury spurring from Campania, And trouble upon trouble falls on him — Misfortune follows him like a faithful hound. 178 NERO ACT IV POPPAEA. I snared him, Myrrha, once ; let him flutter away ! But to relinquish the wide earth at last, And flit a faint thing by a shadowy river, Or yearning without blood upon the bank — The loneliness of death ! To go to strangers — Into a world of whispers [Looking at and lifting her hair. And this hair Rolhng about me like a Ughted sea Which was my glory and the theme of the earth. Look! Must this go? The grave shall have these eyes Which were the bliss of burning Emperors. After what time, what labour the high gods Builded the body of this beauty up ! sc. I NERO 179 Now at a whim they shatter it ! More light ! I'll catch the last of the sun. Enter Slave Slave. Mistress, below The lady Acte stands and asks to see you. PoPPAEA. Come to inspect me fading: I fear not. Even a woman's eyes I need not shun. Bring her. {Exit Slave. Now, Myrrha, watch her hungering eyes. Enter Acte, ushered by Slave PoppAEA. [Vehemently.'] Take Nero! I am dying. Acte. Ah, not yet! i8o NERO ACT IV POPPAEA. I am dying. But you shall not hold him long — O, do not think it. Can you queen his heart? Can you be storm a moment, sun the next ? A month, a long day under open skies, Would find your art exhausted, ended. I ! I was a hundred women in an hour, And sweeter at each moment than them all. Why, I have struck him in the face and laughed. AcTE. I love him : that concerns not him, nor you. A different goal I would have sought for him, A garment not of purple, but of peace. PoppAEA. Of peace ! Ha, ha ! AcTE. Vain now — I know it, vain. sc. I NERO i8i But if your words are true, and death is on you, Let us two at the least be friends at last. POPPAEA. I bear no rancour — and yet if I dreamed That I was leaving you upon his bosom — But no : let there be peace between us two. [AcTE comes and kisses her. Your kiss falls kind upon my loneliness. But, Acte, to let go of glory thus — For I have drunk of empire, and what cup Afterward can you offer to these lips ? Acte. Of late there has been stealing on my mind A strange hope — a new vision. PopPAEA. What is this? l82 NERO ACT IV AcTE. Do not laugh out at me: a sect despised — The Christians, tell us of an after life, A glory on the other side the grave. If there should be a kingdom not of this world, A spirit throne, a city of the soul ! PoppAEA, I want no spirit kingdom after death. The splendid sun, the purple, and the crown. These I have known, and I am losing them. AcTE. Yet if the sun, the purple, and the crown Were but the shadows of another sun, Splendider — a more dazzling diadem ? PoppAEA. These can I see at least, and feel, and hear. sc. I NERO 183 AcTE. Yes, with a mortal touch that falters now. POPPAEA. \Sohhing.\ O Acte, to be dumb, and deaf, and bhnd ! Acte. Or Hve again with more transcendent sense, Hearing unchecked, and unimpeded sight. If we who walk now, then should wing the air, Who stammer now, then should discard the voice. Who grope now, then should see with other sight, And send new eyes about the universe. PoPPAEA. O, this is madness! Acte. Is it? Is it? Well — Yet have I heard this ragged people speak, 184 NERO ACr IV, sc. I And they have stirred me strangely: life they scorn, And yearn for death's tremendous liberty, But I — I cannot speak ; yet I beUeve There is a new air blowing on the world, And a new budding underneath the earth. PoppAEA. Ah, ah ! the sun ! The sun ! It goeth down, How cold it grows : the night comes down on me. I'll have no lamp : but hold my hand in thine. AcTE. Sister, forget the world, it passeth. PoppAEA. [Falling back.] Rome! SCENE II Scene. — The same. Seneca, Burrus, AcTE, and Physicl\n. Physician. The Emperor comes from gazing on Poppaea. What woe may that dead face not work on him, After such rain of dark calamities ! Seneca. Why hath he summoned me? Physician. He knows not why. The infatuate orgies in Campania, Defeat, revolt, have wrought upon his mind, Till it begins to reel — behind each woe He sees the angered shade of Aggrippina. i8s 1 86 NERO ACT IV [Enter Nero with tablets, murmuring to himself. He comes to the Council- lors, gazes at them, and retires to parapet. ' Beautiful on her bed Poppaea lay ' — I have begun to write her epitaph. [He again gazes over parapet, murmuring to himself. Then turning. Ah, blow supreme ! Ah, ultimate injury ! I can no longer write : my brain is barren. My gift, my gift, thou hast left me. Let me die! Ah ! what an artist perishes in me. [He again returns to parapet, gazing and murmuring, and throws his tablets from him. sc. II NERO 187 Dead Agrippina rages unappeased. At night I hear the traihng of a robe, And the slain woman pauses at my door. O ! she is mightier having drunk of death; Now hath she haled Poppaea from my arms ; Last doth she quench the holy fire within me Enter Messenger Messenger. Caesar, I bring dark news: Boadicea the British Queen is risen. And like a fire is hissing through the isle, Londinium and Camulodunum In ashes lie: the loosed barbarians In madness rage and ravish, murder and bum. BuRRUS. Caesar, despatch. \Brings Nero paper. 1 88 NERO ACT IV Nero. Ah, this is still the deed Of Agrippina. Listen ! Did ye not hear The rustle of a robe ? [Starting up. Ah ! thou art come ! I — I no order gave ! Then did the brine Drop from thy hair: but now blood falls from' thee; There, where they struck thee, once did I sleep sound. What shall I do to appease thee? Let me die Rather than see that wonder on thy face, And stare on me of terrible surprise. Thou com'st upon me ! AcTE. Ah ! what ails your mind ? Nero. She is gone ! The red drops those that fell from her ! sc. II NERO 189 AcTE. Lo ! I am with thee ! Nero. Thou ! And who art thou ? Enter in great haste an Officer, followed by Others Officer. Caesar, Rome bums ! We can- not fight the fire Which blazes and consumes. How it arose None knows and none can tell. What shall we do? Another. It sprung in the Suburra: whether lit By accident, dropped torch, or smouldering brand Another. Or by design • Another. Caesar, the Christians, I90 NERO ACT IV Who hate the human race, have done this thing : They loathe thy rule and would abolish thee, And with thee, Rome. Another. They have a prophecy That now the world is ending, and in fire The globe shall shrivel, and this empire fall In cinders. Another. And the moon be turned to blood. Nero. The moon be turned to blood ! But that is fine ! These Christians have imaginations then ! The moon in blood, and burning universe ! Why, I myself might have conceived that scene ! sc. II NERO 191 Enter Others ]rom the opposite side Officer. Caesar, what shall be done ? Still spreads the fire ! A quarter of Rome in ashes lies already, And like a blackened corpse: and screaming mothers, Hugging their babes, dash through the fearful flames. And old men totter gasping through the blaze Or fall scorched to the ground. Stifled with smoke The population from their houses reel. Meantime the Christians, prophesying woe And final doom upon a wicked world, Hither and thither run, and uith their dark 192 NERO ACT IV Forebodings madden all the minds of men. To thee they point ! To thee, the source of fire, Who has drawn down on them celestial flame. Nero. Magnificent ! The aim of heavenly fire! Another. They say the world shall crumble, and the skies Fall, and their God come in the clouds of heaven To judge the earth ! Another. But we are wasting breath Over the Christians : what now shall be done ? To thee, Caesar, to thee, we come: for thou Alone niayst with this conflagration cope. Nero. Listen ! Did ye not hear a wailing then? sc. II NERO 193 The wailing of a woman in her grave? Again ! A waihng, and I know the voice ! Enter Others hastily Messenger. Caesar, the fire has reached the Palatine ! Rome will be ashes soon. Another. We have fought fire With water: matched the elements in vain, For the fire triumphs: Caesar, what aid from thee? Enter Another Messenger. Caesar, the temple of Jupiter is aflame. The shrine of Vesta next will crash to the earth, o 194 NERO ACT IV Another. Open the sluices of the Campus Martius. Another. Issue some sudden edict : give command. Nero. No edict will I issue, or command. Let the fire rage. Chorus. O Caesar! Nero. Let it rage ! Another. Caesar, 'tis said this fire was lit by thee. That thou wouldst bum old Rome to build a new, A Rome more glorious issuing from the flames : This tale hath maddened all the common folk Who, from their smouldering homes, curse thee aloud. sc. II NERO 195 Nero. This fire is not the act. of mortal mind, But is the huge conception of a spirit Dreaming beyond the tomb a mighty thought. She would express herself in burning fire: This is the awful vengeance of the dead ; This is my mother Agrippina's deed. I will not baulk the fury of her spirit. No ! Let her glut her anger on the city, For only Rome in ashes can appease her, Let the fire rage and purge me of her blood ! \The jiame flashes upward. Rage! Rage on ! See, see ! How beautiful ! 196 NERO ACT IV Like a rose magnificently burning ! \The fame flashes up. Rage on ! Thou art that which poets use, Or which consumes them. Thou art in me! Thou dreadful womb of mighty spirits, And crimson sepulchre of them ! [The fame fashes up. Blaze! Blaze! How it eats and eats ! How it drinks ! What hunger is like unto the hunger of fire? What thirst is hke unto the thirst of flame? [The fame fashes up. 5C. II NERO 197 O fury superb ! O incurable lust of ruin ! O panting perdition ! O splendid devastation ! I, I, too, have felt it ! To destroy — to destroy ! To leave behind me ashes, ashes. \The -flame flashes up. Rage ! Rage on ! Or art thou passion, art thou desire? Ah ! terrible kiss ! [The flame flashes up. Now hear it, hear it ! A hiss as from mighty serpents, The dry, licking, wicked tongues ! Wouldst thou sting the earth to death? 198 NERO ACT IV What a career ! To clasp and devour and kill ! To dance over the world as a frenzied dancer With whirling skirts of world-wide flame ! \The -flame flashes up. Blaze ! Blaze ! Or art thou madness visible, Insanity seizing the rolhng heavens. [He points up. Thou, Thou, didst create the world In the stars innumerably smiling. Thou art Ufe, thou art God, thou art I ! [The flame flashes up. Mother ! Mother ! This is thy deed. sc. 11 NERO 199 Hist ! Hist ! can you not see her Stealing with lighted torch? She makes no sound, she hath a spirit's tread. Hast thou sated thy vengeance yet ? Art thou appeased? yrhe jlame flashes up. Be satisfied with nothing but the world, The world alone is fuel for thee. Mother ! [The flame flashes up. And I ! See what a fire I have given thee, Rome for a funeral couch ! Had Achilles a pyre Uke to this Or had Patroclus? Had they mourners such as I give to thee, Bereaved mothers and babes? 200 NERO ACT IV, SC. 11 Now let the wailing cease from thy tomb, Here is a mightier wail ! Now let the haunting trumpet be dumb ! AcTE. Nero ! Nero. Blaze ! Rage ! Blaze ! \The 'flame flashes up more fervently. For now am I free of thy blood, I have appeased and atoned. Have atoned with cries, with crashings, and with flaming. Thy blood is no more on my head; I am purged, I am cleansed ; I have given thee flaming Rome for the bed of thy death ! O Agrippina ! [He falls in a swoon — Acte runs towards him. FAUST FREELY ADAPTED FROM GOETHE'S DRAMATIC POEM BY STEPHEN PHILLIPS and J. COMYNS CARR CHARACTERS Faust Burgomaster Mephistopheles Frosch Margaret SlEBEL Martha LiSBETH Valentine Els A Brander Lisa Altmayer Laine The ^ rVlTCH Apes, Witches, Studen TS, Soldiers, etc. etc. PROLOGUE PROLOGUE Scene. — A range of mountains between Heaven and Earth. [The Archangels Raphael, Gabriel, and Michael discovered. A faint Chorus of invisible Angels from above. Raphael. The sun his ancient music makes, Rolling amid the rival spheres; Still his predestined course he takes In thunder speed throughout the years. By angels, though uncomprehended. Strength from his aspect still is drawn; The universe abideth splendid. And fresh as at Creation's dawn. FAUST PROLOGUE Gabriel. Swift, beyond understanding quite, Circles the earth in glorious guise, Now plunged into profoundest night, Now sparkling into paradise. The ocean foams up from the deep. And over ricks and crags is hurled, And crags and ocean onward sweep — On with the rapid spheres are whirled. Michael. Contending tempests rage and rain From land to land, from sea to sea; Weaving a girdle and a chain Out of their hissing enmity. A flashing desolation thence Ushers the awful thunder-way; But, Lord, Thy servants reverence The gentle order of the day. PROLOGUE FAUST All Three. By angels, though uncompre- hended, Strength from Thy aspect still is drawn; The universe abideth splendid, And fresh as at Creation's dawn. [Mephistopheles appears suddenly on the peak. He is dressed in a glinwjering robe suggestive of a glory obscured. [Note on Appearance of Mephistoph- eles : — Both in the Prologue and in the Epilogue of this drama Mephistopheles appears as the Fallen Angel or Satan of tradition. His speech is suited to this character. But when, in pursuit of his wager and the soul of Faust, he appears on earth, he has put on the form he judges FA UST PROLOGUE most serviceable to his ends — that of a cavalier-troubadour of the Middle Ages; and his speech is light, cynical, and of the world. Mephistopheles. Hail to mine ancient friends, my present foes! This neutral mountain between Hell and Heaven Is still permitted to these exiled feet; Here may my Darkness mingle with your Light. Raphael. Whence com'st thou now? Mephistopheles. From yonder speck, the earth; From wandering up and down upon the place, And pacing to and fro in hate unresting. And yet man so torments himself, my toil Seems idle: and heedless my unceasing task. I would he were more difficult to damn! xii PROLOGUE FA UST He is a grasshopper that tiies and springs, And from the grass the same old ditty sends. Better he always lay among the grass. Had I a free rein given me to seduce, There is no soul on earth I could not win Were it permitted me. [Stretching his hand upwards. [An AxGEL descends from above, and stands on a superior peak at hack. Angel. It is permitted ! Man writhes to glory but through pain of error. Mephistopheles. Angel sent down from bliss! Have I permission Whence all permission flows, to lure and snare A human soul, and draw it my own way? However rich or rare, I ^^•ill seduce it. XIU FA UST PROLOGUE Angel. Whence all permission flows, thou hast permission. Mephistopheles. a wager vast! Look down upon the earth ! \He points downward. Whom shall I choose? That theologian That sits and blinks at Truth, and toys with words ? Too easy! Or yonder mighty emperor, Who sitteth, dark against the Orient, Throned above prostrate millions? No, not him! My victory shall be deep and not of show. Or yonder lady in the convent garden Pure from the world, and pacing lawns of peace ? Not her ! No spirit starved will I select ! xiv PROLOGUE FA US T See ! I will choose for test a rarer soul ! Yonder he sits, the famous Doctor Faust. Has Heaven a better servant on the earth? Angel. None ! Mephistopheles. Yonder soul I choose then for my wager; Nothing the tumult of his heart assuages, For all of earth and all of heaven he asks. The ferment drives him to the far-away. And yet is he half-conscious of his madness. To grasp the far the near he hath neglected, And still has nothing grasped, and now regrets The once despised pleasures of the world. I will so draw him onward to lost pleasures, So plunge him deep in sensuality, His heavy soul no more shall upward strive. XV FAUST PROLOGUE Angel. So long as he is breathing on the earth, So long is nothing unto thee forbidden. Thou art permitted to ensnare the spirit Of Faust, and turn it from the fountain-head; Till thou shalt stand abashed at last, and learn That a good man, though in the dark he strives. Hath still an instinct for the truer way. Raphael. And thou shalt batter thee, and all in vain, Against an influence appearing slight. And frail as the resistance of a flower; And yet a power thou canst not comprehend. He through the woman-soul at last shall win. xvi PROLOGUE FAUST Angel. Man is too prone to slumber, and he needs As a companion one who goads and works, And who, being devil, must be up and doing. All Three. But we to Eternal Beauty turn again, Lord, and in bliss Thy splendours contemplate; Though we Thy angels may not fathom them, Thy works are fresh as at Creation's day. Raphael. [Turning towards Mephistophe- LES.] And thou! Wilt thou not cease vain war with Heaven? To will the evil, and achieve the good? Mephistopheles. Never! Until that hour when the Usurper, Who wrested from my mother Night her reign, XV ii FA UST PROLOGUE And fevered Chaos with his blistering stars, Shall be himself deposed, consent, and cease. For this same light but lives by what it breeds, A carrion offspring suckled by the sun. And never will I cease this war with Heaven Till the bound elements shall mutiny. And the imprisoned thunder shall be freed, And old tremendous blasts shall fly abroad, And all His millions of rash fires be quenched; And space shall be again as once it was Ere He disturbed us with his fiery brain, Timeless and tideless, limitless and dark ! Mother ! Still crouching on the bounds of light, With face of sea and hair of tempest, still Huddled in huge and immemorial hate, Behold thy son, and some dark aid extend! xviii PROLOGUE FAUST So, Faust, to win this wager and thy soul Pass we from heaven across the earth to hell. {Thunder and darkness as Mephistopheles, with wings outspread, swoops suddenly like lightning downwards to the earth. ACT I ACT I Scene. — A gloomy, narrow Gothic chamber. [Faust at his desk, restless. Midnight. Faust. Alas ! What boots it to have mastered now ly \ oi^ V \ avT ^ -^ '-^ ^ Philosophy, medicine, even theology. With unremitting zeal and toil unceasing? Lo ! here I sit no wiser than before. True ! I can lead my scholars by the nose; They hail me master, doctor, fawn on me, "^ But I, I know how deep is my defeat, I only know that nothing can be known. [.4 pause. 4 FAUST ACT And urged by this insane and desert thirst, What have I missed! All honour, rank, and wealth, Even the thrill of kisses and of wine. Science, farewell ! To Magic now I turn, From Magic I may wring some secret yet And learn what forces bind and guide the world. [Moonlight floods the room. thou full moon, whom I so many a night Have watched ascending! Would that thou didst gaze For the last time upon my trouble ! Ah, If now no longer stifling amid books, 1 in thine argent twilight floated free! But no, this dungeon-lumber I behold, A self-created prison of mould and dust, I FAUST 5 Where God His pulsing human creature set, I dwell but with the dead — in what a world ! [He turns to the Magic book. Here is my way of freedom : here the sign Of the Earth-Spirit. How dost thou invade me ! How like new wine thou runnest in my veins ! The woe of Earth, the bliss of Earth innte me. The lamp goes out — a horror from the roof Descends on me. Spirit, reveal thyself! I feel thee suck my soul, absorb my heart, rU look on thee, although my life it cost me. [He seizes the book and pronoiin<:es the sign of the Earth-Spirit. [The Spirit appears in aflame. Spirit. WTio calls me ? Faust. Terrible to look on ! 6 FAUST ACT Spirit. Me Hast thou with might attracted from my sphere. Faust. Woe ! I endure not thee ! Spirit. Yet didst thou long To gaze on me : thy yearning drew me down. Where art thou, Faust ? whose strong voice pierced to me? Is't thee I see — this terror-stricken worm ? Faust. I fear no more — I am Faust — I am thy peer ! Spirit. Thou art like the Spirit which thou comprehendest, Not me! [Spirit disappears. Faust. Not jthee ! I, image of the God-head ! \A knock. I FAUST 7 Death ! At this moment this poor witless wretch Disturbs me, teasing me from the full \asion ! [Enter Wagner -with a lamp. Wagner. Surely, you read some old Greek tragedy : I heard the declamation — and a preacher They say might learn from a comedian. Faust. [Irritably.] Yes, when the preacher — as the case is often, Is in himself a born comedian. Wagner. I've studied long to be an orator. F.AUST. Studied ! What use ! unless heart speaks to heart? If children's monkey's gaze be to your taste, Then be content ! 'Tis all that study gives you. Read, read ! and stand a tinkling fool at last. 8 FAUST ACT Wagner. Ah, God! but art is long, and life is short, And then to die, so many books unscanned! Faust. Is parchment thy sole fount of inspiration ? Is this the draught that slakes th' eternal thirst? Wagner. And yet to apprehend the mighty world ! Faust. Those few who apprehended it at all And dared to bare their breasts unto the brand, Have evermore been burned or crucified. And now, good night ! Wagner. Much have I learnt already; To know all I aspire. Faust. Aspire — and go ! \Exit Wagner. I FA UST 9 He never need despair who clings to trash. There goes myself — • as great a fool am I, And when I flung those bitter words at him 'Twas at myself I railed. It seemed indeed As if my past life mocked me in his words ! Dust, dust, and ashes ! [He sinks dejectedly on a chair. Ah, that Spirit splendid ! He with a thunder word swept me away. I am no god. Deep in my heart I feel it, I am a worm beneath the wanderer's feet. Grin on, thou skull ! thy brain was once as mine. [Gazing around, his eye is caught by a gleaming flask. Why dost thou lure me so, thou gleaming goblet, Drawing me like a magnet? Seeing thee lo FAUST ACT The stings of pain diminish, struggle ends. The air glows now like moonlight in a forest, I see a dreaming ocean and new shores. Shall I unlock the one door left to me And, draining this deep draught of slumber juices, Venture on death, although I sleep for ever ? Come down, then, from thy shelf, thou flask of crystal. How often at old banquets didst thou pass From hand to hand, gladding the solemn guests ! Now to a neighbour never shall I pass thee. Here is the deadly juice: I chose, prepared it. Hail to the morn ! I drink my final cup. \He sets the cup to Jiis lips, when there is heard a chime of Easter Bells and a Choral Song. I FAUST II Christ is arisen ! Hail the joyful morn ! The tomb He hath broken, Our bonds He hath shattered, Death is defeated. Faust. {Setting down the eup.] I cannot drink: the ancient music holds me. And the remembered bells of Easter morn. Chorus Christ is ascended : Bliss hath invested Him, Our woe He hath ended. F.4UST. Once on my childish brow the Sab- bath stillness Fell like the kiss of heaven : mystical bells 12 FAUST ACT And prayer dissolved my yearning soul in bliss. Sound on, ye hymns of heaven ! ye sacred bells ! The old tear starts ! Earth has her child again. [/I pause. But I shall ne'er regain the ancient rapture, When as a child I watched the sun recede Firing the peaceful vales and mountain peaks, And some eternal longing came on me To flee away and up ! as over crag And piney headland slow the eagle soared, And past me sailed the crane to other shores. But now not only childhood shattered lies. But manhood, too, is sold for a barren dream. Ah ! now those fleeting songs I would recall Which I despised; the feast, the lips of women, I fACST 13 The brief yet luring hours all lost to me. Only the cup is left. \]rle again takes the cup and again pauses. And yet, and yet, One power I ne'er invoked I might invoke. Seeking the light I called not upon darkness. Spirit of Chaos, now to thee I turn. The choice before me lies of Death or Hell, — Death that leads on to sleep, or Hell that yields That riot cf the blood my soul hath spurned. I cry to God: the vacant Heavens are dumb; He answers not. On Evil tlien I call. I will not die; I'll risk the eternal woe So I be rapt into the whirl of sense. Ye elemental spirits four, Fire and Water, Earth and Air, 14 FAUST ACT From riven skies, from Ocean's floor, I bid ye hither ! Beware ! Beware ! \H.e raises the sign of the Hexagon. Salamander ! by thy name I call thee from thy haunt of flame, Fair Undine, whose sea-worn home Lies beneath the circling foam. Sylph whose feet have found their way Through the viewless fields of day. And thou poor gnome who evermore Art tied and tethered at Earth's core, I here command ye ! Yield unto my sight From out the dusky cohorts of the night The Spirit of the Dark who dreads the Light. [-4 flame leaps in the hollow of the cJiimncy, and from the risen vapour that follows I FAUST 15 the flame the form of Mephistopheles gradually emerges. Faust. What art thou? Speak! Mephistopheles. A part of that fell power Which ever seeking ill, yet makes for good. Faust. Some riddle doth lurk here ! Yield up thy name. Mephistopheles. My name ? I am the spirit that denies. And wherefore not ? For all created things That arc, are naught or should be turned to naught. This whirling planet issuing from the void, Teeming with empty life, I would consign Unto the void once more. There where I ruled A part of Primal night that knew no dawn — i6 FAUST ACT Prince of the darkness that brought forth the light ! Now, all-conceiving, all-consuming night Hath lost her ancient place. The upstart day Disputes her throne. Yet not for ever so ! For Davi^n and Day have but their place in Time, And shall as surely yield that place again When earth's poor spawn have spent their little hour And timeless Night resumes her. larger sway. Meanwhile for lighter sport I tread the earth, Tormenting those I may not yet destroy. Faust. Strange son of Chaos, now I know thee well. Mephistopheles. Yet when all's said there's little left to boast of! 1 FAUST 17 This poor blind mole o' the world, howe'er I shake it, With flood or earthquake, storm and fire and plague, Hath a dull way of settling down again Most heart-breaking to one who loves his trade. And even mankind, my latest perquisite, Proves a poor plaything. Though I kill 'em off Like flies in jelly, myriads at a stroke. They breed again before my back is turned. Then all's to do once more, a weary toil ! Look where I may there's naught but birth and life From Water, Earth, and Air for ever teeming; And were it not for a poor modest crib Lit by a flick of flame that still is mine — c l8 FAUST ACT That last red rod in pickle down below — I'd quit the business straight. But there, enough ! An egotist makes but a sorry devil, So now for your commands ! Faust. Nay, I have none; My prayer half-uttered dies upon my lips. Mephistopheles. Good Doctor, not so fast, ere night shall fall We'll tread a merrier measure, you and I, For see you here, I cast aside that garb, Stitched in the nether world for working hours, And stand revealed a gallant gentleman — A part the devil's very apt to play ! \The dusky cloak falls from him and lie stands tinder a lightning flame in his dress of scarlet. Go swiftly. Doctor, find a worthy garb I FA usr 19 To match this gay attire. Then, arm in arm We'll sally forth from out this mouldy den And look on life. Faust. Nay, that were all in vain ; No outward change can change this outworn world Where every passing hour croaks but one cry; — "Abstain, renounce, refrain, and for reward Take the dried parchment of Life's withering law." Such is the strain that echoes in men's ears From waking dawn to phantom-haunted night, Whose every dream is shattered by the day. There is no cure but Death. I'll tight no more ! Mephistopheles. Vet death, too, has its drawbacks, so I've heard' Faust. Happy the warrior whose blood- stained brows 20 FAUST ACT Death's marble fingers crown. Thrice happy he Who, drunk with passion, on his lover's lips Prints the last kiss and finds death waiting there. Mephistopheles. And yet I know a Doctor hereabouts Who grasped the cup but let the liquor go. Faust. You spied and saw me fail. Mephistopheles. Ah, Doctor, no ! Faust. Where all is known 'twere vain to hide the truth. Mephistopheles. I know a thing or two, yet not quite all ! Faust. Cursed be the coward hand that held me back. And cursed those winning strains of childhood born, I FAUST 21 That snared my soul upon the edge of all ! A curse on life, honour, and wealth and fame, Ambition's toils, the cheating gleam of gold, And pomp and power — ■ the empty spoils of war, A curse on all ; aye, even the best of all, The vine's ripe juice that brings the trance of love And love's brief ecstasy that turns to hate. And last of all on man, that patient drudge Who still endures what Death may fitly end. Mephistopheles. Doctor, let me prescribe ! For such a case I know a sovereign cure ! You wrong yourself In tearing at a wound my arts may heal ! For think not I would thrust you midst the herd Of common folk whose lot you rightly spurn. 22 FAUST ACT No ! While I'm here I move among the best, Naught else would suit my quality. Trust to me To guide you through life's maze, and you shall learn This Earth can furnish unimagined joys Of sense unfettered by the ilUberal bonds The haunting spirit forges for the flesh. Now and henceforth through Time's unmeasured span I'll be your comrade, servant, and your slave. Shall that content you? Faust. What is thy reward When this long service hath run out its course? Mephistopheles. We'll call the reckoning when the feast is done. Faust. Nay, I would know the cost! 1 FAUST 23 Mephistopheles. Then hearken, Doctor. Till Time's unfathomed waters cease to flow I'll stand beside thee at thy beck and call. The Earth and all its countless joys are thine And I thy willing slave to serve the feast! Faust. And then? Mephistopheles. Why, then I'll ask as much of thee. What's here is thine, the all hereafter mine. Faust. That doth not fright me 1 When this shattered world Thou hast cast into the abyss, what else may come To fill the vacant void may count for naught. Our hooded vision vainly seeks to pierce What lies beyond the ruin of this earth, — 24 FA UST ACT Cradle and grave of every joy and pain The soul hath sense to capture. — 'Tis not that Which bids my spirit halt. Mephistopheles. Why then, good Doctor. There's nothing left but just to close the bargain; That done, I'll get to work, and with swift arts Will yield thee such a harvest of sweet sense As none have dreamed of yet. Faust. What canst thou know Of joys the uplifted soul would seek to win ? The sordid sweets of sated appetite Whose savour dies, untasted, on men's lips, Like fruit that rots within the hand that grasps it, Dead leaves that scatter ere the buds have burst : I know them all 1 , FAUST 25 Mephistopheles. Nay, be assured, good Doc- tor; I would not traffic in such damaged wares. That were to lose all custom! From this hour \Mth pleasures new for newly-born desire Your cup of life shall bubble to the brim. Faust. If in thy boasted store of rich delights Thou hast but one that is not linked with pain, If from all time one moment thou canst pluck So rich in beauty that my soul shall cry Tarry ! thou art so fair ! — Then shalt thou claim the immortal part in me ! Then let Time's beating pulses cease to stir: The shattered hands upon the dial's face FUng down into the dust: their use is gone, 26 FAUST ACT And Hell itself shall toll the final hour. So stands my challenge ! Mephistopheles. Count the bargain closed I Yet ponder well ! The Devil hath a trick Of not forgetting! Faust. Nor shall I forget! Mephistopheles. But one thing more re- mains: we're formal folk! One line of writing just to seal the bond ! Faust. My soul is pledged, yet wouldst thou still exact The feebler witness of this faltering hand I Mephistopheles. An idle whim of mine which sometimes serves To save dispute hereafter. Faust. Have thy way! J FAUST 27 ' [Mephistopheles produces a document. Mephistopheles. And for our present pur- pose we will choose One drop of blood. See here ! I prick the vein. Faust. Be it so. I am content! Mephistopheles. And I content! [Mephistopheles punctures Faust's arm and hands him the pen. Faust signs the parchment. Mephistopheles. I love that crimson stream : what's current here Is of a different colour! p^usT. Have no fear! Lest I should break the bond ! ISIy rightful place Is henceforth l)y thy side. To plumb the depths Of every earthly pleasure born of sense, 28 FAUST ACT To win from life a world of new desire, And quench desire in unimagined joys, — Is all that's left to one who vainly sought To win the secrets of the Universe. Mephistopheles. Fall to, then, with a will; the table's spread With every dish most cunningly devised ! But first we'll make an end of all this lumber Of empty knowledge stored for empty heads ! No longer wield the flail on barren straw That yields no wheat; nor seek to teach to youth What age has failed to learn. There are fools enough Wearing a Doctor's gown, whose addled brains May well suffice to fill the addled brains J FAUST «9 Of fools who seek to learn. Your freer soul Deserves a richer diet. [Knock at door. Some one knocks. One of your faithful students waits without ! Faust. I have no heart to see him. Bid him go! Mephistopheles. Nay, he hath journeyed far; 'twere scarcely fair To leave his famished brain without a meal ! Lend me your hood and gown, my wit may serve. Meanwhile make ready for our wayfaring. Faust. Across the world 1 {Exit Faust. Mephistopheles. Across the worid to Hell! 30 FAUST ACT I hold him fast and sure. That bolder spirit That drove him upwards, onwards past those joys Man may inherit here, shall prove at last The rock to wreck his soul. \The knocking is repeated. Come in ! Come in ! A Student enters. Student. Great Doctor, I have journeyed from afar To set mine eyes upon the face of one Whose fame spreads through the world. Mephistopheles. You flatter me. I'm but a simple man, or something more, Or haply something less. It's hard to tell. Student. I'm all athirst for knowledge. 1 FAUST 31 Mephistopheles. Happy youth! You couldn't have done better than come here. Student. Yet, to confess a fault, these haunts of learning Sometimes oppress me. Something in the air Falls on my brain like lead. Mephistopheles. Nay; that will pass! The new-born child turns from its mother's breast, Then turns again to take what it refused. The paps of learning do not lure at first, The rapture grows in feeding. Student. Thank you, Doctor! I would in all be led l)y thy advice. Mephistopheles. What is the special faculty you seek ? 3^ FAUST Act Student. All fields of knowledge either in Earth or Heaven, All secrets Science wrings from Nature's breast, — "These I would call my own ! Mephistopheles. 'Tis fortunate You have made no larger choice ! A prudent lad! Yet even for this narrow course of study Attention will be needed. Student. Body and soul And all my life I freely consecrate To this great task ! Although in summer time I own my spirit longs for summer joys. Is that a fault? Mephistopheles. No ! that can be arranged. Yet with this tendency, which think you not I FAUST 33 I would condemn — lliat never was my plan, — Perhaps 'twere wiser in the first, at least, To take some special proA-ince. Studext. Once I thought To choose the Law, but now, I know not why, My spirit turns from it. Mephistopheles. And mine, sweet youth. I own I have no liking for the Law, — A rebel prejudice that haunts me still. Student. Your wiser words confirm me. If I may I'll start my studies with Theology. Mephistopheles. Ah 1 that's my special sub- ject ! hold to that ! Its laws are simple, and its facts are sure. 34 FAUST ACT Unlike those merely human fields of thought Where men dispute, and rage in angry strife, This study makes for peace — and when all's learned, — Your spiritual belly crammed with creeds, — And you shall come to teach the heavenly law, See that you spice your list of punishments That wait on evil-doers ! Cite them all As though the Devil stood beside your chair. \He hisses this in the Student's ear. Student. Doctor, you frighten me. Mephistopheles. Why so, my lad? There's warrant for such teaching. Student. True; there is. Mephistopheles. But come, a three years' course may well suf&ce I FAUST 35 To sift the lumber of the centuries Men call Theology — and after that ? Student. I thought of Medicine. Mephistopheles. a pretty thought, Yet deem not that this ancient science dwells In mouldy parchment. There's a shorter way To reach to eminence. For true disease, Death is your sole and sovereign remedy ! Leave all such cases to those meddling fools Who seek to hinder Nature in her task. But there's a. world of women's maladies That have one source, and only need one cure. There you may win distinction. Tend them well ! In consultation always feel their pulse; Look long into their eyes, for there it is 36 • FAUST ACI The symptoms show themselves. And now and then It may be needful in the cause of science To test the heart beneath a loosened bodice. Or even to pass an arm about the waist Just to discover if the corset strings Are over-tightly drawn. These simple hints Should serve to set a student on his way. The rest is easy if you love your work. Student. Oh, thank you, Doctor; never until now Has science seemed so plain ; I almost wish This very hour my studies might begin. Mephistopheles. The fruit of knowledge hangs upon the tree And only needs the plucking. I FAUST 37 Student. Ere I go Here in my album pray you write one word. Mephistopheles. Most willingly. [He writes and hands back the book, from which the Student reads: Student. "Be self-possessed and thou Shalt own the world." [Exit Student. Mephistopheles. Young hopeful should go far, And maybe at the goal we'll meet again. [Enter Faust. Ah, Doctor, so thou art ready! All the world Lies spread beneath our feet. Faust. Yet in that world The years that bow me down must keep me still An exile from all joy. 38 FAUST ACT Mephistopheles. That's swiftly cured ! There lies a cavern in the cloven earth Where dwells a witch served by an apish brood That are her slaves and mine. There, as she sits Beside a cauldron that is ever seething, She weaves a spell that yields to outworn age The prize of youth. Straightway we'll journey there. [-4 roll of thunder. See, as I cast this garment round about thee We are speeding on our way ! The hills divide As down the vacant highways of the dark We sink in sudden flight. Above our heads The circling eagle dwarfed to a dusky star Soars o'er the moonlit world. Dost thou not feel The rush of midnight air upon thy brows I FAUST 39 As upward from the deep in chorus chanting ]My subject spirits signal our approach ? Chorus Through shaken rocks that are rent and riven, Across the fallow fields of night, He drives his steeds as a flame is driven From Deep to Deep in measureless flight. Mephistopheles. Time cannot count the lightning lapse of time Till we are there 1 Hark ! we are nearing now. Chorus of Apes Beside a cauldron ever brewing, We weave a garment of earth and air, The withered hide of age renewing With wondrous tissues shining fair. 40 FAUST ACT [During the preceding speech of Mephis- TOPHELES and Ihe accompanying Choruses the Scene fades and darkens, with only a glint of light upon the Two Figures 2vho stand at the side of the stage. At first the change is to a world of cloud and vapour, the effect at the back so contrived by the rushing upward course of the clouds as to make it seem as though Faust and Mephistopheles were swiftly descending. When the clouds finally disappear and reveal the Witches' Cavern, they are seen standing on a ledge of rock slightly raised from the stage. [The Scene should he designed to represent a hollowed cavern at the base of a deep, torn I FAUST 41 fissure in the earth. The Apish Forms are grouped round a cauldron. Faust. Why hast thou brought me to this filthy den? The antics of this foul mis-shapen crew Oflfenci my spirit. Mephistopheles. That's strange ! they please me well ! Look where they frolic with that glowing ball That sinks and rises o'er the savoury stew. What's that, my winsome puppet ? Tell your story. Ape The world's a ball Shall rise and fall, It soars like a star Afar and afar! 42 FAUST ACT Then falls and falls As its master calls. 'Tis fashioned of clay And shall last a day. Hark ! the word is spoken, 'Tis shivered and broken. Away ! Away ! \He flings the orb to the ground, and it breaks into fragments upon which the Ape and his Comrades dance in revelry. Mephistopheles. Where is thy mistress? Ape Up and away To the fields of day, Gathering mice And bats and hce. I FA UST 43 With simples new To feed our stew. Faust. What need to call on her? ^Iephistopheles. What need to ask? 'Tis in thy service she is summoned here. Faust. If thou wouldst give me back my vanished youth This hag's foul witchery is naught to thee. Canst not thy larger power weave the spell? Mephistofheles. That power is naught which uses but itself. The mightier spirit that conceives all ill, Still needs all service to complete its task. Since time began a m\Tiad whirring looms In varied hues of texture, ever changing, Have wrought the constant pattern of man's fate. 44 FAUST ACT Ape Hark, hark, and hark ! On the winds of the dark As a plummet plumbs To the water's floor She comes, she comes, She is here once more ! \The cauldron suddenly boils over; a great flame leaps up, and the Witch shoots down as though through a chimney in the rock. \She seizes the ladle and threatens the Apes, who scatter at her approach. Witch. Ye damned crew, so this is how ye work ! Letting our precious potage boil and spoil. I FAUST 45 [Turning to Faust and Mephistopheles. And ye, what do ye here, accursed pair? Let burning fire lick all your flesh away, Consuming heart and brain. [She Jills the ladle from the cauldron and flings the fire towards them. Mephistopheles. Vile, filthy witch ! Dost thou not know thy master? At a word I'll scatter thee and all thy antic brood In countless fragments to the hissing flames. So there ! and there ! [He seizes the ladle and smashes the goblets and pitchers that are piled around the cauldron. Witch. [Grovelling at his feet.] Good master, pardon me. In truth I did not see the cloven foot. 46 FAUST ACT Mephistopheles. Umph ! Well, of late I've chosen a neater shoe That better suits the tripping courtly measure I tread up there on Earth. Witch. Most noble master, Would I had leave to call thee by thy name. Mephistopheles. Nay, not just now. I have some work on hand That claims another title. Witch. Tell me then How I can serve thee best? Mephistopheles. My comrade here Would like to taste that ancient brew of thine. Witch. You'll pay me for it? Mephistopheles. On Walpurgis night Ask of me what thou wilt, it shall be thine. I FAUST 47 But mark you, of the best with age in bottle ! We want no third-rate vintage. Witch. \Pointing.\ That was brewed A thousand years ere yonder ape was born. \Whispering. Yet have a care, it either kills or cures, There's no half measure. Mephistopheles. I'll look after that ! I know his malady: he needs the drug. So quickly to your craft, and when all's done Fill up the glittering goblet to the brim. Witch. Come, then, make ready. \The Apes gather round her in a circle, making their backs a reading desk for the great hook she opens; then she turns to F.A.UST. Faust. This poor jugglery 48 FAUST ACT Was made for fools. I loathe its apish tricks And would no more. Mephistopheles. Nay, patience ! patience, Doctor ! The end is near, and while she weaves her spell Look well in yonder hollow of the rock — 'Tis said that once ere Eden's lawns had flowered The Mother of the Mother of the World Lay hidden there. \The Witch continues her incantations and as she does so a Vision appears, — a Vision of a Figure nearly nude and draped by the growth of leaves about her form, in which she seems partly incorporate. Faust. Wonderful form divine. Pure primal mould of every separate charm I FAUST 49 Created nature owns. Oh, lend me, Love, The swiftest of thy wings that I may speed To that enchanted bower wherein she lies ! Can this be mortal, or may mortal mate With that celestial beauty? Mephistopheles. Nay, turn thine eyes, The cup is ready, brimming to the full. What's imaged there the world that waits thee holds In myriad changing shapes, yet ever one. See, now 'tis gone. \The Vision fades. Faust. Ah, yield it back again. Mephistopheles. The drink will yield thee all, for all lies there. \He holds tlie cup to Faust as the Witch pronounces the spell. £ 5© faust act Witch Here the shrunken skin of age In the cauldron sinks and dies, All the learning of the sage, All the wisdom of the wise, Count for naught beside what lies Hidden in that magic brew. Drink ! and thou shalt feel the fire Of youth renewed with pulses new, Longings that shall never tire Freshly born of fresh desire, — All are there and all are thine. Hidden in that magic wine. [Faust sets the cup to his lips and then starts back as a flame leaps from it. I FAUST 51 Mephistopheles. a mate of mine and wouldst thou shrink at fire? Drink deep and have no fear. [Faust drains the cup. The Scene suddenly darkens. There is a crash of thunder, and then in a lightning flash Faust appears richly clad, with youtJiful face and form. Witch. 'Tis done ! 'Tis done ! [With a wild shriek she leaps away, pointing towards Faust, 7vho stands in shining light. Mephistopheles with a red glow upon his face, and the Witch surrounded by her Attendant Apes, circle in a wild dance as the Curtain falls. Curtain ACT II ACT II Scene I Scene. — An open square in a medicpval German city. On one side is a tavern icith fable set beside the door, round which a group of Stu- dents are seated, and with them one or two Soldiers in armour. On the other side are the steps of the Cathedral. [The Scene opens with Students' Song. Song Up, nightingale, and wake my dear, Hi! Bird — Ho! Bird! The lattice opens, thy love is near, Hi! Bird — Ho! Bird! Nay, who is that who clambers down ? 55 56 FAUST ACT II 'Tis the veriest knave in all the town, But thy kiss hath cost him a broken crown With a Hi! Bird, Ho! \A roll of the drum is heard off L. Brander. Enough of thy cracked tuning ! Dost not hear the drum which summons our comrades ? 1ST Soldier. Truly 'tis time to join our troop. Frosch. Well, here's to all men of valour who go forth to war. Altmayer. And to all valorous men who sit at home and sing of victory. SiEBEL. Nay, in war-time your student counts for little, drink as deep as he may. I can boast it that I have as pretty a way with women as any SCI FAUST 57 man in all the city, yet have I been vilely de- ceived. Braxder. And look you where she goes with yon bearded warrior by her side ! Altmayer. Alack ! 'tis true. Would I had been a soldier: it should have fitted me well. Braxder. Dost hear him? Why, old butter- tub, there is not enough steel in all Augsburg to make a case for thy belly. Altmayer. Yet had I the wit to fall in battle, 'tis like I should win a maid's kiss at the last. SiEBEL. Ay, when there was naught left of thee but a blown carcase beneath the moon. Altmayer. Truly that must be thought of I When all's said, the wine-cup makes the safest kissing, and drink, not love, is your wiser beverage. 5? FAUST ACT II \A Troop of Soldiers enter, Jolloived by a Crowd of Town Folk. The Soldiers who had been drinking join them, and all move off to the sound of the drum. Frosch. Is Valentine not among them ? SiEBEL. No, he's for the next troop — and, look you, here he comes ! Altmayer. Then here's a flagon for him, and for all, and at my account ! We shall drink deep to serve him. Brander. [Looking off.] Have a care, old waggle-tongue. He hath his sister Margaret with him, who loves not ribaldry. Altmayer. Nay, then we'll drink deep but dumb. [There is a sort of hush upon the revellers as SCI FAUST 59 Valentine and Margaret enter from R. above the revellers. The music is heard from the Church and Citizens pass behind them, ascending the steps of the Cathedral. Margaret. Must you go now ? Valentine. I must, dear Margaret; That beating drum forewarns me. Margaret. Then good-bye ! There'll be no hour I shall not think of thee, No day at dawn I shall not pray for thee. Valentine. And I, dear sister, shall for ever keep Thine image next my heart. Once as I trudged Across our snows in winter, all my thought Sped backward to a little lonely flower That decked the spring. So it shall be again ! 6o FAUST ACT II Beneath War's thunder skies where'er I go I'll think of thee the whitest flower of all. \T]ie drum draws nearer. My troop draws near. Margaret. I cannot see thee go, But there within, before the Virgin's shrine, I'll pray that Heaven may yield thee safe once more. Good-bye ! Valentine. Good-bye ! [The music within swells as Marg.aret enters the door, and at the same time the beating drum draws nearer. Valentine pauses on the steps of the Cathedral, looking after her. The revellers break out again in laughter. SCI FAUST 6 1 Altmayer. Come, \'alentine, there's time and place for just one draught ! SiEBEL. And just one toast ! \'alentine. Most willingly ! Here's to you all! Altmayer. And to thee, good Valentine; and a speedy return from the war with just wounds enough to win a tear from thy sweetheart. Frosch. Ay, name her to us ! Thou hast kept her hidden till now. That shall be our toast. Valentine. When I find her 'twill be time enough to name her. Sweetheart have I none. Such sport is for idle dogs who lag at home. A soldier's sweetheart is his sword. Altmay'er. Yet a toast there must be, else there's no cause for drinking. 62 FAUST ACT II Brander. ]To Valentine.] Pray you take pity on him, poor soul, for he would fain drink. Valentine. Well, then, here's to my sister Margaret; and he who has the worth to win her shall then toast the purest maid in our city. \As they drink the Troop comes on to the stage, and Valentine rises to join them. Valentine. Farewell, comrades ! Have a care to leave just one bottle for my return. Brander. 'Twill surely be no more than one, if Old Altmayer lives so long ! [Amid general laughter and shouting of fare- well, the Troop marches off, Valentine with them, to the sound of the drum. [As the Soldiers go off and the Crowd dis- perses, Faust and Mephistopheles have SC. I FA UST 63 entered and stand at the foot of the Cathedral steps. Faust. There goes a gallant soldier to the war ! Mephistopheles. Ay, to be spitted on a friendly pike And so win death or glory, haply both. In truth, good Doctor, 'tis most fortunate That our first upward flight should land us here, For in this little life is mirrored all. Those weeping maids who whisper fond farewells Shall, laughing, \ield their lips unto another Ere the day dies. So here in brief you see Both love and glor)', Life's twin fading dreams. [Pointing to Cathedral. And here are those who pray, then quit the shrine To sin again that they may pray again. 64 FAUST ACT II Body and soul still chasing one another Like kittens who would seek to catch their tails. Faust. [Pointing to revellers.] And there, what life is there? Mephistopheles. The best of all. Such wine-butts are your true philosophers, Who neither pray, nor dream, nor fight, nor love, But pass from cup to cup to life's last goal. Faust. Poor sodden fools ! Is this in truth life's goal ? Mephistopheles. Nay, not for thee. I do but show thee here How mortals fare who lack the Devil's aid. Our feast is better ordered. But meanwhile We'll board these roisterers. Good morrow, sir ! \To Frosch.] SCI FAUST 65 SiEBEL. \To Altmayer.] Who are these gallants ? Altmayer. Nobly born, be sure, For so their garments speak them. Brander. Nobly born ! More like poor mountebanks who ply their trade In borrowed plumes. Mephistopheles. \To Faust.] There are some folk, you'll find, Who never know the Devil when they see him. Faust. Fair greeting, gentlemen! SiEBEL. You come from far? Mephistopheles. Lately from Spain, that land of wine and song. Altmayer. Said I not so? F 66 FAUST ACT II Frosch. I'll board them, you shall see ! Didst chance to meet my noble cousin there? Mephistopheles. Ay, the Court fool ! He had the same pork face, And slobbered at the lips as thou dost now. Altmayer. a shrewd stroke that! He had thee there, sweet Frosch ! Wouldst join us in a drink? Mephistopheles. Your pardon, sir, I only drink the best. Brander. That's one for thee ! Our friend is set on drinking: if naught else. The drippings from the counter will content him ; So that it burns his throat, he hath no care To name the vintage. Mephistopheles. Time may come, perhaps, SCI FAUST 67 V/hen he shall find a h'quor to his hking ; I know the cellar where it waits for him. Meanwhile, if so you please, we'll broach a cask Of something worth the tasting. Altmayer. Willingly ! Go, call the landlord. Mephistopheles. Nay, sir, let him be. I own a richer store than he can boast of. Give me a gimlet. Altmayer. Yonder one there lies Within that basket. Look you, noble sir, We want no scanty sample just to taste, But full and brimming measure. Mephistopheles. [Boring hole in table.] Give it a name. 68 FA UST ACT II Altmayer. I'm local in my cups and patriotic — Rhenish for me ! Frosch. Have you so many kinds? Mephistopheles. Call what you will. I'm here to serve all tastes. Brander. This is some juggler's trick. Mephistopheles. A little wax To serve as stoppers. Quick, old pot-belly, That none be wasted. Now, good sir, your choice. Brander. Champagne, if you can yield it. Mephistopheles. [To Faust.] Mark you that, Your cultured patriot calls an alien brand And fills his Prussian paunch with Gallic wine. SiEBEL. I crave for something luscious ! Mephistopheles. Then for you SCI FAUST 69 We'll broach this old Tokay. And you, good sir? Student. I'll name the vintage when I see it flow. This knave doth fool us all ! Mephistopheles. Say you so? Then draw the stoppers forth and drink your fill. \They hold their glasses and the wine flows. SiEBEL. Most wonderful! Altmayer, This is a happy day. Mephistopheles. Yet have a care no drop- pings from your glass [Altmayer lets his glass fall and the wine turns to flame. Altmayer. Help ! Help ! The flames of Hell ! Mephistopheles. No, no! A touch of purgatory — nothing more. 70 FAUST ACT II [SiEBEL has drawn another stopper and fire flies in his face. SiEBEL. He uses some vile magic. Out on him ! Brander. 'Tis witchcraft ! Strike him down ! We'll none of it ! [They draw their knives on Mephistopheles. Mephistopheles Snare their senses, close their eyes, Bear them hence to Southern skies. [They draw back in a trance. Siebel. What land is this? Brander. A land of milk and honey. Altmayer. With luscious purple grapes on every bough. Brander. [Seizing Altmayer's nose.] Here hangs a glorious bunch that needs but cutting ! SCI FAUST 71 \He puts his knife to Altmayer's nose. Frosch. And here another! Student. This is best of all ! Mephistopheles. Now see them change again, while 'neath this cloak We stand invisible. End their dream and ope their eyes, Lead them back from Southern skies! Frosch. Why, what is this? * Where are those vines? Siebel. In truth we've been bewitched. Brander. [To Altmayer.] I took thy nose to be a purple grape. Mephistopheles. [Aside.] No wonder, for the vine hath painted it! Altmayer. And so I deemed was thine. 72 FAUSr ACT II SiEBEL. \To Frosch.] And thine. Frosch. \To Siebel.] And thine. Mephistopheles. \Asidc.\ Poor fools! Be- gone ! the Devil's jest is ended. Siebel. Whither hath he fled? Altmayer. Methought I saw him ride Over yon steeple on a butt of wine. Brander. Were the knave here, I'd cleave his head in twain ! Mephistopheles. \Aside.\ Go, braggart, ere I spit thee on a skewer. Frosch. Let's go within. There's something in the air That freezes all my marrow. Altmayer. Ay, within ! There's hiding in the cellar. Drink's the cure ! sc. I FAUST 73 For witchcraft drink's your sovereign remedy. \They go into the house like men dazed. A laugh from Mephistopheles. Faust. Let's quit the place; these drunkards sicken me. [Music from Church. Mephistopheles. Nay, hark ! the mass is ended. Wait awhile. Prayer's a provocative and ofttimes sets The senses newly itching. [They begin to stream out of Church. See you there That buxom housewife on her husband's arm ? Last night she kissed the butcher 'neath the elm That shades their garden patch. Yon 'prentice youth 74 FAUST ACT II With sheeplike eyes that ever seek the ground, Can boast of more than his indentures warrant. Ask of his master's daughter, she can tell thee ! And that pale priest who but an hour ago Confessed a maiden who will ne'er confess The thing she learnt of him, — see how his gaze Would seem to mount toward Heaven ! [Margaret has come from the Church and stands at the head of the steps as she gives a flower to a child. Faust's gaze has been riveted upon her during the Devil's speech. Faust. Enough, enough ! \He advances towards Margaret. Fair lady, let me see you to your door ? Margaret. I am no lady, sir, nor am I fair. And have no need of escort on my way. sc. I FAUST 75 \She passes across and off. Faust. By Heaven, how beautiful ! In all the world Dwells not her equal. Fresh and sweet and pure As the first flower of spring that greets the snow, Yet with red lips that ripen for a kiss Those downcast eyelids still refuse to yield. Ah ! could I would win that maid ! Mephistopheles. What maid is that? Faust. She who but now passed by. Look where she goes. Didst thou not see her shrink at my approach? Mephistopheles. Oh, that young thing! She's lately from confession. I stood beside her whilst the greasy priest 76 FAUST ACT II Absolved her of her sins, for she has none. I would you had looked higher: these fledgling buds Take far more plucking than a full-blown rose. Faust. There is no higher, nay, nor none so high. Mephistopheles. [Aside.] The scentless per- fume of pure innocence Works like a poison in the air I breathe, Its very frailty saps all my powers. [To Faust.] I could have set the fairest at thy feet, Disrobed an Empress but to serve thy sport, Or sacked the centuries to yield thee back Dead Queens whose beauty wrecked an elder world. SCI FAUST 77 Yet with this feast outspread thou needs must choose A wind-flower from the hedgerow. Think again! Faust. My choice lies there; naught else I care to win. Yield to my arms this image of delight Or count our bargain ended. Mephistopheles. Not so fast ! The thing needs time, that's all ! — and strategy. Faust. Time! that's a mortal's plea: it fits thee not. It needs thy will — no more. Be swift and sure. Bear me some token that shall speak of her — A kerchief from her breast — I care not what ! Then lead me where she dwells — Mephistopheles. Nay, sir, not yet! 78 FAUST ACT II The day is still a-dying. When the moon Peeps through her lattice — that's love's fitting hour, Faust. Meanwhile I need some gift to bear to her. Mephistopheles. a good thought that ! The purest maiden's soul Yields to the treacherous lure of glittering stones. I know a hidden treasure hereabouts, Left by a miser who went mad and died. We'll pick and choose from out his buried store. \As he speaks a Company of Priests come from the Church, the foremost bearing a cross, at sight of which Mephistopheles shrinks and cowers, half in fear. There's something here I like not. Come away ! SCENE II Scene. — A small, neatly kepi chamber. Enter Mephistopheles, beckoning Faust. Mephistopheles. Doctor, come on, but gently ; follow me ! Faust. {After a pause.] Leave me alone! Depart, I beg of thee ! Mephistopheles. [Peering round.] H'm ! 'Tis not every girl keeps things so neat. [Exit. Faust. O welcome twilight, soft and sweet, that fills This virgin shrine ! What peace and order breathe 79 8o FAUST ACT II Around me ! In this penury what plenty, And in this cell what bliss ! [He draws aside the bed curtain. How am I thrilled ! Here could I pass long hours. Here Nature shaped The angel blossom from the holy bud. Ah, Faust, what dost thou here with heavy heart ? I who in lust's mere madness hither stole, Now lie o'er whelmed in the pure trance of love. Mephistopheles. [Returning.] Quick ! She is coming ! Faust. I return no more ! Mephistopheles. Here is a casket not unserviceable ; sc. II FAUST 8i It came from — somewhere else — quick, place it here ! The gewgaws stored within will turn her head. Faust. Ah, but I know not — Shall I? Mephistopheles. Ask you that? Perhaps you'd keep the treasure to yourself. I trust you are not growing avaricious; If so, I beg you spare me further trouble; I rub my hands in tender expectation. \I'laces casket in press. Now, quick! away! You'll have her at your pleasure ; And there you stand as in the lecture-hall — You with a sweet young girl within your grasp, — As grim as Physics and jSIetaphysics ! Come ! [Exeunt Faust and Mephistopheles. 82 FAUST ACT II Enter Margaret iinth lamp. Margaret. How close, how sultry here ! [Opens window. And yet without It is not warm. [Begins to braid her hair. I wonder who he was, That gentleman I saw to-day. He seemed Gallant and of a noble family. Besides, he would not else have been so for- ward. I tremble strangely, I am silly, timid — Ah ! but I wish my mother would come home ! [She sings as she undresses herself. FA UST 83 Song A king there lived in Thule Was faithful till the grave, To whom his mistress, dying, A golden goblet gave. Before all things he prized it, He drained it at every bout, The tears his eyes o'erflowing Whene'er he drank thereout. And when he came to dying, His towns he reckoned up. All to his heir he left them — But not the golden cup! He sat at the royal banquet With his knights of high degree, 84 FAUST ACT II In the proud hall of his fathers, In his castle by the sea. There stood the old carousers ! As he drank life's parting glow, He hurled the hallowed goblet Into the surf below. He watched it filling and sinking; Deep into the sea it sank; His eyelids closed, and never Again a draught he drank. \She opens the press and perceives the casket. How comes this lovely casket here, I wonder! I am quite sure I locked the press. How strange ! What can there be inside it? And a key sc. II FAUST 85 Hangs by a ribbon ! I should love to open it ! \She unlocks casket. Ah ! what is this ? Was anything ever like it ? Heavens ! never in all my days have I seen the like! Why, ornaments and trinkets such as these A noble lady might wear on holidays. I wonder how this chain would suit my neck ! [SJie steps before the mirror. Oh ! were those earrings mine ! At once they give one A different air. Youth, beauty are well enough, But who cares? People praise one half in pity — But all depends on gold ! Alas ! we poor ones. SCENE III Scene. — Garden of Margaret's house. [Martha enters. Martha. [Calling.] Margaret! Alack! 'tis a hard fate to have lost a husband! Yet that might be borne; but to have no certainty of widowhood — why, 'tis enough to break the heart of any woman ! No man hath a right to die unless he send home word he is decently buried. How else should his widow grieve for him in due fashion, or put away her weeds at the fit- ting time ? Truth, 'tis a hard world ! 86 sc. Ill FAUST 87 Enter Margaret, agitated. Ah ! thou art there ! Margaret. Oh, Dame Martha! Dear Dame Martha ! Martha. Why, what ails thee, child? Margaret. This morning, as I woke I found within my press this second casket Uke unto the first, yet stored with richer gems. I know not what to do ! Martha. Then I'll tell thee. Say nothing to thy mother. She would but give them to the priest, as she did the last. Margaret. Look, how beautiful they are! Martha. Oh, you're a lucky girl! Margaret. And yet I dare not wear them in the street. 88 FA UST ACT II Martha. Why, then we'll hide them, and now and then you shall put them on before the mirror. For the first let that content you. As time goes we'll choose some holiday when you may wear, perhaps, a chain or ring — then some- thing more. Your mother will never know, or if she should, we'll forge some pretty tale of how you came by them. Margaret. Who could have brought them? I fear, yet know not why, that I do wrong to keep them. Martha. Tut, tut, child! \A knock. Margaret. Is that my mother, think you? [Martha peeps through a little grille in the gate. Martha. No, 'tis some strange gentleman. Pray you walk in. sc. Ill FAUST 89 Mephistopheles enters. Mephistopheles. Forgive me, ladies, but I sought for Dame Martha Schwartlein ! Martha. I am she, sir. May I enquire your errand? Mephistopheles. [Aside to Martha.] Nay, that can wait. I see you entertain a lady of quality. Another time shall serve. Martha. Hear you that, Margaret? He takes thee for a lady! :S1argaret. Nay, sir, I am only a poor maid. These jewels have deceived thee. They are not mine. Mephistopheles. No, I took no thought of the jewels. It was rather the look, the manner, the air, that struck me. go FAUST ACT II Martha. And now, sir, your business, if I may? Mephistopheles. I would I had a cheerier note to sound. Your husband's dead and sends you loving greeting. Martha. Dead ! O dear, true heart ! My husband dead ! Then I must needs die too! Margaret. Courage, dear Martha! Mephistopheles. I feared the shock. A very pitiful case ! Margaret. Indeed 'tis terrible ! What use is love when death can shatter all ! I would choose to die unwed. Mephistopheles. Yet joy follows swiftly on the heels of woe. That's life ! sc. Ill FAUST 91 Martha. Tell me, I pray you, how he met his end? Mephistopheles. Very prettily, Madame. He lies in Padua beside St. Antony. A very cool and comfortable grave in consecrated ground. A temperate home for one who loved his glass! Martha. Were there no last words ? — no message for his fond and loving wife? Mephistopheles. He did command thee to buy three hundred masses to save his soul. Martha. And sent the wherewithal? Good, generous lieart ! A very worthy man ! Mephistopheles. No, Madame, no ! He must have clean forgot it. Martha. What, not a trinket even? Was there no little hoarded fund to leave to his wife? 92 FAUST ACT 11 Mephistopheles. True penitence was all he died possessed of. His cash he had expended on himself. A very worthy man ! Martha. Worthy, forsooth ! Margaret. Day and night I'll pray for his soul, dear Martha! Mephistopheles. So pitiful a lady should well deserve a husband of her own. Margaret. I dream not yet of that, sir. Mephistopheles. Well, then, let's say some gallant to love and cherish. There's nothing makes life sweeter. Margaret. 'Tis not our custom here. Mephistopheles. And yet it sometimes hap- pens so, I'm told ! Martha. Pray you, sir, and at the last? sc. in FAUST 93 Mepkestopheles. Ay, he much desired that all his sins against his wife might be forgiven. Martha. Poor soul, he was forgiven long ago! Mephistopheles. And yet, he added, "She was the more to blame." Martha. Oh, what a liar! On his death- bed too ! Mephistopheles. Maybe his mind was wandering at the close. "I had no home," he said, ''no peace, no quiet." Those were his very words. 'Twas sad to hear him. M.artha. And I who slaved so hard to make him happy ! Mephistopheles. Ah ! he didn't speak of 94 FAUST ACT II that. It seems that after he left his home, he made a bit of money by fair means or foul. Martha. We will not judge too strictly of the means. Where think you he hath hidden it? Mephistopheles. 'Twere hard to tell. He told me that in Naples, where he was friendless, a fair young maid had taken pity on his hard case. They're sometimes costly, those fair young pitiful maids. Martha. The villain ! Oh, the villain ! He was ever a shameful man ! Wine and dice and you understand me, sir? Mephistopheles. Perfectly, Madame. Mourr'. him for a year, and meanwhile keep a sharp look- out to find another. sc. Ill FAUST 95 Martha. Oh, I couldn't, sir! I could never love again ! Mephistopheles. a hopeless case, eh? A pity ! Otherwise I should be almost tempted Martha. Oh, sir, you're not in earnest ! {Approaches him. Mephistopheles. Umph ! I'd best make ofif, or, who knows, she might take the Devil at his word! [Turning to Margaret.] What's in your thought, fair lady? Margaret. I know not, sir. Mephistopheles. Sweet innocent! Ladies, farewell ! Martha. One moment, sir! Perhaps 'twere wiser, in view of what you've said, tliat this death should be duly attested. 96 FA UST ACT n Mephistopheles. I had thought of that. A noble friend of mine who travels with me, can add his deposition. I'll bring him here. Martha. Oh, do sir, pray! Mephistopheles. A very gallant youth, and noble too. \To Margaret.] All ladies love him ! Margaret. I should not know how to greet so great a lord ! Mephistopheles. There is no king thou art not fit to greet. [Door opens at a gesture from Mephistoph- eles, and Faust appears. Martha. Here in this garden this evening we'll wait you here. SCENE IV Scene. — A garden. Enter Faust and Margaret. Margaret. Ah, sir, but I know you are only trifling with me I You put up with me, as travellers do, out of good nature. How can I hope to entertain you who have seen the great world ? F.A.UST. But a glance, but a word from you, is sweeter to me than all the wisdom of the world. [He kisses her hand. Margaret. How can you bring yourself to kiss a hand like mine, so coarse and hard? H 97 98 FAUST ACT II But then I am obliged to well, mother is really too close. \Exeunt. Enter Martha and Mephistopheles. Martha. So you, sir, are always travelling about hither and thither? Mephistopheles. Alas ! business and pleasure ! And many a place one regrets to leave, yet one cannot stay. Martha. In the wild years of youth of course to move about is well enough; but the evil day must come, and then to sneak into one's grave a solitary old bachelor — that cannot be right for any one. Mephistopheles. I shudder at the mere prospect. sc. IV FAUST 99 Martha. Then think better of it, sir, while there is time. Mephistopheles. I am beginning to already. \Exeunt. Re-enter Faust and Margaret. Margaret. Ah yes ! Out of sight, out of mind ! It is easy for you to be polite ; and you have many friends more sensible than I am. Faust. People one calls sensible are more often only mean and narrow-minded — but you ! Margaret. Will you think of me, then, just for one brief moment ? Ah ! I shall have time enough to think of you ! Faust. You are alone a great deal? Margaret. Yes; our household is small, but one must look after it. We keep no maid; loo FAUST ACT II everything falls to me. I must cook, knit, sweep and run here and there — and mother is so par- ticular. Not that there is such great need to stint. However, just now my days are passably quiet. My brother is a soldier. I had a little sister, but she is dead. I loved her so much. Faust. If she was like you, an angel ! Margaret. My mother lay so ill, she could not suckle the poor litde mite; so I brought it up with milk and water. It thus became mine; on my arm and on my bosom it smiled and sprawled and grew. Faust. What a pure joy for thee! Margaret. Ah yes! indeed. Yet many an anxious time. Beside my bed Its cradle stood; and if it merely stirred sc. IV FAUST io» I was awake to soothe it ere it cried! And then for many an hour, night after night I'd pace the room, warming it next my breast Till sleep should come again. Faust. O^' g^"^^^ heart! Hast thou forgiven me yet? Margaret. Forgiven thee? Faust. Ay, for those downcast eyelids as I came Told me thou hadst not forgotten. Margaret. Did they so? Why then, sir, it was true! p^usT. I did ^^^^ wrong To stay thee on the threshold of the Church; Yet 'twas thy beauty made me over-bold. I02 FAUST ACT II Margaret. I'll own it hurt me, at the first, to think I might have given thee warrant. Faust. Nay, 'twas I Who dared too much ! Margaret. And yet, I know not why, I could not be as angry as I would ! Something there was within me still would plead For thee against myself; till I felt sore I was not sore with thee. Faust. Thou hast forgiven me ! \They go up and off, hand in hand, as Re-enter IMartha and Mephistopheles. Martha. Ah ! it is not so easy to convert an old bachelor — but I should not call you old ! sc. IV FAUST 103 Mephistopheles. I am getting on, you know; but it only needs some one like you to teach me better. Martha. But tell me, sir, have you never felt an incHnation for any one? Mephistopheles. Well, I am very difficult to please. I am more attracted by the soul than the body. Martha. Of course, good looks are not everything. Mephistopheles. But I am rather partial to the plump. IVIartha. And your heart has never been really touched? Mephistopheles. Not yet; and yet you would hardly beUeve the variety of women I 104 FAUST ACT II have come across here — • and there. Charming, I assure you : I have always been at home to them. I vi^onder if it is too late for me to be constant to one? \IIe puts his arm round her. Martha. It is growing dark. Mephistopheles. Yes, we must be going. Martha. I would ask you to stay here longer, but you have no notion what a place this is for scandal. Mephistopheles. It can't be worse than the place I come from. Martha. Is that very far away, sir? Mephistopheles. A good distance, but they make the journey there as comfortable as possible. Martha. I have to be most careful here, I sc. IV FAUST 105 assure you. If I were to be seen alone with you it would be news everywhere in the morning. Mephistopheles. Surely they wouldn't mind — if they knew who I was ! Martha. Yes ; but you see they don't. They would suspect you. Mephistopheles. How extraordinary! I would not compromise you for the world. Martha. And besides, I would not trust my- self with you for long. Mephistopheles. I assure you you need have no fear. Martha. And our love-birds — where are they? Mephistopheles. Flown up the garden path — naughty butterflies ! io6 FAUST ACT II Martha. He seems fond of her. Mephistopheles. Of course, and she of him. Ah, dear lady, it is the way of all flesh ! [Mephistopheles and Martha pass out by the upper path as ISIargaret cojnes lightly down from the gate. Margaret. Now ere he comes — [She plucks a star flower as Faust follows her. Faust. [Aside.] And would'st thou hide again? Nay, but I have thee now ! Margaret. I'm half afraid To put thee to the test ; yet so I will ! [She begins to pull the leaves. He loves me — loves me not ! . . . Faust. What's in thy thought? sc. IV FAUST 107 To bind a nosegay ere the sun be down? Margaret. No ! 'Tis a foolish sport that children love ! Faust. Teach me that sport. Margaret. Thou would'st but laugh at me. \Shc moves away. He loves me not ! — he loves me ! . . . Faust. Angel soul Thou need'st not slay a flower to tell thee that. Margaret. Nay, wait ! there's more to come. He loves me not ! — And now the last ! — He loves me ! [She drops the last petal to the ground as he takes her in his arms. Faust. Ay, he loves thee ! io8 FAUST ACT II \She sinks on his breast as he kisses her. Lord of the world, for so in truth I am In owning thee : there is naught else to win. [Mephistopheles has peeped in at the garden gate during the last speech. Mephistopheles. Lord of the world, I fear 'tis time to go! SCENE V Scene. — An interval, during which the orchestra plays a stormy melody, gradually subsiding and ending in a peaceful strain reminiscent of the Chorus of Easter Angels which in Act I. pre- vented Favst from taking his life. -The Curtain then rises on a desolate scene of strewn boulders, black pines, and a lurid sun setting. [Faust is discovered lying prone on the earth: slowly he raises himself. Faust. Spirit Sublime! thou hast given me what I asked. Hither have I retired to Nature's breast To ease me of this fever. Here to lose 109 no FAUST act ii 'Mid air and water and the silent wood My wild unrest. Whatever stirs the bush Or wings the air or troubles the dark pool, With these am I acquainted. Thou hast given No cold amazed knowledge of thyself, But hast revealed thy countenance in fire. Alas ! yet nothing perfect comes to man ! Thou hast assigned me as a comrade one Who cancels with a sneer thy loving-kindness And ever fans within my heart a flame Unwearied for one fair, delicious form. I fly from her, but ever would return. Enter Mephistopheles. Mephistopheles. Have you not led this life now long enough ? The wilderness awhile, but not for ever. sc. V FAUST III Faust. Find other work: to plague me thou returnest. Mephistopheles. Thou sitt'st here like an owl : or like a toad From sodden moss thy nourishment deriving. Faust. I find a pleasure in the wilderness. Mephistopheles. Enough of this! Yonder, alone, she sits; Her thoughts and yearnings all go out to thee, And miserably long the hours delay. She haunts her window, pacing to and fro, Watching the clouds roll off the city wall. Now she is lively, but more often sad — Sad, sad and mad for thee. Faust. Serpent, be still ! Mephistopheles. Ah ! do I trap thee now ? 112 FAUST ACT II Faust. Bring not again Desire of that white bosom to my mind. I envy even the body of the Lord When touched by her sweet lips. Mephistopheles. Back to her then ! Faust. No ! no ! I will no more assail her peace ; She shall return to her old simple life, Take up again the tranquil tasks of home. Mephistopheles. Fool ! She shall ne'er re- cover that old peace; She cannot now return to simple tasks. Faust. Cannot ? Mephistopheles. She hath seen thee. Faust. Am I so vile That sight of me hath shattered all her peace? sc. V FAUST 113 Mephistopheles. Thou art her only peace: return to her; Never can she be glad but on thy breast. Faust. All this may be; but I'll return no more. If I have troubled so her serene days, I trouble them no more. Have I disturbed Her virgin soul, then I no more disturb it; I leave her. Mephistopheles. Leave her now? Is that quite fair? You bring the trouble, then refuse to ease it. Go back to her. Faust. What would'st thou have me do? Mephistopheles. Finish what is begun. Faust. Away, thou pimp! I 114 FAUST ACT II I'll not seduce her body and her soul ! Mephistopheles. Her soul thou hast se- duced — why hang on here ? She is no longer virgin in her thoughts, Thou hast corrupted every wandering whim. Think you she lieth now so still of nights? She turns in darkness to the form of thee And round thy image throws her burning arms. What is the body's touch between you two? Now her imagination is deflowered: Thou hast defiled her, Faust, for evermore. Faust. Ah no ! Ah no ! Mephistopheles. The only recompense Is now to sate the craving thou hast waked; To-night ! Faust. To-night ! sc. V FAUST 115 Mephistopheles. Ay, sir, the silvering moon Heralds the dawn of love. Yet have a care ! Her mother sleeps but lightly ! This shall serve To smooth her restless pillow. Faust. [Taking phial.] What is here? Mephistopheles. A sweet decoction that shall swiftly link Sunset and dawn in one. Faust. Not poison ? Mephistopheles. No ! Sleep is no poison though it last for ever. Faust. Then let us both in ruin fall together, And one damnation quickly seize us both. ^Iephistopheles. Now Hell seethes up in her again. Away Into her room, and leave it not till dawn. SCENE VI Scene. — Margaret's garden [Margaret spinning in the doorway. Margaret Gone is my peace, and with heart so sore I shall find it again nevermore. If he be not near me, the world is a grave And bitter as is the sea-wave. Ah ! my poor brain is racked and crazed, My spirit and senses amazed ! Gone is my peace, and with heart so sore I shall find it again nevermore. At the window I stand only to greet him, I leave the house but to meet him. ii6 sc. VI FAUST 117 Ah ! the smile of his mouth and the power of his eye And his noble symmetry! What a charm in his speech, in his touch what bliss ! The rapture of his wild kiss! My bosom is aching for him alone — Might I make him my very own ! Might I kiss but his lips till my mouth were fire, And then on his kisses expire 1 Enter Faust Ah, dearest ! thou hast been so long away, I almost feared . . . What it would be to lose thee Thou know'st not ! Ii8 FAUST ACT II Faust. \K.issing her.] Margaret, once more I am happy. I fled away into the wilderness To commune with my God. I lived alone With mighty trees and waters and wide air, With wild and winged things, creatures and birds; But all availed not. Oh, the very desert Was haunted by thee; solitudes were filled Suddenly with thy presence, silences Murmured thee in my ear. From thee to fly Is but to bring thee doubly near to me. Margaret. And I all day lonely at yonder window Have stood, and listened for a single step; Now would I fall to singing, now would cease. Now took my work up, and now set it down ; sc.vi FAUST "9 And now I loved in rapture, now in gloom. x\h 1 leave me nevermore. Faust. Nay, nevermore. Marg.\ret. Oh ! the deep bliss descending on me fast, Like steady rain on an unfolding flower. Yet one thing troubles me. F^^^TgT. What troubles thee? Margaret. Dearest, dost thou believe ? Faust. I'^ what? IMargaret. In God. Faust. Darling, who dares say "I believe in God"? Margaret. Oh ! but we must ! Faust. I feel the living God Trembling in starlight, surging in the sea, 120 FAUST ACT II And rushing by me in the wind ; I feel Him Approach me close in twilight without word. He shakes my soul with thunder — oh, to feel It all ! I have no single name to give it — Bliss, Love, God, what you will, the name is smoke Obscuring all the serene glow of Heaven. Margaret. And, dear, long has it been a grief to me To see thee in such company. Faust. How so? Margaret. Thy comrade, who is ever at thy side; His face with a deep horror fills my soul, And my heart shudders at his voice. Faust. Yet why? sc. VI FAUST 121 Margaret. I know not; but believe me I can tell He is not a good man. O God forgive me If I speak ill of any; but I feel He is not good. I am so happy here, So jielding and free, and warm upon thy arm, But if his face peer round the garden wall I am struck cold, and cannot love, or pray. But I must go. Faust. Ah ! will there never come A quiet hour when we two, heart to heart And soul to soul may cling; when we two may Drive down the stream and headlong greet the sea, The full ocean of bliss? Margaret. Now am I thine 122 FAUST ACT 11 So wholly, thine in every thought and hope, In my outgoing and returning, night And day, by sunlight or by moonlight thine; So utterly am I given o'er to thee In spirit, that what else thou dost desire Can have no strangeness in it, only bliss. I have yielded — then do with me what thou wilt. Faust. Oh, if to-night I burn for thee ! Margaret. And I For thee ! Faust. To-night then ! Margaret. If I slept alone I would undraw the bolt for thy desire ; But mother sleeps so light of late, and if She should discover us I could but die. sc.vi FAUST 123 Faust. Thou angel, fear it not. Here is a phial : Pour but three drops into her sleeping cup And she v\-ill sleep on deeply thro' the night. ^£\RG.\RET. It will not harm her: thou art siu-e? Faust. Would I Give it if there were danger? Margaret. O beloved, I can refuse thee nothing thou dost \s-ish, I will refuse thee nothing. I will open That ^\"indow when she is fallen quite asleep; Listen for that — and then I'll unlock the door. How heavy come the roses on the air To-night I Kiss me — I must go in. [He kisses her passionately. 124 FAUST ACT II Faust. 'Tis hard To part but for a moment. Margaret. Only wait! \She goes into the house. As Faust stands expectant, the door of the garden opens and Mephistopheles appears. Faust. Who's there? Mephistopheles. A friend. Faust. A fiend! Mephistopheles. Ay, both in one! Faust. Monster, begone ! Mephistopheles. I have no need to stay, My work is done. [Margaret's hand is seen opening the lattice as Faust makes a threatening gesture to Mephistopheles. , VI FAUST 125 Softly ! The rest is thine ! [Faust halts: his eyes turn toward the cottage, the door of which slowly opens. Faust is drawn towards it. He looks hack as he enters. Faust. And thine ! Mephistopheles. [As the door closes on Faust.] Ay, truly thine and mine in one ! ACT III ACT III SCF.NF.. — Outside the Cathedral, with Martha's house to R. The nave and choir of the Cathedral set across the stage, leaving space for a narrow street that runs up stage between it and Martha's house. Down stage L.C. a fountain. Above it, beside a buttress in the Cathedral ivall, stands an image of the Virgin. It is close upon Vesper time, and a group of Girls are gossiping by the fountain as they fill their pitchers. [Elsa enters down street R. Elsa. Hast heard the news? Laine. Old Katrine's cat is dead! LiSBETH. We heard that yesterday. K 129 I30 FAUST ACT 1ST Girl. Ay, that's no news! At dawn the cobbler sUt his thumb in twain In mending Sach's shoe ! 2ND Girl. I saw it done. LiSBETH. Hast thou naught else to tell ? Elsa. In truth I have ! A mighty throng is gathered in the Platz, 'Tis cried the war is ended, and to-day Our troops draw toward the city. Lisa. News indeed ! Then Valentine comes with them? Elsa. At their head! He hath won such glory that he now returns As captain of his band ! Laine. Poor Margaret! I wonder hath she heard? in FAUST I3« Lisa. 'Tis likely not, For since her mother's death three months gone by, She seldom goes abroad. Laine. Both day and night The shuttered windows of her house are closed, And there she sits alone. Lisa. 'Twas late last night I had tended poor old Anna who lay sick, And as I hurried homeward, here she stood, Filling her pitcher 'neath the darkened moon Whilst all the city slept! Laine. I'll go to her; Her brother's home-coming will cheer her heart. Lisa. Hush ! here she comes. [Margaret enters and sits wearily on the edge of the wall. 132 FAUST ACT Lisa. Dear Margaret, hast thou heard The war is at an end? Margaret. Hither as I came They cried the news along our narrow street. Laine. And Valentine returns a captain now ! Shall that not make thee glad? Margaret. I must be glad That he is safely home. Lisa. Not every girl Can boast so proud a brother. LiSBETH. Some there are Who are lucky to have none ! Lisa. Ay, true enough ! LiSBETH. 'Twould be no joy for Mistress Barbara Had she a brother homeward bound to-night. Ill FAUST 133 Laine. Nay, nor for him who brought her to this pass. LiSBETH. The fault was hers, not his! No man's to blame Who takes the gift a wanton flings to him. Margaret. [Clinging to Laine.] What is it that they say? LiSBETH. Dost thou not know? Margaret. I've been too much indoors for three months past, I have heard nothing but the bell that tolls From hour to hour. LiSBETH. Oh, 'tis a pretty story! But now she's got her due, and serves her right. What else could she expect? Both day and night 134 FAUST ACT She hung upon his kisses. Now she knows What comes of too much kissing. Margaret. Oh, poor thing! But is it so indeed ? Lisa. Indeed it is! LiSBETH. Ask through the city! Every gos- sip's tongue Is wagging of her shame. Why pity her? Whilst honest girls would sit at home and spin She'd steal away o' nights to meet her swain, Who leaves her for reward a sinner's shift. Margaret. Nay, surely he will take her for his wife ? LiSBETH. Not he! And who can wonder? There are more Like proud Miss Barbara who only wait Ill FAUST 135 Till he shall have a mind to kiss again. He'll meet them on his journey. Margaret. Has he gone? Oh, 'tis not fair ! LiSBETH. Why, think you he would wed A maid who could not wait to claim a ring? Not he ! Come, girls, 'tis late, and I've no mind To furnish food for gossips! 1ST Girl. Nay, nor I ! [They take up their pitchers and move off in different directions. Margaret is left weep- ing. Lisa, who is just going out, returns to her. Margaret. Poor Barbara! Lisa. Dear Margaret, grieve not so ! Thv gentle heart is all too pure to know 136 FAUST ACT The sin that tempted her. Yet thou canst weep While others speak in scorn ! Margaret. Oh, leave me — go ! Lisa. See then, I'll take the pitcher to thy door And come again for thee ! [Lisa goes out. Margaret. In days long flown I too have scorned each sinner as she fell ! Sure of myself, there were no words too hard To paint the thing I deemed I ne'er could be — • The thing I am to-day — ■ a living sin ! And yet — and yet — that one who drew me down Seemed then, dear God, so true, so good, so dear ! [SJie throws herself at the feet of the Virgin. O Mother of all sorrows, thou alone in FAUST 137 Canst pierce my sorrow; thou alone canst cure The ceaseless pain that bows me to the earth. The prayer I dare not utter thou canst hear ! And those vain tears that washed thy stainless feet Night after night, hast thou not seen them fall? I have no help but thee ! no hope but here. As thou wert once a maid, be pitiful, Take in thy hands my breaking, bleeding heart And save my ruined soul from death's last stain. {There is a pause. The organ sounds from the Church, the ivindoivs of ivhich sJiow the candle-light unthin. A few Citizens come from L. and enter the porch. They are followed by Lisa. 138 FAUST ACT Lisa. Dear Margaret, you are weary. Let us go. Margaret. Ay, let us go within. Lend me your hand; To-night we'll pray together, if I may! \As Lisa supports her into the Church, Faust and Mephistopheles come down the dark alley from the right. Mephistopheles peeps round the angle of the Church and sees Margaret. Faust. Who was it entered there? Mephistopheles. Some aged crone With crooked, twisted limbs — no dish for thee. Faust. I thought 'twas Margaret! Mephistopheles. Nay, that lonely bird Ill FAUST 139 Sits in her wicker cage waiting for him Who clipped her wings. Faust. Why, then I'll go to her! Mephistopheles. What ! doth that poorer fancy still endure ? Doctor, you shame my trade ! For this mean feast The merest prentice pander might have served ! Have I not cured you yet ? What find you there ? Faust. A fluttering flower that lures me like a star. Mephistopheles. I love them not, these flowers that scent the air I was not born to breathe. In these past months Since first that bud was plucked, we have seen the world. I40 FAUST ACT Faust. Ay! and not once her equal in the world. Mephistopheles. Nay! there are worlds on worlds unfolded yet Whose treasured store of beauty still awaits us. As children strew the hedge-blooms they have gathered Along the dusty highway — cast her off And let us on our road. Faust. There is no road That leads not back to her. Mephistopheles. Well, as you will ! Meanwhile I have some business of my own That needs my presence here. Faust. I need thee not! \ExU Faust. Ill FAUST 141 Mephistopheles. This comedy must end, and swiftly too. Beside that purer soul my spirit flags; I have no scythe to shear a harebell down, Its weakness masters me. Till that hour come, When all engulfed in sin she sinks and drowns, My power is powerless. Once that hour is past, Then, Faust, thou art mine again ! \}lusk heard from Chunk. She kneels within Yet knows not how to pray. I'll go to her. Unseen, yet seeing all, beside her chair I'll breathe a whispered poison in her ear Shall draw her soul down to the verge of Hell. [.I5 he speaks the stage darkens and the wall of the Church becomes transparent, showing 142 FAUST ACT the dimly lit interior where Margaret kneels among the worshippers^ Mephistopheles bending over her. The opening lines of the Latin hymn are being chanted. Chorus Dies Irae dies ilia Solvet saeclum in favilla. Mephistopheles. It is not with thee now as once it was, When as a prattling child those innocent lips First learned by rote the words of Holy Writ From out the well-worn book thy mother held. Margaret. I cannot pray ! Across my dark- ened soul Hither and thither in a tangled flight Come thoughts that drag me down. Ill FAUST 143 Chorus Judex ergo cum sedebit, Quidquid latet adparebit, Nil inultum remanebit. Mephistopheles. Where tends thy thought? What hidden crime within thy bosom dwells? Would'st pray for mercy on thy mother's soul, Who slept nor woke again through thee ! through thee! Her blood lies at thy door. Chorus \Wilh third verse.] Margaret. Oh, woe is me! I dare not look toward Heaven : the gate is shut. My heart sinks to the dust. 144 FAUST ACT Mephistopheles. Beneath thy breast Canst thou not feel the pulse of that new life That stirs and quickens there? Dost thou not know Whither thy sin shall drive thee? Chorus Quid sum miser tunc dicturus, Quem patronum rogaturus, Cum vix Justus sit securus? Margaret. Oh ! no more ! The pillars close me in ; the roof falls down To crush me to the earth. I cannot breathe ! Dear Mary Mother, turn thy face once more. Mephistopheles. Her face is turned away, she heeds thee not; Ill FAUST 145 The light of Heaven goes out. Margaret. \To Lisa.] Thy cordial! Oh! [Margaret half swoons as, with the final repeat of the Chorus, the vision fades and the exterior view of the Cathedral is re- stored. In tJie darkness Mephistopheles creeps stealthily from the door and is about to go off as Altmayer and Others enter R. He hides behind a buttress. Altmayer. They've reached the city ! We'll drink deep to-night. 1ST Student. [To Frosch, who comes -with Others down the alley.] Where are they now ? Frosch. Within the Western gate. Altmayer. And Valentine? L 146 FAUST ACT Frosch. He marches at their head. Altmayer. That serves as fit occasion for our cups. Frosch. The crowds draw round him shouting Victory ! But he, scarce heeding them, still presses on To greet his sister Margaret. [Brander and Siebel, with Others, have entered L. Brander. Say you so? Why, then he hath not heard ? Mephistopheles. [Aside.] Nay, sirs, not yet ! The Devil takes his time. Frosch. What should he hear? Brander. The sorriest news, if what is said be true. in FAUST 147 SiEBEL. Ay ! and the foulest slander if 'tis false, As here upon my soul I vouch it so. Mephistopheles. \.\.side.\ Be thrifty with your soul; you have but one. Brander. To-night 'tis whispered that her mother's death Came not at Nature's call. Within her room A poisoned phial was found. Frosch. Is that enough To brand as murderess the gentlest maid That dwells within our city? Siebel. Nay, there's more; So slander grows on slander ! Now 'tis said She slew her mother to conceal her sin. Studext. Oh, shame! I'll not believe it! 2ND Student. Nay, nor I ! 148 FA UST ACT Mephistopheles. [Aside.] The world grows charitable ! No fault of mine ! SiEBEL. Is there one here who would dare breathe this lie To Valentine her brother? Voices. Nay, not one ! SiEBEL. If this foul gossip needs must reach his ears, It shall not be through us. Enter Student. Well, sir, what now? 1ST Student. The Burgomaster with the city guard Keep watch on Margaret's house. 2ND Student. Ay, and 'tis said A warrant's out against her. ,111 FAUST 149 SiEBEL. Nay then, friends! At such a time 'tis fit that we who love her Should speak on her behalf. All. Ay, so we will ! [They go off L. Mephistopheles. Oh, faithful hounds! be- fore the dawn is here Your tongues shall learn to sound another note. Enter Faust. What, Doctor, back so soon? Faust. She is not there; The house is closed; there is no light within; I have sought her through the city all in vain. Mephistopheles. Have you no tidings of her? 15° FAUSr ACT, Faust. Ay, the worst! The whisper grows against her. Every tongue Breathes slander on her name. Mephistopheles. I feared as much ! Some gossip hath made mischief. Gossips will. Doctor, we'd best make off. Faust. No, I will stay Till I have seen her face, and at her feet Have prayed for pardon. Mephistopheles. Well, I'm still your slave. An ancient pet of mine dwells hereabouts; [Striking Jiis guitar. These strains may wake her; she is still romantic; We'll gather news of her. Faust. I care not how, So that these eyes may greet her once again. Ill FAUST 151 Mephistopheles. Doctor, to-night I'm in a frolic mood And, like some old Tom cat upon the tiles Who stalks his love behind each chimney-stack, I'll thread this alley, mewing as I go ! \They go off and up, the Song dying away as shouts an heard and [The Crowd enters, Valentine marching through them at the head of his Troop amidst the shouts of the multitude. Voices. All hail to Valentine ! Voices. All hail ! all hail ! 3RD Student. Come, bear him to the tavern; 'tis not far ! The city hath decreed good wine for all. And at the city's charge. 152 FAUST ACT 4TH Student. Come then, let's on ! 5TH Student. Ay, set him shoulder high ! Our backs shall serve In place of that stout steed that carried him. \They approach Valentine, who checks them. Valentine. Good comrades, wait awhile. Ere that shall be There's one I needs must greet the first of all, My sister Margaret. There at her feet I'll lay this sword, so hacked and carved with war, And then we'll drink till dawn ! [SiEBEL, Brander, and Others have entered and stand in a silent group. Ah, Siebel there! Brander ! and thou, old Altmayer ! — ay, and Frosch ! Ill FAUST 153 Well met, old friends ! It seems an age and more Since last I grasped your hands ! So long, in truth, I've grown a stranger to our city lanes. Come, lead me on my way! Brander. Where, Valentine? Valentine. Where else but home to Margaret ? [SiEBEL intervenes. SiEBEL. Go not there ! Valentine. Why not? SiEBEL. I dare not tell thee ! Valentine. Dare not? Speak! Are ye all dumb? I am no more than man, Yet being man, must school me to endure 154 FAUST ACT What Heaven shall please to send. She is not dead ? SiEBEL. No, Valentine, not dead ! Brander. Would Heaven she were ! Valentine. What is it then that strangles all your tongues? SiEBEL. Speak, Brander, for I cannot! Frosch. Nay, nor I ! Brander. 'Tis said thy mother died by Margaret's hand. Valentine. My mother dead, and slain by Margaret ! Liar ! I could choke thee ! Brander. I'd forgive thee that Could I unsay what's said, undo what's done ! Valentine. This is some villainous slander. If God willed Ill FAUST 155 In sudden wrath to change an angel child Into a fiend, there would be cause for it. What cause was here ? She loved her mother well And was as well beloved. Why should she take That mother's life? Brander. Nay, that is worst of all! She took that mother's life to hide her shame. Valentine. Liar! I'll go to her! Enter Burgomaster. Burgomaster. Stay, Valentine ! We all had hoped to give thee public greeting And a triumphant welcome from the town, But this must stand aside till happier hours: Our duty now gives no excuse for joy. Valentine. Art thou, too, in this treachery, this plot 156 FAUST ACT Against my sister's honour? Burgomaster. If 'twere so, The wrong were quickly righted. 'Tis not so. Upon approved witness of her crime Thy sister Margaret stands accused of murder, And here I hold the warrant of the law To arrest her as my prisoner. Valentine. Is that all? Does not your parchment publish some excuse To inform the world why she, a maid so pure, Should on a sudden turn a murderess? Burgomaster. 'Tis known and proved that night thy mother died An unknown gallant, stranger to our town, Was seen to enter Margaret's chamber door. Nor left it till the dawn. HI FAUST 157 Altmayer. Sure that was he Whose comrade tricked us as we sat at wine ! Frosch. 'Twas he, I'll warrant it! Valentine. Enough ! Enough ! We'll think of him hereafter. For the time This must seem all — that all I loved is lost. Now, comrades, turn those torches to the ground; Oh ! that I had found death in glorious war ! Or any stroke but this ! But yesterday Round the camp fire we sat and talked of home. And as each comrade with a brimming cup Toasted in turn the maid he loved the best, I let them all run on, till at the last With lifted glass I did but breathe her name, And all were dumb. " 'Tis true, 'tis true ! " they cried, 158 FAUST ' ACT "In all our town there's but one Margaret, The fairest, best of all ! " — And now — and now — Let every braggart spurn me as he will, I have no answer, for her shame is mine. [Mepktstopheles and Faust are seen coming down the alley, Mephistopheles singing to the guitar, with Faust beside him. SiEBEL. Why, here he comes! That knave who ruined her ! Frosch. Ay, and that juggling villain by his side ! Valentine. Then stand aside. This issue must be mine. And mine alone. [He draws his sword and approaches Mephistopheles, who still sings. Ill FAUST 159 Thuu whining rat-catcher, Whom now wilt thou allure? That blow's for thee! [iJe dashes the guitar to tJie ground. Mephistopheles. The lute is broken, so the song must cease. Valentine. And thou who lurk'st behind, I've more for thee. Mephistopheles. He knows thee, who thou art, yet stand thy ground. Valentine. Draw% or I'll spit thee ! Faust. Thou shalt have thy will ! [Faust draws. Mephistopheles. Lunge on now, have no fear; I'll parry all. [They fight. Valentine. Then parry that ! i6o FAUST ACT Mephistopheles. Why not? Valentine. And that ! Mephistopheles. That too ! Valentine. I think the Devil's here, my arm grows weak. Mephistopheles. Now is your time — thrust home ! [Faust lunges at Valentine, wJw falls. Valentine. O God, 'tis done ! [The Crowd gathers round Valentine. Mephistopheles. He's skewered at last ! Now quick, no word — away ! [He throws his cloak round Faust and they vanish. Burgomaster. There's murder here ! Go, seize them both. in FAUST i6i SiEBEL. They've gone ! Burgomaster. Whither ? Brander. I know not. As we followed them It seemed to me that they became as air. Burgomaster. Look then to him who fell! [Martha's head appears at the window above. And other heads from other windows. Martha. What brawl is this? [Margaret, with a crowd of Citizens, enters from the Church. Margaret. Who is it wounded there? Brander. Thy mother's son. Margaret. Almighty God! Not dying? M 1 62 FAUST AC7 Valentine. Ay, I'm dying, Yet that may count for little. Cease your tears And listen while ye may; my time is brief. Margaret. O Valentine ! Valentine. Why dost thou loiter here ? Thou should'st be at thy trade. The night is young; For what thou hast to sell there are buyers yet. Margaret. Dear God, have mercy ! Valentine. Thou wert best advised To leave God's name alone. As yet 'tis plain Thou art but a prentice hand — I'll grant thee that; But custom starves all scruples, in a month Thy beauty will be free of all the town, Ill FAUST 163 And then when that same beauty's worn and spent Thou'lt stalk the street a flaunting, painted thing, Till at the last the flaring lights shall fright thee And thou shalt lurk beneath some darkened arch, A wanton to the end. Martha. O slanderous tongue, Commend thy soul to God ! Valentine. Foul hag of Hell, If I could slay thee ere my life were spent, I'd think that all my sins were all forgiven ! Margaret. Oh, speak to me ! Valentine. It is too late ! Too late! i64 FAUST ACT ii; I loved thee more than all! May God forgive thee! Now like a soldier go I to my God. \He falls back dead. Margaret swoons in the arms of Lisa, and the Guard, at a sign from the Burgomaster, gather round her. ACT IV ACT IV Scene I Scene. — The Walpurgis Night. {The siimmit of the Brocken. The Scene represents the verge of a great chasm with mountain peaks jutting up from the depths below. Across the gulf stands a high mountain with jagged sides. On the R. in front is a path descending to rocks. On the left, an uplifted crag overlooking the depths below. [In a hollow at the foot of the crag the Witch is seated by her cauldron. The Scene opens with thunder and lightning and a raging wind. On separate peaks that 167 1 68 FAUST ACT IV rise from the gulf Witches are posted as sentinels. 1ST Witch. What cry is in the air? 2ND Witch. Our master comes. I sp.w him riding by the raven stone. 3RD Witch. Give warning down the gulf: from peak to peak, Down to the lake that fills the crater bowl, Follow the owlet's cry. Voice. [Below.] He comes! 2ND Voice. He comes ! 3RD Voice. Away ! Away ! He is here. Voices. Away ! Away ! [Witches disappear as [Mephistopheles and Faust ascend the rocky path R. SCI FAUST 169 Faust. I'll go no farther! Whither would'st thou lead? Mephistopheles. Upward to yonder crag whose nodding crown Leans o'er the sulphurous vale. Faust. I'll climb no more ' Through shrieking caverns and o'er desert fells. By cliff and headland down v.-hose shuddering sides The roaring cataract cleaves its thunder-road, — Borne upward as a feather on the gale Still have I followed thee ! Mephistopheles. As still thou shalt Till I have shown thee all! Hark! 'tis the hour. 17° faust act iv Chorus \From below.] The witches ride to the Brocken top Upward and onward they may not stop. [Mephistopheles draws Faust to the edge of the abyss. Mephistopheles. Dost see them swarming in the mists below? Now poised for flight, and herding in the sky They blacken out the moon. Chorus Upward and onward across the night To the topmost beacon we take our flight ! [During the Chorus there is a flight of Witches across the sky. SCI FAUST 171 Mephistopheles. Far down below They scale each slope and crag, a mjTiad throng. Round gnarled roots like serpents intercoiling, O'er rock and boulder leaping, skipping, scudding, — See how they press and jostle, push and scramble To reach their master's feet! Yet some there are That stumble on the path. Up ! up ! and on ! The Devil's road grows easier at the last ! \As he speaks, the crags and mountain tops gradually fill with shadoivy forms whose voices echo across the gulf. 1ST Witch. Whence comest thou? 2XD Witch. Round by the Ilsen rock I saw the white owl blinking on its nest. 172 FAUST ACT IV 3RD Witch. Old Baubo rides upon a farrow sow. 4TH Witch. Ay! Baubo first and all the flock to follow. Mephistopheles. On then ! and on ! lest I should flay and score ye. Voice. \From below.] Hi! there! Ho! Mephistopheles. Nay, heed him not, press on ! 1ST Witch. Who is it calls from the rocky lake below? Voice. [From below.] I've climbed and climbed three hundred years and more, Yet cannot reach the top ! [A wild laugh from the Witches as Mephistopheles looks down the gulf. SCI FAUST 173 Mephistopheles. Old Dotard, no! Hast not yet learned that towards the Devil's porch The lighter step of woman wins the lead? While club-foot man a laggard even in sin Toils slowly at her heels. Trudge on, old fool! Thou shalt reach the goal at last. Trudge on ! Trudge on ! \\Y\ld laughter again. Chorus "With a rag for a sail We soar on the gale, Then swoop and fall At our master's call. Faust. What are these shapes and wherefore are they here? 174 FAUST ACT IV Mephistopheles. To-night Sir Mammon holds high holiday, And these my vassal slaves are all his guests. A goodly throng — see how they laugh and chatter ! Sweet witches all — they have their working days, But now in wanton measure to and fro They fill a vacant hour of liberty. Dance on ! Dance on ! \T]ie Witches dance, singing as they move. Witches' Chorus Through fog and fen, o'er broom and heather, From hidden caves and from hill and dell, As leaves that scatter and drift together We draw to our master, the Lord of Hell. SCI FAUST 175 The owlet's cry is the note we follow ! As the night-wind whistles its ceaseless tune, We hurry and scurry o'er hill and hollow With feet as fleet as the racing moon. Now! the \nnd is hushed, the stars are falling, The moon hath fled! The skies are bare; Hark 1 Hark ! in the dark 'tis the owlet calling ! The night is waning. Beware ! Beware ! Dost hear her crying? Below ! Below ! The clouds are fipng, The night is dying! We go ! We go ! \As the sound dies away, the Witches gradually disappear. 1/6 FAUST ACT IV Faust. What crazy world is this? Mephistopheles. a world where worlds are made — a busy hive Of murmuring bees whose poisoned honey-bags Yield to men's lips that bitter-sweet called Love. Here beauty ere it takes on mortal shape Sips at the fount of sin, then onward speeding, Enters Life's portals, gathering as it goes The voices and the blossoms of the Spring. Here the rough gold first takes its glittering sheen To sate the greedy pangs of avarice; Here crowns are fashioned, and on yonder anvil For every crown a beaten blade is forged To fit the usurper's hand. Glory and Power, Ambition and the countless painted toys That draw men onward in the race toward Hell SCI FAUST 177 Here, by deft hands are decked and garlanded To lure the world ! my world ! Faust. And is it here Thou dost think to stay the memory of those tears That drip and fall upon my coward soul Like rain through ruined woods? Mephistopheles. Good Doctor, no; This is but preface to the feast to come. See, here is more. \They approach the Witch's cauldron. Old huckster, I should know thee. Faust. And I too well ! Witch. And I, I know ye both! Mephistopheles. What hast thou here to please this Lord I serve? N 178 FAUST ACTiv Witch. Good store of richest wares of every fashion Most cunningly assorted. Scan them well ! For all have served their turn ! That dagger there Still bears upon it the red rust of blood ! Of all these jewelled cups there is not one That hath not borne to lips now marble-white The sleepy wine of death. There is no gem Of all this glittering heap but once hath served To bring a maid to shame. Faust. Foul hag, be dumb ! Mephistopheles. She doth mistake our errand. — All that's done Is done. — To-night we seek from out the past A fairer vision. SCI FAUST 179 Witch. Master, pay me then ! 'Twas on the Brocken I should claim my fee; So stood our bargain. Mephistopheles. Would 'st thou threaten me? I'll pay thee naught till I shall pay thee all. Witch. \Aside.\ Then ere night ends I'll earn my fee in full, And trick thee with a vision fair and foul That shall affright ye both. Mephistopheles. Cease ! mumbling hag. Faust. Is this thy power? whose vilest min- isters Still m.ock and scoff at thee? Mephistopheles. Would 'st know my power? I who have changed thy lean and withered age i8o FAUST ACT IV To this new garb of youth? Stand then and hearken While from the void my hounds of Hell give tongue. \A roll of thtmder with lightning gleam. Chorus [From below.] Cling fast ! cling fast ! The owlet is hiding On the tail of the blast Our master is riding. Mephistopheles. Dost hear those thunder steeds whose clattering hoofs Tear the night's covering to a tattered sheet? Ride on ! Ride on ! my lightning Limps shall guide ye. [Drawing Faust to the brink of the chasm. SCI FAUST i8i Look where old Chaos takes a newer fashion As down the abyss the cloven mountains fall, And shifting forests slide into the gulf. Doth that content thee? [During this speech the rocks have sundered and fallen. Uprooted trees have crashed into the abyss, and the mountain across the gulf lias been so shattered as to leave a vast cavern in its side. Faust. Ay ! no more ! no more 1 I have seen enough. Mephistopheles. [Laughing.] Nay, tremble not, good Doctor ! The work of demolition's always noisy; Yet here it has served our turn; for yonder cleft Carved by the thunder, yields a fitting stage i82 FAUST ACTU Whereon we'll summon for thy amorous glance From out their scattered tombs those Queens of Love Whom Time hath still left peerless. \To the Witch.] On, old Granny! Quick ! stir thy brew ! and let the sport begin, As high encamped upon this airy shelf My Lord shall watch the pageant as it grows, And claim of all these buried vanished lips Whose kiss he fain would win ! Lead on ! Lead on ! \A group of young Witches leave the cauldron and draw Faust with chains of flowers up to the summit of the crag where ]Mephistoph- ELES is already standing. And as he follows them half entranced, the Chorus is SCI FAUST 183 heard across the gulf and the Vision 0/ Helen of Troy is gradually revealed. Chorus Once more upon the purple main That scudding sail doth bear her home, Troy's cindered towers are fired again And flare across the crimsoned foam. Mephistopheles. See how they press around her, all her train, She for whose lips the world was drenched in blood. Yet note that changeless beauty bears no trace Of all her countless slain. Faust. Helen ? i84 FAUST ACT n Mephistopheles. Ay, Helen, My loyal subject Queen who shattered Troy, And dyed the ^gean with a Tyrian stain. Faust. Draw closer, closer, till I touch those lips. Mephistopheles. Nay ! wait awhile ! I know an Orient bough Whereon there hangs a riper, ruddier fruit Embrowned by Egypt's sun. Lead on, sweet hag! The feast is not half served. Witch. \From her cauldron.] Nay, Sire, there is more. As thou shalt learn before the cauldron cools. [The Vision of Helen has faded as the Chorus is renewed. sci faust 185 Chorus Down old Xilus' vacant stream Steers, with silken sail unfurled, She who in a golden dream Chained the masters of the world. Ever to}ang, never cloxdng, Soul and body ever new, All enjoyed and all enjopng Ever false and ever true 1 [During the Chorus ///e Vision of Cleopatra is rez'caled, preceded by Egyptian Dancing Girls. Mephistopheles. Dost see her, Faust? The ruin that she wrought Lies buried deep beneath the shifting Nile, 1 86 FAUST ACT IV While she whose conquering beauty laughed at Time Sails o'er the centuries to greet her Lord. Fair Cleopatra, kindred serpent soul, I hail thee peerless still 1 Faust. And I ! And I ! Mephistopheles. Doth that not tempt thee? Faust. Let me but print one kiss Between those breasts that cushioned Antony; There is no more to win. \The Vision Jades. Mephistopheles. Wait till the close, Then thou shalt choose at will. \To Witch. Go back to Rome. Witch. Ay, back to Rome, and back and back again ! iC. I FAUST 187 Chorus She stands by Tiber's reddened flood ! That door she guards is Love's last tomb, Those gilded breasts are smeared with blood Wrung from the ruined heart of Rome. [During the Chorus the vision of Messalina appears. Mephistopheles. Look where she stands, passion's ungrudging slave, Who leased a throne to wear a strumpet's crown. Hail! Messalina, whose enfolding arms Caught to thee nightly all the lust of Rome, Those crimson lips have drained the lees of Love 1 88 FAUST ACT IV In many a Stygian stew : yet drink again, My master holds the cup. Faust. Nay, let her pass; 'Tis not so fair. Mephistopheles. Then count the feast as ended. Where falls thy choice? Witch. My master, wait awhile. Yet one remains, the last and best of all. Mephistopheles. Wretch, wilt thou trick me? Witch. Look again and see. \The Vision of Messalina Jades as the Chorus is repeated. :. I FAUST 189 Chorus The Springtime comes, the Springtime goes, The lily changes to the rose, Now Spring hath fled, And Summer is dead, And dead the Lily ! and dead the Rose ! {During the Chorus the lonely figure of Mar- garet is revealed with chains about her wrists, her dead child lying at her feet. Mephistopheles. [To Witch.] Foul hag, I'll scorch thee ! Witch. Master, I am paid! [With a wild yell she rises into the air and van- ishes across the gulf. Faust. Look ! it is Margaret ! What to me the past? igo FAUST ACTiv What any queen re-risen from the grave ? I can see nothing but that lovely form. But what is that lies frozen at her feet? Mephistopheles. What lieth at her feet thou should'st know, Faust. Those eyes are turned upon me ! Margaret, stay! Across the gulf of Hell I'll fly to thee. Go, bear me to that prison where she lies, Her anguish is my anguish, all her sin Is mine to suffer, ay, or mine to cure. To her ! to her ! bear me away. On ! On ! [There is a crash of thunder, and of a sudden the gulf swarms with Witches who shriek amidst the thunder as Faust and Mephis- TOPHELES disappear. SCENE II Scene. — A prison cell. [Margaret is lying in a stupor chained on a bed of straw at the back. The sound of a key in the lock is heard and Faust and Mephis- TOPHELES enter. Mephistopheles. See ! there she lies ! Quick, rouse her! We must fly. Drugged lies the jailer ; but I cannot say When he may wake and blunder on us here. Faust. [Gazing on Margaret.] The woe of the whole earth catches at my heart. And then ! Ah, stand and roll thy devilish eyes : This is thy work ! Lo, in a dungeon shut, Delivered up to torment and to night! 191 192 FAUST ACT IV From me thou hast concealed this ruin, me With hollow dissipations hast thou lulled. Mephistopheles. She's not the first ! Faust. Abortion ! Not the first ! Did not the first in her death agony Expiate all the guilt of all the rest? Her single misery to my marrow pierces, And thou art grinning at the doom of thousands. Mephistopheles. Why dost thou make a compact with the Devil And canst not see it out? Did I on thee Thrust myself ? Come, confess ! Or thou on me ? Faust. Rescue her: or the curse of ages on thee ! Mephistopheles. Rescue her? Who then plunged her into ruin ? sc. II FAUST 193 Whose kisses stretched her on that bed of straw ? Whose hot embraces cast those chains on her ? [Faust looks wildly round . Wilt grasp the thunder? Lucky thou canst not. Faust. She shall be free ! Mephistopheles. O maudlin murderer, Weep over thy victim sentimental tears! Faust. Free her — or Mephistopheles. Gently ! I will watch without And keep the jailer mazed in a deep sleep, But not for long ! Drag her away with thee. The magic steeds are ready. Quick! Faust. Begone ! [Exit Mephistopheles. [Faust approaches Margaret, who starts up dishevelled. o 194 FAUST ACT IV Margaret. Oh, they are come for me ! O death of deaths ! Faust. Margaret ! I have come to set thee free once more. Come, let us fly — give me your hand, come, come. Margaret. [Looking at him.] Who art thou? Oh, it is not Morning yet. Sir, let me live till dawn ! And I am still So young, and fair, but that was my undoing. [Faust seizes the chains, endeavouring to un- lock them. What have I done to thee ? Use me not roughly 1 Faust. Margaret, look on me ! I am thy lover. Margaret. [Looking earnestly at him.] I ne'er saw thee before in all my life. sc. II FAUST I9S I had a lover, but he's far away. Love, did I weary thee? Faust. Can I outlive These stabbing words? Margaret. Ah, let me suckle first My baby : but they've taken it away, And thev sing songs about me in the street. They should not do it. Faust. I love thee for ever. Margaret. See, he is coming ! The evil one : Hell heaves In thunder — see, he makes towards his prey. Faust. Margaret ! Margaret. Ah, that was my lover's voice. Margaret! So now in the howl of Hell Still on his bosom I shall lie again. 196 FAUST ACT IV 'Tis he ! The garden once again I see Where thou and I walked up and down in bliss. Faust. [Struggling ivith her. Come ! Come away ! Margaret. Dost thou not care to kiss me? Once didst thou kiss as thou would'st stifle me. Faust. Follow me, darling — oh, delay no more ! Margaret. But is it thou, thou surely? Faust. It is I. Come, come away ! Margaret. My mother I have killed But out of love for thee ! Faust. Can I endure? Margaret. The baby too, our baby, I have drowned. sen FAUST 197 Faust. Oh, swiftly, swiftly ! the night vanishes. Margaret. It tries to rise, it struggles still; quick, seize it. Faust. One step and thou art free: I must use force. \He seizes her to bear her away. Margaret. Oh, grasp me not so murderously, sir. Faust. Day ! day is dawning. Margaret. Yes, 'tis the last day. Hark to the crowd ! They push me to the block : Now o'er each neck the blade is quivering That quivers over mine ! Dumb lies the world. [She falls back on his arm. Faust. God! She is dying! I shall never free her. [Mephistopheles enters quickly- 198 FAUST ACT IV Mephistopheles. Fast, fast ! to all love-mak- ing put an end, My coursers shiver in the morning air. Avi^ay ! Faust. No ! She is dying : cold she grows. Mephistopheles. Leave her if she is cold : no moment more. Faust. I will not — cannot Margaret ! Margaret ! Mephistopheles. Would'st thou die with her? Faust. I can leave her not. Mephistopheles. The Uving wait thee ! Stay not by the dead ! Faust. Leave me ! I go not ! Mephistopheles. Come to fresher faces, sen FAUST 199 Others have warm blood still. [Margaret dies. Faust. Ah ! she is dead ! No motion : chill all o'er ! Mephistopheles. Faust, wilt thou come? Faust. Never ! Mephistopheles. Farewell then 1 {Exit Mephistopheles. [Faust lays her reverently on the bed, composing her limbs. Faust. I with thee must die. For I am fainting with thy faintness, I Am going with thee fast. I ebb and sink After thee, and my blood thy blood pursues. Hath thy heart stopped? Mine slow and slower beats. 200 FAUST ACT IV Still is thy pulse ? My pulse is faltering ! Where'er thou goest I with thee shall go, Whether thou catch me into highest Heaven, Or I involve thee in the lowest Hell. Margaret, Margaret ! after thee I come And rush behind thee in thy headlong flight. Dim grows the world. [Mephistopheles appears in the dress he wore in the Prologue. Is this the film of death? Do I behold thee, Mephistopheles, Or some superior angel? Now no more The sneering smile and jaunty step I see; I feel that thou art Evil yet dost wear Evil's auguster immortality. Sav wherefore art thou come ? sc. II FAUST 20I Mephistopheles. Remember, Faust, Thy compact. Though it pleased me to take on A lighter shape more easily to lure thee, Yet know I am that Spirit who rebelled. With whom a million angels mutinied. Behold the thunder-scar and withered cheek ! With me, then, was thy holy compact signed. Faust. Though I should die yet thou canst fright me not. Even from thy lips shall I believe the tale Of burning coals and everlasting fire And all the windy jargon of the priests? Mephistopheles. Far other is that Hell where thou shalt live. As I did serve thee faithfully on earth, Thou faiihfullv shalt serve me after death. 202 FA UST ACT IV Listen 1 On dreadful errands shalt thou go, On journeys fraught with mischief to the soul; Shalt be a whisperer in the maiden's ears, Drawing her to defilement — shalt persuade The desperate to self-slaughter, thou shalt guide The murderer to his work, thou shalt instil Into the child its first polluting thought, And bring to the world's apple many an Eve. In taverns shalt thou drink invisibly Urging the drinkers on, and thou shalt walk With painted women to and fro the streets. So, Faust, shalt thy eternity be spent Seducing and polluting human souls, Purveying anguish, madness, through the world. This was thy compact: this shalt thou fulfil. Faust. Horrible ! horrible ! Yet do I defy thee. sen FAUST 203 Hast thou fulfilled thy promise, brought an hour — A single hour — to which I could cry "Stay, Thou art so fair" ? Mephistopheles. That hour shall come; My service is not ended. Countless years Are left thee yet ere life's full cup be drained. Up, then, and on ! Faust. Weary and stale the life Thou gavest me; from pleasure hurled to pleasure, And evermore satiety and hate. Weary and stale is all that's yet to come. Though countless years, chained ever at thy side. Be still my doom, my spirit newly winged Outspeeds the flight of time. That flower I crushed And trod beneath my feet, see where it springs 204 FAUST ACT IV And blooms again in Heaven's serener air. Beyond the night I see the final dawn Wherein from out that ruin I have wrought, Purged at the last, my soul shall win its way Whither her soul hath sped. The laggard years. That chain me prisoner to this desert earth, Though in their sum they should consume all time, Were all too short for what is left to do. Up, then, and on ! I shall abide the end; Still I fight upward, battle to the skies, And still I soar for ever after her. I shall go past thee, Mephistopheles, For ever upward to the woman soul ! How long? How long? [Rolling clouds ascend, obscuring the stage, FAUST 205 ^mtU the First Scene, the neutral mountains, is discovered again. During the change a Chorus of invisible Angels is heard from above. Chorus All the unnumbered years of man Count not against thy larger day That flushed and dawned ere time began, And still runs radiant on its way. Onward and on in ceaseless flight The rolling centuries race by, Onward to where thy torches light The threshold of Eternity. [When the scene is fully revealed, Margaret is seen lying robed in white at the feet of 2o6 FAUST ACTiv Raphael, the Other Angels attending. Mephistopheles remains below. Mephistopheles. Lo ! on this neutral ground I reappear To claim of the Most High the soul of Faust. Is not the wager won? Have I not drawn A high aspiring spirit from his height, Plunged it at will in lust and wantonness? Hath not this servant of the King of Heaven, This famous Doctor, proud philosopher. Seduced a maiden to a grave of shame, To drug her Mother, and to drown her Child? While he with his own hand her Brother slew? Have I not now reclaimed a soul for night? Have I not now the great world wager won? Answer ! sc. II FAUST 207 [An Angel alights on the topmost peak as in the Prologue. The Angel. The great world wager thou hast lost, And, seeking to confound, hast saved a soul. When for thine own ends thou didst fire his heart For Margaret, and inflamed his lustful blood So that they sinned together, yet that sin So wrapped them that a higher, holier love Hath sprung from it; where once their bodies burned Their spirits glow together, what was fire Is light, and that which scorched doth kindle now. Thou, thou hast sped him on a nobler flight. Thou, thou hast taught him to aspire anew, 2o8 FAUST ACT IV Thou through the woman soul hast brought him home. [Angels are seen hearing the soul of Faust ■upwards towards Margaret. Hither the spirit angel-wafted floats While she her saving arms outspreads to him. Mephistopheles. Still to the same result I war with God: I will the evil, I achieve the good. Curtain. PIETRO OF SIENA A DRAMA BY STEPHEN PHILLIPS CIL\RACTERS PlETRO TORXIELLI LUIGI GOXZAGA AXTONIO MONTANO Anselmo GlACOMO Ax Executioner PULCI Carlo Gemma Goxzaga FuLviA Torxielli Caterixa ( Head of the ancient and exiled house \ of Tor nielli {Head of the rival and reigning house \ of Gonzaga Podesla of Siena SBoon Companion and Jackal to Pietro An Aged Warrior devoted to the Torniclli Jailor of tlie State Prison ■Personal friends of Luigi Sister to Luigi Sister to Pietro An Aged Xurse devoted to Gonzaga Officers, Messexgers, etc. The action of the play is confined to Siena and Jiei htween the hours of sunset and sunrise, ACT I SUNSET PIETRO OF SIENA ACT I Scene. — The great hall of the ancient palace of the Gonzaga. At either end stand armed sentries. In the centre is the judgement chair. On the rising of the curtain furious shouts are heard without, and groiv louder at times as from an approaching multitude, and the besieging army of Pietro. Luigi is dis- covered striding to and fro in great perplexity. His friend Pulci is watching him earnestly. The time is sunset. Pulci. Luigi, go forth, and show thyself at last ! 4 PIETRO OF SIENA Still the gate holds ; though Pietro Tornielli Three times in vain hath shaken it — Go forth ! He makes enough of clamour and of din ; Thou liest like a rat, unseen, unheard ; Whom can we fight for, or for what ? Go forth ! LuiGi. No, Pulci, no ! Pietro Tornielli Advancing takes the wind from all my sails. He cows me from afar, and quells my spirit, I know not why or how ; but I am quelled, Like Enghsh Richard before Bohngbroke. It is not that he hath more wit than I, It is not that he hath more will than I ; Only that on this man success attends. Where I am foiled and thwarted, he goes free. PIETRO OF SIENA 5 Such men there are, and what they will, they grasp. [A louder uproar without. PuLCi. This is the sophistry that fears to act. LuiGi. [Pausing] Think with what in- juries this man comes armed: He comes not merely to supplant my rule, To seat himself where I so long have sat. But furious memory smoulders at his heart. Did not our father bear his mother off, And use her for his lust? his father pined; And kept a dreadful silence till he died. With all these memories this man comes fraught. And thunders an avenger at our gate. [A sentinel rushes in from the left. 6 PIETRO OF SIENA Sentinel. The gate has been surrendered ; they swarm in ; And hither are they making with loud cry! [A cry louder and nearer. Enter Gemma GoNZAGA, hurriedly and terrified, the nurse Caterina limping behind. Gemma. Luigi, what can I do in this dark hour? How aid and comfort ? Send me not away ! For thou and I have grown together so We may not be divided but with blood. Your hopes, your thoughts are mine ; your frailties mine. Brother, let me be near thee in the storm. I claim its lightnings and its thunder clasp. All, send me not away ! I put my arms PIETRO OF SIENA 7 About you as of old : now come what will. [Sound as of door below broken open . LuiGi. Sister, they come ! This scene is not for thee : Go then within and quietly ; I alone Must stand upright against the towering wave. [Exit Gemma and Caterina. [Soldiers enter and are drawn up along the walls of the hall. Then enter the Mayor xA-NTONio, surrounded by citi- zens of Siena, a Priest, and, lastly, PiETRO, his sister Fulvia following him. PiETRO. Luigi Gonzaga, I might well have stormed Siena gate with tiery memories 8 PIETRO OF SIENA And with the sword of vengeance sought thee out. Thy father with hot lips kissed out the soul Of her that bore me, and my father broke Down to the ground and wrapped in mortal shame. I say, Gonzaga, that I bear enough Of private injury to spill thy blood. On no such crimson errand am I sped, But summoned by Siena's citizens, Here to resume the sovereignty possessed Erst by the Tornielli : and to purge The city of thee and thy iniquities. [He ascends the judgement chair, motioning to Antonio. Now read aloud the charges 'gainst this man. PIETRO OF SIENA 9 Antonio. [Reading]. "It is here charged agamst thee, Luigi Gonzaga, that thou hast taken bribes to set aside the course of justice, whereof many instances can be proven. Further : that thou hast surrounded thee with a troop of desperate malcontents whom thou hast paid and used for purposes of private quarrel. Moreover, that two famous enemies of thine thou hast by poison taken off, having bidden them to supper here in this palace. That thou hast offered to spare the life of Paolo Gerli if his daughter would deliver herself to thee for purposes of lust ; though this man had been condemned by public tribunal over which thou didst thyself preside. And many other counts are here lo PIETRO OF SIENA set down against thee, but for the moment let these suffice." PiETRO. Luigi Gonzaga, what hast thou to say ? Luigi. All that is charged against me I confess. PiETRO. Then, for these violent ills a vio- lent cure Demand, and a swift, instant medicine — I, Pietro Tornielli, summoned here To adjudicate upon Siena's wrong, Hereby pronounce upon thee doom of death ! And since delays in these distracted streets Were perilous : to-morrow thou shalt die. [Writing] I, Pietro Tornielli, called by the people of Siena to heal the breach and woe of PIETRO OF SIENA ii the city, do hereby commit Luigi Gonzaga, sometime ruler of Siena, to prison this night to the intent that at sunrise to-morrow he may be executed. Given by me this day. PlETRO TORNIELLI. Luigi. At sunrise ! Ah, not death ! Ah, not so soon ! Let me still watch the sun thro' prison bars, And manacled behold the rising moon. Ah, send me not from glory to the grave. I promise in my cell I will not stir All day, and will not speak even to myself, Or murmur an angry word until my death ; Ah, hold me. Sir, in prison till I die. How can I trouble thee ; none breaks away Or bursts that massy fortress. Can I lead 12 PIETRO OF SIENA Rebellion, fettered fast and deep immured ? Deliver me to long imprisonment ! Or banish me an exile from the shore Of Italy for ever : Let me roam The limits of the world and utmost isles. Only I pray thee let me breathe ! To go For ever from the sun ! I care not what Of heavy misery or imprisonment Thou mayest inflict if only I may live. [He breaks into sobs. PiETRO. Luigi Gonzaga, freely thou hast drunk The purple cup of life ; now not to wince, To beat the breast, befits thee in this hour. Sweet was the draught, now fling the cup away ! PIETRO OF SIENA 13 And having richly lived, so strongly die. Bear him away. LuiGi. Sir ! Sir ! PiETRO. Bear him away ! [LuiGi is taken off between two guards, four others following. PiETRO. [Rising.] Now for the moment nothing more detains us. Anselmo. [Coming forward.] Sir, this man whom you have dispatched to die, A sister has ; and though the rabble rise Against the brother for his many crimes, She may untouched through all Siena pass, For she is beautiful and still and pure. She is a greater peril than the man, 14 PIETRO OF SIENA And while she lives, thy throne will tremble still. PiETRO. Is she within the palace ? An Attendant. Sir, she is. PiETRO. Send for her hither. [Exit Attendant. Anselmo. In this warrant add To Luigi Gemma, to the brother's name The sister ; so we root out the whole house, No son nor daughter of Gonzaga lives Save these; then make an end and sit secure. [Enter Gemma escorted hy Attendants. PiETRO. Art thou the sister of Gonzaga — say ! Gemma. I am. Sir. PiETRO. He hath been so deeply charged PIETRO OF SIENA 15 With public crime and private injury. That I, called in to judge and to pronounce. To prison have committed him, that he May die to-morrow at sunrise. Gemma. Ah, no ! Ah, do not slay him. Wonderful has been The love between us — and so soon to die ! Why, he hath but a few brief hours to pray ; To reconcile him with eternal God, Only the transit of a summer night. Oh, Sir, at least be merciful to me ! And send me to him that I too may die. Let me not wither out this hollow world Alone ; but in that warrant add my name To his ; for all his frailties I defend, In all his acts I am associate. 1 6 PIETRO OF SIENA I would give up the very ghost in me, And my dear soul would put in pawn for him. Then by the same blow let the sister fall ! I crave to die with the first light of dawn. Ah, separate us not, here I beseech thee ! [She throws herself at his feet. Anselmo. Enough ! By her own mouth she merits death. PiETRO. [With slow hesitation.] I cannot — for the moment — well decide. [Angry murmurs from Anselmo's troops. That I have doomed her brother is no cause Why her too I should doom ! Is it supposed A maiden, but a year ago a child, Could of his crimes and bribes be cognizant ? I ask you all — were it not well to pause ? PIETRO OF SIENA 17 To pause for a few hours, and hesitate Finally to pronounce ? What thou hast said, Anselmo, I doubt not is wise, but I A little leisure must demand in this. Lead her away ! [To Gemma.] Ere dawn thou shalt receive My judgement. [She is escorted within] Now, Sirs, I should be alone. [Exeunt all but Anselmo, Girolamo, FuLViA, and Montano. Anselmo. Sir, if this foolish mercy to the house Which hath so deeply wronged you, be dis- played, I cannot pledge me for these faithful bands That hitherto have followed your wild star. 1 8 PIETRO OF SIENA Sparing his sister's life, you but ascend A trembling throne, for men who hated him Will rally to her face as to a flag. Ah, God ! 'tis the old weakness of the blood. What stopped us at Ancona ? what made vain The long siege of Perugia ? Evermore A woman's face hath foiled us. Now I speak Once, and no more. Thy followers will fall off Being again deceived ; much have they borne, But more they will not bear. [Sullen murmurs are heard. Strike down the house. Strike to the root and ere the night be passed. [Exit Anselmo, who is acclaimed by the troops awaiting him. GiROLAMO. [Advancing.] Pietro Tornielli ! PIETRO OF SIENA 19 Thus saith Rome : Let none of the Gonzaga house be spared ! Nor man nor woman : end the pestilence That brooded o'er Siena all these years. If thou wouldst rule secure, blot out the brood That are anathema to Holy Church 1 If a fair face can shake thee from thy seat, Look not to Rome 1 Rather be thou of Rome Outlawed, accursed. So speak I, and depart. [Exit GiROLAMO with attendant Priests. FuLViA. [Approaching Pietro.] Brother, what hath been said by Holy Church, Or by Anselmo speaking for the State, Is well, and well enough. I am a woman, And cannot easily forget the shame Wrought on our mother by their father ; now 20 PIETRO OF SIENA Comes in revenge though late, and justice too. These are his children, his; the man who wronged Her, and brought down our father to his grave. He hath left issue luckily, for us To dash our ire on, let his children die! Not one, but both. Have we not waited long ? Have I not in my pillow set my teeth Through the grim night to stop these mem- ories ? But here they are delivered to our hands. Hast thou forgot thy mother's desperate death, Hast thou forgot the pining of thy Sire ? Here with one blow we clear us before God That she in that sea- tomb no longer toss Unsatisfied ; nor he call from the ground. PIETRO OF SIENA 21 Art thou the victim of a passing face, Art thou the helpless spoil of shadowed eyes ? Art thou a man, or but a drifting leaf, Unworthy to be served or followed or loved ? If that pale face can turn thee from thy wrongs, Or a low voice make all thy vengeance vain ? I leave thee therefore to the blood of the dead. This must thou expiate and swift and sure. [Exit FuLViA. Peetro. Give me some wine, Montano ! Oh, Montano, The fever's in my blood and must have vent. Montano. What fever? PiETRO. For a face a moment since Sprung like a sudden splendour on the dusk, Now vanished ; for a voice that stole on us 22 PIETRO OF SIENA Like strings from planets dreaming in faint skies, With a low pleaded music ; for a form Slight and a little bending over in dew. This night, Montano, in this coming dark I must possess her ; for I shall not sleep. Knowing her breathing sweet so near to me. Here in this palace ; no ! nor shall I drowse Until I clasp her fast and kisses rain Upon her lips, her eyes, her brow, her hair. Montano. Sir, you well know I serve your every mood. But here, is not the game too perilous ? Here on the very first night of your rule To seize Gonzaga's sister, he meanwhile Purposely prisoned — ah, so they will say — PIETRO OF SIENA 23 So that he may not mar, nor intervene. Let policy propose some slower way. PiETRO. No! No! Such beauty must be stormed, not snared, Caught up and kissed into oblivion, To saddle hoist, and through the world away, MoNTANO. I scent a way by which she might be won And without force, and on this very night. PiETRO. How ? how ? MoNTANO. Her brother Luigi at sunrise To-morrow, perishes ; now he to her Is more than just a brother ; they have lived Even from the cradle a life intertwined. Remember but the burning words of her ! " I would give up the very ghost of me, 24 PIETRO OF SIENA And my dear soul would put in pawn for him." PiETRO. Well — well — MoNTANO. The dawn will come soon, all too soon For her ; but were it breathed into her ear, That for her beauty thou wouldst spare his life, Would not her deep love to thy arms consent ? As slowly all the sky grows lighter still, And Luigi's blood is on the morning cloud. Will she not for her brother give herself To thee, and in thy clasp forget the dawn ? PiETRO. See, see her ; with the nurse nave first a word, That she may sound her warily. But haste ! Darkness already closes on us two, PIETRO OF SIENA 25 And if I have my will 'twill be ere dawn. Speed, speed away, Montano, be thou swift ! And I with every flower will fill the room, With fume of lilies and raptures of the rose, And odours that entice the drowsing brain. And far-off music melting on the soul. At once away till thou hast news of her. [Exit Montano. Come, night, and falling give her to my arms. What fools are they that use thee but for sleep ; Come and enfold us in the dark of bliss ! ACT II MIDNIGHT SCENE I Scene. — Midnight. A dark part of the gar- dens of the palace; various followers of Anselmo assembled with torches. To them enter Anselmo with four followers, also carrying torches. Anselmo. Comrades, to this dark garden, and in night I have swiftly summoned you : you all well know That I have followed Tornielli's star, Howe'er it wavered in the heavens ; and you How often have I led to the desperate breach, 29 30 PIETRO OF SIENA Or to that timely charge which all decides. And yet you can recall that oftentimes Here were we foiled, or here : and this the cause, Ever a woman's face Pietro marred. The weakness in his blood undid our toil. Now at Siena, crown of all our hopes, And destined to the Tornielli rule, When vengeance is demanded, he falls short ; And cannot lift his hand against the face. Too beautiful, of Luigi's sister. Him Easily he condemned to die at dawn. Yet he would not complete the task imposed. He wavers through the night, and will not act. Now none hath been more faithful to his star Than I, but I that star will follow not PIETRO OF SIENA 31 If at the supreme hour we must be fooled. You as you please will act : but now no more Lean upon me to lead you as of old. A Soldier. I will speak bolder than our Captain. What If he should be persuaded by this girl To spare the brother's life ? [Angry murmurs.] How do we stand ? Were ever soldiers on such errand fooled ? I say that on this very night, perhaps, While here we stand, she hath persuaded him To cancel the decree of death at dawn. So is our march, our battery, our spoil Made vain for ever : who henceforth will trust A ruler palpably to beauty weak, At mercy of red lips and drooping eyes ? 32 PIETRO OF SIENA Shall this man rule Siena ? Never man In all Siena will to this consent. Pietro Tornielli can fight well, Is not in courage backward, but this fault Will leave him unsupported and alone. [Angry shouts and murmurs. Anselmo. Friends, let us see what darkness brings to light. If then my apprehension be revealed. Or worse, our comrades' fear ; at least at dawn Let us assemble here : with knowledge then We our own way can take, e'en tho' it be To assault the palace and slay Pietro. Speak ! Is this agreed ? [Shouts. All drawing swords. Anselmo, 'tis agreed. [The scene closes.] PIETRO OF SIENA 33 SCENE II Scene. — An inner room of the palace; imth a door communicating imth a further room, which is closed. A lamp is burning on the table. The old nurse Caterina is seated near the window with bowed head and in deep grief. A knock is heard at the door. She hobbles toward it, and opening it admits MONTANO. MoNTANO. Signora Caterina ? Caterina, That is I. MoNTANO. I see that you are broken down with grief. Give me your hand. [He leads her to a seat. The reason of these tears 34 PIETRO OF SIENA Is easily guessed. Luigi Gonzaga dies With the first flush of day. This is the cause ? Caterina. Ah, sir, if my own son had then to die I could not sufifer more. I have no son ; But he took on him all the unborn child, That never quickened in the might have been. I have watched him as a gardener does a flower, And seen him slowly grow into his strength. Ah, who can say I had not pangs from him. What he hath done I know not to deserve So swift a death ; only that he must die I know. [She breaks again into sobs. MoNTANO. You know not yet. I bring a hope. PIETRO OF SIENA 35 Caterina. Oh, that he may be saved, may be released ! Sir, do not trifle with a soul so old, Or play with cracking heart-strings ! MoNTANO. I will not. I come from Pietro Tornielli straight. Where is your mistress ? Caterina. Dumb, and as the dead, Within she sits, fixed on the coming day. MoNTANO. She, she alone can save him if she will. Caterina. [Stumbling to inner door.] Ah, Gemma, Gemma ! MoNTANO. [Taking her arm.] Peace, and sit you down. To you I'll tell the terms of his release, 36 PIETRO OF SIENA You then to her ; and she shall then decide. Caterina. Terms ! but there are no terms She will not give. Life even ! MoNTANO . Perhaps a harder thing is asked . Caterina. Harder than Hfe ! What is so dear as breath ? Montano. To a woman one thing only. [A pause. Caterina. Still I grope In darkness. WTiat can Gemma give more dear Than very Ufe ? Montano. More dear ? her very soul. Caterina. I seem to guess more clearly now. You mean — PIETRO OF SIENA 37 MoNTANO. I mean — for the night passes, and already Is Uttle time for words — Lord Tornielli Will spare the life of Luigi but to hold His sister in his arms this very night. Am I now plain enough ? Caterina. Aye — plain enough! Had it been life — MoNTANO. It is not Hfe he asks. Caterina. Oh, what a dreadful choice ! MoNTANO. Yet on these terms. And these alone can Luigi's life be spared. Caterina. She will not do it, never, never, never ! MoNTANO. Still lay the chance before her: see you how 38 PIETRO OF SIENA Already the stars pale ; the time is short. He from his dungeon watches how they pale. You as a woman to another may, With what authority and wisdom else May prompt, disclose, and may at last per- suade. I'll leave you to her — then I will return To know her verdict on her brother's life. [Going, then returning. Remember paling stars and coming sun ! [Exit MONTANO. Caterina. Ah, God ! must I, this old and shrunken voice Use to persuade her white soul to this act ? She hath been filled with pity for the fallen. Yet with that pity hath so loathed the cause. PIETRO OF SI EX A 39 So innocent and yet so understanding, She hath been so gentle to those sinners, yet Sick with abhorrence but to think their sin. But, Luigi, any sacrifice for thee ! Gemma, my child, Gemma. [She goes to door. I must have word A moment with you. [Enter Gemaia white and with a fixed movement. One has left me but A moment, who brought word from TornieUi. Gemma. No word can ever reach my ear but one. And that one ''death," "death," "death" for evermore. Caterina. Gemma, sit here, and I will kneel and lay 40 PIETRO OF SIENA My old face in your lap. Gemma. As I how oft Have laid my face, old nurse, down in your lap, Dreaming, to hear thee tell of fairyland. But, ah, no fairyland is with us now ! But hfe, how grey and cruel — ah, and death ! Caterina. Do not start from me, nor fall swooning down. At that I have to say — Luigi — Gemma. O listen ! Do you not hear the stones down on him falling ? Caterina. It is not yet resolved that he shall die. PIETRO OF SIENA 41 Gemma. What, what I Have I gripped your arm too fast ? Yet speak ! This is some foolish comfort, shallow thought, To ease me for a moment. Why, I heard Pietro Tornielli — and to me He spoke — declare aloud the doom of death, Caterina. He did so ; but he may repent him yet. Gemma. But what hath chanced in these brief hours to change A state decree ? How is he sudden white Who then so black was, — hath he been re-tried All in a moment? Ah, toy not with hope. Caterina. I tell you, Luigi's life may yet be spared. 42 PIETRO OF SIENA Gemma. By whom then, how ? Who holds the scales so fine ? Caterina. You ! Gemma. [Starting up.] I ! How should I save him ? Caterina. Can you not A little guess and save my speech o'er-rough ? Did you not mark then Tornielli's glance ? How in his speech he stumbled, while on you His eyes were anchored? how, alarmed, his host Cried out against delay and for thy life ? Gemma. [Passing her hand over her brow.] Yes, I remember his eyes fixed on me. Caterina. Now can you not conceive, and reaHse ? PIETRO OF SIENA 43 And I my face will turn away from you. Gemma. Oh, now I see, and but this moment since. I have gulped down such a draught of this world's cup As leaves me shivering, and to wind exposed. This was the plan, then ; like a beast, not man. He would ensnare me for a fleshy hour, Baiting the trap even with a brother's life. You know, my Caterina, well you know How I have loved my brother. If 'twere death, That I would gladly suffer ; to expire, And lose the sweet and music of this life, All joy for ever to forego — for him, Or if I must be stabbed, or poisoned — yes. But this — not this ! He is not such a coward 44 PIETRO OF SIENA That he would put his Hfe into the scales Against his sister's shame. I will not do it. Oh, ah the stars that muster in the heaven Would cry on me with voices like to beams, More awful in their silence to the soul. I tell you, No, No ! And what more repels My soul is this — a trap laid for my soul. Again I say, baited with brother's blood ! I hate this man, I hate the mind that thought This business out, this trader of the dark. This burning merchant for a maiden's soul. What should I be, old Caterina, what For ever and for ever ? They who went To flame for faith, they went not for this cause, And out of scorching flesh deserved the stars. The girl who yields beneath a summer moon. PIETRO OF SIEXA 45 That I can understand, but never a true woman Made bargain with her body such as this. There is my answer, now and for all time. Caterina. Child, though I know what sickens in your soul, Still, when all's said or thought, is't not enough To bring back Luigi from the grave ? At dawn Surely he dies. I as a woman speak, Let this man vent his riot ; let the fool Have his hot way, and suffer his embrace! Yours is the laugh by daybreak, and for ever. Think, then, of Luigi freed ! The world is wrong, None catch perfection ; save your brother's Ufe, 46 PIETRO OF SIENA Spending an hour within those silly arms ! What are his kisses, if the grave is foiled ? Gemma. You, you persuade me to it? You who nursed Both of us ; why is it, then, that a nurse holds Dearer the boy than the girl ? he must be spared, She never ! Caterina. What you do you do not do. Gemma. Ah, woman, but our bodies are our souls ! [Enter Montano. MoNTANO. Ah, Signorina ? Straightway from my lord, Pietro Tornielli, I have come, In the strong hope that you will speak to him. PIETRO OF SIENA 47 Gemma. What use so to pretend, and gloze the truth ? You know well why this gentleman desires To see me ; on this errand you are sent. Take back my answer, then : I will not come. I loved and love my brother, but he must die. MoNTANO. Is he so well prepared ? And can he launch On such a voyage ? WTiat has been his life ? His pubhc faults this day were charged on him: None of them he denied. His private lusts Are through Siena sounded pubUcly. You, you alone cast his immortal soul Before the conscious Judge, unripe and crude, You, you alone can stay that dread assize. [The hour slrikcs midnight. 48 PIETRO OF SIENA The night wears out : and hearken how the gong With solemn syllables divides the night ! He hears them from the dungeon, stroke on stroke. What is thy hour to his eternity ? Gemma. Dead mother, tell me ! Caterina. She to whom you cry Remember was his mother — Gemma. I will come. [She takes down an old dagger from the wall and hides it in her bosom secretly. Caterina. See, let me set this red rose on your breast. Gemma. Yes, yes, it is the colour of his blood. PIETRO OF SIENA 49 [MoNTANO motions the way out and he and Gemma exeunt. Caterina. Oh, only for his life ! for the boy's life ! Virgin in heaven, forgive me if I sinned ! SCENE III Scene. —Another room in the palace; distant music is heard, and various flowers are set about. PiETRO, turning from giving di- rections, ?neets Montano, who ushers in Gemma, then immediately retires. PiETRO. Ah, Signorina, you are come at last! Gemma. I have come as one adorned for sacrifice, Nothing omitted ; and this red flower see. The symbol of a brother's blood ! PiETRO. You think Too gravely. 50 PIETRO OF SIENA 51 Gemma. Oh, too gravely ? Peetro. We must take What chance we can when beauty is the goal. Gemma. You think, then, that this lure is clever ? PlETRO. No. But by your face all right and wrong is dimmed. Gemma. This is the game ; the stakes, a brother's life And a girl's soul ; with these, then, you can play. PiETRO. I see my chance but as a gambler sees. Gemma. You play with loaded dice, and human too. 52 PIETRO OF SIENA Listen ! I have come here to give myself To you to snatch a brother's life ; but think ! Do I now for a moment give myself ? I give you ice for fire, and snow for flame ; Your touch I loathe, and shudder to be touched ; Your kisses have no sweetness but for him. I but endure, and listen for the dawn ; And when you clasp me to your breast, I see Behind your phantom face a rising sun. You shadow ! murmur, kiss, do what you will, I have forgotten you for evermore ! You ghost, with but the vantage of the grave, O lover with cold murder on your lips, PIETRO OF SI EX A 53 Bridegroom whose gift is blood, whose dower is death ! Ah, what a tryst ! What moonhght ever saw Such a forbidden rapture as is this ? Then take me in your arms, but never me ! Or kiss these hps where hps have ceased to move. Fool, can you understand in your wild blood That never shall you reach me on these terms ? How can you drink my beauty, if no soul Makes the draught live ? You bargain for a bliss, But no bliss from a bargain ever came. That bhss may be too sudden, may be slow, Howe'er it come ; but it is thoughtcn wise, Not planned, not calculated ; be it sin 54 PIETRO OF SIENA Or fire of angels, not this way it comes, Nor ever hath : now to thy lips I yield My own, but with a cold laugh in my soul, Or else in dreadful thought thy kiss I take. Now thou art master ; thy brief hour demand ! But had I loved thee, Pietro, not this way Would I have clasped thee, but in sacred fire, And then shouldst thou have tasted of deep life; Then not of flesh but of the endless soul. But since this is so and this world endures, [Taking the dagger from her breast. Let Luigi die ! let him cease ! and I with him. Pietro. [Snatching the dagger from her hand.] Gemma Gonzaga, can you not believe PIETRO OF SIENA 55 Your words have shaken into me a soul ? What was a furious sport proposed, is now The mighty meaning of a changed life. Oh, it is true, most true, that I had planned To use the seat of justice for thy lips. So have I loved : not here nor there alone. But everywhere pursuing my own prey. So have I foiled my soldiers, and made vain Cities besieged, for lure of some fair face. But now your revelation breaks on me ; Even your sneer sublime and starry scorn Has taken from my feet the under- world. I would be what you say I cannot be : Not with the ape-like wooing as of old. But as a spirit suing thee through stars. 56 PIETRO OF SIENA Gemma, here I discard the "whence" we came, And I pursue the "whither" we are bound. I'll lose thee not through too much lust of thee ; Now if thou wouldst, I would not what I dreamed. I see a distant pleasure deeper far, For — if you will, I'll wed you without pause ; And with the light of children's faces we. Not worse for this encounter, will deserve The falling sunset and the coming star,. And you perhaps shall smilingly recall This plunge for beauty which hath ended sweet. Say, will you wed me — • kiss me and speak not. Gemma. I say no word but give to you my lips. PIETRO OF SIEXA 57 But ah, my brother ! faint the dawn comes on, But it is dawn. PiETRO, [Sounding gong and writing.] Re- lease on the instant Luigi Gonzaga, imprisoned by my order in the prison of Faenza. (Signed) Pietro Tornielli. [A servant enters. Ride with this and ride fast. [Exit servant with the written order. Now comes the golden morning on us two, And never a drop of dew that she bestows Is like unto that dew that falls from you. Here is my fury ended and wild hours. Gemma. I love you more than if your suit had been Pale, without fault, for I believe that he S8 PIETRO OF SIENA Who once has wrongly burned can change that fire Into a radiance but to spirits clear. [He kisses her as the curtain descends. ACT III SUNRISE SCENE I Scene. — The prison of Faenza; LuiGi alo7te. The dawn is approaching. LuiGi. The dawn, the dawn ! Now when all wakes to life, I wake to death. When all revives, I die. This freshness and the coming colour make The faint grave worse. Oh, but to die at dawn ! At midnight, yes ! but not when the world stirs, When the Creator reassures the earth, And reappears in balm out of the East. Now I must gi\-e up life, now when the bird 6i 62 PIETRO OF SIENA Resumes its carol and the old music makes, Now must I go to silence ; never there The twitter of the brown bird in the leaves, Nor rustle of foliage there, nor flushing sky. [He rises and walks restlessly to and fro. Now the bright river-fish leaps to the light, Now creatures of the field bestir them, and speak With mellow sound in twilight of the farm, And shrilly Chanticleer proclaims the day. Now the rose lifts her from a weight of dew, Or raises her red bosom from the rain, And many a pale flower from dark ground re- vives. Not far away, so little a space away, Many a garden freshened by night's cloud, PIETRO OF SIENA 63 Suspires its various odours from the earth, And Nature sighing from good sleep awakes. The sea is conscious of the invisible orb, Revisiting in glory her faint flood. The stars are gone, and balm breaks on the world. [He sits again. And in this moment I must yield my breath. [Starting up again. And now not only Nature shakes off sleep, But now the labourer to the field repairs To dig the sweet earth, or to clip the hedge, Or through the furrow follow on the plough. Now wakes the young wife, and but half-awake Kisses the dreaming babe beside her laid. While all her deep heart murmurs in its ear. 64 PIETRO OF SIENA The soldier starts up to the trumpet-call ; The shopman takes the shutter from the shop, And in the window carefully displays His wares ; the trim girl unto market trips ; And many a memory stares up at the sun. And he who rides, and would the morning take, To saddle springs, or he the morning dew On foot meets gladly ; sweetly comes the day To the sea-weary, watchers stung with brine ; News of the absent to the bed is brought, Letters from children in a world far-off. And whether sad or sweet the world awake Whirls with a million graves about the sun. Life, life begins ! And I this hour must die. [Still walking to and fro. PIETRO OF SIEXA 6$ And who knows that we cease who seem to cease ? If I must answer, ere the dawn is full, For all my faults and folly, and to whom ? Haled before him who made us, or to view A heavy river rolling amid souls, Or to remember in an outer dark ? Life I life I I cannot die, I dare not die, And yonder cloud is slowly reddening ! She, too, she comes not, though she heard my fate ; I am by all deserted and bereft. Gemma, sister, you, you then at least Might for the last time round me throw your arms, Giving the extreme kiss before my doom ; 66 PIETRO OF SIENA But I must go to what I fear alone. [A knock is heard at the door. Enter the Jailor, accompanied by the Execu- tioner and an Assistant. Jailor. Luigi Gonzaga, are you now pre- pared ? Or will you see a priest, and in his ear Confess and with a lighter bosom die ? Luigi. Is not my sister here ? has she not sent A word, a little word ? I cannot think That she will let me die in such a silence. Jailor. She is not here, and she has sent no word. Luigi. Oh, but she might ! It is not yet too late. PIETRO OF SI EX A 67 Give me a little more of time to breathe ; She would not let me perish who so long Has grown with me and loved me : I but ask A little space to see her once, or hear Her voice: — is this unnatural ? If 'twere One to whom passion drew me. even thus Leave would be given, but my sister, sure You'll not refuse to me a brief delay? Jailor. I have no order, and I have no leave To grant delay : immediate is my task, And theirs who now await you. LuiGi. Grant me then A cup of wine : this is allowed ; then, then I'll make no more delay : a cup of wine, The last cup ! 68 PIETRO OF SIENA Jailor. You shall have this ; but no more Then can you tarry, or by force we bear you To execution. [To Assistant.] Fetch a cup of wine. [Exit Assistant. LuiGi. I cannot thirds why Gemma all this while Holds ofjf from me ; she surely, if none else, Would say farewell ; ah, strange her silence is. [Enter Assistant with cup of wine, which he gives into the hands of LuiGi. Now for the last time do I taste of thee, Juice of the grape ; I drink my final cup. [He drinks. Ah, but the joy of life from this last draught Runs stronger through my veins, and takes my heart, PIETRO OF SIENA 69 And now than ever more impossible It seems to die; I cannot, will not cease. With this red liquor dancing thro' my blood. If you must kill me, it must be by force, ' I'll not be tamely haled by you along. But ah, can you not spare me a short while ; Look, I have money ; you, all three of you, Shall live at ease if only I may breathe ; Then hide me in this dungeon, and give out That I am dead, I will reward you well. You have no grudge against me ; one of you Hide me and take the price ! Tailor. Seize him at once, Bear him without, and as the law enjoins, Do with him : we have heard enough of speech. I will not lose my office for soft talk. 70 PIETRO OF SIENA Executioner. Nor I. Assistant. Nor I. Jailor. Then bear him quickly out ! [They advance on Luigi and seize him, when there is heard approaching the gal- loping sound of a horse's hoofs. Luigi. Listen ! a horse's hoofs, and here they stop ! [There is a commotion outside and a Messenger rushes in, breathless, with a paper. Messenger. This from Pietro Tornielli, straight Dispatched. Jailor. [Opening and reading.] Gonzaga, you are free forthwith. PIETRO OF SIESA 71 LuiGi. Free, free ! Jailor. We have no further leave to keep you; There is the door — and there the world again. LriGi. But, but : Jailor. The reason of this freedom find Without these walls; we ha^•e but to obey. LuiGi. And \-et I cannot — [.4 further noise unthoid. then Pulci ayid Carlo rush into the prison. PuLCi. Luigi, you are freed. So much we heard and from the horseman learned. [Exeunt the Executioner a)id Assist.\nt. Jailor. I wish you well, sir. What I said I said 72 PIETRO OF SIENA Because it is iiiy office — fare you well. LuiGi. But I am lost in this — farewell, good fellow. [Exit Jailor. And you two have no joy in those your eyes ; We have been friends — how long ? Yet you run hither, Bringing me life and news of liberty, With no wild word or clasp of sudden hand. Nor steady grip, nor look of eye to eye. Well, I am freed — ah, God ! — I should rejoice ! Thou soaring sun, I come to thee again To revel in thy splendour ! I am given Back once again to colour and the dew. Well, let us quit this place ; come, come, my friends. PIETRO OF SI EX A 73 Yet, yet — again I say you seem to grieve That I am snatched thus from the dismal grave. Is my life hateful to you, thus restored ? Speak, men, speak ! There is some lurking cause For such a funeral greeting from the tomb. You, Carlo, if not Pulci, speak straight out! Carlo. Luigi, you cannot think we are not glad, We two of all Siena, to behold you Now freed, and passing to the outer air. Luigi. Yet still I say that something lurks behind. And 1 myself am not less guilty now 74 PIETRO OF SIENA Than when committed — what my crimes were then Are now my crimes no less — yet I am freed. PuLCi. Luigi, the prison door is open now Because your sister, in the deep of night, So is it said, for your sake yielded her To Pietro Tornielli. Luigi. Ah, my God ! No, no, I'll not take life upon these terms. I am shaken through all my being, I am changed ; Where once I cowered, now I cower no more. She, she — she knew I would not have this bargain. Now I will put my freedom to some use. Call up our friends, however few they be, PIETKO OF SI EX A 75 And I will storm the palace and demand Aly death. I'll ask it as a boon, as once Life I demanded. Ah, I loathe to breathe, And the great sun is blackening in the heaven. Come' with me, come ! PuLCi. Some friends we have without Already; more will join us as we go. LuiGi. On to the palace ! on ! And let me die ! SCENE II Scene. — A hall in the palace of the Gonzaga. There is a sound of mutiny outside, and as the curtain rises Anselmo breaks in accompanied hy others of the troops, while sullen shouts are heard from outside. Anselmo. He is not here; he spends the hours with her. Sirs, let us force these doors and slay the man Who has betrayed us for a woman's eyes. My sword is drawn ! Another. And mine. Another. We'll follow you. [Enter Pietro. PiETRO. Now, sirs ! 76 PIETRO OF SIEXA 77 Anselmo. Pietro Tornielli, we Have heard a rumour thro' Siena flying That not alone the sister's Ufe is spared, But that, in hot desire for her, the brother Too you have spared, whom we all heard condemned Out of your own mouth ! So, then, we must fight, And follow you through peril and through death, Only at last to be confronted thus ; Our swords are nothing 'gainst a lady's eyes, Our faith is nothing 'gainst our leader's lust, [An^ry murmurs. Our services as air against her kiss. 78 PIETRO OF SIENA Thus then I speak, and speaking speak for all — Either we slay thee or we leave thee here To riot and to passion and to wine. But if I cannot for old memory Plunge in thy heart this sword, I'll never draw In such a cause again. I'll not be fooled, [Angry shouts. To fight and find all lost at last for lust. So, Tornielli, fare you well for ever. [He is about to exit wheti LuiGi, after much commotion, bursts into the hall, followed by a retinue of followers. LuiGi. Now, Pietro Tornielh, face to face We stand. I owe my freedom to your will ; I am set free — no cause assigned, but freed. PIETRO OF SIEXA 79 Why then ? My sister's honour I [Pointing to his sister. And do you think That for the madness of a night with her Whom I have worshipped Hke the blessed saint, Whose very tears were holy water, her blood The very wine we drink not if we sin — You think I'll take my life for such a fee? Oh, I was craven, 1 den}- it not ; Here was the chance, then, here the basest lure Ever proposed within a woman's car — She should submit to you and I go free ! No, death a thousand times, and death again ! I'll not contaminate the air henceforth, And all shall cry " See, Luigi walks abroad Freed by his sister's soil !" If you will light. 8o PIETRO OF SIENA Then let us fight and without pause, and now ; If not, I give myself again to death. [A door is thrown open and Gemma comes in, PiETRO taking her hand. You, Gemma, though some may applaud this act, I loathe you for it and for evermore. Ah ! but perhaps it was no martyrdom ! Perhaps the sacrifice came easily, Perhaps — PiETRO. Enough is said. Now I will speak. Luigi Gonzaga, and Anselmo there, It is most true that what you here have charged riETRO OF SIENA 8i Against me I did plan and did intend. [Murmurs. That fault is in my blood. But here I make A holy oath, before all saints in heaven, That she, this lady, stands by me untouched. That she is pure as ever without spot. Rather would she have killed me or herself Than so submitted even for such a cause ; But I, who have so played the game of love, Am won to something nobler at the last : To-day I make this lady my true wife. Gemma. Luigi, I should have died ere this I did. [Murmurs of astonishment. PiETRO. Her brother, who has thus refused his life, Knowing the truth will not refuse it more. 82 PIETRO OF SIENA A golden morning on us all descends, And I foresee a golden morning wax Into a deeper life between us two, Bringing not bloodshed nor old enmity, But on our houses and Siena peace. Curtain THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW ,,^ 1 jy 1 AN INITIAL FINE^OF 25 CENTS Art AX^i**" „ .TAii iiRE TO RETTURN W.LL. BE ASSESSED FOR FA-UURE TO ^^^ THIS BOOK ON ^^^^^Jl ^g oN THE FOURTH ::^v^;rT;^^j°oo o^N^-^ --- -^ OVERDUE. jftNl^495^4^ LD 2 1-1 00 711-7,' 3 3 787303 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY