AESCULAPIUS.
You have seen her, but you have not recognised her. She goes about
in a perpetual incognito. Poor thing, in our flight from Olympus
she lost all her attributes--her wings dropped off, her laurel was
burned, she flung her armour away, and her palm-tree obstinately
refused to up-root itself.
DIONYSUS.
No doubt at this moment it is obsequiously rustling over the odious
usurper.
AESCULAPIUS.
It was always rather a poor palm-tree. What Nike misses most are
her wings. She was excessively dejected when we first arrived, but
Pallas very kindly allowed her to take care of the jewel for half
an hour. Nike--if still hardly recognisable--is no longer to be
taken for Niobe.
DIONYSUS [_rising to his feet_].
I shall do well, however, to go before she comes.
AESCULAPIUS.
By no means. I should prefer your staying. Nike will prefer it,
too. In the old days she always liked you to be her harbinger.
DIONYSUS.
Not always; sometimes my panthers turned and bit her. But my
panthers and my vines are gone to keep her laurels and her
palm-tree company. I think I will not stay, Aesculapius. But what
does Nike want with you?
[_Slowly and pensively descending from the upper woods_, NIKE
_enters_.]
DIONYSUS.
I was excusing myself, Nike, to our learned friend here for not
having paid my addresses to you earlier. You must have thought me
negligent?
NIKE.
Oh! Dionysus, I assure you it is not so. Your temperament is one of
violent extremes--you are either sparkling with miraculous rapidity
of apprehension, or you are sunken in a heavy doze. These have
doubtless been some of your sleepy days. And I ... oh! I am very
deeply changed.
DIONYSUS.
No, not at all. Hardly at all. [_He scarcely glances at her, but
turns to_ AESCULAPIUS.] But farewell to both of you, for I am going
down to the sea-board to watch for dolphins. That long melancholy
plunge of the black snout thrills me with pleasure. It always did,
and the coast-line here curiously reminds me of Naxos. Be kind to
Aesculapius, Nike.
[_He descends along the water-course, and exit._ NIKE _smiles
sadly, and half holds out her arms towards_ AESCULAPIUS.]
NIKE.
It is for you, O brother of Hermes, to be kind to _me_. How altered
we all are! Dionysus is not himself.... As I came here, I passed
below the little grey precipice of limestone----
AESCULAPIUS.
Where the marchantias grow? Yes?
NIKE.
And three girls in white dresses, with wreaths of flowers on their
shoulders, were laughing and chatting there in the shade of the
great yew-tree. Who do you suppose they were, these laughing girls
in white?
AESCULAPIUS.
Perhaps three of the Oceanides, bright as the pure foam of the wave?
NIKE.
Aesculapius, they were not girls. They were the terrible and ancient
Eumenides, black with the curdled blood of Uranus. They were the
inexorable Furies, who were wont to fawn about my feet, with the
adders quivering in their tresses, tormenting me for the spoils
of victory. What does it mean? Why are they in white? As we came
hither in the dreadful vessel, they were huddled together at the
prow, and their long black raiment hung overboard and touched the
brine. They were mumbling and crooning hate-songs, and pointing
with skinny fingers to the portents in the sky. What is it that has
changed their mood? What is it that can have turned the robes of
the Eumenides white, and enamelled their wrinkled flesh with youth?
AESCULAPIUS.
Is it not because a like strange metamorphosis has invaded your own
nature that you have come to meet me here?
NIKE [_after a pause_].
I am bewildered, but I am not unhappy. I come because the secrets
of life are known to you. I come because it was you whom Zeus sent
to watch over Cadmus and Harmonia when their dread and comfortable
change came over them. They were weary with grief and defeat, tired
of being for ever overwhelmed by the ever-mounting wave of mortal
fate. I am weary----
AESCULAPIUS [_slowly_].
Of what, Nike? Be true to yourself. Of what are you weary?
NIKE.
I come to you that you may tell. I know no better than the snake
knows when his skin withers and bloats. I feel distress,
apprehension, no pain, a little fear.
AESCULAPIUS.
You speak of Cadmus and Harmonia; but is not your case the opposite
of theirs? They were saved from defeat; is it not your unspoken hope
to be saved from victory, saved from what was your essential self?
NIKE.
Can it be so? I find, it is true, that I look back upon my rush
and blaze of battle with no real regret. What a vain thing it was,
the perpetual clash and resonance of a victory that no one could
withstand; the mockery that conquest must be to an immortal whom no
one can ever really oppose;--no veritable difficulty to overcome,
no genuine resistance to meet, nothing positively tussled with and
thrown, nothing but ghostly armies shrinking and melting a little
way in front of my advancing eagles! That can never happen again,
and even through the pang of losing my laurel and my wings, I did
not genuinely deplore it. Nothing but the sheer intoxication of my
immortality had kept me at the pitch. And now that it is gone, oh
wisest of the gods, it is for you to tell me how, in this mortal
state, I can remain happy and yet be _me_.
AESCULAPIUS.
You are on the high road to happiness; you see its towers over
the dust, for you dare to know yourself.
NIKE.
Myself, Aesculapius?
AESCULAPIUS.
Yes; you have that signal, that culminating courage.
NIKE.
But it is because I do _not_ know my way that I come to you.
AESCULAPIUS.
To recognise the way is one thing, it is much; but to recognise
yourself is infinitely more, and includes the way.
NIKE.
Ah! I see. I think I partly see. The element of real victory was
absent where no defeat could be.
AESCULAPIUS [_eagerly_].
Dismal, sooty, raven-coloured robes of the Eumenides!
NIKE.
And it may be present even where no final conquest can ensue?
AESCULAPIUS.
Ah! how white they grow! How the serpents drop out of their
tresses.
NIKE.
I am feeling forward with my finger-tips, like a blind woman
searching.... And the real splendour of victory may consist in the
helpless mortal state; may blossom there, while it only budded in
our immortality?
AESCULAPIUS.
May consist, really, of the effort, the desire, the act of
gathering up the will to make the plunge. This will be victory
now, it will be the drawing of the bow-string and not the mere
cessation of the arrow-flight.
XII
[_The main terrace, soon after dawn. In the centre_ ZEUS _sits
alone, throned and silent. One by one the Gods come out of
the house, and arrange themselves in a semicircle, to the
left and right, each as he passes making obeisance to_ ZEUS.
_It is a perfectly still morning, and a dense white mist
hangs over the woods, completely hiding the sea and the
farther shore. When all are seated._]
ZEUS [_in a very slow voice_].
My children, since we came here I have not been visited until
to-night by even a shadow of those forebodings which, in the form
of divine prescience, illuminated my plans and your fortunes in
Olympus. [_A pause, while the gods lean towards him in deepest
attention._] But a dream came close to my pillow last night and
whispered to me strange, disquieting words.... I have no longer the
art of clairvoyance, but I find I am not wholly dark. Still can I
faintly divine the forms of the future, as we may all divine the
roll of the woods before us, and the cleft which leads down to the
shore, although this impalpable vapour shrouds our world.... And,
from the dream, or from my faint perceptions, I am made aware that
another mighty change is approaching us.
[_A silence._]
HERACLES.
Can you indicate to us the nature of this change? [_Looking round
the semicircle._] If it is permitted to us to do so we would
repudiate it. [_The gods in silence signify their assent._]
ZEUS [_not replying to_ HERACLES].
When we fled hither from the consuming malignity of the traitor,
it was communicated to me that this island on the very uttermost
border of the world was left us as a home from which we should
never be dislodged. Here we were to dwell in peace, and here ... to
grow old, and ... die. Here, in the meantime, new interests, humble
wishes, cheerful curiosities have already twined about us, and we
have gazed upon Pandora's jewel, and are no more the same.
PERSEPHONE.
Are we to be driven hence still farther towards the confines of
immensity, father?
ZEUS.
I know not.
KRONOS.
More journeys, more weary, weary journeys?
ZEUS.
I know but what I tell you ... that I foresee a change. [_A
silence._] How breathless is the air. Not the outline of a leaf is
shaken against the sky.
PHOEBUS.
But the mist grows thinner, and high up in it I see a faint
blueness.
ZEUS.
I do not--nothing but the bewildering woolly whiteness, that chills
my eyeballs.... [_With a sudden vivacity._] Ah! yes ... it is the
sea! Is Poseidon here?
POSEIDON.
I went down to the shore very early indeed this morning, before
there was an atom of mist in the air. I called upon the glassy,
oily sea, and I could not but fancy that, although there was little
motion in the wave, it did roll faintly to my foot, and fawn at me
in its reply. To me also, father, it seemed as though my element
was burdened with a secret which it knew not how to convey to me.
[_A silence._]
APHRODITE [_aside to_ PALLAS].
If we must be driven forth again, let us at least cling to such
new gifts as we have secured here.
PALLAS [_in an eager whisper_].
I should like to know what you consider them to be. Do you hold
introspection as one of them?
APHRODITE.
I certainly do. The analysis of one's own feelings, and the sense
of watching the fluctuating symptoms of one's individuality, form
one of the principal consolations of our mortal state.
PALLAS.
I think I should give it another name.
HERMES [_who has come up behind them, and bending forward has
overheard the conversation_].
My name for it would be the indulgence of personal vanity.
APHRODITE [_speaks louder, while the conversation becomes general,
except that_ ZEUS _takes no part in it_].
You may call it so, if you please, but it is a source of genuine
pleasure to us.
PHOEBUS.
Ignorance is doubtless another of these consolations--ignorance
chemically modified by a few drops of the desire for knowledge....
[_Enthusiastically._] And all the chastened forms of recollection,
how delightful they are, and how they add to our satisfaction here!
NIKE.
It would be interesting to me to understand what you mean by
chastened forms of recollection. I don't think that is my
experience.
PALLAS.
I conceive memory as a pure, unbiased emotion, an image of past
life cast upon an unflawed mirror. Why do you say "chastened"?
PHOEBUS.
That memory which is nothing but a plain reproduction on the mirror
of the mind is a tame concern, Pallas. It transfers, without
modification, all that is dull, and squalid, and unessential. The
only memory which is worthy of those who have tasted immortality is
that which has in some degree been fortified. To recollect with
enjoyment is to select certain salient facts from an experience and
to be oblivious of the rest; or else it is to heighten the exciting
elements of an event out of all proportion with historic fact; or
it even is to place what should be in the seat of what precisely
was.... But this must be done firmly, logically, with no timidity
in reminiscence, so that the mind shall rest in a perfectly
artistic conviction that what it recollects is all the truth and
nothing but the truth. This is chastened, or, if you prefer it,
civilised memory. But Zeus is about to speak.
[_The Gods resume their seats in silence._ ZEUS _rises from his
throne, and the Gods perceive that the mist has now almost
entirely evaporated around them, and that the entire scene
is luminous with morning radiance. All the Gods lean forward
to gaze on_ ZEUS, _who gazes over and beyond them to the sea_.]
ZEUS.
The whole bay heaves in one vast wave of unbroken pearl.... And in
the east something flashes ... something moves ... approaches.
[_All the Gods, except_ KRONOS _and_ RHEA, _rise and follow with
their gaze the extended hand of_ ZEUS. POSEIDON _steps forward
to the front of the scene and shouts_.]
POSEIDON.
See! Three huge white ships are coming out of the east, and the
waves glide away at their wake in widening glassy hues. How they
speed! How they speed, without oar or sail!
KRONOS.
No rest, no sleep for us. Leave us here behind you, Zeus. We never
have any rest.
RHEA.
Yes; do not drag us farther in the wearisome train of your
misfortunes.
ZEUS [_benignly, turning to them._]
Be not afraid, Rhea and Kronos. But we must not abandon you. For
the old sakes' sake we will hold together to the end.
ARES.
Shall we not collect our forces in unison, mortal as they are,
and die together in resisting this invasion?
DIONYSUS.
The kind barbarians are with us. They will fight at our side.
HEPHAESTUS.
Yes, let us fight and die.
ZEUS.
You have no forces to collect, my sons. We cannot take toll of the
blood of the barbarians. We cannot resist, we can but submit and
withdraw.... The ships fleet closer. They are like monstrous fishes
of living silver. I confess this is not what I anticipated. This
is not what my faint dream seemed to indicate. What inspires the
implacable destroyer to pursue us, and with this imposing and
miraculous navy, to the shore of that harmless exile in which we
were endeavouring to forget his existence, I know not. But let us
at least preserve that dignity which has survived our deity.
Whatever may be now in store for us--if the worst of all things
be now hurrying to complete our annihilation--let us meet it with
simplicity. Let us meet it with an even mind.
CIRCE.
Oh, see! what are those filaments of blue and violet and grassy
green which flutter in the cordage of the three ships?
PHOEBUS.
They leap forward, though no wind is blowing.
CIRCE.
They are arranged in order, and they bend upwards and now outwards.
HERA.
The colours of them are those which adorn my bird.
PALLAS.
Ah! wonder of wonders! These have joined one another, see, and now
they shoot forward together in a vibrating ribband of delicious
lustre, and now it is arched to our shore, and descends at the
lowest of these our woodland stairs.
ZEUS.
A vast rainbow from the three white vessels to this island!... And
behold, a figure steps from it. She is robed to the feet in palest
watchet blue, and her face is like a rosy star, and she waves her
violet wings in the incommunicable speed of her ascent. My
children, it is Iris, our lost daughter, our ineffable messenger.
Let us await in silence the tidings which she brings.
[ZEUS _seats himself, and the Gods take their places as before.
The air is now translucent, the sky cloudless, while the
beechwoods flash with the lustre of dew, and the sea beyond
the white ships is like a floor of turquoise._ IRIS _is seen
to rise from the shore, through the gorge in the woods. She
approaches, half flying, half climbing, with incredible
velocity. She appears, in her splendour, at the top of the
stairs, and looks round upon the Gods. Without exception, in
the magnificence of her presence they look grey and old and
dim. She hesitates a moment, and then kneels before the
throne of_ ZEUS.]
IRIS.
Father and lawgiver! Imperial Master of Heaven! The rebellion in
Olympus is over. The usurper has fallen under the weight of his
own presumption, lower than the lowest chasms of Hades, chained for
all eternity by the fetters of his own insolence and madness. It
is not needful for you, Zeus, to punish or to be clement. Under
the inevitable rebound of his impious frenzy, himself has sealed
his doom for ever and ever. It is now for the Father of Heaven, and
these his children, to resume their immortality and to regain their
incomparable abodes. Be it my reward for the joyous labour of
bringing the good news, to be the first to kiss these awful and
eternal feet.
[IRIS _flings herself before_ ZEUS _in adoration, and folds her
wings about her face. As she touches him, his deity blazes
forth from him. When_ IRIS _rises again, she glances round
at the Gods with gratified astonishment, for all of them
have become brilliant and young_.]
ZEUS.
Lead the way, Iris. This is no longer a place for us. Lead on and
we will follow. Lead on, that we may resume our immortality.
[IRIS _flies down to the sea, and_ ZEUS _descends the steps.
He is followed by all the other deities._]
CIRCE.
Were we really happy among these trees? I can scarcely credit it,
they seem so common and so frail.
NIKE.
Ha, my palm and my laurel and my wings. How can I have breathed
without them for an hour?
APHRODITE [_to_ EROS].
Shall we recollect this little episode when we walk up the golden
street presently to our houses?
EROS.
I cannot think so, mother. That refinement of memory of which
Phoebus was speaking will seem the most ridiculous of illusions
there.
PHOEBUS.
Yes; to cultivate illusion, to live in the past, to resuscitate
experience, may be the amusements of mortality, but they mean
nothing now to us. When Selene re-enters her orb, she will not
disquiet herself about the disorders of its interregnum.
PALLAS [_hastily reascending_].
I have left Pandora's jewel behind me. I must fetch it.
HERMES [_the last to descend_].
Let me confess that I took it from you. One of the barbarians was
weeping, and I wished, I cannot tell why, to see her smile. I gave
your jewel to her.
PALLAS.
It is of no moment. It would be an inconspicuous ornament in that
blaze of the heart's beauty to which the white ships are about to
carry us.
HERMES.
Come, then, Pallas, and let us linger here no more.
[_They descend and disappear._]
THE END.
Printed by
BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
London & Edinburgh
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note
Variant spellings in this ebook have been retained to match the
original document.
The use of an ae-ligature in the name 'Hephaestus' has been
regularized. The oe-ligature is represented by 'oe' in the text
version of this ebook, and retains the oe-ligature in the HTML
version. Ellipses have been regularized.
The original text contained duplicate headers for Acts; these
duplications have been omitted in this ebook.
The following typographical corrections were made to this text:
Page 16: Added missing period (EROS.)
Page 16: Changed em-dash to long dash to match style of text
Page 16: Changed casket to caskets (all the empty caskets)
Page 28: Added missing comma (he answered, "Pray don't)
Page 101: Changed 'o' to 'of' (It is kind of)
Page 132: Added missing period (CHLORIS.)
Page 140: Changed 'o' to 'of' (degradation, instead of)