LYSIMACHUS _and three_ Courtiers; _afterwards_ ASANDER.
_Lys._ My lords, what have you to report? Have the men arrived?
_1st Court._ For a week past they have been arriving at the rate of
fifty a day. The ships anchor in due course. At dead of night, when
everything is still, the merchandise is landed and conveyed well
disguised to the great storehouses of Lamachus' palace, with good
store of arms and provisions.
_2nd Court._ Yes, and by the day of the festival we shall have more
than five hundred well-armed men within the walls, who, while the
people are feasting, will bear down all opposing forces and open the
gates to the larger body, who will lie concealed in the grain-ships
in the harbour.
_Lys._ Does no one suspect, think you, as yet?
_1st Court._ Not a soul. The merchandise is landed at dead of night.
_3rd Court._ Does the Prince know?
_Lys._ Not yet, not a word. I can't trust him with his blind love for
his wife.
_3rd Court._ What if he will not be of us?
_Lys._ Then he shall be put under hatches at once for Bosphorus, and
may take his wife with him if he pleases.
_1st Court._ But will he pardon the deed?
_Lys._ The lad is a good lad enough, but weak as water. The world
always pardons successful enterprises. Besides, I am in great hopes
that he has so quarrelled with the ruler of Cherson, and may be,
moreover, so out of conceit with his wife, that we can do as we will
with him.
_2nd Court._ But be prudent, my Lord Lysimachus, I beg, for we know
not how far he is with us, and if he is against us now, it may take
more than we know to keep our heads on our shoulders.
_Lys._ My lords, you shall not lose a drop of your blood. But here is
my Lord Asander. He looks cast down enough, in all conscience.
_Enter_ ASANDER.
Well, Prince, hast thou seen the lady?
_Asan._ Speak not to me of her, I pray. I must leave this accursed
place at once and for ever, and must take my wife with me. Once in
Bosphorus, I may know again the happiness which is denied me here. I
will not stay here a day. Is there any ship from Bosphorus in
harbour? Get me away to-night secretly, and the Lady Gycia with me.
_Lys._ My lord, there are many ships here from Bosphorus, but none
empty or which can be spared now; but it wants but two days to the
festival, and if thou wilt tarry until then, it may be we can so
arrange that either thou mayst set sail for Bosphorus at your will or
bring Bosphorus hither at will.
_Asan._ What do these words mean? You speak in riddles. I care not
what becomes of me, but remember my honour, Lysimachus, my honour! If
any scheme against the State of Cherson is in your mind, I will have
none of it. I want nothing of these people, only to be allowed to
turn my back upon them and their intrigues for ever, and to carry the
wife whom I love far away from the air of chicane and base deceit
which makes this Cherson a hell.
_Lys._ My Lord Asander, thou hast not forgot
Thy oath which thou didst swear ere first you left
Our Bosphorus, that, come what fate should come,
Thou wouldst not forget her. Now, as Fate would have it,
These gentlemen and I, hearing report
Of the grand festival which now approaches,
Have ta'en such measures as may make our city
Mistress of this her rival. Day by day
Ships laden deep with merchandise cast anchor
By Lamachus's palace, and unload
At dead of night their tale of armèd men,
And by to-morrow night, which is the eve
Of the feast, five hundred men-at-arms or more
Will there lie hid. These, when the festival
Has spent itself, and the drowsed citizens,
Heavy with meat and wine, are fast asleep,
Will issue forth at midnight and will seize
The guardians of the gates, and throw them open
To an o'erwhelmmg force which fills the ships
Which lie within the harbour. For the rest,
Cherson is ours, thou free to go or stay,
King if thou wilt; but this, my lord, know well--
If thou hast even no reverence for thy oath,
No power on earth can free thee from thy bonds
Or speed thee hence, if still this cursèd State
Keeps its free power. Therefore, look well to it.
_Asan._ I cannot do this thing. I am no thief
Or midnight murderer, but a prince and soldier.
Place me in open battle, and I care not
For bloodshed; but this murderous intrigue,
I will have none o't.
_Lys._ Nay, my lord, in sooth,
Why think of bloodshed? If our scheme go right
(And nought can mar it now), what need of blood?
These smooth knaves, though they fight behind their walls
With cunning enginery, yet when they see
Our army in their streets, will straight grow prudent
And hug discretion. But, indeed, my lord,
We have gone too far to pause, and if thou like not
Our scheme, which makes for thee and for our State,
We cannot risk that thou denounce our plan,
And therefore, if thou wilt not join with us,
The safety of ourselves and of the State
Holds thee a prisoner pent in durance vile
Till victory is ours, and thou mayst take
The fruit of others' daring, while thy wife
Deserts her doubting and dishonoured lord
For one who dares to act and play his part
As a man should.
_Asan._ (_after hesitation_). I do not hold with you,
That a man's oath can bind him to his God
To do what else were wrong. Yet, since you swear
Your purpose is not bloodshed, and my will
Is impotent to stay your choice, and chiefly
Because I am cast down and sick at heart,
And without any trust in God or man,
I do consent to your conspiracy,
Loving it not.
_Lys._ There spoke my lord the Prince.
We will succeed or die.
_Asan._ I would sooner die.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.--_Cherson. Irene's prison._
IRENE; _then the Gaoler's_ Child; _afterwards_ GYCIA.
_Ire._ Ah me! The heaviness of prisoned days!
Heigho! 'Tis weary work in prison here.
What though I know no loss but liberty,
Have everything at will--food, service, all
That I should have, being free--yet doth constraint
Poison life at its spring; and if I thought
This woman's jealous humour would endure,
I would sooner be a hireling set to tend
The kine upon the plains, in heat or cold,
Chilled through by the sharp east, scorched by the sun,
So only I might wander as I would
At my own will, than weary to be free
From this luxurious cell. Hark!
[_The tramp of armed men is heard._
What was that sound?
I could swear I heard the measured tramp of men
And ring of mail, yet is it but illusion.
Last night I thought I heard it as I lay
Awake at dead of night. Mere fantasy
Born of long solitude, for here there are
No soldiers nor mailed feet.
[_Again heard._
Hark! once again.
Nay, I must curb these fancies.
_Enter_ Child.
_Child._ Gentle lady.
_Ire._ Speak, little one. Come hither.
_Child._ Gentle lady,
My father, who is Warder of this tower,
Bade me come hither and ask thee if thou wouldst
That I should hold thy distaff, or might render
Some other service.
_Ire._ Ay, child; a good thought.
Bring me my spinning-wheel.
[Child _brings it._
_Ire. (spinning)._ The light is fading fast, but I would choose
This twilight, if thou wilt not be afraid
Of the darkness, little one.
_Child._ Nay, that I am not,
With one so good as thou.
_Ire._ Nay, child, it may be
I am not all thou think'st me.
_Child._ But, dear lady,
Are not all noble ladies good?
_Ire._ Not all,
Nor many, maybe.
_Child._ To be sure they are not,
Else were they not imprisoned.
_Ire._ Little one,
Not all who pine in prison are not good,
Nor innocent who go free.
_Child._ The Lady Gycia,
Is she not good?
_Ire._ It may be that she is.
'Tis a vile world, my child.
_Child._ Nay, I am sure
The Lady Gycia is as white and pure
As are the angels. When my mother died
She did commend me to her, and she promised
To keep me always.
_Ire._ But she sent me here.
_Child._ Ah! lady, then I fear thou art not good.
I am sorry for thee.
_Ire._ So, my child, am I.
[_The tramp of armed feet is heard again._
_Child._ Ah! lady, what is that? I am afraid.
What means that noise?
_Ire._ What didst thou hear, my child?
_Child._ A tramp of armèd men and ring of mail.
_Ire._ Then, 'tis no fancy of my weary brain.
If it comes again I must inquire into it.
'Tis passing strange. Be not afraid, my child.
'Twas but the wind which echoed through the void
Of the vast storehouses below us. Come,
[_Spinning._
Let us to spinning. Twirl and twirl and twirl;
'Tis a strange task.
_Child._ Lady, I love it dearly.
My mother span, and I would sit by her
The livelong day.
_Ire._ Didst ever hear the tale
Of the Fates and how they spin?
_Child._ I do not think so.
Wilt tell me?
_Ire._ There were three weird sisters once,
Clotho and Lachesis and Atropos,
Who spun the web of fate for each new life,
Sometimes, as I do now, a brighter thread
Woven with the dark, and sometimes black as night.
Until at last came Atropos and cut
The fine-worn life-thread thus.
[_Cuts the thread; the head of the spindle rolls away._
_Child._ And hast thou cut
Some life-thread now?
_Ire._ My child, I am no Fate,
And yet I know not; but the spindle's head
Rolled hence to yonder corner. Let us seek it.
Hast found it?
_Child._ Nay, there is so little light.
I think that it has fallen in the crevice
Beneath yon panel.
_Ire._ Stoop and seek it, child.
Perchance the panel slides, and then, it may be,
We shall let in the light.
[_Draws back the panel and discovers a bright light, files of
armed men, and_ ASANDER _in the midst._
_Child._ Ay, there it is;
We have it, we have found it.
[_Sliding panel back again._
_Ire._ What have we found?
What have we found? Yes, little one, 'tis found!
Run away now--I fain would be alone--
And come back presently.
[_Kisses_ Child, _who goes._
These were the sounds
I heard and thought were fancy's. All is clear
As is the blaze of noon. The Prince Asander
Is traitor to the State, and will o'erwhelm it
When all the citizens are sunk in sleep
After to-morrow's feast. Well, what care I?
He is not for me, whether we call him King
Or Archon; and for these good men of Cherson,
What is their fate to me? If he succeed,
As now he must, since no one knows the secret,
'Twill only be a change of name--no more.
The King and Queen will hold a statelier Court
And live contented when the thing is done,
And that is all. For who will call it treason
When victory crowns the plot? But stay! a gleam
Of new-born hope. What, what if it should fail
As I could make it fail? What if this woman,
Full of fantastic reverence for the dead,
And nourished on her cold republican dream,
Should learn the treason ere 'twas done and mar it?
Would not Asander hate her for the failure?
And she him for the plot? I know her well.
I know her love for him, but well I know
She is so proud of her Athenian blood
And of this old republic, she would banish
Her love for less than this. Once separated,
The Prince safe over seas in Bosphorus,
His former love turned to injurious pride,
I might prevail! I would!
_Re-enter_ CHILD.
Nay, little one,
We will spin no more to-day. I prithee go
And seek the Lady Gycia. Say to her,
By all the memory of our former love
I pray that she will come to me at once.
Lose not a moment.
[_Exit_ Child.
Hark! the tramp again;
Again the ring of mail. I wonder much
If she shall hear it first, or first the eye
Shall slay her love within her.
_Enter_ GYCIA.
_Gycia._ Thou dost ask
My presence; wherefore is it?
_Ire._ Gycia,
Thou dost not love me, yet would I requite
Thy wrong with kindness. That thy love was false
To thee, thou knowest, but it may be still
There is a deeper falsehood than to thee,
And thou shalt know it. Dost thou hear that sound?
[The tramp of men again heard.
What means it, think you?
_Gycia._ Nay, I cannot tell.
'Tis like the tramp of armèd men.
_Ire._ It is;
And who are they?
_Gycia._ Young citizens of Cherson,
Maybe, rehearsing for to-morrow's pageant
And the procession.
[_Going._
_Ire._ Stay, thou stubborn woman,
Canst bear to see, though the sight blight thy life?
_Gycia._ I know not what thou wouldst, but I can bear it.
_Ire._ Though it prove thy love a traitor?
_Gycia._ That it will not!
_Ire._ Then, make no sound, but see what I will show thee.
Look now! Behold thy love!
[_Draws back panel, and discovers_ ASANDER _with the
soldiers of Bosphorus marching._ ASANDER'S _voice heard._
_Asan._ At stroke of midnight
To-morrow night be ready.
_Soldiers._ Ay, my lord.
[GYCIA _tottering back._ IRENE _slides back the panel,
and_ GYCIA _sets her back against it, half fainting_;
IRENE _regarding her with triumph._
_Gycia._ Was that my husband? and those men around him
Soldiers of Bosphorus, to whom he gave
Some swift command? What means it all, ye saints?
What means it? This the husband of my love,
Upon whose breast I have lain night by night
For two sweet years--my husband whom my father
Loved as a son, whose every thought I knew,
Or deemed I did, lurking in ambush here
Upon the eve of our great festival,
Scheming some bloody treachery to take
Our Cherson in the toils? Oh, 'tis too much;
I cannot trust my senses! 'Twas a dream!
_Ire._ No dream, but dreadful truth!
_Gycia._ Thou cruel woman
How have I harmed thee, thou shouldst hate me thus?
But 'twas no dream. Why was it else that he,
But for some hateful treachery, devised
This festival? Why was it that he grew
So anxious to go hence and take me with him,
But that guilt made him coward, and he feared
To see his work? Oh, love for ever lost,
And with it faith gone out! what is't remains
But duty, though the path be rough and trod
By bruised and bleeding feet? Oh, what is it
Is left for me in life but death alone,
Which ends it?
_Ire._ Gycia, duty bids thee banish
Thy love to his own State, and then disclose
The plot thou hast discovered. It may be
That thou mayst join him yet, and yet grow happy.
_Gycia._ Never! For duty treads another path
Than that thou knowest. I am my father's daughter.
It is not mine to pardon or condemn;
That is the State's alone. 'Tis for the State
To banish, not for me, and therefore surely
I must denounce these traitors to the Senate,
And leave the judgment theirs.
_Ire._ (_kneeling_). Nay, nay, I pray thee,
Do not this thing! Thou dost not know how cruel
Is State-craft, or what cold and stony hearts
Freeze in their politic breasts.
_Gycia._ _Thou_ kneel'st to me
To spare my husband! Think'st thou I love him less
Than thou dost, wanton?
_Ire._ Gycia, they will kill him.
Get him away to-night to Bosphorus.
Thou dost not know these men!
_Gycia._ _I_ know them not?
I who have lived in Cherson all my days,
And trust the State? Nay, I will get me hence,
And will denounce this treason to the Senate.
There lies my duty clear, and I will do it;
I fear not for the rest. The State is clement
To vanquished foes, and doubtless will find means
To send them hence in safety. For myself
I know not what may come--a broken heart,
Maybe, and death to mend it. But for thee,
Thou shameless wanton, if thou breathe a sound
Or make a sign to them, thou diest to-night
With torture.
_Ire._ Spare him! Do not this thing, Gycia!
[_Exit_ GYCIA.
O God, she is gone! he is lost! and I undone!
[_Swoons._
SCENE II.--_Room in_ LAMACHUS'S _palace._
LYSIMACHUS, MEGACLES, Courtiers; _afterwards_ ASANDER.
_Lys._ Well, good Megacles, I hope you are prepared to carry out your
function. It will be a busy and anxious day to-morrow, no doubt, and
most of us will be glad when midnight strikes.
_Meg._ My Lord Lysimachus, I hope so. I have not closed an eye for
the last two nights. As to the Procession, I flatter myself that no
better-arranged pomp has ever defiled before Cæsar's Palace. It will
be long, it will be splendid, it will be properly marshalled. There
is no other man in the Empire who knows the distinctions of rank or
the mysteries of marshalling better than I do. Look at the books I
have studied. There is the treatise of the Learned and Respectable
Symmachus on Processions. That is one. There is the late divine
Emperor Theodosius on Dignities and Titles of Honour. That is two.
There is our learned and illustrious Chamberlain Procopius's treatise
on the office and duties of a Count of the Palace. That, as no doubt
you know, is in six large volumes. That is three, or, nay, eight
volumes. Oh, my poor head! And I have said nothing of the authorities
on Costume--a library, I assure you, in themselves. Yes, it has been
an anxious time, but a very happy one. I wish our young friends here
would devote a little more time to such serious topics, and less to
such frivolities as fighting and making love. The latter is a fine
art, no doubt, and, when done according to rule, is well enough; but
as for fighting, getting oneself grimed with dust and sweat, and very
likely some vulgar churl's common blood to boot--pah! it is
intolerable to think of it.
_1st Court._ Well, good Megacles, I am afraid that the world cannot
spare its soldiers yet for many years to come. So long as there is
evil in the world, and lust of power and savagery and barbarism, so
long, depend upon it, there is room and need for the soldier.
_Meg._ Certainly, my lord, certainly; and besides, they are very
highly decorative too. Nothing looks better to my mind at a banquet
than bright gay faces and lithe young figures set in a shining
framework of mail. By the way, my Lord Lysimachus, it was kind of you
to provide our procession with a strong detachment of fine young
soldiers from Bosphorus. I have secured a prominent place for them,
and the effect will be perfect. I trust the Lady Melissa will like
it.
_Lys._ My lord, you are mistaken; there are no soldiers from
Bosphorus here.
_Meg._ But I was with the Prince last night, and saw them.
_Lys._ I tell you you are mistaken. There are none here. Do you
understand me? There are none here.
_2nd Court._ Nay, indeed, my Lord Megacles. We were trying, with a
view to the pageant, how a number of young men of Cherson would look
in the array of Bosphorus; but we gave it up, since we feared that
they would bear them so clumsily that they would mar the whole
effect.
_Meg._ Ah, that explains it; quite right, quite right. Well, I see I
was mistaken. But I wish I could have had soldiers from Bosphorus.
They are the one thing wanting to make to-morrow a perfect success,
as the Lady Melissa said.
_Lys._ They are indeed, as you say. But, my Lord Megacles, pray do
not whisper abroad what you have said here; these people are so
jealous. They would grow sullen, and spoil the pageant altogether.
_Meg._ Ah, my lord, you have a good head. I will not breathe a word
of it till the day is done.
_Lys._ Thanks, my lord, and as I know you will be weary with the long
day's work and your great anxieties, I am going to lay a little
friendly compulsion upon you. You must leave the banquet to-morrow
and go to rest by eleven o'clock at latest.
_Meg._ Well, my lord, I am not so young as I was, and if I have your
permission to leave before all is over, well and good. No one knows
what an anxious day is before me, and I have no doubt I shall have
earned my night's rest by then. But I have much yet to do, so with
your permission I will wish you good night.
[_Exit_ MEGACLES, _bowing low to each with exaggerated gestures._
_Lys._ Poor soul, poor soul! If any fight comes, it would be as cruel
to let him take his part with men as it would be if he were a woman
or a child.
_Enter_ ASANDER.
Welcome, my Lord Asander. Hast thou seen our men, and are they ready
for to-morrow?
_Asan._ I have just come from them, and they are ready,
But I am not. I pray you, let this be;
Send back these men to-night. I am oppressed
By such o'ermastering presages of ill
As baffle all resolve.
_Lys._ My Lord Asander,
It is too late. Wouldst thou, then, break thy oath?
Wouldst thou live here a prisoner, nor behold
Thy father, though he die? Wouldst thou thy country
Should spurn thee as the traitor whose malignance
Blighted her hard-won gains? It is too late!
It is too late!
_Asan._ I am grown infirm of will
As any dotard. I will go on now
So that thou dost no murder.
_Lys._ Why was it
We came in such o'erwhelming force, but that
We sought to shed no blood?
_Asan._ I will be ready,
Though with a heavy heart. To-morrow night
At stroke of twelve, when all the feast is done,
And all asleep, we issue from the palace,
Seize the guards at their posts, and open wide
The gates to the strong force which from the ships
At the same hour shall land. The citizens,
Heavy with wine, will wake to find their city
Our own beyond recall.
_Lys._ Ay, that's the scheme,
And nought can mar it now. Good night, my lord.
Sleep well; there is much to do.
_Asan._ Good night, my lords!
[_Exit_ ASANDER.
_Lys._ No bloodshed! Why, what fools love makes of men!
I have seen this very lad dash through the ranks
Of hostile spearmen, cut and hack and thrust
As in sheer sport. There will be blood shed, surely,
Unless these dogs have lost their knack of war
As he has; but we have them unprepared,
And shall prevail, and thou shalt be avenged
My father slain, and thou, my murdered brother,
Shalt be avenged! My lords, you know what work
Is given each to do. Be not too chary
Of your men's swords; let them strike sudden terror.
Slay all who do resist, or if they do not,
Yet slay them still. My lords, give you good night.
To-morrow at midnight, at the stroke of twelve--
At the stroke of twelve!
[_Exeunt omnes._
SCENE III.--_The council chamber of the Senate of Cherson._
ZETHO _and_ Senators; _afterwards_ GYCIA.
_Zet._ Most worthy brethren, Senators of Cherson,
In great perplexity of mind and will
I summon ye to-night. The Lady Gycia,
Our Lamachus's daughter, sends request,
Urgent as 'twere of instant life and death,
That I should call ye here. What care can move
Such anxious thought in her, on this the eve
Of the high festival herself has founded,
I know not, but 'twould seem the very air
Is full of floating rumours, vague alarms,
Formless suspicions which elude the grasp,
Unspoken presages of coming ill
Which take no shape. For whence should danger come?
We are at peace with all. Our former foe
Is now our dearest friend; the Prince Asander,
Though of a hasty spirit and high temper,
Dwells in such close, concordant harmony
With his loved wife that he is wholly ours;
And yet though thus at peace, rumours of war
And darkling plots beset us. Is it not thus?
Have ye heard aught?
_1st Sen._ Zetho, 'tis true. Last night, a citizen
Sware he heard clang of arms and ring of mail
At midnight by the house of Lamachus!
_2nd Sen._ My freedman, coming home at grey of dawn,
Saw a strange ship unload her merchandise,
And one bale chanced to fall, and from it came
Groanings and drops of blood!
_3rd Sen._ Two nights ago,
The ways being white with snow, I on the quay
Saw the thick-planted marks of armèd feet;
But, rising with the dawn, I found the place
Swept clean with care!
_Zet._ Brethren, I know not what
These things portend.
_Enter_ GYCIA.
But see, she comes! Good daughter,
Why is thy cheek so pale?
_Gycia._ This is the wont
Of women. Grief drives every drop of blood
Back to the breaking heart, which love calls forth
To mantle on the cheek. Sirs, I have come
On such an errand as might drive a woman
Stronger than I to madness; I have come
To tell you such a tale as well might fetter
My tongue and leave me speechless. Pity me
If I do somewhat wander in my talk!
'Tis scarce an hour ago, that in my house,
Drawing some secret panel in the wall,
I saw the long hall filled with armèd men
Of Bosphorus, and at their head--O Heaven,
I cannot say it!--at their head I saw
My husband, my Asander, my own love,
[Senators _rise with strong emotion._
Who ordered them and bade them all stand ready
To-morrow night at midnight. What means this?
What else than that these traitorous bands shall slay
Our Cherson's liberties, and give to murder
Our unsuspecting people, whom the feast
Leaves unprepared for war? I pray you, sirs,
Lose not one moment. Call the citizens
To arms while yet 'tis time! Defeat this plot!
Do justice on these traitors! Save the city,
Though I am lost!
_Zet._ Daughter, thy loyal love
To our dear city calls for grateful honour
From us who rule. In thy young veins the blood
Of patriot Lamachus flows to-day as strong
As once it did in his; nay, the warm tide
Which stirred the lips of bold Demosthenes
And all that dauntless band who of old time
Gave heart and life for Athens, still is thine.
In our Hellenic story, there is none
Who has done more than thou, who hast placed love,
Wedlock, and queenly rule, and all things dear
To a tender woman's heart, below the State--
A patriot before all. Is there no favour
A State preserved may grant thee?
_Gycia._ Noble Zetho,
I ask but this. I know my husband's heart,
How true it was and loyal. He is led,
I swear, by evil counsels to this crime;
And maybe, though I seek not to excuse him,
It was the son's love for his dying sire,
Whom he should see no more, that scheming men
Have worked on to his ruin. Banish him
To his own city, though it break my heart,
But harm him not; and for those wretched men
Whose duty 'tis to obey, shed not their blood,
But let the vengeance of our city fall
Upon the guilty only.
_Zet._ Brethren all,
Ye hear what 'tis she asks, and though to grant it
Is difficult indeed, yet her petition
Comes from the saviour of the State. I think
We well may grant her prayer. Though well I know
How great the danger, yet do I believe
It may be done. Is it so, worthy brethren?
[Senators _nod assent._
Daughter, thy prayer is granted.
_Gycia._ Sirs, I thank you;
I love you for your mercy.
_Zet._ For the rest,
I counsel that we do not rouse the city.
'Twere of no use to-night to set our arms,
Blunt with long peace and rusted with disuse,
Against these banded levies. By to-morrow--
And we are safe till then--we shall have time
To league together such o'erwhelming force
As may make bloodshed needless, vain their plot,
And mercy possible. Meantime, dear lady,
Breathe not a word of what thine eyes have seen,
But bear thyself as though thou hadst seen nothing,
And had no care excepting to do honour
To thy dead sire; and when the weary day
Tends to its close, school thou thy heavy heart,
And wear what mask of joy thou canst, and sit
Smiling beside thy lord at the high feast,
Where all will meet. See that his cup is filled
To the brim; drink healths to Bosphorus and Cherson.
Seem thou to drink thyself, having a goblet
Of such a colour as makes water blush
Rosy as wine. When all the strangers' eyes
Grow heavy, then, some half an hour or more
From midnight, rise as if to go to rest,
Bid all good night, and thank them for their presence.
Then, issuing from the banquet-hall, lock fast
The great doors after thee, and bring the key
To us, who here await thee. Thus shalt thou
Save this thy State, and him thy love, and all.
For we will, ere the fateful midnight comes,
Send such o'erwhelming forces to surround them
That they must needs surrender, and ere dawn
Shall be long leagues away. We will not shed
A drop of blood, my daughter.
_Gycia._ Noble Zetho
I thank you and these worthy senators.
I knew you would be merciful. I thank you,
And will obey in all things.
[_Exit_ GYCIA.
_Bardanes, 1st Sen._ She is gone;
I durst not speak before her. Dost thou know,
Good Zetho, how infirm for war our State
After long peace has grown? I doubt if all
The men whom we might arm before the hour
Are matched in numbers with those murderous hordes;
While in experience of arms, in training,
In everything that makes a soldier strong,
We are no match for them. Our paramount duty
Is to the State alone, not to these pirates
Who lie in wait to slay us; nor to one
Who, woman-like, knows not our strength or weakness,
Nor cares, if only she might wring a promise
To spare her traitorous love. But we have arts
Which these barbarians know not, quenchless fires
Which in one moment can enwrap their stronghold
In one red ring of ruin. My counsel is,
That ere the hour of midnight comes we place
Around the palace walls on every side
Such store of fuel and oils and cunning drugs
As at one sign may leap a wall of fire
Impassable, and burn these hateful traitors
Like hornets in their nest.
_Zetho._ Good brethren all,
Is this your will? Is it faith? Is it honour, think you,
To one who has given all, for us to break
Our solemn plighted word?
_2nd Sen._ We will not break it;
We shed no drop of blood. The State demands it;
The safety of the State doth override
All other claim. The safety of the State
Is more than all!
_All the Senators, with uplifted arms._ Ay, Zetho, more than all!
_Zetho._ Then, be it as you will. See, therefore, to it;
Take measures that your will be done, not mine.
Though I approve not, yet I may not set
My will against the universal voice.
Save us our Cherson. For the rest I care not,
Only I grieve to break our solemn promise
To Lamachus's child. Poor heart! poor heart!
ACT V.
SCENE I.--_Outside_ LAMACHUS'S _palace._
MEGACLES, LYSIMACHUS, Courtiers, _and_ Citizens _of Cherson._
_Meg._ Oh, this has been a happy day. All has gone admirably. Not a
hitch in all the arrangements. Precedence kept, rank observed,
dresses all they should be. I do not, I really do not think, though I
say it who should not, that the Imperial Chamberlain at
Constantinople could have conducted the matter better.
_1st Court._ Nay, that he could not, good Megacles. Let us hope that
what remains to do will go as smoothly.
_Meg._ What remains? Doubtless you mean the banquet. That is all
arranged long ago under three heads. First, the order of entering the
hall; second, the order of the seats; third, the order of going
forth.
_Lys._ Doubtless the last will arrange itself. Remember, the only
order of going to be observed is this, that thou get thyself gone,
and all the guests from Cherson gone, fully half an hour before
midnight.
_Meg._ But, my lord, that is impossible; you ask too much. How long
do you suppose it will take, at a moderate computation, to get one
hundred men of ill-defined rank out of a room with a decent regard
for Precedence. Why, I have seen it take an hour at the Palace, where
everybody knew his place, and here I cannot undertake to do it under
two.
_Lys._ My friend, you will get it done; you will waive ceremony. None
but the Prince and ourselves must remain within half an hour of
midnight, and the hall must be cleared.
_Meg._ Ah, well, my Lord Lysimachus, the responsibility rests with
you; I will have none of it. It is as much as my reputation is worth.
But if I do this, cannot you let me have a guard of honour of armed
men to stand at intervals along the hall. I have been longing for
them all day.
_Lys._ (_angrily_). Peace, fool! I have told you before we have no
soldiers here.
[People _of Cherson overhearing him._
_1st Cit._ Didst hear that old man? He believes there are soldiers
here. Whence do they come? and why did the other check him?
_Meg._ Well, my Lord Lysimachus, if not soldiers, men-at-arms, and
these there certainly are, and highly decorative too.
_2nd Cit._ I hate these Bosphorians. What if the rumour should be
true? Pass the word to the citizens that they sleep not to-night, but
keep their arms ready for what may come. We are a match for them,
whatever may be their design. To-morrow we will probe this matter to
its depths.
_2nd Court._ Depend upon it, there is no time to lose if we would
forestall these fellows. But here comes the procession to the
banqueting-hall.
[Citizens _going to banquet two and two._
_Meg._ (_with a gold wand_). This way, gentlemen; this way, masters
and mistresses; this way, Respectables!
[_Accompanies them to the end of the stage towards the
banqueting-hall in the distance. Returns to escort another party._
Musicians, _etc._
_Enter_ Senators, _two and two._
_Meg._ (_bowing profoundly three times_). Most Illustrious Senators!
this way, your Highnesses; this way.
_Enter_ MELISSA _and other_ Ladies.
(_To_ MELISSA) Fairest and loveliest of your adorable sex, your slave
prostrates himself before your stainless and beatific feet (_bowing
low and kissing his fingers_). Illustrious Ladies, I pray you to
advance.
_Lys._ (_with Courtiers standing apart_). A good appetite, my
friends. Enjoy yourselves while you may.
_Bard._ We are quite ready, my Lord Lysimachus. Are you not (_with a
sneer_) for the banquet?
_Lys._ In good time, in good time. If they only knew.
[_Aside._
_Bard._ (_overhearing_). If _you_ knew all, my friends.
_Meg._ (_returning_). I pray you, most Illustrious Senators, to
excuse the absence of a guard of honour.
_Bard._ Nay, nay; we are peaceful people, and have no armed men
nearer than Bosphorus, as my Lord Lysimachus knows. There are plenty
in that favoured State, no doubt.
_Lys._ (_confused_). What does this insolence mean? I would the hour
were come.
_Enter_ ZETHO, _with his retinue._
_Meg._ Your Gravity, Your Sincerity, Your Sublime and Wonderful
Magnitude, Your Illustrious and Magnificent Highness, I prostrate
myself before Your Altitude. Will You deign to walk this way?
_Zetho._ My lord, I am no Cæsar, but a simple citizen of Cherson,
called by my fellows to preside over the State. Use not to me these
terms, I pray of you, but lead on quickly.
_Meg._ I prostrate myself before Your Eminence.
_Enter_ ASANDER _and_ GYCIA.
_Meg._ (_returning_). Noble Prince, will your Illustrious Consort and
yourself deign to follow me?
_Asan._ Nay, good Megacles, will you and these gentlemen go first? I
have a word to say to the Lady Gycia. We will be with you before the
guests are seated.
_Meg._ I obey, my Lord Asander, and will await you at the door.
[MEGACLES, LYSIMACHUS, _and the rest, pass on._
_Asan._ Gycia, though we have passed from amity
And all our former love, yet would I pray you,
By our sweet years of wedded happiness,
Give ear to me a moment. It may be
That some great shock may come to set our lives
For evermore apart.
_Gycia._ Ah yes, Asander--
For evermore apart!
_Asan._ And I would fain,
If it must be, that thou shouldst know to-night
That never any woman on the earth
Held me one moment in the toils of love
Except my wife.
_Gycia._ What! not Irene's self?
_Asan._ Never, I swear by Heaven. She was a woman
In whom a hopeless passion burnt the springs
Of maiden modesty. I never gave her
The solace of a smile.
_Gycia._ Dost thou say this?
Is thy soul free from all offence with her,
If thou camest now to judgment?
_Asan._ Ay, indeed,
Free as a child's.
_Gycia._ Oh, my own love! my dear!
Ah no! too late, too late!
[_Embraces him._
_Asan._ I ask thee not
Counter assurance, since I know thy truth.
_Gycia._ Speakst thou of Theodorus? He loved me
Before I knew thee, but I loved no man
Before I met Asander. When he knelt
That day, it was in pity for my grief,
Thinking thee false, and all his buried love
Burst into passionate words, which on the instant
I as thy wife repelled.
_Asan._ Oh, perfect woman!
[_They embrace._
O God, it is too late! Come, let us go;
The guests are waiting for us. What can Fate
Devise to vanquish Love.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter two drunken_ Labourers _of Cherson, bearing faggots and
straw._
_1st Lab._ Well, friend, what kind of day has it been with you?
_2nd Lab._ Oh, a white day, a happy day! Plenty of food, plenty of
wine, raree shows without end, such processions as were never
seen--the very model of a democracy; nothing to pay, and everybody
made happy at the expense of the State. I have lived in Cherson, man
and boy, for fifty years, and I never saw anything to compare with
it. Here's good luck to Lamachus's memory, say I, and I should like
to celebrate his lamented decease as often as his daughter likes.
_1st Lab._ Didst know him, citizen?
_2nd Lab._ No, not I. He has been dead these two years. Time he was
forgotten, I should think. They don't commemorate poor folk with all
these fal-lals and follies.
_1st Lab._ Well, citizen, there is one comfort--the great people
don't enjoy themselves as we do. Did you ever see such a set of
melancholy, frowning, anxious faces as the grandees carried with them
to-day? And as for the Prince and the Lady Gycia, I don't believe
they spoke a word the livelong day, though they walked together. That
is the way with these grandees. When you and I quarrel with our
wives, it is hammer and tongs for five minutes, and then kiss and
make friends.
_2nd Lab._ And fancy being drilled by that old fool from
Bosphorus--"Most Illustrious, this is your proper place;"
"Respectable sir, get you back there" (_mimics_ MEGACLES), and so
forth.
_1st Lab._ Well, well, it is good to be content. But I warrant we are
the only two unhappy creatures in Cherson to-night, who have the ill
fortune to be sober. And such wine too, and nothing to pay!
_2nd Lab._ Never mind, citizen, we shall be paid in meal or malt, I
dare say, and we are bound to keep sober. By the way, it is a
curiously contrived bonfire this.
_1st Lab._ It will be the crowning triumph of the whole festival, the
senator said.
_2nd Lab._ But who ever heard of a bonfire on a large scale like
this, so close to an old building? You know our orders: we are to
place lines of faggots and straw close to the building on every
side, well soaked with oil, and certain sealed vessels full of a
secret compound in the midst of them. And just before midnight we are
to run with torches and set light to the whole bonfire, to amuse the
noble guests at the banquet.
[IRENE _at a window, overhearing._
_1st Lab._ Ah! do you not see? It is a device of the Senate to
startle our friends from Bosphorus. The faggots and straw blaze up
fiercely round the wall; then, when all is confusion, the substance
in the sealed vessels escapes and at once puts out the fire, and the
laugh is with us. Our friends from Bosphorus know what we can do in
chemistry before now.
_2nd Lab._ Faith, a right merry device! Ha! ha! What a head thou
hast, citizen! Well, we must go on with our work. Lay the faggots
evenly.
_Ire. (at the window above)._ Great God! what is this?
We are doomed to die!
Good friends,
Know you my brother, the Lord Theodorus?
I have something urgent I would say to him.
I will write it down, and you shall give it him
When he comes forth from the banquet.
[_Disappears._
_1st Lab._ Good my lady. Her brother, too, she calls him. I go bail
it is her lover, and this is an assignation. Well, well, we poor men
must not be too particular.
_2nd Lab._ No, indeed; but let us get on with our work, or we shall
never finish in time.
_Ire. (reappearing)._ Here it is. Give it him, I pray,
when he comes forth.
'Tis a thing of life and death.
_1st Lab._ So they all think,
Poor love-sick fools!
_Ire._ See, here is gold for you--
'Tis all I have; but he will double it,
If you fail not.
_1st Lab._ Lady, we shall be here,
We must be here. Fear not, we shall not miss him.
SCENE II.--_The banquet hall._
_At a table, on a dais_, ZETHO, ASANDER, GYCIA, _and_ Senators;
LYSIMACHUS, _and_ Courtiers _of Bosphorus._ Magnates _of Cherson at
cross tables._ ASANDER, LYSIMACHUS, _the_ Courtiers, _and_ Senators
_seem flushed with wine._
_Zetho._ I drink to him whose gracious memory
We celebrate to-day. In all our Cherson,
Which boasts descent from the Athenian race,
Who one time swayed the world, there was no man,
Nor ever had been, fired with deeper love
Of this our city, or more heartfelt pride
In our republican rule (LYSIMACHUS _sneers_), which free-born men
Prize more than life. I do not seek to bind
Those who, long nurtured under kingly rule,
Give to the Man the love we bear the State;
But never shall the name of King be heard
In this our Cherson.
_Lys._ Archon, 'twere unwise
To risk long prophecies.
_Bard._ Be silent, sir,
If you would not offend.
_Zetho._ I bid you all
Drink to the memory of Lamachus
And weal to our Republic.
_Lys._ Shall we drink
Its memory, for it has not long to live,
If it be still alive?
_Bard._ It will outlive thee.
_Thou_ hast not long to live.
_Lys._ Longer than thou,
If swords be sharp.
_Zetho._ I pray you, gentlemen,
Bandy not angry words.
_Gycia._ My Lord Asander,
Thy cup is empty. Shall I fill it for thee?
Thou lovedst Lamachus?
_Asan._ Ay, that I did;
And I love thee. But I have drunk enough.
I must keep cool to-night.
_Gycia._ Nay; see, I fill
My glass to drink with thee.
_Asan._ Well, well, I drink,
But not to the Republic.
_Gycia._ Ah! my lord,
There is a gulf still yawns 'twixt thee and me
Which not the rapture of recovered love
Can ever wholly bridge. To my dead father
I drink, and the Republic!
_Lys._ Which is dead.
_Bard._ Nay, sir, but living, and shall live when thou
Liest rotting with thy schemes.
_Enter_ MEGACLES.
_Meg._ My Lord Asander,
A messenger from Bosphorus, just landed,
Has bid me give thee this.
[_Gives_ ASANDER _letter._
_Asan._ (_reading_) "My Lord, the King
Is dead, asking for thee." Oh, wretched day!
Had I but gone to him, and left this place
Of sorrow ere he died!
_Gycia._ My love, my dear!
Thou wilt go hence too late. I would indeed
The law had let thee go. Sorrow like this
Draws parted lives in one, and knits anew
The rents which time has made.
_Lys._ The King is dead!
Ay, then long live the King of Bosphorus!
And more ere long!
_Bard._ Think you that he will live
To wear his crown?
_Zetho._ Brethren, the hour is late,
And draws to midnight, and 'tis time that all
Should rest for whom rest is. (_To_ BARDANES _aside_) We must consider
What change of policy this weighty change
Which makes Asander King may work in us.
_Bard._ (_aside_). Nay, nay, no change! He is a murderer still,
And shall be punished were he thrice a king.
_Asan._ Good night to all. And thou, good Megacles,
Thou wert my father's servant, take thy rest.
Go hence with these.
_Meg._ I have no heart to marshal
These dignitaries forth. My King is dead;
I am growing old and spent.
_Zetho._ Daughter, remember
Thy duty to the State.
_Gycia._ I will, good Zetho.
I am my father's daughter. Gentle Sirs
And Ladies all, good night.
[_Exeunt omnes except_ ASANDER _and_ GYCIA; LYSIMACHUS _and_
Courtiers _by one door, then the_ Chersonites _by another
opposite._
_Asan._ Dearest of women,
How well this fair head will become a crown!
I know not how it is, but now this blow
Has fallen, it does not move me as I thought.
I am as those who come in tottering age
Even to life's verge, whom loss of friend or child
Touches not deeply, since the dead they love
Precede them but a stage upon the road
Which they shall tread to-morrow. Yet am I
Young, and thou too, my Gycia; we should walk
The path of life together many years,
But that some strange foreboding troubles me.
For oh, my dear! now that the sun of love
Beams on our days again, my worthless life
Grows precious, and I tremble like a coward
At dangers I despised. Tell me, my Gycia,
Though I am true in love, wouldst thou forgive me
If I were false or seemed false to thy State?
Hast thou no word for me? May I not tell thee
My secret, which so soon all men shall know,
And ask thy pardon for it?
_Gycia._ Say on, Asander.
_Asan._ Know, then, that soldiers sent from Bosphorus
Have long time hid within our palace here--
Long time before I knew, or I had nipt
The treason in the bud; and in an hour
Or less from when we speak, they will go forth,
When all the citizens are wrapt in sleep
After the toilsome day, and seize the gate,
And open to the army which lies hid
On board the ships without. They will not shed
The blood of any, since the o'erwhelming force
Will make resistance vain. I never liked
The plot, I swear to thee; but, all being done,
And I a subject, dared not disavow
That which was done without me. But I have forced
A promise that no blood be spilt.
_Gycia._ Asander,
I have known it all, and have discovered all
[ASANDER _starts._
Thy secret to the Senate! But I knew not,
Save by the faith that is the twin with love,
That thou didst follow only in this plot,
And wert unwilling; and I do rejoice
Thy hands are free from blood. But oh, my love,
Break from these hateful men! Thou art now a King,
Thou canst command. Come, let us fly together;
There yet is time! I tell thee that this plot
Is doomed to ruin. Ere the morning dawns,
All but the guilty leaders will be sent
Prisoners to Bosphorus, and thou with them.
I have gained this on my knees; but for the guilty
The State has punishments.
_Asan._ Gycia, thou wouldst not
That I should break my faith? 'Tis a King's part
To keep faith, though he die. But when they have seized
The city, then, using my kingly office,
I will undo the deed, and make alliance
With Cherson, and this done I will depart,
Taking my Queen with me.
_Gycia._ Then must I go;
I cannot live without thee.
_Asan._ Now to rest,
If not to sleep.
_Gycia._ Good night, my love; farewell.
_Asan._ Nay, not farewell, my love!
_Gycia._ Ah yes, farewell!
Farewell! farewell for ever!
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III.--_Outside the banquet hall. Darkness._
GYCIA _hurriedly descends the steps, closing the great doors of the
banquet hall softly._
_Gycia._ I hear no sound within; the lights are gone,
And all the hall is dark. These doors alone
Of all the many outlets of the palace
Remain unlocked. There is not now a moment
To lose ere midnight comes, and here I hold
The safety of our Cherson. Oh, my love!
I could not tell thee all, nor recompense
Thy faith in me, since duty held me fast--
My duty which should also prove thy safety,
For now the solemn promise of the State
Is pledged to hold thee harmless, and defeat
The shameful plot I knew was never thine,
Without one drop of bloodshed. All my path
Shows clear as noonday, and I save our city
And those who with thee err in innocence,
Why do I hesitate? Yet does some dark
And dreadful presage of impending ill
So haunt me that I know not how to face it.
I dare not do it. I must stay with him,
Or bring him forth with me.
[_Ascends the steps, throws open the doors, and finds all
darkness and silence._
Asander! husband!
It is thy wife who calls! Come forth, Asander!
[_Listens._
Nay, there is no one there. I cannot stay;
This is mere folly. I must keep my word;
There's not a moment's time, or all is lost.
Which is the key?
[_Closes the doors and locks them with a clang._
I must go forth alone
To the Senate-chamber. I have saved our Cherson
And my Asander!
[_Totters down the steps and exit hurriedly._
SCENE IV.--_The Senate-chamber._
ZETHO _and_ Senators; _afterwards_ GYCIA.
_Zetho._ What is the hour?
_Bardanes._ It wants five minutes only
To midnight. Think you she will come?
_Zetho._ I know her.
She is the soul of honour, and would keep
Her word if 'twere her death.
_Bard._ But would she keep it
If 'twere her lover's?
_Zetho._ She thinks not that it is,
Nor should it be, indeed, were we but true
As I believe her.
_Bard._ True! There is no truth
In keeping faith with murderers; they must perish
In the same net which they laid privily
Against a faithful city.
_Enter_ GYCIA, _tottering in, with the keys._
_Zetho._ Hail, noble daughter! Thou hast saved the State.
I knew thou wouldst not fail us.
_Gycia._ See, good Zetho,
The proof that I have done my part to you.
There are the master keys of all the doors
Within the palace. When I closed the last,
A few brief minutes since, there was no sound
Nor light in hall or chamber; every court
Was silent as the grave.
_Bard._ Ay, as the grave
It is, or will be soon.
_Gycia._ What mean you, sir,
I pray you? I am but a timid woman,
Full of foreboding fears and dread of ill,
And such a doubt doth overspread my soul,
Hearing thy words, I think I shall go mad.
Nay, Zetho, he is safe; I have your promise
Thou wouldst not harm him. An o'erwhelming force,
Thou saidst, should so surround them that resistance
Were vain, and ere the dawn they should go hence
Without one drop of bloodshed.
_Zetho._ Ay, my daughter,
Such was the promise.
_Bard._ And it will be kept.
[_Bell strikes midnight._
Hark, 'tis the hour! An overwhelming force
[_A red glare rising higher and higher is seen through the
windows of the Senate-chamber. Confused noises and shouts heard
without._
Surrounds them, but no drop of blood is shed.
All will go hence ere dawn.
_Gycia._ Oh, cruel man,
And most perfidious world! Oh, my Asander!
To die thus and through me!
[_A violent knocking is heard at the door._
_Enter_ THEODORUS _in great agitation, and_ IRENE, _who throws
herself on her knees, weeping._ GYCIA _falls swooning in Zetho's
arms._
_Zetho._ Whence cam'st thou, Theodorus?
_Theo._ Straight, my lord,
From Gycia's palace.
_Zetho._ Say, what didst thou there?
And what of horror has befallen thee
That makes thine eyes stare thus?
_Theo._ Most noble Zetho,
When from the banquet scarce an hour ago
I passed, came one who offered me a letter
And bade me read. 'Twas from this woman here,
My sister, and it told of some great peril
By fire, which she, within the prison locked,
Expected with the night. Wherefore I sped
With one I trusted, and did set a ladder
Against her casement, calling her by name,
And bidding her descend. But no voice came,
And all was dark and silent as the grave;
And when I called again, the Prince Asander,
From an adjacent casement looking, cried,
"I had forgot thy sister. Take her hence;
She should go free!" And then, at her own casement
[GYCIA _revives and listens._
Appearing, he came forth, and in his arms
A woman's senseless form. As they descended
And now were in mid-air, there came the sound
Of the bell striking midnight, and forthwith
In a moment, like a serpent winged with fire,
There rose from wall to wall a sheet of flame,
Which in one instant mounted to the roof
With forked red tongues. Then every casement teemed
With strange armed men, who leapt into the flames
And perished. Those who, maimed and burnt, escaped,
Ere they could gain their feet, a little band
Of citizens, who sprang from out the night,
Slew as they lay. The Prince, who bore my sister
Unhurt to ground, stood for a moment mute.
Then, seeing all was lost, he with a groan
Stabbed himself where we stood. I fear his hurt
Is mortal, since in vain I tried to staunch
The rushing blood; then bade them on a litter
Carry him hither gently. Here he comes.
_Enter_ Citizens, _bearing_ ASANDER _on a litter, wounded._
_Gycia._ Oh, my love, thou art hurt! Canst thou forgive me?
I thought to save thee and the rest. I knew not,
I did not know! Oh, God!
_Asan._ I do believe thee.
The fates have led our feet by luckless ways
Which only lead to death. I loved but thee.
I wished thy State no wrong, but I am dying.
Farewell! my love, farewell!
[_Dies._
_Gycia._ Oh, my lost love!
[_Throws herself on the body and kisses it passionately._
_Zetho._ Poor souls! Mysterious are the ways of Heaven,
And these have suffered deeply in the fortune
That bound their lives together.
_Bard._ That dead man
Would have betrayed our State, and thou dost pity!
So perish all the enemies of Cherson!
_Gycia_ (_rising_). Nay, sir, be silent. 'Tis a coward's part
To vilify the dead. You, my Lord Zetho,
I had your promise that you would hurt none
Except the guilty only, and I thought
That to your word I might entrust my life
And one more dear than mine; but now it seems
That in some coward and unreasoning panic
This worthy Senator has moved his colleagues--
Since cruelty is close akin to fear--
To break your faith to me, and to confuse
The innocent and guilty, those who led
And those who followed, in one dreadful death!
I pray you pardon me if, being a woman,
Too rashly taking part in things of State,
I have known nought of State-craft or the wisdom
Which breaks a plighted word.
_Zetho._ Daughter, I would
Our promise had been kept, and I had kept it
But that the safety of the State to some
Seemed to demand its breach.
_Gycia._ Farewell, good Zetho,
And all who were my friends. I am going hence;
I can no longer stay. There lies my love.
There flames my father's house. I go far off,
A long, long journey. If you see me not
In life again, I humbly pray the State
May, if it think me worthy--for indeed
I have given it all--bury me, when I die,
Within the city, in a fair white tomb,
As did our Grecian forefathers of old
For him who saved the State; and, if it may be,
Lay my love by my side.
_Zetho and Sens._ Daughter, we swear
That thou shalt have thy wish.
_Gycia._ I thank you, sirs.
Then, I may go. Kiss me, good Theodorus:
I am no more a wife. I know thy love,
And thank thee for it. For that wretch whose lie
Has wrecked our life and love, I bless the gods
That I am childless, lest my daughter grew
As vile a thing as she; and yet I know not.
She loved him in some sort, poor wretch, poor wretch!
But now I must be going. 'Tis past midnight;
[_Snatches dagger from_ THEODORUS'S _side._
I must go hence. I have lost my life and love.
But I have saved the State.
[_Stabs herself and falls on_ _Asander's_ _body._
Citizens _of Cherson bursting in._
_Cits._ The State is saved! Long may our Cherson flourish!
The State is saved! Long live our Lady Gycia,
Who saved the State!
_Gycia_ (_rising a little_). Yes, I have saved the State!
[_Falls back dead._
_Citizens_ (_without_). Long live the Lady Gycia!
_Curtain._
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
SELECTIONS FROM THE NOTICES
OF THE
POETICAL WORKS
OF
LEWIS MORRIS.
SONGS OF TWO WORLDS.
These poems were originally published in three volumes, issued in the
years 1872, 1874, and 1875. The following are a few selections from
the Press notices which appeared as they were issued.
FIRST SERIES.
"No one, after reading the first two poems--almost perfect in
rhythm and all the graceful reserve of true lyrical
strength--could doubt for an instant that this book is the result
of lengthened thought and assiduous training in poetic forms.
These poems will assuredly take high rank among the class to
which they belong."--_British Quarterly Review_, April, 1872.
"If this volume is the mere prelude of a mind growing in power,
we have in it the promise of a fine poet.... In 'The Wandering
Soul,' the verse describing Socrates has that highest note of
critical poetry, that in it epigram becomes vivid with life, and
life reveals its inherent paradox. It would be difficult to
describe the famous irony of Socrates in more poetical and more
accurate words than by saying that he doubted men's doubts
away."--_Spectator_, February 17th, 1872.
"In all this poetry there is a purity and delicacy of feeling
which comes over one like morning air."--_Graphic_, March 16th,
1872.
SECOND SERIES.
"In earnestness, sweetness, and the gift of depicting nature, the
writer may be pronounced a worthy disciple of his compatriot,
Henry Vaughan, the Silurist. Several of the shorter poems are
instinct with a noble purpose and a high ideal of life. One
perfect picture, marginally annotated, so to speak, in the
speculations which it calls forth, is 'The Organ-Boy.' But the
most noteworthy poem is the 'Ode on a Fair Spring Morning,' which
has somewhat of the charm and truth to nature of 'L'Allegro' and
'Il Penseroso.' It is the nearest approach to a master-piece in
the volume."--_Saturday Review_, May 30th, 1874.
"This volume is a real advance on its predecessor of the same
name, and contains at least one poem of great originality, as
well as many of much tenderness, sweetness, and beauty. 'The
Organ-Boy' we have read again and again, with fresh pleasure on
every reading. It is as exquisite a little poem as we have read
for many a day."--_Spectator_, June 13th, 1874.
"The reception of the New Writer's first series shows that, in
his degree, he is one of the poetical forces of the time. Of the
school of poetry of which Horace is the highest master, he is a
not undistinguished pupil."--_Academy_, August 11th, 1874.
"The verses are full of melodious charm, and sing themselves
almost without music."--_Blackwood's_, August 1st, 1874.
THIRD SERIES.
"Not unworthy of its predecessors. It presents the same command
of metre and diction, the same contrasts of mood, the same grace
and sweetness. It cannot be denied that he has won a definite
position among contemporary poets."--_Times_, October 16th, 1875.
"'Evensong' shows power thought, and courage to grapple with the
profoundest problems. In the 'Ode to Free Rome' we find worthy
treatment of the subject and passionate expression of generous
sympathy."--_Saturday Review_, July 31st, 1875.
"More perfect in execution than either of its predecessors....
The pure lyrics are sweeter and richer. In the 'Birth of Verse'
every stanza is a little poem in itself, and yet a part of a
perfect whole."--_Spectator_, May 22nd, 1875.
"If each book that he publishes is to mark as steady improvement
as have his second and third, the world may surely look for
something from the writer which shall immortalize him and remain
as a treasure to literature."--_Graphic_, June 1st, 1875.
THE EPIC OF HADES.
_BOOK II._[A]
"Fresh, picturesque, and by no means deficient in intensity; but
the most conspicuous merits of the author are the judgment and
moderation with which his poem is designed, his self-possession
within his prescribed limits, and the unfailing elegance of his
composition, which shrinks from obscurity, exuberance, and rash
or painful effort as religiously as many recent poets seem to
cultivate such interesting blemishes.... Perhaps the fine bursts
of music in Marsyas, and the varied emotions portrayed in
Andromeda, are less characteristic of the author than the prompt,
yet graceful, manner in which he passes from one figure to
another.... Fourteen of these pieces written in blank verse which
bears comparison with the very best models make up a thoroughly
enjoyable little volume...."--_Pall Mall Gazette_, March 10th,
1876.
[Footnote A: Book II. was issued as a separate volume prior to the
publication of Books I. and III. and of the complete work.]
"It is natural that the favourable reception given to his 'Songs
of Two Worlds' should have led the author to continue his
poetical exercises, and it is, no doubt, a true instinct which
has led him to tread the classic paths of song. In his choice of
subject he has not shrunk from venturing on ground occupied by at
least two Victorian poets. In neither case need he shrink from
comparison. His Marsyas is full of fine fancy and vivid
description. His Andromeda has to us one recommendation denied to
Kingsley's--a more congenial metre; another is its unstrained and
natural narrative."--_Saturday Review_, May 20th, 1876.
"In his enterprise of connecting the Greek myth with the high and
wider meaning which Christian sentiment naturally finds for it,
his success has been great. The passage in which Apollo's victory
over Marsyas and its effect are described is full of exquisite
beauty. It is almost as fine as verse on such a subject could
be.... The little volume is delightful reading. From the first
line to the last, the high and delicate aroma of purity breathes
through the various spiritual fables."--_Spectator_, May 27th,
1876.
"The blank verse is stately, yet sweet, free, graceful, and never
undignified. We confidently believe that our readers will agree
with us in regarding this as one of the finest and most
suggestive poems recently published. We trust to have, ere long,
more poetic work from his hand."--_British Quarterly Review_,
April 1st, 1876.
"The writer has shown himself more critical than his friends, and
the result is a gradual, steady progress in power, which we
frankly acknowledge.... This long passage studded with
graces."--_Academy_, April 29th, 1876.
_BOOKS I. and III. and the COMPLETE WORK._
"In one sense the idea of his Epic is not only ambitious, but
audacious, for it necessarily awakens reminiscences of Dante. Not
unfrequently he is charmingly pathetic, as in his Helen and
Psyche. There is considerable force and no small imagination in
the description of some of the tortures in the 'Tartarus.' There
is genuine poetical feeling in the 'Olympus.'... We might invite
attention to many other passages. But it is more easy to give
honest general praise than to single out particular
extracts."--_Times_, February 9th, 1877.
"The whole of this last portion of the poem is exceedingly
beautiful.... Nor will any, except critics of limited view, fail
to recognize in the Epic a distinct addition to their store of
those companions of whom we never grow tired."--_Athenæum_, March
3rd, 1877.
"We believe that the Epic will approve itself to students as one
of the most considerable and original feats of recent English
poetry."--_Saturday Review_, March 31st, 1877.
"Thought, fancy, music, and penetrating sympathy we have here,
and that radiant, unnamable suggestive delicacy which enhances
the attraction with each new reading."--_British Quarterly
Review_, April, 1877.
"The present work is by far his greatest achievement; the whole
tone of it is noble, and portions, more especially the concluding
lines, are excessively beautiful."--_Westminster Review_, April,
1877.
"The work is one of which any singer might justly be proud. In
fact, the Epic is in every way a remarkable poem, which to be
appreciated must not only be read, but studied."--_Graphic_,
March 10th, 1877.
"We do not hesitate to advance it as our opinion that 'The Epic
of Hades' will enjoy the privilege of being classed amongst the
poems in the English language which will live."--_Civil Service
Gazette_, March 17th, 1877.
"Exquisite beauty of melodious verse.... A remarkable poem, both
in conception and execution. We sincerely wish for the author a
complete literary success."--_Literary World_, March 30th, 1877.
"Will live as a poem of permanent power and charm. It will
receive high appreciation from all who can enter into its
meaning, for its graphic and liquid pictures of external beauty,
the depth and truth of its purgatorial ideas, and the ardour,
tenderness, and exaltation of its spiritual life."--_Spectator_,
May 5th, 1877.
"I have lately been reading a poem which has interested me very
much, a poem called 'The Epic of Hades.' Many of you may never
have heard of it; most of you may never have seen it. It is, as I
view it, another gem added to the wealth of the poetry of our
language."--_Mr. Bright's speech on Cobden, at Bradford_, July
25th, 1877.
"In the blank verse of the 'Epic of Hades,' apt words are so
simply arranged with unbroken melody, that if the work were
printed as prose, it would remain a song, and every word would
still be where the sense required it; not one is set in a wrong
place through stress of need for a mechanical help to the music.
The poem has its sound mind housed in a sound body."--PROFESSOR
MORLEY _in the Nineteenth Century_, February, 1878.
"I have read the 'Epic of Hades,' and find it truly charming. Its
pictures will long remain with me, and the music of its
words."--OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, April, 1884.
THE EPIC OF HADES.
_ILLUSTRATED QUARTO EDITION._
"Of Mr. Chapman's illustrations it is pleasant to be able to
speak with considerable admiration, not only because they are a
fortunate echo of the verse, and represent the feelings and
incidents of the 'Epic,' but because of their intrinsic merits.
There is in them a fine and high inspiration of an indefinite
sort."--_Athenæum_, March 29th, 1879.
"'The Epic of Hades' is certainly one of the most remarkable
works of the latter half of the nineteenth century. Here is an
_édition de luxe_ which may possibly tempt the unthinking to
search for the jewel within the casket."--_World_, February 12th,
1879.
"The exquisite aërial feeling of 'Eros and Psyche,'--by far the
best of the drawings,--in which the figures seem literally to
float in ether. 'Laocoon' is grand and dignified, and all deserve
to be noticed with attention."--_Graphic_, January 25th, 1879.
"These designs of themselves would be of the highest value, and
when they are placed, as in this book, by way of illustration of
a text which is full of power, their value is not easily
estimated. The book ought to be one of the most cherished gifts
that any lover of poetry or the pencil could
desire."--_Scotsman_, January 23rd, 1879.
"The author has been most fortunate in his illustrator. The
designs are gems of drawing and conception, and the mezzotint is
admirably adapted to the style of drawing and subject. This is
truly a charming addition to the literary table. It is seldom one
sees figure illustrations of such graceful and powerful beauty,
and so thoroughly in sympathy with the visionary subjects of the
author."--_Art Journal_, April, 1879.
"'The Epic of Hades' has already won a place among the immortals.
The lovely and terrible figures of the Greek mythology have never
received a more exquisite consecration than at the hands of the
author, who, with the true divination of the poet, has known how
to interpret in the modern spirit the profound and pathetic
fables of antiquity without vulgarizing by modern affectations
their divine simplicity. This beautiful poem appears now in an
_édition de luxe_--a setting not unworthy of such gems. The
designs are noteworthy for their tenderness of sentiment and
their languid grace."--_Daily News_, April 2nd, 1879.
GWEN:
_A DRAMA IN MONOLOGUE._
"The charm of this beautiful little poem is its perfect
simplicity of utterance; its chastened and exquisite grace. There
is nothing very new in the incidents or in the characters of this
most touching story, except in its unconventional ending, which
takes the reader by surprise. The genius of the author has closed
an idyll of love and death with a strain of sweet, sad music in
that minor key which belongs to remembrance and regret."--_Daily
News_, January 22nd, 1879.
"We have read this new work with the interest arising from the
expectations which the author had quickened in us, and with the
hope of finding those expectations confirmed. We are not
disappointed, for we have here the same selectness of language,
the same high, pure tone, the same delicate power of touching the
deeper chords of thought and feeling, which have previously won
our attention and sympathy."--_Literary World_, January 17th,
1879.
"At the close of the tale the heart swells with pathos, and the
tears all but force their way into the eyes. To turn from the
most noteworthy of modern poetry to the verse in which 'Gwen' is
written is like turning from a brilliant painting to a fine
statue. We are scarcely sensible of want of colour, so refreshed
are we by purity of outline. All, indeed, is graceful, good, and
poetical work, as pure and limpid in flow as a brook."--_Sunday
Times_, February 2nd, 1879.
"The piece as a whole will repay very attentive perusal, while
here and there in it there is a particular choice bit of work.
Here, for example, is a fine lyric ... and here a love-song of
rare and exquisite beauty."--_New York Evening Post_, February
20th, 1879.
"Few among the later poets of our time have received such a
generous welcome as the author. He has been appreciated not by
critics alone, but by the general public.... The charm of 'Gwen'
is to be found in the limpid clearness of the versification, in
the pathetic notes which tell the old story of true love wounded
and crushed. Nothing can be more artistically appropriate or more
daintily melodious than the following...."--_Pall Mall Gazette_,
October 8th, 1879.
"The poem is, as a whole, tender, simple, chaste in feeling, and
occasionally it rises to a lyrical loftiness of sentiment or
grows compact with vigorous thought."--_New York "Nation"_, March
27th, 1879.
"The writer has gained inspiration from themes which inspired
Dante; he has sung sweet songs and musical lyrics; and whether
writing in rhyme or blank verse, has proved himself a master of
his instrument. He knows, like all true poets, how to transmute
what may be called common into the pure gold of
poetry."--_Spectator_, July 26th, 1879.
THE ODE OF LIFE.
"The 'Ode of Life' ought to be the most popular of all the
author's works. People flock to hear great preachers, but in this
book they will hear a voice more eloquent than theirs, dealing
with the most important subjects that can ever occupy the
thoughts of man."--_Westminster Review_, July, 1880.
"The many who have found what seemed to them of value and of use
in the previous writings of the author, may confidently turn to
this, his latest and, in his own view, his most mature work. It
is full of beauty of thought, feeling, and language."--_Daily
News_, April 8th, 1880.
"Full of exquisite taste, tender colour, and delicate fancy,
these poems will add considerably to the reputation of their
author."--_Sunday Times_, April 25th, 1880.
"The author is one of the few real poets now living. Anything at
once more sympathetic and powerful it would be difficult to find
in the poetry of the present day."--_Scotsman_, May 11th, 1880.
"Next to the 'Epic of Hades,' it is his best work."--_Cambridge
Review_, May 19th, 1880.
"Here is one standing high in power and in fame who has chosen a
nobler course.... The experiment is successful, and though we
must not now discuss the laws to which the structure of an ode
should conform, we rank the poem in this respect as standing far
above Dryden's celebrated composition, but below the Odes of
Wordsworth on Immortality and of Milton on the Nativity, which
still remain peerless and without a rival."--_Congregationalist_,
May 1st, 1880.
"A high devout purpose and wide human sympathy ennoble all the
writer's work, and his clear language and quiet music will retain
his audience."--_Nineteenth Century_, August, 1880.
"In all that respects technical points, certainly the most
finished work we have yet had from the author's hand, and here
and there the phrasing is exquisite. For ambitious aims, and for
art which so far has justified those aims, for elevation and
refinement, these poems are in advance of any of the author's
former works."--_British Quarterly Review_, July, 1880.
"Any notice of recent poetry would be inadequate without a
reference to the 'Ode of Life.' The only fault we have to find
with this really remarkable effort--a sort of expansion of
Wordsworth's famous Ode--is that it is rather too long for its
ideas; but it possesses power, sweetness, occasional profundity,
and unmistakable music. It is, when all is said and done, a true
'Ode,' sweeping the reader along as the ode should do, and
'Growing like Atlas, stronger for its load.'
It appears to us to bring definite proof that the writer's
pretensions have not been over-stated."--_Contemporary Review_,
February, 1881.
SONGS UNSUNG.
"Some of the more important pieces make almost equal and very
high demands alike on my sympathy and my admiration, and I hope
you may long be enabled to cherish the enviable gift of finding
utterance for Truths so deep in forms of so much power and
beauty."--_Letter from_ MR. GLADSTONE, November, 1883.
"The reader of his former work will probably commence this volume
with considerable expectations. Nor will he be altogether
disappointed, although he will probably wish that Mr. Morris had
given the world more of his exquisite classical
workmanship."--_Fortnightly Review_, November, 1883.
"'The New Creed' is, in some respects, his most striking
achievement. The poem is one well suited to his mind, but we are
not aware that he has ever before written anything at once so
impressive, so solemn, and so self-restrained. The last two lines
have all the happy energy of the highest poetry."--_Spectator_,
November 10th, 1883.
"In reading it one feels constantly 'How worthy this book would
be of beautiful illustrations!'"--_Academy_, November 24th, 1883.
"The volume is full of the sweet fruits of a large experience; a
profound study of the many problems of life; a clear insight
into human nature; and the book as a whole ranks among the best
gifts which the press has in recent years bestowed upon
us."--_Leeds Mercury_, November 21st, 1883.
"There is not one of these 'Songs Unsung' which does not deserve
to be read and re-read."--_Glasgow Herald_, November 16th, 1883.
"In Mr. Morris's new volume we recognize the old qualities which
are so dear to his wide circle of admirers."--_Daily News_,
December 4th, 1883.
"We may safely predict as warm a welcome for the new volume as
has been accorded to its predecessors."--_Ecclesiastical
Gazette_, November 15th, 1883.
"Those who have followed Mr. Morris's career will be pleased to
find that his poetic grasp, his argumentative subtlety, his
tenderness of sympathetic observation, his manly earnestness, are
as conspicuous and impressive as before."--MR. BAYNE, _in the
Helensburgh Times._
"The reputation earned by the author's books has been such as few
men in a century are permitted to enjoy. Beginning with the first
volume, it has gone on increasing."--_Liverpool Mercury_,
November 9th, 1883.
"For ourselves we dare hardly say how high we rank Mr. Morris.
This last volume is deserving of highest praise. In some of its
contents no living poet, to our mind can surpass him."--_Oxford
University Herald_, March 8th, 1884.
"The gems of this volume, to our mind, are some of the shorter
poems, which are full of melody and colour, saturated with
lyrical feeling, and marked by that simplicity without which no
poem of this class can be called great."--_British Quarterly
Review_, January, 1884.
"The writer is never diffuse or vague or pointless, both his road
and the end of it are always in view."--_New York Critic_,
January 19th, 1884.
"In one sense 'Songs Unsung' is more typical of Mr. Morris's
genius than any of his previous works. There is in them the same
purity of expression, the same delicate fancy, the same mastery
of technique, and withal the same loftiness of
conception."--_Scotsman_, December 22nd, 1883.
"In some respects we must award him the distinction of having a
clearer perception of the springs of nineteenth-century existence
than any of his contemporaries.... What could be more magnificent
than the following conception of the beginning of
things...."--_Whitehall Review_, October, 1883.
"Mr. Morris has always that picturesque power which limns in a
few words a suggestive and alluring picture of nature or of life
evoking the imagination of the reader to supplement the clear and
vigorous work of the poet."--_New York Christian Union_,
February, 1884.
"No lover of poetry will fail to make himself possessed of this
volume from the pen of one who has made for himself so high and
distinctive a place among modern writers."--_Manchester
Examiner_, January 31st, 1884.
"After making every possible deduction, 'Songs Unsung' is a noble
volume, and ought to be received by those who, like ourselves,
believe in the necessary subordination of art to morality with
profound gratification."--_Freeman_, April 18th, 1884.
"We have quoted enough to show that this book has genuine merit
in it, merit in poetry, merit in philosophy, and, we may add,
merit in religion. Lewis Morris takes the 'new and deeper view of
the world' of which Carlyle now and then caught sunny glimpses.
He sings in sweet and measured Tennysonian strains of philosophy
what Darwin and Herbert Spencer teach in prose; without the
informing glow of the imagination. There are living poets greater
than Lewis Morris, but of the younger race of poets he is
foremost."--_The Inquirer_, April 5th, 1884.
"The hold which a poet who writes with such intense seriousness
of purpose and such passionate earnestness gains upon his
generation is far stronger and more lasting than if his sole
attempt were to stimulate or to satisfy the sense of the
beautiful. All the things of which we wish that poetry should
speak to us, have voice given to them in the song of this
glorious singer."--_South Australian Advertiser_, March 24th,
1884.
"As a whole this volume, while charming anew the poet's former
admirers, should win for his genius a wider acquaintance and
appreciation."--_Boston Literary World_, February 23rd, 1884.
"Mr. Morris has the invaluable gift of recognizing and being in
full sympathy with the current ideas and feelings of the time.
The broad humanitarianism, the genuine sympathy with the
sufferings of the poor and unfortunate, characteristic of our
age, is one of the most attractive features of his poetry, and to
the revival of the feeling for classical beauty, which may be
looked upon as a collateral branch of the 'æsthetic' movement, he
owes more than one charming inspiration.... To sum up. Mr.
Morris's volume is likely to add to his reputation. It is healthy
in tone, and shows no decline of the varied qualities to which
the author owes his widespread reputation."--_Times_, June 9,
1884.
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| dread" |
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| King's part" with an apostrophe. |
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