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diff --git a/old/12173-h/12173-h.htm b/old/12173-h/12173-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b0e185 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12173-h/12173-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6700 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=us-ascii" /> +<title>The Two Lovers of Heaven, by Calderon, +translated by D. F. MacCarthy</title> +</head> +<body bgcolor="white"> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Two Lovers of Heaven: Chrysanthus and +Daria, by Pedro Calderon de la Barca + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Two Lovers of Heaven: Chrysanthus and Daria + A Drama of Early Christian Rome + +Author: Pedro Calderon de la Barca + +Release Date: April 27, 2004 [EBook #12173] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN *** + + + + +Produced by Dennis McCarthy + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr /> +<center> +<h3>THE</h3> +<h1>TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN:</h1> +<h2>CHRYSANTHUS AND DARIA.</h2> +<h3><i>A Drama of Early Christian Rome.</i></h3> +<h3>FROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON.</h3> +<h3><i>With Dedicatory Sonnets to</i><br />LONGFELLOW,</h3> +<h5>ETC.</h5> +<h5>BY</h5> +<h2>DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY, M.R.I.A.</h2> +<h4><b>Por la Fe Moriré.</b><br /> +<i>Calderon's Family Motto.</i></h4> +<h3>DUBLIN:<br />JOHN F. FOWLER, 3 CROW STREET.</h3> +<h3>LONDON:<br />JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, 74 and 75 PICCADILLY.</h3> +<h3>1870.</h3> +</center> +<p><a name="contents" id="contents"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<h2>Contents.</h2> +<p><a href="#motto">Calderon's Family Motto</a><br /> +<a href="#sonnets">Dedicatory Sonnets to Longfellow</a><br /> +<a href="#pre-note">Prefatory Note</a><br /> +<a href="#intro">Introduction</a></p> +<h3><a href="#play">The Two Lovers of Heaven</a></h3> +<p>ACT THE FIRST<br /> +<a href="#a1s1">Scene I</a><br /> +<a href="#a1s2">Scene II</a><br /> +<a href="#a1s3">Scene III</a></p> +<p>ACT THE SECOND<br /> +<a href="#a2s1">Scene I</a><br /> +<a href="#a2s2">Scene II</a><br /> +<a href="#a2s3">Scene III</a></p> +<p>ACT THE THIRD<br /> +<a href="#a3s1">Scene I</a><br /> +<a href="#a3s2">Scene II</a><br /> +<a href="#a3s3">Scene III</a><br /> +<a href="#a3s4">Scene IV</a></p> +<p><a href="#reviews">Reviews of Calderon's Dramas and Autos Translated by + D. F. MacCarthy</a><br /> +<a href="#translations">List of Calderon's Dramas and Autos Translated by + D. F. MacCarthy</a><br /> +<a href="#ads">Advertisements</a><br /> +[<a href="#note-2004">Transcriber's Notes</a>]</p> +</center> +<p><a name="motto" id="motto"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<h2><i>Calderon's Family Motto.</i></h2> +<h3><b>"Por la Fe Moriré".    —    <br /> +For the Faith welcome Death.</b></h3> +</center> +<hr width="10%" /> +<p>This motto is taken from the engraved coat of arms prefixed to an historical +account of "the very noble and ancient house of Calderon de la +Barca"—a rather scarce work which I have never seen alluded to in any +account of the poet.  The circumstances from which the motto was +assigned to the family are given with some minuteness at pp. 56 and 57 +of the work referred to.  It is enough to mention that the martyr who +first used the expression was Don Sancho Ortiz Calderon de la Barca, +a Commander of the Order of Santiago.  He was in the service of the +renowned king, Don Alfonso the Wise, towards the close of the thirteenth +century, and having been taken prisoner by the Moors before Gibraltar, +he was offered his life on the usual conditions of apostasy.  But he + refused +all overtures, saying: <i>"Pues mi Dios por mi muriò, yo quiero morir +por èl",</i> a phrase which has a singular resemblance to the key note of + this +drama.  Don Ortiz Calderon was eventually put to death with great +cruelty, after some alternations of good and bad treatment.  See + <i>Descripcion, +Armas, Origen, y Descendencia de la muy noble y antigua Casa +de Calderon de la Barca,</i> etc., que Escrivió El Rmo. P. M. Fr. Phelipe +de la Gandara, etc., Obra Postuma, que saca a luz Juan de Zuñiga.  +Madrid, 1753.</p> +<center> +<h4>D. F. M. C.</h4> +</center> +<p><a name="sonnets" id="sonnets"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<p>TO</p> +<h2>HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW,</h2> +IN GRATEFUL RECOLLECTION OF SOME DELIGHTFUL DAYS SPENT WITH HIM AT +<h3>ROME,</h3> +<h3><i>This Drama is dedicated</i></h3> +BY +<h3>DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.</h3> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h2>TO LONGFELLOW.</h2> +<table> +<tr><td align="center"> +<h4>I.</h4> +</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> +<font size="+3">P</font>ENSIVE within the Colosseum's walls<br /> +      I stood with thee, O Poet of the West!—<br /> +      The day when each had been a welcome guest<br /> +      In San Clemente's venerable halls:—<br /> +Ah, with what pride my memory now recalls<br /> +      That hour of hours, that flower of all the rest,<br /> +      When with thy white beard falling on thy + breast—<br /> +      That noble head, that well might serve as Paul's<br /> +In some divinest vision of the saint<br /> +      By Raffael dreamed, I heard thee mourn the + dead—<br /> +      The martyred host who fearless there, though faint,<br /> +Walked the rough road that up to Heaven's gate led:<br /> +      These were the pictures Calderon loved to paint<br /> +      In golden hues that here perchance have fled. +</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> +<h4>II.</h4> +</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> +<font size="+3">Y</font>ET take the colder copy from my hand,<br /> +      Not for its own but for +T<font size="-2">HE</font> M<font size="-2">ASTER'S</font> sake,—<br /> +      Take it, as thou, returning home, wilt take<br /> +      From that divinest soft Italian land<br /> +Fixed shadows of the Beautiful and Grand<br /> +      In sunless pictures that the sun doth make—<br /> +      Reflections that may pleasant memories wake<br /> +      Of all that Raffael touched, or Angelo + planned:—<br /> +As these may keep what memory else might lose,<br /> +      So may this photograph of verse impart<br /> +      An image, though without the native hues<br /> +Of Calderon's fire, and yet with Calderon's art,<br /> +      Of what Thou lovest through a kindred Muse<br /> +      That sings in heaven, yet nestles in the heart. +</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> +<h4>D. F. M. C.</h4> +</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> +<p><i>Dublin, August 24th, 1869.</i></p> +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> +<p><a name="pre-note" id="pre-note"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<h2>PREFATORY NOTE.</h2> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>THE PROFESSOR OF POETRY AT OXFORD AND THE AUTOS SACRAMENTALES OF + CALDERON.</h3> +</center> +<hr width="10%" /> +<p>Although the Drama here presented to the public is not an <i>Auto,</i> the + present +may be a not inappropriate occasion to draw the attention of all candid readers +to the remarks of the Professor of Poetry at Oxford on the <i>Autos + Sacramentales</i> +of Calderon—remarks founded entirely on the volume of translations from + these +<i>Autos</i> published by me in +1867,<a name="aster" id="aster"></a><a href="#aster-note">*</a> +although not mentioned by name, as I conceive +in fairness it ought to have been, by Sir F. H. Doyle in his printed +Lectures.<a name="dagger" id="dagger"></a><a href="#dagger-note">†</a></p> +<p>In his otherwise excellent analysis of <i>The Dream of Gerontius,</i> Sir F. + H. Doyle +is mistaken as to any direct impression having been made upon the mind of Dr. +Newman in reference to it by the <i>Autos</i> of Calderon.  So late as + March 3, 1867, +in thanking me for the volume made use of by Sir F. H. Doyle, Dr. Newman +implies that up to that period he had not devoted any particular attention even +to this most important and unique development of Spanish religious poetry.  +The only complete <i>Auto</i> of Calderon that had previously appeared in + English—my +own translation of <i>The Sorceries of Sin,</i> had, indeed, been in his hands + from +1859, and I wish I could flatter myself that it had in any way led to the +production of a master-piece like <i>The Dream of Gerontius.</i>  But I + cannot +indulge that delusion.  Dr. Newman had internally and externally too many +sources of inspiration to necessitate an adoption even of such high models as +the Spanish <i>Autos.</i>  Besides, <i>The Dream of Gerontius</i> is no + more an <i>Auto</i> than +<i>Paradise Lost,</i> or the <i>Divina Commédia.</i>  In these, only + real personages, spiritual +and material, are represented, or monsters that typified human passions, but +did not personify them.  In the <i>Autos</i> it is precisely the + reverse.  Rarely do +actual beings take part in the drama, and then only as personifications of the +predominant vices or passions of the individuals whose names they bear.  + Thus +in my own volume, Belshazzar is not treated so much as an historical +character, but rather as the personification of the pride and haughtiness of a +voluptuous king.  In <i>The Divine Philothea,</i> in the same volume, there + are no +actual beings whatever, except <i>The Prince of Light</i> and <i>The Prince of + Darkness</i> +or <i>The Demon.</i>  In truth, there is nothing analogous to a Spanish + <i>Auto</i> +in English original poetry.  The nearest approach to it, and the only one, + is <i>The +Prometheus Unbound</i> of Shelley.  There, indeed, <i>The Earth, Ocean, The + Spirits +of the Hours, The Phantasm of Jupiter, Demogorgon,</i> and <i>Prometheus</i> + himself, +read like the <i>Personas</i> of a Spanish <i>Auto,</i> and the poetry is worthy + the +resemblance.  The <i>Autos Sacramentales</i> differ also, not only in + degree but in +kind from every form of Mystery or Morality produced either in England or +on the Continent.  But to return to the lecture by Sir F. H. Doyle.  + Even in +smaller matters he is not accurate.  Thus he has transcribed incorrectly +from my Introduction the name of the distinguished commentator on the +<i>Autos</i> of Calderon and their translator into German—Dr. + Lorinser.  This +Sir F. H. Doyle has printed throughout his lecture 'Lorinzer'.  From + private +letters which I have had the honour of receiving from this learned writer, + there +can be no doubt that the form as originally given by me is the right one.  +With these corrections the lecture of Sir F. H. Doyle may be quoted as a +valuable testimony to the extraordinary poetic beauty of these <i>Autos</i> + even in +a translation.</p> +<blockquote> +<center> +<b>Lecture III.</b>—<i>Dr. Newman's Dream of Gerontius.</i> +</center> +<p>"It is probable, indeed, that the first idea of composing such a dramatic +work may have been suggested to Dr. Newman by the <i>Autos Sacramentales</i> +of Spain, and especially by those of the illustrious Calderon; but, so far as I +can learn, he has derived hardly anything from them beyond the vaguest +hints, except, indeed, the all-important knowledge, that a profound religious +feeling can represent itself, and that effectively, in the outward form of +a play.  I may remark that these Spanish <i>Autos</i> of Calderon + constitute +beyond all question a very wonderful and a very original school of poetry, and I +am not without hope that, when I know my business a little better, we may +examine them impartially together.  Nay, even as it is, Calderon stands so +indisputably at the head of all Catholic religious dramatists, among whom Dr. +Newman has recently enrolled himself, that perhaps it may not be out of place to +inquire for a moment into his poetical methods and aims, in order that we +may then discover, if we can, how and why the disciple differs from his + master.  +Now there is a great conflict of opinion as to the precise degree of +merit which these particular Spanish dramas possess.  Speaking as an + ignorant +man, I should say, whilst those who disparage them seem rather hasty +in their judgments, and not so well informed as could be wished, still the +kind of praise which they receive from their most enthusiastic admirers +puzzles and does not instruct us.</p> +<p>"Taking for example, the great German authority on this point, Dr. +Lorinzer [Lorinser], as our guide, we see his poet looming dimly through a +cloud of incense, which may embalm his memory, but certainly does not +improve our eyesight.  Indeed, according to him, any appreciation of + Calderon +is not to be dreamt of by a Protestant".  <i>Lectures,</i> pp. 109, + 110.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With every respect for Sir F. H. Doyle, Dr. Lorinser says no such + thing.  +He was too well informed of what had been done in Germany on the same +subject, before he himself undertook the formidable task of attempting a +complete translation of all the <i>Autos</i> of Calderon, to have fallen into + such an +error.  Cardinal Diepenbrock, Archbishop of Breslau, who, in his <i>Das + Leben +ein Traum</i> (an <i>Auto</i> quite distinct from the well known drama <i>La + Vida es +Sueño</i>) first commenced this interesting labour in Germany, was of + course a +Catholic.  But Eichendorff and Braunfels, who both preceded Dr. Lorinser, +were Protestants.  Augustus Schlegel and Baron von Schack, who have +written so profoundly and so truly on the <i>Autos,</i> are expressly referred + to by Dr. +Lorinser, and it is superfluous to say that they too were Protestants.  Sir F. +H. Doyle, in using my translation of the passage which will presently be +quoted, changes the word 'thoroughly' into 'properly', as if it were a more +correct rendering of the original.  Unfortunately, however, there is + nothing +to represent either word in the German.  Dr. Lorinser says, that by + <i>many,</i> not by +all, Calderon cannot be enjoyed as much as he deserves, because a great +number of persons best competent to judge of his merits are deficient in the +knowledge of Catholic faith and Catholic theology which for the understanding +of Calderon is indispensible—<i>"welche für Calderons + Verständniss +unerlässlich ist".</i>  Sir F. H. Doyle says that to him these + <i>Autos</i> are not +"incomprehensible at all" (p. 112), but then he understands them all the better +for being a scholar and a churchman.</p> +<blockquote> +Sir F. H. Doyle thus continues his reference to Dr. Lorinser.  "Even + learned +critics", he says, "highly cultivated in all the niceties of æsthetics, are +deficient in the knowledge of Catholic faith and Catholic theology properly to +understand Calderon" (<i>Lectures,</i> p. 110, taken from the Introduction to my + volume, +p. 3).  "Old traditions", continues Dr. Lorinzer, "which twine round the +dogma like a beautiful garland of legends, deeply profound thoughts expressed +here and there by some of the Fathers of the Church, are made use of +with such incredible skill and introduced so appositely at the right place, +that . . . . frequently it is not easy to guess the source from whence they have +been derived" (<i>Lectures,</i> p. 111, taken from the Introduction to my + volume, p. 6). +</blockquote> +<p>This surely is unquestionably true, and the argument used by Sir F. H. +Doyle to controvert it does not go for much.  These <i>Autos,</i> no doubt, +were, as he says, "composed in the first instance to gratify, and did gratify, +the uneducated populace of Madrid".  Yes, the crowds that listened +delighted and entranced to these wonderful compositions, were, for the most +part, "uneducated" in the ordinary meaning of that word.  But in the +special education necessary for their thorough enjoyment, the case was very +different.  It is not too much to say that, as the result of Catholic + training, +teaching, intuition, and association, the least instructed of his Madrid + audience +more easily understood Calderon's allusions, than the great majority of those +who, reared up in totally different ideas, are able to do, even after much + labour +and sometimes with considerable sympathy.  Mr. Tennyson says that he + counts—</p> +<center> +<font size="-1">"The gray barbarian lower than the Christian child",</font> +</center> +<p>because the almost intuitive perceptions of a Christian child as to the + nature of +God and the truths of Revelation, place it intellectually higher than even the +mature intelligence of a savage.  I mean no disrespect to Sir F. H. Doyle, + but I +think that Calderon would have found at Madrid in the middle of the seventeenth +century, and would find there to-day, in a Catholic boy of fifteen, a more +intelligent and a better instructed critic on these points, than even the + learned +professor himself.  I shall make no further comments on Sir F. H. Doyle's +Lecture, but give his remarks on Calderon's <i>Autos</i> to the end.</p> +<blockquote> +"At the same time", says Sir F. H. Doyle, "Dr. Lorinzer's knowledge of +his subject is so profound, and his appreciation of his favourite author so +keen, that for me, who am almost entirely unacquainted with this branch +of literature, formally to oppose his views, would be an act of presumption, +of which I am, as I trust, incapable.  I may, however, perhaps be permitted +to observe, that with regard to <i>the few pieces of this kind which in an + English +dress I have read, whilst I think them not only most ingenious but also + surprisingly +beautiful,</i> they do not strike me as incomprehensible at all.  We must +accept them, of course, as coming from the mind of a devout Catholic and +Spanish gentleman, who belongs to the seventeenth century; but when once +that is agreed upon, there are no difficulties greater than those which we +might expect to find in any system of poetry so remote from our English +habits of thought.  There is, for instance, the <i>Divine Philothea,</i> in + other +words, our human spirit considered as the destined bride of Christ.  This +sacred drama, we may well call it the swan-song of Calderon's extreme old +age, is steeped throughout in a serene power and a mellow beauty of style, +making it not unworthy to be ranked with that Œdipus Colonæus which +glorified the sun-set of his illustrious predecessor: but yet, Protestant as I +am, I cannot discover that it is in the least obscure.  Faith, Hope, + Charity, +the Five Senses, Heresy, Judaism, Paganism, Atheism, and the like, which +in inferior hands must have been mere lay figures, are there instinct with a + dramatic +life and energy such as beforehand I could hardly have supposed possible.  +Moreover, in spite of Dr. Lorinzer's odd encomiums, each allegory as it +rises is more neatly rounded off, and shows a finer grain, than any of the +personifications of Spenser; so that the religious effect and the theological +effect intended by the writer, are both amply produced—yes, produced upon +us, his heretical admirers.  Hence, even if there be mysterious treasures + of +beauty below the surface, to which we aliens must remain blind for ever, this +expression, which broke from the lips of one to whom I was eagerly reading +[Mr. Mac-Carthy's translation of] the play, 'Why, in the original this +must be as grand as Dante', tends to show that such merits as do come +within our ken are not likely to be thrown away upon any fair-minded +Protestant.  Dr. Newman, as a Catholic, will have entered, I presume, +more deeply still into the spirit of these extraordinary creations; his life, +however, belongs to a different era and to a colder people.  And thus, + however +much he may have been directed to the choice of a subject by the old Mysteries +and Moralities (of which these Spanish <i>Autos</i> must be taken as the +final development and bright consummate flower), he has treated that subject, +when once undertaken by him, entirely from his own point of view.  +'Gerontius' is meant to be studied and dwelt upon by the meditative + reader.  +The <i>Autos</i> of Calderon were got ready by perhaps the most accomplished +playwright that ever lived, to amuse and stimulate a thronging southern +population.  'Gerontius' is, we may perhaps say for Dr. Newman in the words + of +Shelley, +<center> +<p><font size="-1">'The voice of his own soul<br /> +Heard in the calm of thought';</font></p> +</center> +whilst the conceptions of the Spanish dramatist burst into life with tumultuous +music, gorgeous scenery, and all the pomp and splendour of the Catholic +Church.  No wonder therefore that our English <i>Auto,</i> though composed + with +the same genuine purpose of using verse, and dramatic verse, to promote +a religious and even a theological end, should differ from them in essence as +well as in form.  There is room however for both kinds in the wide +empire of Poetry, and though Dr. Newman himself would be the first to cry +shame upon me if I were to name him with Calderon even for a moment, still +his Mystery of this most unmysterious age will, I believe, keep its honourable +place in our English literature as an impressive, an attractive, and an original +production"—pp. 109, 115. +</blockquote> +<hr width="10%" /> +<p>I may mention that the volume containing <i>Belshazzar's Feast,</i> and + <i>The +Divine Philothea,</i> the <i>Auto</i> particularly referred to by Sir F. H. + Doyle, +has been called <i>Mysteries of Corpus Christi</i> by the publisher.  A not + inappropriate +title, it would seem, from the last observations of the distinguished +Professor.  A third <i>Auto, The Sorceries of Sin,</i> is given in my + <i>Three Plays +of Calderon,</i> now on sale by Mr. B. Quaritch, 15 Piccadilly, London.  + <i>The Divine +Philothea, The Sorceries of Sin,</i> and <i>Belshazzar's Feast</i> are the only + <i>Autos</i> +of Calderon that have ever been translated either fully, or, with one +exception, even partially into English.</p> +<center> +<h3>D. F. MAC-CARTHY.</h3> +<p><font size="-1">74 Upper Gardiner Street, Dublin,<br /> +March 1, 1870.</font></p> +</center> +<hr width="50%" /> +<a name="aster-note" id="aster-note"></a> +<p><font size="-1">* <i>AUTOS SACRAMENTALES:</i> <b>The Divine Philothea: +Belshazzar's Feast.</b>  Two Autos, from the Spanish of Calderon.  +With a Commentary from the German of Dr. Franz Lorinser.  +By Denis Florence Mac-Carthy, M.R.I.A.  Dublin: James Duffy, +15 Wellington Quay, and 22 Paternoster Row, London.  +[<a href="#aster">Return</a>]</font></p> +<a name="dagger-note" id="dagger-note"></a> +<p><font size="-1">† <b>Lectures delivered before the University of + Oxford, +1868.</b>  By Sir F. H. Doyle Bart., M.A., B.C L., Late Fellow of All + Souls', +Professor of Poetry.  London: Macmillan & Co., 1869.  +[<a href="#dagger">Return</a>]</font></p> +<p><a name="intro" id="intro"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<h2>THE TWO LOVERS OF + HEAVEN.<sup><a name="one" id="one"></a><a href="#one-note">1</a></sup></h2> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>INTRODUCTION.</h3> +</center> +<hr width="10%" /> +<p><img src="i.gif" align="left" alt="I" width="78" height="81" />N +the <i>Teatro escogido de Don Pedro Calderon de la +Barca</i> (1868), at present in course of publication by +the Royal Academy of Madrid, Calderon's dramas, +exclusive of the <i>autos sacramentales,</i> which do not +form a part of the collection, are divided into eight classes.  +The seventh of these comprises what the editor calls mystical +dramas, and those founded on the Legends or the Lives of +Saints.  The eighth contains the philosophical or purely ideal +dramas.  This last division, in which the editor evidently +thinks the genius of Calderon attained its highest development, +at least as far as the secular theatre is concerned, contains +but two dramas, <i>The Wonder-working Magician,</i> and +<i>Life's a Dream.</i>  The mystical dramas, which form the seventh +division, are more numerous, but of these five are at present +known to us only by name.  Those that remain are <i>Day-break +in Copacabana, The Chains of the Demon, The Devotion of the +Cross, The Purgatory of St. Patrick, The Sibyl of the East, The +Virgin of the Sanctuary,</i> and <i>The Two Lovers of Heaven.</i>  The +editor, Sr. D. P. De La Escosura, seems to think it necessary to +offer some apology for not including <i>The Two Lovers of Heaven</i> +among the philosophical instead of the mystical dramas.  He +says: "There is a great analogy and, perhaps, resemblance between +<i>El Magico Prodigioso</i> (The Wonder-working Magician), +and <i>Los dos amantes del cielo</i> (The Two Lovers of Heaven); +but in the second, as it seems to us, the purely mystical predominates +in such a manner over the <i>philosophical,</i> that it does +not admit of its being classified in the same group as the first +(<i>El Magico Prodigioso</i>), and <i>La Vida es Sueño</i> (Life's a + Dream)".  +<i>Introduccion,</i> p. cxxxvii. note.  Whether this distinction is +well founded or not it is unnecessary to determine.  It is sufficient +for our purpose that it establishes the high position among +the greatest plays of Calderon of the drama which is here presented +to the English reader in the peculiar and always difficult +versification of the original.  Whether less philosophical or +more mystical than <i>The Wonder-working Magician, The Two +Lovers of Heaven</i> possesses a charm of its own in which its +more famous rival seems deficient.  In the admirable <i>Essay on +the Genius of Calderon</i> (ch. ii. p. 34), with which Archbishop +Trench introduces his spirited analysis of <i>La Vida es Sueño,</i> he +refers to the group of dramas which forms, with one exception, +the seventh and eighth divisions of the classification above +referred to, and pays a just tribute to the superior merits of <i>Los +dos amantes del cielo.</i>  After alluding to the dramas, the argument +of which is drawn from the Old Testament, and especially +to <i>The Locks of Absalom,</i> which he considers the noblest specimen, +he continues:  "Still more have to do with the heroic +martyrdoms and other legends of Christian antiquity, the victories +of the Cross of Christ over all the fleshly and spiritual +wickednesses of the ancient heathen world.  To this theme, +which is one almost undrawn upon in our Elizabethan drama,—Massinger's +<i>Virgin Martyr</i> is the only example I remember,—he +returns continually, and he has elaborated these plays with +peculiar care.  Of these <i>The Wonder-working Magician</i> is most +celebrated; but others, as <i>The Joseph of Women, The Two +Lovers of Heaven,</i> quite deserve to be placed on a level, if not +higher than it.  A tender pathetic grace is shed over this last, +which gives it a peculiar charm.  Then too he has occupied +what one might venture to call the region of sacred mythology, +as in <i>The Sibyl of the East,</i> in which the profound legends +identifying the Cross of Calvary and the Tree of Life are wrought +up into a poem of surpassing +beauty".<sup><a name="two" id="two"></a><a href="#two-note">2</a></sup>  +An excellent German +version of <i>Los dos amantes del cielo</i> is to be found in the +second volume of the <i>Spanisches Theater,</i> by Schack, whose +important work on Dramatic Art and Literature in Spain, is still +untranslated into the language of that country,—a singular +neglect, when his later and less elaborate work, <i>Poesie and Kunst +der Araber in Spanien und Sicilien</i> (Berlin, 1865), has already +found an excellent Spanish interpreter in Don Juan Valera, two +volumes of whose <i>Poesia y Arte de los Arabes en España y +Sicilia</i> (Madrid, 1868), I was fortunate enough to meet with +during a recent visit to Spain.</p> +<p>The story of SS. Chrysanthus and Daria (<i>The Two Lovers of +Heaven</i>), whose martyrdom took place at Rome A.D. 284, and +whose festival occurs on the 25th of October, is to be found in +a very abridged form in the <i>Legenda Aurea</i> of Jacobus de +Voragine, c. 152.  The fullest account, and that which Calderon +had evidently before him when writing <i>The Two Lovers of +Heaven,</i> is given by Surius in his great work, <i>De Probatis +Sanctorum Vitis,</i> October, p. 378.  This history is referred to by +Villegas at the conclusion of his own condensed narrative in the +following passage, which I take from the old English version of +his <i>Lives of Saints,</i> by John Heigham, anno 1630.</p> +<p>"The Church doth celebrate the feast of SS. Chrisanthus and +Daria, the 25th of October, and their death was in the year of +our Lord God 284, in the raigne of Numerianus, Emperor.  +The martyrdom of these saints was written by Verinus and +Armenius, priests of St. Stephen, Pope and Martyr: Metaphrastes +enlarged it somewhat more.  St. Damasus made certain +eloquent verses in praise of these saints, and set them on their +tombe.  There is mention of them also in the Romaine Martirologe, +and in that of Usuardus: as also in the 5. tome of +Surius; in Cardinal Baronius, and Gregory of Turonensis", p. 849.</p> +<p>A different abridgment of the story as given by Surius, is to +be found in Ribadeneyra's <i>Flos Sanctorum</i> (the edition before me +being that of <i>Barcelona,</i> 1790, t. 3. p. 304).  It concludes with +the same list of authorities, which, however, is given with more +precision.  The old English translation by W. P. Esq., second +edition: London, 1730, p. 369, gives them thus:</p> +<p>"Surius in his fifth tome, and Cardinal Baronius in his <i>Annotations +upon the Martyrologies,</i> and in the second tome of his +<i>Annals,</i> and St. Gregory of Tours in his <i>Book of the Glory of +the Martyrs,</i> make mention of the Saints Chrysanthus and Daria".</p> +<p>The following is taken from Caxton's <i>Golden Legende,</i> or +translation of the <i>Legenda Aurea</i> of Jacobus de Voragine.  I +have transcribed from the following edition, which is thus +described in the <i>Colophon:</i></p> +<p>"The legende named in latyn <i>Legenda Aurea,</i> that is to say +in englyshe <i>the golden legende,</i> For lyke as golde passeth all +other metalles, so this boke excedeth all other bokes".  "Finyshed +the xxvii daye of August, the yere of our lord M. CCCCC. +XXVII, the xix yere of the regne of our souverayne lord +Kynge Henry the eyght.  Imprynted at London in Flete Strete +at the Sygne of the Sonne by Wynkyn de Worde".</p> +<p>In the following extract the spelling is somewhat modernised, +and a few obsolete words are omitted.</p> +<center> +<p>"The Life of Saynt Crysant and Saynte Daria".<br /> +Fo. cc. lxxxv.</p> +</center> +<p>"Here followeth the lyfe of Saynt Crysaunt, and fyrst of his +name.  And of Saynte Daria, and of her name.</p> +<p>"Of Crysaunt is said as growen and multyplyed of God.  For +when his father would have made hym do sacrifyce to the +idols, God gave to hym force and power to contrary and gaynsay +his father, and yield himself to God.  Daria is sayd of dare +to give, for she gave her to two thynges.  Fyrst will to do evil, +when she had will to draw Crysaunt to sacrifyce to the idols.  +And after she gave her to good will when Crysaunt had converted +her to Almighty God.</p> +<p>"Crysaunt was son of a ryght noble man that was named +Polymne.  And when his father saw that his son was taught in +the faith of Jesu Chryst, and that he could not withdraw him +therefrom, and make him do sacrifyce to the idols, he +commanded that he should be closed in a stronge hold and put to +hym five maidens for to seduce him with blandyshynge and +fayre wordes.  And when he had prayed God that he should +not be surmounted with no fleshly desyre, anon these maydens +were so overcome with slepe, that they myght not take neither +meat ne drinke as long as they were there, but as soon as they +were out, they took both meat and drinke.  And one Daria, a +noble and wise virgin of the goddess Vesta, arrayed her nobly +with clothes as she had been a goddess, and prayed that she +myght be letten enter in to Crysant and that she would restore +him to the idols and to his father.  And when she was come +in, Crysant reproved her of the pride of her vesture.  And she +answered that she had not done it for pride but for to draw him +to do sacrifyce to the idols and restore him to his father.  And +then Crysant reproved her because she worshipped them as gods.  +For they had been in their times evil and sinners.  And Daria +answered, the philosophers called the elements by the names of +men.  And Crysant said to her, if one worship the earth as a +goddess, and another work and labour the earth as a churl or +ploughman, to whom giveth the earth most?  It is plain that +it giveth more to the ploughman than to him that worshippeth +it.  And in like wise he said of the sea and of the other +elements.  And then Crysant and Daria converted to him, coupled +them together by the grace of the Holy Ghost, and feigned to +be joined by carnal marriage, and converted many others to our +Lord.  For Claudian, who had been one of their persecutors, +they converted to the faith of our Lord, with his wife and children +and many other knights.  And after this Crysant was +enclosed in a stinking prison by the commandment of Numerian, +but the stink turned anon into a right sweet odour and savour.  +And Daria was brought to the bordel, but a lion that was in the +amphitheatre came and kept the door of the bordel.  And then +there was sent thither a man to befoul and corrupt the virgin, but +anon he was taken by the lion, and the lion began to look at +the virgin like as he demanded what he should do with the +caitiff.  And the virgin commanded that he should do him no +hurt but let him go.  And anon he was converted and ran +through the city, and began to cry that Daria was a goddess.  +And then hunters were sent thither to take the lion.  And they +anon fell down at the feet of the virgin and were converted by +her.  And then the provost commanded them to make a great +fire within the entrance of the bordel, so that the lion should be +brent with Daria.  And the lion considering this thing, felt +dread, and roaring took leave of the virgin, and went whither he +would without hurting of any body.  And when the provost +had done to Crysant and Daria many diverse torments, and might +not grieve them, at the last they without compassion were put +in a deep pit, and earth and stones thrown on them.  And so +were consecrated martyrs of Christ".</p> +<p>With regard to the exact year in which the martyrdom of +SS. Chrysanthus and Daria took place, it may be mentioned +that in the valuable <i>Vies des Saints,</i> Paris, 1701 (republished +in 1739), where the whole legend undergoes a very critical +examination, the generally received date, A.D. 284, is considered +erroneous.  The reign of the emperor Numerianus (A.D. +283-284), in which it is alleged to have occurred, lasted but eight +months, during which period no persecution of the Christians is +recorded.  The writer in the work just quoted (Adrien Baillet) +conjectures that the martyrdom of these saints took place in +the reign of Valerian, and not later than the month of August, +257, "s' il est vray que le pape Saint Etienne qui mourut alois +avoit donné ordre qu' on recueillît les actes de leur +martyre"—<i>Les Vies des Saints,</i> Paris, 1739, t. vii. p. 385.</p> +<hr width="50%" /> +<a name="one-note" id="one-note"></a> +<p><sup>1</sup> +<i>Los dos amantes del cielo: Crisanto y Daria.</i>  Comedias de Don Pedro +Calderon de la Barca.  Por Don Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch.  Madrid, + 1865, +tomo 3, p. 234.  [<a href="#one">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="two-note" id="two-note"></a> +<p><sup>2</sup> +It may be added to what Dr. Trench has so well said, that Calderon's +<i>auto,</i> "El arbol del mejor Fruto" (<i>The Tree of the choicest Fruit</i>), + is founded +on the same sublime theme.  It is translated into German by Lorinser, under +the title of "Der Baum der bessern Frucht", Breslau, +1861.  [<a href="#two">Return</a>]</p> +<p><a name="play" id="play"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<h2>THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN.</h2> +<hr width="40%" /> +<h4>PERSONS.</h4> +<table><tr><td align="left"> +<b>Numerianus,</b> Emperor of Rome.<br /> +<b>Polemius,</b> Chief Senator.<br /> +<b>Chrysanthus,</b> his son.<br /> +<b>Claudius,</b> cousin of Chrysanthus.<br /> +<b>Aurelius,</b> a Roman general.<br /> +<b>Carpophorus,</b> a venerable priest.<br /> +<b>Escarpin,</b> servant of Chrysanthus. +<table><tr><td align="left"> +<b>Daria,</b><br /> +<b>Cynthia,</b><br /> +<b>Nisida,</b><br /> +<b>Chloris,</b><br /> +</td><td> +<font size="7">}</font></td> +<td>Priestesses of Diana. +</td></tr></table> +<i>Two spirits.<br /> +Angels.<br /> +Soldiers, servants, people, music, etc.</i> +</td></tr></table> +<p></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<p><b>Scene:</b>  Rome and its environs.</p> +<p><a name="a1s1" id="a1s1"></a></p> +<hr width="40%" /> +<h3>ACT THE FIRST.</h3> +<p><b>Scene I.</b>—<i>A Room in the house of Polemius at Rome.</i></p> +</center> +<p><i>Chrysanthus is seen seated near a writing table on which are several + books: he is reading a small volume with deep attention.</i></p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Ah! how shallow is my mind!<br /> +How confined! and how restricted!<sup><a name="three" id="three"></a><a + href="#three-note">3</a></sup><br /> +Ah! how driftless are my words!<br /> +And my thoughts themselves how driftless!<br /> +Since I cannot comprehend,<br /> +Cannot pierce the secrets hidden<br /> +In this little book that I<br /> +Found by chance with others mingled.<br /> +I its meaning cannot reach,<br /> +Howsoe'er my mind I rivet,<br /> +Though to this, and this alone,<br /> +Many a day has now been given.<br /> +But I cannot therefore yield,<br /> +Must not own myself outwitted:—<br /> +No; a studious toil so great<br /> +Should not end in aught so little.<br /> +O'er this book my whole life long<br /> +Shall I brood until the riddle<br /> +Is made plain, or till some sage<br /> +Simplifies what here is written.<br /> +For which end I 'll read once more<br /> +Its beginning.  How my instinct<br /> +Uses the same word with which<br /> +Even the book itself beginneth!—<br /> +"In the beginning was the Word" . .<sup><a name="four" id="four"></a><a + href="#four-note">4</a></sup><br /> +If in language plain and simple<br /> +Word means speech, how then was <i>it</i><br /> +In the beginning?  Since a whisper<br /> +Presupposes power to breathe it,<br /> +Proves an earlier existence,<br /> +And to that anterior Power<br /> +Here the book doth not bear witness.<br /> +Then this follows: "And the Word<br /> +Was with God"—nay more, 't is written,<br /> +"And the Word was God: was with Him<br /> +In the beginning, and by <b>Him</b> then<br /> +All created things were made<br /> +And without Him naught was finshed":—<br /> +Oh! what mysteries, what wonders,<br /> +In this tangled labyrinthine<br /> +Maze lie hid! which I so many<br /> +Years have studied, with such mingled<br /> +Aid from lore divine and human<br /> +Have in vain tried to unriddle!—<br /> +"In the beginning was the Word".—<br /> +Yes, but when was this beginning?<br /> +Was it when Jove, Neptune, Pluto<br /> +Shared the triple zones betwixt them,<br /> +When the one took to himself<br /> +Heaven supreme, one hell's abysses,<br /> +And the sea the third, to Ceres<br /> +Leaving earth, the ever-wingéd<br /> +Time to Saturn, fire to Phœbus,<br /> +And the air to Jove's great sister?<sup><a name="five" id="five"></a><a + href="#five-note">5</a></sup>—<br /> +No, it could not have been then,<br /> +For the fact of their partition<br /> +Shows that heaven and earth then <i>were,</i><br /> +Shows that sea and land existed:—<br /> +The beginning then must be<br /> +Something more remote and distant:<br /> +He who has expressly said<br /> +<i>The beginning,</i> must have hinted<br /> +At the primal cause of all things,<br /> +At the first and great beginning,<br /> +All things growing out of <b>Him,</b><br /> +He himself the pre-existent:—<br /> +Yes, but then a new beginning<br /> +Must we seek for this beginner,<br /> +And so on <i>ad infinitum;</i><br /> +Since if I, on soaring pinion<br /> +Seek from facts to rise to causes,<br /> +Rising still from where I had risen,<br /> +I will find at length there is<br /> +No beginning to the beginning,<br /> +And the inference that time<br /> +Somehow <i>was,</i> ere time existed,<br /> +And that that which ne'er begun<br /> +Ne'er can end, is plain and simple.<br /> +But, my thought, remain not here,<br /> +Rest not in those narrow limits,<br /> +But rise up with me and dare<br /> +Heights that make the brain grow dizzy:—<br /> +And at once to enter there,<br /> +Other things being pretermitted,<br /> +Let us venture where the mind,<br /> +As the darkness round it thickens,<br /> +Almost faints as we resume<br /> +What this mystic scribe has written.<br /> +"And the Word", this writer says,<br /> +"Was made flesh!"  Ah! how can <i>this</i> be?<br /> +Could the Word that in the beginning<br /> +Was with God, was God, was gifted<br /> +With such power as to make all things,<br /> +Could it be made flesh?  In pity,<br /> +Heavens! or take from me at once<br /> +All the sense that you have given me,<br /> +Or at once on me bestow<br /> +Some intelligence, some glimmer<br /> +Of clear light through these dark shadows:—<br /> +Deity, unknown and hidden,<br /> +God or Word, whate'er thou beest,<br /> +Of Thyself the great beginner,<br /> +Of Thyself the end, if, Thou<br /> +Being Thyself beyond time's sickle,<br /> +Still in time the world didst fashion,<br /> +If Thou 'rt life, O living spirit,<br /> +If Thou 'rt light, my darkened senses<br /> +With Thy life and light enkindle!—<br /> +<i>(The voices of two spirits are heard from within, one at each side.)</i></p> +<p><i>First Voice.</i><br /> +Hear, Chrysanthus . . .</p> +<p><i>Second Voice.</i><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Listen . . .</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Two<br /> +Voices, if they are not instincts,<br /> +Shadows without soul or body,<br /> +Which my fancy forms within me,<br /> +Are contending in my bosom<br /> +Each with each at the same instant.<br /> +<i>(Two figures appear on high, one clothed in a dark robe dotted with stars; + the other in a bright and beautiful mantle: Chrysanthus does not see them, but + in the following scene ever speaks to himself.)</i></p> +<p><i>First Voice.</i><br /> +What this crabbed text here meaneth<br /> +By the Word, is plain and simple,<br /> +It is Jove to whose great voice<br /> +Gods and men obedient listen.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Jove, it must be Jove, by whom<br /> +Breath, speech, life itself are given.</p> +<p><i>Second Voice.</i><br /> +What the holy Gospel means<br /> +By the Word, is that great Spirit<br /> +Who was in Himself for ever,<br /> +First, last, always self-existent.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Self-existent! first and last!<br /> +Reason cannot grasp that dictum.</p> +<p><i>First Voice.</i><br /> +In the beginning of the world<br /> +Jove in heaven his high throne fixéd,<br /> +Leaving less imperial thrones<br /> +To the other gods to fill them.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Yes, if <i>he</i> could not alone<br /> +Rule creation unassisted.</p> +<p><i>Second Voice.</i><br /> +God was God, long, long before<br /> +Earth or heaven's blue vault existed,<br /> +He was in Himself, ere He<br /> +Gave to time its life and mission.</p> +<p><i>First Voice.</i><br /> +Worship only pay to Jove,<br /> +God o'er all our gods uplifted.</p> +<p><i>Second Voice.</i><br /> +Worship pay to God alone,<br /> +He the infinite, the omniscient.</p> +<p><i>First Voice.</i><br /> +He doth lord the world below.</p> +<p><i>Second Voice.</i><br /> +He is Lord of Heaven's high kingdom.</p> +<p><i>First Voice.</i><br /> +Shun the lightnings of his wrath.</p> +<p><i>Second Voice.</i><br /> +Seek the waves of his forgiveness.  [<i>The Figures disappear.</i></p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Oh! what darkness, what confusion,<br /> +In myself I find here pitted<br /> +'Gainst each other!  Spirits twain<br /> +Struggle desperately within me,<br /> +Spirits twain of good and ill,—<br /> +One with gentle impulse wins me<br /> +To believe, but, oh! the other<br /> +With opposing force resistless<br /> +Drives me back to doubt: Oh! who<br /> +Will dispel these doubts that fill me?</p> +<p><b>Polemius</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +Yes, Carpophorus must pay<br /> +For the trouble that this gives me.—</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Though these words by chance were spoken<br /> +As an omen I 'll admit them:<br /> +Since Carpophorus (who in Rome<br /> +Was the most renowned, most gifted<br /> +Master in all science), now<br /> +Flying from the emperor's lictors,<br /> +Through suspect of being a Christian,<br /> +In lone deserts wild and dismal<br /> +Lives a saintly savage life,<br /> +He will give to all my wishes<br /> +The solution of these doubts:—<br /> +And till then, O restless thinking<br /> +Torture me and tease no more!<br /> +Let me live for that!  [<i>His voice gradually rises.</i></p> +<p><b>Escarpin</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Within + there<br /> +My young master calls.</p> +<p><b>Claudius</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />All enter.<br /> +(<i>Enter Polemius, Claudius, Aurelius, and Escarpin</i>).</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +My Chrysanthus, what afflicts thee?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Canst thou have been here, my father?</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +No, my son, 't was but this instant<br /> +That I entered here, alarmed<br /> +By the strange and sudden shrillness<br /> +Of thy voice; and though I had<br /> +On my hands important business,<br /> +Grave and weighty, since to me<br /> +Hath the Emperor transmitted<br /> +This decree, which bids me search<br /> +Through the mountains for the Christians<br /> +Hidden there, and specially<br /> +For Carpophorus, their admitted<br /> +Chief and teacher, for which cause<br /> +I my voice too thus uplifted—<br /> +"Yes, Carpophorus must pay<br /> +For the trouble that this gives me"—<br /> +I left all at hearing thee.—<br /> +Why so absent? so bewildered?<br /> +What 's the reason?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Sir, 't is + naught.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Whom didst thou address?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Here + sitting<br /> +I was reading to myself,<br /> +And perchance conceived some image<br /> +I may have addressed in words<br /> +Which have from my memory flitted.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +The grave sadness that o'erwhelms thee<br /> +Will, unless it be resisted,<br /> +Undermine thy understanding,<br /> +If thou hast it still within thee.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +'T is a loud soliloquy,<br /> +'T is a rather audible whisper<br /> +That compels one's friends to hasten<br /> +Full of fear to his assistance!</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Well, excitement may . . .</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Oh! cease;<br /> +That excuse will scarce acquit thee,<br /> +Since when one 's alone, excitement<br /> +Is a flame that 's seldom kindled.<br /> +I am pleased, well pleased to see thee<br /> +To the love of books addicted,<br /> +But then application should not<br /> +To extremes like this be driven,<br /> +Nor should letters alienate thee<br /> +From thy country, friends, and kinsmen.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +A young man by heaven so favoured,<br /> +With such rare endowments gifted,<br /> +Blessed with noble birth and valour,<br /> +Dowered with genius, rank, and riches,<br /> +Can he yield to such enthralment,<br /> +Can he make his room a prison,<br /> +Can he waste in idle reading<br /> +The fair flower of his existence?</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Dost thou not remember also<br /> +That thou art my son?  Bethink thee<br /> +That the great Numerianus,<br /> +Our good emperor, has given me<br /> +The grand government of Rome<br /> +As chief senator of the city,<br /> +And with that imperial burden<br /> +The whole world too—all the kingdoms,<br /> +All the provinces subjected<br /> +To its varied, vast dominion.<br /> +Know'st thou not, from Alexandria,<br /> +From my native land, my birth-place,<br /> +Where on many a proud escutcheon<br /> +My ancestral fame is written,<br /> +That he brought me here, the weight<br /> +Of his great crown to bear with him,<br /> +And that Rome upon my entry<br /> +Gave to me a recognition<br /> +That repaid the debt it owed me,<br /> +Since the victories were admitted<br /> +Which in glorious alternation<br /> +By my sword and pen were given her?<br /> +Through what vanity, what folly,<br /> +Wilt thou not enjoy thy birth-right<br /> +As my son and heir, indulging<br /> +Solely in these idle whimseys?—</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Sir, the state in which you see me,<br /> +This secluded room, this stillness,<br /> +Do not spring from want of feeling,<br /> +Or indifference to your wishes.<br /> +'T is my natural disposition;<br /> +For I have no taste to mingle<br /> +In the vulgar vain pursuits<br /> +Of the courtier crowds ambitious.<br /> +And if living to myself here<br /> +More of true enjoyment gives me,<br /> +Why would you desire me seek for<br /> +That which must my joys diminish?<br /> +Let this time of sadness pass,<br /> +Let these hours of lonely vigil,<br /> +Then for fame and its applauses,<br /> +Which no merit of my own,<br /> +But my father's name may bring me.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Would it not, my son, be fitter<br /> +That you should enjoy those plaudits<br /> +In the fresh and blooming spring-time<br /> +Of your life, and to hereafter<br /> +Leave the loneliness and vigil?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Let me tell a little story<br /> +Which will make the whole thing simple:—<br /> +A bad painter bought a house,<br /> +Altogether a bad business,<br /> +For the house itself was bad:<br /> +He however was quite smitten<br /> +With his purchase, and would show it<br /> +To a friend of his, keen-witted,<br /> +But bad also: when they entered,<br /> +The first room was like a kitchen,<br /> +Black and bad:—"This room, you see, sir,<br /> +Now is bad, but just permit me<br /> +First to have it whitewashed over,<br /> +Then shall my own hand with pictures<br /> +Paint the walls from floor to ceiling,<br /> +Then you 'll see how bright 't will glisten".—<br /> +To him thus his friend made answer,<br /> +Smiling archly: "Yes, 't will glisten,<br /> +But if you would paint it first,<br /> +And then whitewash o'er the pictures,<br /> +The effect would be much better".—<br /> +Now 's the time for you, my lord,<br /> +To lay on the shining pigment:<br /> +On that brilliant ground hereafter<br /> +Will the whitewash fall more fitly,<br /> +For, in fine, the poorest painting<br /> +Is improved by time's slow finger.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Sir, I say, that in obedience<br /> +To your precepts, to your wishes,<br /> +I will strive from this day forward<br /> +So to act, that you will think me<br /> +Changed into another being.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Claudius, my paternal instinct<br /> +Makes me fear Chrysanthus' sadness,<br /> +Makes we tremble that its issue<br /> +May result in total madness.<br /> +Since thou art his friend and kinsman<br /> +Both combined, make out, I pray thee,<br /> +What occasions this bewitchment,<br /> +To the end that I may break it:<br /> +And my promise now I give thee,<br /> +That although I should discover<br /> +Love's delirious dream delicious<br /> +May be at the root,—most likely<br /> +At his age the true suspicion,—<br /> +It shall not disturb or grieve me.<br /> +Nay, since I am doomed to witness<br /> +His dejection, it will glad me<br /> +To find out that so it springeth.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Once a high priest of Apollo<br /> +Had two nephews soft and silly,<br /> +More than silly, wretched creatures,<br /> +More than wretched, doltish drivels;<br /> +And perceiving from experience<br /> +How love smartens up its victims,<br /> +He but said to them this only,<br /> +"Fall in love at least, ye ninnies".—<br /> +Thus, though not in love, sir, now,<br /> +I 'll be bound he 'll be so quickly,<br /> +Merely to oblige you.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />This<br /> +Is not quite as I would wish it,<br /> +For when anything has happened,<br /> +The desire to know it, differs<br /> +From the wish it so should happen.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +I, my lord, my best assistance<br /> +Offer thee to strive and fathom<br /> +From what cause can have arisen<br /> +Such dejection and such sadness;<br /> +This henceforth shall be my business<br /> +To divert him and distract him.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Such precisely are my wishes:<br /> +And since now I am forced to go<br /> +In obedience to the mission<br /> +Sent me by Numerianus,<br /> +'Mid the wastes to search for Christians,<br /> +In my absence, Claudius,<br /> +Most consoling thoughts 't will give me,<br /> +To remember that thou watchest<br /> +O'er Chrysanthus.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />From this + instant<br /> +Until thy return, I promise<br /> +Not to leave his side.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Aurelius + . . .</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +My good lord.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />Art sure thou + knowest<br /> +In this mountain the well-hidden<br /> +Cave wherein Carpophorus dwelleth?</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +Him I promise to deliver<br /> +To thy hands.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />Then lead the + soldiers<br /> +Stealthily and with all quickness<br /> +To the spot, for all must perish<br /> +Who are there found hiding with him:—<br /> +For the care with which, ye Heavens!<br /> +I uphold the true religion<br /> +Of the gods, their faith and worship,<br /> +For the zeal that I exhibit<br /> +In thus crushing Christ's new law,<br /> +Which I hate with every instinct<br /> +Of my soul, oh! grant my guerdon<br /> +In the cure of my son's illness!  [<i>Exeunt Polemius and Aurelius.</i></p> +<p><b>Claudius</b> (<i>to Escarpin</i>).<br /> +Go and tell my lord Chrysanthus<br /> +That I wish he would come with me<br /> +Forth to-day for relaxation.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Relaxation! just say whither<br /> +Are we to go forth to get it;<br /> +Of that comfort I get little—</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Outside Rome, Diana's temple<br /> +On the Salarian way uplifteth<br /> +Its majestic front: the fairest<br /> +Of our Roman maids dwell in it:<br /> +'T is the custom, as thou knowest,<br /> +That the loveliest of Rome's children<br /> +Whom patrician blood ennobles,<br /> +From their tender years go thither<br /> +To be priestesses of the goddess,<br /> +Living there till 't is permitted<br /> +They should marry: 't is the centre<br /> +Of all charms, the magic circle<br /> +Drawn around a land of beauty—<br /> +Home of deities—Elysium!—<br /> +And as great Diana is<br /> +Goddess of the groves, her children<br /> +Have to her an altar raised<br /> +In the loveliest cool green thicket.<br /> +Thither, when the evening falleth,<br /> +And the season is propitious,<br /> +Various squadrons of fair nymphs<br /> +Hasten: and it is permitted<br /> +Gallant youths, unmarried also,<br /> +As an escort to go with them.<br /> +There this evening will I lead him.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Well, I doubt that your prescription<br /> +Is the best: for fair recluses,<br /> +Whose sublime pursuits, restricted<br /> +To celestial things, make even<br /> +The most innocent thought seem wicked,<br /> +Are by no means likely persons<br /> +To divert a man afflicted<br /> +With this melancholy madness:<br /> +Better take him into the thickest<br /> +Throng of Rome, there flesh and bone<br /> +Goddesses he 'll find, and fitter.—</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Ah! you speak but as the vulgar:<br /> +Is it not the bliss of blisses<br /> +To adore some lovely being<br /> +In the ideal, in the distance,<br /> +Almost as a vision?—</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Yes;<br /> +'T is delightful; I admit it,<br /> +But there 's good and better: think<br /> +Of the choice that once a simple<br /> +Mother gave her son: she said:<br /> +"Egg or rasher, which will I give thee?"<br /> +And he said: "The rasher, mother,<br /> +But with the egg upon it, prithee".<br /> +"Both are best", so says the proverb.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Well, if tastes did n't sometimes differ,<br /> +What a notable mistake<br /> +Providence would have committed!<br /> +To adore thee, sweetest Cynthia, [<i>aside</i><br /> +Is the height of all my wishes:<br /> +As it well may be, for <i>am</i> I<br /> +Worthy, worship even to give her?  [<i>Exeunt.</i></p> +<p><a name="a1s2" id="a1s2"></a></p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<p><b>Scene the Second</b><br /> +<i>A Wood near Rome.</i></p> +</center> +<p>(<i>Enter</i> <b>Nisida</b> <i>and</i> <b>Chloris,</b> <i>the latter with a + lyre</i>).</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Have you brought the instrument?</p> +<p><b>Chloris.</b><br /> +Yes.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Then give it me, + for here<br /> +In this tranquil forest sphere,<br /> +Where the boughs and blossoms blent,<br /> +Ruby blooms and emerald stems,<br /> +Round about their radiance fling,<br /> +Where the canopy of spring<br /> +Breathes of flowers and gleams with gems,<br /> +Here I wish that air to play,<br /> +Which to words that Cynthia wrote<br /> +I have set—a simple note.</p> +<p><b>Chloris.</b><br /> +And the song, señora, say,<br /> +What 's the theme?</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />A touching + strain,—<br /> +How a nightingale in a grove<br /> +Singing sweetly of his love,<br /> +Sang its pleasure and its pain.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> <b>Cynthia</b> (<i>reading in a book</i>).</p> +<p><b>Cynthia</b> (<i>to herself</i>).<br /> +Whilst each alley here discloses<br /> +Youthful nymphs, who as they pass<br /> +To Diana's shrine, the grass<br /> +Turn to beds of fragrant roses,—<br /> +Where the interlacéd bars<br /> +Of these woods their beauty dowers<br /> +Seem a verdant sky of flowers—<br /> +Seem an azure field of stars.<br /> +I shall here recline and read<br /> +(While they wander through the grove)<br /> +Ovid's <i>Remedy of Love.</i></p> +<p><b>Nisida</b> (<i>to Chloris</i>).<br /> +Hear the words and air.</p> +<p><b>Chloris.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Proceed.</p> +<p><b>Nisida</b> (<i>singing</i>).<br /> +O nightingale, whose sweet exulting strain<br /> +Tells of thy triumphs to the listening grove,<br /> +Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain.<br /> +But no; but no; for if thou sing'st of love,<br /> +Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia</b> (<i>advancing</i>).<br /> +What a charming air!  To me<br /> +What an honour!  From this day<br /> +I may well be vain, as they<br /> +May without presumption be,<br /> +Who, despite their numerous slips,<br /> +Find their words can please the ear,<br /> +Who their rugged verses hear<br /> +Turn to music on thy lips.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +'T is thine own genius, not my skill,<br /> +That produces this effect;<br /> +For, without it, I suspect,<br /> +Would my voice sound harsh and shrill,<br /> +And my lute's strings should be broken<br /> +With a just and wholesome rigour,<br /> +For presuming to disfigure<br /> +What thy words so well have spoken.<br /> +Whither wert thou wending here?</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Through the quiet wood proceeding,<br /> +I the poet's book was reading,<br /> +When there fell upon my ear,<br /> +Soft and sweet, thy voice: its power,<br /> +Gentle lodestone of my feet,<br /> +Brought me to this green retreat—<br /> +Led me to this lonely bower:<br /> +But what wonder, when to listen<br /> +To thy sweetly warbled words<br /> +Ceased the music of the birds—<br /> +Of the founts that glide and glisten?<br /> +May I hope that, since I came<br /> +Thus so opportunely near,<br /> +I the gloss may also hear?</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +I will sing it, though with shame.</p> +<p>(<i>Sings</i>)<br /> +Sweet nightingale, that from some echoing grot<br /> +Singest the rapture of thy love aloud,<br /> +Singest with voice so joyous and so proud,<br /> +All unforgetting thou mayst be forgot,<br /> +Full of thyself and of thy happy lot!<br /> +Ah! when thou trillest that triumphant strain<br /> +To all the listening lyrists of the grove,<br /> +Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain!<br /> +But no; but no; for if thou sing'st of love.<br /> +Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> <b>Daria.</b></p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Ah! my Nisida, forbear,<br /> +Ah! those words forbear to sing,<br /> +Which on zephyr's wanton wing<br /> +Thou shouldst waft not on the air.<br /> +All is wrong, how sweet it be,<br /> +That the vestal's thoughts reprove:<br /> +What is jealousy? what is love?<br /> +That they should be sung by thee?<br /> +Think this wood is consecrated<br /> +To Diana's service solely,<br /> +Not to Venus: it is holy.<br /> +Why then wouldst thou desecrate it<br /> +With thy songs?  Does 't not amaze<br /> +Thee thyself—this strangest thing—<br /> +In Diana's grove to sing<br /> +Hymns of love to Cupid's praise?<br /> +But I need not wonder, no,<br /> +That thou 'rt so amused, since I<br /> +Here see Cynthia with thee.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Why<br /> +Dost thou say so?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />I say so<br /> +For good cause: in books profane<br /> +Thou unceasingly delightest,<br /> +Verse thou readest, verse thou writest,<br /> +Of their very vanity vain.<br /> +And if thou wouldst have me prove<br /> +What I say to thy proceeding,<br /> +Tell me, what 's this book thou 'rt reading?</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +'T is <i>The Remedy of Love.</i><br /> +Whence thou mayst perceive how weak<br /> +Is thy inference, thy deduction<br /> +From my studious self-instruction;<br /> +Since the patient who doth seek<br /> +Remedies to cure his pain<br /> +Shows by this he <i>would</i> grow better;—<br /> +For the slave who breaks his fetter<br /> +Cannot surely love his chain.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +This, though not put quite so strong,<br /> +Was involved in the conclusion<br /> +Of my lay: Love's disillusion<br /> +Was the burden of my song.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Remedies and disillusions,<br /> +Seek ye both beneath one star?<br /> +Ah! if so, you are not far<br /> +From its pains and its confusions:<br /> +For the very fact of pleading<br /> +Disillusion, shows that thou<br /> +'Neath illusion's yoke doth bow,—<br /> +And the patient who is needing<br /> +Remedies doth prove that still<br /> +The sharp pang he doth endure,<br /> +For there 's no one seeks a cure<br /> +Ere he feels that he is ill:—<br /> +Therefore to this wrong proceeding<br /> +Grieved am I to see ye clinging—<br /> +Seeking <i>thou</i> thy cure in singing—<br /> +<i>Thou</i> thy remedy in reading.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Casual actions of this class<br /> +That are done without intention<br /> +Of a second end, to mention<br /> +Here were out of place: I pass<br /> +To another point: There 's no one<br /> +Who <i>with</i> genius, or denied it,—<br /> +Dowered with mind, but has applied it<br /> +Some especial track to go on:<br /> +This variety suffices<br /> +For its exercise and action,<br /> +Just as some by free attraction<br /> +Seek the virtues and the vices;—<br /> +This blind instinct, or this duty,<br /> +We three share;—'t is <i>thy</i> delight<br /> +Nisida to sing,—to write<br /> +<i>Mine,</i>—and <i>thine</i> to adore thy beauty.<br /> +Which of these three occupations<br /> +Is the best—or those that need<br /> +Skill and labour to succeed,<br /> +Or thine own vain contemplations?—<br /> +Have I not, when morning's rays<br /> +Gladdened grove and vale and mountain,<br /> +Seen thee in the crystal fountain<br /> +At thyself enamoured gaze?<br /> +Wherefore, once again returning<br /> +To our argument of love,<br /> +Thou a greater pang must prove,<br /> +If from thy insatiate yearning<br /> +I infer a cause: the spell<br /> +Lighter falls on one who still,<br /> +To herself not feeling ill,<br /> +Would in other eyes seem well.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Ah! so far, so far from me<br /> +Is the wish as vain as weak—<br /> +(Now my virtue doth not speak,<br /> +Now but speaks my vanity),<br /> +Ah! so far, I say, my breast<br /> +Turns away from things of love,<br /> +That the sovereign hand of Jove,<br /> +Were it to attempt its best,<br /> +Could no greater wonder work,<br /> +Than that I, Daria, should<br /> +So be changed in mind and mood<br /> +As to let within me lurk<br /> +Love's minutest, smallest seed:—<br /> +Only upon one condition<br /> +Could I love, and that fruition<br /> +Then would be my pride indeed.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +What may that condition be?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +When of all mankind, I knew<br /> +One who felt a love so true<br /> +As to give his life for me,<br /> +Then, until my own life fled,<br /> +Him, with gratitude and pride,<br /> +Were I sure that so he died,<br /> +I would love though he were dead.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Poor reward for love so great<br /> +Were that tardy recollection,<br /> +Since, it seems, for thy affection<br /> +He, till life is o'er, must wait.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Soars thy vanity so high?<br /> +Thy presumption is above<br /> +All belief: be sure, for love<br /> +No man will be found to die.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Why more words then? love must be<br /> +In my case denied by heaven:<br /> +Since my love cannot be given<br /> +Save to one who 'll die for me.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Thy ambition is a thing<br /> +So sublime, what <i>can</i> be said?—<br /> +Better I resumed and read,<br /> +Better, Nisida, thou shouldst sing,<br /> +This disdain so strange and strong,<br /> +This delusion little heeding.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Yes, do thou resume thy reading,<br /> +I too will resume my song.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +I, that I may not renew<br /> +Such reproaches, whilst you sing,<br /> +Whilst you read, in this clear spring<br /> +Thoughtfully myself shall view.</p> +<p><b>Nisida</b> <i>sings.</i><br /> +O nightingale, whose sweet exulting strain<br /> +Tells of thy triumphs to the listening grove,<br /> +Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain!—<br /> +But no, but no, for if thou sing'st of love<br /> +Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> <b>Chrysanthus, Claudius,</b> <i>and</i> <b>Escarpin.</b></p> +<p><b>Claudius,</b> <i>to Chrysanthus.</i><br /> +Does not the beauty of this wood,<br /> +This tranquil wood, delight thee?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />Yes:<br /> +Here nature's lord doth dower and bless<br /> +The world in most indulgent mood.<br /> +Who could believe this greenwood here<br /> +For the first time has blessed mine eyes?</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +It is the second Paradise,<br /> +Of deities the verdant sphere.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +'T is more, this green and grassy glade<br /> +Whither our careless steps have strolled,<br /> +For here three objects we behold<br /> +Equally fair by distance made.<br /> +Of these that chain our willing feet,<br /> +There yonder where the path is leading,<br /> +One is a lady calmly reading,<br /> +One is a lady singing sweet,<br /> +And one whose rapt though idle air<br /> +Gives us to understand this truth—<br /> +A woman blessed with charms and youth,<br /> +Does quite enough in being fair.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +You are quite right in that, I 've seen<br /> +Beauties enough of that sort too.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +If of the three here given to view,<br /> +The choice were thine to choose between,<br /> +Which of them best would suit thy taste?<br /> +Which wouldst thou make thy choice of, say?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +I do not know: for in one way<br /> +They so with equal gifts are graced,<br /> +So musical and fair and wise,<br /> +That while one captivates the mind,<br /> +One works her witcheries with the wind,<br /> +And one, the fairest, charms our eyes.<br /> +The one who sings, it seems a duty,<br /> +Trusting her sweet voice, to think sweet,<br /> +The one who reads, to deem discreet,<br /> +The third, we judge but by her beauty:<br /> +And so I fear by act or word<br /> +To wrong the three by judging ill,<br /> +Of one her charms, of one her skill,<br /> +And the intelligence of the third.<br /> +For to choose <i>one</i> does wrong to two,<br /> +But if I so presumed to dare . . .</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Which would it be?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />The one that 's + fair.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +My blessings on your choice and you!<br /> +That 's my opinion in the case,<br /> +'T is plain at least to my discerning<br /> +That in a woman wit and learning<br /> +Are nothing to a pretty face.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Chloris, quick, take up the lyre,<br /> +For a rustling noise I hear<br /> +In this shady thicket near:<br /> +Yes, I 'm right, I must retire.<br /> +Swift as feet can fly I 'll go.<br /> +For these men that here have strayed<br /> +Must have heard me while I played.  [<i>Exeunt Nisida and Chloris.</i></p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +One of them I think I know.<br /> +Yes, 't is Claudius, as I thought,<br /> +Now he has a chance: I 'll see<br /> +If he cares to follow me,<br /> +Guessing rightly what has brought<br /> +Me to-day unto the grove:—<br /> +Ah! if love to grief is leading<br /> +Of what use to me is reading<br /> +In the <i>Remedies of Love?</i>  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>to herself</i>).<br /> +In these bowers by trees o'ergrown,<br /> +Here contented I remain,<br /> +All companionship is vain,<br /> +Save my own sweet thoughts alone:—</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Dear Chrysanthus, your election<br /> +Was to me both loss and gain,<br /> +Gave me pleasure, gave me pain:—<br /> +It seemed plain to my affection<br /> +(Being in love) your choice should fall<br /> +On the maid of pensive look,<br /> +Not on her who read the book:<br /> +But your praise made up for all.<br /> +And since each has equal force,<br /> +My complaint and gratulation,<br /> +Whilst with trembling expectation<br /> +I pursue my own love's course,<br /> +Try your fortune too, till we<br /> +Meet again.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Confused I + stay,<br /> +Without power to go away,<br /> +Spirit-bound, my feet not free.<br /> +From the instant that on me,<br /> +As a sudden beam might dart,<br /> +Flashed that form which Phidian art<br /> +Could not reach, I 've known no rest.—<br /> +Babylon is in my breast—<br /> +Troy is burning in my heart.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Strange that I should feel as you,<br /> +That one thought should fire us two,<br /> +I too, sir, have lost my senses<br /> +Since I saw that lady.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />Who,<br /> +Madman! fool! do you speak of? <i>you!</i><br /> +Dare to feel those griefs of mine!—</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +No, sir, yours I quite resign,<br /> +Would I could my own ones too!—</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Leave me, or my wrath you 'll rue;<br /> +Hence! buffoon: by heaven I swear it,<br /> +I will kill you else.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />I + go:—<br /> +For if you address her, oh!<br /> +Could my jealous bosom bear it?  [<i>aside</i> [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>to Daria</i>).<br /> +If my boldness so may dare it,<br /> +I desire to ask, señora,<br /> +If thou art this heaven's Aurora,<br /> +If the goddess of this fountain,<br /> +If the Juno of this mountain,<br /> +If of these bright flowers the Flora,<br /> +So that I may rightly know<br /> +In what style should speak to thee<br /> +My hushed voice . . .  but pardon me<br /> +Now I would not thou said'st <i>so.</i><br /> +Looking at thee now, the glow<br /> +Of thy beauty so excelleth,<br /> +Every charm so plainly telleth<br /> +Thou Diana's self must be;<br /> +Yes, Diana's self is she,<br /> +Who within her grove here dwelleth.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +If, before you spoke to me,<br /> +You desired my name to know,<br /> +I in <i>your</i> case act not so,<br /> +Since I speak, whoe'er you be,<br /> +Forced, but most unwillingly<br /> +(As to listening heaven is plain)<br /> +To reply:—a bootless task<br /> +Were it in me, indeed, to ask,<br /> +Since, whoe'er you be, my strain<br /> +Must be one of proud disdain.<br /> +So I pray you, cavalier,<br /> +Leave me in this lonely wood,<br /> +Leave me in the solitude<br /> +I enjoyed ere you came here.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Sweetly, but with tone severe,<br /> +Thus my error you reprove—<br /> +That of asking in this grove<br /> +What your name is: you 're so fair,<br /> +That, whatever name you bear,<br /> +I must tell you of my love.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Love! a word to me unknown,<br /> +Sounds so strangely in my ears,<br /> +That my heart nor feels nor hears<br /> +Aught of it when it has flown.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Then there is no rashness shown<br /> +In repeating it once more,<br /> +Since to hear or to ignore<br /> +Suits alike your stoic coldness.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Yes, the speech, but not the boldness<br /> +Of the speaker I pass o'er,<br /> +For this word, whate'er it be,<br /> +When it breaks upon my ear,<br /> +Quick 't is gone, although I hear.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +You forget it?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Instantly.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +What! love's sweetest word! ah, me!<br /> +Canst forget the mightiest ray<br /> +Death can dart, or heaven display?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Yes, for lightning, entering where<br /> +Naught resists, is lost in air.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +How? what way?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />Well, in this + way:<br /> +If two doors in one straight line<br /> +Open lie, and lightning falls,<br /> +Then the bolt between the walls<br /> +Passes through, and leaves no sign.<br /> +So 't is with this word of thine;<br /> +Though love be, which I do n't doubt,<br /> +Like heaven's bolt that darts about,<br /> +Still two opposite doors I 've here,<br /> +And what enters by one ear<br /> +By the other ear goes out.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +If this lightning then darts through<br /> +Where no door lies open wide<br /> +To let it pass at the other side,<br /> +Must not fire and flame ensue?<br /> +This being so, 't is also true<br /> +That the fire of love that flies<br /> +Into my heart, in flames must rise,<br /> +Since without its feast of fire<br /> +The fatal flash cannot retire,<br /> +That has entered by the eyes.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +If to what I said but now<br /> +You had listened, I believe<br /> +You would have preferred to leave<br /> +Still unspoken love's vain vow.<br /> +This you would yourself allow.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +What then was it?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />I do n't + know:<br /> +Something 't was that typified<br /> +My presumption and my pride.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Let me know it even so.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +That in me no love could grow<br /> +Save for one who first would die<br /> +For my love.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />And death being + past,<br /> +Would he win your love at last?—</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Yes, on that he might rely.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Then I plight my troth that I<br /> +Will to that reward aspire,—<br /> +A poor offering at the fire<br /> +By those beauteous eyes supplied.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +But as you have not yet died,<br /> +Pray do n't follow me, but retire.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +In what bosom, at one moment,<br /> +Oh! ye heavens! e'er met together<sup><a name="six" id="six"></a><a + href="#six-note">6</a></sup><br /> +Such a host of anxious troubles?<br /> +Such a crowd of boding terrors?<br /> +Can I be the same calm student<br /> +Who awhile ago here wended?<br /> +To a miracle of beauty,<br /> +To a fair face now surrendered,<br /> +I scarce know what brought me hither,<br /> +I my purpose scarce remember.<br /> +What bewitchment, what enchantment,<br /> +What strange lethargy, what frenzy<br /> +Can have to my heart, those eyes<br /> +Such divine delirium sent me?<br /> +What divinity, desirous<br /> +That I should not know the endless<br /> +Mysteries of the book I carry,<br /> +In my path such snares presenteth,<br /> +Seeking from these serious studies<br /> +To distract me and divert me?<br /> +But what 's this I say?  One passion<br /> +Accidentally developed,<br /> +Should not be enough, no, no,<br /> +From myself myself to sever.<br /> +If the violence of one star<br /> +Draws me to a deity's service,<br /> +It compels not; for the planets<br /> +Draw, but force not, the affections.<br /> +Free is yet my will, my mind too,<br /> +Free is still my heart: then let me<br /> +Try to solve more noble problems<br /> +Than the doubts that love presenteth.<br /> +And since Claudius, the new Clytie<sup><a name="seven" id="seven"></a><a + href="#seven-note">7</a></sup><br /> +Of the sun, whose golden tresses<br /> +Lead him in pursuit, her footsteps<br /> +Follows through the wood, my servant<br /> +Having happily too departed,<br /> +And since yonder rocks where endeth<br /> +The dark wood in savage wildness<br /> +Must be the rude rustic shelter<br /> +Of the Christians who fled thither,<br /> +I 'll approach them to endeavour<br /> +To find there Carpophorus:—<br /> +He alone, the wise, the learnéd,<br /> +Can my understanding rescue<br /> +From its night-mare dreams and guesses.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><a name="a1s3" id="a1s3"></a></p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<p><b>Scene III.</b>  <i>The extremity of the wood:<br /> +wild rocks with the entrance to a cave.<br /> +Carpophorus comes forth from the cave, but is for a while unseen by Chrysanthus, + who enters.</i></p> +</center> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +What a labyrinthine thicket<br /> +Is this place that I have entered!<br /> +Nature here takes little trouble,<br /> +Letting it be seen how perfect<br /> +Is the beauty that arises<br /> +Even from nature's careless efforts:<br /> +Deep within this darksome grotto<br /> +Which no sunbeam's light can enter,<br /> +I shall penetrate: it seemeth<br /> +As if until now it never<br /> +Had been trod by human footsteps.<br /> +There where yonder marge impendeth<br /> +O'er a streamlet that swift-flying<br /> +Carries with it the white freshness<br /> +Of the snows that from the mountains<br /> +Ever in its waves are melted,<br /> +Stands almost a skeleton;<br /> +The sole difference it presenteth<br /> +To the tree-trunks near it is,<br /> +That it moves as well as trembles,<br /> +Slow and gaunt, a living corse.<br /> +Oh! thou venerable elder<br /> +Who, a reason-gifted tree,<br /> +Mid mere natural trees here dwelleth.—</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Wo! oh! wo is me!—a Roman!<br /> +(<i>At seeing Chrysanthus, he attempts to fly.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Though a Roman, do not dread me:<br /> +With no evil end I seek thee.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Then what wouldst thou have, thou gentle<br /> +Roman youth? for thou hast silenced<br /> +My first fears even by thy presence.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +'T is to ask, what now I ask thee,<br /> +Of the rocks that in this desert<br /> +Gape for ever open wide<br /> +In eternal yawns incessant,<br /> +Which is the rough marble tomb<br /> +Of a living corse interred here?<br /> +Which of these dark caves is that<br /> +In whose gloom Carpophorus dwelleth?<br /> +'T is important I speak with him.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Then, regarding not the perils,<br /> +I will own it.  I myself<br /> +Am Carpophorus.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Oh! let me,<br /> +Father, feel thy arms enfold me.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +To my heart: for as I press thee,<br /> +How, I know not, the mere contact<br /> +Brings me back again the freshness<br /> +And the greenness of my youth,<br /> +Like the vine's embracing tendrils<br /> +Twining round an aged tree:<br /> +Gallant youth, who art thou? tell me.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Father, I am called Chrysanthus,<br /> +Of Polemius, the first member<br /> +Of the Roman senate, son.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +And thy purpose?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />It + distresses<br /> +Me to see thee standing thus:<br /> +On this bank sit down and rest thee.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Kindly thought of; for, alas!<br /> +I a tottering wall resemble:<br /> +At the mouth of this my cave<br /> +Let us then sit down together.  [<i>They sit down.</i><br /> +What now wouldst thou have, Sir Stranger?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Sir, as long as I remember,<br /> +I have felt an inclination<br /> +To the love of books and letters.<br /> +In my casual studies lately<br /> +I a difficulty met with<br /> +That I could not solve, and knowing<br /> +No one in all Rome more learnéd<br /> +Than thyself (thy reputation<br /> +Having with this truth impressed me)<br /> +I have hither come to ask thee<br /> +To explain to me this sentence:<br /> +For I cannot understand it.<br /> +'T is, sir, in this book.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />Pray, let me<br /> +See it then.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />'T is at the + beginning;<br /> +Nay, the sentence that perplexes<br /> +Me so much is <i>that.</i></p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Why, these<br /> +Are the Holy Gospels!  Heavens!</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +What! you kiss the book?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />And press + it<br /> +To my forehead, thus suggesting<br /> +The profound respect with which<br /> +I even touch so great a treasure.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Why, what <i>is</i> the book, which I<br /> +By mere accident selected?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +'T is the basis, the foundation<br /> +Of the Scripture Law.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />I tremble<br /> +With an unknown horror.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Why?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Deeper now I would not enter<br /> +Into the secrets of a book<br /> +Which are magic spells, I 'm certain.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +No, not so, but vital truths.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +How can <i>that</i> be, when its verses<br /> +Open with this line that says<br /> +(A beginning surely senseless)<br /> +"In the beginning was the Word,<br /> +And it was with God": and <i>then</i> it<br /> +Adds: this Word itself was God;<br /> +Then unto the Word reverting,<br /> +Says explicitly that <b>It</b><br /> +"Was made flesh"?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />A truth most + certain:<br /> +For this first evangelist<br /> +Here to us our God presenteth<br /> +In a twofold way: the first<br /> +As being God, as Man the second.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +God and Man combined together?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Yes, in one eternal Person<br /> +Are both natures joined together.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Then, for this is what more presses<br /> +On my mind, can that same Word<br /> +When it was made flesh, be reckoned<br /> +God?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Yes, God and Man is + Christ<br /> +Crucified for our transgressions.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Pray explain this wondrous problem.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +He is God, because He never<br /> +Was created: He is the Word,<br /> +For, besides, He was engendered<br /> +By the Father, from both whom<br /> +In eternal due procession<br /> +Comes the Holy Ghost, three Persons,<br /> +But one God, thrice mystic emblem!—<br /> +In the Catholic faith we hold<br /> +In one Trinity one God dwelleth,<br /> +And that in one God is also<br /> +One sole Trinity, ever blesséd,<br /> +Which confounds not the three Persons,<br /> +Nor the single substance severs.<br /> +One is the person of the Father,<br /> +One the Son's, beloved for ever,<br /> +One, the third, the Holy Ghost's.<br /> +But though three, you must remember<br /> +That in the Father, and in the Son,<br /> +And in the Holy Ghost . . .</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Unheard of<br /> +Mysteries these!</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />There 's but one + God,<br /> +Equal in the power exerted,<br /> +Equal in the state and glory;<br /> +For . . .</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />I listen, but I + tremble.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +The eternal Father is<br /> +Limitless, even so unmeasured<br /> +And eternal is the Son,<br /> +And unmeasured and eternal<br /> +Is the Holy Ghost; but then<br /> +Three eternities are not meant here,<br /> +Three immensities, no, but One,<br /> +Who is limitless and eternal.<br /> +For though increate the three,<br /> +They are but one Uncreated.<br /> +First the Father was not made,<br /> +Or created, or engendered;<br /> +Then engendered was the Son<br /> +By the Father, not created;<br /> +And the Spirit was not made<br /> +Or created, or engendered<br /> +By the Father or the Son,<br /> +But proceeds from both together.<br /> +This is God's divinity<br /> +Viewed as God alone, let 's enter<br /> +On the human aspect.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />Stay:<br /> +For so strange, so unexpected<br /> +Are the things you say, that I<br /> +Need for their due thought some leisure.<br /> +Let me my lost breath regain,<br /> +For entranced, aroused, suspended,<br /> +Spell-bound your strong reasons hold me.<br /> +Is there then but one sole God<br /> +In three Persons, one in essence,<br /> +One in substance, one in power,<br /> +One in will?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />My son, 't is + certain.</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Aurelius and Soldiers.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Aurelius</b> <i>to the Soldiers.</i><br /> +Yonder is the secret cavern<br /> +Of Carpophorus, at its entrance<br /> +See him seated with another<br /> +Reading.</p> +<p><b>A Soldier.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Why delay?  + Arrest them.</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +Recollect Polemius bade us,<br /> +When we seized them, to envelope<br /> +Each one's face, that so, the Christians,<br /> +Their accomplices and fellows,<br /> +Should not know or recognize them.</p> +<p><b>A Soldier.</b><br /> +You 're our prisoners.<br /> +[<i>A veil is thrown over the head of each.</i>]</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />What! base wretches + . . .</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +Gag their mouths.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />But then I am + . . .</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +Come, no words: now tie together<br /> +Both their hands behind their backs.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Why I am . . .</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />Oh! sacred + heaven!<br /> +Now my wished-for day has come.</p> +<p><b>A Voice from Heaven.</b><br /> +No, not yet, my faithful servant:—<br /> +I desire the constancy<br /> +Of Chrysanthus may be tested:—<br /> +Heed not him, as for thyself,<br /> +In this manner I preserve thee.  [<i>Carpophorus disappears.</i></p> +<p>(<i>Enter Polemius.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +What has happened?</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Oh! a + wonder.—<br /> +We Carpophorus arrested,<br /> +And with him this other Christian;<br /> +Both we held here bound and fettered,<br /> +When from out our hands he vanished.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +By some sorcery 't was effected,<br /> +For those Christians use enchantments,<br /> +And then miracles pretend them.</p> +<p><b>A Soldier.</b><br /> +See, a crowd of them there flying<br /> +To the mountains.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Intercept + them,<br /> +And secure the rabble rout;<br /> +This one I shall guard myself here:— [<i>Exeunt Aurelius and + soldiers.</i><br /> +Miserable wretch! who art thou?<br /> +Thus that I may know thee better,<br /> +Judging from thy face thy crimes,<br /> +I unveil thee.  Gracious heaven!<br /> +My own son!</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />Oh! heavens! my + father!</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Thou with Christians here detected?<br /> +Thou here in their caverns hidden?<br /> +Thou a prisoner?  Wherefore, wherefore,<br /> +O immense and mighty Jove,<br /> +Are thy angry bolts suspended?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +'T was to solve a certain doubt<br /> +Which some books of thine presented,<br /> +That I sought Carpophorus,<br /> +That I wandered to these deserts,<br /> +And . . .</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Cease, cease; for + now I see<br /> +What has led to this adventure:<br /> +Thou unhappily art gifted<br /> +With a genius ill-directed;<br /> +For I count as vain and foolish<br /> +All the lore that lettered leisure<br /> +Has in human books e'er written;<br /> +But this passion has possessed thee,<br /> +And to learn their magic rites<br /> +Here, a willing slave, has led thee.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +No, not magic was the knowledge<br /> +I came here to learn—far better—<br /> +The high mysteries of a faith<br /> +Which I reverence, while I dread them.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Cease, oh! cease once more, nor let<br /> +Such vile treason find expression<br /> +On thy lips.  What! thou to praise them!</p> +<p><b>Aurelius</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +Yonder wait the two together.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Cover up thy face once more,<br /> +That the soldiers, when they enter,<br /> +May not know thee, may not know<br /> +How my honour is affected<br /> +By this act, until I try<br /> +Means more powerful to preserve it.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +God, whom until now I knew not,<br /> +Grant Thy favour, deign to help me:<br /> +Grant through suffering and through sorrow<br /> +I may come to know Thee better.</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Aurelius and Soldiers.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +Though we searched the whole of the mountain,<br /> +Not one more have we arrested.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Take this prisoner here to Rome,<br /> +And be sure that you remember<br /> +All of you my strict commands,<br /> +That no hand shall dare divest him<br /> +Of his veil:— [<i>Chrysanthus is led out.</i><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />Why, why, O + heavens!  [<i>aside.</i><br /> +Do I pause, but from my breast here<br /> +Tear my bleeding heart?  How act<br /> +In so dreadful a dilemma?<br /> +If I say who he is, I tarnish<br /> +With his guilt my name for ever,<br /> +And my loyalty if I 'm silent,<br /> +Since he being here transgresses<br /> +By that fact alone the edict:<br /> +Shall I punish him?  The offender<br /> +Is my son.  Shall I free him?  He<br /> +Is my enemy and a rebel:—<br /> +If between these two extremes<br /> +Some mean lies, I cannot guess it.<br /> +As a father I must love him,<br /> +And as a judge I must condemn him.  [<i>Exeunt.</i></p> +<p><a name="a2s1" id="a2s1"></a></p> +<hr width="40%" /> +<center> +<h3>ACT THE SECOND.</h3> +<p><b>Scene I.</b><br /> +<i>A hall in the house of Polemius.</i></p> +</center> +<p><i>Enter Claudius and Escarpin.</i></p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Has he not returned?  Can no one<br /> +Guess in the remotest manner<sup><a name="eight" id="eight"></a><a + href="#eight-note">8</a></sup><br /> +Where he is?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Sir, since the + day<br /> +That you left me with my master<br /> +In Diana's grove, and I<br /> +Had with that divinest charmer<br /> +To leave <i>him,</i> no eye has seen him.<br /> +Love alone knows how it mads me.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Of your loyalty I doubt not.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Loyalty 's a different matter,<br /> +'T is not wholly that.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />What then?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Dark suspicions, dismal fancies,<br /> +That perhaps to live with her<br /> +He lies hid within those gardens.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +If I could imagine that,<br /> +I, Escarpin, would be gladdened<br /> +Rather than depressed.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />I 'm + <i>not:</i>—<br /> +I am filled, like a full barrel,<br /> +With depressions.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />And for what?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Certain wild chimeras haunt me,<br /> +Jealousy doth tear my heart,<br /> +And despairing love distracts me.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +You in love and jealous?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="200" height="1" alt="200 pixel" />I<br /> +Jealous and in love.  Why marvel?<br /> +Am I such a monster?</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />What!<br /> +With Daria?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />'T is no + matter<br /> +What her name is, or Daria<br /> +Or Maria, I would have her<br /> +Both subjective and subjunctive,<br /> +She verb passive, I verb active.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +You to love so rare a beauty?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Yes, her beauty, though uncommon,<br /> +Would lack something, if it had not<br /> +My devotion.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />How? + explain:—</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Well, I prove it in this manner:—<br /> +Mr. Dullard fell in love<br /> +(I do n't tell where all this happened,<br /> +Or the time, for of the Dullards<br /> +Every age and time give samples)<br /> +With a very lovely lady:<br /> +At her coach-door as he chattered<br /> +One fine evening, he such nonsense<br /> +Talked, that one who heard his clatter,<br /> +Asked the lady in amazement<br /> +If this simpleton's advances<br /> +Did not make her doubt her beauty?—<br /> +But she quite gallantly answered,<br /> +Never until now have I<br /> +Felt so proud of my attractions,<br /> +For no beauty can be perfect<br /> +That all sorts of men do n't flatter.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +What a feeble jest!</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />This + feeble?—</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Yes, the very type of flatness:—<br /> +Cease buffooning, for my uncle<br /> +Here is coming.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Of his + sadness<br /> +Plainly is his face the mirror.</p> +<p><i>Enter Polemius and servants.</i></p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Jupiter doth know the anguish,<br /> +My good lord, with which I venture<br /> +To approach thee since this happened.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Claudius, as thine own, I 'm sure,<br /> +Thou dost feel this great disaster.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +I my promise gave thee that<br /> +To Chrysanthus . . .</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Cease; I ask + thee<br /> +Not to proffer these excuses,<br /> +Since I do not care to have them.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Then it seems that all thy efforts<br /> +Have been useless to unravel<br /> +The strange mystery of his fate?</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +With these questions do not rack me;<br /> +For, though I would rather not<br /> +Give the answer, still the answer<br /> +Rises with such ready aptness<br /> +To my lips from out my heart,<br /> +That I scarcely can withstand it.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Why conceal it then from me,<br /> +Knowing that thy blood meanders<br /> +Through my veins, and that my life<br /> +Owns thee as its lord and master?—<br /> +Oh! my lord, confide in me,<br /> +Let thy tongue speak once the language<br /> +That thine eyes so oft have spoken.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Let the servants leave the apartment.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Ah! if beautiful Daria<br /> +Would but favour my attachment,<br /> +Though I have no house to give her,<br /> +Lots of stories I can grant her:— [<i>Exeunt Escarpin and + servants.</i></p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Now, my lord, we are alone.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Listen then; for though to baffle<br /> +Thy desire were my intention,<br /> +By my miseries overmastered,<br /> +I am forced to tell my secret;<br /> +Not so much have I been granted<br /> +License to avow my sufferings,<br /> +But I am, as 't were commanded<br /> +Thus to break my painful silence,<br /> +Doing honestly, though sadly,<br /> +Willingly the fact disclosing,<br /> +Which by force had been extracted.<br /> +Hear it, Claudius: my Chrysanthus,<br /> +My Chrysanthus is not absent:<br /> +In this very house he 's living!—<br /> +Would the gods, ah! me, had rather<br /> +Made a tomb and not a prison<br /> +Of his present locked apartment!<br /> +Which is in this house, within it<br /> +Is he prisoned, chained, made captive.<br /> +This surprises thee, no wonder:<br /> +More surprised thou 'lt be hereafter,<br /> +When thou com'st to know the reason<br /> +Of a fact so strange and startling.<br /> +On that fatal day, when I<br /> +Sought the mount and thou the garden,<br /> +Him I found where thou didst lose him,<br /> +Near the wood where he had rambled:<br /> +He was taken by my soldiers<br /> +At the entrance of a cavern,<br /> +With Carpophorus:—oh! here<br /> +Patience, patience may heaven grant me!—<br /> +It was lucky that they did not<br /> +See his face, for thus it happened<br /> +That the front of my dishonour<br /> +Was not in his face made patent:<br /> +Him they captured without knowing<br /> +Who he was, it being commanded<br /> +That the faces of the prisoners<br /> +Should be covered, but ere captured<br /> +This effectually was done<br /> +By themselves, they flying backward<br /> +With averted faces; he<br /> +Thus was taken, but his partner,<br /> +That strange prodigy of Rome—<br /> +Man in mind, wild beast in manners,<br /> +Doubly thus a prodigy—<br /> +Saved himself by power of magic.<br /> +Thus Chrysanthus was sole prisoner,<br /> +While the Christian crowd, disheartened,<br /> +Fled for safety to the mountains<br /> +From their grottoes and their caverns.<br /> +These the soldiers quickly followed,<br /> +And behind in that abandoned<br /> +Savage place remained but two—<br /> +Two, oh! think, a son and father.—<br /> +One a judge, too, in a cause<br /> +Wicked, bad, beyond example,<br /> +In a cause that outraged Cæsar,<br /> +And the gods themselves disparaged.<br /> +There with a delinquent son<br /> +Stood I, therefore this should happen,<br /> +That both clemency and rigour<br /> +In my heart waged fearful battle—<br /> +Clemency in fine had won,<br /> +I would have removed the bandage<br /> +From his eyes and let him fly,<br /> +But that instant, ah! unhappy!<br /> +Came the soldiers back, and then<br /> +It were but more misery added,<br /> +If they knew of my connivance:<br /> +All that then my care could manage<br /> +To protect him was the secret<br /> +Of his name to keep well guarded.<br /> +Thus to Rome I brought him prisoner,<br /> +Where pretending great exactness,<br /> +That his friends should not discover<br /> +Where this Christian malefactor<br /> +Was imprisoned, to this house,<br /> +To my own house, I commanded<br /> +That he should be brought; there hidden<br /> +And unknown, a few days after<br /> +I in <i>his</i> place substituted . . .<br /> +Ah! what will not the untrammelled<br /> +Strength of arbitrary power<br /> +Dare attempt? what law not trample?<br /> +Substituted, I repeat,<br /> +For my son a slave, whose strangled,<br /> +Headless corse thus paid the debt<br /> +Which from me were else exacted.<br /> +You will say, "Since fortune thus<br /> +Has the debt so happily cancelled,<br /> +Why imprison or conceal him?"—<br /> +And, thus, full of doubts, I answer<br /> +That though it is true I wished not,<br /> +Woe is me! the common scaffold<br /> +Should his punishment make public,<br /> +I as little wished his hardened<br /> +Heart should know my love and pity<br /> +Since it did not fear my anger:<br /> +Ah! believe me, Claudius,<br /> +'Twixt the chastisement a father<br /> +And an executioner gives,<br /> +A great difference must be granted:<br /> +One hand honours what it striketh,<br /> +One disgraces, blights, and blackens.<br /> +Soon my rigour ceased, for truly,<br /> +In a father's heart it lasteth<br /> +Seldom long: but then what wonder,<br /> +If the hand that in its anger<br /> +Smites his son, in his own breast<br /> +Leaves a wound that ever rankles—<br /> +I one day his prison entered<br /> +With the wish (I own it frankly)<br /> +To forgive him, and when I<br /> +Thought he would have even thanked me<br /> +For receiving a reproof,<br /> +Not severe, too lenient rather,<br /> +He began to praise the Christians<br /> +With such earnestness and ardour,<br /> +In defence of their new law,<br /> +That my clemency departed,<br /> +And my angrier mood returned.<br /> +I his doors and windows fastened.<br /> +In the room where he is lying,<br /> +Well secured by gyves and shackles,<br /> +Sparingly his food is given him,<br /> +Through my hands alone it passes,<br /> +For I dare not to another<br /> +Trust the care his state demandeth.<br /> +You will think in this I reached to<br /> +The extreme of my disasters—<br /> +The full limits of misfortune,<br /> +But not so, and if you hearken,<br /> +You 'll perceive they 're but beginning,<br /> +And not ended, as you fancied.<br /> +All these strange events so much<br /> +Have unnerved him and unmanned him,<br /> +That, forgetful of himself,<br /> +Of himself he is regardless.<br /> +Nothing to the purpose speaks he.<br /> +In his incoherent language<br /> +Frenzy shows itself, delusion<br /> +In his thoughts and in his fancies:—<br /> +Many times I 've listened to him,<br /> +Since so high-strung and abstracted<br /> +Is his mind, he takes no note of<br /> +Who goes in or who departeth.<br /> +Once I heard him deprecating<br /> +Some despotic beauty's hardness,<br /> +Saying, "Since I die for thee,<br /> +Thou thy favour sure wilt grant me".<br /> +At another time he said,<br /> +"Three in one, oh! how can <i>that</i> be?"<br /> +Things which these same Christian people<br /> +In their law hold quite established.<br /> +Thus it is my life is troubled,<br /> +Lost in doubts, emeshed, and tangled.<br /> +If to freedom I restore him,<br /> +I have little doubt that, darkened<br /> +By the Christian treachery, he<br /> +Will declare himself instanter<br /> +Openly a Christian, which<br /> +Would to me be such a scandal,<br /> +That my blood henceforth were tainted,<br /> +And my noble name were branded.<br /> +If I leave him here in prison,<br /> +So excessive is his sadness,<br /> +So extreme his melancholy,<br /> +That I fear 't will end in madness.<br /> +In a word, I hold, my nephew,<br /> +Hold it as a certain axiom,<br /> +That these dark magician Christians<br /> +Keep him bound by their enchantments;<br /> +Who through hatred of my house,<br /> +And my office to disparage,<br /> +Now revenge themselves on me<br /> +Through my only son Chrysanthus.<br /> +Tell me, then, what shall I do;<br /> +But before you give the answer<br /> +Which your subtle wit may dictate,<br /> +I would with your own eyes have thee<br /> +See him first, you 'll then know better<br /> +What my urgent need demandeth.<br /> +Come, he 's not far off, his quarter<br /> +Is adjoining this apartment;<br /> +When you see him, I am certain<br /> +You will think it a disaster<br /> +Far less evil he should die,<br /> +Than that in this cruel manner<br /> +He should outrage his own blood,<br /> +And my bright escutcheon blacken.<br /> +[<i>He opens a door, and Chrysanthus is seen seated in a chair, with his hands + and feet in irons.</i>]</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Thus to see my friend, o'erwhelms me<br /> +With a grief I cannot master.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Stay, do not approach him nearer;<br /> +For I would not he remarked thee,<br /> +I would save him the disgrace<br /> +Of being seen by thee thus shackled.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +What his misery may dictate<br /> +We can hear, nor yet attract him.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Was ever human fate so strange as mine?<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="20" height="1" alt="20 pixel" />Were unmatched + wishes ever mated so?<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="20" height="1" alt="20 pixel" />Is it not enough to + feel one form of woe,<br /> +Without being forced 'neath opposite forms to pine?<br /> +A triune God's mysterious power divine,<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="20" height="1" alt="20 pixel" />From heaven I ask + for life, that I may know,<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="20" height="1" alt="20 pixel" />From heaven I ask + for death, life's grisly foe,<br /> +A fair one's favour in my heart to shrine:<br /> +But how can death and life so well agree,<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="20" height="1" alt="20 pixel" />That I can ask of + heaven to end their strife,<br /> +And grant them both in pitying love to me?<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="20" height="1" alt="20 pixel" />Yet I will ask, + though both with risks are rife,<br /> +Neither shall hinder me, for heaven must be<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="20" height="1" alt="20 pixel" />The arbiter of + death as well as life.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +See now if I spoke the truth.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +I am utterly distracted.  (<i>The door closes.</i></p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Lest perhaps he should perceive us,<br /> +Let us move a little further.<br /> +Now advise me how to act,<br /> +Since you see the grief that racks me.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Though it savours of presumption<br /> +To white hairs like yours, to hazard<br /> +Words of council, yet at times<br /> +Even a young man may impart them:<br /> +Well-proportioned punishment<br /> +Grave defects oft counteracteth.<br /> +But when carried to extremes,<br /> +It but irritates and hardens.<br /> +Any instrument of music<br /> +Of this truth is an example.<br /> +Lightly touched, it breathes but sweetness,<br /> +Discord, when 't is roughly handled.<br /> +'T is not well to send an arrow<br /> +To such heights, that in discharging<br /> +The strong tension breaks the bowstring,<br /> +Or the bow itself is fractured.<br /> +These two simple illustrations<br /> +Are sufficiently adapted<br /> +To my purpose, of advising<br /> +Means of cure both mild and ample.<br /> +You must take a middle course,<br /> +All extremes must be abandoned.<br /> +Gentle but judicious treatment<br /> +Is the method for Chrysanthus.<br /> +For severer methods end in<br /> +Disappointment and disaster.<br /> +Take him, then, from out his prison,<br /> +Leave him free, unchecked, untrammelled,<br /> +For the danger is an infant<br /> +Without strength to hurt or harm him.<br /> +Be it that those wretched Christians<br /> +Have bewitched him, disenchant him,<br /> +Since you have the power; for Nature<br /> +With such careful forethought acteth,<br /> +That an antidotal herb<br /> +She for every poison planteth.<br /> +And if, finally, your wish<br /> +Is that he this fatal sadness<br /> +Should forget, and wholly change it<br /> +To a happier state and gladder,<br /> +Get him married: for remember<br /> +Nothing is so well adapted<br /> +To restrain discursive fancies<br /> +As the care and the attachment<br /> +Centered in a wife and children;<br /> +Taking care that in this matter<br /> +Mere convenience should not weigh<br /> +More than his own taste and fancy:<br /> +Let him choose his wife himself.<br /> +Pleased in that, to rove or ramble<br /> +Then will be beyond his power,<br /> +Even were he so attracted,<br /> +For a happy married lover<br /> +Thinks of naught except his rapture.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +I with nothing such good counsel<br /> +Can repay, except the frankness<br /> +Of accepting it, which is<br /> +The reward yourself would ask for.<br /> +And since I a mean must choose<br /> +Between two extremes of action,<br /> +From his cell, to-day, my son<br /> +Shall go forth, but in a manner<br /> +That will leave his seeming freedom<br /> +Circumscribed and safely guarded.<br /> +Let that hall which looketh over<br /> +Great Apollo's beauteous garden<br /> +Be made gay by flowing curtains,<br /> +Be festooned by flowery garlands;<br /> +Costly robes for him get ready;<br /> +Then invite the loveliest damsels<br /> +Rome can boast of, to come hither<br /> +To the feasts and to the dances.<br /> +Bring musicians, and in fine<br /> +Let it be proclaimed that any<br /> +Woman of illustrious blood<br /> +Who from his delusive passions<br /> +Can divert him, by her charms<br /> +Curing him of all his sadness,<br /> +Shall become his wife, how humble<br /> +Her estate, her wealth how scanty.<br /> +And if this be not sufficient,<br /> +I will give a golden talent<br /> +Yearly to the leech who cures him<br /> +By some happy stroke of practice.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Oh! a father's pitying love,<br /> +What will it not do, what marvel<br /> +Not attempt for a son's welfare,<br /> +For his life?</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> <b>Escarpin.</b></p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />My lord <i>por + Baco!</i><br /> +(That 's the god I like to swear by,<br /> +Jolly god of all good rascals)<br /> +May I ask you what 's the secret?</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +You gain little when you ask me<br /> +For a secret all may know.<br /> +After his mysterious absence<br /> +Your young lord 's returned home ill.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +In what way?</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />That none can + fathom,<br /> +Since he does not tell his ailment<br /> +Save by signs and by his manner.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Then he 's wrong, sir, not to tell it<br /> +Clearly: with extreme exactness<br /> +Should our griefs, our pains be mentioned.<br /> +A back tooth a man once maddened,<br /> +And a barber came to draw it.<br /> +As he sat with jaws expanded,<br /> +"Which tooth is it, sir, that pains you?"<br /> +Asked of him the honest barber,<br /> +And the patient in affected<br /> +Language grandly thus made answer,<br /> +"The penultimate"; the dentist<br /> +Not being used to such pedantic<br /> +Talk as this, with ready forceps<br /> +Soon the last of all extracted.<br /> +The poor patient to be certain,<br /> +With his tongue the spot examined,<br /> +And exclaimed, his mouth all bleeding,<br /> +"Why, that 's not the right tooth, master".<br /> +"Is it not the ultimate molar?"<br /> +Said the barber quite as grandly.<br /> +"Yes" (he answered), "but I said<br /> +The penultimate, and I 'd have you<br /> +Know, your worship, that it means<br /> +Simply that that 's next the farthest".<br /> +Thus instructed, he returned<br /> +To the attack once more, remarking<br /> +"In effect then the bad tooth<br /> +Is the one that 's next the last one?"<br /> +"Yes", he said, "then here it is",<br /> +Spoke the barber with great smartness,<br /> +Plucking out the tooth that then<br /> +Was the last but one; it happened<br /> +From not speaking plain, he lost<br /> +Two good teeth, and kept his bad one.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Come and something newer learn<br /> +In the stratagem his father<br /> +Has arranged to cure the illness<br /> +Of Chrysanthus, whom he fancies . . .</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +What?</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Is spell-bound by + the Christians<br /> +Through the power of their enchantments:—<br /> +(Since to-day I cannot see thee, [<i>aside.</i><br /> +Cynthia fair, forgive my absence).  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +While these matters thus proceed,<br /> +I shall try, let what will happen,<br /> +Thee to see, divine Daria:—<br /> +At my love, oh! be not angered,<br /> +Since the penalty of beauty<br /> +Is to be beloved: then pardon.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><a name="a2s2" id="a2s2"></a></p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<p><b>Scene II.</b>—<i>The Wood.</i></p> +</center> +<p><i>Enter</i> <b>Daria</b> <i>from the chase with bow and arrows.</i></p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +O stag that swiftly flying<br /> +Before my feathered shafts the winds outvieing,<br /> +Impelled by wings, not feet,<br /> +If in this green retreat<br /> +Here panting thou wouldst die,<br /> +And stain with blood the fountain murmuring by,<br /> +Await another wound, another friend,<br /> +That so with quicker speed thy life may end;<br /> +For to a wretch that stroke a friend must be<br /> +That eases death and sooner sets life free.<br /> +[<i>She stumbles and falls near the mouth of a cave.</i>]<br /> +But, bless me, heaven! I feel<br /> +My brain grow hot, my curdling blood congeal:<br /> +A form of fire and snow<br /> +I seem at once to turn: this sudden blow,<br /> +This stumbling, how I know not, by this stone,<br /> +This horrid mouth in which my grave is shown,<br /> +This cave of many shapes,<br /> +Through which the melancholy mountain gapes,<br /> +This mountain's self, a vast<br /> +Abysmal shadow cast<br /> +Suddenly on my heart, as if 't were meant<br /> +To be my rustic pyre, my strange new monument,<br /> +All fill my heart with wonder and with fear,<br /> +What buried mysteries are hidden here<br /> +That terrify me so,<br /> +And make me tremble 'neath impending woe.<br /> +[<i>A solemn strain of music is heard from within.</i>]<br /> +Nay more, illusion now doth bear to me<br /> +The sweetest sounds of dulcet harmony,<br /> +Music and voice combine:—<br /> +O solitude! what phantasms are thine!<br /> +But let me listen to the voice that blent<br /> +Sounds with the music of the instrument.</p> +<p><i>Music from within the cave.</i></p> +<p><b>Song.</b><br /> +Oh! be the day for ever blest,<br /> +And blest be pitying heaven's decree,<br /> +That makes the darksome cave to be<br /> +Daria's tomb, her place of rest!</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Blest! can such evil auguries bless?<br /> +And happy can that strange fate be<br /> +That gives this darksome cave to me<br /> +As monument of my sad life?</p> +<p><b>Music.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />Yes.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Oh! who before in actual woe<br /> +The happier signs of bliss could read?<br /> +Will not a fate so rigorous lead<br /> +To misery, not to rapture?—</p> +<p><b>Music.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="200" height="1" alt="200 pixel" />No.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +O fantasy! unwelcome guest!<br /> +How can this cave bring good to me?</p> +<p><b>Music.</b><br /> +Itself will tell, when it shall be<br /> +Daria's tomb, her place of rest.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +But then, who gave the stern decree,<br /> +That this dark cave my bones should hide?</p> +<p><b>Music.</b><br /> +Daria, it was he who died,<br /> +Who gave his life for love of thee.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +"Who gave his life for love of me!"<br /> +Ah! me, and can it be in sooth<br /> +That gentle noble Roman youth<br /> +I answered with such cruelty<br /> +In this same wood the other day,<br /> +Saying that I his love would be<br /> +If he would only die for me!<br /> +Can he have cast himself away<br /> +Down this dark cave, and there lies dead,<br /> +Buried within the dread abyss,<br /> +Waiting my love, his promised bliss?—<br /> +My soul, not now mine own, has fled!</p> +<p><b>Cynthia</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +Forward! forward! through the gloom<br /> +Every cave and cavern enter,<br /> +Search the dark wood to its centre,<br /> +Lest it prove Daria's tomb.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Ah! me, the sense confounding,<br /> +Both here and there are opposite voices sounding.<br /> +Here is my name in measured cadence greeted,<br /> +And there in hollow echoes oft repeated.<br /> +Would that the latter cries that reach my ear<br /> +Came from my mates in this wild forest sphere,<br /> +In the dread solitude that doth surround me<br /> +Their presence would be welcome.<br /> +[<i>Enter Cynthia with bow and arrows.</i>]</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Till I found + me,<br /> +Beauteous Daria, by thy side once more,<br /> +Each mountain nook my search had well gone o'er.</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Let me dissemble<br /> +The terror and surprise that make me tremble,<br /> +If I have power to feign<br /> +Amid the wild confusion of my brain:—<br /> +Following the chase to-day,<br /> +Wishing Diana's part in full to play,<br /> +So fair the horizon smiled,<br /> +I left the wood and entered on the wild,<br /> +Led by a wounded deer still on and on.<br /> +And further in pursuit I would have gone,<br /> +Nor had my swift career<br /> +Even ended here,<br /> +But for this mouth that opening in the rock,<br /> +With horrid gape my vain attempt doth mock,<br /> +And stops my further way.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Until I found thee I was all dismay,<br /> +Lest thou some savage beast, some monstrous foe,<br /> +Hadst met.</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Ah! would to Jove + 't were so!<br /> +And that my death in his wild hands had paid<br /> +For future chastisement by fate delayed!<br /> +But ah! the wish is vain,<br /> +Foreboding horror fills my heart and brain,<br /> +This mystic music borne upon the air<br /> +Must surely augur ill.</p> +<p>(<i>Enter</i> <b>Nisida.</b>)</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Daria fair,<br /> +And Cynthia wise, I come to seek ye two.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Has any thing occurred or strange or new?</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +I scarce can tell it.  As I came along,<br /> +I heard a man, in a clear voice and strong,<br /> +Proclaiming as he went<br /> +Through all the mountain a most strange event:<br /> +Rome hath decreed<br /> +Priceless rewards to her whose charms may lead<br /> +Through lawful love and in an open way<br /> +By public wedlock in the light of day,<br /> +The son of proud Polemius from the state<br /> +Of gloom in which his mind is sunk of late.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +And what can be the cause that he is so?</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Ah! that I do not know,<br /> +But yonder, leaving the Salarian Way,<br /> +A Roman soldier hitherward doth stray:<br /> +He may enlighten us and tell us all.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Yes, let us know the truth, the stranger call.</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Ah! how distinct the pain<br /> +That presses on my heart, and dulls my wildered brain!</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Escarpin.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Thou, O thou, whose wandering footsteps<br /> +These secluded groves have entered . . .<sup><a name="nine" id="nine"></a><a + href="#nine-note">9</a></sup></p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Thou four hundred times repeated—<br /> +Thou and all the thous, your servant.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Tell us of the proclamation<br /> +Publicly to-day presented<br /> +To the gaze of Rome.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />I 'll do + so;<br /> +For there 's nothing I love better<br /> +Than a story (<i>aside,</i> if to tell it<br /> +In divine Daria's presence<br /> +Does not put me out, for no one,<br /> +When the loved one listens, ever<br /> +Speaks his best): Polemius,<br /> +Rome's great senator, whose bended<br /> +Shoulders, like an Atlas, bear<br /> +All the burden of the empire,<br /> +By Numerian's self entrusted,<br /> +He, this chief of Rome's great senate,<br /> +Has a son, by name Chrysanthus,<br /> +Who, as rumour goes, at present<br /> +Is afflicted by a sadness<br /> +So extreme and so excessive,<br /> +That 't is thought to be occasioned<br /> +By the magic those detested<br /> +Christians (who abhor his house,<br /> +And his father, who hath pressed them<br /> +Heavily as judge and ruler)<br /> +Have against his life effected,<br /> +All through hatred of our gods.<br /> +And so great is the dejection<br /> +That he feels, there 's nothing yet<br /> +Found to rouse him or divert him.<br /> +Thus it is Numerianus,<br /> +Who is ever well-affected<br /> +To his father, hath proclaimed<br /> +All through Rome, that whosoever<br /> +Is so happy by her beauty,<br /> +Or so fortunately clever<br /> +By her wit, or by her graces<br /> +Is so powerful, as to temper<br /> +His affliction, since love conquers<br /> +All things by his magic presence,<br /> +He will give her (if a noble)<br /> +As his wife, and will present her<br /> +With a portion far surpassing<br /> +All Polemius' self possesses,<br /> +Not to speak of what is promised<br /> +Him whose skill may else effect it.<br /> +Thus it is that Rome to-day<br /> +Laurel wreaths and crowns presenteth<br /> +To its most renowned physicians,<br /> +To its sages and its elders,<br /> +And to wit and grace and beauty<br /> +Joyous feasts and courtly revels;<br /> +So that there is not a lady<br /> +In all Rome, but thinks it certain<br /> +That the prize is hers already,<br /> +Since by all 't will be contested,<br /> +Some through vanity, and some<br /> +Through a view more interested:<br /> +Even the ugly ones, I warrant,<br /> +Will be there well represented.<br /> +So with this, adieu.  (<i>Aside,</i> Oh! fairest<br /> +Nymph Daria, since I ventured<br /> +Here to see thee, having seen thee<br /> +Now, alas! I must absent me!)  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +What strange news!</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />There 's not a + beauty<br /> +But for victory will endeavour<br /> +When among Rome's fairest daughters<br /> +Such a prize shall be contested.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Thus by showing us the value<br /> +Thou upon the victory settest,<br /> +We may understand that thou<br /> +Meanest in the lists to enter.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Yes, so far as heaven through music<br /> +Its most magic cures effecteth,<br /> +Since no witchcraft is so potent<br /> +But sweet music may dispel it.<br /> +It doth tame the raging wild beast,<br /> +Lulls to sleep the poisonous serpent,<br /> +And makes evil genii, who<br /> +Are revolted spirits—rebels—<br /> +Fly in fear, and in this art<br /> +I have always been most perfect:<br /> +Wrongly would I act to-day,<br /> +In not striving for the splendid<br /> +Prize which will be mine, when I<br /> +See myself the loved and wedded<br /> +Wife of the great senator's son,<br /> +And the mistress of such treasures.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Although music is an art<br /> +Which so many arts excelleth,<br /> +Still in truth 't is but a sound<br /> +Which the wanton air disperses.<br /> +It the sweet child of the air<br /> +In the air itself must perish.<br /> +I, who in my studious reading<br /> +Have such learnéd lore collected,<br /> +Who in poetry, that art<br /> +Which both teacheth and diverteth,<br /> +May precedence claim o'er many<br /> +Geniuses so prized at present,<br /> +Can a surer victory hope for<br /> +In the great fight that impendeth,<br /> +Since the music of the soul<br /> +Is what keeps the mind suspended.<br /> +In one item, Nisida,<br /> +We two differ: thy incentive<br /> +Thy chief motive, is but interest:<br /> +Mine is vanity, a determined<br /> +Will no other woman shall<br /> +Triumph o'er me in this effort,<br /> +Since I wish that Rome should see<br /> +That the glory, the perfection<br /> +Of a woman is her mind,<br /> +All her other charms excelling.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Interest and vanity<br /> +Are the two things, as you tell me,<br /> +That, O Cynthia! can oblige thee,<br /> +That, O Nisida, can compel thee<br /> +To attempt this undertaking<br /> +By so many risks attended.<br /> +But I think you both are wrong,<br /> +Since in this case, having heard that<br /> +The affliction this man suffers<br /> +Christian sorcery hath effected<br /> +Through abhorrence of our gods,<br /> +By that atheist sect detested,<br /> +Neither of these feelings should<br /> +Be your motive to attempt it.<br /> +I then, who, for this time only<br /> +Will believe these waves that tell me—<br /> +These bright fountains—that the beauty<br /> +Which so oft they have reflected<br /> +Is unequalled, mean to lay it<br /> +As an offering in the temple<br /> +Of the gods, to show what little<br /> +Strength in Christian sorcery dwelleth.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Then 't is openly admitted<br /> +That we three the list will enter<br /> +For the prize.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />And from this + moment<br /> +That the rivalry commences.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Voice of song, thy sweet enchantment<br /> +On this great occasion lend me,<br /> +That through thy soft influence<br /> +Rank and riches I may merit.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Genius, offspring of the soul,<br /> +Prove this time thou 'rt so descended,<br /> +That thy proud ambitious hopes<br /> +May the laurel crown be tendered.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Beauty, daughter of the gods,<br /> +Now thy glorious birth remember:<br /> +Make me victress in the fight,<br /> +That the gods may live for ever.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><a name="a2s3" id="a2s3"></a></p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<p><b>Scene III.</b>—<i>A hall in the house of Polemius, opening at the + end upon a garden.</i></p> +</center> +<p>(<i>Enter Polemius and Claudius.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Is then everything prepared?—</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Everything has been got ready<br /> +As you ordered.  This apartment<br /> +Opening on the garden terrace<br /> +Has been draped and covered over<br /> +With the costliest silks and velvets,<br /> +Leaving certain spaces bare<br /> +For the painter's magic pencil,<br /> +Where, so cunning is his art,<br /> +That it nature's self resembles.<br /> +Flowers more fair than in the garden,<br /> +Pinks and roses are presented:<br /> +But what wonder when the fountains<br /> +Still run after to reflect them?—<br /> +All things else have been provided,<br /> +Music, dances, gala dresses;<br /> +And for all that, Rome yet knows not<br /> +What in truth is here projected;<br /> +'T is a fair Academy,<br /> +In whose floral halls assemble<br /> +Beauty, wit, and grace, a sight<br /> +That we see but very seldom.<br /> +All the ladies too of Rome<br /> +Have prepared for the contention<br /> +With due circumspection, since<br /> +As his wife will be selected<br /> +She who best doth please him; thus<br /> +There are none but will present them<br /> +In these gardens, some to see him,<br /> +Others to show off themselves here.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Oh, my Claudius, would to Jove<br /> +That all this could dispossess me<br /> +Of my dark foreboding fancies,<br /> +Of the terrors that oppress me!—</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Aurelius.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +Sir, a very learned physician<br /> +Comes to proffer his best service<br /> +To Chrysanthus, led by rumour<br /> +Of his illness.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Bid him + enter.<br /> +[<i>Aurelius retires, and returns immediately with Carpophorus, disguised as a + physician.</i>]</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Heaven, that I may do the work<br /> +That this day I have attempted,<br /> +Grant me strength a little while;<br /> +For I know my death impendeth!—<br /> +Mighty lord, thy victor hand, [<i>aloud.</i><br /> +Let me kiss and kneeling press it.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Venerable elder, rise<br /> +From the ground; thy very presence<br /> +Gives me joy, a certain instinct<br /> +Even at sight of thee doth tell me<br /> +Thou alone canst save my son.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Heaven but grant the cure be perfect!</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Whence, sir, art thou?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Sir, from + Athens.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +'T is a city that excelleth<br /> +All the world in knowledge.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />There<br /> +All are teachers, all are learners.<br /> +The sole wish to be of use<br /> +Has on this occasion led me<br /> +From my home.  Inform me then<br /> +How Chrysanthus is affected.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +With an overwhelming sadness;<br /> +Or to speak it more correctly<br /> +(Since when we consult a doctor<br /> +Even suspicions should be mentioned),<br /> +He, my son, has been bewitched;—<br /> +Thus it is these Christian perverts<br /> +Take revenge through him on me:<br /> +In particular an elder<br /> +Called Carpophorus, a wizard . . .<br /> +May the day soon come for vengeance!</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +May heaven grant it . . . (<i>aside,</i> For that day<br /> +I the martyr's crown may merit).<br /> +Where at present is Chrysanthus?</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +He is just about to enter:—<br /> +You can see him; all his ailment<br /> +In the soul you 'll find is centered.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +In the soul then I will cure him,<br /> +If my skill heaven only blesses.  [<i>Music is heard from within.</i></p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +That he 's leaving his apartment<br /> +This harmonious strain suggesteth,<br /> +Since to counteract his gloom<br /> +He by music is attended.<br /> +(<i>Enter Chrysanthus richly dressed, preceded by musicians playing and singing, + and followed by attendants.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Cease; my pain, perchance my folly,<br /> +Cannot be by song diverted;<br /> +Music is a power exerted<br /> +For the cure of melancholy,<br /> +Which in truth it but augmenteth.</p> +<p><b>A Musician.</b><br /> +This your father bade us do.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +'T is because he never knew<br /> +Pain like that which me tormenteth.<br /> +For if he that pang incessant<br /> +Felt, he would not wish to cure it,<br /> +He would love it and endure it.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Think, my son, that I am present,<br /> +And that I am not ambitious<br /> +To assume your evil mood,<br /> +But to find that it is good.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +No, sir, you mistake my wishes.<br /> +I would not through you relieve me<br /> +Of my care; my former state<br /> +Seemed, though, more to mitigate<br /> +What I suffer: why not leave me<br /> +There to die?</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />That yet I + may,<br /> +Pitying your sad condition,<br /> +Work your cure:—A great physician<br /> +Comes to visit you to-day.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Who do I behold? ah, me!</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +I will speak to him with your leave.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +No, my eyes do not deceive,<br /> +'T is Carpophorus that I see!<br /> +I my pleasure must conceal.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Sir, of what do you complain?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Since you come to cure my pain,<br /> +I will tell you how I feel.<br /> +A great sadness hath been thrown<br /> +O'er my mind and o'er my feelings,<br /> +A dark blank whose dim revealings<br /> +Make their sombre tints mine own.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Can you any cause assign me<br /> +Whence this sadness is proceeding?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +From my earliest years to reading<br /> +Did my studious tastes incline me.<br /> +Something thus acquired doth wake<br /> +Doubts, and fears, and hopes, ah me!<br /> +That the things I read may be.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Then from me this lesson take.<br /> +Every mystery how obscure,<br /> +Is explained by faith alone;<br /> +All is clear when that is known:<br /> +'T is through faith I 'll work your cure.<br /> +Since in that your healing lies,<br /> +Take it then from me.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />From you<br /> +I infer all good: that true<br /> +Faith I hope which you advise.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus</b> (<i>to Polemius</i>).<br /> +Give me leave, sir, to address<br /> +Some few words to him alone,<br /> +Less reserve will then be shown.  (<i>The two retire to one side.</i><br /> +Have you recognized me?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />Yes,<br /> +Every sign shows you are he<br /> +Who in my most perilous strait<br /> +Fled and left me to my fate.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +God did that; and would you see<br /> +That it was His own work, say,<br /> +If I did not then absent me<br /> +Through His means, could I present me<br /> +As your teacher here to-day?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +No.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />How just His + providence!<br /> +Since I was preserved, that I<br /> +Here might seek you, and more nigh<br /> +Give you full intelligence<br /> +Leisurely of every doubt<br /> +Which disturbs you when you read.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Mysteries they are indeed,<br /> +Difficult to be made out.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +To the believer all is plain.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +I <i>would</i> believe, what <i>must</i> I do?—</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Your intellectual pride subdue.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +I will subdue it, since 't is vain.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Then the first thing to be done<br /> +Is to be baptized.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />I bow,<br /> +Father, and implore it now.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Let us for the present shun<br /> +Further notice; lest suspicion<br /> +Should betray what we would smother;<br /> +Every day we 'll see each other,<br /> +When I 'll execute my mission:<br /> +I, to cure sin's primal scath,<br /> +Will at fitting time baptize you,<br /> +Taking care to catechise you<br /> +In the principles of the faith;<br /> +Only now one admonition<br /> +Must I give; be armed, be ready<br /> +For the fight most fierce and steady<br /> +Ever fought for man's perdition;<br /> +Oh! take heed, amid the advances<br /> +Of the fair who wish to win you,<br /> +'Mid the fires that burn within you,<br /> +'Mid lascivious looks and glances,<br /> +'Mid such various foes enlisted,<br /> +That you are not conquered by them.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Women! oh! who dare defy them<br /> +By such dread allies assisted?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +He whom God assists.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Be swayed<br /> +By my tears, and ask him.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />You<br /> +Must too ask him: for he who<br /> +Aids himself, him God doth aid.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +What, sir, think you of his case?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +I have ordered him a bath,<br /> +Strong restoring powers it hath,<br /> +Which his illness must displace:—</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Sir, relying on you then,<br /> +I will give you ample wealth,<br /> +If you can restore his health.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Still I cannot tell you when,<br /> +But I shall return and see him<br /> +Frequently; in fact 'till he<br /> +Is from all his ailment free,<br /> +From my hand I will not free him.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +For your kindness I am grateful.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +He alone has power to cure me.<br /> +Since he knows what <i>will</i> allure me,<br /> +When all other modes are hateful.  [<i>Exit Carpophorus.</i></p> +<p>(<i>Enter Escarpin.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +All this garden of delight<br /> +Must be beauty's birth-place sure,<br /> +Here the fresh rose doubly pure,<br /> +Here the jasmin doubly white,<br /> +Learn to-day a newer grace,<br /> +Lovelier red, more dazzling snow.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Why?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Because the world + doth show<br /> +Naught so fair as this sweet place.<br /> +Falsely boasts th' Elysian bower<br /> +Peerless beauty, here to-day<br /> +More, far more, these groves display:—<br /> +Not a fountain, tree, or flower . . .</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Well?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />But by a nymph more + fair<br /> +Is surpassed.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />Come, Claudius, + come,<br /> +He will be but dull and dumb,<br /> +Shy the proffered bliss to share,<br /> +Through the fear and the respect<br /> +Which, as son, he owes to me.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +He who gave the advice should see<br /> +Also after the effect.<br /> +Let us all from this withdraw.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Great results I hope to gather:</p> +<p><b>Escarpin</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Well, you 're the first pander-father<br /> +Ever in my life I saw.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +What, Escarpin, you, as well,<br /> +Going to leave me?  Mum for once.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Silence suits me for the nonce.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Why?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />A tale in point + I 'll tell:<br /> +Once a snuffler, by a pirate<br /> +Moor was captured, who in some<br /> +Way affected to be dumb,<br /> +That his ransom at no high rate<br /> +Might be purchased: when his owner<br /> +This defect perceived, the shuffle<br /> +Made him sell this Mr. Snuffle<br /> +Very cheaply: to the donor<br /> +Of his freedom, through his nose,<br /> +Half in snuffle, half in squeak,<br /> +Then he said, "Oh! Moor, I speak,<br /> +I 'm not dumb as you suppose".<br /> +"Fool, to let your folly lead you<br /> +So astray", replied the Moor.<br /> +"Had I heard you <i>speak,</i> be sure<br /> +I <i>for nothing</i> would have freed you".<br /> +Thus it is I moderate me<br /> +In the use of tongue and cheek,<br /> +Lest when you have heard me speak,<br /> +Still more cheaply you may rate me.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +You must know the estimation<br /> +I have held you in so long.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Well, my memory is not strong.<br /> +It requires <i>consideration</i><br /> +To admit that pleasant fact.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +What of me do people say?—</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Shall I speak it?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Speak.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Why, they<br /> +Say, my lord, that you are cracked.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +For what reason?  Why this blame?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Reason, sir, need not be had,<br /> +For the wisest man is mad<br /> +If he only gets the name.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Well, it was not wrongly given,<br /> +If they only knew that I<br /> +Have consented even to die<br /> +So to reach the wished-for heaven<br /> +Of a sovereign beauty's favour.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +For a lady's favour you<br /> +Have agreed to die?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />'T is true.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Does not this a certain savour<br /> +Of insanity give your sadness?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Were I certain as of breath<br /> +I could claim it after death,<br /> +There was method in my madness.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +A brave soldier of the line,<br /> +On his death-bed lying ill,<br /> +Spoke thus, "Item, 't is my will,<br /> +Gallant friends and comrades mine,<br /> +That you 'll bear me to my grave,<br /> +And although I 've little wealth,<br /> +Thirty reals to drink my health<br /> +Shall you for your kindness have".<br /> +Thus the hope as vain must be<br /> +After death one's love to wed,<br /> +As to drink one's health when dead.<br /> +[<i>Nisida advances from the garden.</i>]</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +But what maid is this I see<br /> +Hither through the garden wending?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +If you take a stroll with me<br /> +Plenty of her sort you 'll see.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +One who would effect the ending<br /> +Of thy sadness.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />Now comes near + thee,<br /> +O my heart, thy threatened trial!<br /> +Lady, pardon the denial,<br /> +But I would nor see nor hear thee.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Not so ungallantly surely<br /> +Wilt thou act, as not to see<br /> +One who comes to speak with thee?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +To see one who thinks so poorly<br /> +Of herself, and with such lightness<br /> +Owns she comes to speak with me,<br /> +Rather would appear to be<br /> +Want of sense than of politeness.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +All discourse is not so slight<br /> +That thou need'st decline it so.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +No, I will not see thee, no.<br /> +Thus I shut thee from my sight.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Vainly art thou cold and wise,<br /> +Other senses thou shouldst fear,<br /> +Since I enter by the ear,<br /> +Though thou shut me from the eyes.</p> +<p><i>Sings.<br /> +"The blesséd rapture of forgetting<br /> +Never doth my heart deserve,<br /> +What my memory would preserve<br /> +Is the memory I 'm regretting".</i></p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +That melting voice, that melody<br /> +Spell-bound holds th' entrancéd soul.<br /> +Ah! from such divine control<br /> +Who his fettered soul could free?—<br /> +Human Siren, leave me, go!<br /> +Too well I feel its fatal power.<br /> +I faint before it like a flower<br /> +By warm-winds wooed in noontide's glow.<br /> +The close-pressed lips the mouth can lock,<br /> +And so repress the vain reply,<br /> +The lid can veil th' unwilling eye<br /> +From all that may offend and shock,—<br /> +Nature doth seem a niggard here,<br /> +Unequally her gifts disposing,<br /> +For no instinctive means of closing<br /> +She gives the unprotected ear.</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Cynthia.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Since then the ear cannot be closed,<br /> +And thou resistance need'st not try,<br /> +Listen to the gloss that I<br /> +On this sweet conceit composed:<br /> +"The blesséd rapture of forgetting<br /> +Never doth my heart deserve;<br /> +What my memory would preserve<br /> +Is the memory I 'm regretting".<br /> +When Nature from the void obscure<br /> +Her varied world to life awakes,<br /> +All things find use and so endure:—<br /> +Thus she a poison never makes<br /> +Without its corresponding cure:<br /> +Each thing of Nature's careful setting,<br /> +Each plant that grows in field or grove<br /> +Hath got its opposite flower or weed;<br /> +The cure is with the pain decreed;<br /> +Thus too is found for feverish love<br /> +<i>The blesséd rapture of forgetting.</i><br /> +The starry wonders of the night,<br /> +The arbiters of fate on high,<br /> +Nothing can dim:  To see their light<br /> +Is easy, but to draw more nigh<br /> +The orbs themselves, exceeds our might.<br /> +Thus 't is to know, and only know,<br /> +The troubled heart, the trembling nerve,<br /> +To sweet oblivion's blank may owe<br /> +Their rest, but, ah! <i>that</i> cure of woe<br /> +<i>Never doth my heart deserve.</i><br /> +Then what imports it that there be,<br /> +For all the ills of heart or brain,<br /> +A sweet oblivious remedy,<br /> +If it, when 't is applied to me,<br /> +Fails to cure me of my pain?<br /> +Forgetfulness in me doth serve<br /> +No useful purpose: But why fret<br /> +My heart at this?  Do I deserve,<br /> +Strange contradiction! to forget<br /> +<i>What my memory would preserve?</i><br /> +And thus my pain in straits like these,<br /> +Must needs despise the only sure<br /> +Remedial means of partial ease—<br /> +That is—to perish of the cure<br /> +Rather than die of the disease.<br /> +Then not in wailing or in fretting,<br /> +My love, accept thy fate, but let<br /> +This victory o'er myself, to thee<br /> +Bring consolation, pride, and glee,<br /> +Since what I wish not to forget<br /> +<i>Is the memory I 'm regretting.</i></p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +'T is not through the voice alone<br /> +Music breathes its soft enchantment.<sup><a name="ten" id="ten"></a><a + href="#ten-note">10</a></sup><br /> +All things that in concord blend<br /> +Find in music their one language.<br /> +Thou with thy delicious sweetness [<i>To Nisida</i>]<br /> +Host my heart at once made captive;—<br /> +Thou with thy melodious verses [<i>To Cynthia</i>]<br /> +Hast my very soul enraptured.<br /> +Ah! how subtly thou dost reason!<br /> +Ah! how tenderly thou chantest!<br /> +Thou with thy artistic skill,<br /> +Thou with thy clear understanding.<br /> +But what say I?  I speak falsely,<br /> +For you both are sphinxes rather,<br /> +Who with flattering words seduce me<br /> +But to ruin me hereafter:—<br /> +Leave me; go: I cannot listen<br /> +To your wiles.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />My lord, oh! + hearken<br /> +To my song once more.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Wait! stay!</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Why thus treat with so much harshness<br /> +Those who mourn thy deep dejection?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Oh! how soon they 'd have an answer<br /> +If they asked of me these questions.<br /> +I know how to treat such tattle:<br /> +Leave them, sir, to me.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />My senses<br /> +'Gainst their lures I must keep guarded:<br /> +They are crocodiles, but feigning<br /> +Human speech, so but to drag me<br /> +To my ruin, my destruction.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Since my voice will still attract thee,<br /> +'T is of little use to fly me.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Though thou dost thy best to guard thee,<br /> +While I gloss the words she singeth<br /> +To my genius thou must hearken.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>aside.</i>)<br /> +God whom I adore! since I<br /> +Help myself, Thy help, oh! grant me!</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +"Ah! the joy" . . . . (<i>she becomes confused.</i><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />But what is + this?<br /> +Icy torpor coldly fastens<br /> +On my hands; the lute drops from me,<br /> +And my very breath departeth.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Since she cannot sing; then listen<br /> +To this subtle play of fancy:<br /> +"Love, if thou 'rt my god" . . . . (<i>she becomes confused.</i><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />But how,<br /> +What can have my mind so darkened<br /> +What my memory so confuses,<br /> +What my voice can so embarrass?</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +I am turned to frost and fire,<br /> +I am changed to living marble.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Frozen over is my breast,<br /> +And my heart is cleft and hardened.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Thus to lose your wits, ye two,<br /> +What can have so strangely happened?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Being poets and musicians,<br /> +Quite accounts, sir, for their absence.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Heavens! beneath the noontide sun<br /> +To be left in total darkness!</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +In an instant, O ye heavens!<br /> +O'er your vault can thick clouds gather?</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +'Neath the contact of my feet<br /> +Earth doth tremble, and I stagger.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Mountains upon mountains seem<br /> +On my shoulders to be balanced.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +So it always is with those<br /> +Who make verses, or who chant them.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Of the one God whom I worship<br /> +These are miracles, are marvels.</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Daria.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Here, Chrysanthus, I have come . . .</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Stay, Daria.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Stay, 't is + rashness<br /> +Here to come, for, full of wonders,<br /> +Full of terrors is this garden.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Do not enter: awful omens<br /> +Threat'ning death await thy advent.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +By my miseries admonished . . . .</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +By my strange misfortune startled . . .</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Flying from myself, I leave<br /> +This green sphere, dismayed, distracted.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Without soul or life I fly,<br /> +Overwhelmed by this enchantment.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Oh! how dreadful!</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Oh! how + awful!</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Oh! the horror!</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Oh! the + anguish!  [<i>Exeunt Cynthia and Nisida.</i>]</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Mad with jealousy and rage<br /> +Have the tuneful twain departed.</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Chastisements for due offences<br /> +Do not fright me, do not startle,<br /> +For if they through arrogance<br /> +And ambition sought this garden,<br /> +Me the worship of the gods<br /> +Here has led, and so I 'm guarded<br /> +'Gainst all sorceries whatsoever,<br /> +'Gainst all forms of Christian magic:—<br /> +Art thou then Chrysanthus?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />Yes.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Not confused or troubled, rather<br /> +With a certain fear I see thee,<br /> +For which I have grounds most ample.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Why?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Because I thought + thou wert<br /> +One who in a darksome cavern<br /> +Died to show thy love for me.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +I have yet been not so happy<br /> +As to have a chance, Daria,<br /> +Of thus proving my attachment.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Be that so, I 've come to seek thee,<br /> +Confident, completely sanguine,<br /> +That I have the power to conquer,<br /> +I alone, thy pains, thy anguish;<br /> +Though against me thou shouldst use<br /> +The Christian armoury—enchantments.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +That thou hast alone the power<br /> +To subdue the pains that wrack me,<br /> +I admit it; but in what<br /> +Thou hast said of Christian magic<br /> +I, Daria, must deny it.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +How? from what cause else could happen<br /> +The effects I just have witnessed?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Miracles they are and marvels.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Why do they affect not me?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +'T is because I do not ask them<br /> +Against thee; because from aiding<br /> +Not myself, no aid is granted.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Then I come here to undo them.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Most severe will be the battle,<br /> +Upon one side their due praises<br /> +On the other side thy anger.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +I would have thee understand<br /> +That our gods are sorely damaged<br /> +By thy sentiments.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />And I<br /> +That those gods are false—mere phantoms.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Then get ready for the conflict,<br /> +For I will not lower my standard<br /> +Save with victory or death.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Though thou makest me thy captive,<br /> +Thou my firmness wilt not conquer.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Then to arms! I say, to arms, then!</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Though the outposts of the soul,<br /> +The weak heart, by thee be captured;<br /> +Not so will the Understanding,<br /> +The strong warden who doth guard it.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Thou 'lt believe me, if thou 'lt love me.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Thou not me, 'till love attracts thee.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +That perhaps may be; for I<br /> +Would not give thee this advantage.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Oh! that love indeed may lead thee<br /> +To a state so sweet and happy!</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Oh! what power will disabuse thee<br /> +Of thy ignorance, Chrysanthus?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Oh! what pitying power, Daria,<br /> +Will the Christian faith impart thee?</p> +<p><a name="a3s1" id="a3s1"></a></p> +<hr width="40%" /> +<center> +<h3>ACT THE THIRD.</h3> +<p><b>Scene I.</b>—<i>The Garden of Polemius.</i></p> +</center> +<p><i>Enter</i> <b>Polemius, Aurelius, Claudius,</b> <i>and</i> + <b>Escarpin.</b></p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +All my house is in confusion,<br /> +Full of terrors, full of horrors;<sup><a name="eleven" id="eleven"></a><a + href="#eleven-note">11</a></sup><br /> +Ah! how true it is a son<br /> +Is the source of many sorrows!—</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +But, my lord, reflect . . .</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Consider + . . .<br /> +Think . . .</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Why think, when + misery follows?—<br /> +Cease: you add to my affliction,<br /> +And in no way bring me solace.<br /> +Since you see that in his madness<br /> +He is now more firm and constant,<br /> +Falling sick of new diseases,<br /> +Ere he 's well of old disorders:<br /> +Since one young and beauteous maiden,<br /> +Whom love wished to him to proffer,<br /> +Free from every spot and blemish,<br /> +Pure and perfect in her fondness,<br /> +Is the one whose fatal charms<br /> +Give to him such grief and torment,<br /> +That each moment he may perish,<br /> +That he may expire each moment;<br /> +How then can you hope that I<br /> +Now shall list to words of comfort?—</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Why not give this beauteous maiden<br /> +To your son to be his consort,<br /> +Since you see his inclination?</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +For this reason: when the project<br /> +I proposed, the two made answer,<br /> +That before they wed, some problem,<br /> +Some dispute that lay between them<br /> +Should be settled: this seemed proper:<br /> +But when I would know its nature<br /> +I could not the cause discover.<br /> +From this closeness I infer<br /> +That some secret of importance<br /> +Lies between them, and that this<br /> +Is the source of all my sorrows.</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +Sir, my loyalty, my duty<br /> +Will not let me any longer<br /> +Silence keep, too clearly seeing<br /> +How the evil has passed onward.<br /> +On that day we searched the mountain. . . .</p> +<p><b>Polemius</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Woe is me! could he have known then<br /> +All this time it was Chrysanthus?</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +I approaching, where with shoulders<br /> +Turned against me stood one figure,<br /> +Saw the countenance of another,<br /> +And methinks he was . . .</p> +<p><b>Polemius</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Ye gods!<br /> +Yes, he saw him! help! support me!</p> +<p><b>Aurelius.</b><br /> +The same person who came hither<br /> +Lately in the garb of a doctor,<br /> +Who to-day to cure Chrysanthus<br /> +Such unusual treatment orders.<br /> +Do you ascertain if he<br /> +Is Carpophorus; let no portent<br /> +Fright you, on yourself rely,<br /> +And you 'll find that all will prosper.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Thanks, Aurelius, for your warning,<br /> +Though 't is somewhat tardily offered.<br /> +Whether you are right or wrong,<br /> +I to-day will solve the problem.<br /> +For the sudden palpitation<br /> +Of my heart that beats and throbbeth<br /> +'Gainst my breast, doth prove how true<br /> +Are the suspicions that it fostered.<br /> +And if so, then Rome will see<br /> +Such examples made, such torments,<br /> +That one bleeding corse will show<br /> +Wounds enough for myriad corses.  [<i>Exeunt Aurelius and Polemius.</i></p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Good Escarpin . . .</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Sir.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />I know not<br /> +How to address you in my sorrow.<br /> +Do you say that Cynthia was<br /> +One of those not over-modest<br /> +Beauties who to court Chrysanthus<br /> +Hither came, and who (strange portent!)<br /> +Had some share of his bewitchment<br /> +In the stupor that came on them?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Yes, sir, and what 's worse, Daria<br /> +Was another, thus the torment<br /> +That we both endure is equal,<br /> +If my case be not the stronger,<br /> +Since to love her would be almost<br /> +Less an injury than to scorn her.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Well, I will not quarrel with you<br /> +On the point (for it were nonsense)<br /> +Whether one should feel more keenly<br /> +Love or hate, disdain or fondness<br /> +Shown to one we love; enough<br /> +'T is to me to know, that prompted<br /> +Or by vanity or by interest,<br /> +She came hither to hold converse<br /> +With him, 't is enough to make me<br /> +Lose the love I once felt for her.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Sir, two men, one bald, one squint-eyed,<br /> +Met one day . . .</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />What, on your + hobby?<br /> +A new story?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />To tell + stories,<br /> +Sir, is not my <i>forte,</i> 'pon honour:—<br /> +Though who would n't make a hazard<br /> +When the ball is over the pocket?—</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Well, I do not care to hear it.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Ah, you know it then: Another<br /> +Let me try: A friar once . . .<br /> +Stay though, I have quite forgotten<br /> +There are no friars yet in Rome:<br /> +Well, once more: a fool . . .</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />A blockhead<br /> +Like yourself, say: cease.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Ah, sir,<br /> +My poor tale do n't cruelly shorten.<br /> +While the sacristan was blowing . . .</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Why, by heaven! I 'll kill you, donkey.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Hear me first, and kill me after.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Was there ever known such folly<br /> +As to think 'mid cares so grave<br /> +I could listen to such nonsense?  (<i>exit.</i><br /> +[<i>Enter Chrysanthus and Daria, at opposite sides.</i>]</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>to herself</i>).<br /> +O ye gods, since my intention<br /> +Was in empty air to scatter<br /> +All these prodigies and wonders<br /> +Worked in favour of Chrysanthus<br /> +By the Christians' sorcery, why,<br /> +Having you for my copartners,<br /> +Do I not achieve a victory<br /> +Which my beauty might make facile?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +O ye heavens, since my ambition<br /> +Was to melt Daria's hardness,<br /> +And to bring her to the knowledge<br /> +Of one God who works these marvels,<br /> +Why, so pure is my intention,<br /> +Why, so zealous and so sanguine,<br /> +Does not easy victory follow,<br /> +Due even to my natural talent?</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +He is here, and though already<br /> +Even to see him, to have parley<br /> +With him, lights a living fire<br /> +In my breast, which burns yet glads me,<br /> +Yet he must confess my gods,<br /> +Ere I own that I am vanquished.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +She comes hither, and though I<br /> +By her beauty am distracted,<br /> +Still she must become a Christian<br /> +Ere a wife's dear name I grant her.</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Venus, to my beauty give<br /> +Power to make of him my vassal.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Grant, O Lord, unto my tongue<br /> +Words that may dispel her darkness.</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +To come near him makes me tremble.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +To address her, quite unmans me:—<br /> +Not in vain, O fair Daria, (<i>aloud.</i><br /> +Does the verdure of this garden,<br /> +When it sees thee pass, grow young<br /> +As beneath spring's dewy spangles;<br /> +Not in vain, since though 't is evening,<br /> +Thou a new Aurora dazzleth,<br /> +That the birds in public concert<br /> +Hail thee with a joyous anthem;<br /> +Not in vain the streams and fountains,<br /> +As their crystal current passes,<br /> +Keep melodious time and tune<br /> +With the bent boughs of the alders;<br /> +The light movement of the zephyrs<br /> +As athwart the flowers they 're wafted,<br /> +Bends their heads to see thee coming,<br /> +Then uplifts them to look after.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +These fine flatteries, these fine phrases<br /> +Make me doubt of thee, Chrysanthus.<br /> +He who gilds the false so well,<br /> +Must mere truth find unattractive.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Hast thou then such little faith<br /> +In my love?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />Thou needst not + marvel.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Why?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Because no more of + faith<br /> +Doth a love deserve that acteth<br /> +Such deceptions.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />What + deceptions?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Are not those enough, Chrysanthus,<br /> +That thou usest to convince me<br /> +Of thy love, of thy attachment,<br /> +When my first and well-known wishes<br /> +Thou perversely disregardest?<br /> +Is it possible a man<br /> +So distinguished for his talents,<br /> +So illustrious in his blood,<br /> +Such a favourite from his manners,<br /> +Would desire to ruin all<br /> +By an error so unhappy,<br /> +And for some delusive dream<br /> +See himself abhorred and branded?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +I nor talents, manners, blood,<br /> +Would be worthy of, if madly<br /> +I denied a Great First Cause,<br /> +Who made all things, mind and matter,<br /> +Time, heaven, earth, air, water, fire,<br /> +Sun, moon, stars, fish, birds, beasts, <i>Man</i> then.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Did not Jupiter, then, make heaven,<br /> +Where we hear his thunders rattle?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +No, for if he could have made<br /> +Heaven, he had no need to grasp it<br /> +For himself at the partition,<br /> +When to Neptune's rule he granted<br /> +The great sea, and hell to Pluto;—<br /> +Then they <i>were</i> ere all this happened.<sup><a name="twelve" + id="twelve"></a><a href="#twelve-note">12</a></sup></p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Is not Ceres the earth, then?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />No.<br /> +Since she lets the plough and harrow<br /> +Tear its bosom, and a goddess<br /> +Would not have her frame so mangled.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Tell me, is not Saturn time?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +He is not, though he dispatcheth<br /> +All the children he gives birth to;<br /> +To a god no crimes should happen.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Is not Venus the air?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />Much less,<br /> +Since they say that she was fashioned<br /> +From the foam, and foam, we know,<br /> +Cannot from the air be gathered.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Is not Neptune the sea?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />As little,<br /> +For inconstancy were god's mark then.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Is not the sun Apollo?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />No.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +The moon Diana?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />All mere + babble.<br /> +They are but two shining orbs<br /> +Placed in heaven, and there commanded<br /> +To obey fixed laws of motion<br /> +Which thy mind need not embarrass.<br /> +How can these be called the gods—<br /> +Gods adulterers and assassins!<br /> +Gods who pride themselves for thefts,<br /> +And a thousand forms of badness,<br /> +If the ideas God and Sin<br /> +Are opposed as light to darkness?—<br /> +With another argument<br /> +I would further sift the matter.<br /> +Let then Jupiter be a god,<br /> +In his <i>own</i> sphere lord and master:<br /> +Let Apollo be one also:<br /> +Should Jove wish to hurl in anger<br /> +Down his red bolts on the world,<br /> +And Apollo would not grant them,<br /> +He the so-called god of fire;<br /> +From the independent action<br /> +Of the two does it not follow<br /> +One of them must be the vanquished?<br /> +Then they cannot be called gods,<br /> +Gods whose wills are counteracted.<br /> +One is God whom I adore . . .<br /> +And He is, in fine, that martyr<br /> +Who has died for love of thee!—<br /> +Since then, thou hast said, so adverse<br /> +Was thy proud disdain, one only<br /> +Thou couldst love with love as ardent<br /> +Almost as his own, was he<br /> +Who would . . .</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />Oh! proceed no + farther,<br /> +Hold, delay thee, listen, stay,<br /> +Do not drive my brain distracted,<br /> +Nor confound my wildered senses,<br /> +Nor convulse my speech, my language,<br /> +Since at hearing such a mystery<br /> +All my strength appears departed.<br /> +I do not desire to argue<br /> +With thee, for, I own it frankly,<br /> +I am but an ignorant woman,<br /> +Little skilled in such deep matters.<br /> +In this law have I been born,<br /> +In it have been bred: the chances<br /> +Are that in it I shall die:<br /> +And since change in me can hardly<br /> +Be expected, for I never<br /> +At thy bidding will disparage<br /> +My own gods, here stay in peace.<br /> +Never do I wish to hearken<br /> +To thy words again, or see thee,<br /> +For even falsehood, when apparelled<br /> +In the garb of truth, exerteth<br /> +Too much power to be disregarded.  [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Stay, I cannot live without thee,<br /> +Or, if thou wilt go, the magnet<br /> +Of thine eye must make me follow.<br /> +All my happiness is anchored<br /> +There.  Return, Daria. . . .</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Carpophorus.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Stay.<br /> +Follow not her steps till after<br /> +You have heard me speak.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />What would + you?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +I would reprimand your lapses,<br /> +Seeing how ungratefully<br /> +You, my son, towards me have acted.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +I ungrateful!</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="80" height="1" alt="80 pixel" />You + ungrateful,<br /> +Yes, because you have abandoned,<br /> +Have forgotten God's assistance,<br /> +So effectual and so ample.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Do not say I have forgotten<br /> +Or abandoned it, wise master,<br /> +Since my memory to preserve it<br /> +Is as 't were a diamond tablet.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Think you that I can believe you,<br /> +If when having in this garment<br /> +Sought you out to train and teach you,<br /> +In the Christian faith and practice,<br /> +Until deep theology<br /> +You most learnedly have mastered;<br /> +If, when having seen your progress,<br /> +Your attention and exactness,<br /> +I in secret gave you baptism,<br /> +Which its mark indelibly stampeth;<br /> +You so great a good forgetting,<br /> +You for such a bliss so thankless,<br /> +With such shameful ease surrender<br /> +To this love-dream, this attachment?<br /> +Did it strike you not, Chrysanthus,<br /> +To that calling how contrasted<br /> +Are delights, delirious tumults,<br /> +Are love's transports and its raptures,<br /> +Which you should resist?  Recall too,<br /> +Can you not? the aid heaven granted<br /> +When you helped yourself, and prayed for<br /> +Its assistance: were you not guarded<br /> +By it when a sweet voice sung,<br /> +When a keen wit glowed and argued,<br /> +When the instrument was silenced,<br /> +When the tongue was forced to stammer,<br /> +Until now, when with free will<br /> +You succumb to the enchantment<br /> +Of one fair and fatal face,<br /> +Which hath done to you such damage<br /> +That 't will work your final ruin,<br /> +If the trial longer lasteth?—</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Oh! my father, oh! my teacher,<br /> +Hear me, for although the charges<br /> +Brought against me thus are heavy,<br /> +Still I to myself have ample<br /> +Reasons for my exculpation.<br /> +Since you taught me, you, dear master,<br /> +That the union of two wills<br /> +In our law is well established.<br /> +Be not then displeased, Carpophorus . . .<br /> +(<i>Aside.</i>) Heavens! what have I said?  My father!</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Polemius.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Polemius</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Ah! this name removes all doubt.<br /> +But I must restrain my anger,<br /> +And dissemble for the present,<br /> +If such patience Jove shall grant me:—<br /> +How are you to-day, Chrysanthus?  (<i>aloud.</i></p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Sir, my love and duty cast them<br /> +Humbly at your feet: (<i>aside,</i> Thank heaven,<br /> +That he heard me not, this calmness<br /> +Cannot be assumed).</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />I value<br /> +More than I can say your manner<br /> +Towards my son, so kind, so zealous<br /> +For his health.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />Heaven knows, much + farther<br /> +Even than this is my ambition,<br /> +Sir, to serve you: but the passions<br /> +Of Chrysanthus are so strong,<br /> +That my skill they overmaster.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +How?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="40" height="1" alt="40 pixel" />Because the means + of cure<br /> +He perversely counteracteth.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Ah! sir, no, I 've left undone<br /> +Nothing that you have commanded.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +No, not so, his greatest peril<br /> +He has rashly disregarded.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +I implicitly can trust you,<br /> +Of whose courage, of whose talents<br /> +I have been so well informed,<br /> +That I mean at once to grant them<br /> +The reward they so well merit.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Sir, may heaven preserve and guard you.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Come with me; for I desire<br /> +That you should from my apartments<br /> +Choose what best doth please you; I<br /> +Do not doubt you 'll find an ample<br /> +Guerdon for your care.</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />To be<br /> +Honoured in this public manner<br /> +Is my best reward.</p> +<p><b>Polemius</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />The world<br /> +Shall this day a dread example<br /> +Of my justice see, transcending<br /> +All recorded in time's annals.  (<i>Exeunt Polemius and + Carpophorus.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Better than I could have hoped for<br /> +Has it happened, since my father<br /> +Shows by his unruffled face<br /> +That his name he has not gathered.<br /> +What more evidence can I wish for<br /> +Than to see the gracious manner<br /> +In which he conducts him whither<br /> +His reward he means to grant him?<br /> +Oh! that love would do as much<br /> +In the fears and doubts that rack me,<br /> +Since I cannot wed Daria,<br /> +And be faithful to Christ's banner.</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Daria.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +Tyrant question which methought<br /> +Timely flight alone could answer,<br /> +Once again, against my will<br /> +To his presence thou dost drag me.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +But she comes again: let sorrow<br /> +Be awhile replaced by gladness:—<br /> +Ah! Daria, so resolved<sup><a name="thirteen" id="thirteen"></a><a + href="#thirteen-note">13</a></sup> (<i>aloud,</i><br /> +Not to see or hear me more,<br /> +Art thou here?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Deep pondering + o'er,<br /> +As the question I revolved,<br /> +I would have the mystery solved:<br /> +'T is for that I 'm here, then see<br /> +It is not to speak with thee.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Speak, what doubt wouldst thou decide?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Thou hast said a God once died<br /> +Through His boundless love to me:<br /> +Now to bring thee to conviction<br /> +Let me this one strong point try . . .</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +What?</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />To be a God, and + die,<br /> +Doth imply a contradiction.<br /> +And if thou dost still deny<br /> +To my god the name divine,<br /> +And reject him in thy scorn<br /> +For beginning, I opine,<br /> +If thy God could die, that mine<br /> +Might as easily be born.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Thou dost argue with great skill,<br /> +But thou must remember still,<br /> +That He hath, this God of mine,<br /> +Human nature and divine,<br /> +And that it has been His will<br /> +As it were His power to hide—<br /> +God made man—man deified—<br /> +When this sinful world He trod,<br /> +Since He was not born as God,<br /> +And it was as man He died.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Does it not more greatness prove,<br /> +As among the beauteous stars,<br /> +That one deity should be Mars,<br /> +And another should be Jove,<br /> +Than this blending God above<br /> +With weak man below?  To thee<br /> +Does not the twin deity<br /> +Of two gods more power display,<br /> +Than if in some mystic way<br /> +God and man conjoined could be?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +No, I would infer this rather,<br /> +If the god-head were not one,<br /> +Each a separate course could run:<br /> +But the untreated Father,<br /> +But the sole-begotten Son,<br /> +But the Holy Spirit who<br /> +Ever issues from the two,<br /> +Being one sole God, must be<br /> +One in power and dignity:—<br /> +Until <i>thou</i> dost hold this true,<br /> +Till thy creed is that the Son<br /> +Was made man, I cannot hear thee,<br /> +Cannot see thee or come near thee,<br /> +Thee and death at once to shun.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Stay, my love may so be won,<br /> +And if thou wouldst wish this done,<br /> +Oh! explain this mystery!<br /> +What am I to do, ah! me,<br /> +That my love may thus be tried?</p> +<p><b>Carpophorus</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +Seek, O soul! seek Him who died<br /> +Solely for the love of thee.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +All that I could have replied<br /> +Has been said thus suddenly<br /> +By this voice that, sounding near,<br /> +Strikes upon my startled ear<br /> +Like the summons of my death.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Ah! what frost congeals my breath,<br /> +Chilling me with icy fear,<br /> +As I hear its sad lament:<br /> +Whence did sound the voice?  [<i>Enter Polemius and soldiers.</i></p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />From here:<br /> +'T is, Chrysanthus, my intent<br /> +Thus to place before thy sight—<br /> +Thus to show thee in what light<br /> +I regard thy restoration<br /> +Back to health, the estimation<br /> +In which I regard the wight<br /> +Who so skilfully hath cured thee.<br /> +A surprise I have procured thee,<br /> +And for him a fit reward:<br /> +Raise the curtain, draw the cord,<br /> +See, 't is death!  If this . . .<br /> +(<i>A curtain is drawn aside, and Carpophorus is seen beheaded, the head being + at some distance from the body.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />I + freeze!—</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Is the cure of thy disease,<br /> +What must that disease have been!<br /> +'T is Carpophorus. . . .</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Dread scene!</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +He who with false science came<br /> +Not to give thee life indeed,<br /> +But that he himself should bleed:—<br /> +That thy fate be not the same,<br /> +Of his mournful end take heed:<br /> +Do not thou that dost survive,<br /> +My revenge still further drive,<br /> +Since the sentence seems misread—<br /> +The physician to be dead,<br /> +And the invalid alive.—</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +It were cruelty extreme,<br /> +It were some delirious dream,<br /> +That could see in this the cure<br /> +Of the ill that I endure.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +It to him did pity seem,<br /> +Seemed the sole reward that he<br /> +Asked or would receive from me:<br /> +Since when dying, he but cried . .</p> +<p><b>The Head of Carpophorus.</b><br /> +Seek, O soul! seek Him who died<br /> +Solely for the love of thee!—</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +What a portent!</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />What a + wonder!</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Jove! my own head splits asunder!—</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Even though severed, in it dwells<br /> +Still the force of magic spells.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Sir, it were a fatal blunder<br /> +To be blind to this appalling<br /> +Tragedy you wrong by calling<br /> +The result of spells—no spells<br /> +Are such signs, but miracles<br /> +Outside man's experience falling.<br /> +He came here because he yearned<br /> +With his pure and holy breath<br /> +To give life, and so found death.<br /> +'T is a lesson that he learned—<br /> +'T is a recompense he earned—<br /> +Seeing what his Lord could do,<br /> +Being to his Master true:<br /> +Kill me also: He had one<br /> +Bright example: shall <i>I</i> shun<br /> +Death in turn when I have two?</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +I, in listening to thy raving,<br /> +Scarce can calm the wrath thou 'rt braving.<br /> +Dead ere now thou sure wouldst lie,<br /> +Didst thou not desire to die.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Father, if the death I 'm craving . . .</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Speak not thus: no son I know.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Not to thee I spoke, for though<br /> +Humanly thou hast that name,<br /> +Thou hast forfeited thy claim:<br /> +I that sweet address now owe<br /> +Unto him whose holier aim<br /> +Kindled in my heart a flame<br /> +Which shall there for ever glow,<br /> +Woke within me a new soul<br /> +That thou 'rt powerless to control—<br /> +Generated a new life<br /> +Safe against thy hand or knife:<br /> +Him a father's name I give<br /> +Who indeed has made me live,<br /> +Not to him whose tyrant will<br /> +Only has the power to kill.<br /> +Therefore on this dear one dead,<br /> +On this pallid corse laid low,<br /> +Lying bathed in blood and snow,<br /> +By this lifeless lodestone led,<br /> +I such bitter tears shall shed,<br /> +That my grief . . .</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Ho! + instantly<br /> +Tear him from it.</p> +<p><b>Daria</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Thus to be<br /> +By such prodigies surrounded,<br /> +Leaves me dazzled and confounded.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Hide the corse.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Leave that to + me<br /> +(<i>The head and body are concealed</i>).</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Bear Chrysanthus now away<br /> +To a tower of darksome gloom<br /> +Which shall be his living tomb.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<i>That</i> I hear with scant dismay,<br /> +Since the memory of this day<br /> +With me there will ever dwell.<br /> +Fair Daria, fare thee well,<br /> +And since now thou knowest who<br /> +Died for love of thee, renew<br /> +The sweet vow that in the dell<br /> +Once thou gav'st me, <i>Him</i> to love<br /> +After death who so loved thee.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Take him hence.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Ah! + suddenly<br /> +Light descendeth from above<br /> +Which my darkness doth remove.<br /> +Now thy shadowed truth I see,<br /> +Now the Christian's faith profess.<br /> +Let thy bloody lictors press<br /> +Round me, racking every limb,<br /> +Let me only die with him,<br /> +Since I openly confess<br /> +That the gods are false whom we<br /> +Long have worshipped, that I trust<br /> +Christ alone—the True—the Just—<br /> +The One God, whose power I see,<br /> +And who died for love of me.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Take her too, since she in this<br /> +Boasts how dark, how blind she is.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Oh! command that I should dwell<br /> +With Chrysanthus in his cell.<br /> +In our hearts we long are mated,<br /> +And ere now had celebrated<br /> +Our espousals fond and true,<br /> +If the One same God we knew.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +This sole bliss alone I waited<br /> +To die happy.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />How my + heart<br /> +Is with wrath and rage possest!—<br /> +Hold thy hand, present it not,<br /> +For I would not have thy lot<br /> +By the least indulgence blest;<br /> +Nor do thou, if thy wild brain<br /> +Such a desperate course maintain,<br /> +Hope to have her as thy bride—<br /> +Trophy of our gods denied:—<br /> +Separate them.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />O the pain!</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +O the woe! unhappy me!</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Take them hence, and let them be<br /> +(Since my justice now at least<br /> +Makes amends for mercy past)<br /> +Punished so effectually<br /> +That their wishes, their desires,<br /> +What each wanteth or requires,<br /> +Shall be thwarted or denied,<br /> +That between opposing fires<br /> +They for ever shall be tried:—<br /> +Since Chrysanthus' former mood<br /> +Only wished the solitude<br /> +Whence such sorrows have arisen,<br /> +Take him to the public prison,<br /> +And be sure in fire and food<br /> +That he shall not be preferred<br /> +To the meanest culprit there.<br /> +Naked, abject, let him fare<br /> +As the lowest of the herd:<br /> +There, while chains his body gird,<br /> +Let him grovel and so die:—<br /> +For Daria, too, hard by<br /> +Is another public place,<br /> +Shameful home of worse disgrace,<br /> +Where imprisoned let her lie:<br /> +If, relying on the powers<br /> +Of her beauty, her vain pride<br /> +Dreamed of being my son's bride,<br /> +Never shall she see that hour.<br /> +Soon shall fade her virgin flower,<br /> +Soon be lost her nymph-like grace—<br /> +Roses shall desert her face,<br /> +Waving gold her silken hair.<br /> +She who left Diana's care<br /> +Must with Venus find her place:<br /> +'Mong vile women let her dwell,<br /> +Vile, abandoned even as they.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin</b> (<i>aside</i>).<br /> +There my love shall have full play.<br /> +O rare judge, you sentence well!</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Sir, if thou must have a fell<br /> +Vengeance for this act of mine,<br /> +Take my life, for it is thine;<br /> +But my honour do not dare<br /> +To insult through one so fair.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Wreak thy rage, if faith divine<br /> +So offends thee, upon <i>me,</i><br /> +Not upon my chastity:—<br /> +'T is a virtue purer far<br /> +Than the light of sun or star,<br /> +And has ne'er offended thee.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Take them hence.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Ah me, to + find<br /> +Words, that might affect thy mind!<br /> +Melt thy heart!</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Ah, me, who + e'er<br /> +Saw a martyrdom so rare?—</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Wouldst thou then the torment fly,<br /> +Thou hast only to deny<br /> +Christ.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />The Saviour of + mankind?<br /> +This I cannot do.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />Nor I.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Let them instantly from this<br /> +To their punishment be led.—</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Do not budge from what you said.<br /> +It is excellent as it is.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Woe is me! but wherefore fear,<br /> +O beloved betrothéd mine?—<br /> +Trust in God, that power divine<br /> +For whose sake we suffer here:—<br /> +<b>He</b> will aid us and be near:—</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +In that confidence I live,<br /> +For if He His life could give<br /> +For my love, and me select,<br /> +He His honour will protect.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +These sad tears He will forgive.<br /> +Ne'er to see thee more! thus driven. . .</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Cease, my heart like thine is riven,<br /> +But again we 'll see each other,<br /> +When in heaven we 'll be, my brother,<br /> +<i>The two lover saints of Heaven.</i>  (<i>They are led out.</i></p> +<p><a name="a3s2" id="a3s2"></a></p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<p><b>Scene II.</b>—<i>The hall of a bordel.</i></p> +</center> +<p><i>Soldiers conducting Daria.</i></p> +<p><b>A Soldier.</b><br /> +Here Polemius bade us leave her,<br /> +The great senator of Rome.<sup><a name="fourteen" id="fourteen"></a><a + href="#fourteen-note">14</a></sup>  (<i>exeunt.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +As the noonday might be left<br /> +In the midnight's dusky robe,<br /> +As the light amid the darkness,<br /> +As 'mid clouds the solar globe:<br /> +But although the shades and shadows,<br /> +Through the vapours of Heaven's dome.<br /> +Strive with villainous presumption<br /> +Light and splendour to enfold,<br /> +Though they may conceal the lustre,<br /> +Still they cannot stain it, no.<br /> +And it is a consolation<br /> +This to know, that even the gold,<br /> +How so many be its carats,<br /> +How so rich may be the lode,<br /> +Is not certain of its value<br /> +'Till the crucible hath told.<br /> +Ah! from one extreme to another<br /> +Does my strange existence go:<br /> +Yesterday in highest honour,<br /> +And to-day so poor and low!<br /> +Still, if I am self-reliant,<br /> +Need I fear an alien foe?<br /> +But, ah me, how insufficient<br /> +Is my self-defence alone!—<br /> +O new God to whom I offer<br /> +Life and soul, whom I adore,<br /> +In Thy confidence I rest me.<br /> +Help me, Lord, I ask no more.</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Escarpin.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Where I wonder can she be?<br /> +But I need not farther go,<br /> +Here she is:—At length, Daria,<br /> +My good lady, and soforth,<br /> +Now has come the happy moment,<br /> +When in open market sold,<br /> +All thy charms are for the buyer,<br /> +Who can spend a little gold;<br /> +And since happily love's tariff<br /> +Is not an excessive toll,<br /> +Here I am, and so, Daria,<br /> +Let these clasping arms enfold . . .</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Do not Thou desert Thy handmaid<br /> +In this dreadful hour, O Lord!—</p> +<p><i>Cries of people within.</i></p> +<p><b>A Voice</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +Oh, the lion! oh, the lion!</p> +<p><b>Another Voice</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +Ho! take care of the lion, ho!</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Let the lion care himself,<br /> +I 'm engaged and cannot go.</p> +<p><b>A Voice</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +From the mountain wilds descending,<br /> +Through the crowded streets he goes.</p> +<p><b>Another Voice</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +Like the lightning's flash he flieth,<br /> +Like the thunder is his roar.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Ah! all right, for I 'm in safety,<br /> +Thanks to this obliging door:<br /> +Lightning is a thing intended<br /> +For high towers and stately domes,<br /> +Never heard I of its falling<br /> +Upon little lowly homes:<br /> +So if lion be the lightning,<br /> +Somewhere else will fall the bolt:<br /> +Therefore once again, Daria,<br /> +Come, I say, embrace me. . . . .<br /> +(<i>A lion enters, places himself before Daria, and seizes Escarpin.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />Oh!<br /> +Never in my life did I<br /> +See a nobler beast.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Just so,<br /> +Nor a more affectionate one<br /> +Did I ever meet before,<br /> +Since he gives me the embraces<br /> +That I asked of thee and more:<br /> +O god Bacchus, whom I worship<br /> +So devoutly, thou, I know,<br /> +Workest powerfully on <i>beasts.</i><br /> +Tell our friend to let me go.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Noble brute, defend my honour,<br /> +Be God's minister below.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +How he gnaws me! how he claws me!<br /> +How he smells!  His breath, by Jove,<br /> +Is as bad as an emetic.<br /> +But you need n't eat me, though.<br /> +That would be a sorry blunder,<br /> +Like what happened long ago.<br /> +Would you like to hear the story?<br /> +By your growling you say no.<br /> +What! you 'll eat me then?  You 'll find me<br /> +A tough morsel, skin and bone.<br /> +O Daria! I implore thee,<br /> +Save me from this monster's throat,<br /> +And I give to thee my promise<br /> +To respect thee evermore.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Mighty monarch of these deserts,<br /> +King of beasts, so plainly known<br /> +By thy crown of golden tresses<br /> +O'er thy tawny forehead thrown,<br /> +In the name of Him who sent thee<br /> +To defend that faith I hold,<br /> +I command thee to release him,<br /> +Free this man and let him go.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +What a most obsequious monster!<br /> +With his mane he sweeps the floor,<br /> +And before her humbly falling,<br /> +Kisses her fair feet.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />What more<br /> +Need we ask, that Thou didst send him,<br /> +O great God so late adored,<br /> +Than to see his pride thus humbled<br /> +When he heard thy name implored?<br /> +But upon his feet uprising,<br /> +The great roaring Campeadór<sup><a name="fifteen" id="fifteen"></a><a + href="#fifteen-note">15</a></sup><br /> +Of the mountains makes a signal<br /> +I should follow: yes, I go,<br /> +Fearless now since Thou hast freed me<br /> +From this infamous abode.<br /> +What will not that lover do<br /> +Who for love his life foregoes!—  (<i>Goes out preceded by the + lion.</i></p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +With a lion for her bully<br /> +Ready to fight all her foes,<br /> +Who will dare to interrupt her?<br /> +None, if they are wise I trow.<br /> +With her hand upon his mane,<br /> +Quite familiarly they go<br /> +Through the centre of the city.<br /> +Crowds give way as they approach,<br /> +And as he who looketh on<br /> +Knoweth of the game much more<br /> +Than the players, I perceive<br /> +They the open country seek<br /> +On the further side of Rome.<br /> +Like a husband and a wife,<br /> +In the pleasant sunshine's glow,<br /> +Taking the sweet air they seem.<br /> +Well the whole affair doth show<br /> +So much curious contradiction,<br /> +That, my thought, a brief discourse<br /> +You and I must have together.<br /> +Is the God whose name is known<br /> +To Daria, the same God<br /> +Whom Carpophorus adored?<br /> +Why, from this what inference follows?<br /> +Only this, if it be so,<br /> +That Daria He defends,<br /> +But the poor Carpophorus, no.<br /> +And as I am much more likely<br /> +His sad fate to undergo,<br /> +Than to be like her protected,<br /> +I to change my faith am loth.<br /> +So part pagan and part christian<br /> +I 'll remain—a bit of both.  (<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><a name="a3s3" id="a3s3"></a></p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<p><b>Scene III.</b>—<i>The Wood.</i></p> +</center> +<p>(<i>Enter</i> <b>Nisida</b> <i>and</i> <b>Cynthia,</b> <i>flying.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Fly, fly, Nisida.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Fly, fly, + Cynthia,<br /> +Since a terror and a woe<br /> +Threatens us by far more fearful<br /> +Than when late a horror froze<br /> +All our words, and o'er our reason<br /> +Strange lethargic dulness flowed.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Thou art right, for then 't was only<br /> +Our intelligence that owned<br /> +The effect of an enchantment,<br /> +A mere pause of thought alone.<br /> +Here our very life doth leave us,<br /> +Seeing with what awful force<br /> +Stalks along this mighty lion<br /> +Trampling all that stops his course.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Whither shall we fly for shelter?</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +O Diana, we implore<br /> +Help from thee!  But stranger still!—<br /> +Him who doth appal us so,<br /> +The wild monarch of the mountain<br /> +See! a woman calm and slow<br /> +Follows.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />O astounding + sight!</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +'T is Daria.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />I was told<br /> +She had been consigned to prison:<br /> +Yes, 't is she: on, on they go<br /> +Through the forest.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="120" height="1" alt="120 pixel" />Till the + mountain<br /> +Hides them, and we see no more.</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Escarpin.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +All Rome is full of wonder and dismay.<sup><a name="sixteen" id="sixteen"></a><a + href="#sixteen-note">16</a></sup></p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +What has occurred?</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />Oh! what has + happened, say?</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +Chrysanthus, being immured<br /> +By his stern sire, a thousand ills endured.<br /> +Daria too, the same,<br /> +But in a house my tongue declines to name.<br /> +It pleased the God they both adore<br /> +Both to their freedom strangely to restore,<br /> +And from their many pains<br /> +To free them, and to break their galling chains,<br /> +Giving Daria, as attendant squire,<br /> +A roaring lion, rolling eyes of fire:—<br /> +In fine the two have fled,<br /> +But each apart by separate instinct led<br /> +To this wild mountain near.<br /> +Numerianus coming then to hear<br /> +Of the event, assuming in his wrath,<br /> +That 't was Polemius who had oped the path<br /> +Of freedom for his son and for the maid,<br /> +Has not an hour delayed,<br /> +But follows them with such a numerous band,<br /> +That, see, his squadrons cover all the land.</p> +<p><b>Voices</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +Scour the whole plain.</p> +<p><b>Others</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Descend into the + vale.</p> +<p><b>Others</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +Pierce the thick wood.</p> +<p><b>Others</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="60" height="1" alt="60 pixel" />The rugged mountain + scale.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +This noise, these cries, confirm what I have said:<br /> +And since by curiosity I 'm led<br /> +To sift the matter to the bottom, I<br /> +Will follow with the rest.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />I almost + die<br /> +With fear at the alarm, and yet so great<br /> +Is my desire to know Daria's fate,<br /> +And that of young Chrysanthus, that I too<br /> +Will follow, if a woman so may do.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +What strange results such strange events produce!<br /> +The very wonder serves as an excuse.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +Well, we must only hope that it is so.<br /> +Come, Cynthia, let us follow her.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Let us go.</p> +<p><b>Escarpin.</b><br /> +And I with love most fervent,<br /> +Ladies, will be your very humble servant.  [<i>Exeunt.</i></p> +<p><a name="a3s4" id="a3s4"></a></p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<p><b>Scene IV.</b>—<i>A wilder part of the wood near the cave.</i></p> +</center> +<p>(<i>Enter</i> <b>Daria</b> <i>guided by the lion.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +O mighty lion, whither am I led?<br /> +Where wouldst thou guide me with thy stately tread,<br /> +That seems to walk not on the earth, but air?<br /> +But lo! he has entered there<br /> +Where yonder cave its yawning mouth lays bare,</p> +<p>[<i>The lion enters a cave.</i>]</p> +<p>Leaving me here alone.<br /> +But now fate clears, and all will soon be known;<br /> +For if I read aright<br /> +The signs this desert gives unto my sight,<br /> +It is the very place whence echo gave<br /> +Responsive music from this mystic cave.<br /> +Terror and wonder both my senses scare,<br /> +Ah! whither shall I go?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Daria fair!</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Who calls my hapless name?<br /> +Each leaf that moves doth thrill this wretched frame<br /> +With boding and with dread.<br /> +But why say wretched?  I had better said<br /> +Thrice blesséd: O great God whom I adore,<br /> +Baptize me in those tears that I outpour,<br /> +In no more fitting form can I declare<br /> +My faith and hope in thee.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />Daria fair.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Who calls my name? who wakes those wild alarms?</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Chrysanthus.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Belovéd bride, 't is one to whom thy charms<br /> +Are even less dear than is thy soul, ah! me,<br /> +One who would live and who will die with thee.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +Belovéd spouse, my heart could not demand<br /> +Than thus to see thee near, to clasp thy hand,<br /> +A sweeter solace for my long dismay,<br /> +And all the awful wonders of this day.<br /> +Hear the surprising tale,<br /> +And thou wilt know . . .</p> +<p><b>Voices</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />Search hill.</p> +<p><b>Others.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />And plain.</p> +<p><b>Others.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="180" height="1" alt="180 pixel" />And vale.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Hush! the troops our fight pursuing<br /> +Have the forest precincts entered.<sup><a name="seventeen" id="seventeen"></a><a + href="#seventeen-note">17</a></sup></p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +What then shall I do, Chrysanthus?</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Keep thy faith, thy life surrender:—</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +I a thousand lives would offer:<br /> +Since to God I 'm so indebted<br /> +That I 'll think myself too happy<br /> +If 't is given for Him.</p> +<p><b>Polemius</b> (<i>within</i>).<br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="140" height="1" alt="140 pixel" />This centre<br /> +Of the mountain, whence the sun<br /> +Scarcely ever is reflected—<br /> +This dark cavern sure must hold them.<br /> +Let us penetrate its entrails,<br /> +So that here the twain may die.</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +One thing only is regretted<br /> +By me, in my life thus losing,<br /> +I am not baptized.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="160" height="1" alt="160 pixel" />Reject then<br /> +That mistrust; in blood and fire<sup><a name="eighteen" id="eighteen"></a><a + href="#eighteen-note">18</a></sup><br /> +Martyrdom the rite effecteth:—</p> +<p>(<i>Enter Polemius and Soldiers.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Here, my soldiers, here they are,<br /> +And the hand that death presents them<br /> +Must be mine, that none may think<br /> +I a greater love could cherish<br /> +For my son than for my gods.<br /> +And as I desire, when wendeth<br /> +Hither great Numerianus,<br /> +That he find them dead, arrest them<br /> +On the spot, and fling them headlong<br /> +Into yonder cave whose centre<br /> +Is a fathomless abyss:—<br /> +And since one sole love cemented<br /> +Their two hearts in life, in death<br /> +In one sepulchre preserve them.</p> +<p><b>Chrysanthus.</b><br /> +Oh! how joyfully I die!</p> +<p><b>Daria.</b><br /> +And I also, since the sentence<br /> +Gives to me the full assurance<br /> +Of a happiness most certain<br /> +On the day this darksome cave<br /> +Doth entomb me in its centre.  (<i>They are cast into the abyss.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Cover the pit's mouth with stones.<br /> +(<i>A sudden storm of thunder and lightning: Enter Numerianus, Claudius, + Aurelius, and others.</i></p> +<p><b>Numerianus.</b><br /> +What can have produced this tempest?</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +When within the cave they threw them,<br /> +Dark eclipse o'erspread the heavens.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Shadowy shapes, phantasmal shadows<br /> +Are upon the wind projected.</p> +<p><b>Cynthia.</b><br /> +Lightnings like swift birds of fire<br /> +Dart along with burning tresses.</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Lo! an earthquake's awful shudder<br /> +Makes the very mountains tremble.</p> +<p><b>Polemius.</b><br /> +Yes, the solid ground upheaveth,<br /> +And the mighty rock descendeth<br /> +O'er our heads.</p> +<p><b>Nisida.</b><br /> +<img src="indent.gif" width="100" height="1" alt="100 pixel" />While on the + instant<br /> +Dulcet voices soft and tender<br /> +Issue from the cave's abysses.</p> +<p><b>Numerianus.</b><br /> +Rome to-day strange sights presenteth,<br /> +When a grave exhibits gladness,<br /> +And the sun displays resentment.</p> +<p>(<i>A choir of angels is heard singing from within the cave.</i>)<br /> +"Happy day, and happy doom,<br /> +May the gladsome world exclaim,<br /> +When the darksome cave became<br /> +Saint Daria's sacred tomb".<br /> +(<i>A great rock falls from the mountain, and covers the tomb, over it is seen + an angel.</i>)</p> +<p><b>Angel.</b><br /> +This great cave which holds to-day<br /> +In its breast so great a treasure,<br /> +Never shall by foot be trodden;—<br /> +Thus it is I 've sealed and settled<br /> +This great mass of rock upon it,<br /> +Which doth shut it up for ever.<br /> +And in order that their ashes<br /> +On the wind be ne'er disperséd,<br /> +But while time itself endureth<br /> +Shall be honoured and respected,<br /> +This brief epitaph, this simple<br /> +Line shall tell this simple legend<br /> +To the ages that come after:<br /> +"Here the bodies are preservéd<br /> +Of Chrysanthus and Daria,<br /> +<i>The two lover-saints of Heaven</i>".</p> +<p><b>Claudius.</b><br /> +Wherefore humbly we entreat<br /> +Pardon for our many errors.</p> +<hr width="50%" /> +<a name="three-note" id="three-note"></a> +<p><sup>3</sup> The whole of the first scene is in +<i>asonante</i> verse, the vowels being <i>i, e,</i> as in +"restr<i>i</i>ct<i>e</i>d", "dr<i>i</i>ftl<i>e</i>ss", "h<i>i</i>dd<i>e</i>n", +etc.  These vowels, or their equivalents in +sound, will be found pretty accurately represented in the last two +syllables of every alternate line throughout the scene, which ends at +p. 25, and where the verse changes into the full consonant rhyme.  +[<a href="#three">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="four-note" id="four-note"></a> +<p><sup>4</sup> The resemblance between certain parts of Goethe's <i>Faust</i> + and <i>The Wonder-Working +Magician</i> of Calderon has been frequently alluded to, and has given +rise to a good deal of discussion.  In the controversy as to how much the +German poet was indebted to the Spanish, I do not recollect any reference to + <i>The +Two Lovers of Heaven.</i>  The following passage, however, both in its + spirit +and language, presents a singular likeness to the more elaborate discussion of +the same difficulty in the text.  The scene is in Faustus's study.  + Faustus, as +in the present play, takes up a volume of the New Testament, and thus +proceeds:</p> +<blockquote> +<b>"In the beginning was the Word".</b>  Alas!<br /> +The first line stops me: how shall I proceed?<br /> +"The word" cannot express the meaning here.<br /> +I must translate the passage differently,<br /> +If by the spirit I am rightly guided.<br /> +Once more,—<b>"In the beginning was the Thought".</b>—<br /> +Consider the first line attentively,<br /> +Lest hurrying on too fast, you lose the meaning.<br /> +Was it then <i>Thought</i> that has created all things?<br /> +Can thought make matter?  Let us try the line<br /> +Once more,—<b>"In the beginning was the Power"</b>—<br /> +This will not do—even while I write the phrase,<br /> +I feel its faults—oh! help me, holy Spirit,<br /> +I 'll weigh the passage once again, and write<br /> +Boldly,—<b>"In the beginning was the Act".</b><br /> +        Anster's <i>Faustus,</i> Francfort ed., 1841, p. + 63.  +[<a href="#four">Return</a>] +</blockquote> +<a name="five-note" id="five-note"></a> +<p><sup>5</sup> The same line of argument is worked out with wonderful subtlety + of thought +and beauty of poetical expression by Calderon, in one of the finest of his Autos + +Sacramentales, "The Sacred Parnassus".  <i>Autos Sacramentales,</i> tom. + vi. p. 10.  +[<a href="#five">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="six-note" id="six-note"></a> +<p><sup>6</sup> The metre reverts here again to the asonante form, which is kept + up for the +remainder of this act.  The vowels here used are <i>e, e,</i> or their + equivalents.  +[<a href="#six">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="seven-note" id="seven-note"></a> +<center><p><sup>7</sup> +"This Clytie knew, and knew she was undone,<br /> +Whose soul was fix'd, and doted on the sun".<br /> +                +<b>Ovid,</b> <i>Metamorphoses,</i> b. iv.  +[<a href="#seven">Return</a>] +</p></center> +<a name="eight-note" id="eight-note"></a> +<p><sup>8</sup> In the whole of this scene the asonante vowels are +<i>a-e,</i> or their equivalents.  +[<a href="#eight">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="nine-note" id="nine-note"></a> +<p><sup>9</sup> The asonante in <i>e-e,</i> recommences here, and +continues until the entry of Chrysanthus.  +[<a href="#nine">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="ten-note" id="ten-note"></a> +<p><sup>10</sup> The metre changes to the asonante in <i>a-e</i> +for the remainder of this Act.  +[<a href="#ten">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="eleven-note" id="eleven-note"></a> +<p><sup>11</sup> The asonante in this scene is generally in +<i>o-e, o-o, o-a,</i> which are nearly +all alike in sound.  In the second scene the asonante is +in <i>a-e,</i> as in "sc<i>a</i>tt<i>e</i>r", +etc.  +[<a href="#eleven">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="twelve-note" id="twelve-note"></a> +<p><sup>12</sup> See <a href="#five-note">note</a> referring to the <i>auto,</i> +"The Sacred Parnassus", Act 1, p. 21.  +[<a href="#twelve">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="thirteen-note" id="thirteen-note"></a> +<p><sup>13</sup> The asonante changes here into five-lined stanzas in ordinary + rhyme.  +Three lines rhyme one way and two the other.  Poems in this metre are + called +in Spanish <i>Versos de arte mayor,</i> from the greater skill supposed to be + required +for their composition.  +[<a href="#thirteen">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="fourteen-note" id="fourteen-note"></a> +<p><sup>14</sup> The asonante is single here, consisting only of the long + accented <i>o,</i> as in +"R<i>o</i>me", "gl<i>o</i>be", "d<i>o</i>me", etc.  +[<a href="#fourteen">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="fifteen-note" id="fifteen-note"></a> +<p><sup>15</sup> Champion, or combater, the name generally given the Cid.  +[<a href="#fifteen">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="sixteen-note" id="sixteen-note"></a> +<p><sup>16</sup> The metre changes to an irregular couplet in long and short + lines.  +[<a href="#sixteen">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="seventeen-note" id="seventeen-note"></a> +<p><sup>17</sup> The metre changes to the double asonante in <i>e-e,</i> which + continues to the +end of the drama.  +[<a href="#seventeen">Return</a>]</p> +<a name="eighteen-note" id="eighteen-note"></a> +<p><sup>18</sup> <i>Baptism by blood and fire through martyrdom.</i>  + Calderon refers here evidently +to the words of St. John the Baptist: "He shall baptize you in the Holy +Ghost and fire"—<i>St. Matth.,</i> c. iii. v. ii.  The following + passage in the Legend +of St. Catherine must also have been present to his mind:</p> +<p>"Et cum dolerent, quod sine baptismo decederent, virgo respondit: Ne +timeatis, quia effusio vestri sanguinis vobis baptismus reputabitur et + corona".  +<i>Legenda Aurea,</i> c. 167.  +[<a href="#eighteen">Return</a>]</p> +<p><a name="reviews" id="reviews"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<h3>THE SPANISH DRAMA.</h3> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h2>CALDERON'S DRAMAS AND AUTOS,</h2> +<i>Translated into English Verse</i> +<h3>BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.</h3> +</center> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<h4>From Ticknor's <i>History of Spanish Literature.</i>  London: + 1863.</h4> +</center> +<p>"Denis Florence M'Carthy published +in London (in 1861) translations of +two plays, and an <i>auto</i> of Calderon, +under the title of 'Love, the greatest +Enchantment; the Sorceries of Sin; +the Devotion of the Cross, from the +Spanish of Calderon, attempted strictly +in English Asonante, and other imitative +Verse', printing, at the same time, +a carefully corrected text of the originals, +page by page, opposite to his +translations.  It is, I think, one of +the boldest attempts ever made in English +verse.  It is, too, as it seems to me, remarkably +successful.  Not that <i>asonantes</i> +can be made fluent or graceful in +English, or easily perceptible to an +English ear, but that the Spanish air +and character of Calderon are so happily +preserved.  Mr. M'Carthy, in +1853, had published two volumes of +translations from Calderon, to which I +have already referred; and, besides +this, he has rendered excellent service +to the cause of Spanish literature in +other ways.  But in the present volume +he has far surpassed all he had previously +done; for Calderon is a poet +who, whenever he is translated, should +have his very excesses, both in thought +and manner, fully produced, in order +to give a faithful idea of what is +grandest and most distinctive in his +genius.  Mr. M'Carthy has done this, +I conceive, to a degree which I had +previously considered impossible.  Nothing, +I think, in the English language +will give us so true an impression of +what is most characteristic of the Spanish +drama; perhaps I ought to say, of +what is most characteristic of Spanish +poetry generally".—tom. iii. pp. 461, +462.</p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<h3><i>Extracts from Continental Reviews.</i></h3> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h4>From <i>"Bläater für Literarische Unterhaltung".  1862.  +Erster Baude, 479 Leipzig, F. A. Brockhans.</i></h4> +</center> +<p><i>"Erwähnenswerth ist folgender Kühne +versuch einer Rachdildung Calderon' +scher stücke in Englishchen Assonanzen.</i></p> +<p>"Love, the greatest enchantment; +The Sorceries of Sin; The Devotion of +the Cross, from the Spanish of Calderon, +attempted strictly in English Asonante, +and other imitative verse.  By +Denis Florence Mac-Carthy".</p> +<p><i>Diese Uebersetzung ist dem Verfasser +der</i> "History of Spanish Literature", +George Ticknor, <i>zugeeignet, der in einem +Schreiber au den Uebersetzer die Arbeit</i> +"marvellous" <i>nennt und dam fortfährt:</i></p> +<p><i>"Richt das sie die Assonanzen dem +englischen Ohr so hörbar gemacht hätten, +wie dies mit den Spanischen der Fall +ist; unsere widerhaarigen consonanten +machen dies unmöglich; das Wunderbare +ist nur, das sie dieselben überhaupt +hörbar gemacht haben.  Meiner Meinung +nach nehme ist Ihre Assonanzen so +deutlich wahr, wil die Von August +Schlegel oder Gries und mehr als +diejenigen Friedrich Schlegel's.  Aber dieser +war der erste, der den versuch dazu +machte, und ausserdem bin ich Kein +Deutscher.  Wurde es nicht lustig sein, +wenn man einmal ein solches Experiment +in französchicher Sprache wolte?"</i></p> +<p><i>"Ohne zweifel würde MacCarthy +Ohne den vorgaug deutscher Nachbilder +des Calderon ebenso wenig darauf +gekommen sein englische Assonanzen zu +versuchen, als man ohne das ermunternde +Beispiel deutscher Dichter und +Uebersetzer darauf gekommen sein wurde, +in Uebersetzungen und originaldichtungen +unter welchen letztern wol besonders +Longfellow's</i> 'Evangeline', <i>zu nennen +ist, englische Hexameter zu versuchen, +was in letzter zeit gar nicht selten +geschehen ist".</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<center> +<h4>From <i>"Boletin de Ferro-Carriles".</i>  Cadiz: 1862.</h4> +</center> +<p>"La novedad que nos comunica de +la existencia de traducciones tan acabadas +de nuestro grande é inimitable Calderon, +ostendando, hasta cierto punto, +las galas y formas del original, estamos +seguros será acogida con favor, si no +con entusiasmo, per los verdaderos +amantes de las letras españolas.  A ellos +nos dirijimos, recomendándoles el +último trabajo del Señor Mac-Carthy, +seguros de que participaran del mismo +placer que nosotros hemos experimentado +al examinar su fiel, al par que +brillante traduccion; y en cuanto á la +dificil tentativa de los asonantes +ingleses, nos sorpende que el Señor Mac-Carthy +haya podido sacar tanto parido, +si se considera la indole peculiar +de los dos idiomas".</p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<h3><i>Extracts from Letters addressed to the Author.</i></h3> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h4><i>From Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Esq.</i></h4> +<p><font size="-1">Cambridge, near Boston, +America, April 29, 1862.</font></p> +</center> +<p>"I thank you very much for your +new work in the vast and flowery fields +of Calderon.  It is, I think, admirable; +and presents the old Spanish dramatist +before the English reader in a very +attractive light.</p> +<p>"Particularly in the most poetical +passages you are excellent; as, for +instance, in the fine description of the +gerfalcon and the heron in 'El Mayor +Encanto'.—11 <i>Jor.</i></p> +<p>"Your previous volumes I have long +possessed and highly prized; and I +hope you mean to add more and more, +so as to make the translation as nearly +complete as a single life will permit.  +It seems rather appalling to undertake +the whole of so voluminous a writer.  +Nevertheless, I hope you will do it.  +Having proved that you can, perhaps +you ought to do it.  This may be your +appointed work.  It is a noble one.</p> +<p>"With much regard, I am, etc.,</p> +<center> +<p><b>"Henry W. Longfellow.</b></p> +</center> +<p><font size="-1">"Denis Florence Mac-Carthy, Esq.".</font></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<center> +<h4><i>From the Same.</i></h4> +<p><font size="-1">Nahant, near Boston, +August 10, 1857.</font></p> +</center> +<p><b>"My Dear Sir,</b></p> +<p>"Before leaving Cambridge to come +down here to the sea-side, I had the +pleasure of receiving your precious volume +of 'Mysteries of Corpus Christi'; +and should have thanked you sooner +for your kindness in sending it to me, +had I not been very busy at the time +in getting out my last volume of Dante.</p> +<p>"I at once read your work, with +eagerness and delight—that peculiar and +strange delight which Calderon gives +his admirers, as peculiar and distinct +as the flavour of an olive from that +of all other fruits.</p> +<p>"You are doing this work admirably, +and seem to gain new strength and +sweetness as you go on.  It seems as if +Calderon himself were behind you +whispering and suggesting.  And what +better work could you do in your +bright hours or in your dark hours +than just this, which seems to have been +put providentially into your hands!</p> +<p>"The extracts from the 'Sacred Parnassus' +in the <i>Chronicle,</i> which reached +me yesterday, are also excellent.</p> +<p>"For this and all, many and many thanks.</p> +<p>"Yours faithfully,</p> +<center> +<p><b>"Henry W. Longfellow.</b></p> +</center> +<p><font size="-1">"Denis Florence Mac-Carthy, Esq.".</font></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<center> +<h4><i>From George Ticknor, Esq., the +Historian of Spanish Literature.</i></h4> +<p><font size="-1">"Boston, 16th December, 1861.</font></p> +</center> +<p>"In this point of view, your volume +seems to me little less than marvellous.  +If I had not read it—indeed, if I had +not carefully gone through with the +<i>Devocion de la Cruz,</i> I should not +have believed it possible to do what you +have done.  Titian, they say, and some +others of the old masters, laid on +colours for their groundwork wholly +different from those they used afterwards, +but which they counted upon to +shine through, and contribute materially +to the grand results they produced.  +So in your translations, the +Spanish seems to come through to the +surface; the original air is always perceptible +in your variations.  It is like +a family likeness coming out in the +next generation, yet with the freshness +of originality.</p> +<p>"But the rhyme is as remarkable as +the verse and the translation; not that +you have made the asonante as perceptible +to the English ear as it is to the +Spanish; our cumbersome consonants +make that impossible.  But the wonder +is, that you have made it perceptible at +all.  I think I perceive your asonantes +much as I do those of August Schlegel +or Gries, and more than I do those of +Friederich Schlegel.  But he was the +first who tried them, and, besides, I am +not a German.  Would it not be amusing +to have the experiment tried in +French?"</p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<center> +<h4><i>From the Same.</i></h4> +<p><font size="-1">"Boston, March 20, 1867.</font></p> +</center> +<p>"The world has claims on you which +you ought not to evade; and, if the +path in which you walk of preference, +leads to no wide popularity or brilliant +profits, it is, at least, one you have +much to yourself, and cannot fail to +enjoy.  You have chosen it from faithful +love, and will always love it; I suspect +partly because it is your own choice, +because it is peculiarly your own".</p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<center> +<h4><i>From the Same.</i></h4> +<p><font size="-1">"Boston, July 3, 1867.</font></p> +</center> +<p>"Considered from this point of view, +I think that in your present volume +["Mysteries of Corpus Christi", or +"Autos Sacramentales" of Calderon] +you are always as successful as you +were in your previous publications of +the same sort, and sometimes more so; +easier, I mean, freer, and more happily +expressive.  If I were to pick out my +first preference, I should take your +fragment of the 'Veneno y Triaca', at +the end; but I think the whole volume +is more fluent, pleasing, and attractive +than even its predecessors".</p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<center> +<h4><i>From the first of English religious +painters.</i></h4> +<p><font size="-1">April 24, 1867.</font></p> +</center> +<p>"I cannot resist the impulse I have +of offering you my most grateful thanks +for the greatest intellectual treat I +have ever experienced in my life, and +which you have afforded me in the +magnificent translations of the divine +Calderon; for, surely, of all the poets +the world ever saw, he alone is worthy +of standing beside the author of the +Book of Job and of the Psalms, and +entrusted, like them, with the noble +mission of commending to the hearts +of others all that belongs to the beautiful +and true, ever directing the +thoughtful reader through the love of +the beautiful veil, to the great Author +of all perfection.</p> +<p>"I cannot conceive a nation can +receive a greater boon than being helped +to a love of such works as the religious +dramas of this Prince of Poets.  I have +for years felt this, and as your translations +appeared, have read them with +the greatest possible interest.  I knew +not of the publication of the last, and +it was to an accidental, yet, with me, +habitual outburst of praise of Calderon, +as the antidote and cure for the +trifling literature of the day, that my +friend (<i>the</i>) D—— made me aware of its +being out".</p> +<p>[The work especially referred to in +the latter part of this interesting letter +is the following: "Mysteries of Corpus +Christi (<i>Autos Sacramentales</i>), from +the Spanish of Calderon, by Denis Florence +Mac-Carthy".  Duffy, Dublin and London, +1867.]</p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<center> +<h3><i>Extracts from American and Canadian Journals.</i></h3> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h4><i>From an eloquent article in the "Boston +Courier", March 18, 1862, written by +George Stillman Hillard, Esq., the +author of "Six Months in Italy"—a +delightful book, worthy of the beautiful +country it so beautifully describes.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"Calderon is one of the three greatest +names in Spanish literature, Lope de +Vega and Cervantes being the other +two.  He is also a great name in the +universal realm of letters, though out +of Spain he is little more than a great +name, except in Germany, that land so +hospitable to famous wits, and where, +to readers and critics of a mystical and +transcendental turn, his peculiar genius +strongly commended him.  To form a +notion of what manner of man Calderon +was, we must imagine a writer +hardly inferior to Shakespeare in fertility +of invention and dramatic insight, +inspired by a religious fervour like that +of Doune or Crashaw, and endowed +with the wild and ethereal imagination +of Shelley.  But the religious fervour +is Catholic, not Protestant, Southern, +not Northern: it is intense, mystical, +and ecstatic: like a tongue of +upward-darting flame, it burns and trembles +with impassioned impulse to mingle +with empyrean fire.  The imagination, +too, is not merely southern, but with an +oriental element shining through it, +like the ruddy heart of an opal". . .</p> +<p>"But our purpose is not to speak of +Calderon, but of his translator Mr. +MacCarthy; and to make our readers +acquainted with his very successful +effort to reproduce in English some of +the most characteristic productions of +the genius of Spain, retaining even one +of the peculiarities in the structure of +the verse which has hardly ever been +transplanted from the soil of the +peninsula". . . .</p> +<p>"Mr. MacCarthy's translations strike +us as among the most successful experiments +which have been made to represent +in our language the characteristic +beauties of the finest productions of +other nations.  They are sufficiently +faithful, as may be readily seen by the +Spanish scholar, as the translator has +the courage to print the original and +his version side by side.  The rich, +imaginative passages of Calderon are +reproduced in language of such grace +and flexibility as shows in Mr. MacCarthy +no inconsiderable amount of +poetical power.  The measures of Calderon +are retained; the rhymed passages +are translated into rhyme, and +what is more noticeable still, Mr. MacCarthy +has done what no writer in English +has ever before essayed, except to +a very limited extent—he has copied +the <i>asonantes</i> of the original". . . .</p> +<p>"We take leave of Mr. MacCarthy +with hearty acknowledgments for the +pleasure we have had in reading his +excellent translations, which have given +us a sense of Calderon's various and +brilliant genius such as we never before +had, and no analysis of his dramas, +however full and careful, could +bestow".</p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<center> +<h4><i>From a Review of "Love the Greatest +Enchantment", etc., in the "New York +Tablet", July 19, 1862, written by the +gifted and ill-fated Hon. Thomas +D'Arcy M'Gee, of Montreal.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"This beautiful volume before us—like +virtue's self, fair within and without—is +Mr. Mac-Carthy's second contribution +to the Herculean task which +Longfellow cheers him on to continue—the +translation into English of the +complete works of Calderon.  Two +experimental volumes, containing six +dramas of the same author, appeared +in 1853, winning the well-merited +encomium of every person of true taste +into whose hands they happened to +fall.  The Translator was encouraged, +if not by the general chorus of popular +applause, by the precious and emphatic +approbation of those best entitled by +knowledge and accomplishments to +pronounce judgment.  So here, after +an interval of seven years, we have +right worthily presented to us three of +those famous <i>Autos,</i> which for two +centuries drew together all the multitude +of the Madrilenos, on the annual +return of the great feast of Corpus +Christi.  On that same self-same festival, +in a northern land, under a gray +and clouded sky, in the heart of a city +most unlike gay, garden-hued, out-of-door +Madrid, we have spent the long +hours over these resurrected dramas, +and the spell of both the poets is still +upon us, as we unite together, in dutiful +juxtaposition, the names of Calderon +and Mac-Carthy.</p> +<p>"How richly gifted was this Spanish +priest-poet! this pious playwright! this +moral mechanist! this devout dramatist!  +How rare his experience! how +broad the contrasts of his career, and +of his observation. . . . .  Happy +poet! blessed with such fecundity!  +Happy Christian! blessed with such +fidelity to the divine teachings of the +Cross. . . .</p> +<p>"Very highly do we reverence Calderon, +and very highly value his translator; +yet, if it be not presumptuous to +say so, we venture to suggest that +Mac-Carthy might find nearer home +another work still worthier of his genius +than these translations.  Now that +he has got the imperial ear by bringing +his costly wares from afar, are there +not laurels to be gathered as well in +Ireland as in Spain?  The author of +'The Bell-Founder', of 'St. Brendan's +Voyage', of 'The Foray of Con O'Donnell', +and 'The Pillar Towers', needs +no prompting to discern what abundant +materials for a new department of English +poetry are to be found almost +unused on Irish ground.  May we not +hope that in that field or forest he may +find his appointed work, adding to the +glory of first worthily introducing +Calderon to the English readers of +this century, the still higher glory of +doing for the neglected history of his +fatherland what he has chivalrously +done for the illustrious Spaniard".</p> +<p><a name="translations" id="translations"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<h2>A LIST</h2> +OF +<h2><i>Calderon's Dramas and Autos Sacramentales,</i></h2> +<i>Translated into English Verse</i> +<h3>BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY, M.R.I.A.</h3> +<hr width="20%" /> +<h3>THE PURGATORY OF SAINT PATRICK.</h3> +</center> +<p>"With the 'Purgatory of St. Patrick' +especial pains seem to have been +taken".</p> +<p>"Considerable license has been taken +with the prayer of St. Patrick; but its +spirit is well preserved, and the translator's +poetry must be admired".</p> +<p>"If Calderon can ever be made +popular here, it must be in the manner +generally adopted by Mr. Mac-Carthy +in the specimens, six in number, which +are here translated, preserving, namely, +the metrical form, which is one of the +characteristics of the old Spanish +drama.  This medium, through which +it partakes of the lyrical character, is +no accident of style, but an essential +property of that remarkable creation +of a poetic age—remarkable, because +while the drama so adorned was entirely +the offspring of popular impulse, +in opposition to many rigorous attempts +in favour of classical methods, it was +at the same time raised above the tone +of common expression by the rhythmical +mode which it assumed, in a +manner decisive of its ideal tendency.  +It thus displays a combination rare in +this kind of poetry: the spirit of an +untutored will, embodied in a form the +romantic expression of which might +seem only congenial to choice and +delicate fancies. . . . .</p> +<p>"In conclusion, what has now been +said of Calderon, and of the stage +which he adorned, as well as of the +praise justly due to parts of Mr. Mac-Carthy's +version, will at least serve to +commend these volumes to curious +lovers of poetry".</p> +<center> +<p><i>From an elaborate article in "The +Athenæum", by the late eminent Spanish +scholar, Mr. J. R. Chorley, on the +first two volumes of Mr. Mac-Carthy's +translations from Calderon.</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>THE CONSTANT PRINCE.</h3> +<h4><i>A Drama.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"In his dramas of a serious and devout +character, in virtue of their dignified +pathos, tragic sublimity, and religious +fervour, Calderon's best title to +praise will be found.  In such, above +all in his <i>Autos,</i> he reached a height +beyond any of his predecessors, whose +productions, on religious themes especially, +striking as many of them are, +with situations and motives of the +deepest effect, are not sustained at the +same impressive elevation, nor disposed +with that consummate judgment which +leaves nothing imperfect or superfluous +in the dramas of Calderon.  'The Constant +Prince' and 'The Physician of +his own Honour', which Mr. Mac-Carthy +has translated, are noble instances +representing two extremes of a large +class of dramas".</p> +<center> +<p><i>From the same article in "The Athenæum", +by J. R. Chorley.</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>THE PHYSICIAN OF HIS OWN +HONOUR.</h3> +</center> +<p>"'The Physician of his own Honour' +is a domestic tragedy, and must be one +of the most fearful to witness ever +brought upon the stage.  The highest +excess of dramatic powers, terror and +gloom has certainly been reached in +this drama".</p> +<center> +<p><i>From an eloquent article in "The Dublin +University Magazine" on "D. F. +Mac-Carthy's Calderon".</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>THE SECRET IN WORDS.</h3> +<h4><i>A Drama.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"The ingenious verbal artifice of +'The Secret in Words', although a +mere trifle if compared to the marvellous +intricacy of a similar cipher in +Tirso's 'Amar por Arte Mayor', from +which Calderon's play was taken—loses +sadly in a translation; yet the piece, +even with this disadvantage, cannot +fail to please".</p> +<center> +<p><i>J. R. Chorley in "The Athenæum".</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>THE SCARF AND THE FLOWER.</h3> +<h4><i>A Drama.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"The 'Scarf and the Flower', nice +and courtly though it be, the subject +spun out and entangled with infinite +skill, is too thin by itself for an interest +of three acts long; and no translation, +perhaps, could preserve the grace of +manner and glittering flow of dialogue +which conceal this defect in the +original".</p> +<center> +<p><i>J. R. Chorley in "The Athenæum".</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>LOVE AFTER DEATH.</h3> +<h4><i>A Drama.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"'Love after Death' is a drama full +of excitement and beauty, of passion +and power, of scenes whose enthusiastic +affection, self-devotion, and undying +love are drawn with more intense +colouring than we find in any other of +Calderon's works".</p> +<center> +<p><i>From an article in "The Dublin University +Magazine" on D. F. Mac-Carthy's +Calderon.</i></p> +</center> +<hr width="10%" /> +<p>"Another tragedy, 'Love after +Death', is connected with the hopeless +rising of the Moriscoes in the Alpujarras +(1568-1570), one of whom is its +hero.  It is for many reasons worthy +of note; amongst others, as showing +how far Calderon could rise above national +prejudices, and expend all the +treasures of his genius in glorifying +the heroic devotedness of a noble foe".</p> +<center> +<p><i>Archbishop Trench.</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>LOVE THE GREATEST ENCHANTMENT</h3> +<h4><i>A Drama.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"This fact connects the piece with +the first and most pleasing in the +volume, 'Love the greatest Enchantment', +in which the same myth [that +of Circe and Ulysses] is exhibited in a +more life-like form, though not without +some touches of allegory.  Here we +have a classical plot which is adapted +to the taste of Spain in the seventeenth +century by a plentiful admixture of +episodes of love and gallantry.  The +adventure is opened with nearly the +same circumstances as in the tenth +<i>Odyssey:</i> but from the moment that +Ulysses, with the help of a divine talisman, +has frustrated all the spells +(beauty excepted) of the enchantress, +the action is adapted to the manners of +a more refined and chivalrous circle".</p> +<center> +<p><i>"The Saturday Review" in its review +of "Mac-Carthy's Three Plays of +Calderon".</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>THE DEVOTION OF THE CROSS.</h3> +<h4><i>A Drama.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"The last drama to which Mr. Mac-Carthy +introduces us is the famous +'Devotion of the Cross'.  We cannot +deny the praise of great power to this +strange and repulsive work, in which +Calderon draws us onward by a deep +and terrible dramatic interest, while +doing cruel violence to our moral +nature. . . .  Our readers may be glad +to compare the translations which +Archbishop Trench and Mr. Mac-Carthy +have given us of a celebrated address +to the Cross contained in this +drama.  'Tree whereon the pitying +skies', etc.  Mr. Mac-Carthy does not +appear to us to suffer from comparison +on this occasion with a true poet, who +is also a skilful translator.  Indeed he +has faced the difficulties and given the +sense of the original with more decision +than Archbishop Trench".</p> +<center> +<p><i>"The Guardian", in its review of the +same volume.</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>THE SORCERIES OF SIN.</h3> +<h4><i>An Auto.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"The central piece, the 'Sorceries of +Sin', is an 'Auto Sacramental', or +Morality, of which the actors represent +Man, Sin, Voluptuousness, etc., Understanding, +and the Five Senses.  The +Senses are corrupted by the influence +of Sin, and figuratively changed into +wild beasts.  Man, accompanied by +Understanding and Penance, demands +their liberation and encounters no +resistance; but his free-will is afterwards +seduced by the Evil Power, and his +allies reclaim him with difficulty.  Yet +the plan of the apologue is embellished +with many ingenious conceits and artifices, +and conformed in the leading circumstances +with an Homeric myth—the +names of Ulysses and Circe being +frequently substituted for those of the +Man and Sin".</p> +<center> +<p><i>"The Saturday Review" on "Mac-Carthy's +Three Plays of Calderon".</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.</h3> +<h4><i>An Auto.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"The first <i>auto</i> translated is +'Belshazzar's Feast', a fortunate selection, +for it is probably unsurpassed in dramatic +effect and poetic description, and +withal is much less encumbered with +theology than most others".</p> +<center> +<p><i>From an article in "The New York +Nation", by a distinguished professor +of Cornell University, on "Mac-Carthy's +Translations of Calderon".</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>THE DIVINE PHILOTHEA.</h3> +<h4><i>An Auto.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"'The Divine Philothea', probably +the last work of the kind written by +Calderon, and as such worthy of attention, +inasmuch as it is the composition +of an old man of eighty-one, is conceived +with much boldness and executed +with marvellous skill.  No +fewer than twenty personages are represented +on the stage, and these have +their several parts allotted to them with +great discrimination, ingenuity, and +judgment.  The Senses, the Cardinal +Virtues; Paganism and Judaism; Heresy +and Atheism; the Prince of Light +and the Power of Darkness, figure +amongst the characters".</p> +<center> +<p><i>"The Bookseller", June 29, 1867, on +Mac-Carthy's "Mysteries of Corpus +Christi (Autos Sacramentales), from +the Spanish of Calderon".</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h3>THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN.</h3> +<h4><i>A Drama.</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"Of these 'The Wonder-working Magician' +is most celebrated; but others, +as 'The Joseph of Women', 'The +Two Lovers of Heaven', quite deserve +to be placed on a level if not higher +than it.  A tender pathetic grace is +shed over this last, which gives it a +peculiar charm".</p> +<center> +<p><i>Archbishop Trench.</i></p> +<hr width="10%" /> +<h4>Calderon's <i>Autos Sacramentales,</i> or +Mysteries of Corpus Christi.  Duffy: +Dublin and London, 1867.</h4> +<h4><i>From "The Irish Ecclesiastical +Record".</i></h4> +</center> +<p>"In conclusion, we heartily commend +to our readers this most interesting +and valuable specimen of Spanish +thought and devotion, wrought, as it is, +into such pure and beautiful +English. . . . .  When we remember the +great literary advantages which Spain +once possessed in the intellect and faith +of her literary giants, we may well +rejoice in the appearance among us of +one of the greatest of that noble race +in the person of Calderon, especially +when introduced to us by a poet whose +claim upon our consideration has been +so emphatically made good by his own +original productions as Denis Florence +Mac-Carthy".</p> +<p><a name="ads" id="ads"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<h3>THE SPANISH DRAMA</h3> +<hr width="10%" /> +<p><i>Just ready, double columns, price 2s. 6d.,</i></p> +<h2>THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN,</h2> +<i>From the Spanish of Calderon,</i> +<h3>BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY,</h3> +Author of <i>The Voyage of St. Brendan, The Bell-Founder,<br /> +Waiting for the May,</i> etc. +<p>DUBLIN: W. B. KELLY, 8 GRAFTON STREET.</p> +<hr width="20%" /> +<p>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</p> +<p>In one vol. small 4to, double columns, with the Spanish text,<br /> +beautifully printed by Whittingham, Price 7s. 6d.,</p> +<h2>THREE DRAMAS OF CALDERON,</h2> +FROM THE SPANISH, +<h3>BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.</h3> +<hr width="10%" /> +<p>From Ticknor's <i>History of Spanish Literature.</i></p> +<table><tr><td align="left"> +"It is, I think, one of the boldest attempts ever made in<br /> +English verse.  It is, too, as it seems to me, remarkably<br /> +successful . . . +<p>"Nothing, I think, in the English language will give us so<br /> +true an impression of what is most characteristic of the<br /> +Spanish drama: perhaps I ought to say, of what is most<br /> +characteristic of Spanish poetry generally".—tom. iii. pp.<br /> +461, 462.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>BERNARD QUARITCH, 15 PICCADILLY, LONDON.</p> +</center> +<p><a name="note-2004" id="note-2004"></a></p> +<hr width="75%" /> +<center> +<h3>Transcriber's Notes.</h3> +</center> +<ul> +<li><i>General.</i>  To simplify the Hypertext Markup Language +programming I have rendered most instances of S<font size="-2">MALL</font> +C<font size="-2">APITALS</font> as <b>bold text</b> (i.e. text within +<b> </b> tags) which I consider to be logically +comparable.  Bold text does not appear in the original printed +source book.</li> +<li><i>General.</i>  Only the most obvious of printer's errors have +been corrected in this electronic edition.  Some inconsistent use +of quotation marks and several forms of ellipses (with varying numbers +of dots and spaces) have been retained as originally published.  I +have also retained the original's format of contractions, namely to +include a space as in "I 'll" rather than "I'll."</li> +<li><i><a href="#contents">Contents</a>.</i>  The table of +contents is not in the original printed version of this play.  +I have added it in this HTML version to facilitate internal navigation +by hyperlinks.</li> +<li><i><a href="#play">Play</a>, General.</i>  Stage directions following +lines of spoken text are typically right justified in the printed source.  +In this electronic edition they simply follow the line of spoken text.</li> +<li><i><a href="#play">Play</a>, General.</i>  Various lines are indented +in the original to show continuation of a verse line from one speaker to the +next.  Above I have employed white/transparent graphics with different +numbers of horizontal pixels to approximate the relative indentation of these +lines as they appear in the printed source.</li> +<li><i><a href="#play">Play</a>, General.</i>  In a few places, Denis +Florence MacCarthy's (1817-1882) translation as published differs noticeably +from a Spanish (or more properly, <i>Castillano</i>) text of the drama, +published after this translation, available to this transcriber.  I do not +have access to the Spanish edition that Mr. MacCarthy used as the basis of his +translation, so perhaps a better preserved version of Pedro Calderón de la +Barca's (1600-1681) drama was discovered.  Or perhaps Mr. MacCarthy used +some poetic license in editing the drama.  Some differences may be due to +printer's errors.  Whatever the reason, I have noted below these +differences so that a reader comparing this e-book to a Spanish edition will not +be confused about these omission, and think them caused by a transcription error +of mine, or pages missing from the printed source.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a1s2">Act 1, Scene 2</a>.</i>  Ovid's 'Remedy of Love' is +referred to three times, but as 'Remedies of Love' on the third occasion.  +A Spanish text has "Remedio" the first time, and "Remedios" elsewhere.  I +have found references to the work as both 'Remedium Amoris' and 'Remedia +Amoris.'</li> +<li><i><a href="#a1s2">Act 1, Scene 2</a>.</i>  There is an apparent +discrepancy in the play.  Chloris is clearly present in the grove, and in +"Persons" is listed as one of four priestesses of Diana, yet the lines "We three +share;—'t is thy delight" and "For here three objects we behold" imply she +is not part of the group of priestesses.  There is no stage direction [such +as: (<i>Chloris sits behind a tree.</i>] in the printed source, nor in a Spanish +text of the play, to explain this.  Perhaps (as may be guessed from the +line "From their tender years go thither" in the previous scene) the character +is an acolyte or novice priestess played by a child.  She only appears in +this scene.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a1s2">Act 1, Scene 2</a>.</i>  "My blessings on your +choice and you! / . . . Are nothing to a pretty face."  A Spanish text +gives Escarpin seventeen lines here, rather than five.  The last dozen +lines contain a story of a clever vixen and a comely partridge.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a1s3">Act 1, Scene 3</a>.</i>  The line "Yes, God and Man +is Christ" is not indented in the printed source, but logically should be, and +is in a Spanish text of the play.  I have indented it above.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a1s3">Act 1, Scene 3</a>.</i>  The line "Why delay?  +Arrest them." in the printed source is shown as two lines ("Why delay? / Arrest +them."), but this seems to be a printer's error as it breaks the asonante verse +pattern.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a1s3">Act 1, Scene 3</a>.</i>  In order to preserve the +verse, I have indented the line "Why, why, O heavens!"</li> +<li><i><a href="#a2s1">Act 2, Scene 1</a>.</i>  I have indented the line +"What then?"</li> +<li><i><a href="#a2s1">Act 2, Scene 1</a>.</i>  With the line "Clemency in +fine had won," there is another apparent discrepancy in the play.  Polemius +is angry at Chrysanthus when the soldiers return in Act 1, Scene 3.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a2s3">Act 2, Scene 3</a>.</i>  In the line "Here the +jasmin doubly white," the word jasmine is spelt without an "e."</li> +<li><i><a href="#a2s3">Act 2, Scene 3</a>.</i>  In Nisida's song, in the +line "The blesséd rapture of forgetting", the printed source has "blessed" +without an acute accent on the second "e."  Because this line is repeated +twice more in the scene with the accent, I have added it to this first instance +in the text above.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a2s3">Act 2, Scene 3</a>.</i>  The printed source lists +Escarpin as the speaker of the lines "My lord, oh! hearken / To my song once +more."  A Spanish text indicates that Nisida speaks here, as is only +logical, so I have listed Nisida as speaker in the text above.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a2s3">Act 2, Scene 3</a>.</i>  There seems to be a gap in +the dialog after "Not myself, no aid is granted."  A Spanish text has four +additional lines here:  [D.] ¿Luego tú tan de su parte / +Estás, que á ellos los ensalzas? / [C.] Sí; que he visto muchas +cosas / Hoy en mi favor obradas.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a3s1">Act 3, Scene 1</a>.</i>  In a Spanish text, after +the line "I could listen to such nonsense?" Escarpin has five lines of +monolog.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a3s1">Act 3, Scene 1</a>.</i>  In a Spanish text the line +"Whence did sound the voice?" is spoken by Chrysanthus, which would naturally +agree with Polemius' reply to Chrysanthus immediately below.  Also, just +before this line, Chrysanthus says:  Sin mí me ha dejado á +mí.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a3s1">Act 3, Scene 1</a>.</i>  In the line "The two lover +saints of Heaven." the phrase "lover saints" is not hyphenated, although the +same phrase is hyphenated just before the end of the play.  The Spanish +text has "Los dos amantes del cielo" in both places.</li> +<li><i><a href="#a3s1">Act 3, Scene 1</a>.</i>  After the line "The two +lover saints of Heaven." there are forty lines of dialog between Escarpin and +Polemius.  In typical Escarpine style, it contains a story.  Here is a +free translation:  A man is on trial for killing his father and loving his +mother.  The judge berates the lawyer, "How dare you defend a man who has +committed the worst possible crime."  The lawyer replies, "I disagree, your +Honor, for to kill his mother and love his father would, indeed, have been a +worse crime."</li> +<li><i><a href="#a3s2">Act 3, Scene 2</a>.</i>  There is a break in the +asonante verse at the line "They the open country seek".</li> +<li><i><a href="#a3s2">Act 3, Scene 2</a>.</i>  In the line "So part pagan +and part christian", near the end of the scene, Christian is not capitalized in +the printed source.</li> +<li><i><a href="#three-note">Note 3</a>.</i>  The scene actually ends +on page 17 rather than 25 in the source publication.  This page +numbering problem also occurs in <a href="#twelve-note">Note 12</a> and +probably corresponds to a draught version of the publication—a detail +not caught in the final editing.  The last phrase of this note was +actually printed: "the fu  ll consonant rhyme."  As no letters +seem to logically fit in the empty space between "fu" and "ll," I have +replaced this with the word "full" in the text above.</li> +<li><i><a href="#twelve-note">Note 12</a>.</i>  This refers to +<a href="#five-note">Note 5</a>, which is actually on page 12 in the +source publication, rather than page 21.</li> +<li><i><a href="#thirteen-note">Note 13</a>.</i>  The Spanish text +in the section of the drama noted is in five-lined stanzas.  However, +although Mr. MacCarthy's English generally follows that metre here, he +does break the format in a several places.</li> +</ul> + +<hr /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Two Lovers of Heaven: Chrysanthus +and Daria, by Pedro Calderon de la Barca + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN *** + +***** This file should be named 12173-h.htm or 12173-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/1/7/12173/ + +Produced by Dennis McCarthy + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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