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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/36609-8.txt b/36609-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..617b72d --- /dev/null +++ b/36609-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3018 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Immortal Lure, by Cale Young Rice + +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 Immortal Lure + +Author: Cale Young Rice + +Release Date: July 4, 2011 [EBook #36609] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMMORTAL LURE *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, David E. Brown and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + + + + + + + + +THE IMMORTAL LURE + + + + + THE + IMMORTAL LURE + + + BY + CALE YOUNG RICE + + AUTHOR OF + A NIGHT IN AVIGNON, YOLANDA OF CYPRUS, CHARLES DI + TOCCA, DAVID, MANY GODS, NOWANA DAYS, ETC. + + + GARDEN CITY NEW YORK + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + MCMXI + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + + COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY CALE YOUNG RICE + PUBLISHED, FEBRUARY, 1911 + + + THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK + + + + + ----infinite passion and pain + Of finite hearts that yearn + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + GIORGIONE 1 + + ARDUIN 27 + + O-UMÈ'S GODS 51 + + THE IMMORTAL LURE 73 + + + + +GIORGIONE + + +CHARACTERS + + GIORGIONE _A Young Painter_ + ARETINO _A Dissolute Poet_ + TITIAN _Another Painter_ + BELLINI _The Former Master of Giorgione and Titian_ + GIGIA _An old woman serving Giorgione_ + and + ISOTTA + + + + +GIORGIONE + +SCENE: _A work-room of GIORGIONE on the edge of the Lagoon in which +lie the Campo Santo and Murano. It is littered with brushes, canvases, +casts, etc., and its walls are frescoed indiscriminately with saints and +bacchantes, satyrs and Madonnas, on backgrounds religious or woodland. A +door is on the right back; and foliate Gothic windows, in the rear, +reveal the magic water with its gliding gondolas. On a support toward +the centre of the room is a picture--covered, and not far from it, a +couch._ + +_Late Afternoon._ + +_GIORGIONE, who has been sitting anguished on the couch, rises with +determined bitterness. As he does so, BELLINI enters anxiously._ + + +_Bellini._ Giorgione! + +_Giorgione_ (_turning_). It is you? + +_Bellini._ Your word came to me, +In San Lazzario where I labored late, +And shakes my troubled heart. You will not do this! + +_Giorgione._ Yes! + +_Bellini._ How my son! her picture! as a wanton's! + +_Giorgione._ Tho it has been till now my adoration! +The fairest of my dreams and the most holy! +Yes, by the virtue of all honest women, +If such there be in Venice, +I swear it shall be borne by ribald hands +Thro the very streets. + +_Bellini._ My son! + +_Giorgione._ A public thing! + + [_Points to picture._ + +Fit for the most lascivious! who now +Shall gaze on what I had beheld alone, +On what was purer to me than the Virgin! +The very pimps and panders of the Piazza +Shall if they will whet appetite upon it, +And smack their losel lips. + +_Bellini._ And to what end? + +_Giorgione._ Her shame! + +_Bellini._ The deeds of wounded pride and love +Work not so, but fall back upon the doer-- +Or on some other. + +_Giorgione._ I care not! + +_Bellini._ Nor have, +Ever, to heed me! as Aretino, +Who turns your praise to Titian, has told. +For your wild will runs ever without curb, +And I who reared you, as my very own, +Must pay the fall. + +_Giorgione._ No! + +_Bellini._ And the piety +I would have won you to in the past days +Is wasted. The Madonnas +I painted with a heart inspired of Heaven +You paint with pride. + +_Giorgione._ But with all gratitude! +Ah yes, believe me, +And with a rich remembrance! +For scarce oblivion could wipe from me +How as a wasted lad I came to Venice-- +A miserable, patched and pallid waif, +With but an eye to see and hand to shape! +You took me from the streets and taught me all +The old can teach the young, until my name +Is high in Venice-- +Linked with that of Beauty-- +"Giorgione! our Giorgione!" do they cry +On the canals, the very gondoliers. +And in a little while it should have glowed +Immortal on the breast of Italy, +As does Apelles on the page of Greece, +For I was half-divine, until---- + +_Bellini._ Until +A girl whom you had fixed your heart upon +With boundless folly, you who should have lived +With but one passion--that of brain and brush-- +Until she---- + +_Giorgione._ Say it! + +_Bellini._ This Isotta---- + +_Giorgione._ Ai! +Whom I had chosen o'er a hundred others +To soar with! +To soar and then in wedded peace to prize! +This false Isotta +Whom in poverty +I found, as you found me, and loved to madness. +This fair Isotta +Whom I would have made +All Venice to be a halo for--as were +Cities of old for queens of sceptred love: +Until she leaves, departs, forsakes me, goes +Away, worthless away, from my true arms, +With Luzzi, a lank boy. + +_Bellini._ So. And most strange. + +_Giorgione._ No, nothing a woman does is ever strange! +Will they not cloak a lie in innocence, +A treachery in veiling soft caresses-- +Tho to the Mass unceasingly they fare +And say like her their aves night and noon? +Have they a want that wantons not with guile, +A tear that is not turgid with deceit? +Are not their passions blown by every wind? +Have they not all the straying heart of Helen? +Then why must I, +Who had in me a hope +That rivalled Raphael's or Leonardo's, +Keep, cozened so, that I contemn her shame? + +_Bellini._ Because she is a woman--whom you tempted, +Tho with all trust to wed her--and you know not +Whether her going was of shamelessness. + +_Giorgione_ (_laughing bitterly_). +Or whether she may not yet return, today, +And with a heart that is a nymph's, a soul +That is a nun's, +Beguile me back to doting? +Whether she may not-- +With that body God +Might once, deceived, have moulded angels after--? +Then flaunt her thralling of me to the world, +Whose ready lips should laugh where'er we went +And whisper, "Isotta, there! Giorgione's mistress! +Who makes a mocking of him?" + +_Bellini._ Never! never! +Only your unrelenting brain would think it. +For this I know of her, that tho she has +Deserted you for what must seem to be +Only a new-found passion-- +Yet is she womanly, and did you give her, +As now you mean, to avid lusting eyes, +Life would be smitten from her. + +_Giorgione._ As it should! + +_Bellini._ And then from you, repentant of her fate? +No, no, my son, I have not seen you rise, +A planet from the sea, the world's first painter, +To set in this: +You owe my fathering more. +And listen, I have brought to you a way +Of laurels for forgetting. I have come +With a commission from the Signoria, + + [_Takes it from his breast._ + +Which names you the chief glory of this city +And votes you proud permission to adorn +San Marco's highest altar with perfection. + +_Giorgione._ And which I spurn, an insult in its pity! + + [_Flings it from him._ + +As they shall learn--these silk and velvet Signors, +Whose condescending ducats buy the dreams +Of the immortal! +Or no!... I meant not that--to wound a kindness. + +_Bellini._ Your ways have ever been the ways of wounding. + +_Giorgione._ And to the end must be. (_Brokenly_) For now my hand +Is palsied! I can never paint again. +Colour and shaping light turn in my soul +To chaos and to blindness--to despair! +The brush I lift, to sterile pain more loth! +I yearn and impotence alone arises. +That picture has dried beauty's vein within me +And left me ... Ah!... She shall atone it! (_calls_) Gigia! +Shameless she is and shall be seen it!--Gigia!-- + + [_Bitterly._ + +Aretino, who is the tongue of lewdness, +And Titian, who trips to it, may gloat, + + [_GIGIA hobbles in._ + +But they---- + +_Bellini._ Giorgione! you have sent for them? + +_Giorgione (_to GIGIA_). Whoever seeks my door is bidden--all! + +_Gigia._ Yes, Messer Giorgio. + +_Giorgione_ (_as she delays_). Go. + +_Gigia._ Before I speak? + +_Giorgione._ Of what? + +_Gigia._ How can I tell you, if I may +Not speak? And you should hear ... (_Crossing herself_) It is the + plague. +A whisper is about +That it has broken out at last in Venice. + + [_GIORGIONE staring at her, trembles and seems slowly + stricken--while his eyes fill as with some evil irrecoverable + remembrance._ + +_Bellini_ (_fearing for him_). Giorgione! + +_Giorgione._ Oh!... and yet ... nothing ... a dream +That came to me last night--as if from death. + +_Bellini._ Then, O my son, it is a premonition, +A pall against this purpose! that you may +Not let these ribald two-- +Aretino, this poet and depraver, +And Titian snared within his pagan senses, +Enter and gaze upon.... O boy, you will not! +Despoil the picture, +Scatter it to the seas, +And vow never again to paint another, +Tho that would break my heart, but promise me---- + + [_A knocking interrupts, and a voice without calls lustily_: + + _Voice_: The gods of paint and passion ever gird us! + +Where's Messer Giorgione? Ho! Ho, ho! + + [_GIGIA hurries out._ + +_Giorgione_ (_after a pause, calling_). Aretino! + +_Aretino._ Ai, light of ladies' eyes! +And with him a better! Shall we sing for entrance? +(_Begins_)--A wench I had, + But where is she--? + A-ho! +Old Gigia, is it? Then we come apace, + + [_Enters leeringly with TITIAN._ + +Like satyrs to the piping of Adonis! + + [_With irony._ + +A health to you, O heaven-born of Venice! + + [_To BELLINI._ + +And to you, glorious dauber of Madonnas! +But, bah! the smell of melancholy! Come, +What is it? The tale is out about the maid? +And therefore tears? + + [_Laughs._ + +Well, by the lids of Venus, Giorgio, +It serves you well--or Eve was not a woman! +There were too many ripe for your assay. +Why, I believe that every damsel's lips +On the lagoons were pinched with longing for you! + +_Titian._ Or enough, at least, to send spleen, Giorgio, +Into my eyes. + +_Giorgione._ They will no more, Titian. + +_Aretino._ In sooth! for since one wench in all the world +Prefers another, he will play the monk! +Since she, the amorous sun-kissed Isotta, +Had charms too fair for _one_ to satisfy! +And yet--to choose this Luzzi, +This swaddling acolyte of Innocence, +For her new light-o'-love! to choose him out, +When, for a whiff, she might have had my arms---- + + [_GIORGIONE quivers._ + +O, Titian, by the gods! + +_Bellini._ Aretino!... + +_Giorgione._ Stay, let him speak, my master, as he wills. + +_Aretino._ I say then, Seraph, of your amorosa, +That she deceived me-- +That I thought her dreams +Were chaster than the moon, or by my beard, +Which is not born, I should have tricked her senses +Away from you ... if lies and treachery +And tempting honeyed verses could have done it! +For an Elysium like her warm round body +I never looked upon. + +_Bellini._ Aretino! + +_Giorgione._ Peace! he shall speak! for this is what should be. + +_Aretino._ Ai, Messer Bellini, and your age forgets +That he is well consoled with the dear thought +That her first joy was his. + +_Bellini._ Ah!... + +_Aretino._ And that vision--! +Why, I have peeped upon her face, no farther. +But to have seen the beauty he has seen, +The Aphrodite-dream of loveliness, +I would have dared virginity's last door. + +_Giorgione._ Then you shall see it. + +_Bellini._ My son! + +_Giorgione._ Yes, tho I die! + +_Aretino._ How, what is this? + +_Giorgione_ (_going to picture_). Aretino, Titian-- +You are here, tho there is less than love between us: +For, pardon, if I say that you sometimes +Have loathed my triumphs. + +_Titian._ That is so, Giorgione. +But with the brush I yet shall equal them. + +_Giorgione._ You shall surpass them. For my last is done. + +_Titian._ Come, do you jest? + +_Giorgione._ My last, and it is there! + + [_Points to picture._ + +There that you two whose tongues have been so busy +About the streets with laughing and innuendo, +From ear to ear with jest and utter joy-- +You, Titian, a sycophant of Fame, +And you, Aretino, who incarnate lust, +May know that Giorgione is above you. +You coveted Isotta with your eyes, +Now you shall have her as shall all the world! + + [_Flings the curtain back from the picture then sinks to the couch._ + + _As they gaze on the unclothed form, BELLINI turns away, when he + sees ISOTTA enter. She is pale and ill, but moves smilingly down + toward GIORGIONE, till happening to see the picture, she gives a + deep cry._ + + _GIORGIONE, springing to his feet, dazedly beholds her._ + +_Bellini_ (_speechless till he sees ISOTTA'S pallor_). +Isotta! you are ill!... O would my breath +Had never lasted to this evil hour--! +Shall I not bring the leech? (_when she does not answer; to GIORGIONE_) +This price has pride! + + [_He goes: then ARETINO and TITIAN. The curtain falls back._ + +_Isotta_ (_whose eyes have closed_). +The flesh of women is their fate forever! +My poor, poor body! all I had to give +So desecrated. + +_Giorgione_ (_hoarsely_). Why have you come here? + +_Isotta._ To see Messer Giorgione--who is brave. + + [_Smiles as one shattered._ + +To hear Messer Giorgione--who is gentle +And honourable to women who are weak. +To--heal Messer Giorgione--then to die! + +_Giorgione._ Rather to kill! + +_Isotta._ Why, it may be. If love +Still leads me, it were best that it be slain. + +_Giorgione._ The love of a wanton? + +_Isotta_ (_slowly_). Who beholds her body +Given ... to unabated eyes--yet lives? +I think it must be so. + +_Giorgione._ Alluring lies! +Out of pale lips of treachery but lies! +You have returned to me, whom you have cursed +With craving for you, +With an immortal love, +Because this lisping Luzzi, +With whom you fled, weary of falsity, +Has cast you off. + +_Isotta_ (_gently_). Kind Luzzi! + +_Giorgione._ Ah! and blind? +Not knowing that you now are here again, +Where you disrobed to my adoring soul, +But thinking that you wait him with fair eyes +Of fond expectancy--as once for me! +Believing that your breath is beating only +With ecstasy for him! + +_Isotta._ He is--but Luzzi! + +_Giorgione._ And I but Giorgione, smiling quean! + + [_She turns paler._ + +But Giorgione, a vassal to your sway? +Back to your orgies! and may Venus, goddess +Of black adulteries, but not of love, +Be with them! May your blood, that I believed +Vestal to all but me, run vile with passions +As any nymph's of Bacchus! +May your body, +That I have painted here, be to all time +An image of soul-cheating chastity! + + [_His words have struck her down--and overwhelm him._ + +O, I am lost, lost, lost forevermore. + + [_Falls into a seat._ + +_Isotta_ (_at length, from the couch, gathering strength_). +No, I have come for saving, Giorgione. +Now I can speak--but there is little time, +(_Strangely_) For Night is coming. + +_Giorgione_ (_startled to questioning_). Isotta? + +_Isotta._ The still Night, +With Death's dark Gondola to waft me o'er. + + [_Then as he realizes._ + +Nay, stay, stay! leave me not. There is no help. +For it must be.... A voice Beyond has said it. +And ere I drift out on the darkening ebb---- + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! + +_Isotta._ Peace must be Giorgione's too. + +_Giorgione._ Speak--yet it cannot be--my heart is dead. + +_Isotta._ Then it shall rise again.--O Giorgione, +My lover once and lord, could you believe, +Even tho I went away from you and with +Another, that unchastity could touch +This body which had been holy to you? + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! + +_Isotta._ It is true that I deceived you, + + [_With mystic fervor._ + +True that I went away from you and wed +Another---- + +_Giorgione._ Ah! + +_Isotta._ And yet it was not Luzzi! + + [_As he gazes._ + +Do you not know? you who so oft have told +On saintly walls the Magdalen's sad tears? +Sin, sin had seized me! +Sin with you to whom +I gave my body and soul unboundedly. +We revelled in unwedded ecstasy, +Laughed in our love over the starred lagoons. +Sang till the lute was like a thing that lived, +Danced happy as the fauns and nereids +That oft you told me of-- +And clasped and kissed, +O kissed--until I knew that but one way +Was left to save my soul, Giorgione, one-- +To wed me with the vows and veil to Christ. + + [_Gazes at a crucifix._ + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! + +_Isotta._ I am His! I fled to Him! +The Convent opened its grey arms to take me, +Santa Cecilia of the Healing Heart, +And Luzzi kindly led me to its door-- +That you might so be foiled of following. +And with long vigils, fasts and penances +And prayers I sought oblivion of your face. +Until this illness strangely fell upon me. +I could not die until you, shriven too.... + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! My Isotta! + + [_Falls penitent before her, weeping._ + +_Isotta_ (_her heart eased_). Peace, at last. + +_Giorgione_ (_rising_). Ah yes! and I am viler than the vilest! +For who remembers not that purity +Is priceless, ends impoverished of honour. +And yet ... there is no wrong irreparable! +And you must live tho all the angels die-- +Live and be loosed from vows too vainly breathed, +That wedded we may win again delight! +Still I am Giorgione, and the sin +That we have sinned shall be painted away +With holy pictures ... + +_Isotta._ Only the dead are holy, +Or they who die, tho living, to the world. + + [_Sees the picture._ + +And eyes have looked upon me-- +Hot eyes that burn my body up with shame. +Farewell, the tide will cool me, the lone wave +That washes in from Lido to my grave. + + [_Looks toward the Campo Santo._ + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! + +_Isotta_ (_fainter_). Night, the Night!... + +_Giorgione._ O stay!... + +_Isotta_ (_in a fixed vision_) It comes, +The Gondola! (_as if to an unseen Presence_) Row on, row on. + + [_She dies. He sinks beside her stricken and still._ + + _GIGIA enters._ + +_Gigia._ Messer Giorgione, one has come to say---- + + [_Sees them, goes near and lifts ISOTTA'S hand. Then, + dropping it with terror._ + +The plague! the plague! Ah! + +_Giorgione_ (_rising_). Woman, is it true? + + [_GIGIA flees._ + +(_Mortally moved_) +Isotta, this kiss then of all the kisses +That I have slain thee with will God who dwells +In universal chastity forgive. + + [_He kneels and presses his lips fervently to hers._ + + +CURTAIN + + + + +ARDUIN + +CHARACTERS + + ARDUIN (_of Provence_) _An Alchemist_ + ION _His Nephew_ + RHASIS _An Arab, his attendant and assistant_ + MYRRHA _A Greek Girl_ + + + + +ARDUIN + +TIME: _The Fifteenth Century._ + +PLACE: _Egypt._ + +SCENE: _The laboratory of ARDUIN in a house on Nile opposite Cairo. It +is a large room on the walls of which mystic figures of the Hermetic +philosophy are drawn, together with the zodiac and other astronomical +signs; and many strange objects, animal and mineral, are to be seen +placed about. In the rear centre is a large sarcophagus. On either side +broad window openings reveal the Egyptian night, and one frames the +moonlit Sphinx and Pyramids. Toward the right front is a furnace with +alembics, retorts, etc.; right and left are doors, and on the left and +back another alcove before which hang curtains. Lamps burn._ + +_RHASIS, who is busy about the furnace, in a troubled manner, lifts a +skull and is gazing at it, when ION enters suddenly and stops, pale +with purpose._ + + +_Ion._ Rhasis---- + +_Rhasis_ (_starting and looking round_). Young master Ion! what is this? + + [_Drops the skull._ + +Why have you left the city and come here? +Are you aware what hour you have chosen? + +_Ion._ That of his dreams. I learned today: yet came. + +_Rhasis._ And wherefore? + +_Ion._ To restrain calamity, +Which must await his reasonless belief-- +And to regain his love that I have lost. + +_Rhasis._ And have not pondered what calamity +Would fall on you +Who would not learn his Art, +But from its heritage to penury turned, +If here and now he saw you +At this hour +When he believes that he shall raise the dead? + +_Ion._ His curse; for he would think me come to thwart him, +And that I had forgot whatever wrong, +Unexpiated still, my father did him; + + [_Looks at sarcophagus._ + +And yet I will not go, for I have purposed-- +And you tonight shall help me--(_pauses_) + +_Rhasis._ Unto what? + +_Ion._ Forgiveness of my disobedience-- +That may be won from him with Myrrha's face. + +_Rhasis._ Myrrha's! + +_Ion._ Which can alone of earthly sights, +If what you tell of his dead wife be true: +And well you know it is!--He must behold her-- +And hear our pleading. + +_Rhasis._ At an hour like this! + +_Ion._ Let her be placed yonder within those curtains, +While he is mingling here his mysteries, +And when he---- + +_Rhasis._ By the Prophet who is Allah's, +Myrrha! Within this chamber! and tonight! + + [_Ion goes to the door and leads Myrrha in._ + +Is there no heed in youth or hesitation, +But only hurrying want! Do you not know +He is without there, at this moment, saying +Unto the seven planets in their spheres, +The seven incantations against death? +And that he---- + +_Ion._ I know only he must see her. + +_Rhasis._ And of all nights in the world, only tonight! + +_Myrrha._ No, Ion! let us go. I fear this place, +Its strangeness and that still sarcophagus +Appal me. + +_Ion._ And make you forget our love, +And the long bridal-hope of it deferred? + +_Rhasis._ Young master, she does not, in penury too! +But pleas tonight would ope no nuptial way. +Better than you I know it is not wise. +For ten years is it +I have dwelt with him +While he has sought in vain this great Elixir. +Ten passings of the pilgrims off to Mecca +His wife has lain in that sarcophagus, +Embalmed and waiting, as he thinks, to rise. +And now, this hour, he hopes that it shall be. + +_Ion._ And should it, will he not the more forgive me? +Or should it not, then seeing Myrrha's face, +Myrrha whom you have said is so much like her, +Will he not---- + +_Myrrha._ Ion, no! but might--I fear! +So fond his grief is and unfaceable! +Let us return again unto the city +And to my kindred who will hold us dear. + + [_Starting._ + +Listen, is it not he? (_Rhasis goes to window_) Take me away! + +_Ion._ And have him at the breaking of his dream +With none near--and our love's desire be lost? + +_Myrrha._ It will not: let us wait another time! + +_Ion._ Than this when most your face would deeply move him? +I cannot, and 'twould shame me! for you know +How dear to him is his dead wife who lies there, + + [_Takes her hand._ + +And know our severed days! +And shall we bend the knee to cowardice, +Which ever has a premonition ready, +When you who are so like her might tonight---- + + [_She starts back, for RHASIS, exclaiming, leaves the window._ + +_Rhasis._ He comes. + +_Ion._ Now? + +_Rhasis._ Go: or take this on yourselves. + +_Ion._ Upon me be it! For there is no rest +Until his pardon weds us--and I pay him. + +_Rhasis._ Then but a word remains, young master, more: +To tell you--that I fear--lest thro long toil, +His mind.... + +_Myrrha._ Oh! (_recoils_) + +_Ion._ It is not true!... No Myrrha! no! + + [_Takes her in his arms._ + +And is ingratitude I scorn to heed. + + [_Turns away._ + +Come then and by your beauty's likeness win him. + + [_He leads her behind the curtains then goes, door left. A moment, + which leaves RHASIS distraught, and ARDUIN enters. He pauses, as if + at some presence; then, gazing on the sarcophagus, shudders with + hope and comes down._ + +_Arduin._ The night at last when I again shall clasp her +And banish death to biers beyond the stars! + +_Rhasis_ (_kneeling_). Master! + +_Arduin._ Rise up and never kneel again! +For from henceforth +I shall be lord of life, +The secret of the phoenix in my hand. + + [_Lifts an alembic._ + +Gray have I grown in quest of it and old, +Youthless and as a leper to delight, +But it has come at last--at last has come! + + [_Sets vessel down._ + +_Rhasis._ And I rejoice, master, for I have toiled +With you these many years--but is it sure? + +_Arduin._ As the moon is in heaven! as the skies! + + [_In an ecstasy._ + +For last night I beheld +In dreams deeper than day how it must be. +I saw a tomb far-hidden in the earth +And Life within it +Mixing salt and sulphur-- +Twin elements +Of the great trinity. +I saw her hands pour out quick mercury +Upon a bat's wing wrought with hieroglyphics, +And then I saw her cast in gold and silver +That melted with strange voice and sudden flame, +The while she gazed on me most meaningly. +And then ... when all was done.... + + [_The vision consuming him._ + +My wife, my Rhea, lit with loveliness +And as a spirit clad with resurrection, +Rose up within my dream ... fair, young and glad!... + +_Rhasis._ But, master ... are dreams true? + +_Arduin._ Such dreams as these? + + [_Kindling._ + +_Rhasis._ Pardon! I know not--only that you say +Some come of Ophiuchus-- +The demon you have warned me of--who oft +With thwarting laugh has struck the secret from you.... +Many before have followed the mirage +Of dreams--but to more thirst: trust not too much! + +_Arduin._ But fear? fear? you are falling from me too? +Like Ion the son of him who ... you? you too? +At the prime moment? + +_Rhasis._ No, my master, no! +But I would spare you pain unbearable. + +_Arduin._ Ha! and believe--you do?--that all wise men +Of all the world could so have been deceived? +Believe--do, do?--that she _cannot_ arise? +Did not great Hermes say of the Elixir +It should be found-- +And did not Polydos, +The Greek, chancing upon it, raise his friends +In battle slain?... +Did not the Jew of Galilee, the Christ, +Whom even you name Prophet, likewise win it? + + [_Peacelessly._ + +Speak! + +_Rhasis._ Master, yes!... But O! trust not too much. +Wiser, I know, than all Arabia +Are you--like to Mahomet--were it not +That you have set within your heart a woman. +But if, perchance, the Elixir does not prove---- + +_Arduin._ Availing? Have not all things pointed to it? +The day she died +Did I not hear a voice +That breathed into my brain she should arise? +And as I waited did a book of wisdom +Not chance into my hands to show the way? +Were the first words I read not, _In ten years +The miracle shall come-- +Revealed to you within the land of the Sphinx_? + +_Rhasis._ So read it, so! But---- + +_Arduin._ Is this not that land? +Are not those stones the pyramids that thro +The ages have stood waiting for this hour-- +When I shall bring her beauty back, today? +Is not that face the Sphinx, +Whose timeless and intemperable meaning +No man has read in desert, star, or sea, +But which must be the secret I unsphere? + +_Rhasis._ O master! + +_Arduin._ Fail, fail, fail? now to restore her? +Who died as you shall know, here ere she rises, +Because my brother--aieh! the father of Ion-- +Who bore as well that name-- +Desiring her, vilely accused her---- + +_Myrrha_ (_involuntarily, behind curtains_). Oh!... + +_Arduin_ (_bewildered_). Who spoke? It was her voice? + + [_Runs to sarcophagus._ + +_Rhasis._ No, master, no!... + +_Arduin_ (_slowly returning_). +Fail, fail to bring her fairness from the tomb! +Her face which can alone sow finitude's +Fell desolation with enverdured dreams +And fill the ways of the world again with hope? +I tell you she eternal must arise-- +Tho God die for it! + + [_Begins to gird himself._ + +Must!... and the hour is now!-- +Venus is in the house of ready Taurus, +The moon is full, and as I toiled today, + + [_Goes to furnace._ + +From the alembic a strange cloud arose, +And once again her face!... Prepare! prepare! + +_Rhasis._ I will do all you say. But, master, if---- + +_Arduin_ (_immitigably_). No death-word more of doubt. It is the power +Which holds us futile from omnipotence. +Mete out the sulphur +Into the alembic +Of Cleopatra's crystal.--I must see her! + + [_Rhasis hastens._ + +See her again, my Rhea, as she was, +When plucking first the poppies of Provence! +And hear flow from her +Words sweeter than Memnon's in the wind of dawn! +Here's gold and silver (_hands them_). She shall rise and say: +"Years pale you, pale your brow, my Arduin, +And touch to gray the treasure of your hair, +But not Antinous could be so fair +To me--or wonderful: +For you have brought me from the cold tomb to life!..." +The bat's wing then! And to the sarcophagus +To lift its lid! for I will wait no longer---- + + [_Takes alembic, as Rhasis obeys, and continues invokingly_: + +But now, vial of immortality! +By the presaging of the seven planets, +And by the searchless sources of the Nile, +And by the prayers of Christian and of Heathen, +And by the elements earth, air and fire, +That hold within their intermingled veins +The secret of illimitable life-- +By fate and time and God--I here conjure you +Bring forth the Elixir which shall make her rise! + + [_He pours the ingredients, and quickly fumes arise. They clear and + a liquid is seen in the bottom of the glass. With a cry he starts + toward the sarcophagus, when Myrrha's face--which, excited, has + parted the curtains--stops him enspelled. Rhasis, unnerved, quits + the room--leaving them agaze._ + +_Arduin_ (_at length, as if to a spirit_). +I do not dream?... you have arisen?... Rhea! + + [_Starting toward her._ + +Arisen ere I touched you?--O fear not! +For I am Arduin! do you not know me? + + [_She trembles speechless._ + +O wonderful awaking! O ... at last! +Tho yet the memory of the tomb is on you!... +This land is Egypt, whither in my grief +I brought you, my dead bride! Look on me! see! + + [_Stops quickly._ + +But no, not yet! until my youth comes back, +As now it will, +Over the sea from France! +Already passion lifts away the years +That weight its wings and I am as I was. +Now gaze upon me, now! Is it not I? + +_Myrrha._ Sir--! + +_Arduin._ Sir! O quickly see. For to my breast +Again has striving brought you, to my bosom! +The bitter nights are ended--the blind pits +Sleepless and infinite. Awake! stare not +So strangely! press your lips in praise to mine, +Your breast upon my breast!... Delay you still? + +_Myrrha._ O sir--! + +_Arduin._ See, see! the years have been too long. + + [_Clasps her, dropping alembic._ + +My arms have waited an infinitude. + + [_She struggles._ + +Do you not now remember with my lips +To yours, the brimming beauty of our youth? + +_Myrrha._ Release me! + +_Arduin._ Awake and know me! It is I! +Your lover Arduin whom once you wooed: +Whose every word was to you as a wind +Of God! whose every kiss.... Do you not see? + +_Myrrha._ No, no! I'm not your love-- + +_Arduin._ Not--? You uprisen? +Has the tomb treachery to change the soul? +Ye skies, must I go mad now at this moment +When I have brought her back from destiny? +Not mine?... Awake! Oblivion enthralls you. + + [_Suddenly starting from her._ + +Or is it that there in the grave, another--? + +_Myrrha._ No, no! but-- + +_Arduin._ Ha, then! if not--if it be not-- +Is it that here returned you wish another? +You who so gaze upon my goaded brow +And face grown old with toil to conquer death? +O youth ruthless to age! e'en tho its furrows +Were got for your delight!--Ingratitude!-- +Have I so hungered thro long years to pluck +A flower of Hell back to the light!... No, No! +It cannot be!... You shall be mine! + +_Myrrha_ (_in terror_). Sir, sir! + +_Arduin._ Mad will I be, as they have thought me, mad +In holding that which I have given life. + +_Myrrha._ But you mistake!... I am not what you think. +Hear me, for I love one who---- + +_Arduin._ Is not--I? + + [_As to invisible judges._ + +You hear her say it? + +_Myrrha._ O, I love but Ion, +Your-- + +_Arduin._ Ion, my brother! Then, God! it was true, +And being true thy Heaven is but a brothel! +She was unfaithful to me, as he said! +And in the other world has met and clasped him! + +_Myrrha._ No, let me speak! + +_Arduin._ And spurn me more with it? +Shall I abide mockery like a mummy! +Ha-ha! (_A laugh that racks him._) +Years but to hear her say that she loves him! +To see her come back from the grave, where she +Has still embraced him, still--and to my face, +On which the rage of sleepless toil is wrought, +Tell me.... She shall die for it! God, whose stars +Are vermin, she shall die! + +_Myrrha._ O! + +_Arduin_ (_frenziedly_). Die, die, die! +As trustless women should: until no womb +Of lies is left in the world! Die, and be shut +Again into the curst sarcophagus +From whence I brought her ... + +_Myrrha_ (_in his grasp_). Sir!--help!--sir! do not! +O, I will love you! + +_Arduin._ Liar! and turn from him +Whom you betrayed me for--and swear again +False love to me? Then ... in the tomb do it! + + [_Begins to choke her._ + +_Myrrha._ O! + +_Arduin._ Aieh! cry out to him! will he not help you? + +_Myrrha._ Ion! + +_Arduin._ That word withering in your throat +Shall stale you past all hope of resurrection. + + [_Strangles her--and then looks around._ + +So, it is done.... And now, back to your tomb, +Which I will bury in the desert sands +So deep that not eternity can find it. + + [_Begins to draw her toward sarcophagus._ + +And yet (_stopping stricken_) all is not well ... I now could weep. + + [_With lone anguish._ + +I know not wherefore--only that my heart +Is wounded and seems bleeding o'er the hours +That I must live!... O Rhea!... O, my love! + + [_Strangely kissing her._ + +Do you not hear the nightingale that sang +The song of our betrothal in Provence? +It sits upon.... + + [_Changing again._ + +Accursed face! accurst! forevermore! +Within the tomb lie (_dragging her_) blind, deaf, motionless, +Until-- + + [_Looking into the coffin becomes transfixed, while MYRRHA'S limp + body slips slowly from his arms. He gazes at her, at his wife, and + tries to understand. But cannot, and so, standing long troubled, + moans_: + +I am not well; perchance Rhasis will come +And tell me what it is that I desired. +Men should not toil o'ermuch; there's madness in it. + + [_Then seeing MYRRHA'S face and starting from it wildly_: + +Rhasis! Rhasis! Rhasis!... Oh-oh-oh-oh! + + [_Runs madly off right, as ION and RHASIS enter left. They look + around, see MYRRHA and rush to her--with a cry._ + + +CURTAIN + + + + +O-UMÈ'S GODS + + +CHARACTERS + + O-UMÈ _A Samurai Girl_ + AMA _Her Servant, an old woman_ + SANKO _A Young Samurai_ + and + A YOUNG JESUIT PRIEST + + + + +O-UMÈ'S GODS + +TIME: _The Sixteenth Century._ + +PLACE: _Japan._ + +SCENE: _A room in the house of O-Umè in a province near the sea. +Its_ shoji, _or sliding paper doors, open in the rear upon a +wistaria arbor over-hanging a river, upon which lighted lanterns, +sent forth on the night of the Feast of the Dead, are dimly +floating; while the moon above gleams upon the pale distant +snow-cone of Fujiyama. The room with its deep straw mats and walls +delicately portrayed with pine and bamboo has a paper-paned door on +the right leading to a garden, and is lighted by_ andon--_one +beneath a shrine to Buddha on the left wall, and one to the left +centre where O-UMÈ and AMA are sitting on their heels, +constrained, foreboding and verging toward inevitable words._ + + +_Ama_ (_at length_). Down to the sea! the sea! +Oh the dead! +Do they not seem +On the night air to hover? +There by the lights +Are not their spirits present? +The lights lit for them? + + [_O-UMÈ is silent._ + +All our ancestors are they! +Fathers and mothers +Of many lives back! +They hear us speaking, +They hear from the Buddha-shrine +There on the wall. +They see us thinking. + + [_Meaningly._ + +They see in our hearts! + +_O-Umè_ (_who trembles_). Be silent! silent! + +_Ama_ (_bowing but continuing_). They know if we care for them-- +Know as the wind +That visits all shoji, +Know as the night +That searches all places. +Alas for the son +Who does not honor them! +And for the daughter +Who does not cherish them! +They shall---- + +_O-Umè._ Be silent! + + [_A pause._ + +_Ama._ Alas for the daughter! + +_O-Umè_ (_who rises disturbedly_). +The lips of the old +Are like leaves dying-- +Leaves of Autumn +That ever flutter! + + [_Walks about._ + +_Ama._ And a girl's mind +Is like the dawn mist-- +Knowing not whither +To rest or wander-- +Until, perchance, +It clings to Fuji, +To Fuji mountain, +Lord of the air! +The mind of a girl ... straying! +And what is O-Umè's?... whose? + +_O-Umè._ It is O-Umè's! + +_Ama._ Ai! +Not Sanko's!... +But were I she, +O-Umè the fair, +O-Umè the mist +Of happy karmas, +Sanko should be +My Fuji mountain. +Him would I cling to, +Nor would I hunger +To stray far from him +With a white priest! +To stray far from him +To foreign gods +That hang on a cross. + + [_Again bowing._ + +Is he not strong? + +_O-Umè._ Be silent! + + [_To herself, troubled._ + +The lips of the old! +The lips of the old! + +_Ama._ Is he not brave? + +_O-Umè._ I care not. +A samurai is he-- +One whose sword is his soul. + +_Ama._ And should his tongue be +Like that of the other, +The priest of the pain-god? + + [_Immovably._ + +Is he not kind? + +_O-Umè._ He is kind. + +_Ama._ Kind! as O-Umè is cruel! + +_O-Umè._ No, but as men are, +Wanting women: +Yet not once so was he! +For as children +We caught together +The June-night fire-flies +Out by the shrine of Jiso. + +_Ama._ And then he loved you, +And ever has loved you, +And faithful is he! + +_O-Umè._ Ai, and terrible!... + +_Ama._ Terrible only +Because O-Umè +Turns from her fathers +And from the gods. +She sees their soul-ships +Sail to the sea-- +The lights lit for them, + + [_Motions without._ + +And yet she offers +No cakes of welcome-- +None of farewell! +No prayer to Buddha, +Lotus-loving, +And none to Kwannon +Who is all mercy. +But inward, inward +She turns her eyes +To see this stranger, +Priest of the Christ-god. +Outward, outward, +Ever she gazes +And ever listens, +Ever, for him!... +Oh false, false one! +False to the dead-- +False to Sanko!... + +_O-Umè_ (_more distressedly_). The words of the old +Are like the leaves, + + [_Her voice breaks._ + +Like Autumn leaves +That ever flutter. + +_Ama._ And those of the young---- + +_O-Umè_ (_becoming distraught_). Oh will she hush not!... +Will this servant, +Whom my mother +Dying left me, +Waste my heart so? + + [_Weeps in her sleeve._ + +Sanko I fear, +And fears of many +Worlds crowd round me-- +Many karmas +Of pain and passion, +Births and rebirths. + +_Ama._ And 'tis because +This evil priest +Stands in the door of your heart. + +_O-Umè._ Will you revile him? + +_Ama._ Cursed be he! + +_O-Umè._ Ama! + +_Ama._ I pray it! + + [_Rises slowly._ + +And curst he shall be. + + [_O-Umè stares trembling._ + +For, O blind one, +By him blinded, +Do you not know +The people have heard +How he has bid you +Cast away from you +The gods of your house? +The blessed Buddha +And all the tablets +Kept, ancestral? +Ai, they have heard +And tonight have risen! +This night of the dead +They have gone forth, +With Sanko to lead them-- +Gone to tear down +The house of the priest! +Gone to destroy +The image he worships! +Gone to---- + +_O-Umè_ (_stricken_). Ama! + + [_Shrinks from her and then speaks wanly._ + +Never is there +Trust in any? +Only faith that fades? +This was known-- +But kept from me, +Kept in silence, +Kept for Sanko?... +O lord Buddha, +Thou, or Christ, +Is there peril?---- + + [_Turns on her._ + +You have done ill! + +_Ama._ I have done well. + +_O-Umè._ Ill! and ill shall come to you! +For do you think +So to prevent me +From my fate-way? +No, I will find it! +The Buddha and all +The tablets ancestral +Will I take down from the wall, +And from me cast them +Into the river ... +They shall float down to the sea. + + [_Turns and goes to shrine._ + +_Ama._ O-Umè! O-Umè! + + [_Catching at her kimono._ + +The gods forsaken +Will pardon never! +The gods--and the people! +You will become +Eta, an outcast, +From them driven away. +O-Umè! + + [_The girl takes the shrine._ + +Remember your father +Dead, and your mother. +They are hovering +Round your fingers, +Faint, offended! +Will you pause not? + + [_When O-Umè continues._ + +Ah for Sanko! for Sanko! + + [_Runs calling to door._ + +Sanko! Sanko! + + [_O-Umè stops motionless._ + +Sanko!... + +_O-Umè_ (_after a pause_). He waits then there? + +_A Voice_ (_without_). Ama! (_nearer_) Ama!... + + [_SANKO enters from the garden, dishevelled and breathless, but + controlled. As he does so O-UMÈ drops the shrine and the image falls + out._ + +_Sanko_. O-Umè! O-Umè! + + [_Ama goes quickly out._ + +_O-Umè_ (_again motionless_). Honourable friend! + + [_With polished anger._ + +You dwell in my garden? +And is my house +Even as your house? + +_Sanko._ Be pleased to pardon!... + +_O-Umè._ And you conspire here +With Ama against me? + +_Sanko._ O-Umè knows +The samurai's honour. + +_O-Umè._ O-Umè thought so, +But does no longer! + +_Sanko._ Ah the plum-blossom! +Then it too +Has thorns and poison? + +_O-Umè._ Yes, for the hand of Sanko! +Knowing the deed +From whence he comes. +Knowing that ... + + [_Breaks off, tensely._ + +Where is the priest's house? + +_Sanko_ (_angrily_). Cast in the river! + +_O-Umè._ Ai, for I see +The blood on your hand +From the torn rafters! +Red, red blood +Of a deed of fury. +So I tell you, +Samurai rude, +Not for one life, +Even for one, +Will I be yours. +Please ... to leave me. + + [_He looks at his hand and is going._ + +And yet ... (_as he stops_) ... not thus! + + [_She struggles._ + +The priest would bid me +Bind up your wound. +And you were once +Sanko my friend!-- +Put forth your hand! + + [_He does so._ + +The blood---- + +_Sanko_ (_with sudden fierceness_). The blood is his! + + [_As she falls back with a cry._ + +His! I have slain him! + + [_Mockingly._ + +And did his ghost +Not come here flitting? +Coldly flitting? +Here with moaning +Does it not hang +Upon the roof-tree +Hungering for you? +He lay in the dark-- +One lay with him-- +One who escaped to the river. +But him I slew +That you might never +Turn from the Buddha +And from your fathers; +Turn dishonoured +Of all who greet you. + +_O-Umè_ (_speech coming at last_). +Ah! A-hi! Slain!... +It cannot be! + +_Sanko_ (_drawing a bloody sword_). +And is this wet with dew? + +_O-Umè._ O let it pierce +Your own heart, samurai! +For you shall never +Again know peace. +I will pray to +The lord of Nippon, +To the Shogun-- +Who gave entrance +Here to the Christ-priest. +Nay, I will die +Myself that ever +You may be hated +By your own heart. + + [_Starts toward river._ + +I will cast +Myself to the soul-world +And bid the dead +To bring you evil! +Then the priest shall ... + + [_Breaks off--for standing in the arbour is the priest, pale and + spectral. He has come up to the steps from the river. At the sight + SANKO plucks her back, as if from a ghost. A pause, then the priest + speaks sacrosanctly._ + +_The Priest._ The Christ looks on you, + + [_Lifts a crucifix._ + +You, a murderer-- +Tho it is not +I you have murdered. + + [_SANKO gazes._ + +One slept with me, +A gentle servant, +Slept in my cloak ... you have slain him. + + [_Steps forward._ + +The Christ looks on you. +He will forgive you. + + [_A pause._ + +_Sanko_ (_recovering_). Priest! + +_The Priest._ Forgive you. + + [_Holds crucifix toward him._ + +_Sanko._ By the eight million +Gods, he mocks me! + + [_Dashes it to floor._ + +And shall perish +Or go from this village! + +_The Priest._ Aye ... but only +When goes this maiden +Whom you would hold +Still to her idols. +She must follow +The Cross of Heaven. + +_Sanko._ She shall follow +O priest, but me. + +_The Priest._ Murderer, pause!... +There is a Hell +Where the lost burn +Even as say your sutras. + + [_Sanko lifts his sword._ + +Pause! and strike not! +The smitten Christ +No longer holds +My hands from strife. + + [_Towers over him._ + +O-Umè, I bid you +Now cast away +The gilded gods you have worshipped. + +_Sanko._ And I forbid +O-Umè _to move_. + +_O-Umè_ (_heedless of either_). And I, O-Umè, +O'er whom you quarrel, +And whom you tear +Twixt Christ and Buddha, +I, O-Umè, will end it. + + [_Lifts the BUDDHA from the floor, and the crucifix, over her head._ + +Be all the gods forsaken-- +Even as these! + + [_Goes to river and casts them in. Then meets their horror with ever + increasing passion._ + +Be all! +And be you gone +Forevermore! +For if again +I see your faces, +If again +They grieve my hours, +If again +While Fuji stands there-- +The river shall gulf me, too. +I swear it by the dead. + + [_They look at her awed, then go slowly, silently out. She sinks on + her heels, hands folded, and stares before her. The lights on the + river drift on._ + + +CURTAIN + + + + +THE IMMORTAL LURE + +CHARACTERS + + VISHWAMYA _A Renowned Ascetic_ + RISHYAS _His Son, a Young Saint_ + SUNANDI _An Old Woman of the Court of the Rajah of Anga_ + KOÏL _A Young Girl of the Court_ + + + + +THE IMMORTAL LURE + +TIME: _The antiquity of India._ + +SCENE: _Before the hermitage of VISHWAMYA and RISHYAS, in a forest near +the Ganges. It is an open space spread with kusa-grass and over-hung +with trees--the hermitage itself being a cell constructed of earth and +of hanging roots of the banyan, and having by it an altar before which +lies a deer-skin. Glimmering lights and running water penetrate the +shades, whose sacredness is soon disturbed by the appearance of SUNANDI, +wantonly compelling KOÏL, with alternate harshness and wheedling, to +enter with her._ + + +_Sunandi_ (_peering about_). The place, my jewel-bird! the place for it! +Under these boughs of peepul and asoka +The young saint dwells +With his restraining sire, +Singing the Vedas morning, eve and noon, +And they are gone somewhither now in the wood +To gather fruit for sacrifice, and flowers. + + [_With a leer._ + +But he, the boy, will soon return, my pretty. + +_Koïl_ (_whom she has released_). +And you have drawn me from the city here +To break into his holy breast with passion? +To dance and sing and seize him? +I you have taught the wiles of winning men, +As the cobra-charmer teaches, +Must lure him from his saintly innocence, +And with the beauty I was born unto +Must tangle him?... +You, O Sunandi, are an evil woman, +To lead me to it! + +_Sunandi._ And you talk as flies talk! +Who know not that the gods sow food or famine. + + [_Harshly._ + +I tell you that great Indra of the skies +Is wroth with us +And will not send us rain, +So wisest Brahmins vow-- +Until this boy, +This saintly one, is brought unto the Raja! +Are we to die because not otherwise +Than with alluring now we can appease them? + + [_Leering again._ + +And why are women fair, my cunning Koïl, +But to tempt men then, when they seek to take us---- + +_Koïl._ Sunandi! + +_Sunandi._ It is so, unwitted girl! +Be silent then +And do what I command. + + [_Wheedling again._ + +But it will be sweet doing, beamy Koïl, +For the young saint +Is fairer than the god-born, +His body like warm gold and lotos-lithe-- +Made for the wants that tremble in your heart. +And when your eyes rest on him they will kindle +Like passion-stars. + +_Koïl._ And burn away his peace-- +Which is the pearl +Of sainthood thro all worlds! +Unless his father, strange and terrible, +And mighty thro austerities--one whose +Curse were as heavy as an hundred births--! +O let us trust it not! So young a saint +Should be the holy mate of solitude. +I would not have him gaze upon me so, +For he is innocent of love, nor ever +As yet has looked upon a woman's face. + +_Sunandi._ Then may he loathe you if he does not! for +Only in woman's faces is there beauty +And who beholds not beauty is as dead. + + [_Starts._ + +But ha? 'tis he? +No, only parakeets, +Chattering as you chatter, idle girl! +Who ever were resistant to my teachings! +I tell you chirp no more these chastities! +If you come back to the Raja +And without him, +Know you what then will happen? + +_Koïl._ I know not. + + [_Hears a voice._ + +Nor care not. I will return. + +_Sunandi._ Stop, girl. + +_Koïl._ I will not. +All others will I tempt, but---- + +_Sunandi_ (_holding her_). Him will _love_! + + [_RISHYAS slowly approaches, chanting._ + +And you were suckled at the breast of fortune +To be the first so fair a saint shall look on. +Use well your charms--and chain him with enchantment. + + [_Sees the girl is enthralled by the voice and goes into wood. + RISHYAS soon enters opposite, laden and singing_: + + Spirit of the risen sun! + Now returns the offering-hour. + Fruit I bring to you and flower, + Here receive them, O great-- + + [_Breaks off, at sight of her, and the offerings fall slowly from + his arms._ + +_Koïl_ (_as they gaze long and tremblingly_). +O saint, is it peace with you, and is all well? +And have you roots and fruit enough for food; +And have you joy in singing holy Vedas +Here in this leafy-hearted hermitage? + +_Rishyas._ O radiant one, yes--all is godly well. +But whence are you? +And whither do you go? +I have dwelt only here, and not before +Have I beheld so fair a vision fall-- +Even from skies where wing the Apsaras. + +_Koïl._ I am not fair, O son of Vishwamya, + + [_Timidly._ + +But I have come from very far away. + +_Rishyas_ (_quickly_). And I have offered you no laving-water +For hands and feet, +Nor any fruit and herbs! +Will you not sit upon this mat of kusa, +Or on this skin of the wild antelope, +And let me loose your sandals?--O sweet saint, +For saint so bright an one must be!--it will +Be dear to touch and tend you! +For in this place I have beheld no other-- +Only my father, +Who is old and mighty +In meditations he would have me mind. +But you are fair as well. Will you not sit? + +_Koïl._ No, pious one, it is not meet for me +To touch the holy water--yet I thank you. + +_Rishyas._ Not meet for you? O, unto one who is +So beautiful, are not all things most meet? +Better are you, I know, than all the devas. +And tho for but a moment I have seen you, +I fain would follow +The holy vows you follow. +For you I would do all things. When I gaze +Upon you all my body is as fire +Upon the altar when I sacrifice. +Will you not eat or drink? + +_Koïl._ Not at your hands. +But see, O holy one, here are rare cakes, +Brought with me from afar, and here is soma, +Sparkling and ready with divinity +To lift whoever drinks of it to joy. +Drink you with me! + +_Rishyas._ O gladly will I; give it. + + [_Takes the flask; drinks deeply._ + +A wine of wonder is it and of wisdom, +For now it makes you seem even more fair +Than first you were. +O let me tend about you, +And let me wreathe your brow and limbs with flowers. + + [_Takes some and entwines them over her._ + +_Koïl_ (_trembling_). And you are beautiful. So I will weave +Flowers upon you too. And see, and see, +O, Rishyas, see, +For I will dance to you-- +The dance of all the dreamers in the world! + + [_Unbinds her body-cloth and begins to dance--slowly at first then + more alluringly, as he follows her, marvelling. Then at length she + stops close up to him and murmurs_: + +Does it not fill your heart, O Rishyas, +With longing? + +_Rishyas._ Yes, yes, yes. And with desire, +I know not why, to lay my lips to yours! +Then life, it seems, would burst all ill that binds it. + + [_Instinctively; clasping her._ + +Oh this is sweeter than all other joys +Of holiness that I have ever known. +Your voice is like to piping of the koïls +That play in spring. + +_Koïl._ And Koïl am I named. + +_Rishyas._ And what is this I feel for you, O wise one? +In skies from whence you come, what is its name? +So pure are you that surely you can tell me? + +_Koïl._ O holy one, the people call it love. + +_Rishyas._ Then is love better than all other bliss +My father's meditations ever bring. +And I will seek thro all the lapse of lives +To hold you thus, +And have your arms about me, +As vines about the asoka clingingly. +Happy am I that you have found me out, +And never shall you leave me. + +_Koïl._ No--for ever! + + [_More passionately._ + +But unto the city you shall go with me +And there with Brahmin rites be made my husband. + +_Rishyas._ Which is--I know not what--yet will I be +Husband and more to you. For now it seems +That not the tiger in his jungle-might, +Nor any incarnation terrible, +Could tear you from me. + +_Koïl._ Then come quickly, now, +And I will be for you a champa-flower, +Swung sweetly and forever to your breast. +And often will I dance for you and sing +And love you, Rishyas, as a deva-queen! +Come quickly, one is waiting in the wood +To guide us. + +_Rishyas._ Yes, O yes! (_remembering_) But stay! my father! +First I will tell him I have won this wisdom. + +_Koïl._ No, no! + +_Rishyas._ Yes! (_calls_) Father! father! + +_Koïl_ (_in terror_). Rishyas, no! +But come, come with me quickly. + +_Rishyas_ (_astonished_). Do you fear? + +_Koïl._ He is so old!... You guess not what you do. +Haste, or he will forbid. + +_Rishyas._ You know him not. +For I will tell him you are a holier saint +To guide my steps, +Then will he bid me go. +Ho! father! ho! + +_Vishwamya_ (_heard off_). My son, you call? I come. + +_Koïl._ O, I must flee-- + +_Rishyas_ (_dazed_). I do not understand. + +_Koïl._ Sunandi! Speak, Sunandi!--Ah, he comes. + + [_VISHWAMYA enters and seeing her stops amazed. SUNANDI enters + behind unseen. Deep suspense._ + +_Rishyas_ (_uncomprehendingly_). +Do you see, father, I have found one here +Holy, and fairer than the Apsaras. +And I shall follow her, she is some goddess. +For I desire only to be with her, +And she has taught me this desire is love. +O and I love her, +And tho yet I know +Not well what miracle love is in me, +Yet it is better than this hermitage. +For it has made me seem.... But what burns in you? + +_Vishwamya._ My son, you are beguiled. Let go her hand +That leads you on to ruin. Do you not +Behold what manner of creature you so clasp? + +_Rishyas._ Yes, yes--a deva! + +_Vishwamya._ Deva! This is a woman, +And women like the wind are full of wiles, +And tempt saints to abandon Swerga's rest. +He who would rule his mind has naught with them. +Let go her hand and send her away. + +_Rishyas_ (_amazed_). Away! +Never shall she go from me and without me. +If women are evil, as you say, she is not, +Therefore she is no woman. + +_Vishwamya._ O vain boy! +In passion's jungle! Break from her at once! + +_Rishyas._ I will not. Her I worship, holily. +And she has given me a drink of heaven +That has diffused deity in my limbs. + +_Vishwamya._ And death, and an eternity of births!-- +These flowers (_on his neck_) and her feigning have bewitched you! + + [_Seizes them._ + +I tear them off and trample them to earth. + +_Koïl._ Rishyas! Rishyas! + +_Rishyas._ Be not afraid, my Koïl; +He is my father +And he knows you not, +For did he, he would clasp you, as I clasp. +Or it may be that he is little pleased +Because I find you holier than he. +O father, peace. Control your mind. Farewell. +I go with her. + +_Vishwamya._ Beguilèd boy! you shall not. +Thro all these years I have not, from its lair, +Unloosed black anger. +But this evil one +And your desire to follow ways of flesh +Compel me. Come, come from her! + +_Rishyas._ I will never. + +_Vishwamya._ Then must I drag you--and drive her away. + + [_Strikes KOÏL._ + +Away, lust-thing! away! + +_Rishyas._ Oh, oh! Oh, oh! + + [_In horror._ + +A demon enters into you and dupes you +To strike her thus, a holy one. Restrain! + +_Vishwamya._ No, tho I slay her! + +_Rishyas._ Slay? O wickedness! + + [_Seizes up wood of sacrifice._ + +Must I beat off your hands?--Touch her no more. + +_Vishwamya._ Wild-vaunting boy! the drink and this vile girl +Have maddened you. (_To Koïl_) Away! + +_Rishyas._ Call her not vile! + +_Vishwamya._ Viler is she than sin! + + [_Again strikes her._ + +_Rishyas_ (_uncontrollably_). You do a death-deed. + + [_Falls on him with the weapon and fells him quickly to the + ground--then recoils with a cry. The old man strives vainly to + rise._ + +_Koïl._ Oh, oh!--what have you done! + +_Vishwamya_ (_mortally hurt_). Slain ... slain his father! +And lost enlightenment ... and peace ... forever! + + [_After a struggle, terribly._ + +But not to gorge upon the fruit of sin! + + [_Turning on KOÏL._ + +The curse of bitter karmas be upon you! +May you be born a worm and crawl in slime, +A serpent thro ten score of lives, and slough +Your skin in hideousness and hate and horror! + +_Koïl._ Oh, oh! + +_Vishwamya._ At every death may you despair +Of ever acquiring merit! + +_Rishyas_ (_terrified_). Father! + +_Vishwamya_ (_to him_). Aye! + + [_His strength failing._ + +For love, blood guilty boy, the love which she +Has slipped into your heart, is the curse of the world, +The immortal lure of all the generations! +Your arms have ached with it about her body, +But know that in the city whence she came +All evil men feel in their hearts this ache. +And that you may escape from it, know this: +Not your arms, yours alone, have been entwined +About this poison-flower--but, perchance, + + [_Sinking back._ + +The arms of many. + +_Rishyas_ (_starting painedly_). What is it he means? + + [_With emotions he does not understand._ + +Koïl, what has he said? + +_Koïl._ O let me go! + +_Rishyas._ The arms of many? that can not be true? + + [_Tortured by half-born thoughts._ + +O, have I fallen into demon-snares? +Is beauty not the bloom of piety? +Speak. + +_Koïl._ I would go! + +_Rishyas._ Pain only darker pain! + +_Koïl_ (_at length overwhelmed_). I am not holy--nor am I pollution! +But only one sent hither--O, the gods +Bid us to sin, then fell us with calamity! + + [_Hurries weeping off with SUNANDI, who has stood in terror. + RISHYAS stands dazed, then comprehension dawns upon him and he + falls by his father's body in a storm of anguish._ + + +THE END + + + + + MANY GODS + By + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "These poems are flashingly, glowingly full of the East.... What I + am sure of in Mr. Rice is that here we have an American poet whom we + may claim as ours." _The North American Review_ (_William Dean + Howells_). + + "Mr. Rice has the gift of leadership, and he is a force with whom we + must reckon." _The Boston Transcript._ + + ... "We find here a poet who strives to reach the goal which marks + the best that can be done in poetry." _The Book News Monthly_ (_A. + S. Henry_). + + "When you hear the pessimists bewailing the good old time when real + poets were abroad in the land ... do not fail to quote them almost + anything by Cale Young Rice, a real poet writing to-day.... He has + done so much splendid work one can scarcely praise him too highly." + _The San Francisco Call._ + + "In 'Many Gods' the scenes are those of the East, and while it is + not the East of Loti, Arnold or Hearn, it is still a place of + brooding, majesty, mystery and subtle fascination. There is a + temptation to quote such verses for their melody, dignity of form, + beauty of imagery and height of inspiration." _The Chicago Journal._ + + "'Love's Cynic' (a long poem in the volume) might be by Browning at + his best." _Pittsburg Gazette-Times._ + + "This is a serious, and from any standpoint, a successful piece of + work ... in it are poems that will become classic." _Passaic_ (_New + Jersey_) _News._ + + "Mr. Rice must be hailed as one among living masters of his art, one + to whom we may look for yet greater things." _Presbyterian Advance._ + + "This book is in many respects a remarkable work. The poems are + indeed poems." _The Nashville Banner._ + + "Mr. Rice's poetical plays reach a high level of achievement.... But + these poems show a higher vision and surer mastery of expression + than ever before." _The London Bookman._ + + _Net, $1.25_ (_postage 12c._) + + + + + A NIGHT IN AVIGNON + By + CALE YOUNG RICE + + _Successfully produced by Donald Robertson_ + + + "It is as vivid as a page from Browning. Mr. Rice has the dramatic + pulse." _James Huneker._ + + "It embraces in small compass all the essentials of the drama." _New + York Saturday Times Review_ (_Jessie B. Rittenhouse_). + + "It presents one of the most striking situations in dramatic + literature and its climax could not be improved." _The San Francisco + Call._ + + "It has undeniable power, and is a very decided poetic achievement." + _The Boston Transcript._ + + "It leaves an enduring impression of a soul tragedy." _The + Churchman._ + + "Since the publication of his 'Charles di Tocca' and other dramas, + Cale Young Rice has justly been regarded as a leading American + master of that difficult form, and many critics have ranked him + above Stephen Phillips, at least on the dramatic side of his art. + And this judgment is further confirmed by 'A Night in Avignon.' It + is almost incredible that in less than 500 lines Mr. Rice should + have been able to create so perfect a play with so powerful a + dramatic effect." _The Chicago Record-Herald_ (_Edwin S. Shuman_). + + "There is poetic richness in this brilliant composition; a beauty of + sentiment and grace in every line. It is impressive, metrically + pleasing and dramatically powerful." _The Philadelphia Record._ + + "It offers one of the most striking situations in dramatic + literature." _The Louisville Courier-Journal._ + + "The publication of a poetic drama of the quality of Mr. Rice's is + an important event in the present tendency of American literature. + He is a leader in this most significant movement, and 'A Night in + Avignon' is marked, like his other plays, by dramatic directness, + high poetic fervor, clarity of poetic diction, and felicity of + phrasing." _The Chicago Journal._ + + "It is a dramatically told episode, and the metre is most + effectively handled, making a welcome change for blank verse, and + greatly enhancing the interest." _Sydney Lee._ + + "Many critics, on hearing Mr. Bryce's prediction that America will + one day have a poet, would be tempted to remind him of Mr. Rice." + _The Hartford_ (_Conn._) _Courant._ + + _Net 50c._ (_postage 5c._) + + + + + YOLANDA OF CYPRUS + A Poetic Drama by + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + Minnie Maddern Fisk says: "No one can doubt that it is superior + poetically and dramatically to Stephen Phillips' work," and that Mr. + Rice ranks with Mr. Phillips at his best has often been reaffirmed. + + "It is encouraging to the hope of a native drama to know that an + American has written a play which is at the same time of decided + poetic merit and of decided dramatic power." _The New York Times_ + (_Charles M. Hathaway, Jr._). + + "The most remarkable quality of the play is its sustained dramatic + strength. Poetically it is frequently of great beauty. It is also + lofty in conception, lucid and felicitous in style, and the dramatic + pulse throbs in every line." _The Chicago Record-Herald._ + + _The Springfield Republican_ says: "The characters are drawn with + force and the play is dignified and powerful," and adds that if it + does not succeed on the stage it will be "because of its + excellence." + + "Mr. Rice is one of the few present-day poets who have the + steadiness and weight for a well-sustained drama." _The Louisville + Post_ (_Margaret Anderson_). + + "It has equal command of imagination, dramatic utterance, + picturesque effectiveness and metrical harmony." _The London_ + (_England_) _Bookman._ + + _T. P.'s Weekly_ says: "It might well stand the difficult test of + production and will be welcomed by all who care for serious verse." + + _The Glasgow_ (_Scotland_) _Herald_ says: "Yolanda of Cyprus is + finely constructed; the irregular blank verse admirably adapted for + the exigencies of intense emotion; the characters firmly drawn; and + the climax serves the purpose of good stagecraft and poetic + justice." + + "It is well constructed and instinct with dramatic power." _Sydney + Lee._ + + "It is as readable as a novel." _The Pittsburg Post._ + + "Here and there an almost Shakespearean note is struck. In makeup, + arrangement, and poetic intensity it ranks with Stephen Phillips' + work." _The Book News Monthly._ + + _Net, $1.25_ (_postage 10c._) + + + + + CHARLES DI TOCCA + By + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "I take off my hat to Mr. Rice. His play is full of poetry, and the + pitch and dignity of the whole are remarkable." _James Lane Allen._ + + "It is a dramatic poem one reads with a heightened sense of its fine + quality throughout. It is sincere, strong, finished and noble, and + sustains its distinction of manner to the end.... The character of + Helena is not unworthy of any of the great masters of dramatic + utterance." _The Chicago Tribune._ + + "The drama is one of the best of the kind ever written by an + American author. Its whole tone is masterful, and it must be classed + as one of the really literary works of the season." (1903). _The + Milwaukee Sentinel._ + + "It shows a remarkable sense of dramatic construction as well as + poetic power and strong characterization." _James MacArthur, in + Harper's Weekly._ + + "This play has many elements of perfection. Its plot is developed + with ease and with a large dramatic force; its characters are drawn + with sympathy and decision; and its thoughts rise to a very real + beauty. By reason of it the writer has gained an assured place among + playwrights who seek to give literary as well as dramatic worth to + their plays." _The Richmond_ (_Va._) _News-Leader._ + + "The action of the play is admirably compact and coherent, and it + contains tragic situations which will afford pleasure not only to + the student, but to the technical reader." _The Nation._ + + "It is the most powerful, vital, and truly tragical drama written by + an American for some years. There is genuine pathos, mighty yet + never repellent passion, great sincerity and penetration, and great + elevation and beauty of language." _The Chicago Post._ + + "Mr. Rice ranks among America's choicest poets on account of his + power to turn music into words, his virility, and of the fact that + he has something of his own to say." _The Boston Globe._ + + "The whole play breathes forth the indefinable spirit of the Italian + renaissance. In poetic style and dramatic treatment it is a work of + art." _The Baltimore Sun._ + + _Paper boards. Net, $1.25_ (_postage, 9c._) + + + + + NIRVANA DAYS + Poems by + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "Mr. Rice has the technical cunning that makes up almost the entire + equipment of many poets nowadays, but human nature is more to him + always ... and he has the feeling and imaginative sympathy without + which all poetry is but an empty and vain thing." _The London + Bookman._ + + "Mr. Rice's note is a clarion call, and of his two poems, 'The + Strong Man to His Sires' and 'The Young to the Old,' the former will + send a thrill to the heart of every man who has the instinct of race + in his blood, while the latter should be printed above the desk of + every minor poet and pessimist.... The sonnets of the sequence, + 'Quest and Requital,' have the elements of great poetry in them." + _The Glasgow_ (_Scotland_) _Herald._ + + "Mr. Rice's poems are singularly free from affectation, and he seems + to have written because of the sincere need of expressing something + that had to take art form." _The Sun_ (_New York_). + + "The ability to write verse that scans is quite common.... But the + inspired thought behind the lines is a different thing; and it is + this thought untrammeled--the clear vision searching into the deeps + of human emotion--which gives the verse of Mr. Rice weight and + potency.... In the range of his metrical skill he easily stands with + the best of living craftsmen ... and we have in him ... a poet whose + dramas and lyrics will endure." _The Book News Monthly_ (_A. S. + Henry_). + + "These poems are marked by a breadth of outlook, individuality and + beauty of thought. The author reveals deep, sincere feeling on + topics which do not readily lend themselves to artistic expression + and which he makes eminently worth while." _The Buffalo_ (_N. Y._) + _Courier._ + + "We get throughout the idea of a vast universe and of the soul + merging itself in the infinite.... The great poem of the volume, + however, is 'The Strong Man to His Sires.'" _The Louisville Post_ + (_Margaret S. Anderson_). + + "The poems possess much music ... and even in the height of + intensified feeling the clearness of Mr. Rice's ideas is not dimmed + by the obscure haze that too often goes with the divine fire." _The + Boston Globe._ + + _Paper boards. Net, $1.25_ (_postage 12c._) + + + + + DAVID + A Poetic Drama by + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "I was greatly impressed with it and derived a sense of personal + encouragement from the evidence of so fine and lofty a product for + the stage." _Richard Mansfield._ + + "It is a powerful piece of dramatic portraiture in which Cale Young + Rice has again demonstrated his insight and power. What he did + before in 'Charles di Tocca' he has repeated and improved upon.... + Not a few instances of his strength might be cited as of almost + Shakespearean force. Indeed the strictly literary merit of the + tragedy is altogether extraordinary. It is a contribution to the + drama full of charm and power." _The Chicago Tribune._ + + "From the standpoint of poetry, dignity of conception, spiritual + elevation and finish and beauty of line, Mr. Rice's 'David' is, + perhaps, superior to his 'Yolanda of Cyprus,' but the two can + scarcely be compared." _The New York Times_ (_Jessie B. + Rittenhouse_). + + "Never before has the theme received treatment in a manner so worthy + of it." The _St. Louis Globe-Democrat._ + + "It needs but a word, for it has been passed upon and approved by + critics all over the country." _Book News Monthly._ And again: "But + few recent writers seem to have found the secret of dramatic blank + verse; and of that small number, Mr. Rice is, if not first, at least + without superior." + + "With instinctive dramatic and poetic power, Mr. Rice combines a + knowledge of the exigencies of the stage." _Harper's Weekly._ + + "It is safe to say that were Mr. Rice an Englishman or a Frenchman, + his reputation as his country's most distinguished poetic dramatist + would have been assured by a more universal sign of recognition." + _The Baltimore News_ (_writing of all Mr. Rice's plays_). + + + _Net, $1.25_ (_postage 12c._) + + + + + SONG-SURF + (Being the Lyrics of Plays and Lyrics) by + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "Mr. Rice's work betrays wide sympathies with nature and life, and a + welcome originality of sentiment and metrical harmony." _Sydney + Lee._ + + "In his lyrics Mr. Rice's imagination works most successfully. He is + an optimist--and in these days an optimist is irresistible--and he + can touch delicately things too holy for a rough or violent pathos." + _The London Star_ (_James Douglas_). + + "Mr. Rice's highest gift is essentially lyrical. His lyrics have a + charm and grace of melody distinctively their own." _The London + Bookman._ + + "Mr. Rice is keenly responsive to the loveliness of the outside + world, and he reveals this beauty in words that sing themselves." + _The Boston Transcript._ + + "Mr. Rice's work is everywhere marked by true imaginative power and + elevation of feeling." _The Scotsman._ + + "Mr. Rice's work would seem to rank with the best of our American + poets of to-day." _The Atlanta Constitution._ + + "Mr. Rice's poems are touched with the magic of the muse. They have + inspiration, grace and true lyric quality." _The Book News Monthly._ + + "Mr. Rice's poetry as a whole is both strongly and delicately + spiritual. Many of these lyrics have the true romantic mystery and + charm.... To write thus is no indifferent matter. It indicates not + only long work but long brooding on the beauty and mystery of life." + _The Louisville Post._ + + "Mr. Rice is indisputably one of the greatest poets who have lived + in America.... And some of these (earlier) poems are truly + beautiful." _The Times-Union_ (_Albany, N. Y._) + + + _Net, $1.25_ (_postage 12c._) + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: + + + Text in italics is indicated by underscores: _italics_. + + Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from + the original. + + Punctuation has been corrected without note. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as follows: + Page 4: The changed to Tho + Advertisement for Song-Surf: PRICE changed to RICE + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Immortal Lure, by Cale Young Rice + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMMORTAL LURE *** + +***** This file should be named 36609-8.txt or 36609-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/6/0/36609/ + +Produced by David Garcia, David E. 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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 Immortal Lure + +Author: Cale Young Rice + +Release Date: July 4, 2011 [EBook #36609] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMMORTAL LURE *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, David E. Brown and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<p class="center"><span class="giant">THE IMMORTAL LURE</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE<br /> +IMMORTAL LURE</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">BY</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">CALE YOUNG RICE</span></p> + +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF<br /> +A NIGHT IN AVIGNON, YOLANDA OF CYPRUS, CHARLES DI<br /> +TOCCA, DAVID, MANY GODS, NOWANA DAYS, ETC.</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Garden City New York</span><br /> +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /> +MCMXI</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br /> +INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN<br /> +<br /> +COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY CALE YOUNG RICE<br /> +PUBLISHED, FEBRUARY, 1911<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"> +----infinite passion and pain<br /> +Of finite hearts that yearn</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">CONTENTS</span></p> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Giorgione</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Arduin</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_27"> 27</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">O-Umè's Gods</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51"> 51</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Immortal Lure</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_73"> 73</a></td></tr></table> + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">GIORGIONE</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">CHARACTERS</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Giorgione</span></td><td><i>A Young Painter</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Aretino</span></td><td><i>A Dissolute Poet</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Titian</span></td><td><i>Another Painter</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bellini</span></td><td><i>The Former Master of Giorgione and Titian</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Gigia</span></td><td><i>An old woman serving Giorgione</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td> and</td><td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Isotta</span></td><td> </td></tr></table> + + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">GIORGIONE</span></p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: <i>A work-room of</i> <span class="smcap">Giorgione</span> <i>on the edge of the Lagoon in which +lie the Campo Santo and Murano. It is littered with brushes, canvases, +casts, etc., and its walls are frescoed indiscriminately with saints and +bacchantes, satyrs and Madonnas, on backgrounds religious or woodland. A +door is on the right back; and foliate Gothic windows, in the rear, +reveal the magic water with its gliding gondolas. On a support toward +the centre of the room is a picture—covered, and not far from it, a +couch.</i></p> + +<p><i>Late Afternoon.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Giorgione</span>, <i>who has been sitting anguished on the couch, rises with +determined bitterness. As he does so,</i> <span class="smcap">Bellini</span> <i>enters anxiously.</i></p> +<p> </p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +<i>Bellini.</i> Giorgione!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>turning</i>). It is you?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Your word came to me,</span><br /> +In San Lazzario where I labored late,<br /> +And shakes my troubled heart. You will not do this!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Yes!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 4em;">How my son! her picture! as a wanton's!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Tho it has been till now my adoration!<br /> +The fairest of my dreams and the most holy!<br /> +Yes, by the virtue of all honest women,<br /> +If such there be in Venice,<br /> +I swear it shall be borne by ribald hands<br /> +Thro the very streets.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">My son!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">A public thing!</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Points to picture.</i></p> + +<p> +Fit for the most lascivious! who now<br /> +Shall gaze on what I had beheld alone,<br /> +On what was purer to me than the Virgin!<br /> +The very pimps and panders of the Piazza<br /> +Shall if they will whet appetite upon it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span><br /> +And smack their losel lips.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">And to what end?</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Her shame!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 7em;">The deeds of wounded pride and love</span><br /> +Work not so, but fall back upon the doer—<br /> +Or on some other.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 3em;">I care not!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 9em;">Nor have,</span><br /> +Ever, to heed me! as Aretino,<br /> +Who turns your praise to Titian, has told.<br /> +For your wild will runs ever without curb,<br /> +And I who reared you, as my very own,<br /> +Must pay the fall.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 3em;">No!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">And the piety</span><br /> +I would have won you to in the past days<br /> +Is wasted. The Madonnas<br /> +I painted with a heart inspired of Heaven<br /> +You paint with pride.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">But with all gratitude!</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span><br /> +Ah yes, believe me,<br /> +And with a rich remembrance!<br /> +For scarce oblivion could wipe from me<br /> +How as a wasted lad I came to Venice—<br /> +A miserable, patched and pallid waif,<br /> +With but an eye to see and hand to shape!<br /> +You took me from the streets and taught me all<br /> +The old can teach the young, until my name<br /> +Is high in Venice—<br /> +Linked with that of Beauty—<br /> +"Giorgione! our Giorgione!" do they cry<br /> +On the canals, the very gondoliers.<br /> +And in a little while it should have glowed<br /> +Immortal on the breast of Italy,<br /> +As does Apelles on the page of Greece,<br /> +For I was half-divine, until——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Until</span><br /> +A girl whom you had fixed your heart upon<br /> +With boundless folly, you who should have lived<br /> +With but one passion—that of brain and brush—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span><br /> +Until she——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Say it!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">This Isotta——</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Ai!</span><br /> +Whom I had chosen o'er a hundred others<br /> +To soar with!<br /> +To soar and then in wedded peace to prize!<br /> +This false Isotta<br /> +Whom in poverty<br /> +I found, as you found me, and loved to madness.<br /> +This fair Isotta<br /> +Whom I would have made<br /> +All Venice to be a halo for—as were<br /> +Cities of old for queens of sceptred love:<br /> +Until she leaves, departs, forsakes me, goes<br /> +Away, worthless away, from my true arms,<br /> +With Luzzi, a lank boy.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 3em;">So. And most strange.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> No, nothing a woman does is ever strange!<br /> +Will they not cloak a lie in innocence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span><br /> +A treachery in veiling soft caresses—<br /> +Tho to the Mass unceasingly they fare<br /> +And say like her their aves night and noon?<br /> +Have they a want that wantons not with guile,<br /> +A tear that is not turgid with deceit?<br /> +Are not their passions blown by every wind?<br /> +Have they not all the straying heart of Helen?<br /> +Then why must I,<br /> +Who had in me a hope<br /> +That rivalled Raphael's or Leonardo's,<br /> +Keep, cozened so, that I contemn her shame?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i> Because she is a woman—whom you tempted,<br /> +Tho with all trust to wed her—and you know not<br /> +Whether her going was of shamelessness.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>laughing bitterly</i>). Or whether she may not yet return, today,<br /> +And with a heart that is a nymph's, a soul<br /> +That is a nun's,<br /> +Beguile me back to doting?<br /> +Whether she may not—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><br /> +With that body God<br /> +Might once, deceived, have moulded angels after—?<br /> +Then flaunt her thralling of me to the world,<br /> +Whose ready lips should laugh where'er we went<br /> +And whisper, "Isotta, there! Giorgione's mistress!<br /> +Who makes a mocking of him?"<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Never! never!</span><br /> +Only your unrelenting brain would think it.<br /> +For this I know of her, that tho she has<br /> +Deserted you for what must seem to be<br /> +Only a new-found passion—<br /> +Yet is she womanly, and did you give her,<br /> +As now you mean, to avid lusting eyes,<br /> +Life would be smitten from her.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 9em;">As it should!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i> And then from you, repentant of her fate?<br /> +No, no, my son, I have not seen you rise,<br /> +A planet from the sea, the world's first painter,<br /> +To set in this:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span><br /> +You owe my fathering more.<br /> +And listen, I have brought to you a way<br /> +Of laurels for forgetting. I have come<br /> +With a commission from the Signoria,</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Takes it from his breast.</i></p> + +<p> +Which names you the chief glory of this city<br /> +And votes you proud permission to adorn<br /> +San Marco's highest altar with perfection.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> And which I spurn, an insult in its pity! +</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Flings it from him.</i></p> + +<p> +As they shall learn—these silk and velvet Signors,<br /> +Whose condescending ducats buy the dreams<br /> +Of the immortal!<br /> +Or no!... I meant not that—to wound a kindness.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i> Your ways have ever been the ways of wounding.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> And to the end must be. (<i>Brokenly</i>)<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>For now my hand<br /> +Is palsied! I can never paint again.<br /> +Colour and shaping light turn in my soul<br /> +To chaos and to blindness—to despair!<br /> +The brush I lift, to sterile pain more loth!<br /> +I yearn and impotence alone arises.<br /> +That picture has dried beauty's vein within me<br /> +And left me ... Ah!... She shall atone it! (<i>calls</i>) Gigia!<br /> +Shameless she is and shall be seen it!—Gigia!—</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Bitterly.</i></p> + +<p> +Aretino, who is the tongue of lewdness,<br /> +And Titian, who trips to it, may gloat,</p> + +<p class="right">[<span class="smcap">Gigia</span> <i>hobbles in.</i></p> + +<p> +But they——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i> Giorgione! you have sent for them?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Gigia</span>). Whoever seeks my door is bidden—all!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Gigia.</i> Yes, Messer Giorgio.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>as she delays</i>). Go.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Gigia.</i><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Before I speak?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span><i>Giorgione.</i> Of what?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Gigia.</i> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">How can I tell you, if I may</span><br /> +Not speak? And you should hear.... (<i>Crossing herself</i>) It is the plague.<br /> +A whisper is about<br /> +That it has broken out at last in Venice.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<span class="smcap">Giorgione</span> <i>staring at her, trembles and seems slowly +stricken—while his eyes fill as with some evil irrecoverable +remembrance.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Bellini</i> (<i>fearing for him</i>). Giorgione!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 3em;"> Oh!... and yet ... nothing ... a dream</span><br /> +That came to me last night—as if from death.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i> Then, O my son, it is a premonition,<br /> +A pall against this purpose! that you may<br /> +Not let these ribald two—<br /> +Aretino, this poet and depraver,<br /> +And Titian snared within his pagan senses,<br /> +Enter and gaze upon.... O boy, you will not!<br /> +Despoil the picture,<br /> +Scatter it to the seas,<br /> +And vow never again to paint another,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span><br /> +Tho that would break my heart, but promise me——</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>A knocking interrupts, and a voice without calls lustily</i>:</p> +<p class="blockquot"><i>Voice</i>: The gods of paint and passion ever gird us!</p> + +<p>Where's Messer Giorgione? Ho! Ho, ho!</p> + +<p class="right">[<span class="smcap">Gigia</span> <i>hurries out.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>after a pause, calling</i>). Aretino!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Aretino.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ai, light of ladies' eyes!</span><br /> +And with him a better! Shall we sing for entrance?<br /> +(<i>Begins</i>)—A wench I had,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.4em;">But where is she—?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">A-ho!</span><br /> +Old Gigia, is it? Then we come apace,</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Enters leeringly with</i> <span class="smcap">Titian</span>.</p> + +<p>Like satyrs to the piping of Adonis!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>With irony.</i></p> + +<p>A health to you, O heaven-born of Venice!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Bellini</span>.</p> + +<p> +And to you, glorious dauber of Madonnas!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span><br /> +But, bah! the smell of melancholy! Come,<br /> +What is it? The tale is out about the maid?<br /> +And therefore tears?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Laughs.</i></p> + +<p> +Well, by the lids of Venus, Giorgio,<br /> +It serves you well—or Eve was not a woman!<br /> +There were too many ripe for your assay.<br /> +Why, I believe that every damsel's lips<br /> +On the lagoons were pinched with longing for you!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Titian.</i> Or enough, at least, to send spleen, Giorgio,<br /> +Into my eyes.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">They will no more, Titian.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Aretino.</i> In sooth! for since one wench in all the world<br /> +Prefers another, he will play the monk!<br /> +Since she, the amorous sun-kissed Isotta,<br /> +Had charms too fair for <i>one</i> to satisfy!<br /> +And yet—to choose this Luzzi,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>This swaddling acolyte of Innocence,<br /> +For her new light-o'-love! to choose him out,<br /> +When, for a whiff, she might have had my arms——</p> + +<p class="right">[<span class="smcap">Giorgione</span> <i>quivers.</i></p> + +<p> +O, Titian, by the gods!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Aretino!...</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Stay, let him speak, my master, as he wills.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Aretino.</i> I say then, Seraph, of your amorosa,<br /> +That she deceived me—<br /> +That I thought her dreams<br /> +Were chaster than the moon, or by my beard,<br /> +Which is not born, I should have tricked her senses<br /> +Away from you ... if lies and treachery<br /> +And tempting honeyed verses could have done it!<br /> +For an Elysium like her warm round body<br /> +I never looked upon.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Aretino!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Peace! he shall speak! for this is what should be.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Aretino.</i> Ai, Messer Bellini, and your age forgets<br /> +That he is well consoled with the dear thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span><br /> +That her first joy was his.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i> <span style="margin-left: 7em;">Ah!...</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Aretino.</i><span style="margin-left: 9em;">And that vision—!</span><br /> +Why, I have peeped upon her face, no farther.<br /> +But to have seen the beauty he has seen,<br /> +The Aphrodite-dream of loveliness,<br /> +I would have dared virginity's last door.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Then you shall see it.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bellini.</i><span style="margin-left: 10em;">My son!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yes, tho I die!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Aretino.</i> How, what is this?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>going to picture</i>). Aretino, Titian—<br /> +You are here, tho there is less than love between us:<br /> +For, pardon, if I say that you sometimes<br /> +Have loathed my triumphs.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Titian.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">That is so, Giorgione.</span><br /> +But with the brush I yet shall equal them.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> You shall surpass them. For my last is done.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Titian.</i> Come, do you jest?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 7em;">My last, and it is there!</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Points to picture.</i></p> + +<p> +There that you two whose tongues have been so busy<br /> +About the streets with laughing and innuendo,<br /> +From ear to ear with jest and utter joy—<br /> +You, Titian, a sycophant of Fame,<br /> +And you, Aretino, who incarnate lust,<br /> +May know that Giorgione is above you.<br /> +You coveted Isotta with your eyes,<br /> +Now you shall have her as shall all the world!</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>Flings the curtain back from the picture then sinks to the couch.</i><br/> + +<i>As they gaze on the unclothed form,</i> <span class="smcap">Bellini</span> <i>turns away, when he +sees</i> <span class="smcap">Isotta</span> <i>enter. She is pale and ill, but moves smilingly down +toward</i> <span class="smcap">Giorgione</span>, <i>till happening to see the picture, she gives a +deep cry.</i> <span class="smcap">Giorgione</span>, <i>springing to his feet, dazedly beholds her.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Bellini</i> (<i>speechless till he sees</i> <span class="smcap">Isotta's</span> <i>pallor</i>).<br /> +Isotta! you are ill!... O would my breath<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span><br /> +Had never lasted to this evil hour—!<br /> +Shall I not bring the leech? (<i>when she does not answer; to</i> <span class="smcap">Giorgione</span>) This price has pride!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>He goes: then</i> <span class="smcap">Aretino</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Titian</span>. <i>The curtain falls back.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Isotta</i> (<i>whose eyes have closed</i>). The flesh of women is their fate forever!<br /> +My poor, poor body! all I had to give<br /> +So desecrated.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>hoarsely</i>). Why have you come here?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i> To see Messer Giorgione—who is brave.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Smiles as one shattered.</i></p> + +<p> +To hear Messer Giorgione—who is gentle<br /> +And honourable to women who are weak.<br /> +To—heal Messer Giorgione—then to die!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Rather to kill!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Why, it may be. If love</span><br /> +Still leads me, it were best that it be slain.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> The love of a wanton?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta</i> (<i>slowly</i>).<span style="margin-left: 8em;"> Who beholds her body</span><br /> +Given ... to unabated eyes—yet lives?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span><br /> +I think it must be so.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Alluring lies!</span><br /> +Out of pale lips of treachery but lies!<br /> +You have returned to me, whom you have cursed<br /> +With craving for you,<br /> +With an immortal love,<br /> +Because this lisping Luzzi,<br /> +With whom you fled, weary of falsity,<br /> +Has cast you off.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta</i> (<i>gently</i>). Kind Luzzi!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 7em;">Ah! and blind?</span><br /> +Not knowing that you now are here again,<br /> +Where you disrobed to my adoring soul,<br /> +But thinking that you wait him with fair eyes<br /> +Of fond expectancy—as once for me!<br /> +Believing that your breath is beating only<br /> +With ecstasy for him!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i><span style="margin-left: 7em;">He is—but Luzzi!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> And I but Giorgione, smiling quean!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>She turns paler.</i></p> + +<p> +But Giorgione, a vassal to your sway?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span><br /> +Back to your orgies! and may Venus, goddess<br /> +Of black adulteries, but not of love,<br /> +Be with them! May your blood, that I believed<br /> +Vestal to all but me, run vile with passions<br /> +As any nymph's of Bacchus!<br /> +May your body,<br /> +That I have painted here, be to all time<br /> +An image of soul-cheating chastity!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>His words have struck her down—and overwhelm him.</i></p> + +<p>O, I am lost, lost, lost forevermore.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Falls into a seat.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Isotta</i> (<i>at length, from the couch, gathering strength</i>).<br /> +No, I have come for saving, Giorgione.<br /> +Now I can speak—but there is little time,<br /> +(<i>Strangely</i>) For Night is coming.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>startled to questioning</i>). Isotta?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i><span style="margin-left: 9em;">The still Night,</span><br /> +With Death's dark Gondola to waft me o'er.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Then as he realizes.</i></p> + +<p> +Nay, stay, stay! leave me not. There is no help.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span><br /> +For it must be.... A voice Beyond has said it.<br /> +And ere I drift out on the darkening ebb——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Isotta!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Peace must be Giorgione's too.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Speak—yet it cannot be—my heart is dead.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i> Then it shall rise again.—O Giorgione,<br /> +My lover once and lord, could you believe,<br /> +Even tho I went away from you and with<br /> +Another, that unchastity could touch<br /> +This body which had been holy to you?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Isotta!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">It is true that I deceived you,</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>With mystic fervor.</i></p> + +<p> +True that I went away from you and wed<br /> +Another——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet it was not Luzzi!</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>As he gazes.</i></p> + +<p> +Do you not know? you who so oft have told<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span><br /> +On saintly walls the Magdalen's sad tears?<br /> +Sin, sin had seized me!<br /> +Sin with you to whom<br /> +I gave my body and soul unboundedly.<br /> +We revelled in unwedded ecstasy,<br /> +Laughed in our love over the starred lagoons.<br /> +Sang till the lute was like a thing that lived,<br /> +Danced happy as the fauns and nereids<br /> +That oft you told me of—<br /> +And clasped and kissed,<br /> +O kissed—until I knew that but one way<br /> +Was left to save my soul, Giorgione, one—<br /> +To wed me with the vows and veil to Christ.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Gazes at a crucifix.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Isotta!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i><span style="margin-left: 5em;"> I am His! I fled to Him!</span><br /> +The Convent opened its grey arms to take me,<br /> +Santa Cecilia of the Healing Heart,<br /> +And Luzzi kindly led me to its door—<br /> +That you might so be foiled of following.<br /> +And with long vigils, fasts and penances<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span><br /> +And prayers I sought oblivion of your face.<br /> +Until this illness strangely fell upon me.<br /> +I could not die until you, shriven too....<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Isotta! My Isotta!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Falls penitent before her, weeping.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Isotta (her heart eased).</i> Peace, at last.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>rising</i>). Ah yes! and I am viler than the vilest!<br /> +For who remembers not that purity<br /> +Is priceless, ends impoverished of honour.<br /> +And yet ... there is no wrong irreparable!<br /> +And you must live tho all the angels die—<br /> +Live and be loosed from vows too vainly breathed,<br /> +That wedded we may win again delight!<br /> +Still I am Giorgione, and the sin<br /> +That we have sinned shall be painted away<br /> +With holy pictures....<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Only the dead are holy,</span><br /> +Or they who die, tho living, to the world.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Sees the picture.</i></p> + +<p> +And eyes have looked upon me—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><br /> +Hot eyes that burn my body up with shame.<br /> +Farewell, the tide will cool me, the lone wave<br /> +That washes in from Lido to my grave.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Looks toward the Campo Santo.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Giorgione.</i> Isotta!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta</i> (<i>fainter</i>).<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Night, the Night!...</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione.</i><span style="margin-left: 11em;">O stay!...</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Isotta</i> (<i>in a fixed vision</i>)<span style="margin-left: 10em;">It comes,</span><br /> +The Gondola! (<i>as if to an unseen Presence</i>) Row on, row on.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>She dies. He sinks beside her stricken and still.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Gigia</span> <i>enters.</i></p> + +<p><i>Gigia.</i> Messer Giorgione, one has come to say——</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Sees them, goes near and lifts</i> <span class="smcap">Isotta's</span> <i>hand. Then, dropping it +with terror.</i></p> + +<p> +The plague! the plague! Ah!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Giorgione</i> (<i>rising</i>).<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Woman, is it true?</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<span class="smcap">Gigia</span> <i>flees.</i></p> + +<p> +(<i>Mortally moved</i>)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span><br /> +Isotta, this kiss then of all the kisses<br /> +That I have slain thee with will God who dwells<br /> +In universal chastity forgive.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>He kneels and presses his lips fervently to hers.</i></p> +<p> </p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Curtain</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">ARDUIN</span></p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">CHARACTERS</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Arduin</span> (<i>of Provence</i>)</td><td> <i>An Alchemist</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Ion</span></td><td> <i>His Nephew</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Rhasis</span> </td><td> <i>An Arab, his attendant and assistant</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Myrrha</span> </td><td> <i>A Greek Girl</i></td></tr></table> + + + +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">ARDUIN</span></p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Time</span>: <i>The Fifteenth Century.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Place</span>: <i>Egypt.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: <i>The laboratory of</i> <span class="smcap">Arduin</span> <i>in a house on Nile opposite Cairo. It +is a large room on the walls of which mystic figures of the Hermetic +philosophy are drawn, together with the zodiac and other astronomical +signs; and many strange objects, animal and mineral, are to be seen +placed about. In the rear centre is a large sarcophagus. On either side +broad window openings reveal the Egyptian night, and one frames the +moonlit Sphinx and Pyramids. Toward the right front is a furnace with +alembics, retorts, etc.; right and left are doors, and on the left and +back another alcove before which hang curtains. Lamps burn.</i></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="blockquot"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span><span class="smcap">Rhasis</span>, <i>who is busy about the furnace, in a troubled manner, lifts a +skull and is gazing at it, when</i> <span class="smcap">Ion</span> <i>enters suddenly and stops, pale +with purpose.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Ion.</i> Rhasis——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis</i> (<i>starting and looking round</i>). Young master Ion! what is this?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Drops the skull.</i></p> + +<p> +Why have you left the city and come here?<br /> +Are you aware what hour you have chosen?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> That of his dreams. I learned today: yet came.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> And wherefore?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;">To restrain calamity,</span><br /> +Which must await his reasonless belief—<br /> +And to regain his love that I have lost.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> And have not pondered what calamity<br /> +Would fall on you<br /> +Who would not learn his Art,<br /> +But from its heritage to penury turned,<br /> +If here and now he saw you<br /> +At this hour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span><br /> +When he believes that he shall raise the dead?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> His curse; for he would think me come to thwart him,<br /> +And that I had forgot whatever wrong,<br /> +Unexpiated still, my father did him;</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Looks at sarcophagus.</i></p> + +<p> +And yet I will not go, for I have purposed—<br /> +And you tonight shall help me—(<i>pauses</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i><span style="margin-left: 11em;">Unto what?</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> Forgiveness of my disobedience—<br /> +That may be won from him with Myrrha's face.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> Myrrha's!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;"> Which can alone of earthly sights,</span><br /> +If what you tell of his dead wife be true:<br /> +And well you know it is!—He must behold her—<br /> +And hear our pleading.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i><span style="margin-left: 7em;">At an hour like this!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> Let her be placed yonder within those curtains,<br /> +While he is mingling here his mysteries,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span><br /> +And when he——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> By the Prophet who is Allah's,<br /> +Myrrha! Within this chamber! and tonight!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Ion goes to the door and leads Myrrha in.</i></p> + +<p> +Is there no heed in youth or hesitation,<br /> +But only hurrying want! Do you not know<br /> +He is without there, at this moment, saying<br /> +Unto the seven planets in their spheres,<br /> +The seven incantations against death?<br /> +And that he——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> <span style="margin-left: 5em;"> I know only he must see her.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> And of all nights in the world, only tonight!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> No, Ion! let us go. I fear this place,<br /> +Its strangeness and that still sarcophagus<br /> +Appal me.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">And make you forget our love,</span><br /> +And the long bridal-hope of it deferred?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> Young master, she does not, in penury too!<br /> +But pleas tonight would ope no nuptial way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span><br /> +Better than you I know it is not wise.<br /> +For ten years is it<br /> +I have dwelt with him<br /> +While he has sought in vain this great Elixir.<br /> +Ten passings of the pilgrims off to Mecca<br /> +His wife has lain in that sarcophagus,<br /> +Embalmed and waiting, as he thinks, to rise.<br /> +And now, this hour, he hopes that it shall be.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> And should it, will he not the more forgive me?<br /> +Or should it not, then seeing Myrrha's face,<br /> +Myrrha whom you have said is so much like her,<br /> +Will he not——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> Ion, no! but might—I fear!<br /> +So fond his grief is and unfaceable!<br /> +Let us return again unto the city<br /> +And to my kindred who will hold us dear.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Starting.</i></p> + +<p> +Listen, is it not he? (<i>Rhasis goes to window</i>) Take me away!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> And have him at the breaking of his dream<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span><br /> +With none near—and our love's desire be lost?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> It will not: let us wait another time!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> Than this when most your face would deeply move him?<br /> +I cannot, and 'twould shame me! for you know<br /> +How dear to him is his dead wife who lies there,</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Takes her hand.</i></p> + +<p> +And know our severed days!<br /> +And shall we bend the knee to cowardice,<br /> +Which ever has a premonition ready,<br /> +When you who are so like her might tonight——</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>She starts back, for</i> <span class="smcap">Rhasis</span>, <i>exclaiming, leaves the window.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Rhasis.</i> He comes.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Now?</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> <span style="margin-left: 8em;"> Go: or take this on yourselves.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> Upon me be it! For there is no rest<br /> +Until his pardon weds us—and I pay him.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> Then but a word remains, young master, more:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span><br /> +To tell you—that I fear—lest thro long toil,<br /> +His mind....<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> Oh! (<i>recoils</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ion.</i> It is not true!... No Myrrha! no!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Takes her in his arms.</i></p> + +<p>And is ingratitude I scorn to heed.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Turns away.</i></p> + +<p>Come then and by your beauty's likeness win him.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>He leads her behind the curtains then goes, door left. A moment, +which leaves</i> <span class="smcap">Rhasis</span> <i>distraught, and</i> <span class="smcap">Arduin</span> <i>enters. He pauses, as +if at some presence; then, gazing on the sarcophagus, shudders with +hope and comes down.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Arduin.</i> The night at last when I again shall clasp her<br /> +And banish death to biers beyond the stars!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis</i> (<i>kneeling</i>). Master!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Rise up and never kneel again!</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span><br /> +For from henceforth<br /> +I shall be lord of life,<br /> +The secret of the phœnix in my hand.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Lifts an alembic.</i></p> + +<p> +Gray have I grown in quest of it and old,<br /> +Youthless and as a leper to delight,<br /> +But it has come at last—at last has come!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Sets vessel down.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Rhasis.</i> And I rejoice, master, for I have toiled<br /> +With you these many years—but is it sure?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> As the moon is in heaven! as the skies!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>In an ecstasy.</i></p> + +<p> +For last night I beheld<br /> +In dreams deeper than day how it must be.<br /> +I saw a tomb far-hidden in the earth<br /> +And Life within it<br /> +Mixing salt and sulphur—<br /> +Twin elements<br /> +Of the great trinity.<br /> +I saw her hands pour out quick mercury<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span><br /> +Upon a bat's wing wrought with hieroglyphics,<br /> +And then I saw her cast in gold and silver<br /> +That melted with strange voice and sudden flame,<br /> +The while she gazed on me most meaningly.<br /> +And then ... when all was done....</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>The vision consuming him.</i></p> + +<p> +My wife, my Rhea, lit with loveliness<br /> +And as a spirit clad with resurrection,<br /> +Rose up within my dream ... fair, young and glad!...<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> But, master ... are dreams true?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> <span style="margin-left: 13em;">Such dreams as these?</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Kindling.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Rhasis.</i> Pardon! I know not—only that you say<br /> +Some come of Ophiuchus—<br /> +The demon you have warned me of—who oft<br /> +With thwarting laugh has struck the secret from you....<br /> +Many before have followed the mirage<br /> +Of dreams—but to more thirst: trust not too much!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> But fear? fear? you are falling from me too?<br /> +Like Ion the son of him who ... you? you too?<br /> +At the prime moment?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">No, my master, no!</span><br /> +But I would spare you pain unbearable.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> Ha! and believe—you do?—that all wise men<br /> +Of all the world could so have been deceived?<br /> +Believe—do, do?—that she <i>cannot</i> arise?<br /> +Did not great Hermes say of the Elixir<br /> +It should be found—<br /> +And did not Polydos,<br /> +The Greek, chancing upon it, raise his friends<br /> +In battle slain?...<br /> +Did not the Jew of Galilee, the Christ,<br /> +Whom even you name Prophet, likewise win it?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Peacelessly.</i></p> + +<p> +Speak!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> Master, yes!... But O! trust not too much.<br /> +Wiser, I know, than all Arabia<br /> +Are you—like to Mahomet—were it not<br /> +That you have set within your heart a woman.<br /> +But if, perchance, the Elixir does not prove——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> Availing? Have not all things pointed to it?<br /> +The day she died<br /> +Did I not hear a voice<br /> +That breathed into my brain she should arise?<br /> +And as I waited did a book of wisdom<br /> +Not chance into my hands to show the way?<br /> +Were the first words I read not, <i>In ten years<br /> +The miracle shall come—<br /> +Revealed to you within the land of the Sphinx</i>?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> So read it, so! But——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> <span style="margin-left: 10em;">Is this not that land?</span><br /> +Are not those stones the pyramids that thro<br /> +The ages have stood waiting for this hour—<br /> +When I shall bring her beauty back, today?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span><br /> +Is not that face the Sphinx,<br /> +Whose timeless and intemperable meaning<br /> +No man has read in desert, star, or sea,<br /> +But which must be the secret I unsphere?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> O master!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> <span style="margin-left: 4em;"> Fail, fail, fail? now to restore her?</span><br /> +Who died as you shall know, here ere she rises,<br /> +Because my brother—aieh! the father of Ion—<br /> +Who bore as well that name—<br /> +Desiring her, vilely accused her——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha</i> (<i>involuntarily, behind curtains</i>). Oh!...<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin</i> (<i>bewildered</i>). Who spoke? It was her voice?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Runs to sarcophagus.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Rhasis.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">No, master, no!...</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin</i> (<i>slowly returning</i>). Fail, fail to bring her fairness from the tomb!<br /> +Her face which can alone sow finitude's<br /> +Fell desolation with enverdured dreams<br /> +And fill the ways of the world again with hope?<br /> +I tell you she eternal must arise—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span><br /> +Tho God die for it!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Begins to gird himself.</i></p> + +<p> +Must!... and the hour is now!—<br /> +Venus is in the house of ready Taurus,<br /> +The moon is full, and as I toiled today,</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Goes to furnace.</i></p> + +<p> +From the alembic a strange cloud arose,<br /> +And once again her face!... Prepare! prepare!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhasis.</i> I will do all you say. But, master, if——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin</i> (<i>immitigably</i>). No death-word more of doubt. It is the power<br /> +Which holds us futile from omnipotence.<br /> +Mete out the sulphur<br /> +Into the alembic<br /> +Of Cleopatra's crystal.—I must see her!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Rhasis hastens.</i></p> + +<p> +See her again, my Rhea, as she was,<br /> +When plucking first the poppies of Provence!<br /> +And hear flow from her<br /> +Words sweeter than Memnon's in the wind of dawn!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span><br /> +Here's gold and silver (<i>hands them</i>). She shall rise and say:<br /> +"Years pale you, pale your brow, my Arduin,<br /> +And touch to gray the treasure of your hair,<br /> +But not Antinous could be so fair<br /> +To me—or wonderful:<br /> +For you have brought me from the cold tomb to life!..."<br /> +The bat's wing then! And to the sarcophagus<br /> +To lift its lid! for I will wait no longer——</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Takes alembic, as Rhasis obeys, and continues invokingly</i>:</p> + +<p> +But now, vial of immortality!<br /> +By the presaging of the seven planets,<br /> +And by the searchless sources of the Nile,<br /> +And by the prayers of Christian and of Heathen,<br /> +And by the elements earth, air and fire,<br /> +That hold within their intermingled veins<br /> +The secret of illimitable life—<br /> +By fate and time and God—I here conjure you<br /> +Bring forth the Elixir which shall make her rise!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>He pours the ingredients, and quickly fumes arise. They clear and +a liquid is seen in the bottom of the glass. With a cry he starts +toward the sarcophagus, when Myrrha's face—which, excited, has +parted the curtains—stops him enspelled. Rhasis, unnerved, quits +the room—leaving them agaze.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Arduin</i> (<i>at length, as if to a spirit</i>).<br /> +I do not dream?... you have arisen?... Rhea!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Starting toward her.</i></p> + +<p> +Arisen ere I touched you?—O fear not!<br /> +For I am Arduin! do you not know me?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>She trembles speechless.</i></p> + +<p> +O wonderful awaking! O ... at last!<br /> +Tho yet the memory of the tomb is on you!...<br /> +This land is Egypt, whither in my grief<br /> +I brought you, my dead bride! Look on me! see!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Stops quickly.</i></p> + +<p> +But no, not yet! until my youth comes back,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span><br /> +As now it will,<br /> +Over the sea from France!<br /> +Already passion lifts away the years<br /> +That weight its wings and I am as I was.<br /> +Now gaze upon me, now! Is it not I?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> Sir—!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> Sir! O quickly see. For to my breast<br /> +Again has striving brought you, to my bosom!<br /> +The bitter nights are ended—the blind pits<br /> +Sleepless and infinite. Awake! stare not<br /> +So strangely! press your lips in praise to mine,<br /> +Your breast upon my breast!... Delay you still?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> O sir—!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> See, see! the years have been too long.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Clasps her, dropping alembic.</i></p> + +<p>My arms have waited an infinitude.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>She struggles.</i></p> + +<p> +Do you not now remember with my lips<br /> +To yours, the brimming beauty of our youth?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> Release me!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Awake and know me! It is I!</span><br /> +Your lover Arduin whom once you wooed:<br /> +Whose every word was to you as a wind<br /> +Of God! whose every kiss.... Do you not see?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> No, no! I'm not your love—<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> <span style="margin-left:12em;"> Not—? You uprisen?</span><br /> +Has the tomb treachery to change the soul?<br /> +Ye skies, must I go mad now at this moment<br /> +When I have brought her back from destiny?<br /> +Not mine?... Awake! Oblivion enthralls you.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Suddenly starting from her.</i></p> + +<p> +Or is it that there in the grave, another—?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> No, no! but—<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> <span style="margin-left: 6em;"> Ha, then! if not—if it be not—</span><br /> +Is it that here returned you wish another?<br /> +You who so gaze upon my goaded brow<br /> +And face grown old with toil to conquer death?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span><br /> +O youth ruthless to age! e'en tho its furrows<br /> +Were got for your delight!—Ingratitude!—<br /> +Have I so hungered thro long years to pluck<br /> +A flower of Hell back to the light!... No, No!<br /> +It cannot be!... You shall be mine!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha</i> (<i>in terror</i>). <span style="margin-left: 6em;"> Sir, sir!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> Mad will I be, as they have thought me, mad<br /> +In holding that which I have given life.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> But you mistake!... I am not what you think.<br /> +Hear me, for I love one who——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i><span style="margin-left: 11em;"> Is not—I?</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>As to invisible judges.</i></p> + +<p> +You hear her say it?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> <span style="margin-left: 5em;"> O, I love but Ion,</span><br /> +Your—<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> Ion, my brother! Then, God! it was true,<br /> +And being true thy Heaven is but a brothel!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span><br /> +She was unfaithful to me, as he said!<br /> +And in the other world has met and clasped him!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> No, let me speak!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">And spurn me more with it?</span><br /> +Shall I abide mockery like a mummy!<br /> +Ha-ha! (<i>A laugh that racks him.</i>)<br /> +Years but to hear her say that she loves him!<br /> +To see her come back from the grave, where she<br /> +Has still embraced him, still—and to my face,<br /> +On which the rage of sleepless toil is wrought,<br /> +Tell me....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She shall die for it! God, whose stars</span><br /> +Are vermin, she shall die!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> <span style="margin-left: 7em;"> O!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin</i> (<i>frenziedly</i>). <span style="margin-left: 4em;"> Die, die, die!</span><br /> +As trustless women should: until no womb<br /> +Of lies is left in the world! Die, and be shut<br /> +Again into the curst sarcophagus<br /> +From whence I brought her ...<br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha</i> (<i>in his grasp</i>). Sir!—help!—sir! do not!<br /> +O, I will love you!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i> <span style="margin-left: 5em;"> Liar! and turn from him</span><br /> +Whom you betrayed me for—and swear again<br /> +False love to me? Then ... in the tomb do it!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Begins to choke her.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Myrrha.</i> O!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Aieh! cry out to him! will he not help you?</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Myrrha.</i> Ion!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arduin.</i><span style="margin-left: 3em;">That word withering in your throat</span><br /> +Shall stale you past all hope of resurrection.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Strangles her—and then looks around.</i></p> + +<p> +So, it is done.... And now, back to your tomb,<br /> +Which I will bury in the desert sands<br /> +So deep that not eternity can find it.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Begins to draw her toward sarcophagus.</i></p> + +<p>And yet (<i>stopping stricken</i>) all is not well ... I now could weep.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>With lone anguish.</i></p> + +<p> +I know not wherefore—only that my heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span><br /> +Is wounded and seems bleeding o'er the hours<br /> +That I must live!... O Rhea!... O, my love!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Strangely kissing her.</i></p> + +<p> +Do you not hear the nightingale that sang<br /> +The song of our betrothal in Provence?<br /> +It sits upon....</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Changing again.</i></p> + +<p> +Accursed face! accurst! forevermore!<br /> +Within the tomb lie (<i>dragging her</i>) blind, deaf, motionless,<br /> +Until—</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>Looking into the coffin becomes transfixed, while</i> <span class="smcap">Myrrha's</span> <i>limp +body slips slowly from his arms. He gazes at her, at his wife, and +tries to understand. But cannot, and so, standing long troubled, +moans</i>:</p> + +<p> +I am not well; perchance Rhasis will come<br /> +And tell me what it is that I desired.<br /> +Men should not toil o'ermuch; there's madness in it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Then seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Myrrha's</span> <i>face and starting from it wildly</i>:</p> + +<p>Rhasis! Rhasis! Rhasis!... Oh-oh-oh-oh!</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>Runs madly off right, as</i> <span class="smcap">Ion</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Rhasis</span> <i>enter left. They look +around, see</i> <span class="smcap">Myrrha</span> <i>and rush to her—with a cry.</i></p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Curtain</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">O-UMÈ'S GODS</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">CHARACTERS</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">O-Umè</span></td><td> <i>A Samurai Girl</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Ama</span></td><td> <i>Her Servant, an old woman</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Sanko</span></td><td> <i>A Young Samurai</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> + and</td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">A Young Jesuit Priest</span></td></tr></table> + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">O-UMÈ'S GODS</span></p> + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Time</span>: <i>The Sixteenth Century.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Place</span>: <i>Japan.</i></p> + + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: <i>A room in the house of O-Umè in a province near the sea. +Its</i> shoji, <i>or sliding paper doors, open in the rear upon a +wistaria arbor over-hanging a river, upon which lighted lanterns, +sent forth on the night of the Feast of the Dead, are dimly +floating; while the moon above gleams upon the pale distant +snow-cone of Fujiyama. The room with its deep straw mats and walls +delicately portrayed with pine and bamboo has a paper-paned door on +the right leading to a garden, and is lighted by</i> andon—<i>one +beneath a shrine to Buddha on the left wall, and one to the left +centre where</i> <span class="smcap">O-Umè</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Ama</span> <i>are sitting on their heels, +constrained, foreboding and verging toward inevitable words.</i></p> +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> +<p> +<i>Ama</i> (<i>at length</i>). Down to the sea! the sea!<br /> +Oh the dead!<br /> +Do they not seem<br /> +On the night air to hover?<br /> +There by the lights<br /> +Are not their spirits present?<br /> +The lights lit for them?</p> + +<p class="right">[<span class="smcap">O-Umè</span> <i>is silent.</i></p> + +<p> +All our ancestors are they!<br /> +Fathers and mothers<br /> +Of many lives back!<br /> +They hear us speaking,<br /> +They hear from the Buddha-shrine<br /> +There on the wall.<br /> +They see us thinking.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Meaningly.</i></p> + +<p> +They see in our hearts!<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè</i> (<i>who trembles</i>). Be silent! silent!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama</i> (<i>bowing but continuing</i>). They know if we care for them—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span><br /> +Know as the wind<br /> +That visits all shoji,<br /> +Know as the night<br /> +That searches all places.<br /> +Alas for the son<br /> +Who does not honor them!<br /> +And for the daughter<br /> +Who does not cherish them!<br /> +They shall——<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Be silent!</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>A pause.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Ama.</i> Alas for the daughter!<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè</i> (<i>who rises disturbedly</i>).<br /> +The lips of the old<br /> +Are like leaves dying—<br /> +Leaves of Autumn<br /> +That ever flutter!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Walks about.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Ama.</i> And a girl's mind<br /> +Is like the dawn mist—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span><br /> +Knowing not whither<br /> +To rest or wander—<br /> +Until, perchance,<br /> +It clings to Fuji,<br /> +To Fuji mountain,<br /> +Lord of the air!<br /> +The mind of a girl ... straying!<br /> +And what is O-Umè's?... whose?<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> It is O-Umè's!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> <span style="margin-left: 7em;">Ai!</span><br /> +Not Sanko's!...<br /> +But were I she,<br /> +O-Umè the fair,<br /> +O-Umè the mist<br /> +Of happy karmas,<br /> +Sanko should be<br /> +My Fuji mountain.<br /> +Him would I cling to,<br /> +Nor would I hunger<br /> +To stray far from him<br /> +With a white priest!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span><br /> +To stray far from him<br /> +To foreign gods<br /> +That hang on a cross.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Again bowing.</i></p> + +<p> +Is he not strong?<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Be silent!</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>To herself, troubled.</i></p> + +<p> +The lips of the old!<br /> +The lips of the old!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> Is he not brave?<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> <span style="margin-left: 6em;"> I care not.</span><br /> +A samurai is he—<br /> +One whose sword is his soul.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> And should his tongue be<br /> +Like that of the other,<br /> +The priest of the pain-god?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Immovably.</i></p> + +<p> +Is he not kind?<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">He is kind.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> Kind! as O-Umè is cruel!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> No, but as men are,<br /> +Wanting women:<br /> +Yet not once so was he!<br /> +For as children<br /> +We caught together<br /> +The June-night fire-flies<br /> +Out by the shrine of Jiso.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> And then he loved you,<br /> +And ever has loved you,<br /> +And faithful is he!<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> Ai, and terrible!...<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> Terrible only<br /> +Because O-Umè<br /> +Turns from her fathers<br /> +And from the gods.<br /> +She sees their soul-ships<br /> +Sail to the sea—<br /> +The lights lit for them,</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Motions without.</i></p> + +<p> +And yet she offers<br /> +No cakes of welcome—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span><br /> +None of farewell!<br /> +No prayer to Buddha,<br /> +Lotus-loving,<br /> +And none to Kwannon<br /> +Who is all mercy.<br /> +But inward, inward<br /> +She turns her eyes<br /> +To see this stranger,<br /> +Priest of the Christ-god.<br /> +Outward, outward,<br /> +Ever she gazes<br /> +And ever listens,<br /> +Ever, for him!...<br /> +Oh false, false one!<br /> +False to the dead—<br /> +False to Sanko!...<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè</i> (<i>more distressedly</i>). The words of the old<br /> +Are like the leaves,</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Her voice breaks.</i></p> + +<p> +Like Autumn leaves<br /> +That ever flutter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> And those of the young——<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè</i> (<i>becoming distraught</i>). Oh will she hush not!...<br /> +Will this servant,<br /> +Whom my mother<br /> +Dying left me,<br /> +Waste my heart so?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Weeps in her sleeve.</i></p> + +<p> +Sanko I fear,<br /> +And fears of many<br /> +Worlds crowd round me—<br /> +Many karmas<br /> +Of pain and passion,<br /> +Births and rebirths.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> And 'tis because<br /> +This evil priest<br /> +Stands in the door of your heart.<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> Will you revile him?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> Cursed be he!<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> Ama!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i><span style="margin-left: 4em;"> I pray it!</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Rises slowly.</i></p> + +<p>And curst he shall be.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>O-Umè stares trembling.</i></p> + +<p> +For, O blind one,<br /> +By him blinded,<br /> +Do you not know<br /> +The people have heard<br /> +How he has bid you<br /> +Cast away from you<br /> +The gods of your house?<br /> +The blessed Buddha<br /> +And all the tablets<br /> +Kept, ancestral?<br /> +Ai, they have heard<br /> +And tonight have risen!<br /> +This night of the dead<br /> +They have gone forth,<br /> +With Sanko to lead them—<br /> +Gone to tear down<br /> +The house of the priest!<br /> +Gone to destroy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span><br /> +The image he worships!<br /> +Gone to——<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè</i> (<i>stricken</i>). Ama!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Shrinks from her and then speaks wanly.</i></p> + +<p> +Never is there<br /> +Trust in any?<br /> +Only faith that fades?<br /> +This was known—<br /> +But kept from me,<br /> +Kept in silence,<br /> +Kept for Sanko?...<br /> +O lord Buddha,<br /> +Thou, or Christ,<br /> +Is there peril?——</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Turns on her.</i></p> + +<p> +You have done ill!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ama.</i> I have done well.<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> Ill! and ill shall come to you!<br /> +For do you think<br /> +So to prevent me<br /> +From my fate-way?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span><br /> +No, I will find it!<br /> +The Buddha and all<br /> +The tablets ancestral<br /> +Will I take down from the wall,<br /> +And from me cast them<br /> +Into the river ...<br /> +They shall float down to the sea.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Turns and goes to shrine.</i></p> + +<p><i>Ama.</i> O-Umè! O-Umè!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Catching at her kimono.</i></p> + +<p> +The gods forsaken<br /> +Will pardon never!<br /> +The gods—and the people!<br /> +You will become<br /> +Eta, an outcast,<br /> +From them driven away.<br /> +O-Umè!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>The girl takes the shrine.</i></p> + +<p> +Remember your father<br /> +Dead, and your mother.<br /> +They are hovering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span><br /> +Round your fingers,<br /> +Faint, offended!<br /> +Will you pause not?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>When O-Umè continues.</i></p> + +<p>Ah for Sanko! for Sanko!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Runs calling to door.</i></p> + +<p>Sanko! Sanko!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>O-Umè stops motionless.</i></p> + +<p>Sanko!...<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè</i> (<i>after a pause</i>). He waits then there?<br /> +<br /> +<i>A Voice</i> (<i>without</i>). Ama! (<i>nearer</i>) Ama!...</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<span class="smcap">Sanko</span> <i>enters from the garden, dishevelled and breathless, but +controlled. As he does so</i> <span class="smcap">O-Umè</span> <i>drops the shrine and the image +falls out.</i></p> + +<p><i>Sanko</i>. O-Umè! O-Umè!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Ama goes quickly out.</i></p> + +<p><i>O-Umè</i> (<i>again motionless</i>). Honourable friend!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>With polished anger.</i></p> + +<p> +You dwell in my garden?<br /> +And is my house<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span><br /> +Even as your house?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sanko.</i> Be pleased to pardon!...<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> And you conspire here<br /> +With Ama against me?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sanko.</i> O-Umè knows<br /> +The samurai's honour.<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> O-Umè thought so,<br /> +But does no longer!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sanko.</i> Ah the plum-blossom!<br /> +Then it too<br /> +Has thorns and poison?<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> Yes, for the hand of Sanko!<br /> +Knowing the deed<br /> +From whence he comes.<br /> +Knowing that ...</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Breaks off, tensely.</i></p> + +<p> +Where is the priest's house?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sanko</i> (<i>angrily</i>). Cast in the river!<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> Ai, for I see<br /> +The blood on your hand<br /> +From the torn rafters!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span><br /> +Red, red blood<br /> +Of a deed of fury.<br /> +So I tell you,<br /> +Samurai rude,<br /> +Not for one life,<br /> +Even for one,<br /> +Will I be yours.<br /> +Please ... to leave me.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>He looks at his hand and is going.</i></p> + +<p>And yet ... (<i>as he stops</i>) ... not thus!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>She struggles.</i></p> + +<p> +The priest would bid me<br /> +Bind up your wound.<br /> +And you were once<br /> +Sanko my friend!—<br /> +Put forth your hand!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>He does so.</i></p> + +<p> +The blood——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sanko</i> (<i>with sudden fierceness</i>). The blood is his!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>As she falls back with a cry.</i></p> + +<p>His! I have slain him!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Mockingly.</i></p> + +<p> +And did his ghost<br /> +Not come here flitting?<br /> +Coldly flitting?<br /> +Here with moaning<br /> +Does it not hang<br /> +Upon the roof-tree<br /> +Hungering for you?<br /> +He lay in the dark—<br /> +One lay with him—<br /> +One who escaped to the river.<br /> +But him I slew<br /> +That you might never<br /> +Turn from the Buddha<br /> +And from your fathers;<br /> +Turn dishonoured<br /> +Of all who greet you.<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè</i> (<i>speech coming at last</i>).<br /> +Ah! A-hi! Slain!...<br /> +It cannot be!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sanko</i> (<i>drawing a bloody sword</i>).<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span><br /> +And is this wet with dew?<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè.</i> O let it pierce<br /> +Your own heart, samurai!<br /> +For you shall never<br /> +Again know peace.<br /> +I will pray to<br /> +The lord of Nippon,<br /> +To the Shogun—<br /> +Who gave entrance<br /> +Here to the Christ-priest.<br /> +Nay, I will die<br /> +Myself that ever<br /> +You may be hated<br /> +By your own heart.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Starts toward river.</i></p> + +<p> +I will cast<br /> +Myself to the soul-world<br /> +And bid the dead<br /> +To bring you evil!<br /> +Then the priest shall ...</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot">[<i>Breaks off—for standing in the arbour is the priest, pale and +spectral. He has come up to the steps from the river. At the sight</i> +<span class="smcap">Sanko</span> <i>plucks her back, as if from a ghost. A pause, then the priest +speaks sacrosanctly.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Priest.</i> The Christ looks on you,</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Lifts a crucifix.</i></p> + +<p> +You, a murderer—<br /> +Tho it is not<br /> +I you have murdered.</p> + +<p class="right">[<span class="smcap">Sanko</span> <i>gazes.</i></p> + +<p> +One slept with me,<br /> +A gentle servant,<br /> +Slept in my cloak ... you have slain him.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Steps forward.</i></p> + +<p> +The Christ looks on you.<br /> +He will forgive you.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>A pause.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Sanko</i> (<i>recovering</i>). Priest!<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Priest.</i><span style="margin-left: 7em;"> Forgive you.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Holds crucifix toward him.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Sanko.</i> By the eight million<br /> +Gods, he mocks me!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Dashes it to floor.</i></p> + +<p> +And shall perish<br /> +Or go from this village!<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Priest.</i> Aye ... but only<br /> +When goes this maiden<br /> +Whom you would hold<br /> +Still to her idols.<br /> +She must follow<br /> +The Cross of Heaven.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sanko.</i> She shall follow<br /> +O priest, but me.<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Priest.</i> Murderer, pause!...<br /> +There is a Hell<br /> +Where the lost burn<br /> +Even as say your sutras.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Sanko lifts his sword.</i></p> + +<p> +Pause! and strike not!<br /> +The smitten Christ<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span><br /> +No longer holds<br /> +My hands from strife.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Towers over him.</i></p> + +<p> +O-Umè, I bid you<br /> +Now cast away<br /> +The gilded gods you have worshipped.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sanko.</i> And I forbid<br /> +O-Umè <i>to move</i>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>O-Umè</i> (<i>heedless of either</i>). And I, O-Umè,<br /> +O'er whom you quarrel,<br /> +And whom you tear<br /> +Twixt Christ and Buddha,<br /> +I, O-Umè, will end it.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Lifts the</i> <span class="smcap">Buddha</span> <i>from the floor, and the crucifix, over her +head.</i></p> + +<p> +Be all the gods forsaken—<br /> +Even as these!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Goes to river and casts them in. Then meets their horror with ever +increasing passion.</i></p> + +<p> +Be all!<br /> +And be you gone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span><br /> +Forevermore!<br /> +For if again<br /> +I see your faces,<br /> +If again<br /> +They grieve my hours,<br /> +If again<br /> +While Fuji stands there—<br /> +The river shall gulf me, too.<br /> +I swear it by the dead.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>They look at her awed, then go slowly, silently out. She sinks on +her heels, hands folded, and stares before her. The lights on the +river drift on.</i></p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Curtain</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE IMMORTAL LURE</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">CHARACTERS</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Vishwamya</span> </td><td> <i>A Renowned Ascetic</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Rishyas</span> </td><td> <i>His Son, a Young Saint</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Sunandi</span> </td><td> <i>An Old Woman of the Court of the Rajah of Anga</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">Koïl</span> </td><td> <i>A Young Girl of the Court</i></td></tr></table> + + +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE IMMORTAL LURE</span></p> + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Time</span>: <i>The antiquity of India.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: <i>Before the hermitage of</i> <span class="smcap">Vishwamya</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Rishyas</span>, <i>in a +forest near the Ganges. It is an open space spread with kusa-grass +and over-hung with trees—the hermitage itself being a cell +constructed of earth and of hanging roots of the banyan, and having +by it an altar before which lies a deer-skin. Glimmering lights and +running water penetrate the shades, whose sacredness is soon +disturbed by the appearance of</i> <span class="smcap">Sunandi</span>, <i>wantonly compelling</i> <span class="smcap">Koïl</span>, +<i>with alternate harshness and wheedling, to enter with her.</i></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p> +<i>Sunandi</i> (<i>peering about</i>). The place, my jewel-bird! the place for it!<br /> +Under these boughs of peepul and asoka<br /> +The young saint dwells<br /> +With his restraining sire,<br /> +Singing the Vedas morning, eve and noon,<br /> +And they are gone somewhither now in the wood<br /> +To gather fruit for sacrifice, and flowers.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>With a leer.</i></p> + +<p> +But he, the boy, will soon return, my pretty.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl</i> (<i>whom she has released</i>). And you have drawn me from the city here<br /> +To break into his holy breast with passion?<br /> +To dance and sing and seize him?<br /> +I you have taught the wiles of winning men,<br /> +As the cobra-charmer teaches,<br /> +Must lure him from his saintly innocence,<br /> +And with the beauty I was born unto<br /> +Must tangle him?...<br /> +You, O Sunandi, are an evil woman,<br /> +To lead me to it!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sunandi.</i> And you talk as flies talk!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span><br /> +Who know not that the gods sow food or famine.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Harshly.</i></p> + +<p> +I tell you that great Indra of the skies<br /> +Is wroth with us<br /> +And will not send us rain,<br /> +So wisest Brahmins vow—<br /> +Until this boy,<br /> +This saintly one, is brought unto the Raja!<br /> +Are we to die because not otherwise<br /> +Than with alluring now we can appease them?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Leering again.</i></p> + +<p> +And why are women fair, my cunning Koïl,<br /> +But to tempt men then, when they seek to take us——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> Sunandi!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sunandi.</i> <span style="margin-left: 3em;"> It is so, unwitted girl!</span><br /> +Be silent then<br /> +And do what I command.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Wheedling again.</i></p> + +<p> +But it will be sweet doing, beamy Koïl,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span><br /> +For the young saint<br /> +Is fairer than the god-born,<br /> +His body like warm gold and lotos-lithe—<br /> +Made for the wants that tremble in your heart.<br /> +And when your eyes rest on him they will kindle<br /> +Like passion-stars.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> <span style="margin-left: 6em;"> And burn away his peace—</span><br /> +Which is the pearl<br /> +Of sainthood thro all worlds!<br /> +Unless his father, strange and terrible,<br /> +And mighty thro austerities—one whose<br /> +Curse were as heavy as an hundred births—!<br /> +O let us trust it not! So young a saint<br /> +Should be the holy mate of solitude.<br /> +I would not have him gaze upon me so,<br /> +For he is innocent of love, nor ever<br /> +As yet has looked upon a woman's face.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sunandi.</i> Then may he loathe you if he does not! for<br /> +Only in woman's faces is there beauty<br /> +And who beholds not beauty is as dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Starts.</i></p> + +<p> +But ha? 'tis he?<br /> +No, only parakeets,<br /> +Chattering as you chatter, idle girl!<br /> +Who ever were resistant to my teachings!<br /> +I tell you chirp no more these chastities!<br /> +If you come back to the Raja<br /> +And without him,<br /> +Know you what then will happen?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> <span style="margin-left: 12em;"> I know not.</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Hears a voice.</i></p> + +<p> +Nor care not. I will return.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sunandi.</i> <span style="margin-left: 7em;">Stop, girl.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> <span style="margin-left: 13em;"> I will not.</span><br /> +All others will I tempt, but——<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sunandi</i> (<i>holding her</i>). <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Him will <i>love</i>!</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<span class="smcap">Rishyas</span> <i>slowly approaches, chanting.</i></p> + +<p> +And you were suckled at the breast of fortune<br /> +To be the first so fair a saint shall look on.<br /> +Use well your charms—and chain him with enchantment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>Sees the girl is enthralled by the voice and goes into wood.</i> +<span class="smcap">Rishyas</span> <i>soon enters opposite, laden and singing</i>:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Spirit of the risen sun!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Now returns the offering-hour.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Fruit I bring to you and flower,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Here receive them, O great—</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>Breaks off, at sight of her, and the offerings fall slowly from +his arms.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Koïl</i> (<i>as they gaze long and tremblingly</i>).<br /> +O saint, is it peace with you, and is all well?<br /> +And have you roots and fruit enough for food;<br /> +And have you joy in singing holy Vedas<br /> +Here in this leafy-hearted hermitage?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> O radiant one, yes—all is godly well.<br /> +But whence are you?<br /> +And whither do you go?<br /> +I have dwelt only here, and not before<br /> +Have I beheld so fair a vision fall—<br /> +Even from skies where wing the Apsaras.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> I am not fair, O son of Vishwamya,</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Timidly.</i></p> + +<p> +But I have come from very far away.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas</i> (<i>quickly</i>). And I have offered you no laving-water<br /> +For hands and feet,<br /> +Nor any fruit and herbs!<br /> +Will you not sit upon this mat of kusa,<br /> +Or on this skin of the wild antelope,<br /> +And let me loose your sandals?—O sweet saint,<br /> +For saint so bright an one must be!—it will<br /> +Be dear to touch and tend you!<br /> +For in this place I have beheld no other—<br /> +Only my father,<br /> +Who is old and mighty<br /> +In meditations he would have me mind.<br /> +But you are fair as well. Will you not sit?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> No, pious one, it is not meet for me<br /> +To touch the holy water—yet I thank you.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> Not meet for you? O, unto one who is<br /> +So beautiful, are not all things most meet?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span><br /> +Better are you, I know, than all the devas.<br /> +And tho for but a moment I have seen you,<br /> +I fain would follow<br /> +The holy vows you follow.<br /> +For you I would do all things. When I gaze<br /> +Upon you all my body is as fire<br /> +Upon the altar when I sacrifice.<br /> +Will you not eat or drink?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> <span style="margin-left: 9em;"> Not at your hands.</span><br /> +But see, O holy one, here are rare cakes,<br /> +Brought with me from afar, and here is soma,<br /> +Sparkling and ready with divinity<br /> +To lift whoever drinks of it to joy.<br /> +Drink you with me!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">O gladly will I; give it.</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Takes the flask; drinks deeply.</i></p> + +<p> +A wine of wonder is it and of wisdom,<br /> +For now it makes you seem even more fair<br /> +Than first you were.<br /> +O let me tend about you,<br /> +And let me wreathe your brow and limbs with flowers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Takes some and entwines them over her.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Koïl</i> (<i>trembling</i>). And you are beautiful. So I will weave<br /> +Flowers upon you too. And see, and see,<br /> +O, Rishyas, see,<br /> +For I will dance to you—<br /> +The dance of all the dreamers in the world!</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>Unbinds her body-cloth and begins to dance—slowly at first then +more alluringly, as he follows her, marvelling. Then at length she +stops close up to him and murmurs</i>:</p> + +<p> +Does it not fill your heart, O Rishyas,<br /> +With longing?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> Yes, yes, yes. And with desire,<br /> +I know not why, to lay my lips to yours!<br /> +Then life, it seems, would burst all ill that binds it.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Instinctively; clasping her.</i></p> + +<p> +Oh this is sweeter than all other joys<br /> +Of holiness that I have ever known.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span><br /> +Your voice is like to piping of the koïls<br /> +That play in spring.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;"> And Koïl am I named.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> And what is this I feel for you, O wise one?<br /> +In skies from whence you come, what is its name?<br /> +So pure are you that surely you can tell me?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> O holy one, the people call it love.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> Then is love better than all other bliss<br /> +My father's meditations ever bring.<br /> +And I will seek thro all the lapse of lives<br /> +To hold you thus,<br /> +And have your arms about me,<br /> +As vines about the asoka clingingly.<br /> +Happy am I that you have found me out,<br /> +And never shall you leave me.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> <span style="margin-left: 11em;">No—for ever!</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>More passionately.</i></p> + +<p> +But unto the city you shall go with me<br /> +And there with Brahmin rites be made my husband.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> Which is—I know not what—yet will I be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span><br /> +Husband and more to you. For now it seems<br /> +That not the tiger in his jungle-might,<br /> +Nor any incarnation terrible,<br /> +Could tear you from me.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i><span style="margin-left: 9em;">Then come quickly, now,</span><br /> +And I will be for you a champa-flower,<br /> +Swung sweetly and forever to your breast.<br /> +And often will I dance for you and sing<br /> +And love you, Rishyas, as a deva-queen!<br /> +Come quickly, one is waiting in the wood<br /> +To guide us.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> Yes, O yes! (<i>remembering</i>) But stay! my father!<br /> +First I will tell him I have won this wisdom.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> No, no!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yes! (<i>calls</i>) Father! father!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl</i> (<i>in terror</i>). <span style="margin-left: 10em;"> Rishyas, no!</span><br /> +But come, come with me quickly.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas</i> (<i>astonished</i>). <span style="margin-left: 5em;"> Do you fear?</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> He is so old!... You guess not what you do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span><br /> +Haste, or he will forbid.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> <span style="margin-left: 7em;">You know him not.</span><br /> +For I will tell him you are a holier saint<br /> +To guide my steps,<br /> +Then will he bid me go.<br /> +Ho! father! ho!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya</i> (<i>heard off</i>). My son, you call? I come.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> O, I must flee—<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas</i> (<i>dazed</i>). I do not understand.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> Sunandi! Speak, Sunandi!—Ah, he comes.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<span class="smcap">Vishwamya</span> <i>enters and seeing her stops amazed</i>. <span class="smcap">Sunandi</span> <i>enters +behind unseen. Deep suspense.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Rishyas</i> (<i>uncomprehendingly</i>). Do you see, father, I have found one here<br /> +Holy, and fairer than the Apsaras.<br /> +And I shall follow her, she is some goddess.<br /> +For I desire only to be with her,<br /> +And she has taught me this desire is love.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span><br /> +O and I love her,<br /> +And tho yet I know<br /> +Not well what miracle love is in me,<br /> +Yet it is better than this hermitage.<br /> +For it has made me seem.... But what burns in you?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> My son, you are beguiled. Let go her hand<br /> +That leads you on to ruin. Do you not<br /> +Behold what manner of creature you so clasp?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> Yes, yes—a deva!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Deva! This is a woman,</span><br /> +And women like the wind are full of wiles,<br /> +And tempt saints to abandon Swerga's rest.<br /> +He who would rule his mind has naught with them.<br /> +Let go her hand and send her away.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas</i> (<i>amazed</i>). <span style="margin-left: 7em;">Away!</span><br /> +Never shall she go from me and without me.<br /> +If women are evil, as you say, she is not,<br /> +Therefore she is no woman.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> <span style="margin-left: 7em;"> O vain boy!</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span><br /> +In passion's jungle! Break from her at once!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> I will not. Her I worship, holily.<br /> +And she has given me a drink of heaven<br /> +That has diffused deity in my limbs.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> And death, and an eternity of births!—<br /> +These flowers (<i>on his neck</i>) and her feigning have bewitched you!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Seizes them.</i></p> + +<p> +I tear them off and trample them to earth.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> Rishyas! Rishyas!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i><span style="margin-left: 7em;"> Be not afraid, my Koïl;</span><br /> +He is my father<br /> +And he knows you not,<br /> +For did he, he would clasp you, as I clasp.<br /> +Or it may be that he is little pleased<br /> +Because I find you holier than he.<br /> +O father, peace. Control your mind. Farewell.<br /> +I go with her.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> Beguilèd boy! you shall not.<br /> +Thro all these years I have not, from its lair,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span><br /> +Unloosed black anger.<br /> +But this evil one<br /> +And your desire to follow ways of flesh<br /> +Compel me. Come, come from her!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> <span style="margin-left: 11em;"> I will never.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> Then must I drag you—and drive her away.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Strikes</i> <span class="smcap">Koïl</span>.</p> + +<p> +Away, lust-thing! away!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i><span style="margin-left: 7em;"> Oh, oh! Oh, oh!</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>In horror.</i></p> + +<p> +A demon enters into you and dupes you<br /> +To strike her thus, a holy one. Restrain!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> No, tho I slay her!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> <span style="margin-left: 9em;">Slay? O wickedness!</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Seizes up wood of sacrifice.</i></p> + +<p> +Must I beat off your hands?—Touch her no more.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> Wild-vaunting boy! the drink and this vile girl<br /> +Have maddened you. (<i>To Koïl</i>) Away!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i><span style="margin-left: 12em;">Call her not vile!</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> Viler is she than sin!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Again strikes her.</i></p> + +<p><i>Rishyas</i> (<i>uncontrollably</i>). You do a death-deed.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>Falls on him with the weapon and fells him quickly to the +ground—then recoils with a cry. The old man strives vainly to +rise.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Koïl.</i> Oh, oh!—what have you done!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya</i> (<i>mortally hurt</i>). Slain ... slain his father!<br /> +And lost enlightenment ... and peace ... forever!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>After a struggle, terribly.</i></p> + +<p>But not to gorge upon the fruit of sin!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Turning on</i> <span class="smcap">Koïl</span>.</p> + +<p> +The curse of bitter karmas be upon you!<br /> +May you be born a worm and crawl in slime,<br /> +A serpent thro ten score of lives, and slough<br /> +Your skin in hideousness and hate and horror!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> Oh, oh!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya.</i> At every death may you despair<br /> +Of ever acquiring merit!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas</i> (<i>terrified</i>). Father!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vishwamya</i> (<i>to him</i>). <span style="margin-left: 3em;"> Aye!</span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>His strength failing.</i></p> + +<p> +For love, blood guilty boy, the love which she<br /> +Has slipped into your heart, is the curse of the world,<br /> +The immortal lure of all the generations!<br /> +Your arms have ached with it about her body,<br /> +But know that in the city whence she came<br /> +All evil men feel in their hearts this ache.<br /> +And that you may escape from it, know this:<br /> +Not your arms, yours alone, have been entwined<br /> +About this poison-flower—but, perchance,</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Sinking back.</i></p> + +<p> +The arms of many.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas</i> (<i>starting painedly</i>). What is it he means?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>With emotions he does not understand.</i></p> + +<p> +Koïl, what has he said?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i><span style="margin-left: 8em;"> O let me go!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> The arms of many? that can not be true?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Tortured by half-born thoughts.</i></p> + +<p> +O, have I fallen into demon-snares?<br /> +Is beauty not the bloom of piety?<br /> +Speak.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl.</i> I would go!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rishyas.</i> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Pain only darker pain!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Koïl</i> (<i>at length overwhelmed</i>). I am not holy—nor am I pollution!<br /> +But only one sent hither—O, the gods<br /> +Bid us to sin, then fell us with calamity!</p> + +<p class="blockquot">[<i>Hurries weeping off with</i> <span class="smcap">Sunandi</span>, <i>who has stood in terror</i>. +<span class="smcap">Rishyas</span> <i>stands dazed, then comprehension dawns upon him and he +falls by his father's body in a storm of anguish.</i></p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center">THE END</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">MANY GODS</span></p> + +<p class="center">By</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">CALE YOUNG RICE</span></p> + + +<p>"These poems are flashingly, glowingly full of the East.... What I am +sure of in Mr. Rice is that here we have an American poet whom we may +claim as ours." <i>The North American Review</i> (<i>William Dean Howells</i>).</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice has the gift of leadership, and he is a force with whom we +must reckon." <i>The Boston Transcript.</i></p> + +<p>... "We find here a poet who strives to reach the goal which marks the +best that can be done in poetry." <i>The Book News Monthly</i> (<i>A. S. +Henry</i>).</p> + +<p>"When you hear the pessimists bewailing the good old time when real +poets were abroad in the land ... do not fail to quote them almost +anything by Cale Young Rice, a real poet writing to-day.... He has done +so much splendid work one can scarcely praise him too highly." <i>The San +Francisco Call.</i></p> + +<p>"In 'Many Gods' the scenes are those of the East, and while it is not +the East of Loti, Arnold or Hearn, it is still a place of brooding, +majesty, mystery and subtle fascination. There is a temptation to quote +such verses for their melody, dignity of form, beauty of imagery and +height of inspiration." <i>The Chicago Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"'Love's Cynic' (a long poem in the volume) might be by Browning at his +best." <i>Pittsburg Gazette-Times.</i></p> + +<p>"This is a serious, and from any standpoint, a successful piece of work +... in it are poems that will become classic." <i>Passaic</i> (<i>New Jersey</i>) +<i>News.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice must be hailed as one among living masters of his art, one to +whom we may look for yet greater things." <i>Presbyterian Advance.</i></p> + +<p>"This book is in many respects a remarkable work. The poems are indeed +poems." <i>The Nashville Banner.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice's poetical plays reach a high level of achievement.... But +these poems show a higher vision and surer mastery of expression than +ever before." <i>The London Bookman.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Net, $1.25</i> (<i>postage 12c.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">A NIGHT IN AVIGNON</span></p> + +<p class="center">By</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">CALE YOUNG RICE</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Successfully produced by Donald Robertson</i></p> + + +<p>"It is as vivid as a page from Browning. Mr. Rice has the dramatic +pulse." <i>James Huneker.</i></p> + +<p>"It embraces in small compass all the essentials of the drama." <i>New +York Saturday Times Review</i> (<i>Jessie B. Rittenhouse</i>).</p> + +<p>"It presents one of the most striking situations in dramatic literature +and its climax could not be improved." <i>The San Francisco Call.</i></p> + +<p>"It has undeniable power, and is a very decided poetic achievement." +<i>The Boston Transcript.</i></p> + +<p>"It leaves an enduring impression of a soul tragedy." <i>The Churchman.</i></p> + +<p>"Since the publication of his 'Charles di Tocca' and other dramas, Cale +Young Rice has justly been regarded as a leading American master of that +difficult form, and many critics have ranked him above Stephen Phillips, +at least on the dramatic side of his art. And this judgment is further +confirmed by 'A Night in Avignon.' It is almost incredible that in less +than 500 lines Mr. Rice should have been able to create so perfect a +play with so powerful a dramatic effect." <i>The Chicago Record-Herald</i> +(<i>Edwin S. Shuman</i>).</p> + +<p>"There is poetic richness in this brilliant composition; a beauty of +sentiment and grace in every line. It is impressive, metrically pleasing +and dramatically powerful." <i>The Philadelphia Record.</i></p> + +<p>"It offers one of the most striking situations in dramatic literature." +<i>The Louisville Courier-Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"The publication of a poetic drama of the quality of Mr. Rice's is an +important event in the present tendency of American literature. He is a +leader in this most significant movement, and 'A Night in Avignon' is +marked, like his other plays, by dramatic directness, high poetic +fervor, clarity of poetic diction, and felicity of phrasing." <i>The +Chicago Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"It is a dramatically told episode, and the metre is most effectively +handled, making a welcome change for blank verse, and greatly enhancing +the interest." <i>Sydney Lee.</i></p> + +<p>"Many critics, on hearing Mr. Bryce's prediction that America will one +day have a poet, would be tempted to remind him of Mr. Rice." <i>The +Hartford</i> (<i>Conn.</i>) <i>Courant.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Net 50c.</i> (<i>postage 5c.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">YOLANDA OF CYPRUS</span></p> + +<p class="center">A Poetic Drama by</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">CALE YOUNG RICE</span></p> + + +<p>Minnie Maddern Fisk says: "No one can doubt that it is superior +poetically and dramatically to Stephen Phillips' work," and that Mr. +Rice ranks with Mr. Phillips at his best has often been reaffirmed.</p> + +<p>"It is encouraging to the hope of a native drama to know that an +American has written a play which is at the same time of decided poetic +merit and of decided dramatic power." <i>The New York Times</i> (<i>Charles M. +Hathaway, Jr.</i>).</p> + +<p>"The most remarkable quality of the play is its sustained dramatic +strength. Poetically it is frequently of great beauty. It is also lofty +in conception, lucid and felicitous in style, and the dramatic pulse +throbs in every line." <i>The Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Springfield Republican</i> says: "The characters are drawn with force +and the play is dignified and powerful," and adds that if it does not +succeed on the stage it will be "because of its excellence."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice is one of the few present-day poets who have the steadiness +and weight for a well-sustained drama." <i>The Louisville Post</i> +(<i>Margaret Anderson</i>).</p> + +<p>"It has equal command of imagination, dramatic utterance, picturesque +effectiveness and metrical harmony." <i>The London</i> (<i>England</i>) <i>Bookman.</i></p> + +<p><i>T. P.'s Weekly</i> says: "It might well stand the difficult test of +production and will be welcomed by all who care for serious verse."</p> + +<p><i>The Glasgow</i> (<i>Scotland</i>) <i>Herald</i> says: "Yolanda of Cyprus is finely +constructed; the irregular blank verse admirably adapted for the +exigencies of intense emotion; the characters firmly drawn; and the +climax serves the purpose of good stagecraft and poetic justice."</p> + +<p>"It is well constructed and instinct with dramatic power." <i>Sydney Lee.</i></p> + +<p>"It is as readable as a novel." <i>The Pittsburg Post.</i></p> + +<p>"Here and there an almost Shakespearean note is struck. In makeup, +arrangement, and poetic intensity it ranks with Stephen Phillips' work." +<i>The Book News Monthly.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Net, $1.25</i> (<i>postage 10c.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">CHARLES DI TOCCA</span></p> + +<p class="center">By</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">CALE YOUNG RICE</span></p> + + +<p>"I take off my hat to Mr. Rice. His play is full of poetry, and the +pitch and dignity of the whole are remarkable." <i>James Lane Allen.</i></p> + +<p>"It is a dramatic poem one reads with a heightened sense of its fine +quality throughout. It is sincere, strong, finished and noble, and +sustains its distinction of manner to the end.... The character of +Helena is not unworthy of any of the great masters of dramatic +utterance." <i>The Chicago Tribune.</i></p> + +<p>"The drama is one of the best of the kind ever written by an American +author. Its whole tone is masterful, and it must be classed as one of +the really literary works of the season." (1903). <i>The Milwaukee +Sentinel.</i></p> + +<p>"It shows a remarkable sense of dramatic construction as well as poetic +power and strong characterization." <i>James MacArthur, in Harper's +Weekly.</i></p> + +<p>"This play has many elements of perfection. Its plot is developed with +ease and with a large dramatic force; its characters are drawn with +sympathy and decision; and its thoughts rise to a very real beauty. By +reason of it the writer has gained an assured place among playwrights +who seek to give literary as well as dramatic worth to their plays." +<i>The Richmond</i> (<i>Va.</i>) <i>News-Leader.</i></p> + +<p>"The action of the play is admirably compact and coherent, and it +contains tragic situations which will afford pleasure not only to the +student, but to the technical reader." <i>The Nation.</i></p> + +<p>"It is the most powerful, vital, and truly tragical drama written by an +American for some years. There is genuine pathos, mighty yet never +repellent passion, great sincerity and penetration, and great elevation +and beauty of language." <i>The Chicago Post.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice ranks among America's choicest poets on account of his power +to turn music into words, his virility, and of the fact that he has +something of his own to say." <i>The Boston Globe.</i></p> + +<p>"The whole play breathes forth the indefinable spirit of the Italian +renaissance. In poetic style and dramatic treatment it is a work of +art." <i>The Baltimore Sun.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Paper boards. Net, $1.25</i> (<i>postage, 9c.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">NIRVANA DAYS</span></p> + +<p class="center">Poems by</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">CALE YOUNG RICE</span></p> + + +<p>"Mr. Rice has the technical cunning that makes up almost the entire +equipment of many poets nowadays, but human nature is more to him always +... and he has the feeling and imaginative sympathy without which all +poetry is but an empty and vain thing." <i>The London Bookman.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice's note is a clarion call, and of his two poems, 'The Strong +Man to His Sires' and 'The Young to the Old,' the former will send a +thrill to the heart of every man who has the instinct of race in his +blood, while the latter should be printed above the desk of every minor +poet and pessimist.... The sonnets of the sequence, 'Quest and +Requital,' have the elements of great poetry in them." <i>The Glasgow</i> +(<i>Scotland</i>) <i>Herald.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice's poems are singularly free from affectation, and he seems to +have written because of the sincere need of expressing something that +had to take art form." <i>The Sun</i> (<i>New York</i>).</p> + +<p>"The ability to write verse that scans is quite common.... But the +inspired thought behind the lines is a different thing; and it is this +thought untrammeled—the clear vision searching into the deeps of human +emotion—which gives the verse of Mr. Rice weight and potency.... In the +range of his metrical skill he easily stands with the best of living +craftsmen ... and we have in him ... a poet whose dramas and lyrics will +endure." <i>The Book News Monthly</i> (<i>A. S. Henry</i>).</p> + +<p>"These poems are marked by a breadth of outlook, individuality and +beauty of thought. The author reveals deep, sincere feeling on topics +which do not readily lend themselves to artistic expression and which he +makes eminently worth while." <i>The Buffalo</i> (<i>N. Y.</i>) <i>Courier.</i></p> + +<p>"We get throughout the idea of a vast universe and of the soul merging +itself in the infinite.... The great poem of the volume, however, is +'The Strong Man to His Sires.'" <i>The Louisville Post</i> (<i>Margaret S. +Anderson</i>).</p> + +<p>"The poems possess much music ... and even in the height of intensified +feeling the clearness of Mr. Rice's ideas is not dimmed by the obscure +haze that too often goes with the divine fire." <i>The Boston Globe.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Paper boards. Net, $1.25</i> (<i>postage 12c.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">DAVID</span></p> + +<p class="center">A Poetic Drama by</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">CALE YOUNG RICE</span></p> + + +<p>"I was greatly impressed with it and derived a sense of personal +encouragement from the evidence of so fine and lofty a product for the +stage." <i>Richard Mansfield.</i></p> + +<p>"It is a powerful piece of dramatic portraiture in which Cale Young Rice +has again demonstrated his insight and power. What he did before in +'Charles di Tocca' he has repeated and improved upon.... Not a few +instances of his strength might be cited as of almost Shakespearean +force. Indeed the strictly literary merit of the tragedy is altogether +extraordinary. It is a contribution to the drama full of charm and +power." <i>The Chicago Tribune.</i></p> + +<p>"From the standpoint of poetry, dignity of conception, spiritual +elevation and finish and beauty of line, Mr. Rice's 'David' is, perhaps, +superior to his 'Yolanda of Cyprus,' but the two can scarcely be +compared." <i>The New York Times</i> (<i>Jessie B. Rittenhouse</i>).</p> + +<p>"Never before has the theme received treatment in a manner so worthy of +it." The <i>St. Louis Globe-Democrat.</i></p> + +<p>"It needs but a word, for it has been passed upon and approved by +critics all over the country." <i>Book News Monthly.</i> And again: "But few +recent writers seem to have found the secret of dramatic blank verse; +and of that small number, Mr. Rice is, if not first, at least without +superior."</p> + +<p>"With instinctive dramatic and poetic power, Mr. Rice combines a +knowledge of the exigencies of the stage." <i>Harper's Weekly.</i></p> + +<p>"It is safe to say that were Mr. Rice an Englishman or a Frenchman, his +reputation as his country's most distinguished poetic dramatist would +have been assured by a more universal sign of recognition." <i>The +Baltimore News</i> (<i>writing of all Mr. Rice's plays</i>).</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>Net, $1.25</i> (<i>postage 12c.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SONG-SURF</span></p> + +<p class="center">(Being the Lyrics of Plays and Lyrics) by</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">CALE YOUNG RICE</span></p> + + +<p>"Mr. Rice's work betrays wide sympathies with nature and life, and a +welcome originality of sentiment and metrical harmony." <i>Sydney Lee.</i></p> + +<p>"In his lyrics Mr. Rice's imagination works most successfully. He is an +optimist—and in these days an optimist is irresistible—and he can +touch delicately things too holy for a rough or violent pathos." <i>The +London Star</i> (<i>James Douglas</i>).</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice's highest gift is essentially lyrical. His lyrics have a charm +and grace of melody distinctively their own." <i>The London Bookman.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice is keenly responsive to the loveliness of the outside world, +and he reveals this beauty in words that sing themselves." <i>The Boston +Transcript.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice's work is everywhere marked by true imaginative power and +elevation of feeling." <i>The Scotsman.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice's work would seem to rank with the best of our American poets +of to-day." <i>The Atlanta Constitution.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice's poems are touched with the magic of the muse. They have +inspiration, grace and true lyric quality." <i>The Book News Monthly.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice's poetry as a whole is both strongly and delicately spiritual. +Many of these lyrics have the true romantic mystery and charm.... To +write thus is no indifferent matter. It indicates not only long work but +long brooding on the beauty and mystery of life." <i>The Louisville Post.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Rice is indisputably one of the greatest poets who have lived in +America.... And some of these (earlier) poems are truly beautiful." <i>The +Times-Union</i> (<i>Albany, N. Y.</i>)</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>Net, $1.25</i> (<i>postage 12c.</i>)</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:</span></p> +<p> </p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original.</p> + +<p>Punctuation has been corrected without note.</p> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as follows:<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"> Page 4: <i>The</i> changed to <i>Tho</i></span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"> Advertisement for Song-Surf: <i>PRICE</i> changed to <i>RICE</i></span></p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Immortal Lure, by Cale Young Rice + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMMORTAL LURE *** + +***** This file should be named 36609-h.htm or 36609-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/6/0/36609/ + +Produced by David Garcia, David E. 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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 Immortal Lure + +Author: Cale Young Rice + +Release Date: July 4, 2011 [EBook #36609] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMMORTAL LURE *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, David E. Brown and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + + + + + + + + +THE IMMORTAL LURE + + + + + THE + IMMORTAL LURE + + + BY + CALE YOUNG RICE + + AUTHOR OF + A NIGHT IN AVIGNON, YOLANDA OF CYPRUS, CHARLES DI + TOCCA, DAVID, MANY GODS, NOWANA DAYS, ETC. + + + GARDEN CITY NEW YORK + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + MCMXI + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + + COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY CALE YOUNG RICE + PUBLISHED, FEBRUARY, 1911 + + + THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK + + + + + ----infinite passion and pain + Of finite hearts that yearn + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + GIORGIONE 1 + + ARDUIN 27 + + O-UME'S GODS 51 + + THE IMMORTAL LURE 73 + + + + +GIORGIONE + + +CHARACTERS + + GIORGIONE _A Young Painter_ + ARETINO _A Dissolute Poet_ + TITIAN _Another Painter_ + BELLINI _The Former Master of Giorgione and Titian_ + GIGIA _An old woman serving Giorgione_ + and + ISOTTA + + + + +GIORGIONE + +SCENE: _A work-room of GIORGIONE on the edge of the Lagoon in which +lie the Campo Santo and Murano. It is littered with brushes, canvases, +casts, etc., and its walls are frescoed indiscriminately with saints and +bacchantes, satyrs and Madonnas, on backgrounds religious or woodland. A +door is on the right back; and foliate Gothic windows, in the rear, +reveal the magic water with its gliding gondolas. On a support toward +the centre of the room is a picture--covered, and not far from it, a +couch._ + +_Late Afternoon._ + +_GIORGIONE, who has been sitting anguished on the couch, rises with +determined bitterness. As he does so, BELLINI enters anxiously._ + + +_Bellini._ Giorgione! + +_Giorgione_ (_turning_). It is you? + +_Bellini._ Your word came to me, +In San Lazzario where I labored late, +And shakes my troubled heart. You will not do this! + +_Giorgione._ Yes! + +_Bellini._ How my son! her picture! as a wanton's! + +_Giorgione._ Tho it has been till now my adoration! +The fairest of my dreams and the most holy! +Yes, by the virtue of all honest women, +If such there be in Venice, +I swear it shall be borne by ribald hands +Thro the very streets. + +_Bellini._ My son! + +_Giorgione._ A public thing! + + [_Points to picture._ + +Fit for the most lascivious! who now +Shall gaze on what I had beheld alone, +On what was purer to me than the Virgin! +The very pimps and panders of the Piazza +Shall if they will whet appetite upon it, +And smack their losel lips. + +_Bellini._ And to what end? + +_Giorgione._ Her shame! + +_Bellini._ The deeds of wounded pride and love +Work not so, but fall back upon the doer-- +Or on some other. + +_Giorgione._ I care not! + +_Bellini._ Nor have, +Ever, to heed me! as Aretino, +Who turns your praise to Titian, has told. +For your wild will runs ever without curb, +And I who reared you, as my very own, +Must pay the fall. + +_Giorgione._ No! + +_Bellini._ And the piety +I would have won you to in the past days +Is wasted. The Madonnas +I painted with a heart inspired of Heaven +You paint with pride. + +_Giorgione._ But with all gratitude! +Ah yes, believe me, +And with a rich remembrance! +For scarce oblivion could wipe from me +How as a wasted lad I came to Venice-- +A miserable, patched and pallid waif, +With but an eye to see and hand to shape! +You took me from the streets and taught me all +The old can teach the young, until my name +Is high in Venice-- +Linked with that of Beauty-- +"Giorgione! our Giorgione!" do they cry +On the canals, the very gondoliers. +And in a little while it should have glowed +Immortal on the breast of Italy, +As does Apelles on the page of Greece, +For I was half-divine, until---- + +_Bellini._ Until +A girl whom you had fixed your heart upon +With boundless folly, you who should have lived +With but one passion--that of brain and brush-- +Until she---- + +_Giorgione._ Say it! + +_Bellini._ This Isotta---- + +_Giorgione._ Ai! +Whom I had chosen o'er a hundred others +To soar with! +To soar and then in wedded peace to prize! +This false Isotta +Whom in poverty +I found, as you found me, and loved to madness. +This fair Isotta +Whom I would have made +All Venice to be a halo for--as were +Cities of old for queens of sceptred love: +Until she leaves, departs, forsakes me, goes +Away, worthless away, from my true arms, +With Luzzi, a lank boy. + +_Bellini._ So. And most strange. + +_Giorgione._ No, nothing a woman does is ever strange! +Will they not cloak a lie in innocence, +A treachery in veiling soft caresses-- +Tho to the Mass unceasingly they fare +And say like her their aves night and noon? +Have they a want that wantons not with guile, +A tear that is not turgid with deceit? +Are not their passions blown by every wind? +Have they not all the straying heart of Helen? +Then why must I, +Who had in me a hope +That rivalled Raphael's or Leonardo's, +Keep, cozened so, that I contemn her shame? + +_Bellini._ Because she is a woman--whom you tempted, +Tho with all trust to wed her--and you know not +Whether her going was of shamelessness. + +_Giorgione_ (_laughing bitterly_). +Or whether she may not yet return, today, +And with a heart that is a nymph's, a soul +That is a nun's, +Beguile me back to doting? +Whether she may not-- +With that body God +Might once, deceived, have moulded angels after--? +Then flaunt her thralling of me to the world, +Whose ready lips should laugh where'er we went +And whisper, "Isotta, there! Giorgione's mistress! +Who makes a mocking of him?" + +_Bellini._ Never! never! +Only your unrelenting brain would think it. +For this I know of her, that tho she has +Deserted you for what must seem to be +Only a new-found passion-- +Yet is she womanly, and did you give her, +As now you mean, to avid lusting eyes, +Life would be smitten from her. + +_Giorgione._ As it should! + +_Bellini._ And then from you, repentant of her fate? +No, no, my son, I have not seen you rise, +A planet from the sea, the world's first painter, +To set in this: +You owe my fathering more. +And listen, I have brought to you a way +Of laurels for forgetting. I have come +With a commission from the Signoria, + + [_Takes it from his breast._ + +Which names you the chief glory of this city +And votes you proud permission to adorn +San Marco's highest altar with perfection. + +_Giorgione._ And which I spurn, an insult in its pity! + + [_Flings it from him._ + +As they shall learn--these silk and velvet Signors, +Whose condescending ducats buy the dreams +Of the immortal! +Or no!... I meant not that--to wound a kindness. + +_Bellini._ Your ways have ever been the ways of wounding. + +_Giorgione._ And to the end must be. (_Brokenly_) For now my hand +Is palsied! I can never paint again. +Colour and shaping light turn in my soul +To chaos and to blindness--to despair! +The brush I lift, to sterile pain more loth! +I yearn and impotence alone arises. +That picture has dried beauty's vein within me +And left me ... Ah!... She shall atone it! (_calls_) Gigia! +Shameless she is and shall be seen it!--Gigia!-- + + [_Bitterly._ + +Aretino, who is the tongue of lewdness, +And Titian, who trips to it, may gloat, + + [_GIGIA hobbles in._ + +But they---- + +_Bellini._ Giorgione! you have sent for them? + +_Giorgione (_to GIGIA_). Whoever seeks my door is bidden--all! + +_Gigia._ Yes, Messer Giorgio. + +_Giorgione_ (_as she delays_). Go. + +_Gigia._ Before I speak? + +_Giorgione._ Of what? + +_Gigia._ How can I tell you, if I may +Not speak? And you should hear ... (_Crossing herself_) It is the + plague. +A whisper is about +That it has broken out at last in Venice. + + [_GIORGIONE staring at her, trembles and seems slowly + stricken--while his eyes fill as with some evil irrecoverable + remembrance._ + +_Bellini_ (_fearing for him_). Giorgione! + +_Giorgione._ Oh!... and yet ... nothing ... a dream +That came to me last night--as if from death. + +_Bellini._ Then, O my son, it is a premonition, +A pall against this purpose! that you may +Not let these ribald two-- +Aretino, this poet and depraver, +And Titian snared within his pagan senses, +Enter and gaze upon.... O boy, you will not! +Despoil the picture, +Scatter it to the seas, +And vow never again to paint another, +Tho that would break my heart, but promise me---- + + [_A knocking interrupts, and a voice without calls lustily_: + + _Voice_: The gods of paint and passion ever gird us! + +Where's Messer Giorgione? Ho! Ho, ho! + + [_GIGIA hurries out._ + +_Giorgione_ (_after a pause, calling_). Aretino! + +_Aretino._ Ai, light of ladies' eyes! +And with him a better! Shall we sing for entrance? +(_Begins_)--A wench I had, + But where is she--? + A-ho! +Old Gigia, is it? Then we come apace, + + [_Enters leeringly with TITIAN._ + +Like satyrs to the piping of Adonis! + + [_With irony._ + +A health to you, O heaven-born of Venice! + + [_To BELLINI._ + +And to you, glorious dauber of Madonnas! +But, bah! the smell of melancholy! Come, +What is it? The tale is out about the maid? +And therefore tears? + + [_Laughs._ + +Well, by the lids of Venus, Giorgio, +It serves you well--or Eve was not a woman! +There were too many ripe for your assay. +Why, I believe that every damsel's lips +On the lagoons were pinched with longing for you! + +_Titian._ Or enough, at least, to send spleen, Giorgio, +Into my eyes. + +_Giorgione._ They will no more, Titian. + +_Aretino._ In sooth! for since one wench in all the world +Prefers another, he will play the monk! +Since she, the amorous sun-kissed Isotta, +Had charms too fair for _one_ to satisfy! +And yet--to choose this Luzzi, +This swaddling acolyte of Innocence, +For her new light-o'-love! to choose him out, +When, for a whiff, she might have had my arms---- + + [_GIORGIONE quivers._ + +O, Titian, by the gods! + +_Bellini._ Aretino!... + +_Giorgione._ Stay, let him speak, my master, as he wills. + +_Aretino._ I say then, Seraph, of your amorosa, +That she deceived me-- +That I thought her dreams +Were chaster than the moon, or by my beard, +Which is not born, I should have tricked her senses +Away from you ... if lies and treachery +And tempting honeyed verses could have done it! +For an Elysium like her warm round body +I never looked upon. + +_Bellini._ Aretino! + +_Giorgione._ Peace! he shall speak! for this is what should be. + +_Aretino._ Ai, Messer Bellini, and your age forgets +That he is well consoled with the dear thought +That her first joy was his. + +_Bellini._ Ah!... + +_Aretino._ And that vision--! +Why, I have peeped upon her face, no farther. +But to have seen the beauty he has seen, +The Aphrodite-dream of loveliness, +I would have dared virginity's last door. + +_Giorgione._ Then you shall see it. + +_Bellini._ My son! + +_Giorgione._ Yes, tho I die! + +_Aretino._ How, what is this? + +_Giorgione_ (_going to picture_). Aretino, Titian-- +You are here, tho there is less than love between us: +For, pardon, if I say that you sometimes +Have loathed my triumphs. + +_Titian._ That is so, Giorgione. +But with the brush I yet shall equal them. + +_Giorgione._ You shall surpass them. For my last is done. + +_Titian._ Come, do you jest? + +_Giorgione._ My last, and it is there! + + [_Points to picture._ + +There that you two whose tongues have been so busy +About the streets with laughing and innuendo, +From ear to ear with jest and utter joy-- +You, Titian, a sycophant of Fame, +And you, Aretino, who incarnate lust, +May know that Giorgione is above you. +You coveted Isotta with your eyes, +Now you shall have her as shall all the world! + + [_Flings the curtain back from the picture then sinks to the couch._ + + _As they gaze on the unclothed form, BELLINI turns away, when he + sees ISOTTA enter. She is pale and ill, but moves smilingly down + toward GIORGIONE, till happening to see the picture, she gives a + deep cry._ + + _GIORGIONE, springing to his feet, dazedly beholds her._ + +_Bellini_ (_speechless till he sees ISOTTA'S pallor_). +Isotta! you are ill!... O would my breath +Had never lasted to this evil hour--! +Shall I not bring the leech? (_when she does not answer; to GIORGIONE_) +This price has pride! + + [_He goes: then ARETINO and TITIAN. The curtain falls back._ + +_Isotta_ (_whose eyes have closed_). +The flesh of women is their fate forever! +My poor, poor body! all I had to give +So desecrated. + +_Giorgione_ (_hoarsely_). Why have you come here? + +_Isotta._ To see Messer Giorgione--who is brave. + + [_Smiles as one shattered._ + +To hear Messer Giorgione--who is gentle +And honourable to women who are weak. +To--heal Messer Giorgione--then to die! + +_Giorgione._ Rather to kill! + +_Isotta._ Why, it may be. If love +Still leads me, it were best that it be slain. + +_Giorgione._ The love of a wanton? + +_Isotta_ (_slowly_). Who beholds her body +Given ... to unabated eyes--yet lives? +I think it must be so. + +_Giorgione._ Alluring lies! +Out of pale lips of treachery but lies! +You have returned to me, whom you have cursed +With craving for you, +With an immortal love, +Because this lisping Luzzi, +With whom you fled, weary of falsity, +Has cast you off. + +_Isotta_ (_gently_). Kind Luzzi! + +_Giorgione._ Ah! and blind? +Not knowing that you now are here again, +Where you disrobed to my adoring soul, +But thinking that you wait him with fair eyes +Of fond expectancy--as once for me! +Believing that your breath is beating only +With ecstasy for him! + +_Isotta._ He is--but Luzzi! + +_Giorgione._ And I but Giorgione, smiling quean! + + [_She turns paler._ + +But Giorgione, a vassal to your sway? +Back to your orgies! and may Venus, goddess +Of black adulteries, but not of love, +Be with them! May your blood, that I believed +Vestal to all but me, run vile with passions +As any nymph's of Bacchus! +May your body, +That I have painted here, be to all time +An image of soul-cheating chastity! + + [_His words have struck her down--and overwhelm him._ + +O, I am lost, lost, lost forevermore. + + [_Falls into a seat._ + +_Isotta_ (_at length, from the couch, gathering strength_). +No, I have come for saving, Giorgione. +Now I can speak--but there is little time, +(_Strangely_) For Night is coming. + +_Giorgione_ (_startled to questioning_). Isotta? + +_Isotta._ The still Night, +With Death's dark Gondola to waft me o'er. + + [_Then as he realizes._ + +Nay, stay, stay! leave me not. There is no help. +For it must be.... A voice Beyond has said it. +And ere I drift out on the darkening ebb---- + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! + +_Isotta._ Peace must be Giorgione's too. + +_Giorgione._ Speak--yet it cannot be--my heart is dead. + +_Isotta._ Then it shall rise again.--O Giorgione, +My lover once and lord, could you believe, +Even tho I went away from you and with +Another, that unchastity could touch +This body which had been holy to you? + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! + +_Isotta._ It is true that I deceived you, + + [_With mystic fervor._ + +True that I went away from you and wed +Another---- + +_Giorgione._ Ah! + +_Isotta._ And yet it was not Luzzi! + + [_As he gazes._ + +Do you not know? you who so oft have told +On saintly walls the Magdalen's sad tears? +Sin, sin had seized me! +Sin with you to whom +I gave my body and soul unboundedly. +We revelled in unwedded ecstasy, +Laughed in our love over the starred lagoons. +Sang till the lute was like a thing that lived, +Danced happy as the fauns and nereids +That oft you told me of-- +And clasped and kissed, +O kissed--until I knew that but one way +Was left to save my soul, Giorgione, one-- +To wed me with the vows and veil to Christ. + + [_Gazes at a crucifix._ + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! + +_Isotta._ I am His! I fled to Him! +The Convent opened its grey arms to take me, +Santa Cecilia of the Healing Heart, +And Luzzi kindly led me to its door-- +That you might so be foiled of following. +And with long vigils, fasts and penances +And prayers I sought oblivion of your face. +Until this illness strangely fell upon me. +I could not die until you, shriven too.... + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! My Isotta! + + [_Falls penitent before her, weeping._ + +_Isotta_ (_her heart eased_). Peace, at last. + +_Giorgione_ (_rising_). Ah yes! and I am viler than the vilest! +For who remembers not that purity +Is priceless, ends impoverished of honour. +And yet ... there is no wrong irreparable! +And you must live tho all the angels die-- +Live and be loosed from vows too vainly breathed, +That wedded we may win again delight! +Still I am Giorgione, and the sin +That we have sinned shall be painted away +With holy pictures ... + +_Isotta._ Only the dead are holy, +Or they who die, tho living, to the world. + + [_Sees the picture._ + +And eyes have looked upon me-- +Hot eyes that burn my body up with shame. +Farewell, the tide will cool me, the lone wave +That washes in from Lido to my grave. + + [_Looks toward the Campo Santo._ + +_Giorgione._ Isotta! + +_Isotta_ (_fainter_). Night, the Night!... + +_Giorgione._ O stay!... + +_Isotta_ (_in a fixed vision_) It comes, +The Gondola! (_as if to an unseen Presence_) Row on, row on. + + [_She dies. He sinks beside her stricken and still._ + + _GIGIA enters._ + +_Gigia._ Messer Giorgione, one has come to say---- + + [_Sees them, goes near and lifts ISOTTA'S hand. Then, + dropping it with terror._ + +The plague! the plague! Ah! + +_Giorgione_ (_rising_). Woman, is it true? + + [_GIGIA flees._ + +(_Mortally moved_) +Isotta, this kiss then of all the kisses +That I have slain thee with will God who dwells +In universal chastity forgive. + + [_He kneels and presses his lips fervently to hers._ + + +CURTAIN + + + + +ARDUIN + +CHARACTERS + + ARDUIN (_of Provence_) _An Alchemist_ + ION _His Nephew_ + RHASIS _An Arab, his attendant and assistant_ + MYRRHA _A Greek Girl_ + + + + +ARDUIN + +TIME: _The Fifteenth Century._ + +PLACE: _Egypt._ + +SCENE: _The laboratory of ARDUIN in a house on Nile opposite Cairo. It +is a large room on the walls of which mystic figures of the Hermetic +philosophy are drawn, together with the zodiac and other astronomical +signs; and many strange objects, animal and mineral, are to be seen +placed about. In the rear centre is a large sarcophagus. On either side +broad window openings reveal the Egyptian night, and one frames the +moonlit Sphinx and Pyramids. Toward the right front is a furnace with +alembics, retorts, etc.; right and left are doors, and on the left and +back another alcove before which hang curtains. Lamps burn._ + +_RHASIS, who is busy about the furnace, in a troubled manner, lifts a +skull and is gazing at it, when ION enters suddenly and stops, pale +with purpose._ + + +_Ion._ Rhasis---- + +_Rhasis_ (_starting and looking round_). Young master Ion! what is this? + + [_Drops the skull._ + +Why have you left the city and come here? +Are you aware what hour you have chosen? + +_Ion._ That of his dreams. I learned today: yet came. + +_Rhasis._ And wherefore? + +_Ion._ To restrain calamity, +Which must await his reasonless belief-- +And to regain his love that I have lost. + +_Rhasis._ And have not pondered what calamity +Would fall on you +Who would not learn his Art, +But from its heritage to penury turned, +If here and now he saw you +At this hour +When he believes that he shall raise the dead? + +_Ion._ His curse; for he would think me come to thwart him, +And that I had forgot whatever wrong, +Unexpiated still, my father did him; + + [_Looks at sarcophagus._ + +And yet I will not go, for I have purposed-- +And you tonight shall help me--(_pauses_) + +_Rhasis._ Unto what? + +_Ion._ Forgiveness of my disobedience-- +That may be won from him with Myrrha's face. + +_Rhasis._ Myrrha's! + +_Ion._ Which can alone of earthly sights, +If what you tell of his dead wife be true: +And well you know it is!--He must behold her-- +And hear our pleading. + +_Rhasis._ At an hour like this! + +_Ion._ Let her be placed yonder within those curtains, +While he is mingling here his mysteries, +And when he---- + +_Rhasis._ By the Prophet who is Allah's, +Myrrha! Within this chamber! and tonight! + + [_Ion goes to the door and leads Myrrha in._ + +Is there no heed in youth or hesitation, +But only hurrying want! Do you not know +He is without there, at this moment, saying +Unto the seven planets in their spheres, +The seven incantations against death? +And that he---- + +_Ion._ I know only he must see her. + +_Rhasis._ And of all nights in the world, only tonight! + +_Myrrha._ No, Ion! let us go. I fear this place, +Its strangeness and that still sarcophagus +Appal me. + +_Ion._ And make you forget our love, +And the long bridal-hope of it deferred? + +_Rhasis._ Young master, she does not, in penury too! +But pleas tonight would ope no nuptial way. +Better than you I know it is not wise. +For ten years is it +I have dwelt with him +While he has sought in vain this great Elixir. +Ten passings of the pilgrims off to Mecca +His wife has lain in that sarcophagus, +Embalmed and waiting, as he thinks, to rise. +And now, this hour, he hopes that it shall be. + +_Ion._ And should it, will he not the more forgive me? +Or should it not, then seeing Myrrha's face, +Myrrha whom you have said is so much like her, +Will he not---- + +_Myrrha._ Ion, no! but might--I fear! +So fond his grief is and unfaceable! +Let us return again unto the city +And to my kindred who will hold us dear. + + [_Starting._ + +Listen, is it not he? (_Rhasis goes to window_) Take me away! + +_Ion._ And have him at the breaking of his dream +With none near--and our love's desire be lost? + +_Myrrha._ It will not: let us wait another time! + +_Ion._ Than this when most your face would deeply move him? +I cannot, and 'twould shame me! for you know +How dear to him is his dead wife who lies there, + + [_Takes her hand._ + +And know our severed days! +And shall we bend the knee to cowardice, +Which ever has a premonition ready, +When you who are so like her might tonight---- + + [_She starts back, for RHASIS, exclaiming, leaves the window._ + +_Rhasis._ He comes. + +_Ion._ Now? + +_Rhasis._ Go: or take this on yourselves. + +_Ion._ Upon me be it! For there is no rest +Until his pardon weds us--and I pay him. + +_Rhasis._ Then but a word remains, young master, more: +To tell you--that I fear--lest thro long toil, +His mind.... + +_Myrrha._ Oh! (_recoils_) + +_Ion._ It is not true!... No Myrrha! no! + + [_Takes her in his arms._ + +And is ingratitude I scorn to heed. + + [_Turns away._ + +Come then and by your beauty's likeness win him. + + [_He leads her behind the curtains then goes, door left. A moment, + which leaves RHASIS distraught, and ARDUIN enters. He pauses, as if + at some presence; then, gazing on the sarcophagus, shudders with + hope and comes down._ + +_Arduin._ The night at last when I again shall clasp her +And banish death to biers beyond the stars! + +_Rhasis_ (_kneeling_). Master! + +_Arduin._ Rise up and never kneel again! +For from henceforth +I shall be lord of life, +The secret of the phoenix in my hand. + + [_Lifts an alembic._ + +Gray have I grown in quest of it and old, +Youthless and as a leper to delight, +But it has come at last--at last has come! + + [_Sets vessel down._ + +_Rhasis._ And I rejoice, master, for I have toiled +With you these many years--but is it sure? + +_Arduin._ As the moon is in heaven! as the skies! + + [_In an ecstasy._ + +For last night I beheld +In dreams deeper than day how it must be. +I saw a tomb far-hidden in the earth +And Life within it +Mixing salt and sulphur-- +Twin elements +Of the great trinity. +I saw her hands pour out quick mercury +Upon a bat's wing wrought with hieroglyphics, +And then I saw her cast in gold and silver +That melted with strange voice and sudden flame, +The while she gazed on me most meaningly. +And then ... when all was done.... + + [_The vision consuming him._ + +My wife, my Rhea, lit with loveliness +And as a spirit clad with resurrection, +Rose up within my dream ... fair, young and glad!... + +_Rhasis._ But, master ... are dreams true? + +_Arduin._ Such dreams as these? + + [_Kindling._ + +_Rhasis._ Pardon! I know not--only that you say +Some come of Ophiuchus-- +The demon you have warned me of--who oft +With thwarting laugh has struck the secret from you.... +Many before have followed the mirage +Of dreams--but to more thirst: trust not too much! + +_Arduin._ But fear? fear? you are falling from me too? +Like Ion the son of him who ... you? you too? +At the prime moment? + +_Rhasis._ No, my master, no! +But I would spare you pain unbearable. + +_Arduin._ Ha! and believe--you do?--that all wise men +Of all the world could so have been deceived? +Believe--do, do?--that she _cannot_ arise? +Did not great Hermes say of the Elixir +It should be found-- +And did not Polydos, +The Greek, chancing upon it, raise his friends +In battle slain?... +Did not the Jew of Galilee, the Christ, +Whom even you name Prophet, likewise win it? + + [_Peacelessly._ + +Speak! + +_Rhasis._ Master, yes!... But O! trust not too much. +Wiser, I know, than all Arabia +Are you--like to Mahomet--were it not +That you have set within your heart a woman. +But if, perchance, the Elixir does not prove---- + +_Arduin._ Availing? Have not all things pointed to it? +The day she died +Did I not hear a voice +That breathed into my brain she should arise? +And as I waited did a book of wisdom +Not chance into my hands to show the way? +Were the first words I read not, _In ten years +The miracle shall come-- +Revealed to you within the land of the Sphinx_? + +_Rhasis._ So read it, so! But---- + +_Arduin._ Is this not that land? +Are not those stones the pyramids that thro +The ages have stood waiting for this hour-- +When I shall bring her beauty back, today? +Is not that face the Sphinx, +Whose timeless and intemperable meaning +No man has read in desert, star, or sea, +But which must be the secret I unsphere? + +_Rhasis._ O master! + +_Arduin._ Fail, fail, fail? now to restore her? +Who died as you shall know, here ere she rises, +Because my brother--aieh! the father of Ion-- +Who bore as well that name-- +Desiring her, vilely accused her---- + +_Myrrha_ (_involuntarily, behind curtains_). Oh!... + +_Arduin_ (_bewildered_). Who spoke? It was her voice? + + [_Runs to sarcophagus._ + +_Rhasis._ No, master, no!... + +_Arduin_ (_slowly returning_). +Fail, fail to bring her fairness from the tomb! +Her face which can alone sow finitude's +Fell desolation with enverdured dreams +And fill the ways of the world again with hope? +I tell you she eternal must arise-- +Tho God die for it! + + [_Begins to gird himself._ + +Must!... and the hour is now!-- +Venus is in the house of ready Taurus, +The moon is full, and as I toiled today, + + [_Goes to furnace._ + +From the alembic a strange cloud arose, +And once again her face!... Prepare! prepare! + +_Rhasis._ I will do all you say. But, master, if---- + +_Arduin_ (_immitigably_). No death-word more of doubt. It is the power +Which holds us futile from omnipotence. +Mete out the sulphur +Into the alembic +Of Cleopatra's crystal.--I must see her! + + [_Rhasis hastens._ + +See her again, my Rhea, as she was, +When plucking first the poppies of Provence! +And hear flow from her +Words sweeter than Memnon's in the wind of dawn! +Here's gold and silver (_hands them_). She shall rise and say: +"Years pale you, pale your brow, my Arduin, +And touch to gray the treasure of your hair, +But not Antinous could be so fair +To me--or wonderful: +For you have brought me from the cold tomb to life!..." +The bat's wing then! And to the sarcophagus +To lift its lid! for I will wait no longer---- + + [_Takes alembic, as Rhasis obeys, and continues invokingly_: + +But now, vial of immortality! +By the presaging of the seven planets, +And by the searchless sources of the Nile, +And by the prayers of Christian and of Heathen, +And by the elements earth, air and fire, +That hold within their intermingled veins +The secret of illimitable life-- +By fate and time and God--I here conjure you +Bring forth the Elixir which shall make her rise! + + [_He pours the ingredients, and quickly fumes arise. They clear and + a liquid is seen in the bottom of the glass. With a cry he starts + toward the sarcophagus, when Myrrha's face--which, excited, has + parted the curtains--stops him enspelled. Rhasis, unnerved, quits + the room--leaving them agaze._ + +_Arduin_ (_at length, as if to a spirit_). +I do not dream?... you have arisen?... Rhea! + + [_Starting toward her._ + +Arisen ere I touched you?--O fear not! +For I am Arduin! do you not know me? + + [_She trembles speechless._ + +O wonderful awaking! O ... at last! +Tho yet the memory of the tomb is on you!... +This land is Egypt, whither in my grief +I brought you, my dead bride! Look on me! see! + + [_Stops quickly._ + +But no, not yet! until my youth comes back, +As now it will, +Over the sea from France! +Already passion lifts away the years +That weight its wings and I am as I was. +Now gaze upon me, now! Is it not I? + +_Myrrha._ Sir--! + +_Arduin._ Sir! O quickly see. For to my breast +Again has striving brought you, to my bosom! +The bitter nights are ended--the blind pits +Sleepless and infinite. Awake! stare not +So strangely! press your lips in praise to mine, +Your breast upon my breast!... Delay you still? + +_Myrrha._ O sir--! + +_Arduin._ See, see! the years have been too long. + + [_Clasps her, dropping alembic._ + +My arms have waited an infinitude. + + [_She struggles._ + +Do you not now remember with my lips +To yours, the brimming beauty of our youth? + +_Myrrha._ Release me! + +_Arduin._ Awake and know me! It is I! +Your lover Arduin whom once you wooed: +Whose every word was to you as a wind +Of God! whose every kiss.... Do you not see? + +_Myrrha._ No, no! I'm not your love-- + +_Arduin._ Not--? You uprisen? +Has the tomb treachery to change the soul? +Ye skies, must I go mad now at this moment +When I have brought her back from destiny? +Not mine?... Awake! Oblivion enthralls you. + + [_Suddenly starting from her._ + +Or is it that there in the grave, another--? + +_Myrrha._ No, no! but-- + +_Arduin._ Ha, then! if not--if it be not-- +Is it that here returned you wish another? +You who so gaze upon my goaded brow +And face grown old with toil to conquer death? +O youth ruthless to age! e'en tho its furrows +Were got for your delight!--Ingratitude!-- +Have I so hungered thro long years to pluck +A flower of Hell back to the light!... No, No! +It cannot be!... You shall be mine! + +_Myrrha_ (_in terror_). Sir, sir! + +_Arduin._ Mad will I be, as they have thought me, mad +In holding that which I have given life. + +_Myrrha._ But you mistake!... I am not what you think. +Hear me, for I love one who---- + +_Arduin._ Is not--I? + + [_As to invisible judges._ + +You hear her say it? + +_Myrrha._ O, I love but Ion, +Your-- + +_Arduin._ Ion, my brother! Then, God! it was true, +And being true thy Heaven is but a brothel! +She was unfaithful to me, as he said! +And in the other world has met and clasped him! + +_Myrrha._ No, let me speak! + +_Arduin._ And spurn me more with it? +Shall I abide mockery like a mummy! +Ha-ha! (_A laugh that racks him._) +Years but to hear her say that she loves him! +To see her come back from the grave, where she +Has still embraced him, still--and to my face, +On which the rage of sleepless toil is wrought, +Tell me.... She shall die for it! God, whose stars +Are vermin, she shall die! + +_Myrrha._ O! + +_Arduin_ (_frenziedly_). Die, die, die! +As trustless women should: until no womb +Of lies is left in the world! Die, and be shut +Again into the curst sarcophagus +From whence I brought her ... + +_Myrrha_ (_in his grasp_). Sir!--help!--sir! do not! +O, I will love you! + +_Arduin._ Liar! and turn from him +Whom you betrayed me for--and swear again +False love to me? Then ... in the tomb do it! + + [_Begins to choke her._ + +_Myrrha._ O! + +_Arduin._ Aieh! cry out to him! will he not help you? + +_Myrrha._ Ion! + +_Arduin._ That word withering in your throat +Shall stale you past all hope of resurrection. + + [_Strangles her--and then looks around._ + +So, it is done.... And now, back to your tomb, +Which I will bury in the desert sands +So deep that not eternity can find it. + + [_Begins to draw her toward sarcophagus._ + +And yet (_stopping stricken_) all is not well ... I now could weep. + + [_With lone anguish._ + +I know not wherefore--only that my heart +Is wounded and seems bleeding o'er the hours +That I must live!... O Rhea!... O, my love! + + [_Strangely kissing her._ + +Do you not hear the nightingale that sang +The song of our betrothal in Provence? +It sits upon.... + + [_Changing again._ + +Accursed face! accurst! forevermore! +Within the tomb lie (_dragging her_) blind, deaf, motionless, +Until-- + + [_Looking into the coffin becomes transfixed, while MYRRHA'S limp + body slips slowly from his arms. He gazes at her, at his wife, and + tries to understand. But cannot, and so, standing long troubled, + moans_: + +I am not well; perchance Rhasis will come +And tell me what it is that I desired. +Men should not toil o'ermuch; there's madness in it. + + [_Then seeing MYRRHA'S face and starting from it wildly_: + +Rhasis! Rhasis! Rhasis!... Oh-oh-oh-oh! + + [_Runs madly off right, as ION and RHASIS enter left. They look + around, see MYRRHA and rush to her--with a cry._ + + +CURTAIN + + + + +O-UME'S GODS + + +CHARACTERS + + O-UME _A Samurai Girl_ + AMA _Her Servant, an old woman_ + SANKO _A Young Samurai_ + and + A YOUNG JESUIT PRIEST + + + + +O-UME'S GODS + +TIME: _The Sixteenth Century._ + +PLACE: _Japan._ + +SCENE: _A room in the house of O-Ume in a province near the sea. +Its_ shoji, _or sliding paper doors, open in the rear upon a +wistaria arbor over-hanging a river, upon which lighted lanterns, +sent forth on the night of the Feast of the Dead, are dimly +floating; while the moon above gleams upon the pale distant +snow-cone of Fujiyama. The room with its deep straw mats and walls +delicately portrayed with pine and bamboo has a paper-paned door on +the right leading to a garden, and is lighted by_ andon--_one +beneath a shrine to Buddha on the left wall, and one to the left +centre where O-UME and AMA are sitting on their heels, +constrained, foreboding and verging toward inevitable words._ + + +_Ama_ (_at length_). Down to the sea! the sea! +Oh the dead! +Do they not seem +On the night air to hover? +There by the lights +Are not their spirits present? +The lights lit for them? + + [_O-UME is silent._ + +All our ancestors are they! +Fathers and mothers +Of many lives back! +They hear us speaking, +They hear from the Buddha-shrine +There on the wall. +They see us thinking. + + [_Meaningly._ + +They see in our hearts! + +_O-Ume_ (_who trembles_). Be silent! silent! + +_Ama_ (_bowing but continuing_). They know if we care for them-- +Know as the wind +That visits all shoji, +Know as the night +That searches all places. +Alas for the son +Who does not honor them! +And for the daughter +Who does not cherish them! +They shall---- + +_O-Ume._ Be silent! + + [_A pause._ + +_Ama._ Alas for the daughter! + +_O-Ume_ (_who rises disturbedly_). +The lips of the old +Are like leaves dying-- +Leaves of Autumn +That ever flutter! + + [_Walks about._ + +_Ama._ And a girl's mind +Is like the dawn mist-- +Knowing not whither +To rest or wander-- +Until, perchance, +It clings to Fuji, +To Fuji mountain, +Lord of the air! +The mind of a girl ... straying! +And what is O-Ume's?... whose? + +_O-Ume._ It is O-Ume's! + +_Ama._ Ai! +Not Sanko's!... +But were I she, +O-Ume the fair, +O-Ume the mist +Of happy karmas, +Sanko should be +My Fuji mountain. +Him would I cling to, +Nor would I hunger +To stray far from him +With a white priest! +To stray far from him +To foreign gods +That hang on a cross. + + [_Again bowing._ + +Is he not strong? + +_O-Ume._ Be silent! + + [_To herself, troubled._ + +The lips of the old! +The lips of the old! + +_Ama._ Is he not brave? + +_O-Ume._ I care not. +A samurai is he-- +One whose sword is his soul. + +_Ama._ And should his tongue be +Like that of the other, +The priest of the pain-god? + + [_Immovably._ + +Is he not kind? + +_O-Ume._ He is kind. + +_Ama._ Kind! as O-Ume is cruel! + +_O-Ume._ No, but as men are, +Wanting women: +Yet not once so was he! +For as children +We caught together +The June-night fire-flies +Out by the shrine of Jiso. + +_Ama._ And then he loved you, +And ever has loved you, +And faithful is he! + +_O-Ume._ Ai, and terrible!... + +_Ama._ Terrible only +Because O-Ume +Turns from her fathers +And from the gods. +She sees their soul-ships +Sail to the sea-- +The lights lit for them, + + [_Motions without._ + +And yet she offers +No cakes of welcome-- +None of farewell! +No prayer to Buddha, +Lotus-loving, +And none to Kwannon +Who is all mercy. +But inward, inward +She turns her eyes +To see this stranger, +Priest of the Christ-god. +Outward, outward, +Ever she gazes +And ever listens, +Ever, for him!... +Oh false, false one! +False to the dead-- +False to Sanko!... + +_O-Ume_ (_more distressedly_). The words of the old +Are like the leaves, + + [_Her voice breaks._ + +Like Autumn leaves +That ever flutter. + +_Ama._ And those of the young---- + +_O-Ume_ (_becoming distraught_). Oh will she hush not!... +Will this servant, +Whom my mother +Dying left me, +Waste my heart so? + + [_Weeps in her sleeve._ + +Sanko I fear, +And fears of many +Worlds crowd round me-- +Many karmas +Of pain and passion, +Births and rebirths. + +_Ama._ And 'tis because +This evil priest +Stands in the door of your heart. + +_O-Ume._ Will you revile him? + +_Ama._ Cursed be he! + +_O-Ume._ Ama! + +_Ama._ I pray it! + + [_Rises slowly._ + +And curst he shall be. + + [_O-Ume stares trembling._ + +For, O blind one, +By him blinded, +Do you not know +The people have heard +How he has bid you +Cast away from you +The gods of your house? +The blessed Buddha +And all the tablets +Kept, ancestral? +Ai, they have heard +And tonight have risen! +This night of the dead +They have gone forth, +With Sanko to lead them-- +Gone to tear down +The house of the priest! +Gone to destroy +The image he worships! +Gone to---- + +_O-Ume_ (_stricken_). Ama! + + [_Shrinks from her and then speaks wanly._ + +Never is there +Trust in any? +Only faith that fades? +This was known-- +But kept from me, +Kept in silence, +Kept for Sanko?... +O lord Buddha, +Thou, or Christ, +Is there peril?---- + + [_Turns on her._ + +You have done ill! + +_Ama._ I have done well. + +_O-Ume._ Ill! and ill shall come to you! +For do you think +So to prevent me +From my fate-way? +No, I will find it! +The Buddha and all +The tablets ancestral +Will I take down from the wall, +And from me cast them +Into the river ... +They shall float down to the sea. + + [_Turns and goes to shrine._ + +_Ama._ O-Ume! O-Ume! + + [_Catching at her kimono._ + +The gods forsaken +Will pardon never! +The gods--and the people! +You will become +Eta, an outcast, +From them driven away. +O-Ume! + + [_The girl takes the shrine._ + +Remember your father +Dead, and your mother. +They are hovering +Round your fingers, +Faint, offended! +Will you pause not? + + [_When O-Ume continues._ + +Ah for Sanko! for Sanko! + + [_Runs calling to door._ + +Sanko! Sanko! + + [_O-Ume stops motionless._ + +Sanko!... + +_O-Ume_ (_after a pause_). He waits then there? + +_A Voice_ (_without_). Ama! (_nearer_) Ama!... + + [_SANKO enters from the garden, dishevelled and breathless, but + controlled. As he does so O-UME drops the shrine and the image falls + out._ + +_Sanko_. O-Ume! O-Ume! + + [_Ama goes quickly out._ + +_O-Ume_ (_again motionless_). Honourable friend! + + [_With polished anger._ + +You dwell in my garden? +And is my house +Even as your house? + +_Sanko._ Be pleased to pardon!... + +_O-Ume._ And you conspire here +With Ama against me? + +_Sanko._ O-Ume knows +The samurai's honour. + +_O-Ume._ O-Ume thought so, +But does no longer! + +_Sanko._ Ah the plum-blossom! +Then it too +Has thorns and poison? + +_O-Ume._ Yes, for the hand of Sanko! +Knowing the deed +From whence he comes. +Knowing that ... + + [_Breaks off, tensely._ + +Where is the priest's house? + +_Sanko_ (_angrily_). Cast in the river! + +_O-Ume._ Ai, for I see +The blood on your hand +From the torn rafters! +Red, red blood +Of a deed of fury. +So I tell you, +Samurai rude, +Not for one life, +Even for one, +Will I be yours. +Please ... to leave me. + + [_He looks at his hand and is going._ + +And yet ... (_as he stops_) ... not thus! + + [_She struggles._ + +The priest would bid me +Bind up your wound. +And you were once +Sanko my friend!-- +Put forth your hand! + + [_He does so._ + +The blood---- + +_Sanko_ (_with sudden fierceness_). The blood is his! + + [_As she falls back with a cry._ + +His! I have slain him! + + [_Mockingly._ + +And did his ghost +Not come here flitting? +Coldly flitting? +Here with moaning +Does it not hang +Upon the roof-tree +Hungering for you? +He lay in the dark-- +One lay with him-- +One who escaped to the river. +But him I slew +That you might never +Turn from the Buddha +And from your fathers; +Turn dishonoured +Of all who greet you. + +_O-Ume_ (_speech coming at last_). +Ah! A-hi! Slain!... +It cannot be! + +_Sanko_ (_drawing a bloody sword_). +And is this wet with dew? + +_O-Ume._ O let it pierce +Your own heart, samurai! +For you shall never +Again know peace. +I will pray to +The lord of Nippon, +To the Shogun-- +Who gave entrance +Here to the Christ-priest. +Nay, I will die +Myself that ever +You may be hated +By your own heart. + + [_Starts toward river._ + +I will cast +Myself to the soul-world +And bid the dead +To bring you evil! +Then the priest shall ... + + [_Breaks off--for standing in the arbour is the priest, pale and + spectral. He has come up to the steps from the river. At the sight + SANKO plucks her back, as if from a ghost. A pause, then the priest + speaks sacrosanctly._ + +_The Priest._ The Christ looks on you, + + [_Lifts a crucifix._ + +You, a murderer-- +Tho it is not +I you have murdered. + + [_SANKO gazes._ + +One slept with me, +A gentle servant, +Slept in my cloak ... you have slain him. + + [_Steps forward._ + +The Christ looks on you. +He will forgive you. + + [_A pause._ + +_Sanko_ (_recovering_). Priest! + +_The Priest._ Forgive you. + + [_Holds crucifix toward him._ + +_Sanko._ By the eight million +Gods, he mocks me! + + [_Dashes it to floor._ + +And shall perish +Or go from this village! + +_The Priest._ Aye ... but only +When goes this maiden +Whom you would hold +Still to her idols. +She must follow +The Cross of Heaven. + +_Sanko._ She shall follow +O priest, but me. + +_The Priest._ Murderer, pause!... +There is a Hell +Where the lost burn +Even as say your sutras. + + [_Sanko lifts his sword._ + +Pause! and strike not! +The smitten Christ +No longer holds +My hands from strife. + + [_Towers over him._ + +O-Ume, I bid you +Now cast away +The gilded gods you have worshipped. + +_Sanko._ And I forbid +O-Ume _to move_. + +_O-Ume_ (_heedless of either_). And I, O-Ume, +O'er whom you quarrel, +And whom you tear +Twixt Christ and Buddha, +I, O-Ume, will end it. + + [_Lifts the BUDDHA from the floor, and the crucifix, over her head._ + +Be all the gods forsaken-- +Even as these! + + [_Goes to river and casts them in. Then meets their horror with ever + increasing passion._ + +Be all! +And be you gone +Forevermore! +For if again +I see your faces, +If again +They grieve my hours, +If again +While Fuji stands there-- +The river shall gulf me, too. +I swear it by the dead. + + [_They look at her awed, then go slowly, silently out. She sinks on + her heels, hands folded, and stares before her. The lights on the + river drift on._ + + +CURTAIN + + + + +THE IMMORTAL LURE + +CHARACTERS + + VISHWAMYA _A Renowned Ascetic_ + RISHYAS _His Son, a Young Saint_ + SUNANDI _An Old Woman of the Court of the Rajah of Anga_ + KOIL _A Young Girl of the Court_ + + + + +THE IMMORTAL LURE + +TIME: _The antiquity of India._ + +SCENE: _Before the hermitage of VISHWAMYA and RISHYAS, in a forest near +the Ganges. It is an open space spread with kusa-grass and over-hung +with trees--the hermitage itself being a cell constructed of earth and +of hanging roots of the banyan, and having by it an altar before which +lies a deer-skin. Glimmering lights and running water penetrate the +shades, whose sacredness is soon disturbed by the appearance of SUNANDI, +wantonly compelling KOIL, with alternate harshness and wheedling, to +enter with her._ + + +_Sunandi_ (_peering about_). The place, my jewel-bird! the place for it! +Under these boughs of peepul and asoka +The young saint dwells +With his restraining sire, +Singing the Vedas morning, eve and noon, +And they are gone somewhither now in the wood +To gather fruit for sacrifice, and flowers. + + [_With a leer._ + +But he, the boy, will soon return, my pretty. + +_Koil_ (_whom she has released_). +And you have drawn me from the city here +To break into his holy breast with passion? +To dance and sing and seize him? +I you have taught the wiles of winning men, +As the cobra-charmer teaches, +Must lure him from his saintly innocence, +And with the beauty I was born unto +Must tangle him?... +You, O Sunandi, are an evil woman, +To lead me to it! + +_Sunandi._ And you talk as flies talk! +Who know not that the gods sow food or famine. + + [_Harshly._ + +I tell you that great Indra of the skies +Is wroth with us +And will not send us rain, +So wisest Brahmins vow-- +Until this boy, +This saintly one, is brought unto the Raja! +Are we to die because not otherwise +Than with alluring now we can appease them? + + [_Leering again._ + +And why are women fair, my cunning Koil, +But to tempt men then, when they seek to take us---- + +_Koil._ Sunandi! + +_Sunandi._ It is so, unwitted girl! +Be silent then +And do what I command. + + [_Wheedling again._ + +But it will be sweet doing, beamy Koil, +For the young saint +Is fairer than the god-born, +His body like warm gold and lotos-lithe-- +Made for the wants that tremble in your heart. +And when your eyes rest on him they will kindle +Like passion-stars. + +_Koil._ And burn away his peace-- +Which is the pearl +Of sainthood thro all worlds! +Unless his father, strange and terrible, +And mighty thro austerities--one whose +Curse were as heavy as an hundred births--! +O let us trust it not! So young a saint +Should be the holy mate of solitude. +I would not have him gaze upon me so, +For he is innocent of love, nor ever +As yet has looked upon a woman's face. + +_Sunandi._ Then may he loathe you if he does not! for +Only in woman's faces is there beauty +And who beholds not beauty is as dead. + + [_Starts._ + +But ha? 'tis he? +No, only parakeets, +Chattering as you chatter, idle girl! +Who ever were resistant to my teachings! +I tell you chirp no more these chastities! +If you come back to the Raja +And without him, +Know you what then will happen? + +_Koil._ I know not. + + [_Hears a voice._ + +Nor care not. I will return. + +_Sunandi._ Stop, girl. + +_Koil._ I will not. +All others will I tempt, but---- + +_Sunandi_ (_holding her_). Him will _love_! + + [_RISHYAS slowly approaches, chanting._ + +And you were suckled at the breast of fortune +To be the first so fair a saint shall look on. +Use well your charms--and chain him with enchantment. + + [_Sees the girl is enthralled by the voice and goes into wood. + RISHYAS soon enters opposite, laden and singing_: + + Spirit of the risen sun! + Now returns the offering-hour. + Fruit I bring to you and flower, + Here receive them, O great-- + + [_Breaks off, at sight of her, and the offerings fall slowly from + his arms._ + +_Koil_ (_as they gaze long and tremblingly_). +O saint, is it peace with you, and is all well? +And have you roots and fruit enough for food; +And have you joy in singing holy Vedas +Here in this leafy-hearted hermitage? + +_Rishyas._ O radiant one, yes--all is godly well. +But whence are you? +And whither do you go? +I have dwelt only here, and not before +Have I beheld so fair a vision fall-- +Even from skies where wing the Apsaras. + +_Koil._ I am not fair, O son of Vishwamya, + + [_Timidly._ + +But I have come from very far away. + +_Rishyas_ (_quickly_). And I have offered you no laving-water +For hands and feet, +Nor any fruit and herbs! +Will you not sit upon this mat of kusa, +Or on this skin of the wild antelope, +And let me loose your sandals?--O sweet saint, +For saint so bright an one must be!--it will +Be dear to touch and tend you! +For in this place I have beheld no other-- +Only my father, +Who is old and mighty +In meditations he would have me mind. +But you are fair as well. Will you not sit? + +_Koil._ No, pious one, it is not meet for me +To touch the holy water--yet I thank you. + +_Rishyas._ Not meet for you? O, unto one who is +So beautiful, are not all things most meet? +Better are you, I know, than all the devas. +And tho for but a moment I have seen you, +I fain would follow +The holy vows you follow. +For you I would do all things. When I gaze +Upon you all my body is as fire +Upon the altar when I sacrifice. +Will you not eat or drink? + +_Koil._ Not at your hands. +But see, O holy one, here are rare cakes, +Brought with me from afar, and here is soma, +Sparkling and ready with divinity +To lift whoever drinks of it to joy. +Drink you with me! + +_Rishyas._ O gladly will I; give it. + + [_Takes the flask; drinks deeply._ + +A wine of wonder is it and of wisdom, +For now it makes you seem even more fair +Than first you were. +O let me tend about you, +And let me wreathe your brow and limbs with flowers. + + [_Takes some and entwines them over her._ + +_Koil_ (_trembling_). And you are beautiful. So I will weave +Flowers upon you too. And see, and see, +O, Rishyas, see, +For I will dance to you-- +The dance of all the dreamers in the world! + + [_Unbinds her body-cloth and begins to dance--slowly at first then + more alluringly, as he follows her, marvelling. Then at length she + stops close up to him and murmurs_: + +Does it not fill your heart, O Rishyas, +With longing? + +_Rishyas._ Yes, yes, yes. And with desire, +I know not why, to lay my lips to yours! +Then life, it seems, would burst all ill that binds it. + + [_Instinctively; clasping her._ + +Oh this is sweeter than all other joys +Of holiness that I have ever known. +Your voice is like to piping of the koils +That play in spring. + +_Koil._ And Koil am I named. + +_Rishyas._ And what is this I feel for you, O wise one? +In skies from whence you come, what is its name? +So pure are you that surely you can tell me? + +_Koil._ O holy one, the people call it love. + +_Rishyas._ Then is love better than all other bliss +My father's meditations ever bring. +And I will seek thro all the lapse of lives +To hold you thus, +And have your arms about me, +As vines about the asoka clingingly. +Happy am I that you have found me out, +And never shall you leave me. + +_Koil._ No--for ever! + + [_More passionately._ + +But unto the city you shall go with me +And there with Brahmin rites be made my husband. + +_Rishyas._ Which is--I know not what--yet will I be +Husband and more to you. For now it seems +That not the tiger in his jungle-might, +Nor any incarnation terrible, +Could tear you from me. + +_Koil._ Then come quickly, now, +And I will be for you a champa-flower, +Swung sweetly and forever to your breast. +And often will I dance for you and sing +And love you, Rishyas, as a deva-queen! +Come quickly, one is waiting in the wood +To guide us. + +_Rishyas._ Yes, O yes! (_remembering_) But stay! my father! +First I will tell him I have won this wisdom. + +_Koil._ No, no! + +_Rishyas._ Yes! (_calls_) Father! father! + +_Koil_ (_in terror_). Rishyas, no! +But come, come with me quickly. + +_Rishyas_ (_astonished_). Do you fear? + +_Koil._ He is so old!... You guess not what you do. +Haste, or he will forbid. + +_Rishyas._ You know him not. +For I will tell him you are a holier saint +To guide my steps, +Then will he bid me go. +Ho! father! ho! + +_Vishwamya_ (_heard off_). My son, you call? I come. + +_Koil._ O, I must flee-- + +_Rishyas_ (_dazed_). I do not understand. + +_Koil._ Sunandi! Speak, Sunandi!--Ah, he comes. + + [_VISHWAMYA enters and seeing her stops amazed. SUNANDI enters + behind unseen. Deep suspense._ + +_Rishyas_ (_uncomprehendingly_). +Do you see, father, I have found one here +Holy, and fairer than the Apsaras. +And I shall follow her, she is some goddess. +For I desire only to be with her, +And she has taught me this desire is love. +O and I love her, +And tho yet I know +Not well what miracle love is in me, +Yet it is better than this hermitage. +For it has made me seem.... But what burns in you? + +_Vishwamya._ My son, you are beguiled. Let go her hand +That leads you on to ruin. Do you not +Behold what manner of creature you so clasp? + +_Rishyas._ Yes, yes--a deva! + +_Vishwamya._ Deva! This is a woman, +And women like the wind are full of wiles, +And tempt saints to abandon Swerga's rest. +He who would rule his mind has naught with them. +Let go her hand and send her away. + +_Rishyas_ (_amazed_). Away! +Never shall she go from me and without me. +If women are evil, as you say, she is not, +Therefore she is no woman. + +_Vishwamya._ O vain boy! +In passion's jungle! Break from her at once! + +_Rishyas._ I will not. Her I worship, holily. +And she has given me a drink of heaven +That has diffused deity in my limbs. + +_Vishwamya._ And death, and an eternity of births!-- +These flowers (_on his neck_) and her feigning have bewitched you! + + [_Seizes them._ + +I tear them off and trample them to earth. + +_Koil._ Rishyas! Rishyas! + +_Rishyas._ Be not afraid, my Koil; +He is my father +And he knows you not, +For did he, he would clasp you, as I clasp. +Or it may be that he is little pleased +Because I find you holier than he. +O father, peace. Control your mind. Farewell. +I go with her. + +_Vishwamya._ Beguiled boy! you shall not. +Thro all these years I have not, from its lair, +Unloosed black anger. +But this evil one +And your desire to follow ways of flesh +Compel me. Come, come from her! + +_Rishyas._ I will never. + +_Vishwamya._ Then must I drag you--and drive her away. + + [_Strikes KOIL._ + +Away, lust-thing! away! + +_Rishyas._ Oh, oh! Oh, oh! + + [_In horror._ + +A demon enters into you and dupes you +To strike her thus, a holy one. Restrain! + +_Vishwamya._ No, tho I slay her! + +_Rishyas._ Slay? O wickedness! + + [_Seizes up wood of sacrifice._ + +Must I beat off your hands?--Touch her no more. + +_Vishwamya._ Wild-vaunting boy! the drink and this vile girl +Have maddened you. (_To Koil_) Away! + +_Rishyas._ Call her not vile! + +_Vishwamya._ Viler is she than sin! + + [_Again strikes her._ + +_Rishyas_ (_uncontrollably_). You do a death-deed. + + [_Falls on him with the weapon and fells him quickly to the + ground--then recoils with a cry. The old man strives vainly to + rise._ + +_Koil._ Oh, oh!--what have you done! + +_Vishwamya_ (_mortally hurt_). Slain ... slain his father! +And lost enlightenment ... and peace ... forever! + + [_After a struggle, terribly._ + +But not to gorge upon the fruit of sin! + + [_Turning on KOIL._ + +The curse of bitter karmas be upon you! +May you be born a worm and crawl in slime, +A serpent thro ten score of lives, and slough +Your skin in hideousness and hate and horror! + +_Koil._ Oh, oh! + +_Vishwamya._ At every death may you despair +Of ever acquiring merit! + +_Rishyas_ (_terrified_). Father! + +_Vishwamya_ (_to him_). Aye! + + [_His strength failing._ + +For love, blood guilty boy, the love which she +Has slipped into your heart, is the curse of the world, +The immortal lure of all the generations! +Your arms have ached with it about her body, +But know that in the city whence she came +All evil men feel in their hearts this ache. +And that you may escape from it, know this: +Not your arms, yours alone, have been entwined +About this poison-flower--but, perchance, + + [_Sinking back._ + +The arms of many. + +_Rishyas_ (_starting painedly_). What is it he means? + + [_With emotions he does not understand._ + +Koil, what has he said? + +_Koil._ O let me go! + +_Rishyas._ The arms of many? that can not be true? + + [_Tortured by half-born thoughts._ + +O, have I fallen into demon-snares? +Is beauty not the bloom of piety? +Speak. + +_Koil._ I would go! + +_Rishyas._ Pain only darker pain! + +_Koil_ (_at length overwhelmed_). I am not holy--nor am I pollution! +But only one sent hither--O, the gods +Bid us to sin, then fell us with calamity! + + [_Hurries weeping off with SUNANDI, who has stood in terror. + RISHYAS stands dazed, then comprehension dawns upon him and he + falls by his father's body in a storm of anguish._ + + +THE END + + + + + MANY GODS + By + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "These poems are flashingly, glowingly full of the East.... What I + am sure of in Mr. Rice is that here we have an American poet whom we + may claim as ours." _The North American Review_ (_William Dean + Howells_). + + "Mr. Rice has the gift of leadership, and he is a force with whom we + must reckon." _The Boston Transcript._ + + ... "We find here a poet who strives to reach the goal which marks + the best that can be done in poetry." _The Book News Monthly_ (_A. + S. Henry_). + + "When you hear the pessimists bewailing the good old time when real + poets were abroad in the land ... do not fail to quote them almost + anything by Cale Young Rice, a real poet writing to-day.... He has + done so much splendid work one can scarcely praise him too highly." + _The San Francisco Call._ + + "In 'Many Gods' the scenes are those of the East, and while it is + not the East of Loti, Arnold or Hearn, it is still a place of + brooding, majesty, mystery and subtle fascination. There is a + temptation to quote such verses for their melody, dignity of form, + beauty of imagery and height of inspiration." _The Chicago Journal._ + + "'Love's Cynic' (a long poem in the volume) might be by Browning at + his best." _Pittsburg Gazette-Times._ + + "This is a serious, and from any standpoint, a successful piece of + work ... in it are poems that will become classic." _Passaic_ (_New + Jersey_) _News._ + + "Mr. Rice must be hailed as one among living masters of his art, one + to whom we may look for yet greater things." _Presbyterian Advance._ + + "This book is in many respects a remarkable work. The poems are + indeed poems." _The Nashville Banner._ + + "Mr. Rice's poetical plays reach a high level of achievement.... But + these poems show a higher vision and surer mastery of expression + than ever before." _The London Bookman._ + + _Net, $1.25_ (_postage 12c._) + + + + + A NIGHT IN AVIGNON + By + CALE YOUNG RICE + + _Successfully produced by Donald Robertson_ + + + "It is as vivid as a page from Browning. Mr. Rice has the dramatic + pulse." _James Huneker._ + + "It embraces in small compass all the essentials of the drama." _New + York Saturday Times Review_ (_Jessie B. Rittenhouse_). + + "It presents one of the most striking situations in dramatic + literature and its climax could not be improved." _The San Francisco + Call._ + + "It has undeniable power, and is a very decided poetic achievement." + _The Boston Transcript._ + + "It leaves an enduring impression of a soul tragedy." _The + Churchman._ + + "Since the publication of his 'Charles di Tocca' and other dramas, + Cale Young Rice has justly been regarded as a leading American + master of that difficult form, and many critics have ranked him + above Stephen Phillips, at least on the dramatic side of his art. + And this judgment is further confirmed by 'A Night in Avignon.' It + is almost incredible that in less than 500 lines Mr. Rice should + have been able to create so perfect a play with so powerful a + dramatic effect." _The Chicago Record-Herald_ (_Edwin S. Shuman_). + + "There is poetic richness in this brilliant composition; a beauty of + sentiment and grace in every line. It is impressive, metrically + pleasing and dramatically powerful." _The Philadelphia Record._ + + "It offers one of the most striking situations in dramatic + literature." _The Louisville Courier-Journal._ + + "The publication of a poetic drama of the quality of Mr. Rice's is + an important event in the present tendency of American literature. + He is a leader in this most significant movement, and 'A Night in + Avignon' is marked, like his other plays, by dramatic directness, + high poetic fervor, clarity of poetic diction, and felicity of + phrasing." _The Chicago Journal._ + + "It is a dramatically told episode, and the metre is most + effectively handled, making a welcome change for blank verse, and + greatly enhancing the interest." _Sydney Lee._ + + "Many critics, on hearing Mr. Bryce's prediction that America will + one day have a poet, would be tempted to remind him of Mr. Rice." + _The Hartford_ (_Conn._) _Courant._ + + _Net 50c._ (_postage 5c._) + + + + + YOLANDA OF CYPRUS + A Poetic Drama by + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + Minnie Maddern Fisk says: "No one can doubt that it is superior + poetically and dramatically to Stephen Phillips' work," and that Mr. + Rice ranks with Mr. Phillips at his best has often been reaffirmed. + + "It is encouraging to the hope of a native drama to know that an + American has written a play which is at the same time of decided + poetic merit and of decided dramatic power." _The New York Times_ + (_Charles M. Hathaway, Jr._). + + "The most remarkable quality of the play is its sustained dramatic + strength. Poetically it is frequently of great beauty. It is also + lofty in conception, lucid and felicitous in style, and the dramatic + pulse throbs in every line." _The Chicago Record-Herald._ + + _The Springfield Republican_ says: "The characters are drawn with + force and the play is dignified and powerful," and adds that if it + does not succeed on the stage it will be "because of its + excellence." + + "Mr. Rice is one of the few present-day poets who have the + steadiness and weight for a well-sustained drama." _The Louisville + Post_ (_Margaret Anderson_). + + "It has equal command of imagination, dramatic utterance, + picturesque effectiveness and metrical harmony." _The London_ + (_England_) _Bookman._ + + _T. P.'s Weekly_ says: "It might well stand the difficult test of + production and will be welcomed by all who care for serious verse." + + _The Glasgow_ (_Scotland_) _Herald_ says: "Yolanda of Cyprus is + finely constructed; the irregular blank verse admirably adapted for + the exigencies of intense emotion; the characters firmly drawn; and + the climax serves the purpose of good stagecraft and poetic + justice." + + "It is well constructed and instinct with dramatic power." _Sydney + Lee._ + + "It is as readable as a novel." _The Pittsburg Post._ + + "Here and there an almost Shakespearean note is struck. In makeup, + arrangement, and poetic intensity it ranks with Stephen Phillips' + work." _The Book News Monthly._ + + _Net, $1.25_ (_postage 10c._) + + + + + CHARLES DI TOCCA + By + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "I take off my hat to Mr. Rice. His play is full of poetry, and the + pitch and dignity of the whole are remarkable." _James Lane Allen._ + + "It is a dramatic poem one reads with a heightened sense of its fine + quality throughout. It is sincere, strong, finished and noble, and + sustains its distinction of manner to the end.... The character of + Helena is not unworthy of any of the great masters of dramatic + utterance." _The Chicago Tribune._ + + "The drama is one of the best of the kind ever written by an + American author. Its whole tone is masterful, and it must be classed + as one of the really literary works of the season." (1903). _The + Milwaukee Sentinel._ + + "It shows a remarkable sense of dramatic construction as well as + poetic power and strong characterization." _James MacArthur, in + Harper's Weekly._ + + "This play has many elements of perfection. Its plot is developed + with ease and with a large dramatic force; its characters are drawn + with sympathy and decision; and its thoughts rise to a very real + beauty. By reason of it the writer has gained an assured place among + playwrights who seek to give literary as well as dramatic worth to + their plays." _The Richmond_ (_Va._) _News-Leader._ + + "The action of the play is admirably compact and coherent, and it + contains tragic situations which will afford pleasure not only to + the student, but to the technical reader." _The Nation._ + + "It is the most powerful, vital, and truly tragical drama written by + an American for some years. There is genuine pathos, mighty yet + never repellent passion, great sincerity and penetration, and great + elevation and beauty of language." _The Chicago Post._ + + "Mr. Rice ranks among America's choicest poets on account of his + power to turn music into words, his virility, and of the fact that + he has something of his own to say." _The Boston Globe._ + + "The whole play breathes forth the indefinable spirit of the Italian + renaissance. In poetic style and dramatic treatment it is a work of + art." _The Baltimore Sun._ + + _Paper boards. Net, $1.25_ (_postage, 9c._) + + + + + NIRVANA DAYS + Poems by + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "Mr. Rice has the technical cunning that makes up almost the entire + equipment of many poets nowadays, but human nature is more to him + always ... and he has the feeling and imaginative sympathy without + which all poetry is but an empty and vain thing." _The London + Bookman._ + + "Mr. Rice's note is a clarion call, and of his two poems, 'The + Strong Man to His Sires' and 'The Young to the Old,' the former will + send a thrill to the heart of every man who has the instinct of race + in his blood, while the latter should be printed above the desk of + every minor poet and pessimist.... The sonnets of the sequence, + 'Quest and Requital,' have the elements of great poetry in them." + _The Glasgow_ (_Scotland_) _Herald._ + + "Mr. Rice's poems are singularly free from affectation, and he seems + to have written because of the sincere need of expressing something + that had to take art form." _The Sun_ (_New York_). + + "The ability to write verse that scans is quite common.... But the + inspired thought behind the lines is a different thing; and it is + this thought untrammeled--the clear vision searching into the deeps + of human emotion--which gives the verse of Mr. Rice weight and + potency.... In the range of his metrical skill he easily stands with + the best of living craftsmen ... and we have in him ... a poet whose + dramas and lyrics will endure." _The Book News Monthly_ (_A. S. + Henry_). + + "These poems are marked by a breadth of outlook, individuality and + beauty of thought. The author reveals deep, sincere feeling on + topics which do not readily lend themselves to artistic expression + and which he makes eminently worth while." _The Buffalo_ (_N. Y._) + _Courier._ + + "We get throughout the idea of a vast universe and of the soul + merging itself in the infinite.... The great poem of the volume, + however, is 'The Strong Man to His Sires.'" _The Louisville Post_ + (_Margaret S. Anderson_). + + "The poems possess much music ... and even in the height of + intensified feeling the clearness of Mr. Rice's ideas is not dimmed + by the obscure haze that too often goes with the divine fire." _The + Boston Globe._ + + _Paper boards. Net, $1.25_ (_postage 12c._) + + + + + DAVID + A Poetic Drama by + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "I was greatly impressed with it and derived a sense of personal + encouragement from the evidence of so fine and lofty a product for + the stage." _Richard Mansfield._ + + "It is a powerful piece of dramatic portraiture in which Cale Young + Rice has again demonstrated his insight and power. What he did + before in 'Charles di Tocca' he has repeated and improved upon.... + Not a few instances of his strength might be cited as of almost + Shakespearean force. Indeed the strictly literary merit of the + tragedy is altogether extraordinary. It is a contribution to the + drama full of charm and power." _The Chicago Tribune._ + + "From the standpoint of poetry, dignity of conception, spiritual + elevation and finish and beauty of line, Mr. Rice's 'David' is, + perhaps, superior to his 'Yolanda of Cyprus,' but the two can + scarcely be compared." _The New York Times_ (_Jessie B. + Rittenhouse_). + + "Never before has the theme received treatment in a manner so worthy + of it." The _St. Louis Globe-Democrat._ + + "It needs but a word, for it has been passed upon and approved by + critics all over the country." _Book News Monthly._ And again: "But + few recent writers seem to have found the secret of dramatic blank + verse; and of that small number, Mr. Rice is, if not first, at least + without superior." + + "With instinctive dramatic and poetic power, Mr. Rice combines a + knowledge of the exigencies of the stage." _Harper's Weekly._ + + "It is safe to say that were Mr. Rice an Englishman or a Frenchman, + his reputation as his country's most distinguished poetic dramatist + would have been assured by a more universal sign of recognition." + _The Baltimore News_ (_writing of all Mr. Rice's plays_). + + + _Net, $1.25_ (_postage 12c._) + + + + + SONG-SURF + (Being the Lyrics of Plays and Lyrics) by + CALE YOUNG RICE + + + "Mr. Rice's work betrays wide sympathies with nature and life, and a + welcome originality of sentiment and metrical harmony." _Sydney + Lee._ + + "In his lyrics Mr. Rice's imagination works most successfully. He is + an optimist--and in these days an optimist is irresistible--and he + can touch delicately things too holy for a rough or violent pathos." + _The London Star_ (_James Douglas_). + + "Mr. Rice's highest gift is essentially lyrical. His lyrics have a + charm and grace of melody distinctively their own." _The London + Bookman._ + + "Mr. Rice is keenly responsive to the loveliness of the outside + world, and he reveals this beauty in words that sing themselves." + _The Boston Transcript._ + + "Mr. Rice's work is everywhere marked by true imaginative power and + elevation of feeling." _The Scotsman._ + + "Mr. Rice's work would seem to rank with the best of our American + poets of to-day." _The Atlanta Constitution._ + + "Mr. Rice's poems are touched with the magic of the muse. They have + inspiration, grace and true lyric quality." _The Book News Monthly._ + + "Mr. Rice's poetry as a whole is both strongly and delicately + spiritual. Many of these lyrics have the true romantic mystery and + charm.... To write thus is no indifferent matter. It indicates not + only long work but long brooding on the beauty and mystery of life." + _The Louisville Post._ + + "Mr. Rice is indisputably one of the greatest poets who have lived + in America.... And some of these (earlier) poems are truly + beautiful." _The Times-Union_ (_Albany, N. Y._) + + + _Net, $1.25_ (_postage 12c._) + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: + + + Text in italics is indicated by underscores: _italics_. + + Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from + the original. + + Punctuation has been corrected without note. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as follows: + Page 4: The changed to Tho + Advertisement for Song-Surf: PRICE changed to RICE + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Immortal Lure, by Cale Young Rice + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMMORTAL LURE *** + +***** This file should be named 36609.txt or 36609.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/6/0/36609/ + +Produced by David Garcia, David E. 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