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A list of changes to the text is at the end of the book.
GYCIA
by
LEWIS MORRIS
* * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
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_For Notices of the Press, see end of this Volume._
LONDON: KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO.
* * * * * *
GYCIA
A Tragedy in Five Acts
by
LEWIS MORRIS
M.A.; Honorary Fellow of Jesus College, Oxford
Knight of the Redeemer of Greece, Etc., Etc.
Second Edition
London
Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., 1, Paternoster Square
1886
(The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.)
CONTENTS
Preface
Dramatis Personæ
Act I
Scene 1 Bosphorus. The King's palace.
Scene 2 Outside the palace.
Act II
Scene 1 Lamachus' palace, Cherson.
Scene 2 Outside the palace of Lamachus.
Scene 3 A street in Cherson.
Scene 4 The garden without the banqueting-room.
Act III
Scene 1 Cherson, two years after. The palace of Lamachus.
Scene 2 The same.
Scene 3 A room in the palace.
Scene 4 Irene's prison.
Scene 5 Outside the palace.
Act IV
Scene 1 Cherson. Irene's prison.
Scene 2 Room in Lamachus's palace.
Scene 3 The council chamber of the Senate of Cherson.
Act V
Scene 1 Lamachus's palace.
Scene 2 The banquet hall.
Scene 3 Outside the banquet hall.
Scene 4 The Senate-chamber.
Notices of the press
PREFACE.
The following Drama was written with a view to Stage representation,
and it is therefore rather as an Acting Play than as a Dramatic Poem
that it should be judged by its readers.
It follows as closely as possible the striking story recorded by
Constantine Porphyrogenitus in his work, "De Administratione
Imperii." Nor has the writer had occasion (except in the death of the
heroine) to modify the powerful historical situations and incidents
to which it is right to say his attention was first directed by his
friend the well-known scholar and critic, Mr. W. Watkiss Lloyd.
The date of the story is circa 970 A.D.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
_PEOPLE OF BOSPHORUS._
_The_ KING OF BOSPHORUS.
ASANDER, _Prince of Bosphorus._
LYSIMACHUS, _a statesman._
MEGACLES, _a chamberlain from the Imperial Court of Constantinople._
_Three Courtiers, accompanying Asander and accomplices in the plot._
_Soldiers, etc._
_PEOPLE OF CHERSON._
LAMACHUS, _Archon of the Republic of Cherson._
ZETHO, _his successor._
THEODORUS, _a young noble (brother to Irene), in love with Gycia._
BARDANES, _first Senator._
_Ambassador to Bosphorus._
_The Senators of Cherson._
_Two Labourers._
GYCIA, _daughter of Lamachus._
IRENE, _a lady--her friend, in love with Asander._
MELISSA, _an elderly lady in waiting on Gycia_.
_Child, daughter of the Gaoler._
_Citizens, etc._
GYCIA.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--_Bosphorus. The King's palace. The_ KING, _in anxious
thought. To him_ LYSIMACHUS, _afterwards_ ASANDER.
_Enter_ LYSIMACHUS.
_Lys._ What ails the King, that thus his brow is bent
By such a load of care?
_King._ Lysimachus,
The load of empire lies a weary weight,
On age-worn brains; tho' skies and seas may smile,
And steadfast favouring Fortune sit serene,
Guiding the helm of State, but well thou knowest--
None better in my realm--through what wild waves,
Quicksands, and rock-fanged straits, our Bosphorus,
Laden with all our love, reels madly on
To shipwreck and to ruin. From the North,
Storm-cloud on storm-cloud issuing vollies forth
Fresh thunderbolts of war. The Emperor
Dallies within his closed seraglios,
Letting his eunuchs waste the might of Rome,
While the fierce Scythian, in a surge of blood,
Bursts on our bare-swept plains. Upon the South,
Our rival Cherson, with a jealous eye,
Waits on our adverse chances, taking joy
Of her republican guile in every check
And buffet envious Fortune deals our State,
Which doth obey a King. Of all our foes
I hate and dread these chiefly, for I fear
Lest, when my crown falls from my palsied brow,
My son Asander's youth may prove too weak
To curb these crafty burghers. Speak, I pray thee,
Most trusty servant. Can thy loyal brain
Devise some scheme whereby our dear-loved realm
May break the mesh of Fate?
_Lys._ Indeed, my liege,
Too well I know our need, and long have tossed
Through sleepless nights, if haply I might find
Some remedy, but that which I have found
Shows worse than the disease.
_King._ Nay, speak; what is it?
I know how wise thy thought.
_Lys._ My liege, it chances
The Archon Lamachus is old and spent.
He has an only child, a daughter, Gycia,
The treasure of his age, who now blooms forth
In early maidenhood. The girl is fair
As is a morn in springtide; and her father
A king in all but name, such reverence
His citizens accord him. Were it not well
The Prince Asander should contract himself
In marriage to this girl, and take the strength
Of Cherson for her dowry, and the power
Of their strong fleets and practised arms to thrust
The invading savage backward?
_King._ Nay, my lord;
No more of this, I pray. There is no tribe
Of all the blighting locust swarms of war,
Which sweep our wasted fields, I would not rather
Take to my heart and cherish than these vipers.
Dost thou forget, my lord, how of old time,
In the brave days of good Sauromatus,
These venomous townsmen, shamelessly allied
With the barbarian hosts, brought us to ruin;
Or, with the failing force of Cæsar leagued,
By subtle devilish enginery of war,
Robbed Bosphorus of its own, when, but for them,
Byzantium were our prey, and all its might,
And we Rome's masters? Nay; I swear to thee,
I would rather see the Prince dead at my feet,
I would rather see our loved State sunk and lost,
Than know my boy, the sole heir of my crown,
The sole hope of my people, taken and noosed
By this proud upstart girl. Speak not of it;
Ruin were better far.
_Lys._ My liege, I bear
No greater favour to these insolent townsmen
Than thou thyself. I, who have fought with them
From my first youth--who saw my father slain,
Not in fair fight, pierced through by honest steel,
But unawares, struck by some villanous engine,
Which, armed with inextinguishable fire,
Flew hissing from the walls and slew at once
Coward and brave alike; I, whose young brother,
The stripling who to me was as a son,
Taken in some sally, languished till he died,
Chained in their dungeons' depths;--must I not hate them
With hate as deep as hell? And yet I know
There is no other way than that Asander
Should wed this woman. This alone can staunch
The bleeding wounds of the State.
_King._ Lysimachus,
I am old; my will is weak, my body bent,
Not more than is my mind; I cannot reason.
But hark! I hear the ring of coursers' feet
Bespeak Asander coming. What an air
Of youth and morning breathes round him, and brings
A light of hope again!
_Enter ASANDER from the chase._
_Asan._ My dearest sire and King, art thou thus grave
Of choice, or does our good Lysimachus,
Bringing unwonted loads of carking care,
O'ercloud thy brow? I prithee, father, fret not;
There is no cloud of care I yet have known--
And I am now a man, and have my cares--
Which the fresh breath of morn, the hungry chase,
The echoing horn, the jocund choir of tongues,
Or joy of some bold enterprise of war,
When the swift squadrons smite the echoing plains,
Scattering the stubborn spearmen, may not break,
As does the sun the mists. Nay, look not grave;
My youth is strong enough for any burden
Fortune can set on me.
_King._ Couldst thou, Asander,
Consent to serve the State, if it should bid thee
Wed without love?
_Asan._ What, father, is that all?
I do not know this tertian fever, love,
Of which too oft my comrades groan and sigh,
This green-sick blight, which turns a lusty soldier
To a hysterical girl. Wed without love?
One day I needs must wed, though love I shall not.
And if it were indeed to serve the State,
Nay, if 'twould smooth one wrinkle from thy brow,
Why, it might be to-morrow. Tell me, father,
Who is this paragon that thou designest
Shall call me husband? Some barbarian damsel
Reared on mare's milk, and nurtured in a tent
In Scythia? Well, 'twere better than to mate
With some great lady from the Imperial Court,
Part tigress and all wanton. I care not;
Or if the scheme miscarry, I care not.
Tell me, good father.
_King._ Wouldst thou wed, Asander,
If 'twere to save the State, a Greek from Cherson?
_Asan._ From Cherson? Nay, my liege; that were too much.
A girl from out that cockatrice's den--
Take such a one to wife? I would liefer take
A viper to my breast! Nay, nay, you jest,
My father, for you hate this low-born crew,
Grown gross by huckstering ways and sordid craft--
Ay, more than I.
_King._ It is no jest, my son.
Our good Lysimachus will tell thee all
Our need and whence it comes.
_Lys._ My gracious Prince,
Thus stands the case, no otherwise. Our foes
Press closer year by year, our widespread plains
Are ravaged, and our bare, unpeopled fields
Breed scantier levies; while the treasury
Stands empty, and we have not means to buy
The force that might resist them. Nought but ruin,
Speedy, inevitable, can await
Our failing Bosphorus' unaided strength,
Unless some potent rich ally should join
Our weakness to her might. None other is there
To which to look but Cherson; and I know,
From trusty friends among them, that even now,
Perchance this very day, an embassy
Comes to us with design that we should sink
Our old traditional hate in the new bonds
Which Hymen binds together. For the girl
Gycia, the daughter of old Lamachus,
Their foremost man, there comes but one report--
That she is fair as good.
_Asan._ My lord, I pray you,
Waste not good breath. If I must sell myself,
It matters not if she be fair or foul,
Angel or doubly damned; hating the race,
Men, maidens, young and old, I would blight my life
To save my country.
_King._ Thanks, my dearest son.
There spake a patriot indeed.
_Servant._ My liege,
An embassy from Cherson for the King.
_Enter_ AMBASSADOR, _with retinue._
_Ambas._ Sirs, I bring you a message from Lamachus, the Archon of
Cherson.
_Lys._ Sirs, forsooth! Know ye not the dignity of princes, or does
your republican rudeness bar you from all courtesy? I do not count
myself equal to the King, nor, therefore, should you.
_King._ Nay, good Lysimachus, let him proceed.
_Ambas._ If I am blunt of speech, I beg your forgiveness. I bring to
you a letter from the citizen Lamachus, which I shall read, if it be
your pleasure.
_King._ Read on.
_Ambas._ "To the King of Bosphorus, Lamachus sends greeting. We are
both old. Let us forget the former enmities of our States, and make
an alliance which shall protect us against the storm of barbarian
invasion which Cæsar is too weak to ward off. Thou hast a son, and I
a daughter. Thy son is, from all report, a brave youth and worthy. My
daughter is the paragon of her sex. I have wealth and possessions and
respect as great as if I were a sceptred King. The youth and the maid
are of fitting age. Let us join their hands together, and with them
those of our States, and grow strong enough to defy the barbarians,
and Rome also."
_Asan._ My liege, I am willing for this marriage. Let it be.
_King._ My son, we have not yet heard all. Read on, sir.
_Ambas._ "There is one condition which not my will, but the jealousy
of our people enforces, viz. that the Prince Asander, if he weds my
daughter, shall thenceforth forswear his country, nor seek to return
to it on pain of death. I pray thee, pardon the rudeness of my
countrymen; but they are Greeks, and judge their freedom more than
their lives."
_Asan._ Insolent hounds!
This is too much. I will have none of them.
Take back that message.
_King._ Thou art right, my son.
I could not bear to lose thee, not to win
A thousand Chersons. Let us fight alone,
And see what fortune sends us.
_Lys._ Good my liege,
Be not too hasty. (_To_ Ambassador) Sir, the King has heard
The message which you bring, and presently
Will send a fitting answer.
[_Exit_ Ambassador.
Nay, my liege,
I beg your patience. That these fellows make
Their friendship difficult is true; but think
How great the value of it, and remember
How easy 'tis to promise and break faith
With insolent dogs like these. This Lamachus
Is older than your grace, and feebler far.
He will not live for ever, and, he gone,
Will not the Prince Asander be as great,
The husband of his daughter and his heir,
As _he_ is now, and sway the power of Cherson
For our own ends, and cast to all the winds
This foul enforcèd compact, and o'erturn
This commonwealth of curs? I will stake my life
That three years shall not pass ere he is King
Of Cherson in possession, and at once
Of Bosphorus next heir.
"The tongue hath sworn, the mind remains unsworn,"
So says their poet.
_Asan._ I'll have none of it.
I am not all Greek, but part Cimmerian,
And scorn to break my word.
Let us face ruin, father, not deceit.
_King._ My noble son, I love thee.
_Lys._ Good my liege,
And thou, my Lord Asander, ponder it.
Consider our poor country's gaping wounds,
And what a remedy lies to our hands.
I will die willingly if I devise not
A scheme to bend these upstarts to your will.
[_Exeunt omnes._
SCENE II.--_Outside the palace._
MEGACLES _and_ Courtiers.
_Meg._ Well, my lords, and so it is all settled. We must all be on
board in half an hour. His Altitude the Prince sails at once for
Cherson, and with a view to his immediate marriage. Was ever such a
rash step heard of? Not twenty-four hours to get ready the marriage
equipment of a Prince of Bosphorus. Well, well, I dare say they would
be glad enough to take him with no rag to his back. I dare say these
rascally republicans would know no better if he were to be married in
his everyday suit.
_1st Court._ I' faith, I should never have dreamt it. Asander, who is
the boldest huntsman and the bravest soldier, and the best of good
fellows, to go and tie himself to the apron-strings of a Greek girl,
a tradesman's daughter from Cherson, of all places on earth! Pah! it
makes me sick!
_2nd Court._ But I hear she is beautiful as Artemis, and----Well, we
are all young or have been, and beauty is a strong loadstone to such
metal as the Prince's.
_3rd Court._ Nay, he has never set eyes on her; and, for that matter,
the Lady Irene was handsome enough in all conscience, and a jovial
young gentlewoman to boot. Ye gods! do you mind how she sighed for
him and pursued him? It was a sight to please the goddess Aphrodite
herself. But then, our good Asander, who had only to lift up his
little finger, was so cold and positively forbidding, that I once
came upon the poor lady crying her eyes out in a passion of mortified
feeling.
_1st Court._ Ay, she was from this outlandish Cherson, was not she?
Aphrodite was a Greek woman also, remember.
_2nd Court._ So she was. I had quite forgotten where the lady came
from. Well, if she is there now, and cannot get her Prince, and would
like a gay, tolerably well-favoured young fellow for a lover, I
suppose she need go no further than the present company.
_Meg._ My lords, I pray you leave these frivolities, and let us come
to serious matters. Think, I beg you, in what a painful position I am
placed. I am to go, without proper notice, as Master of the
Ceremonies of the Court of Bosphorus, to conduct an important
Court-ceremonial with a pack of scurvy knaves, who, I will be bound,
hardly know the difference between an Illustrious and a Respectable,
or a Respectable and an Honourable. I must do my best to arrange all
decently and in order, and as near as may be to the Imperial model,
and all these matters I have to devise on shipboard, tossed about on
that villanous Euxine, with a smell of pitch everywhere, and
sea-sickness in my stomach. And when I get to Cherson, if ever I do
get there alive, I have not the faintest idea whom I am to consult
with--whether there is a Count of the Palace or anybody, in fact. I
dare say there is nobody; I am sure there is nobody. A marriage of
the heir apparent is a very serious affair, let me tell you. What a
comfort it is that I have got the last edition of that precious work
of the divine Theodosius on Dignities! If it were not for that, I
should go mad.
_1st Court._ My good Megacles, I warn you the Prince cares as little
for etiquette as he does for love-making.
_Meg._ Very likely, and that makes my position so difficult. Just
reflect for a moment. When we go ashore at Cherson, I suppose we
shall be received by the authorities?
_2nd Court._ Surely, good Megacles.
_Meg._ Then, how many steps should Prince Asander take to meet his
father-in-law Lamachus--eh? And how many steps should Lamachus take?
You never gave the matter a thought? Of course not. And these are
questions to be settled on the spot, and scores like them.
_3rd Court._ I dare say it won't matter at all, or very little.
_Meg._ Matter very little, indeed! very little, forsooth! Why, in the
name of all the saints, do not alliances fall through for less? Are
not bloody wars fought for less? Do I not remember the sad plight of
the Grand Chamberlain, when the Illustrious Leo, the Pro-Consul of
Macedonia, had a meeting at Court with the Respectable the
Vice-Prefect of Pannonia? Now, the Pro-Consul should have taken four
steps forward, as being the most noble, the Vice-Prefect five. But,
the Vice-Prefect being a tall man, and the Pro-Consul a short one,
the Grand Chamberlain did not sufficiently measure their distances;
and so when they had taken but four steps each, there were the two
Dignitaries bolt upright, face to face, glaring at each other, and no
room to take the fraction of a foot pace more.
_1st Court._ Faith, a very laughable situation, good Megacles. Was it
hard to settle?
_Meg._ I should think it was hard to settle. No one could interfere;
the Book of Ceremonies was sent for, and was silent. There was
nothing for it but that the Emperor, after half an hour, broke up the
Court in confusion, and those two remained where they were till it
was quite dark, and then they got away, no one knows how. But what
came of it? For fifteen years there was war and bloodshed between the
provinces, and but for the invasion of the Goths, there would be to
this day. Matter little, indeed! Why, you foolish youngster, ceremony
is everything in life. To understand Precedence aright is to know the
secrets of nature. The order of Precedence is the order of Creation.
It is, in fact, a very cosmogony. Oh, a noble science! a noble
science!
_1st Court._ Right, good Megacles, to magnify your office. Bravery is
nothing; goodness is nothing; beauty is a foolish dream. Give us
Ceremony, Ceremony, more Ceremony; it is the salt of life.
_Meg._ A very intelligent youth. But here comes the King.
_Enter the_ KING, ASANDER, _and_ LYSIMACHUS.
_Asan._ My liege, I do your will,
Though with a heavy heart. Farewell, my father.
If I must bid farewell to this dear City,
Which nourished me from childhood, 'tis to save it,
Not otherwise, and thou my sire and King.
From thee I do not part, and oftentimes,
If the saints will, I yet shall welcome thee,
When all our foes are routed and our troubles
Fled like some passing storm-cloud, to my hearth,
And set thy heir upon thy knees, a Prince
Of Bosphorus and Cherson.
_King._ Good, my son.
I pray God keep you, for I dimly fear,
So dark a presage doth obscure my mind,
That we shall meet no more.
_Lys._ My honoured liege,
These are the figments of a mind which grief
Hath part disordered. Thou shalt see thy son,
Trust me for it; I swear it. One thing more
Remains. I know what 'tis to be a youth
As yet untouched by love; I know what charm
Lies in the magic of a woman's eyes
For a young virgin heart. I pray you, sir,
Swear to me by the saints, that, come what may,
For no allurement which thy new life brings thee,
The love of wife or child, wilt thou forget
Our Bosphorus, but still wilt hold her weal
Above all other objects of thy love
In good or adverse fortune.
_Asan._ Nay, my lord,
There is no need for oaths; yet will I swear it,
Here on this soldier's cross.
[_Makes a cross with the hilt of his sword._
Farewell, my father,
I mar my manhood, staying.
_King._ Farewell, son.
Let my old eyes fix on thee till thou goest
Beneath the farthest verge. Good Megacles,
And you brave gentlemen, be faithful all
To me and to your Prince.
_Lys._ My Lord Asander,
Remember!
END OF ACT I.
ACT II.
SCENE I.--_Lamachus' palace, Cherson._
GYCIA and IRENE.
_Gycia._ Sweetest Irene,
What joy it is to see thee once again
After so long an absence! We had grown
Together on one stalk so long, since first
Our girlish lives began to burst to flower,
That it was hard to part us. But methinks
That something of the rose from off thy cheek
Has faded, and its rounded outline fair
Seems grown a little thinner.
_Ire._ Gycia,
The flower, once severed from the stalk, no more
Grows as before.
_Gycia._ Thou strange girl, to put on
Such grave airs! Ah! I fear at Bosphorus
Some gay knight has bewitched thee; thou hast fallen
In love, as girls say--though what it may be
To fall in love, I know not, thank the gods,
Having much else to think of.
_Ire._ Prithee, dear,
Speak not of this.
_Gycia._ Ah! then I know 'tis true.
Confess what manner of thing love is.
_Ire._ Nay, nay, I cannot tell thee (_weeping_), Gycia;
Thou knowest not what thou askest. What is love?
Seek not to know it. 'Tis to be no more
Thy own, but all another's; 'tis to dwell
By day and night on one fixed madding thought,
Till the form wastes, and with the form the heart
Is warped from right to wrong, and can forget
All that it loved before, faith, duty, country,
Friendship, affection--everything but love.
Seek not to know it, dear; or, knowing it,
Be happier than I.
_Gycia._ My poor Irene!
Then, 'tis indeed a misery to love.
I do repent that I have tortured thee
By such unthinking jests. Forgive me, dear,
I will speak no more of it; with me thy secret
Is safe as with a sister. Shouldst thou wish
To unburden to me thy unhappy heart,
If haply I might bring thy love to thee.
Thou shalt his name divulge and quality,
And I will do my best.
_Ire._ Never, dear Gycia.
Forget my weakness; 'twas a passing folly,
I love a man who loves me not again,
And that is very hell. I would die sooner
Than breathe his name to thee. Farewell, dear lady!
Thou canst not aid me.
[_Exit_ IRENE.
_Gycia._ Hapless girl! Praise Heaven
That I am fancy-free!
_Enter_ LAMACHUS.
_Lama._ My dearest daughter, why this solemn aspect?
I have glad news for thee. Thou knowest of old
The weary jealousies, the bloody feuds,
Which 'twixt our Cherson and her neighbour City
Have raged ere I was born--nay, ere my grandsire
First saw the light of heaven. Both our States
Are crippled by this brainless enmity.
And now the Empire, now the Scythian, threatens
Destruction to our Cities, whom, united,
We might defy with scorn. Seeing this weakness,
Thy father, wishful, ere his race be run,
To save our much-loved Cherson, sent of late
Politic envoys to our former foe,
And now--i' faith, I am not so old, 'twould seem
That I have lost my state-craft--comes a message.
The Prince Asander, heir of Bosphorus,
Touches our shores to-day, and presently
Will be with us.
_Gycia._ Oh, father, is it wise?
Do fire and water mingle? Does the hawk
Mate with the dove; the tiger with the lamb;
The tyrant with the peaceful commonwealth;
Fair commerce with the unfruitful works of war?
What union can there be 'twixt our fair city
And this half-barbarous race? 'Twere against nature
To bid these opposite elements combine--
The Greek with the Cimmerian. Father, pray you,
Send them away, with honour if you please,
And soothing words and gifts--only, I pray you,
Send them away, this Prince who doth despise us,
And his false retinue of slaves.
_Lama._ My daughter,
Thy words are wanting in thy wonted love
And dutiful observance. 'Twere an insult
Unwashed by streams of bloodshed, should our City
Scorn thus the guests it summoned. Come they must,
And with all hospitable care and honour,
Else were thy sire dishonoured. Thou wilt give them
A fitting welcome.
_Gycia._ Pardon me, my father,
That I spoke rashly. I obey thy will.
[_Going._
_Lama._ Stay, Gycia. Dost thou know what 'tis to love?
_Gycia._ Ay, thee, dear father.
_Lama._ Nay, I know it well.
But has no noble youth e'er touched thy heart?
_Gycia._ None, father, Heaven be praised! The young Irene
Was with me when thou cam'st, and all her life
Seems blighted by this curse of love--for one
Whose name she hides, with whom in Bosphorus
She met, when there she sojourned. Her young brother,
The noble Theodorus, whom thou knowest,
Lets all the world go by him and grows pale
For love, and pines, and wherefore?--For thy daughter,
Who knows not what love means, and cannot brook
Such brain-sick folly. Nay, be sure, good father,
I love not thus, and shall not.
_Lama._ Well, well, girl,
Thou wilt know it yet. I fetter not thy choice,
But if thou couldst by loving bind together
Not two hearts only, but opposing peoples;
Supplant by halcyon days long years of strife,
And link them in unbroken harmony;--
Were this no glory for a woman, this
No worthy price of her heart?
_Gycia._ Tell me, I pray,
What mean you by this riddle?
_Lama._ Prince Asander
Comes here to ask your hand, and with it take
A gracious dower of peace and amity.
He does not ask thee to forsake thy home,
But leaves for thee his own. All tongues together
Are full of praise of him: virgin in love,
A brave youth in the field, as we have proved
In many a mortal fight; a face and form
Like a young god's. I would, my love, thy heart
Might turn to him, and find thy happiness
In that which makes me happy. I am old
And failing, and I fain would see thee blest
Before I die, and at thy knees an heir
To all my riches, and the State of Cherson
From anxious cares delivered, and through thee.
_Gycia._ Father, we are of the Athenian race,
Which was the flower of Hellas. Ours the fame
Of Poets, Statesmen, Orators, whose works
And thoughts upon the forehead of mankind
Shine like a precious jewel; ours the glory
Of those great Soldiers who by sea and land
Scattered the foemen to the winds of heaven,
First in the files of time. And though our mother,
Our Athens, sank, crushed by the might of Rome,
What is Rome now?--An Empire rent in twain;
An Empire sinking 'neath the unwieldy weight
Of its own power; an Empire where the Senate
Ranks lower than the Circus, and a wanton
Degrades the Imperial throne. But though to its fall
The monster totters, this our Cherson keeps
The bravery of old, and still maintains
The old Hellenic spirit and some likeness
Of the fair Commonwealth which ruled the world.
Surely, my father, 'tis a glorious spring
Drawn from the heaven-kissed summits whence we come;
And shall we, then, defile our noble blood
By mixture with this upstart tyranny
Which fouls the Hellenic pureness of its source
In countless bastard channels? If our State
Ask of its children sacrifice, 'tis well.
It shall be given; only I prithee, father,
Seek not that I should with barbaric blood
Taint the pure stream, which flows from Pericles.
Let me abide unwedded, if I may,
A Greek girl as before.
_Lama._ Daughter, thy choice
Is free as air to accept or to reject
This suitor; only, in the name of Cherson,
Do nothing rashly, and meanwhile take care
That nought that fits a Grecian State be wanting
To do him honour.
_Gycia._ Sir, it shall be done.
SCENE II.--_Outside the palace of_ LAMACHUS.
MEGACLES _and_ COURTIERS.
_Meg._ Well, my lords, and so this is the palace. A grand palace,
forsooth, and a fine reception to match! Why, these people are worse
than barbarians. They are worse than the sea, and that was
inhospitable enough. The saints be praised that that is over, at any
rate. Oh, the intolerable scent of pitch, and the tossing and the
heaving! Heaven spare me such an ordeal again! I thought I should
have died of the smells. And here, can it be? Is it possible that
there is a distinct odour of--pah! what? Oils, as I am a Christian,
and close to the very palace of the Archon! What a detestable people!
Some civet, good friends, some civet!
_1st Court._ Here it is, good Megacles. You did not hope, surely, to
find republicans as sweet as those who live cleanly under a King?
But here are some of their precious citizens at last.
_Enter_ Citizens _hurriedly._
_1st Citizen._ I pray you, forgive us, gentlemen. We thought the
Prince would take the land at the other quay, and had prepared our
welcome accordingly.
_Meg._ Who are these men?
_1st Court._ They are honourable citizens of Cherson.
_Meg._ Citizens! They will not do for me. The Count of the Palace
should be here with the Grand Chamberlain to meet my Master.
_1st Cit._ Your Master? Oh! then you are a serving man, as it would
seem. Well, my good man, when comes your Master?
_Meg._ Oh, the impertinent scoundrel! Do you know, sir, who I am?
_1st Cit._ Probably the Prince's attendant, his lackey, or possibly
his steward. I neither know nor care.
_Meg._ Oh, you barbarian! Where is the Count of the Palace, I say?
_1st Cit._ Now, citizen, cease this nonsense. We have not, thank
Heaven, any such foolish effeminate functionary.
_Meg._ No Count of the Palace? Heavens! what a crew! Well, if there
is none, where are your leading nobles? where the Respectable and
Illustrious? You are certainly not Illustrious nor Respectable; you
probably are not even Honourable, or if you are you don't look it.
_1st Cit._ What, you wretched popinjay of a serving man! You dare
address a Greek citizen in that way? Take that, and that! [_Beats
him._
_1st Court._ Draw, gentlemen! These are ruffians!
[_They fight._
_Enter_ ASANDER.
_Asan._ Put up your swords, gentlemen. Why, fellows, what is this? Is
this your hospitality to your guests?
_1st Cit._ Nay, sir; but this servant of yours has been most
insolent, and has abused and insulted our State and its manners. He
told us that we were not men of honour; and some of us, sir, are
young, and have hot blood, and, as Greek citizens of Cherson, will
not bear insults.
_Asan._ Insolent upstarts, you are not worthy of our swords! Come, my
Lord Megacles, heed them not. Here is their master.
_Enter_ LAMACHUS _and_ Senators.
_Lama._ We bid you heartfelt welcome, Prince, to Cherson.
That we have seemed to fail to do you honour
Comes of the spite of fortune. For your highness,
Taking the land at the entrance of the port,
Missed what of scanty pomp our homely manners
Would fain have offered; but we pray you think
'Twas an untoward accident, no more.
Welcome to Cherson, Prince!
_Asan._ Methinks, my lord,
Scarce in the meanest State is it the custom
To ask the presence of a noble guest
With much insistance, and when he accepts
The summons, and has come, to set on him
With insolent dogs like these.
_Lama._ Nay, Prince, I pray you,
What is it that has been?
_Asan._ Our chamberlain
Was lately, in your absence, which your highness
So glibly doth excuse, set on and beaten
By these dogs here.
_Lama._ Nay, sir, they are not dogs,
But citizens of honour; yet indeed
Wanting, I fear, in that deep courtesy
Which from a stranger and a guest refuses
To take provoked offence. My lord, indeed
I am ashamed that citizens of Cherson
Should act so mean a part. Come, Prince, I pray you
Forget this matter, and be sure your coming
Fills me with joy. Go, tell the Lady Gycia
The Prince is safe in Cherson.
_Meg._ My Lord Asander, remember what is due to yourself and
Bosphorus. Remember, when this merchant's daughter comes, you _must_
not treat her as an equal. Courtesy to a woman is all very well, but
rank has greater claims still, especially when you have to deal with
such people as these. Now, remember, you must make _no_ obeisance at
all; and if you advance to meet her more--(_Enter_ GYCIA, IRENE,
MELISSA, _and_ Ladies. IRENE, _seeing_ ASANDER, _faints, and is
withdrawn_, GYCIA _supporting her. Confusion._)--than one step, you
are lost for ever. These are the truly important things.
_Asan._ Good Megacles,
Forewarned I am forearmed.
(_Aside_) Thou fluent trickster!
Fit head of such a State! I would to Heaven
I had never come!
_Re-enter_ GYCIA.
Nay, nay, I thank the saints
That I have come. Who is this peerless creature?
Is this the old man's daughter?
_Lama._ Prince Asander,
This is my daughter, Gycia. Of the prince
Thou hast heard many a time, my daughter.
_Gycia (confused)._ Ay!--
Indeed I----
_Lama._ Come, my girl, thou art not used
To fail of words.
_Asan._ Nay, sir, I pray you press her not to speak.
And yet I fain would hear her. Artemis
Showed not so fair, nor with a softer charm
Came Hebe's voice.
_Gycia._ Nay, sir, I did not know
A soldier could thus use a courtier's tongue.
_Asan._ If being bred in courts would give me power
To put my thought in words, then would I fain
Be courtier for thy sake.
_Gycia._ Ah, sir, you jest.
The ways of courts we know not, but I bid thee
Good welcome to our city, and I prithee
Command whatever service our poor Cherson
Can give whilst thou art here. (_To_ MEGACLES) Pray you, my lord,
Accompany his Highness and our household
To the apartments which our serving men
Have now prepared. They are but poor, I know,
For one who lives the stately life of kings;
But such as our poor means can reach they are.
_Meg._ My lady, I have lived long time in courts,
But never, in the palaces of Rome,
Have I seen beauty such as yours, or grace
More worthy of a crown. (_To_ MELISSA) To you, my lady,
I bow with most respectful homage. Surely
The goddess Heré has not left the earth
While you are here, I humbly take my leave
For the present of your Highness with a thousand
Obeisances, and to your gracious father
Humbly I bend the knee. My Lord Asander,
I do attend your Highness.
_Mel._ What a man!
What noble manners! What a polished air!
How poor to such a courtier our rude Court
And humble manners show!
_Asan._ Good Megacles,
Get me to my chamber--quick, ere I o'erpass
All reasonable limits. I am sped;
I am myself no more.
_Lama._ Farewell awhile.
We will welcome you at supper.
[_Exeunt all but_ LAMACHUS _and_ GYCIA.
_Lama._ Well, my daughter,
What think you of this hot-brained youth? I' faith,
I like his soldier's bluntness, and he seemed
To be a little startled, as I thought,
By something which he saw when thou didst come.
Perchance it was the charm of one who came
Among thy ladies took him.
_Gycia._ Nay, my father,
I think not so indeed.
_Lama._ Ah! well, I am old,
And age forgets. But this I tell thee, daughter:
If in my youth I had seen a young man's gaze
Grow troubled, and he should start, and his cheek pale,
A young girl drawing near, I had almost thought
Him suddenly in love.
_Gycia._ Oh, nay indeed!
Who should be favoured thus? There is no woman
In our poor Cherson worthy that his gaze
Might rest on her a moment.
_Lama._ Ah, my girl,
Is it thus with thee? They say that love is blind,
And thou art blind, therefore it may be, Gycia,
That thou too art in love. Tell me how it is.
Couldst thou love this man, if he loved thee?
_Gycia_ (_throwing herself on her father's neck_). Father!
_Lama._ Say no more, girl. I am not so old as yet
That I have quite forgotten my own youth,
When I was young and loved; and if I err not,
I read love's fluttering signals on thy cheek,
And in his tell-tale eyes. But listen! Music!
We must prepare for supper with our guests.
SCENE III.--_A street in Cherson._
MEGACLES; _afterwards_ MELISSA.
_Megacles._ Well, it is time for the banquet. Somehow, this place
improves on acquaintance, after all. Poor, of course, and rude to a
degree. But truly the Lady Gycia is fair--as fair, indeed, as if she
was the Emperor's daughter. She is a beautiful creature, truly. But
give _me_ that delightful lady-in-waiting of hers, the Lady Melissa.
What grace! what rounded proportions! I like mature beauty. She is as
like the late divine Empress as two peas, and I thought--I dare say I
was wrong, but I really thought--I made an impression. Poor things!
poor things! They can't help themselves. We courtiers really ought to
be very careful not to abuse our power. It is positive cruelty. The
contest is too unequal. It makes one inclined sometimes to put on the
manners of a clown, so as to give them a chance. Nay, nay, you might
as well ask the Ethiopian to change his skin as a courtier his fine
manners. By all the saints! here she comes in _propriâ personâ_.
_Enter the_ LADY MELISSA.
_Mel._ Heavens! it is the strange nobleman. I am sure I am all of a
flutter.
_Meg._ (_advancing with formal bows_). My lady, I am enchanted (_bows
again; then takes several steps to the right, then to the left, and
bows_). What a wonderful good fortune! Ever since I had the honour to
see you just now, I have only lived in the hope of seeing you again.
_Mel._ (_curtsying_). Oh, my lord, you great courtiers can find
little to interest you in our poor little Court and its humble
surroundings.
_Meg._ Madam, I beg! not a word! I was just thinking that you exactly
resembled the late divine Empress.
_Mel._ Oh, my lord, forbear! The Empress! and I have never been out
of Cherson! You flatter me, you flatter me, indeed. That is the way
with all you courtiers from Constantinople. Now, if you had said that
my Lady Gycia was beautiful----
_Meg._ My dear lady, I do not admire her in the least. She has no
manners, really--nothing, at any rate, to attract a man of the great
world; a mere undeveloped girl, with all the passion to come. No, no,
my good lady, give me a woman who has lived. We courtiers know
manners and breeding when we see them, and yours are simply perfect,
not to say Imperial.
_Mel._ What a magnificent nature! Well, to say the truth, the Lady
Gycia is not at all to my taste. It is a cold, insipid style of
beauty, at the best; and she is as self-willed and as straitlaced as
a lady abbess. I suppose she is well matched with the Prince Asander?
_Meg._ Well, he is a handsome lad enough, and virtuous, but weak, as
youth always is, and pliable. Now, for myself, I am happy to say I
am steadfast and firm as a rock.
_Mel._ Ah, my lord, if all women saw with my eyes, there would not be
such a run after youth. Give me a mature man, who has seen the world
and knows something of life and manners.
_Meg._ What an intelligent creature! Madam, your sentiments do you
credit. I beg leave to lay at your feet the assurance of my entire
devotion.
_Mel._ Oh, my lord, you are too good! Why, what a dear, condescending
creature!--the manners of a Grand Chamberlain and the features of an
Apollo!
_Meg._ Permit me to enrol myself among the ranks of your humble
slaves and admirers (_kneels and kisses her hand_). But hark! the
music, and I must marshal the guests to the banquet. Permit me to
marshal you.
[_Exeunt with measured steps._
SCENE IV.--_The garden without the banqueting-room. Moonlight. The
sea in the distance, with the harbour._
ASANDER _and_ GYCIA _descend the steps of the palace slowly together.
Music heard from within the hall._
_Asan._ Come, Gycia, let us take the soft sweet air
Beneath the star of love. The festive lights
Still burn within the hall, where late we twain
Troth-plighted sate, and I from out thine eyes
Drank long, deep draughts of love stronger than wine.
And still the minstrels sound their dulcet strains,
Which then I heard not, since my ears were filled
With the sweet music of thy voice. My sweet,
How blest it is, left thus alone with love,
To hear the love-lorn nightingales complain
Beneath the star-gemmed heavens, and drink cool airs
Fresh from the summer sea! There sleeps the main
Which once I crossed unwilling. Was it years since,
In some old vanished life, or yesterday?
When saw I last my father and the shores
Of Bosphorus? Was it days since, or years,
Tell me, thou fair enchantress, who hast wove
So strong a spell around me?
_Gycia._ Nay, my lord;
Tell thou me first what magic 'tis hath turned
A woman who had scoffed so long at love
Until to-day--to-day, whose blessed night
Is hung so thick with stars--to feel as I,
That I have found the twin life which the gods
Retained when mine was fashioned, and must turn
To what so late was strange, as the flower turns
To the sun; ay, though he withers her, or clouds
Come 'twixt her and her light, turns still to him.
And only gazing lives.
_Asan._ Thou perfect woman!
And art thou, then, all mine? What have I done,
What have I been, that thus the favouring gods
And the consentient strength of hostile States
Conspire to make me happy? Ah! I fear,
Lest too great happiness be but a snare
Set for our feet by Fate, to take us fast
And then despoil our lives.
_Gycia._ My love, fear not.
We have found each other, and no power has strength
To put our lives asunder.
_Asan._ Thus I seal
Our contract with a kiss.
[_Kisses her._
_Gycia._ Oh, happiness!
To love and to be loved! And yet methinks
Love is not always thus. To some he brings
Deep disappointment only, and the pain
Of melancholy years. I have a lady
Who loves, but is unloved. Poor soul! she lives
A weary life. Some youth of Bosphorus
Stole her poor heart.
_Asan._ Of Bosphorus saidst thou?
And her name is?
_Gycia._ Irene. Didst thou know her?
_Asan._ Nay, love, or if I did I have forgot her.
_Gycia._ Poor soul! to-day when first we met, she saw
Her lover 'midst thy train and swooned away.
_Asan._ Poor heart! This shall be seen to. Tell me, Gycia,
Didst love me at first sight?
_Gycia._ Unreasonable,
To bid me tell what well thou knowest already.
Thou know'st I did. And when did love take thee?
_Asan._ I was wrapt up in spleen and haughty pride,
When, looking up, a great contentment took me,
Shed from thy gracious eyes. Nought else I saw,
Than thy dear self.
_Gycia._ And hadst thou ever loved?
_Asan._ Never, dear Gycia.
I have been so rapt in warlike enterprises
Or in the nimble chase, all my youth long,
That never had I looked upon a woman
With thought of love before, though it may be
That some had thought of me, being a Prince
And heir of Bosphorus.
_Gycia._ Not for thyself;
That could not be. Deceiver!
_Asan._ Nay, indeed!
_Gycia._ Oh, thou dear youth!
_Asan._ I weary for the day
When we our mutual love shall crown with marriage.
_Gycia._ Not yet, my love, we are so happy now.
_Asan._ But happier then, dear Gycia.
_Gycia._ Nay, I know not
If I could bear it and live. But hark, my love!
The music ceases, and the sated guests
Will soon be sped. Thou must resume thy place
Of honour for a little. I must go,
If my reluctant feet will bear me hence,
To dream of thee the livelong night. Farewell,
Farewell till morning. All the saints of heaven
Have thee in keeping!
_Asan._ Go not yet, my sweet;
And yet I bid thee go. Upon thy lips
I set love's seal, thus, thus.
[_Kisses her. They embrace._
Good night!
_Gycia._ Good night!
[_Exit_ GYCIA.
_Enter_ IRENE _unperceived._
_Asan._ Ah, sweetest, best of women! paragon
Of all thy sex, since first thy ancestress
Helen, the curse of cities and of men,
Marshalled the hosts of Greece! But she brought discord;
Thou, by thy all-compelling sweetness, peace
And harmony for strife. What have I done,
I a rough soldier, like a thousand others
Upon our widespread plains, to have won this flower
Of womanhood--this jewel for the front
Of knightly pride to wear, and, wearing it,
Let all things else go by? To think that I,
Fool that I was, only a few hours since,
Bemoaned the lot which brought me here and bade me
Leave my own land, which now sinks fathoms deep
Beyond my memory's depths, and scarce would deign
To obey thee, best of fathers, when thy wisdom
Designed to make me blest! Was ever woman
So gracious and so comely? And I scorned her
For her Greek blood and love of liberty!
Fool! purblind fool! there is no other like her;
I glory being her slave.
_Irene._ I pray you, pardon me, my Lord Asander.
I seek the Lady Gycia; is she here?
_Asan._ No, madam; she has gone, and with her taken
The glory of the night. But thou dost love her--
Is it not so, fair lady?
_Ire._ Ay, my lord,
For we have lived together all our lives;
I could not choose but love.
_Asan._ Well said indeed.
Tell me, and have I seen thy face before?
A something in it haunts me.
_Ire._ Ay, my lord.
Am I forgot so soon?
_Asan._ Indeed! Thy name?
Where have I seen thee?
_Ire._ Where? Dost thou, then, ask?
_Asan._ Ay; in good truth, my treacherous memory
Betrays me here.
_Ire._ Thou mayest well forget
My name, if thou hast quite forgot its owner.
[_Weeps._
I am called Irene.
_Asan._ Strange! the very name
My lady did relate to me as hers
Who bears a hopeless love. Weep not, good lady;
Take comfort. Heaven is kind.
_Ire._ Nay, my good lord,
What comfort? He I love loves not again,
Or not me, but another.
_Asan._ Ah, poor lady!
I pity you indeed, now I have known
True recompense of love.
_Ire._ Dost thou say pity?
And pity as they tell's akin to love.
What comfort is for me, my Lord Asander,
Who love one so exalted in estate
That all return of honourable love
Were hopeless, as if I should dare to raise
My eyes to Cæsar's self? What comfort have I,
If lately I have heard this man I love
Communing with his soul, when none seemed near,
Betray a heart flung prostrate at the feet
Of another, not myself; and well I know
Not Lethe's waters can wash out remembrance
Of that o'ermastering passion--naught but death
Or hopeless depths of crime?
_Asan._ Lady, I pity
Thy case, and pray thy love may meet return.
_Ire._ Then wilt thou be the suppliant to thyself,
And willing love's requital, Oh, requite it!
Thou art my love, Asander--thou, none other,
There is naught I would not face, if I might win thee.
That I a woman should lay bare my soul;
Disclose the virgin secrets of my heart
To one who loves me not, and doth despise
The service I would tender!
_Asan._ Cease, I pray you;
These are distempered words.
_Ire._ Nay, they are true.
And come from the inner heart. Leave these strange shores
And her you love. I know her from a child.
She is too high and cold for mortal love;
Too wrapt in duty, and high thoughts of State,
Artemis and Athené fused in one,
Ever to throw her life and maiden shame
As I do at thy feet.
[_Kneels._
_Asan._ Rise, lady, rise;
I am not worthy such devotion.
_Ire._ Take me
Over seas; I care not where. I'll be thy slave,
Thy sea-boy; follow thee, ill-housed, disguised,
Through hardship and through peril, so I see
Thy face sometimes, and hear sometimes thy voice,
For I am sick with love.
_Asan._ Lady, I prithee
Forget these wild words. I were less than man
Should I remember them, or take the gift
Which 'tis not reason offers. I knew not
Thy passion nor its object, nor am free
To take it, for the vision of my soul
Has looked upon its sun, and turns no more
To any lower light.
_Ire._ My Lord Asander,
She is not for thee; she cannot make thee happy,
Nor thou her. Oh, believe me! I am full
Of boding thoughts of the sure fatal day
Which shall dissolve in blood the bonds which love
To-day has plighted. If thou wilt not take me,
Then get thee gone alone. I see a fire
Which burns more fierce than love, and it consumes thee.
Fly with me, or alone, but fly.
_Asan._ Irene,
Passion distracts thy brain. I pray you, seek
Some mutual love as I. My heart is fixed,
And gone beyond recall.
[_Exit._
_Enter_ THEODORUS _unseen._
_Ire._ (_weeping passionately_). Disgraced! betrayed!
Rejected! All the madness of my love
Flung back upon me, as one spurns a gift
Who scorns the giver. That I love him still,
And cannot hate her who has robbed me of him!
I shall go mad with shame!
_Theo._ Great Heaven! sister,
What words are these I hear? My father's daughter
Confessing to her shame!
[IRENE _weeps._
Come, tell me, woman;
I am thy brother and protector, tell me
What mean these words?
_Ire._ Nay, nay, I cannot, brother.
They mean not what they seem, indeed they do not.
_Theo._ They mean not what they seem! Thou hast been long
In Bosphorus, and ofttimes at the Court
Hast seen the Prince. When he to-day comes hither,
Thou swoonest at the sight. I, seeking thee,
Find thee at night alone, he having left thee,
Lamenting for thy shame. Wouldst have me credit
Thy innocence? Speak, if thou hast a word
To balance proofs like these, or let thy silence
Condemn thee.
_Ire._ (_after a pause, and slowly, as if calculating consequences_).
Then do I keep silence, brother,
And let thy vengeance fall.
_Theo._ Oh, long-dead mother,
Who now art with the saints, shut fast thy ears
Against thy daughter's shame! These are the things
That make it pain to live: all precious gifts,
Honour, observance, virtue, flung away
For one o'ermastering passion. Why are we
Above the brute so far, if we keep still
The weakness of the brute? Go from my sight,
Thou vile, degraded wretch. For him whose craft
And wickedness has wronged thee, this I swear--
I will kill him, if I can, or he shall me.
I will call on him to draw, and make my sword
Red with a villain's blood.
_Ire._ (_eagerly_). Nay, nay, my brother,
That would proclaim my shame; and shouldst thou slay him,
Thou wouldst break thy lady's heart.
_Theo._ Doth she so love him?
_Ire._ Ay, passionately, brother.
_Theo._ Oh, just Heaven!
And oh, confusèd world!
How are we fettered here! I may not kill
A villain who has done my sister wrong,
Since she I love has given her heart to him,
And hangs upon his life. I would not pain
My Gycia with the smallest, feeblest pang
That wrings a childish heart, for all the world.
How, then, to kill her love, though killing him
Would rid the world of a villain, and would leave
My lady free to love? 'Twere not love's part
To pain her thus, not for the wealth and power
Of all the world heaped up. I tell thee, sister,
Thy paramour is safe--I will not seek
To do him hurt; but thou shalt go to-night
To my Bithynian castle. Haply thence,
After long penances and recluse days,
Thou mayst return, and I may bear once more
To see my sister's face.
_Ire._ Farewell, my brother!
I do obey; I bide occasion, waiting
For what the years may bring.
_Theo._ Repent thy sin.
END OF ACT II.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_Cherson, two years after. The palace of_ LAMACHUS.
ASANDER _and_ GYCIA.
_Gycia._ What day is this, Asander? Canst thou tell me?
_Asan._ Not I, my love. All days are now alike;
The weeks fleet by, the days equivalent gems
Strung on a golden thread.
_Gycia._ Thou careless darling!
I did not ask thee of the calendar.
Dost think a merchant's daughter knows not that?
Nay, nay; I only asked thee if thou knewest
If aught upon this day had ever brought
Some great change to thee.
_Asan._ Sweetest, dearest wife,
Our marriage! Thinkest thou I should forget,
Ay, though the chills of age had froze my brain,
That day of all my life?
_Gycia._ Dost thou regret it?
I _think_ thou dost not, but 'tis sweet to hear
The avowal from thy lips?
_Asan._ Nay, never a moment.
And thou?
_Gycia._ Nay, never for a passing thought.
I did not know what life was till I knew thee.
Dost thou remember it, how I came forth,
Looking incuriously to see the stranger,
And lo! I spied my love, and could not murmur
A word of courtesy?
_Asan._ Dost thou remember
How I, a feverish and hot-brained youth,
Full of rash pride and princely arrogance,
Lifted my eyes and saw a goddess coming----
_Gycia._ Nay, a weak woman only.
_Asan._ And was tamed
By the first glance?
_Gycia._ What! are we lovers still,
After two years of marriage?
_Asan._ Is it two years,
Or twenty? By my faith, I know not which,
For happy lives glide on like seaward streams
Which keep their peaceful and unruffled course
So smoothly that the voyager hardly notes
The progress of the tide. Ay, two years 'tis,
And now it seems a day, now twenty years,
But always, always happy.
[_Embraces_ GYCIA.
_Gycia._ Yet, my love,
We have known trials too. My honoured sire
Has gone and left us since.
_Asan._ Ay, he had reaped
The harvest of his days, and fell asleep
Amid the garnered sheaves.
_Gycia._ Dearest, I know
He loved thee as a son, and always strove
To fit thee for the place within our State
Which one day should be thine. Sometimes I think,
Since he has gone, I have been covetous
Of thy dear love, and kept thee from the labour
Of State-craft, and the daily manly toils
Which do befit thy age; and I have thought,
Viewing thee with the jealous eyes of love,
That I have marked some shade of melancholy
Creep on when none else saw thee, and desired
If only I might share it.
_Asan._ Nay, my love,
I have been happy truly, though sometimes,
It may be, I have missed the clear, brisk air
Of the free plains; the trumpet-notes of war,
When far against the sky the glint of spears
Lit by the rising sun revealed the ranks
Of the opposing host, the thundering onset
Of fierce conflicting squadrons, and the advance
Of the victorious hosts. Oh for the vigour
And freshness of such life! But I have chosen
To sleep on beds of down, as Cæsar might,
And live a woman's minion.
_Gycia._ Good my husband,
Thou shouldst not speak thus. I would have thee win
Thy place in the Senate, rule our Cherson's fortunes,
Be what my father was without the name,
And gain that too in time.
_Asan._ What! You would have me
Cozen, intrigue, and cheat, and play the huckster,
As your republicans, peace on their lips
And subtle scheming treaties, till the moment
When it is safe to spring? Would you have me cringe
To the ignorant mob of churls, through whose sweet voices
The road to greatness lies? Nay, nay; I am
A King's son, and of Bosphorus, not Cherson--
A Scythian more than Greek.
_Gycia._ Nay, my good lord,
Scythian or Greek, to me thou art more dear
Than all the world beside. Yet will not duty,
The memory of the dead, the love of country,
The pride of the great race from which we spring,
Suffer my silence wholly, hearing thee.
It is not true that men Athenian-born
Are of less courage, less of noble nature,
More crafty in design, less frank of purpose,
Than are thy countrymen. They have met and fought them,
Thou knowest with what fate. For polity
I hold it better that self-governed men
Should, using freedom, but eschewing license,
Fare to what chequered fate the will of Heaven
Reserves for them, than shackled by the chains
The wisest tyrant, gilding servitude
With seeming gains, imposes. We are free
In speech, in council, in debate, in act,
As when our great Demosthenes hurled back
Defiance to the tyrant. Nay, my lord,
Forgive my open speech. I have not forgot
That we are one in heart and mind and soul,
Knit in sweet bonds for ever. Put from thee
This jaundiced humour.
If State-craft please not, by the headlong chase
Which once I know thou lovedst. Do not grudge
To leave me; for to-day my bosom friend,
After two years of absence, comes to me.
I shall not feel alone, having Irene.
_Asan._ Whom dost thou say? Irene?
_Gycia._ Yes, the same
She was crossed in love, poor girl, dost thou remember,
When we were wed?
_Asan._ Gycia, I mind it well.
Send her away--she is no companion for thee;
She is not fit, I say.
_Gycia._ What is't thou sayest?
Thou canst know nought of her. Nay, I remember,
When I did ask thee if thou knewest her
At Bosphorus, thou answeredst that thou didst not.
_Asan._ I know her. She is no fit mate for thee.
_Gycia._ Then, thou didst know her when thy tongue denied it.
_Asan._ How 'tis I know her boots not; I forbid
My wife to know that woman. Send her hence.
_Gycia._ Nay, nay, my lord, it profits not to quarrel.
Thou art not thyself. Either thou knew'st her name
When we were wedded, or unreasoning spleen
Doth blind thy judgment since. Thou canst not know her
Who has been absent.
_Asan._ Ask no more, good wife;
I give no reason.
_Gycia._ Nay, indeed, good husband,
Thou hast no reason, and without good reason
I will not spurn my friend.
_Asan._ Gycia, forgive me;
I spoke but for our good, and I will tell thee
One day what stirs within me, but to-day
Let us not mar our happy memories
By any shade of discord.
_Gycia._ Oh, my love,
Forgive me if I have seemed, but for a moment,
To fail in duty. I am all, all thine;
I have nought but thee to live for. Childish hands
And baby voices lisping for their mother
Are not for me, nor thee; but, all in all,
We joy together, we sorrow together, and last
Shall die, when the hour comes, as something tells me,
Both in the selfsame hour.
_Asan._ Nay, wife, we are young;
Our time is not yet come. Let us speak now
Of what I know thou holdest near thy heart.
I do remember that it was thy wish
To celebrate thy father's name and fame
By some high festal. If thy purpose hold
For such observance, the sad day which took him
Returns a short time hence; I will employ
Whatever wealth is mine to do him honour,
And thee, my Gycia. Honouring the sire,
I honour too the child.
_Gycia._ My love, I thank thee
For this spontaneous kindness, and I love thee;
I am all thine own again. Come, let us go;
Nor spare the wealth wherewith his bounty blest us
To do fit honour to the illustrious dead.
[_Exeunt._