SISINNIUS. What has happened to me? These Christians have bewitched me.
I wander blindly round this hill, and when I stumble on a path I can
neither follow it nor return upon my steps.
SOLDIERS. We are all the sport of some strange enchantment. We are
exhausted. If you let this madwoman live an hour longer it will be the
death of us all.
SISINNIUS. Take a bow one of you, bend it as far as you can, and loose a
shaft that shall pierce this devilish witch.
SOLDIERS. That’s the way!
IRENA. You wretched Sisinnius! Do you not blush for your shameful
defeat? Are you not ashamed that you could not overcome the resolution
of a little child without resorting to force of arms?
SISINNIUS. I accept the shame gladly, since now I am sure of your death.
IRENA. To me my death means joy, but to you calamity. For your cruelty
you will be damned in Tartarus. But I shall receive the martyr’s palm,
and, adorned with the crown of virginity, I shall enter the azure palace
of the Eternal King, to Whom be glory and honour for ever and ever!
CALLIMACHUS
Argument
The resurrection of Drusiana and Callimachus.
Callimachus cherishes a guilty passion for Drusiana, not only while she
is alive but after she has died in the Lord. He dies from the bite of a
serpent, but, thanks to the prayers of Saint John the Apostle, he is
restored to life, together with Drusiana, and is born again in Christ.
Characters
- CALLIMACHUS.
- FRIENDS TO CALLIMACHUS.
- DRUSIANA.
- ANDRONICUS.
- FORTUNATUS.
- THE APOSTLE JOHN.
Callimachus
Scene I
CALLIMACHUS. My friends, a word with you.
FRIENDS. We are at your service as long as you please.
CALLIMACHUS. I should prefer to speak with you apart from the crowd.
FRIENDS. What pleases you, pleases us.
CALLIMACHUS. Then we will go to some quieter place where no one will
interrupt us.
FRIENDS. Just as you like.
Scene II
CALLIMACHUS. For a long time now I have been in great trouble. I hope
that by confiding in you I shall find relief.
FRIENDS. When a man tells his friends of his sufferings it is only fair
that they should try to share them.
CALLIMACHUS. I would to heaven that you could lighten this load upon my
heart!
FRIENDS. Well, tell us precisely what is wrong. We will grieve with you,
if we must. If not, we can do our best to distract your mind.
CALLIMACHUS. I love—
FRIENDS. What do you love?
CALLIMACHUS. A thing of beauty, a thing of grace!
FRIENDS. That is too vague! How can we tell from this what is the object
of your love?
CALLIMACHUS. Woman.
FRIENDS. Ah, now you say “woman” we all understand!
CALLIMACHUS. By woman, I mean a woman.
FRIENDS. Clearer still! But it is impossible to give an opinion on a
subject until the subject is defined. So name the woman.
CALLIMACHUS. Drusiana.
FRIENDS. What? The wife of Prince Andronicus?
CALLIMACHUS. Yes.
FRIENDS. Nothing can come of that. She has been baptized.
CALLIMACHUS. What do I care, if I can win her love?
FRIENDS. You cannot.
CALLIMACHUS. What makes you say so?
FRIENDS. You are crying for the moon.
CALLIMACHUS. Am I the first to do so? Have I not the example of many
others to encourage me?
FRIENDS. Now listen. This woman you sigh for is a follower of the holy
Apostle John, and has devoted herself entirely to God. They say she will
not even go to the bed of Andronicus although he is a devout Christian.
Is it likely that she will listen to you?
CALLIMACHUS. I came to you for consolation, and instead you drive me to
despair!
FRIENDS. We should be poor friends if we consoled and flattered you at
the expense of the truth.
CALLIMACHUS. Since you refuse to advise me, I will go to her and pour
out my soul in words that would melt a heart of stone!
FRIENDS. Fool! it is hopeless!
CALLIMACHUS. I defy the stars!
FRIENDS. We shall see.
Scene III
CALLIMACHUS. Drusiana, listen to me! Drusiana, my deepest heart’s love!
DRUSIANA. Your words amaze me, Callimachus. What can you want of me?
CALLIMACHUS. You are amazed?
DRUSIANA. I am astounded.
CALLIMACHUS. First I want to speak of love!
DRUSIANA. Love! What love?
CALLIMACHUS. That love with which I love you above all created things.
DRUSIANA. Why should you love me? You are not of my kin. There is no
legal bond between us.
CALLIMACHUS. It is your beauty.
DRUSIANA. My beauty?
CALLIMACHUS. Yes.
DRUSIANA. What is my beauty to you?
CALLIMACHUS. But little now—it is that which tortures me—but I hope that
it may be much before long.
DRUSIANA. Not a word more. Leave me at once, for it is a sin to listen
to you now that I understand your devilish meaning.
CALLIMACHUS. My Drusiana, do not kill me with your looks. Do not drive
away one who worships you, but give back love for love.
DRUSIANA. Wicked, insidious words! They fall on deaf ears. Your love
disgusts me. Understand I despise you!
CALLIMACHUS. You cannot make me angry, because I know that you would own
my passion moves you if you were not ashamed.
DRUSIANA. It moves me to indignation, nothing else.
CALLIMACHUS. That feeling will not last.
DRUSIANA. I shall not change, be sure of that.
CALLIMACHUS. I would not be too sure.
DRUSIANA. You frantic, foolish man! Do not deceive yourself! Why delude
yourself with vain hopes? What madness leads you to think that I shall
yield? I have renounced even what is lawful—my husband’s bed!
CALLIMACHUS. I call heaven and earth to witness that if you do not yield
I will never rest from the fight for you. I will be as cunning as the
serpent. I will use all my skill and strength to trap you.
Scene IV
DRUSIANA. O Lord Jesus, what use is my vow of chastity? My beauty has
all the same made this man love me. Pity my fears, O Lord. Pity the
grief which has seized me. I know not what to do. If I tell anyone what
has happened, there will be disorder in the city on my account; if I
keep silence, only Thy grace can protect me from falling into the net
spread for me. O Christ, take me to Thyself. Let me die swiftly. Save me
from being the ruin of a soul!
ANDRONICUS. Drusiana, Drusiana! Christ, what blow has fallen on me!
Drusiana is dead. Run one of you and fetch the holy man John.
Scene V
JOHN. Why do you weep, my son?
ANDRONICUS. Oh, horrible! O Lord, that life should suddenly become so
hateful!
JOHN. What troubles you?
ANDRONICUS. Drusiana, your disciple, Drusiana—
JOHN. She has passed from the sight of men?
ANDRONICUS. Yes. And I am desolate.
JOHN. It is not right to mourn so bitterly for those whose souls we know
rejoice in peace.
ANDRONICUS. God knows I do not doubt that her soul is in eternal joy,
and that her incorrupt body will rise again. What grieves me so sorely
is that in my presence just now she prayed for death. She begged she
might die.
JOHN. You know her reason?
ANDRONICUS. I know it, and will tell you when I am less sick with grief.
JOHN. Come. We must celebrate the funeral rites with proper ceremony.
ANDRONICUS. There is a marble tomb near here in which the body shall be
laid, and our steward Fortunatus shall guard her grave.
JOHN. It is right that she should be interred with honour. God rest her
soul in peace.
Scene VI
CALLIMACHUS. Fortunatus, Fortunatus, what is to become of me? Death
itself cannot quench my love for Drusiana!
FORTUNATUS. Poor wretch!
CALLIMACHUS. I shall die if you do not help me.
FORTUNATUS. How can I help you?
CALLIMACHUS. In this. You can let me look on her, dead.
FORTUNATUS. Up to now the body is sound and whole, I reckon because it
was not wasted with disease. As you know she was taken in a moment by a
fever.
CALLIMACHUS. Oh, how happy I should be if I might see for myself.
FORTUNATUS. If you are willing to pay me well, you can do what you like.
CALLIMACHUS. Here, take all I have with me, and be sure that I will give
you more, much more, later.
FORTUNATUS. Quick, then! We’ll go to the tomb.
CALLIMACHUS. You cannot go quickly enough for me.
Scene VII
FORTUNATUS. There lies the body. The face is not like the face of a
corpse. The limbs show no sign of decay. You can take her to your heart.
CALLIMACHUS. O Drusiana, Drusiana, I worshipped you with my whole soul!
I yearned from my very bowels to embrace you! And you repulsed me, and
thwarted my desire. Now you are in my power, now I can wound you with my
kisses, and pour out my love on you.
FORTUNATUS. Take care! A monstrous serpent! It is coming towards us!
CALLIMACHUS. A curse on me! And on you, Fortunatus, who led me on and
urged me to this infamy. Wretch, may you die from the serpent’s bite!
Terror and remorse are killing me.
Scene VIII
JOHN. Come, Andronicus, let us go to Drusiana’s tomb, and commend her
soul to Christ in prayer.
ANDRONICUS. It is like your holiness not to forget one who trusted in
you.
JOHN. Behold! The invisible God appears to us, made visible in the form
of a beautiful youth.
ANDRONICUS _(To the Spectators)_. Tremble.[8]
JOHN. Lord Jesus, why hast Thou deigned to manifest Thyself to Thy
servants in this place?
GOD. To raise Drusiana from the dead, and with her him who lies outside
her tomb, have I come, that in them My Name may be glorified.
ANDRONICUS. How swiftly He was caught up again into heaven!
JOHN. I cannot altogether understand what this means.
ANDRONICUS. Let us go on to the tomb. It may be that there what is now
obscure will become clear.
Scene IX
JOHN. In Christ’s name, what miracle is this? The sepulchre is open, and
Drusiana’s body has been cast forth. And near it lie two other corpses
enlaced in a serpent’s coils.
ANDRONICUS. I begin to understand. This is Callimachus, who while he
lived was consumed with an unholy passion for Drusiana. It troubled her
greatly and her distress brought on a fever. She prayed that she might
die.
JOHN. Such was her love of chastity.
ANDRONICUS. After her death the wretched man, crazed with love, and
stung by the defeat of his wicked plan, was still more inflamed by
desire.
JOHN. Pitiable creature!
ANDRONICUS. I have no doubt that he bribed this unworthy servant to give
him the opportunity for committing a detestable crime.
JOHN. It is not to be believed!
ANDRONICUS. But death struck both of them down before the deed was
accomplished.
JOHN. They met their deserts.
ANDRONICUS. What astonishes me most is that the Divine Voice should have
promised the resurrection of him who planned the crime, and not of him
who was only an accomplice. Maybe it is because the one, blinded by the
passion of the flesh, knew not what he did, while the other sinned of
deliberate malice.
JOHN. With what wonderful exactness the Supreme Judge examines the deeds
of men! How even the scales in which He weighs the merits of each
individual man! None can understand, none explain. Human wisdom cannot
grasp the subtlety of the divine judgment.
ANDRONICUS. So we should be content to marvel at it, as it is not in our
power to attain a precise knowledge of the causes of things.
JOHN. Often the sequel teaches us to understand better.
ANDRONICUS. Then, blessed John, do now what you were told to do. Raise
Callimachus to life, and the knot of our perplexity may be untied.
JOHN. First I must invoke the name of Christ to drive away the serpent.
Then Callimachus shall be raised.
ANDRONICUS. You are right; else the venom of the creature might do him
fresh injury.
JOHN. Hence, savage monster! Away from this man, for now he is to serve
Christ.
ANDRONICUS. Although the beast has no reason, it heeds your command.
JOHN. Not through my power, but through Christ’s, it obeys me.
ANDRONICUS. Look! As swift as thought it has vanished!
JOHN. O God, the world cannot contain nor the mind of man comprehend the
wonders of Thy incalculable unity, Thou Who alone art what Thou art! O
Thou Who by mingling different elements canst create man, and by
separating those elements again canst dissolve him, grant that the
spirit and the body of this Callimachus may be joined once more, and
that he may rise again wholly as he was, so that all looking on him may
praise Thee, Who alone canst work miracles!
ANDRONICUS. Look! The breath of life stirs in him again, but he does not
move.
JOHN. Calhmachus! In the name of Christ, arise, and confess your sin! Do
not keep back the smallest grain of the truth.
CALLIMACHUS. I cannot deny that I came here for an evil purpose, but the
pangs of love consumed me. I was beside myself.
JOHN. What mad folly possessed you? That you should dare think of such a
shameful outrage to the chaste dead!
CALLIMACHUS. Yes, I was mad; but this knave Fortunatus led me on.
JOHN. And now, most miserable man, confess! Were you so vile as to do
what you desired?
CALLIMACHUS. No! I could think of it, but I could not do it.
JOHN. What prevented you?
CALLIMACHUS. I had hardly touched the lifeless body—I had hardly drawn
aside the shroud, when that fellow there, who has been the spark to my
fire, died from the serpent’s poison.
ANDRONICUS. A good riddance!
CALLIMACHUS. At the same moment there appeared to me a young man,
beautiful yet terrible, who reverently covered the corpse again. From
his flaming face and breast burning coals flew out, and one of them,
falling on me, touched my face. I heard a voice say, “Callimachus, die
to live!” It was then I breathed my last.
JOHN. Oh, heavenly grace! God delights not in the damnation of the
wicked.
CALLIMACHUS. You have heard the dreadful tale of my temptation. I beg
you not to delay the merciful remedy.
JOHN. I will not delay it.
CALLIMACHUS. I am overwhelmed by the thought of my abominable crime. I
repent with my whole heart, and bewail my sin.
JOHN. That is but right, for a great fault must be atoned for by a great
repentance.
CALLIMACHUS. Oh, if I could lay bare my heart and show you the bitter
anguish I suffer, you would pity me!
JOHN. Not so. Rather does your suffering fill me with joy, for I know
that it will be your salvation.
CALLIMACHUS. I loathe the delights of the flesh, and all the sins of my
past life.
JOHN. That is well.
CALLIMACHUS. I truly repent my foul deed.
JOHN. Again that is well.
CALLIMACHUS. I am filled with such remorse that I have no desire to live
unless I can be born again in Christ and changed.
JOHN. I do not doubt that heavenly grace is at work in you.
CALLIMACHUS. Oh, hasten then to help a man in dire need! Give me some
comfort! Help me to throw off the grief which crushes me! Show me how a
Pagan may change into a Christian, a fornicator into a chaste man! Oh,
set my feet on the way of truth! Teach me to live mindful of the divine
promises!
JOHN. Now blessed be the only Son of God, Who made Himself partaker of
our frailty, and showed you mercy, my son Callimachus, by striking you
down with the death which has brought you to the true life. So has He
saved the creature He made in His own image from the death of the soul.
ANDRONICUS. Most strange, most wonderful miracle!
JOHN. O Christ, redemption of the world, and sinners’ atonement, I have
no words to praise Thee! The sweetness of Thy compassion amazes me. Now
Thou dost win the sinner with gentleness, now Thou dost chastise him
with just severity, and callest on him to do penance.
ANDRONICUS. Glory to His divine goodness!
JOHN. Who would have presumed to hope that a man like this, intent on a
wicked deed when death overtook him, would be raised to life again, and
given the chance of making reparation! Blessed be Thy name for ever and
ever, O Thou Who alone canst do these wondrous things!
ANDRONICUS. Holy John, give me some comfort too. The love I bear my dead
wife will not let me rest until I have seen her also called back from
the dead.
JOHN. Drusiana, our Lord Jesus Christ calls you back to life!
DRUSIANA. Glory and praise to Thee, O Lord, Who hast made me live again!
CALLIMACHUS. Thanks be to that merciful power, my Drusiana, through
which you, who left this life in such sorrow, rise again in joy!
DRUSIANA. Venerable father John, you have restored to life Callimachus,
who loved me sinfully. Should you not also raise from the dead the man
who betrayed my buried body?
CALLIMACHUS. Apostle of Christ, do not believe it! Will you release from
the fetters of death this evil creature, this traitor, who led me away
and persuaded me to venture on that horrible deed?
JOHN. You should not wish to deprive him of divine mercy, my son.
CALLIMACHUS. He tried to ruin me! He is not worthy of resurrection!
JOHN. We are taught by our faith that man must forgive his fellow-man if
he would be forgiven by God.
ANDRONICUS. That is true.
JOHN. Remember that when the only Son of God, the Virgin’s first-born,
the one man born without a stain, came into this world, He found us all
bowed under the heavy weight of sin.
ANDRONICUS. True again.
JOHN. And though not one of us was guiltless, He deprived no one of His
mercy, but offered Himself for all, and for all laid down His life in
love.
ANDRONICUS. Had the Innocent One not been slain, none of us would have
been saved.
JOHN. He cannot rejoice in the damnation of those whom He bought with
His blood.
ANDRONICUS. To Him be praise!
JOHN. This is why we must not grudge the grace of God to anyone. It is
no merit of ours if it abounds in ourselves.
CALLIMACHUS. Your rebuke makes me ashamed.
JOHN. Yet it is not for me to oppose you. Drusiana, inspired by God
Himself shall raise this man.
DRUSIANA. Divine Essence without material form, Who hast made man in
Thine own image and breathed into this clay the spirit of life, bring
back the vital heat to the body of Fortunatus, that our triple
resurrection may glorify the adorable Trinity.
JOHN. Amen.
DRUSIANA. Fortunatus, awake, and in the name of Christ burst the bonds
of death.
FORTUNATUS. Who wakes me? Who takes my hand? Who calls me back to life?
JOHN. Drusiana.
FORTUNATUS. How can that be? Only a few days since she died.
JOHN. Yes, but now, through the power of Christ, she lives again.
FORTUNATUS. And is that Callimachus who stands there? By his sober and
pious look one would think he is no longer dying of love for his
Drusiana!
JOHN. All that is changed. Now he loves and serves Christ.
FORTUNATUS. No!
JOHN. It is true.
FORTUNATUS. If it is as you say, if Drusiana has restored me to life and
Callimachus believes in Christ, I reject life and choose death. I would
rather not exist than see them swelling with grace and virtue!
JOHN. Oh, incredible envy of the devil! Oh, malice of the old serpent,
who since he made our first parents taste death has never ceased to
writhe at the glory of the righteous! Oh, Fortunatus, brimful of Satan’s
bitter gall, how much do you resemble the rotten tree that, bearing only
bad fruit, must be cut down and cast into the fire! To the fire you must
go, where, deprived of the society of those who fear God, you will be
tormented without respite for ever.
ANDRONICUS. Look! Oh, look! His wounds have opened again. He has been
taken at his word. He is dying.
JOHN. Let him die and go down to hell, who through envious spite
rejected the gift of life.
ANDRONICUS. A terrible fate.
JOHN. Nothing is more terrible than envy, nothing more evil than pride.
ANDRONICUS. Both are vile.
JOHN. The man who is the victim of one is the victim of the other, for
they have no separate existence.
ANDRONICUS. Please explain.
JOHN. The proud are envious, and the envious are proud. A jealous man
cannot endure to hear others praised, and seeks to belittle those who
are more perfect. He disdains to take a lower place, and arrogantly
seeks to be put above his equals.
ANDRONICUS. That is clear.
JOHN. This wretched man’s pride was wounded. He could not endure the
humiliation of recognizing his inferiority to these two in whom he could
not deny God had made more grace to shine.
ANDRONICUS. I understand now why his resurrection was not spoken of. It
was known he would die again.
JOHN. He deserved to die twice, for to his crime of profaning the sacred
grave entrusted to him, he added hatred and envy of those who had been
restored to life.
ANDRONICUS. The wretched creature is dead now.
JOHN. Come, let us go—Satan must have his own. This day shall be kept as
a festival in thanksgiving for the wonderful conversion of Callimachus.
Men shall long speak of it, and of his resurrection from the dead, and
of Drusiana, on whom his love brought misery. Let us give thanks to God,
that just and penetrating Judge Who alone can search the heart and reins
and reward or punish fairly. To Him alone be honour, strength, glory,
praise, and blessing, world without end. Amen.
ABRAHAM
Argument
The fall and repentance of Mary, the niece of the hermit Abraham, who,
after she has spent twenty years in the religious life as a solitary,
abandons it in despair, and, returning to the world, does not shrink
from becoming a harlot. But two years later Abraham, in the disguise of
a lover, seeks her out and reclaims her. For twenty years she does
penance for her sins with many tears, fastings, vigils, and prayers.
Characters
- ABRAHAM.
- EPHREM.
- MARY.
- A FRIEND TO ABRAHAM.
- AN INN-KEEPER.
Abraham
Scene I
ABRAHAM. Brother Ephrem, my dear comrade in the hermit life, may I speak
to you now, or shall I wait until you have finished your divine praises?
EPHREM. And what can you have to say to me which is not praise of Him
Who said: “Where two or three are gathered together in My Name, I am
with them”?
ABRAHAM. I have not come to speak of anything which He would not like to
hear.
EPHREM. I am sure of it. So speak at once.
ABRAHAM. It concerns a decision I have to make. I long for your
approval.
EPHREM. We have one heart and one soul. We ought to agree.
ABRAHAM. I have a little niece of tender years. She has lost both her
parents, and my affection for her has been deepened by compassion for
her lonely state. I am in constant anxiety on her account.
EPHREM. Ought you who have triumphed over the world to be vexed by its
cares!
ABRAHAM. My only care is her radiant beauty! What if it should one day
be dimmed by sin.
EPHREM. No one can blame you for being anxious.
ABRAHAM. I hope not.
EPHREM. How old is she?
ABRAHAM. At the end of this year she will be eight.
EPHREM. She is very young.
ABRAHAM. That does not lessen my anxiety.
EPHREM. Where does she live?
ABRAHAM. At my hermitage now; for at the request of her other kinsfolk I
have undertaken to bring her up. The fortune left her ought, I think, to
be given to the poor.
EPHREM. A mind taught so early to despise temporal things should be
fixed on heaven.
ABRAHAM. I desire with all my heart to see her the spouse of Christ and
devoted entirely to His service.
EPHREM. A praiseworthy wish.
ABRAHAM. I was inspired by her name.
EPHREM. What is she called?
ABRAHAM. Mary.
EPHREM. Mary! Such a name ought to be adorned with the crown of
virginity.
ABRAHAM. I have no fear that she will be unwilling, but we must be
gentle.
EPHREM. Come, let us go, and impress on her that no life is so sweet and
secure as the religious one.
Scene II
ABRAHAM. Mary, my child by adoption, whom I love as my own soul! Listen
to my advice as to a father’s, and to Brother Ephrem’s as that of a very
wise man. Strive to imitate the chastity of the holy Virgin whose name
you bear.
EPHREM. Child, would it not be a shame if you, who through the mystery
of your name are called to mount to the stars where Mary the mother of
God reigns, chose instead the low pleasures of the earth?
MARY. I know nothing about the mystery of my name, so how can I tell
what you mean?
EPHREM. Mary, my child, means “star of the sea”—that star which rules
the world and all the peoples in the world.
MARY. Why is it called the star of the sea?
EPHREM. Because it never sets, but shines always in the heavens to show
mariners their right course.
MARY. And how can such a poor thing as I am—made out of slime, as my
uncle says—shine like my name?
EPHREM. By keeping your body unspotted, and your mind pure and holy.
MARY. It would be too great an honour for any human being to become like
the stars.
EPHREM. If you choose you can be as the angels of God, and when at last
you cast off the burden of this mortal body they will be near you. With
them you will pass through the air, and walk on the sky. With them you
will sweep round the zodiac, and never slacken your steps until the
Virgin’s Son takes you in His arms in His mother’s dazzling bridal room!
MARY. Who but an ass would think little of such happiness! So I choose
to despise the things of earth, and deny myself now that I may enjoy it!
EPHREM. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings! A childish heart, but
a mature mind!
ABRAHAM. God be thanked for it!
EPHREM. Amen to that.
ABRAHAM. But though by God’s grace she has been given the light, at her
tender age she must be taught how to use it.
EPHREM. You are right.
ABRAHAM. I will build her a little cell with a narrow entrance near my
hermitage. I can visit her there often, and through the window instruct
her in the psalter and other pages of the divine law.
EPHREM. That is a good plan.
MARY. I put myself under your direction, Father Ephrem.
EPHREM. My daughter! May the Heavenly Bridegroom to Whom you have given
yourself in the tender bud of your youth shield you from the wiles of
the devil!
Scene III
ABRAHAM. Brother Ephrem, Brother Ephrem! When anything happens, good or
bad, it is to you I turn. It is your counsel I seek. Do not turn your
face away, brother—do not be impatient, but help me.
EPHREM. Abraham, Abraham, what has come to you? What is the cause of
this immoderate grief? Ought a hermit to weep and groan after the manner
of the world?
ABRAHAM. Was any hermit ever so stricken? I cannot bear my sorrow.
EPHREM. Brother, no more of this. To the point; what has happened?
ABRAHAM. Mary! Mary! my adopted child! Mary, whom I cared for so
lovingly and taught with all my skill for ten years! Mary—
EPHREM. Well, what is it?
ABRAHAM. Oh God! She is lost!
EPHREM. Lost? What do you mean?
ABRAHAM. Most miserably. Afterwards she ran away.
EPHREM. But by what wiles did the ancient enemy bring about her undoing?
ABRAHAM. By the wiles of false love. Dressed in a monk’s habit, the
hypocrite went to see her often. He succeeded in making the poor
ignorant child love him. She leapt from the window of her cell for an
evil deed.
EPHREM. I shudder as I listen to you.
ABRAHAM. When the unhappy girl knew that she was ruined, she beat her
breast and dug her nails into her face. She tore her garments, pulled
out her hair. Her despairing cries were terrible to hear.
EPHREM. I am not surprised. For such a fall a whole fountain of tears
should rise.
ABRAHAM. She moaned out that she could never be the same—
EPHREM. Poor, miserable girl!
ABRAHAM. And reproached herself for having forgotten our warning.
EPHREM. She might well do so.
ABRAHAM. She cried that all her vigils, prayers, and fasts had been
thrown away.
EPHREM. If she perseveres in this penitence she will be saved.
ABRAHAM. She has not persevered. She has added worse to her evil deed.
EPHREM. Oh, this moves me to the depths of my heart!
ABRAHAM. After all these tears and lamentations she was overcome by
remorse, and fell headlong into the abyss of despair.
EPHREM. A bitter business!
ABRAHAM. She despaired of being able to win pardon, and resolved to go
back to the world and its vanities.
EPHREM. I cannot remember when the devil could boast of such a triumph
over the hermits.
ABRAHAM. Now we are at the mercy of the demons.
EPHREM. I marvel that she could have escaped without your knowledge.
ABRAHAM. If I had not been so blind! I ought to have paid more heed to
that terrible vision. Yes, I see now that it was sent to warn me.
EPHREM. What vision?
ABRAHAM. I dreamed I was standing at the door of my cell, and that a
huge dragon with a loathsome stench rushed violently towards me. I saw
that the creature was attracted by a little white dove at my side. It
pounced on the dove, devoured it, and vanished.
EPHREM. There is no doubt what this vision meant.
ABRAHAM. When I woke I turned over in my mind what I had seen, and took
it as a sign of some persecution threatening the Church, through which
many of the faithful would be drawn into error. I prostrated myself in
prayer, and implored Him Who knows the future to enlighten me.
EPHREM. You did right.
ABRAHAM. On the third night after the vision, when for weariness I had
fallen asleep, I saw the beast again, but now it was lying dead at my
feet, and the dove was flying heavenwards safe and unhurt.
EPHREM. I am rejoiced to hear this, for to my thinking it means that
some day Mary will return to you.
ABRAHAM. I was trying to get rid of the uneasiness with which the first
vision had filled me by thinking of the second, when my little pupil in
her cell came to my mind. I remembered, although at the time I was not
alarmed, that for two days I had not heard her chanting the divine
praises.
EPHREM. You were too tardy in noticing this.
ABRAHAM. I admit it. I went at once to her cell, and, knocking at the
window, I called her again and again, “Mary! My child! Mary!”
EPHREM. You called in vain?
ABRAHAM. “Mary,” I said. “Mary, my child, what is wrong? Why are you not
saying your office?” It was only when I did not hear the faintest sound
that I suspected.
EPHREM. What did you do then?
ABRAHAM. When I could no longer doubt that she had gone, I was struck
with fear to my very bowels. I trembled in every limb.
EPHREM. I do not wonder, since I, hearing of it, find myself trembling
all over.
ABRAHAM. Then I wept and cried out to the empty air, “What wolf has
seized my lamb? What thief has stolen my little daughter?”
EPHREM. You had good cause to weep! To lose her whom you had cherished
so tenderly!
ABRAHAM. At last some people came up who knew what had happened. From
them I learned that she had gone back to the world.
EPHREM. Where is she now?
ABRAHAM. No one knows.
EPHREM. What is to be done?
ABRAHAM. I have a faithful friend, who is searching all the cities and
towns in the country. He says he will never give up until he finds her.
EPHREM. And if he finds her—what then?
ABRAHAM. Then I shall change these clothes, and in the guise of a
worldling seek her out. It may be that she will heed what I say, and
even after this shipwreck turn again to the harbour of her innocence and
peace.
EPHREM. And suppose that in the world they offer you flesh meat and
wine?
ABRAHAM. If they do, I shall not refuse; otherwise I might be
recognized.
EPHREM. No one will blame you, brother. It will be but praiseworthy
discretion on your part to loosen the bridle of strict observance for
the sake of bringing back a soul.
ABRAHAM. I am the more eager to try now I know you approve.
EPHREM. He Who knows the secret places of the heart can tell with what
motive every action is done. That scrupulous and fair Judge will not
condemn a man for relaxing our strict rule for a time and descending to
the level of weaker mortals if by so doing he can make more sure of
rescuing an errant soul.
ABRAHAM. Help me with your prayers. Pray that I may not be caught in the
snares of the devil.
EPHREM. May He Who is supreme good itself, without Whom no good thing
can be done, bless your enterprise and bring it to a happy end!
Scene IV
ABRAHAM. Can that be my friend who two years ago went to search for
Mary? Yes, it is he!
FRIEND. Good-day, venerable father.
ABRAHAM. Good-day, dear friend. I have waited so long for you. Of late I
had begun to despair.
FRIEND. Forgive me, father. I delayed my return because I did not wish
to mock you with doubtful and unreliable news. As soon as I had
discovered the truth I lost no time.
ABRAHAM. You have seen Mary?
FRIEND. I have seen her.
ABRAHAM. Where is she? Come, sir, speak! Tell me where.
FRIEND. It goes to my heart to tell you.
ABRAHAM. Speak—I implore you.
FRIEND. She lives in the house of a man who trades in the love of young
girls like her. A profitable business, for every day he makes a large
sum of money out of her lovers.
ABRAHAM. Her lovers? Mary’s lovers?
FRIEND. Yes.
ABRAHAM. Who are they?
FRIEND. There are plenty of them.
ABRAHAM. Good Jesu, what is this monstrous thing I hear? Do they say
that she, whom I brought up to be Thy bride, gives herself to strange
lovers?
FRIEND. It comes naturally to harlots.
ABRAHAM. If you are my friend, get me a saddle-horse somewhere and a
soldier’s dress. I am going to get into that place as a lover.
FRIEND. Father, mine are at your service.
ABRAHAM. And I must borrow a felt hat to cover my tonsure.
FRIEND. That is most necessary, if you do not want to be recognized.
ABRAHAM. I have one gold piece. Should I take it to give this man?
FRIEND. You should, for otherwise he will never let you see Mary.
Scene V
ABRAHAM. Good-day, friend.
INN-KEEPER. Who’s there? Good-day, Sir. Come in!
ABRAHAM. Have you a bed for a traveller who wants to spend a night here?
INN-KEEPER. Why certainly! I never turn anyone away.
ABRAHAM. I am glad of it.
INN-KEEPER. Come in then, and I will order supper for you.
ABRAHAM. I owe you thanks for this kind welcome, but I have a greater
favour to ask.
INN-KEEPER. Ask what you like. I will do my best for you.
ABRAHAM. Accept this small present. May the beautiful girl who, I am
told, lives here, have supper with me?
INN-KEEPER. Why should you wish to see her?
ABRAHAM. It would give me much pleasure. I have heard so much talk of
her beauty.
INN-KEEPER. Whoever has spoken to you of her has told only the truth. It
would be hard to find a finer wench.
ABRAHAM. I am in love with her already.
INN-KEEPER. It’s queer that an old man like you should dangle after a
young girl.
ABRAHAM. I swear I came here on purpose to feast my eyes on her.
Scene VI
INN-KEEPER. Mary, come here! Come along now and show off your charms to
this young innocent!
MARY. I am coming.
ABRAHAM. Oh, mind, be constant! Tears, do not fall! Must I look on her
whom I brought up in the desert, decked out with a harlot’s face? Yes, I
must hide what is in my heart. I must strive not to weep, and smile
though my heart is breaking.
INN-KEEPER. Luck comes your way, Mary! Not only do young gallants of
your own age flock to your arms, but even the wise and venerable!
MARY. It is all one to me. It is my business to love those who love me.
ABRAHAM. Come nearer, Mary, and give me a kiss.
MARY. I will give you more than a kiss. I will take your head in my arms
and stroke your neck.
ABRAHAM. Yes, like that!
MARY. What does this mean? What is this lovely fragrance. So clean, so
sweet. It reminds me of the time when I was good.
ABRAHAM. On with the mask! Chatter, make lewd jests like an idle boy!
She must not recognize me, or for very shame she may fly from me.
MARY. Wretch that I am! To what have I fallen! In what pit am I sunk!
ABRAHAM. You forget where you are! Do men come here to see you cry!
INN-KEEPER. What’s the matter, Lady Mary? Why are you in the dumps? You
have lived here two years, and never before have I seen a tear, never
heard a sigh or a word of complaint.
MARY. Oh, that I had died three years ago before I came to this!
ABRAHAM. I came here to make love to you, not to weep with you over your
sins.
MARY. A little thing moved me, and I spoke foolishly. It is nothing.
Come, let us eat and drink and be merry, for, as you say, this is not
the place to think of one’s sins.
ABRAHAM. I have eaten and drunk enough, thanks to your good table, Sir.
Now by your leave I will go to bed. My tired limbs need a rest.
INN-KEEPER. As you please.
MARY. Get up my lord. I will take you to bed.
ABRAHAM. I hope so. I would not go at all unless you came with me.
Scene VII
MARY. Look! How do you like this room? A handsome bed, isn’t it? Those
trappings cost a lot of money. Sit down and I will take off your shoes.
You seem tired.
ABRAHAM. First bolt the door. Someone may come in.
MARY. Have no fear. I have seen to that.
ABRAHAM. The time has come for me to show my shaven head, and make
myself known! Oh, my daughter! Oh, Mary, you who are part of my soul!
Look at me. Do you not know me? Do you not know the old man who
cherished you with a father’s love, and wedded you to the Son of the
King of Heaven?
MARY. God, what shall I do! It is my father and master Abraham!
ABRAHAM. What has come to you, daughter?
MARY. Oh, misery!
ABRAHAM. Who deceived you? Who led you astray?
MARY. Who deceived our first parents?
ABRAHAM. Have you forgotten that once you lived like an angel on earth!
MARY. All that is over.
ABRAHAM. What has become of your virginal modesty? Your beautiful
purity?
MARY. Lost. Gone!
ABRAHAM. Oh, Mary, think what you have thrown away! Think what a reward
you had earned by your fasting, and prayers, and vigils. What can they
avail you now! You have hurled yourself from heavenly heights into the
depths of hell!
MARY. Oh God, I know it!
ABRAHAM. Could you not trust me? Why did you desert me? Why did you not
tell me of your fall? Then dear brother Ephrem and I could have done a
worthy penance.
MARY. Once I had committed that sin, and was defiled, how could I dare
come near you who are so holy?
ABRAHAM. Oh, Mary, has anyone ever lived on earth without sin except the
Virgin’s Son?
MARY. No one, I know.
ABRAHAM. It is human to sin, but it is devilish to remain in sin. Who
can be justly condemned? Not those who fall suddenly, but those who
refuse to rise quickly.
MARY. Wretched, miserable creature that I am!
ABRAHAM. Why have you thrown yourself down there? Why do you lie on the
ground without moving or speaking? Get up, Mary! Get up, my child, and
listen to me!
MARY. No! no! I am afraid. I cannot bear your reproaches.
ABRAHAM. Remember how I love you, and you will not be afraid.
MARY. It is useless. I cannot.
ABRAHAM. What but love for you could have made me leave the desert and
relax the strict observance of our rule? What but love could have made
me, a true hermit, come into the city and mix with the lascivious crowd?
It is for your sake that these lips have learned to utter light, foolish
words, so that I might not be known! Oh, Mary, why do you turn away your
face from me and gaze upon the ground? Why do you scorn to answer and
tell me what is in your mind.
MARY. It is the thought of my sins which crushes me. I dare not look at
you; I am not fit to speak to you.
ABRAHAM. My little one, have no fear. Oh, do not despair! Rise from this
abyss of desperation and grapple God to your soul!
MARY. No, no! My sins are too great. They weigh me down.
ABRAHAM. The mercy of heaven is greater than you or your sins. Let your
sadness be dispersed by its glorious beams. Oh, Mary, do not let apathy
prevent your seizing the moment for repentance. It matters not how
wickedness has flourished. Divine grace can flourish still more
abundantly!
MARY. If there were the smallest hope of forgiveness, surely I should
not shrink from doing penance.
ABRAHAM. Have you no pity for me? I have sought you out with so much
pain and weariness! Oh shake off this despair which we are taught is the
most terrible of all sins. Despair of God’s mercy—for that alone there
is no forgiveness. Sin can no more embitter His sweet mercy than a spark
from a flint can set the ocean on fire.
MARY. I know that God’s mercy is great, but when I think how greatly I
have sinned, I cannot believe any penance can make amends.
ABRAHAM. I will take your sins on me. Only come back and take up your
life again as if you had never left it.
MARY. I do not want to oppose you. What you tell me to do I will do with
all my heart.
ABRAHAM. My daughter lives again! I have found my lost lamb and she is
dearer to me than ever.
MARY. I have a few possessions here—a little gold and some clothes. What
ought I to do with them?
ABRAHAM. What came to you through sin, with sin must be left behind.
MARY. Could it not be given to the poor, or sold for an offering at the
holy altar?
ABRAHAM. The price of sin is not an acceptable offering to God.
MARY. Then I will not trouble any more about my possessions.
ABRAHAM. Look! The dawn! It is growing light. Let us go.
MARY. You go first, dearest father, like the good shepherd leading the
lost lamb that has been found. The lamb will follow in your steps.
ABRAHAM. Not so! I am going on foot, but you—you shall have a horse so
that the stony road shall not hurt your delicate feet.
MARY. Oh, let me never forget this tenderness! Let me try all my life to
thank you! I was not worth pity, yet you have shown me no harshness; you
have led me to repent not by threats but by gentleness and love.
ABRAHAM. I ask only one thing, Mary. Be faithful to God for the rest of
your life.
MARY. With all my strength I will persevere, and though my flesh may
fail, my spirit never will.
ABRAHAM. You must serve God with as much energy as you have served the
world.
MARY. If His will is made perfect in me it will be because of your
merits.
ABRAHAM. Come, let us hasten on our way.
MARY. Yes, let us set out at once. I would not stay here another moment.
Scene VIII
ABRAHAM. Courage, Mary! You see how swiftly we have made the difficult
and toilsome journey.
MARY. Everything is easy when we put our hearts into it.
ABRAHAM. There is your deserted little cell.
MARY. God help me! It was the witness of my sin. I dare not go there.
ABRAHAM. It is natural you should dread the place where the enemy
triumphed.
MARY. Where, then, am I to do penance?
ABRAHAM. Go into the inner cell. There you will be safe from the wiles
of the serpent.
MARY. Most gladly as it is your wish.
ABRAHAM. Now I must go to my good friend Ephrem. He alone mourned with
me when you were lost, and he must rejoice with me now that you have
been found.
MARY. Of course.
Scene IX
EPHREM. Well, brother! If I am not mistaken, you bring good news.
ABRAHAM. The best in the world.
EPHREM. You have found your lost lamb?
ABRAHAM. I have, and, rejoicing, have brought her back to the fold.
EPHREM. Truly this is the work of divine grace.
ABRAHAM. That is certain.
EPHREM. How is she spending her days? I should like to know how you have
ordered her life. What does she do?
ABRAHAM. All that I tell her.
EPHREM. That is well.
ABRAHAM. Nothing is too difficult for her—nothing too hard. She is ready
to endure anything.
EPHREM. That is better.
ABRAHAM. She wears a hair shirt, and subdues her flesh with continual
vigils and fasts. She is making the poor frail body obey the spirit by
the most rigorous discipline.
EPHREM. Only through such a severe penance can the stains left by the
pleasures of the flesh be washed away.
ABRAHAM. Those who hear her sobs are cut to the heart, and the tale of
her repentance has turned many from their sins.
EPHREM. It is often so.
ABRAHAM. She prays continually for the men who through her were tempted
to sin, and begs that she who was their ruin may be their salvation.
EPHREM. It is right that she should do this.
ABRAHAM. She strives to make her life as beautiful as for a time it was
hideous.
EPHREM. I rejoice at what you tell me. To the depths of my heart.
ABRAHAM. And with us rejoice phalanxes of angels, praising the Lord for
the conversion of a sinner.
EPHREM. Over whom, we are told, there is more joy in heaven than over
the just man who needs no penance.
ABRAHAM. The more glory to Him, because there seemed no hope on earth
that she could be saved.
EPHREM. Let us sing a song of thanksgiving—let us glorify the only
begotten Son of God, Who of His love and mercy will not let them perish
whom He redeemed with His holy blood.
ABRAHAM. To Him be honour, glory, and praise through infinite ages.
Amen.
PAPHNUTIUS
Argument
The conversion of Thais by the hermit Paphnutius. Obedient to a vision,
he leaves the desert, and, disguised as a lover, seeks out Thais in
Alexandria. She is moved to repent by his exhortations and, renouncing
her evil life, consents to be enclosed in a narrow cell, where she does
penance for three years. Paphnutius learns from a vision granted to
Anthony’s disciple Paul that her humility has won her a place among the
blessed in Paradise. He brings her out of her cell and stays by her side
until her soul has left her body.
Characters
- PAPHNUTIUS.
- THAIS.
- THE ABBESS.
- LOVERS OF THAIS.
- DISCIPLES OF PAPHNUTIUS.
- ANTONY.
- PAUL.
Paphnutius
Scene I
DISCIPLES.[9] Why do you look so gloomy, father Paphnutius? Why do you
not smile at us as usual?
PAPHNUTIUS. When the heart is sad the face clouds over. It is only
natural.
DISCIPLES. But why are you sad?
PAPHNUTIUS. I grieve over an injury to my Creator.
DISCIPLES. What injury?
PAPHNUTIUS. The injury His own creatures made in His very image inflict
on Him.
DISCIPLES. Oh, father, your words fill us with fear! How can such things
be?
PAPHNUTIUS. It is true that the impassible Majesty cannot be hurt by
injuries. Nevertheless, speaking in metaphor, and as if God were weak
with our weakness, what greater injury can we conceive than this—that
while the greater world is obedient, and subject to His rule, the lesser
world resists His guidance?
DISCIPLES. What do you mean by the lesser world?
PAPHNUTIUS. Man.
DISCIPLES. Man?
PAPHNUTIUS. Yes.
DISCIPLES. What man?
PAPHNUTIUS. Every man.
DISCIPLES. How can this be?
PAPHNUTIUS. It has pleased our Creator.
DISCIPLES. We do not understand.
PAPHNUTIUS. It is not plain to many.
DISCIPLES. Explain, father.
PAPHNUTIUS. Be attentive, then.
DISCIPLES. We are eager to learn.
PAPHNUTIUS. You know that the greater world is composed of four elements
which are contraries, yet by the will of the Creator these contraries
are adjusted in harmonious arrangement. Now, man is composed of even
more contrary parts.
DISCIPLES. What can be more contrary than the elements?
PAPHNUTIUS. The body and the soul. The soul is not mortal like the body,
nor the body spiritual as is the soul.
DISCIPLES. That is true. But what did you mean, father, when you spoke
of “harmonious arrangement”?
PAPHNUTIUS. I meant that as low and high sounds harmoniously united
produce a certain music, so discordant elements rightly adjusted make
one world.
DISCIPLES. It seems strange that discords can become concords.
PAPHNUTIUS. Consider. No thing is composed of “likes”—neither can it be
made up of elements which have no proportion among themselves, or which
are entirely different in substance and nature.
DISCIPLES. What is music, master?
PAPHNUTIUS. One of the branches of the “quadrivium” of philosophy, my
son. Arithmetic, geometry, music, and philosophy form the quadrivium.
DISCIPLES. I should like to know why they are given that name.
PAPHNUTIUS. Because just as paths branch out from the quadrivium, the
place where four roads meet, so do these subjects lead like roads from
one principle of philosophy.
DISCIPLES. We had best not question you about the other three, for our
slow wits can scarcely follow what you have told us about the first.
PAPHNUTIUS. It is a difficult subject.
DISCIPLES. Still you might give us a general idea of the nature of
music.
PAPHNUTIUS. It is hard to explain to hermits to whom it is an unknown
science.
DISCIPLES. Is there more than one kind of music?
PAPHNUTIUS. There are three kinds, my son. The first is celestial, the
second human, the third is produced by instruments.
DISCIPLES. In what does the celestial consist?
PAPHNUTIUS. In the seven planets and the celestial globe.
DISCIPLES. But how?
PAPHNUTIUS. Exactly as in instruments. You find the same number of
intervals of the same length, and the same concords as in strings.
DISCIPLES. We do not understand what intervals are.
PAPHNUTIUS. The dimensions which are reckoned between planets or between
notes.
DISCIPLES. And what are their lengths?
PAPHNUTIUS. The same as tones.
DISCIPLES. We are none the wiser.
PAPHNUTIUS. A tone is composed of two sounds, and bears the ratio of
nine to eight.
DISCIPLES. As soon as we get over one difficulty, you place a greater
one in our path!
PAPHNUTIUS. That is inevitable in a discussion of this kind.
DISCIPLES. Yet tell us something about concord, so that at least we may
know the meaning of the word.
PAPHNUTIUS. Concord, harmony, or symphonia may be defined as a fitting
disposition of modulation. It is composed sometimes of three, sometimes
of four, sometimes of five sounds.
DISCIPLES. As you have given us these three distinctions, we should like
to learn the name of each.
PAPHNUTIUS. The first is called a fourth, as consisting of four sounds,
and it has the proportion of four to three. The second is called a
fifth. It consists of five sounds and bears the ratio of one and a half.
The third is known as the diapason; it is double and is perfected in
eight sounds.
DISCIPLES. And do the spheres and planets produce sounds, since they are
compared to notes?
PAPHNUTIUS. Undoubtedly they do.
DISCIPLE. Why is the music not heard?
DISCIPLES. Yes, why is it not heard?
PAPHNUTIUS. Many reasons are given. Some think it is not heard because
it is so continuous that men have grown accustomed to it. Others say it
is because of the density of the air. Some assert that so enormous a
sound could not pass into the mortal ear. Others that the music of the
spheres is so pleasant and sweet that if it were heard all men would
come together, and, forgetting themselves and all their pursuits, would
follow the sounds from east to west.
DISCIPLES. It is well that it is not heard.
PAPHNUTIUS. As our Creator foreknew.
DISCIPLES. We have heard enough of this kind of music. What of “human”
music?
PAPHNUTIUS. What do you want to know about that?
DISCIPLES. How is it manifested?
PAPHNUTIUS. Not only, as I have already told you, in the combination of
body and soul, and in the utterance of the voice, now high, now low, but
even in the pulsation of the veins, and in the proportion of our
members. Take the finger-joints. In them, if we measure, we find the
same proportions as we have already found in concord; for music is said
to be a fitting disposition not only of sounds, but of things with no
resemblance to sounds.
DISCIPLES. Had we known the difficulty that such a hard point presents
to the ignorant, we would not have asked you about your “lesser world.”
It is better to know nothing than to be bewildered.
PAPHNUTIUS. I do not agree. By trying to understand you have learned
many things that you did not know before.
DISCIPLES. That is true.
DISCIPLE. True it may be, but I am weary of this disputation. We are all
weary, because we cannot follow the reasoning of such a philosopher!
PAPHNUTIUS. Why do you laugh at me, children? I am no philosopher, but
an ignorant man.
DISCIPLES. Where did you get all this learning with which you have
puzzled our heads?
PAPHNUTIUS. It is but a little drop from the full deep wells of
learning—wells at which I, a chance passerby, have lapped, but never sat
down to drain.
DISCIPLE. We are grateful for your patience with us; but I for one
cannot forget the warning of the Apostle: “God hath chosen the foolish
things of the world to confound the wise.”
PAPHNUTIUS. Whether a fool or a wise man does wrong, he will be
confounded.
DISCIPLES. True.
PAPHNUTIUS. Nor is God offended by Knowledge of the Knowable, only by
undue pride on the part of the Knower.
DISCIPLES. That is well said.
PAPHNUTIUS. And I would ask you—unto whose praise can the knowledge of
the arts be more worthily or more justly turned than to the praise of
Him Who made things capable of being known, and gave us the capacity to
know them?
DISCIPLES. Truly, to none.
PAPHNUTIUS. The more a man realizes the wonderful way in which God has
set all things in number and measure and weight, the more ardent his
love.
DISCIPLES. That is as it should be.
PAPHNUTIUS. But I am wrong to dwell on matters which give you so little
pleasure.
DISCIPLES. Tell us the cause of your sadness. Relieve us of the burden
of our curiosity.
PAPHNUTIUS. Perhaps you will not find the tale to your liking.
DISCIPLES. A man is often sadder for having his curiosity satisfied, yet
he cannot overcome this tendency to be curious. It is part of our
weakness.
PAPHNUTIUS. Brothers—there is a woman, a shameless woman, living in our
neighbourhood.
DISCIPLES. A perilous thing for the people.
PAPHNUTIUS. Her beauty is wonderful: her impurity is—horrible.
DISCIPLES. What is her wretched name?
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais.
DISCIPLES. Thais! Thais, the harlot!
PAPHNUTIUS. Yes—she.
DISCIPLE. Everyone has heard of her and her wickedness.
PAPHNUTIUS. It is no wonder, for she is not satisfied to ruin herself
with a small band of lovers. She seeks to allure all men through her
marvellous beauty, and drag them down with her.
DISCIPLES. What a woeful thing!
PAPHNUTIUS. And it is not only fools and wastrels who squander their
substance with her. Citizens of high standing and virtue lay precious
things at her feet, and enrich her to their own undoing.
DISCIPLES. It is terrible to hear of such things.
PAPHNUTIUS. Flocks of lovers crowd to her doors.
DISCIPLES. And to their destruction!
PAPHNUTIUS. They are so crazed with desire that they quarrel and fight
for admission to her house.
DISCIPLES. One vice brings another in its train.
PAPHNUTIUS. They come to blows. Heads are broken, faces bruised, noses
smashed; at times they drive each other out with weapons, and the
threshold of the vile place is dyed with blood!
DISCIPLES. Most horrible!
PAPHNUTIUS. This is the injury to the Creator for which I weep day and
night. This is the cause of my sorrow.
DISCIPLES. We understand now. You have good reason to be distressed, and
I doubt not that the citizens of the heavenly country share your grief.
PAPHNUTIUS. Oh, to rescue her from that wicked life! Why should I not
try?
DISCIPLES. God forbid!
PAPHNUTIUS. Brother, our Lord Jesus went among sinners.
DISCIPLES. She would not receive a hermit.
PAPHNUTIUS. What if I were to go in the disguise of a lover?
DISCIPLE. If that thought is from God, God will give you strength to
accomplish it.
PAPHNUTIUS. I will set out immediately. I shall need your best prayers.
Pray that I may not be overcome by the wiles of the serpent. Pray that I
may be able to show this soul the beauty of divine love.
DISCIPLE. May He Who laid low the Prince of Darkness give you the
victory over the enemy of the human race.
Scene II
PAPHNUTIUS. I am bewildered in this town. I cannot find my way. Now I
shut my eyes, and I am back in the desert. I can hear my children’s
voices praising God. Good children, I know you are praying for me! I
fear to speak. I fear to ask my way. O God, come to my help! I see some
young men in the marketplace. They are coming this way. I will go up to
them and ask where she is to be found.
THE YOUNG MEN. That stranger seems to want to speak to us.
YOUNG MAN. Let us go and find out.
PAPHNUTIUS. Your pardon, gentlemen. Am I speaking to citizens of this
town?
YOUNG MAN. You are. Can we do anything for you?
PAPHNUTIUS. My salutations!
YOUNG MAN. And ours, whether you are a native or a foreigner.
PAPHNUTIUS. I am a stranger.
YOUNG MAN. What brings you here? Have you come for pleasure, business,
or learning? This is a great city for learning. Which is it?
PAPHNUTIUS. I cannot say.
YOUNG MAN. Why?
PAPHNUTIUS. That is my secret.
YOUNG MAN. It would be wiser to tell us your secret. It will be
difficult for you, a stranger, to do your business here without the
advice of us citizens.
PAPHNUTIUS. But if I tell you, you may try to hinder me from carrying
out my plans.
YOUNG MAN. You can trust us. We are men of honour!
PAPHNUTIUS. I believe it. I will trust in your loyalty and tell you my
secret.
YOUNG MAN. We are not traitors. No harm shall come to you.
PAPHNUTIUS. I am told that there lives in this town a woman who loves
all who love her. She is kind to all men; she’ll not deny them anything.
YOUNG MAN. Stranger, you must tell us her name. There are many women of
that kind in our city. Do you know her name?
PAPHNUTIUS. Yes, I know it.
YOUNG MAN. Who is she?
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais.
YOUNG MAN. Thais! She is the flame of this land! She sets all hearts on
fire.
PAPHNUTIUS. They say she is beautiful. The most exquisite woman of her
kind in the world!
YOUNG MAN. They have not deceived you.
PAPHNUTIUS. For her sake I have made a long and difficult journey. I
have come here only to see her.
YOUNG MAN. Well, what should prevent you? You are young and handsome.
PAPHNUTIUS. Where does she live?
YOUNG MAN. Over there. Her house is quite near this place.
PAPHNUTIUS. That house?
YOUNG MAN. Yes, to the left of the statue.
PAPHNUTIUS. I will go there.
YOUNG MAN. If you like, we will come with you.
PAPHNUTIUS. I thank you for the courtesy, but I would rather go alone.
YOUNG MAN. We understand. Have you money in your purse, stranger? Thais
loves a handsome face, but she loves a full purse more.
PAPHNUTIUS. Gentlemen, I am rich. I have a rare present to offer her.
YOUNG MAN. To our next meeting, then! Farewell. May Thais be kind!
PAPHNUTIUS. Farewell.
Scene III
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais! Thais!
THAIS. Who is there? I do not know that voice.
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais! Your lover speaks! Thais!
THAIS. Stranger, who are you?
PAPHNUTIUS. Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come!
THAIS. Who are you?
PAPHNUTIUS. A man who loves you!
THAIS. And what do you want with me?
PAPHNUTIUS. I will show you.
THAIS. You would be my lover?
PAPHNUTIUS. I am your lover, Thais, flame of the world!
THAIS. Whoever loves me is well paid. He receives as much as he gives.
PAPHNUTIUS. Oh, Thais, Thais! If you knew what a long and troublesome
journey I have come to speak to you—to see your face!
THAIS. Well? Have I refused to speak to you, or to show you my face?
PAPHNUTIUS. I cannot speak to you here. I must be with you alone. What I
have to say is secret. The room must be secret too.
THAIS. How would you like a bedchamber, fragrant with perfumes, adorned
as for a marriage? I have such a room. Look!
PAPHNUTIUS. Is there no room still more secret—a room that your lovers
do not know? Some room where you and I might hide from all the world?
THAIS. Yes, there is a room like that in this house. No one even knows
that it exists except myself, and God.
PAPHNUTIUS. God! What God?
THAIS. The true God.
PAPHNUTIUS. You believe that He exists?
THAIS. I am a Christian.
PAPHNUTIUS. And you believe that He knows what we do?
THAIS. I believe He knows everything.
PAPHNUTIUS. What do you think, then? That He is indifferent to the
actions of the sinner, or that He reserves judgment?
THAIS. I suppose that the merits of each man are weighed in the balance,
and that we shall be punished or rewarded according to our deeds.
PAPHNUTIUS. O Christ! How wondrous is Thy patience! How wondrous is Thy
love! Even when those who believe in Thee sin deliberately, Thou dost
delay their destruction!
THAIS. Why do you tremble? Why do you turn pale? Why do you weep?
PAPHNUTIUS. I shudder at your presumption. I weep for your damnation.
How, knowing what you know, can you destroy men in this manner and ruin
so many souls, all precious and immortal?
THAIS. Your voice pierces my heart! Strange lover—you are cruel. Pity
me!
PAPHNUTIUS. Let us pity rather those souls whom you have deprived of the
sight of God—of the God Whom you confess! Oh, Thais, you have wilfully
offended the divine Majesty. That condemns you.
THAIS. What do you mean? Why do you threaten me like this?
PAPHNUTIUS. Because the punishment of hell-fire awaits you if you remain
in sin.
THAIS. Who are you, who rebuke me so sternly? Oh, you have shaken me to
the depths of my terrified heart!
PAPHNUTIUS. I would that you could be shaken with fear to your very
bowels! I would like to see your delicate body impregnated with terror
in every vein, and every fibre, if that would keep you from yielding to
the dangerous delights of the flesh.
THAIS. And what zest for pleasure do you think is left now in a heart
suddenly awakened to a consciousness of guilt! Remorse has killed
everything.
PAPHNUTIUS. I long to see the thorns of vice cut away, and the choked-up
fountain of your tears flowing once more. Tears of repentance are
precious in the sight of God.
THAIS. Oh, voice that promises mercy! Do you believe, can you hope that
one so vile as I, soiled by thousands and thousands of impurities, can
make reparation, can ever by any manner of penance obtain pardon?
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais, no sin is so great, no crime so black, that it cannot
be expiated by tears and penitence, provided they are followed up by
deeds.
THAIS. Show me, I beg you, my father, what I can do to be reconciled
with Him I have offended.
PAPHNUTIUS. Despise the world. Leave your dissolute lovers.
THAIS. And afterwards? What then?
PAPHNUTIUS. You must retire to some solitary place, where you may learn
to know yourself and realize the enormity of your sins.
THAIS. If you think this will save me, I will not delay a moment.
PAPHNUTIUS. I have no doubt it will.
THAIS. Yet give me a little time. I must collect the wealth that I have
gained through the sins of my body—all the treasures I have kept too
long.
PAPHNUTIUS. Do not give them a moment’s thought. There will be no lack
of people to find them and make use of them.
THAIS. I have another idea in my mind. I did not think of keeping this
wealth or of giving it to my friends. Nor would I distribute it among
the poor. The wages of sin are no material for good works.
PAPHNUTIUS. You are right. What then do you propose to do with your
possessions?
THAIS. Give them to the flames! Burn them to ashes!
PAPHNUTIUS. For what reason?
THAIS. That they may no longer exist in the world. Each one was acquired
at the cost of an injury to the goodness and beauty of the Creator. Let
them burn.
PAPHNUTIUS. How you are changed! Grace is on your lips! Your eyes are
calm, and impure passions no longer burn in them. Oh, miracle! Is this
Thais who was once so greedy for gold? Is this Thais, who seeks so
humbly the feet of God?
THAIS. God give me grace to change still more. My heart is changed, but
this mortal substance—how shall it be changed?
PAPHNUTIUS. It is not difficult for the unchangeable substance to
transform us.
THAIS. Now I am going to carry out my plan. Fire shall destroy
everything I have.
PAPHNUTIUS. Go in peace. Then return to me here quickly. Do not delay! I
trust your resolution, and yet—
THAIS. You need not be afraid.
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais, come back quickly! God be with you!
Scene IV
THAIS. Come, my lovers! Come, all my evil lovers! Hasten, my lovers!
Your Thais calls you!
LOVERS. That is the voice of Thais. She calls us. Let us make haste. Let
us make haste, for by delay we may offend her.
THAIS. Come, lovers! Run! Hasten! What makes you so slow? Never has
Thais been more impatient for your coming. Come nearer. I have something
to tell you all.
LOVERS. Oh, Thais, what is the meaning of this pile of faggots? Why are
you throwing all those beautiful and precious treasures on the pile?
THAIS. You cannot guess? You do not know why I have built this fire?
LOVERS. We are amazed. We wonder greatly what is the meaning of it and
of your strange looks.
THAIS. You would like me to tell you, evil lovers?
LOVERS. We long to hear.
THAIS. Look, then!
LOVERS. Stop, Thais! What are you doing? Are you mad?
THAIS. I am not mad. For the first time I am sane, and I rejoice!
LOVERS. To waste these pounds of gold, and all the other treasure! Oh,
Thais, you have lost your senses! These are beautiful things, precious
things, and you burn them!
THAIS. All these things I have extorted from you as the price of
shameful deeds. I burn them to destroy all hope in you that I shall ever
again turn to your love. And now I leave you.
LOVERS. Wait, Thais. Oh wait a little, and tell us what has changed you!
THAIS. I will not stay. I will not tell you anything. To talk with you
has become loathsome.
LOVERS. What have we done to deserve this scorn and contempt? Can you
accuse us of being unfaithful? What wrong have we done? We have always
sought to satisfy your desires. And now you show us this bitter hatred!
Unjust woman, what have we done?
THAIS. Leave me, or let me leave you. Do not touch me. You can tear my
garments, but you shall not touch me.
LOVERS. Cruel Thais, speak to us! Before you go, speak to us!
THAIS. I have sinned with you. But now is the end of sin, and all our
wild pleasures are ended.
LOVERS. Thais, do not leave us! Thais, where are you going?
THAIS. Where none of you will ever see me again!
LOVERS. What monstrous thing is this? Thais, glory of our land, is
changed! Thais, our delight, who loved riches and power and
luxury—Thais, who gave herself up to pleasure day and night, has
destroyed past remedy gold and gems that had no price! What monstrous
thing is this? Thais, the very flower of love, insults her lovers and
scorns their gifts. Thais, whose boast it was that whoever loved her
should enjoy her love! What monstrous thing is this? Thais! Thais! this
is a thing not to be believed.
Scene V
THAIS. Paphnutius, my father, I am ready now to obey you, command what
you will.
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais, I have been uneasy during your absence. I feared you
had been caught in the world’s snare. I feared you would not return.
THAIS. You need not have been afraid. The world does not tempt me now.
My possessions are ashes. I have publicly renounced my lovers.
PAPHNUTIUS. Oh, happy guilt that has brought such happy penitence! Since
you have renounced your earthly lovers, you can now be joined to your
Heavenly Lover.
THAIS. It is for you to show me the way. Be a lantern to me, for all is
obscure night.
PAPHNUTIUS. Trust me, daughter. Follow me.
THAIS. I can follow you with my feet. Would that I could follow you with
my deeds!
Scene VI
THAIS. Oh, I am weary!
PAPHNUTIUS. Courage! Here is the monastery where a famous community of
holy virgins live. I am anxious for you to pass the time of penance here
if you will consent.
THAIS. I do not resist. I wish to obey you. I trust you.
PAPHNUTIUS. I will go in, and persuade the Abbess who is the head of the
community to receive you.
THAIS. And what shall I do meanwhile? Do not leave me alone.
PAPHNUTIUS. You shall come with me. But look! The Abbess has come out to
meet us. I wonder who can have told her so promptly of our arrival.
THAIS. Rumour, Father Paphnutius. Rumour never delays.
Scene VII
PAPHNUTIUS. You come opportunely, illustrious Abbess. I was just seeking
you.
ABBESS. You are most welcome, venerated Father Paphnutius. Blessed is
your visit, beloved of the Most High.
PAPHNUTIUS. May the grace of Him Who is Father of all pour into your
heart the beatitude of everlasting peace!
ABBESS. And what has brought your holiness to my humble dwelling?
PAPHNUTIUS. I need your help.
ABBESS. Speak but the word. You will find me eager to do all in my power
to carry out your wishes.
PAPHNUTIUS. Oh, Abbess, I have brought you a little wild gazelle who has
been snatched half dead from the jaws of wolves. Show it compassion,
nurse it with all your tenderness, until it has shed its rough goatskin
and put on the soft fleece of a lamb.
ABBESS. Explain yourself further.
PAPHNUTIUS. You see this woman. From her youth she has led the life of a
harlot. She has given herself up to base pleasures—
ABBESS. What misery!
PAPHNUTIUS. She cannot offer the excuse that she was a Pagan to whom
such pleasures bring no remorse of conscience. She wore the baptismal
robes of a child of God when she gave herself to the flames of profane
love. She was not tempted. She chose this evil life. She was ruined by
her own will.
ABBESS. She is the more unfortunate.
PAPHNUTIUS. Yet such is the power of Christ, that at His word, of which
my poor mouth was the instrument, she has fled from the surroundings
which were her damnation. Obedient as a child, she has followed me. She
has abandoned lust and ease and idle luxury. She is resolved to live
chastely.
ABBESS. Glory to the Author of the marvellous change!
PAPHNUTIUS. Amen. But since the maladies of the soul, like those of the
body, need physic for their cure, we must minister to this soul diseased
by years of lust. It must be removed from the foul breath of the world.
A narrow cell, solitude, silence—these must be her lot henceforth. She
must learn to know herself and her sins.
ABBESS. You are right. Such a penance is necessary.
PAPHNUTIUS. Will you give orders for a little cell to be made ready as
soon as possible?
ABBESS. Yes, my father. It shall be done as quickly as we can.
PAPHNUTIUS. There must be no entrance, no opening of any kind, except a
small window through which she can receive the food that will be brought
her on certain days at certain fixed hours. A pound of bread, and water
according to her need.
ABBESS. Forgive me, dear father in God, but I fear she will not be able
to endure such a rigorous life. The soul may be willing, but that
fastidious mind, that delicate body used to luxury, how can we expect
them to submit?
PAPHNUTIUS. Have no fear. We know that grave sin demands a grave remedy.
ABBESS. That is true, yet are we not told also to hasten slowly?
PAPHNUTIUS. Good mother, I am already weary of delay. What if her lovers
should pursue her? What if she be drawn back into the abyss? I am
impatient to see her enclosed.
ABBESS. Nothing stands in the way of your enclosing her now. The cell
which you told us to prepare is ready.
PAPHNUTIUS. Then enter, Thais! This is just such a refuge as we spoke of
on our journey. It is the very place for you. There is room and more
than room here for you to weep over your sins.
THAIS. How small it is! How dark! How can a delicate woman live in such
a place?
PAPHNUTIUS. You are not pleased with your new dwelling! You shudder at
the thought of entering! Oh, Thais, have you not wandered long enough
without restraint? Is it not right that you should now be confined in
this narrow, solitary cell, where you will find true freedom?
THAIS. I have been so long accustomed to pleasure and distraction. My
mind is still a slave to the senses.
PAPHNUTIUS. The more need to rein it, to discipline it, until it ceases
to rebel.
THAIS. I do not rebel—but my weakness revolts against one thing here.
PAPHNUTIUS. Of what do you speak?
THAIS. I am ashamed to say.
PAPHNUTIUS. Speak, Thais! Be ashamed of nothing but your sins.
THAIS. Good father, what could be more repugnant than to have to attend
to all the needs of the body in this one little room. … It will soon be
uninhabitable.
PAPHNUTIUS. Fear the cruel punishments of the soul, and cease to dread
transitory evils.
THAIS. My weakness makes me shudder.
PAPHNUTIUS. The sweetness of your guilty pleasures was far more bitter
and foul.
THAIS. I know it is just. What grieves me most is that I shall not have
one clean sweet spot in which to call upon the sweet name of God.
PAPHNUTIUS. Have a care, Thais, or your confidence may become
presumption. Should polluted lips utter so easily the name of the
unpolluted Godhead?
THAIS. Oh, how can I hope for pardon! Who will pity me—who save me! What
shall I do if I am forbidden to invoke Him against Whom only I have
sinned! To whom should I pray if not to Him.
PAPHNUTIUS. You must indeed pray to Him, but with tears, not with words.
Let not a tinkling voice, but the mighty roar of a contrite heart sound
in the ear of God.
THAIS. I desire His pardon. Surely I may ask for it?
PAPHNUTIUS. Oh, Thais, the more perfectly you humble yourself, the more
swiftly you will win it! Let your heart be all prayer, but let your lips
say only this: “O God Who made me, pity me!”
THAIS. O God, Who made me, pity me! He alone can save me from defeat in
this hard struggle!
PAPHNUTIUS. Fight manfully, and you will gain a glorious victory.
THAIS. It is your part to pray for me! Pray I may earn the victor’s
palm.
PAPHNUTIUS. You need not remind me.
THAIS. Give me some hope!
PAPHNUTIUS. Courage! The palm will soon be in this humble hand. It is
time for me to return to the desert. I owe a duty to my dear disciples.
I know their hearts are torn by my absence. Yes. I must go. Venerable
Abbess, I trust this captive to our charity and tenderness. I beg you to
take the best care of her. Sustain her delicate body with necessaries.
Refresh her soul with the luxuries of divine knowledge.
ABBESS. Have no anxiety about her, for I will cherish her with a
mother’s love and tenderness.
PAPHNUTIUS. I go then.
ABBESS. In peace.
Scene VIII
DISCIPLES. Who knocks there?
PAPHNUTIUS. It is I—your father.
DISCIPLES. It is the voice of our father Paphnutius!
PAPHNUTIUS. Unbolt the door.
DISCIPLE. Good father, welcome.
ALL. Welcome, father! Welcome!
PAPHNUTIUS. A blessing on you all!
DISCIPLE. You have given us great uneasiness by your long absence.
PAPHNUTIUS. It has been fruitful.
DISCIPLE. Your mission has succeeded? Come, tell us what has happened to
Thais.
PAPHNUTIUS. All that I wished.
DISCIPLE. She has abandoned her evil life?
PAPHNUTIUS. Yes.
DISCIPLE. Where is she living now?
PAPHNUTIUS. She weeps over her sins in a little cell.
DISCIPLES. Praise be to the Supreme Trinity!
PAPHNUTIUS. A little narrow cell, no wider than a grave. Blessed be His
Terrible Name now and for ever.
DISCIPLES. Amen.
Scene IX
PAPHNUTIUS. Three years of her penance are over, and I cannot tell
whether her sorrow has found favour with God. For some reason He will
not enlighten me. I know what I will do. I will go to my brother Antony
and beg him to intercede for me. God will make the truth known to him.
Scene X
ANTONY. Who comes this way? By his dress it is some brother-dweller in
the desert. My old eyes do not recognize you yet, friend. Come nearer.
PAPHNUTIUS. Brother Antony! Do you not know me?
ANTONY. This is joy indeed! What pleasures God sends us, when we resign
ourselves to have none! I did not think to see my brother Paphnutius
again in this world. Is it indeed you, brother?
PAPHNUTIUS. Yes, it is I.
ANTONY. You are welcome, very welcome. Your coming gives me great joy.
PAPHNUTIUS. I am no less rejoiced to see you.
ANTONY. But what is the cause? What has brought Paphnutius from his
solitary retreat? He is not sick, I trust? He has not come to old Antony
for healing?
PAPHNUTIUS. No, I am in good health.
ANTONY. That’s well! I am glad of it.
PAPHNUTIUS. Brother Antony, it is three years since my peace was broken
and disturbed by the persistent vision of a soul in peril. I heard a
voice calling me night and day. But I stopped my ears—fearing my
weakness. I thought “She calls me to ruin me.” “No, no,” the voice said.
“I call you to save me.”
ANTONY. A woman’s voice!
PAPHNUTIUS. Before my vision it was well known to us all that in the
great town on the edge of the desert there was a harlot called Thais,
through whom many were destroyed body and soul.
ANTONY. It was she who called you!
PAPHNUTIUS. Brother Antony, it was God who called me. My disciples
opposed me; nevertheless I went to the town to see Thais and wrestle
with the demon.
ANTONY. A perilous enterprise.
PAPHNUTIUS. I went to her in the disguise of a lover, and began by
flattering her with sweet words. Then I threw off the mask and brought
terror to her soul with bitter reproaches and threats of God’s
punishment.
ANTONY. A prudent course. Hard words are necessary when natures have
grown soft and can no longer distinguish between good and evil.
PAPHNUTIUS. I was disarmed by her docility. Truly, brother Antony, my
heart melted like wax when she spurned her ill-gotten wealth and
abandoned her lovers.
ANTONY. But you hid your tenderness?
PAPHNUTIUS. Yes, Brother Antony.
ANTONY. What followed?
PAPHNUTIUS. She chose to live in chastity. She consented to be enclosed
in a narrow cell. She accepted her penance with sweetness and humility.
ANTONY. I am rejoiced by what you have told me! All the blood in my old
veins exults and rejoices!
PAPHNUTIUS. That is because you are a saint.
ANTONY. Brother, you cannot mean that you are sad?
PAPHNUTIUS. I rejoice immeasurably in her conversion. Yet at times I am
uneasy. I fear that the penance may have been too long and severe for a
woman of such delicate frame.
ANTONY. That does you no wrong. Where true love is, loving compassion is
not wanting.
PAPHNUTIUS. I came to beg yours for Thais. Of your charity give me your
prayers. I beg you and your disciples to join with me in praying for a
sign. Let us persevere in prayer until it is shown us from heaven that
the penitent’s tears have moved the divine mercy to indulgence.
ANTONY. Brother Paphnutius, I have never granted a request more gladly.
Come, we will gather together my disciples.
PAPHNUTIUS. I know that God will listen to his good servant Antony.
Scene XI
ANTONY. Thanks be to God! The gospel’s promise is fulfilled in us!
PAPHNUTIUS. What promise, blessed Antony?
ANTONY. Those who unite in prayer can obtain whatever they desire.
PAPHNUTIUS. What miracle has happened? What is it?
ANTONY. My disciple Paul has had a vision.
PAPHNUTIUS. What vision? Oh, call him!
ANTONY. He is here. Paul, my son, tell our brother, Paphnutius, the
wonders you have seen.
PAUL. Father, I saw in my vision a splendid bed. It was adorned with
white hangings and coverings, and a crown was laid on it, and round it
were four radiant virgins. They stood there as if they were guarding the
crown. There was a great brightness round the bed, and a multitude of
angels. I, seeing this wonderful and joyful sight, cried out, “This
glory must be for my master and father Antony!”
ANTONY. Son, did you not know Antony was unworthy of such honour?
PAUL. But a divine voice answered me, saying, “This glory is prepared,
not, as you think, for Antony, but for the harlot, Thais!”
PAPHNUTIUS. O sweet Christ! How shall I praise Thee for so lovingly
sending comfort to my sad heart?
ANTONY. He is worthy to be praised.
PAPHNUTIUS. Then farewell, Brother Antony. I must go at once to my
captive.
ANTONY. You must indeed. It is time her valiant penance ended. You
should assure her that her pardon is complete; you should fill her with
hope, and speak to her only of the beatitude in store for her.
PAPHNUTIUS. Your blessing.
Scene XII
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais, my little daughter! Thais! Open the window and let me
see you.
THAIS. Who speaks?
PAPHNUTIUS. Paphnutius.
THAIS. Why should you visit a poor sinner? Why should I be given this
great joy and happiness?
PAPHNUTIUS. These years that I have been absent from you in the body
have been weary to me too. I have thought of you night and day. I have
yearned for your salvation.
THAIS. I never doubted that.
PAPHNUTIUS. Tell me how things are with you. How have you lived here?
What have you been doing?
THAIS. Nothing worth the telling! I have nothing to offer God.
PAPHNUTIUS. The offering He loves best is a humble spirit.
THAIS. All I have done is to gather up the many sins on my conscience
into a mighty bundle and keep them always in mind. All day I have sat
gazing towards the East, saying only this one prayer: “O God Who made
me, pity me!” If my bodily senses have always been conscious of the
offensiveness of this place, my heart’s eyes have never been blind to
the dreadfulness of hell.
PAPHNUTIUS. Your great penitence has won a great forgiveness. Yet God
has not pardoned you for your valiant expiation so much as for the love
with which you have given yourself to Christ.
THAIS. Can that be true? Would that it were!
PAPHNUTIUS. Give me your hand. Let me bring you out of your cell to
prove you are forgiven.
THAIS. No, father, leave me here. This place with all its uncleanness is
best for me.
PAPHNUTIUS. The time has come for you to cast away your fear, and hope
for life! God wishes your penance to end.
THAIS. Let the angels praise Him! He has not despised the love of a
humble sinner.
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais, would you rejoice if now you were called upon to lay
aside this body?
THAIS. Oh, father, my soul longs to escape from this earth.
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais, you have finished your course here. In fifteen days
you will, by God’s grace, pass straight to Paradise.
THAIS. To Paradise! I should be happy if I might be spared hell’s
torments and be mercifully cleansed in a gentle fire until my spirit is
fit for the eternal happiness.
PAPHNUTIUS. Grace is the free gift of God and does not depend on our
merits. If it did, it could not be called grace.
THAIS. For this let the choirs of heaven praise Him, and all the little
twigs and fresh green leaves on earth, all animals, and the great
waters. He is patient with us when we fall! He is generous in His gifts
when we repent.
PAPHNUTIUS. He loves to be merciful. From all eternity He has preferred
pardon to punishment.
Scene XIII
THAIS. Holy father, do not leave me. Be near to comfort me in this hour
of my death.
PAPHNUTIUS. I will not leave you, Thais, until your soul has taken
flight to the stars, and I have buried your body.
THAIS. I feel the end is near. Brother, do not leave me!
PAPHNUTIUS. Now is the time to pray.
THAIS. O God Who made me, pity me! Grant that the soul which Thou didst
breathe into me may now happily return to Thee. O God Who made me, pity
me!
PAPHNUTIUS. Thais! Thais! Oh, loving humble spirit, pass to thy glory! …
Angels lead her into Paradise! … O uncreated Beauty, existing in Truth
without material form, grant that the divers parts of this human body
now to be dissolved may return to their original elements! Grant that
the soul, given from on high, may soar into light and joy, and that the
body may be cherished peacefully in the soft lap of the earth until that
day when, the ashes being brought together again, and the life-giving
sap restored to the veins, this same Thais may rise again, a perfect
human being as before, and take her place among the glorious white flock
who shall be led into the joy of eternity! Grant this, O Thou Who alone
art what Thou art—Who livest and reignest and art glorious in the Unity
and perfect Trinity through infinite ages!
SAPIENTIA
Argument
The martyrdom of the holy virgins Faith, Hope, and Charity, who are put
to the torture by the Emperor Hadrian and slain in the presence of their
mother Sapientia, she encouraging them by her admonitions to bear their
sufferings. After their death the holy mother recovers the bodies of her
children, embalms them with spices, and buries them with honour about
five miles outside the city of Rome.
Forty days later the spirit of Sapientia takes its flight to heaven
while she is still praying by her children’s graves.
Characters
- ANTIOCHUS.
- HADRIAN.
- SAPIENTIA.
- FAITH.
- HOPE.
- CHARITY.
- MATRONS.
Sapientia
Scene I
ANTIOCHUS. My Lord Emperor, what desire has your servant but to see you
powerful and prosperous? What ambition apart from the welfare and peace
and greatness of the state you rule? So when I discover anything that
threatens the commonwealth or your peace of mind I try to crush it
before it has taken root.
HADRIAN. In this you show discretion, Antiochus. Our prosperity means
your advantage. Witness the honours that we never tire of heaping on
you.
ANTIOCHUS. Your Grace’s welfare is so dear to me that I do not seek to
disguise what is hostile to your interests, but immediately bring it to
your notice and denounce it!
HADRIAN. Do you praise yourself for this? If you withheld such
information you would be guilty of treason to our Imperial Majesty.
ANTIOCHUS. I have never been disloyal.
HADRIAN. I do not question it. Come, if you have discovered some new
danger, make it known to us.
ANTIOCHUS. A certain alien woman has recently come to this city with her
three children.
HADRIAN. Of what sex are the children?
ANTIOCHUS. They are all girls.
HADRIAN. And you think that a handful of women threaten danger to the
state?
ANTIOCHUS. I do, and very grave danger.
HADRIAN. Of what kind?
ANTIOCHUS. A disturbance of the peace.
HADRIAN. How?
ANTIOCHUS. What disturbs the peace and harmony of states more than
religious differences?
HADRIAN. I grant you that. The whole Roman Empire witnesses to the
serious troubles they can cause. The body politic is infected by the
corpses of slaughtered Christians.
ANTIOCHUS. This woman of whom I speak is urging the people of this
country to abandon the religion of their fathers and embrace the
Christian faith.
HADRIAN. But have her words any effect?
ANTIOCHUS. Indeed they have. Our wives hate and scorn us to such an
extent that they will not deign to eat with us, still less share our
beds.
HADRIAN. This is a real danger, I admit.
ANTIOCHUS. You must protect yourself.
HADRIAN. That stands to reason. Let the woman be brought before me, and
I will examine her and see what can be done.
ANTIOCHUS. You wish me to summon her?
HADRIAN. I have said it.
Scene II
ANTIOCHUS. Foreign woman, what is your name?
SAPIENTIA. Sapientia.
ANTIOCHUS. The Emperor Hadrian orders you to present yourself at the
palace.
SAPIENTIA. I am not afraid to go. I have a noble escort in my daughters.
Nor do I tremble at the thought of meeting your scowling Emperor face to
face.
ANTIOCHUS. It is the way of you Christian rabble to defy authority.
SAPIENTIA. We acknowledge the authority of Him Who rules the world; we
know that He will not let His subjects be vanquished.
ANTIOCHUS. Not so much talk. To the palace.
SAPIENTIA. Go before us and show the way. We will follow you.
Scene III
ANTIOCHUS. That is the Emperor you see there, seated on his throne. Be
careful what you say to him.
SAPIENTIA. The word of Christ forbids us to take thought as to what we
ought to say. His wisdom is sufficient for us.
HADRIAN. Are you there, Antiochus?
ANTIOCHUS. At your service, my lord.
HADRIAN. Are these the women whom you have arrested on account of their
Christian opinions?
ANTIOCHUS. Yes, lord.
HADRIAN. I am amazed at their beauty; I cannot help admiring their noble
and dignified manner.
ANTIOCHUS. Waste no time in admiring them, my lord. Make them worship
the gods.
HADRIAN. It would be wiser to ask it as a favour to me at first. Then
they may yield.
ANTIOCHUS. That may be best. This frail sex is easily moved by flattery.
HADRIAN. Noble matron, if you desire to enjoy my friendship, I ask you
in all gentleness to join me in an act of worship of the gods.
SAPIENTIA. We have no desire for your friendship. And we refuse to
worship your gods.
HADRIAN. You will try in vain to rouse my anger. I feel no indignation
against you. I appeal to you and your daughters as lovingly as if I were
their own father.
SAPIENTIA. My children are not to be cozened by such diabolical
flattery. They scorn it as I do.
FAITH. Yes, and laugh at it in our hearts.
ANTIOCHUS. What are you muttering there?
SAPIENTIA. I was speaking to my daughters.
HADRIAN. I judge from appearances that you are of noble race, but I
would know more—to what country and family you belong, and your name.
SAPIENTIA. Although we take no pride in it, I come of noble stock.
HADRIAN. That is easy to believe.
SAPIENTIA. My parents were princes of Greece, and I am called Sapientia.
HADRIAN. The splendour of your ancestry is blazoned in your face, and
the wisdom of your name sparkles on your lips.
SAPIENTIA. You need not waste your breath in flattering us. We are not
to be conquered by fair speeches.
HADRIAN. Why have you left your own people and come to live here?
SAPIENTIA. For no other reason than that we wished to know the truth. I
came to learn more of the faith which you persecute, and to consecrate
my daughters to Christ.
HADRIAN. Tell me their names.
SAPIENTIA. The eldest is called Faith, the second Hope, the youngest
Charity.
HADRIAN. And how old are they?
SAPIENTIA. What do you say, children? Shall I puzzle his dull brain with
some problems in arithmetic?
FAITH. Do, mother. It will give us joy to hear you.
SAPIENTIA. As you wish to know the ages of my children, O Emperor,
Charity has lived a diminished evenly even number of years; Hope a
number also diminished, but evenly uneven; and Faith an augmented
number, unevenly even.
HADRIAN. Your answer leaves me in ignorance.
SAPIENTIA. That is not surprising, since not one number, but many, come
under this definition.
HADRIAN. Explain more clearly, otherwise how can I follow you?
SAPIENTIA. Charity has now completed two olympiads, Hope two lustres,
and Faith three olympiads.
HADRIAN. I am curious to know why the number “8,” which is two
olympiads, and the number “10,” which is two lustres, are called
“diminished”; also why the number “12,” which is made up of three
olympiads, is said to be “augmented.”
SAPIENTIA. Every number is said to be “diminished” the parts of which
when added together give a sum which is less than the number of which
they are parts. Such a number is 8. For the half of 8 is 4, the quarter
of 8 is 2, and the eighth of 8 is 1; and these added together give 7. It
is the same with 10. Its half is 5, its fifth part 2, its tenth part 1,
and these added together give 8. On the other hand, a number is said to
be “augmented” when its parts added together exceed it. Such, for
instance, is 12. Its half is 6, its third 4, its fourth 3, its sixth 2,
its twelfth 1, and the sum of these figures 16. And in accordance with
the principle which decrees that between all excesses shall rule the
exquisite proportion of the mean, that number is called “perfect” the
sum of the parts of which is equal to its whole. Such a number is 6,
whose parts—a third, a half, and a sixth—added together, come to 6. For
the same reason 28, 496, and 8000 are called “perfect.”
HADRIAN. And what of the other numbers?
SAPIENTIA. They are all either augmented or diminished.
HADRIAN. And that “evenly even” number of which you spoke?
SAPIENTIA. That is one which can be divided into two equal parts, and
these parts again into two equal parts, and so on in succession until we
come to indivisible unity: 8 and 16 and all numbers obtained by doubling
them are examples.
HADRIAN. Continue. We have not heard yet of the “evenly uneven” number.
SAPIENTIA. One which can be divided by two, but the parts of which after
that are indivisible: 10 is such a number, and all others obtained by
doubling odd numbers. They differ from the “evenly even” numbers because
in them only the minor term can be divided, whereas in the “evenly even”
the major term is also capable of division. In the first type, too, all
the parts are evenly even in name and in quantity, whereas in the second
type when the division is even the quotient is uneven, and vice versa.
HADRIAN. I am not familiar with these terms, and divisors and quotients
alike mean nothing to me.[10]
SAPIENTIA. When numbers of any magnitude are set down in order, the
first set down is called the “minor term” and the last the “major.”
When, in making a division, we say by how many the number is to be
divided, we give the “divisor,” but when we enumerate how many there are
in each of the parts we set forth the “quotient.”
HADRIAN. And the “unevenly even” numbers?
SAPIENTIA. They, like the “evenly even,” can be halved, not only once,
but sometimes twice, thrice, and even four times, but not down to
indivisible unity.
HADRIAN. Little did I think that a simple question as to the age of
these children could give rise to such an intricate and unprofitable
dissertation.
SAPIENTIA. It would be unprofitable if it did not lead us to appreciate
the wisdom of our Creator, and the wonderous knowledge of the Author of
the world, Who in the beginning created the world out of nothing, and
set everything in number, measure, and weight, and then, in time and the
age of man, formulated a science which reveals fresh wonders the more we
study it.
HADRIAN. I had my reasons for enduring your lecture with patience. I
hope to persuade you to submit.
SAPIENTIA. To what?
HADRIAN. To worshipping the gods.
SAPIENTIA. That we can never do.
HADRIAN. Take warning. If you are obstinate, you will be put to the
torture.
SAPIENTIA. It is in your power to kill the body, but you will not
succeed in harming the soul.
ANTIOCHUS. The day has passed, and the night is falling. This is no time
to argue. Supper is ready.
HADRIAN. Let these women be taken to the prison near our palace, and
give them three days to reflect.
ANTIOCHUS. Soldiers, see that these women are well guarded and given no
chance of escape.
Scene IV
SAPIENTIA. Oh, my dearest ones! My beloved children! Do not let this
narrow prison sadden you. Do not be frightened by the threat of
sufferings to come.
FAITH. Our weak bodies may dread the torture, but our souls look forward
with joy to the reward.
SAPIENTIA. You are only children, but your understanding is ripe and
strong. It will triumph over your tender years.
HOPE. You must help us with your prayers. Then we shall conquer.
SAPIENTIA. This I pray without ceasing, this I implore—that you may
stand firm in the faith which I instilled into you while you were
infants at my breast.
CHARITY. Can we forget what we learned there? Never.
SAPIENTIA. I gave you milk. I nourished and cherished you, that I might
wed you to a heavenly bridegroom, not to an earthly one. I trusted that
for your dear sakes I might be deemed worthy of being received into the
family of the Eternal King.
FAITH. For His love we are all ready to die.
SAPIENTIA. Oh, children, your words are sweeter to me than nectar!
HOPE. When we come before the tribunal you will see what courage our
love will give us.
SAPIENTIA. Your mother will be crowned by your virginity and glorified
by your martyrdom.
CHARITY. Let us go hand in hand to the tyrant and make him feel ashamed.
SAPIENTIA. We must wait till the hour comes when we are summoned.
FAITH. We chafe at the delay, but we must be patient.
Scene V
HADRIAN. Antiochus, bring the Greek prisoners before us.
ANTIOCHUS. Step forward, Sapientia. The Emperor has asked for you and
your daughters.
SAPIENTIA. Walk with me bravely, children, and persevere with one mind
in the faith. Think only of the happiness before you—of the martyr’s
palm.
HOPE. We are ready. And He is with us for Whose love we are to be led to
death.
HADRIAN. The three days’ respite which of our clemency we granted you is
over. If you have profited by it, obey our commands.
SAPIENTIA. We have profited by it. It has strengthened our determination
not to yield.
ANTIOCHUS. It is beneath your dignity to bandy words with this obstinate
woman. Have you not had enough of her insolence and presumption?
HADRIAN. Am I to send her away unpunished?
ANTIOCHUS. By no means.
HADRIAN. What then?
ANTIOCHUS. Address yourself to the little girls. If they defy you, do
not spare them because of their tender years, but have them put to
death. That will teach their obstinate mother a lesson.
HADRIAN. I will do as you advise.
ANTIOCHUS. This way you will succeed.
HADRIAN. Faith, there is the venerated statue of the great Diana. Carry
a libation to the holy goddess, and you will win her favour.
FAITH. What a foolish man the Emperor must be to give such an order!
HADRIAN. What are you muttering there? Behave yourself and do not laugh.
FAITH. How can I help laughing? Such a lack of wisdom is ludicrous.
HADRIAN. Whose lack of wisdom?
FAITH. Why, yours!
ANTIOCHUS. You dare to speak to the Emperor so!
FAITH. I speak the truth.
ANTIOCHUS. This is not to be endured!
FAITH. What is it but folly to tell us to insult the Creator of the
world and worship a bit of metal!
ANTIOCHUS. This girl is crazy—a raving lunatic! She calls the ruler of
the world a fool!
FAITH. I have said it, and I am ready to repeat it. I shall not take
back my words as long as I live.
ANTIOCHUS. That will not be long. You deserve to die at once for such
impudence.
FAITH. I wish for nothing better than death in Christ.
HADRIAN. Enough of this! Let ten centurions take turns in flaying her
with scourges.
ANTIOCHUS. She deserves it.
HADRIAN. Most valiant centurions, approach, and wipe out the insult
which has been offered us.
ANTIOCHUS. That is the way.
HADRIAN. Ask her now, Antiochus, if she will yield.
ANTIOCHUS. Faith, will you now withdraw your insults to the Imperial
Majesty, and promise not to repeat them?
FAITH. Why now?
ANTIOCHUS. The scourging should have brought you to your senses.
FAITH. These whips cannot silence me, as they do not hurt at all.
ANTIOCHUS. Cursed obstinacy! Was there ever such insolence?
HADRIAN. Although her body weakens under the chastisement, her spirit is
still swollen with pride.
FAITH. Hadrian, you are wrong. It is not I who am weakening, but your
executioners. They sweat and faint with fatigue.
HADRIAN. Antiochus, tell them to cut the nipples off her breasts. The
shame will cow her.
ANTIOCHUS. I care not about the means, so long as she is forced to
yield.
FAITH. You have wounded my pure breast, but you have not hurt me. And
look! Instead of blood a stream of milk gushes from my wounds.
HADRIAN. Put her on a gridiron, and let fire be placed beneath so that
she may be roasted to death.
ANTIOCHUS. She deserves a terrible death for her boldness in defying
you.
FAITH. All you do to cause me suffering is a source of bliss to me. I am
as happy on this gridiron as if it were a little boat at sea!
HADRIAN. Bring a brazier full of pitch and wax, and place it on the
fire. Then fling this rebellious girl into the boiling liquid.
FAITH. I will leap into it joyfully of my own accord.
HADRIAN. So be it.
FAITH. I laugh at your threats. Look! Am I hurt? I am swimming merrily
in the boiling pitch. Its fierce heat seems as cool to me as the morning
dew.
HADRIAN. Antiochus, what can we do with her?
ANTIOCHUS. She must not escape.
HADRIAN. She shall be beheaded.
ANTIOCHUS. That seems the only way of conquering her.
FAITH. Now let my soul rejoice and exult in the Lord.
SAPIENTIA. O Christ, invincible Conqueror of Satan, give my child,
Faith, endurance to the end!
FAITH. Holy and dear mother, say a last farewell to your daughter. Kiss
your firstborn, but do not mourn for me, for my hands are outstretched
to the reward of eternity.
SAPIENTIA. Oh, my daughter, my darling dear, I am not dismayed—I am not
distressed! I bid you farewell rejoicing. I kiss your mouth and eyes,
weeping for joy. My only prayer is that beneath the executioner’s sword
you may keep the mystery of your name inviolate.
FAITH. Oh, my sisters, born of the same womb, give me the kiss of peace,
and prepare yourselves for the struggle!
HOPE. Help us with your prayers. Pray with all your might that we may be
found worthy to follow in your footsteps.
FAITH. Listen to the words of our holy mother. She has always taught us
to despise the things of earth that we may gain those which are eternal.
CHARITY. We shall obey her in everything. We want to be worthy of
eternal joy.
FAITH. Come, executioner, do your duty, and put an end to my life.
SAPIENTIA. I embrace the severed head of my dead child, and as I cover
it with kisses I praise Thee, O Christ, Who hast given the victory to a
little maid.
HADRIAN. Hope, listen to me. Believe me, I advise you with fatherly
affection.
HOPE. What advice do you give me?
HADRIAN. I beg you not to imitate your misguided sister. I would not
have you undergo the same torture.
HOPE. Would that I were worthy to imitate her sufferings, and so win a
reward like hers!
HADRIAN. Do not harden your young heart, but give way and burn incense
before great Diana. Then I will adopt you as my own child, and love you
most tenderly.
HOPE. I should not care to have you for a father, and I want no favours
from you. You deceive yourself with vain hopes if you suppose that I
shall submit.
HADRIAN. Be more careful in your speech or you will make me angry.
HOPE. Be angry. What is it to me?
ANTIOCHUS. I am amazed, Augustus, that you should tolerate for a moment
such insolence from a pert little child! I boil with indignation that
she should be allowed such licence.
HADRIAN. I wished to be merciful to her youth, but I can no longer be
indulgent. She shall be punished as she deserves.
ANTIOCHUS. I wish that were possible.
HADRIAN. Come, lictors, and scourge this little rebel to death with your
heaviest rods.
ANTIOCHUS. She deserves to feel the full weight of your anger, as she
has mocked your gracious clemency.
HOPE. Here is the only clemency for which I long—here the only mercy I
crave.
ANTIOCHUS. Sapientia, what are you murmuring there, standing with
uplifted eyes by the body of your dead child?
SAPIENTIA. I am imploring Almighty God to give Hope the same firm
courage that He gave Faith.
HOPE. Oh, mother, mother! How wonderful are your prayers! Even as you
prayed the uplifted hands of the panting executioners became powerless.
I have not felt a twinge of pain.
HADRIAN. So you do not mind scourging! We will try some sharper torture.
HOPE. The most savage and deadly you can invent! The more cruelty you
show the greater will be your humiliation.
HADRIAN. Let her be suspended in the air, and lacerated with nails until
her bowels gush forth, and the skin is stripped from her bones. Break
her to pieces limb by limb.
ANTIOCHUS. That order is worthy of an emperor. The punishment fits the
crime.
HOPE. Oh, Antiochus, you are as crafty as a fox, but you flatter with
the cunning of a chameleon.
ANTIOCHUS. Be quiet, you wretch! I thank the gods you will soon not have
a mouth to prattle with.
HOPE. It will not be as you hope. Both you and your master will be put
to confusion.
HADRIAN. What is this strange sweetness in the air? If I am not mistaken
a marvellous perfume fills the room.
HOPE. O Emperor, the torn shreds of my flesh are giving forth a heavenly
fragrance to make you admit that you have no power to hurt me by
torture!
HADRIAN. Antiochus, advise me.
ANTIOCHUS. We must think of some other punishment.
HADRIAN. Put in the brazier a vessel full of oil and wax and pitch. Bind
her and throw her in.
ANTIOCHUS. Yes, she will not find it so easy to escape from Vulcan.
HOPE. Christ has before now made fire grow mild and change its nature.
HADRIAN. Antiochus, what is that sound? I seem to hear a noise like that
of rushing waters.
ANTIOCHUS. My lord! My lord!
HADRIAN. What has happened?
ANTIOCHUS. The boiling fire has burst the cauldron! It has overflowed
and consumed every man near it. Only the vile witch who caused the
disaster has escaped unhurt.
HADRIAN. It seems we are worsted.
ANTIOCHUS. Yes, we can do nothing.
HADRIAN. She must be beheaded like the other.
ANTIOCHUS. By the sword only can she be destroyed.
HOPE. Charity, my dear, my only sister, have no fear of the tyrant’s
threats, and do not wince at the thought of suffering. Be strong in
faith, and strive to follow the example of your sisters who are going
before you to the palace of heaven.
CHARITY. I am weary of this earth. I do not want to be separated from
you even for a short time.
HOPE. Have courage! Stretch out your hands to the palm. We shall be
separated only for a moment. Soon, very soon, we shall be together in
heaven.
CHARITY. Soon! Soon!
HOPE. Be joyful, noble mother! Do not grieve for me. You should laugh,
not weep, to see me die for Christ.
SAPIENTIA. Indeed I do rejoice, but my joy will be full only when your
little sister has followed you, slain in the same way—and when my turn
comes, mine last of all.
HOPE. The blessed Trinity will give you back your three children.
SAPIENTIA. Courage, my child! The executioner comes towards us with
drawn sword.
HOPE. Welcome, sword! Do Thou, O Christ, receive my soul driven from its
bodily mansion for the confession of Thy Name.
SAPIENTIA. Oh, Charity, lovely offspring of my womb, the one hope of my
bosom, do not disappoint your mother who expects you to win this last
fight! Despise safety now, and you will attain the same glory which
shines on your sisters, and, like them, wear the crown of unspotted
virginity.
CHARITY. Support me with your holy prayers, mother. Pray that I may be
worthy to share their joy.
SAPIENTIA. Stand fast in the faith to the end, and your reward will be
an everlasting holiday.
HADRIAN. Now, little Charity. Your sisters’ insolence has exhausted my
patience and exasperated me. I want no more long speeches. I shall not
waste much time on you. Obey my commands, and you shall enjoy all the
good things this life has to offer. Disobey, and evil will fall on you.
CHARITY. I long for the good things. I will not have the evil.
HADRIAN. That pleases me, and you shall profit by it. I will be
indulgent and set you an easy task.
CHARITY. What is it?
HADRIAN. You shall say “Great is Diana.” That is all. I will not compel
you to sacrifice.
CHARITY. I will not say it.
HADRIAN. Why?
CHARITY. Because I will not tell a lie. My sisters and I were born of
the same parents, instructed in the same mysteries, and confirmed in the
same faith. We have the same wish, the same understanding, the same
resolution. Therefore, I am never likely to differ from them in
anything.
ANTIOCHUS. Oh, what an insult—to be defied by a mere doll!
CHARITY. Although I am small, my reason is big enough to put you to
shame.
HADRIAN. Take her away, Antiochus, and have her stretched on the rack
and whipped.
ANTIOCHUS. I fear that stripes will be of no use.
HADRIAN. Then order a furnace to be heated for three days and three
nights, and let her be cast into the flames.
CHARITY. A mighty man! He cannot conquer a child of eight without
calling in fire to help him!
HADRIAN. Go, Antiochus, and see that my orders are carried out.
CHARITY. He may pretend to obey to satisfy your cruelty, but he will not
be able to hurt me. Stripes will not wound my body, and the flames will
not singe my hair or my garments.
HADRIAN. We shall see.
CHARITY. Yes, we shall see.
Scene VI
HADRIAN. What is wrong, Antiochus? Why have you returned, and with such
a dejected air?
ANTIOCHUS. When you know the reason, you will be dejected too.
HADRIAN. Come, what is it?
ANTIOCHUS. That little vixen whom you handed over to me to be tortured
was first scourged in my presence, and I swear that not so much as the
surface of her delicate skin was grazed. Then I had her cast into the
fiery furnace which glowed scarlet with the tremendous heat.
HADRIAN. Enough! Come to the point.
ANTIOCHUS. The flames belched forth, and five thousand men were burned
to death.
HADRIAN. And what happened to her?
ANTIOCHUS. You mean to Charity?
HADRIAN. Who else?
ANTIOCHUS. She ran to and fro, playing in the fierce whirlwind of smoke
and flame, and sang praises to her God. Those who watched closely said
that three men dressed in white walked by her side.
HADRIAN. I blush to see her again, as I have not been able to harm her.
ANTIOCHUS. She must perish by the sword like the others.
HADRIAN. Let us use it then, and without delay.
Scene VII
ANTIOCHUS. Uncover that obstinate little neck, Charity, and prepare for
the sword of the executioner.
CHARITY. This time I do not wish to resist. I am glad to obey.
SAPIENTIA. Now, little one, now we must give thanks; now we must exult
in Christ. Now I am free from anxiety, for I am certain of your triumph.
CHARITY. Kiss me, mother, and commend my soul to Christ.
SAPIENTIA. May He Who quickened you in my womb receive the spirit He
breathed into you!
CHARITY. Glory be to Thee, O Christ, Who hast called me to Thyself, and
honoured me with the martyr’s crown!
SAPIENTIA. Farewell, beloved child, farewell; and when you are united to
Christ in heaven give a thought to the mother who gave you life even
when the years had exhausted her strength.
Scene VIII
SAPIENTIA. Noble matrons, gather round me, and help me bury the bodies
of my children.
MATRONS. We will strew herbs and spices on their little bodies, and
solemnize their funeral rites with ceremony.
SAPIENTIA. Great is the generosity and wonderful the kindness you show
to me and my dead.
MATRONS. We would do anything to relieve your pain.
SAPIENTIA. I know it.
MATRONS. What place have you chosen for their burial?
SAPIENTIA. It is three miles outside the city. I hope that is not too
far for you?
MATRONS. By no means. We will follow their bodies to the place you have
chosen.
Scene IX
SAPIENTIA. This is the place.
MATRONS. It is well chosen. The very spot to keep the relics of these
blessed martyrs!
SAPIENTIA. O Earth, I commit my precious little flowers to thy keeping!
O Earth, cherish them in thy spacious bosom until they spring forth
again at the resurrection more glorious and fair! O Christ, fill their
souls with light, and give rest and peace to their bones!
MATRONS. Amen.
SAPIENTIA. I thank you all from my heart for the comfort you have
brought me since my loss.
MATRONS. Would you like us to remain here with you?
SAPIENTIA. I thank you, no.
MATRONS. Why not?
SAPIENTIA. Because your health will suffer if you fatigue yourselves
further on my account. Have you not done enough in watching with me
three days. Depart in peace. Return home happy.
MATRONS. Will you not come with us?
SAPIENTIA. I cannot.
MATRONS. What, then, is your plan?
SAPIENTIA. I shall stay here in the hope that my petition will be
granted, and that what I most desire will come to pass.
MATRONS. What is that petition? What do you desire?
SAPIENTIA. This only—that when my prayer is ended I may die in Christ.
MATRONS. Will you not let us stay to the end, then, and give you burial?
SAPIENTIA. As you please. O Adonai Emmanuel, begotten by the Divine
Creator of all things before time began, and born in time of a Virgin
Mother—O Thou Who in Thy dual nature remainest most wonderfully one
Christ, the unity of person not being divided by the diversity of
natures, nor yet the diversity of natures confounded in the unity of
person—to Thee let the serene angelic choir, singing in sweet harmony
with the spheres, raise an exultant song! Let all created things praise
Thee, because Thou Who alone with the Holy Ghost art form without
matter, by the will of the Father and the co-operation of the Spirit
didst deign to become man, passible like men, yet impassible like God. O
Thou Who didst not shrink from tasting death and destroyed it by Thy
Resurrection that none who believe in Thee should perish, but know
eternal life, on Thee I call! I do not forget that Thou, perfect God yet
true man, didst promise that those who for Thy sake renounced their
earthly possessions would be rewarded a hundredfold and receive the gift
of eternal life. Inspired by that promise, Thou seest that I have done
what I could; of my own free will, and for Thy sake, I have sacrificed
the children I bore. Oh, in Thy goodness do not delay the fulfilment of
Thy promise, but free me swiftly from the bonds of this flesh that I may
see my children and rejoice with them. Grant me the joy of hearing them
sing the new song as they follow Thee, O Lamb of the Virgin! Let me be
gladdened by their glory, and although I may not like them chant the
mystical song of virginity, let me praise Thee, Who art not Thyself the
Father, yet art of the same substance as the Father, with Whom and with
the Holy Ghost, one Lord of the whole world, one King of all things upon
the earth and in the heights above and the deeps below, Thou dost reign
and rule for ever and ever!
MATRONS. O Lord, receive her soul! Amen.
A NOTE ON THE ACTING OF THE PLAYS
The evidence that Roswitha’s plays were intended for representation has
already been discussed. If they were ever acted in her own time at
Gandersheim by members of the community, we need not assume that the
performances were ludicrously artless. We have only to read contemporary
descriptions of the celebrations of great feasts in monasteries in the
so-called “dark ages,” or to observe how strong is the element of
significant and controlled “action” in the ceremonial of the Catholic
Church as it exists to-day, to imagine that people accustomed to take
part in these dramatic services would have little difficulty in giving
an impressive performance of a religious play. Even if we discard the
theory that such performances took place, an imaginative conception of
what they might have been like will save us, if we desire to act these
plays now, from adopting an exaggeratedly primitive method. It is our
duty to do our best for them, neglecting no means of emphasizing their
dramatic strength and helping their dramatic weakness. As we have no
authority in a known “convention” to guide us, the least we can do is to
refrain from inventing a comically crude one based on an arrogant
condescension to past ignorance of what in any century is dramatically
effective.
When _Callimachus_ was brought on to the modern stage a misleading
impression of Roswitha’s ability as a dramatist was created by a
calculated childishness in the interpretation. All the characters were
kept in view of the audience whether they were concerned in a scene or
not, and the end of each scene was marked, as the end of an over is
marked in cricket, by a general change in positions. Roswitha’s piety
was held up to ridicule, and her glorification of chastity burlesqued to
the satisfaction of those to whom jokes at the expense of old-fashioned
virtues never fail to appeal. Drusiana’s prayer that she might die
rather than yield to Callimachus was greeted with shouts of laughter.
And it was said that the mirth was natural and inevitable because
Roswitha’s manner is so naive! Yet if she is treated on her merits, not
as an archaic freak, she can be impressive enough on the stage as Edith
Craig’s production of _Paphnutius_ proved. In this production the abrupt
transition from scene to scene was bridged by the singing of plainsong
melodies, derived from MSS. of the ninth century. The suggestions for
action in the lines were examined with sympathetic insight, and
developed with imagination. The actors and actresses took their task
seriously and used all their skill in making the characters live. The
old story of the conversion of Thais became new, and although many found
Roswitha’s treatment of it unpalatable, none found it ludicrous. A
comparison of the divergent impressions made by the Roswitha of
_Callimachus_ and the Roswitha of _Paphnutius_ is a lesson in the
difficulty of sifting what the dramatist has done from what the
interpreter has done, a difficulty all the greater when the text of a
play is not available. Now that _Callimachus_ can be read it will be
easier for those who saw its solitary performance to recognize that it
was travestied on the stage.
Imagination, sympathy with Roswitha’s uncompromising religious faith, a
few sets of curtains, or an interchangeable scene, actors capable either
by nature or training of extracting a pound of effect out of an ounce of
dialogue, are the foundations on which performances of these plays can
be built. _Paphnutius_, _Abraham_, and _Callimachus_ are obviously more
actable than the others, but I feel that a great deal might be done with
_Sapientia_. Perhaps one day it will be possible to arrange a Roswitha
“cycle” for the edification of a few enthusiasts. Meanwhile those who
share my belief that plays are not plays until they are acted, can amuse
themselves by thinking over different methods of representation.
[1] Since this was written, an English translation of one of the plays,
_Abraham_, has been issued by a private press.
[2] I HAVE ADOPTED THIS FORM OF THE NAME IN PREFERENCE TO “HROTSUITHA,”
“HROTSWITHA,” OR “HROSVITHA,” AS BEING MORE EASILY PRONOUNCED AND MORE
PLEASANT TO THE EYE. THE NAME IS SAID TO BE DERIVED FROM THE OLD SAXON
WORD “HRODSUIND” (STRONG VOICE), A DERIVATION ACCEPTED BY ROSWITHA
HERSELF IN HER PREFACE TO HER PLAYS, WHEN SHE WRITES “EGO, CLAMOR
VALIDUS GANDEISHERMENSIS,” AND APPROVED BY GRIMM.
[3] Believing that the representation of the plays is possible, even
desirable, I have also aimed at making the dialogue _speakable_.
[4] The manuscript is now in the Munich City Library. Recently another
manuscript, containing four of the six dramas, is reported to have been
discovered among the state archives of Cologne. (_Times_ Berlin
Correspondent, May 9, 1922.)
[5] Since this was written _Callimachus_ (translation by Arthur Waley)
has been produced by the Art Theatre. _Paphnutius_, in my translation,
was produced by Miss Edith Craig for the Pioneer Players at the Savoy
Theatre on June 4, 1914, Miss Ellen Terry appearing in the part of the
Abbess.
[6] Celtes prints this as part of the text; Magnin as a direction, on
the ground that it is _introducuntur_, not _introducautur_ in the MS.
[7] Another “stage direction” omitted by Celtes.
[8] This admonition to “spectators” is in the MS and seems inexplicable
if Roswitha wrote her plays to be read, not performed.
[9] When _Paphnutius_ was acted, the dialogue of the “disciples” was
allotted to several different actors, with the interesting result that
some definite characters emerged.
[10] It has been my duty to preserve this rather tiresome numerical
discourse, which no doubt Roswitha introduced to impress the “learned
men” to whom she submitted her work, because it throws an interesting
light on the studies pursued in such a monastery as Gandersheim in the
10th century. Equivalent modern English terms have been employed where
the original, by change of usage, has become misleading. For example,
“divisor” and “quotient” have been substituted for “denomination” and
“quantity.”
End of Project Gutenberg's The Plays of Roswitha, by Roswitha of Gandersheim