University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—A Street in Syracuse.
Dionysius and Procles discovered, as expecting tidings.
Dion.
Ere this the senate should have closed its councils,
And chosen the new year's president. I pant
To know their meeting's issue.

Proc.
Good my lord,
There's but light doubt a great majority
Of easy-purchas'd voices will be found
For your fast friend, Philistius.

Dion.
On his choice
Hangs the long chain of complicated purpose
Has ta'en such time in linking. Plague upon
The law, that from the senate-house excludes
All soldiers, like ourselves, or we should soon
Outvote all difficulty! (Senators cross the Stage).
Ha! methinks
The assembly hath dissolved.
By Jupiter,
Philistius' self doth hasten to us here,
And with him Damocles! How now, my friend?
Enter Philistius and Damocles.
Art thou the president?

Phil.
I am, my lord.
Chosen by a large majority to take
The honourable office: in the which
I may, at least, requite the benefits
Which you have heaped upon me.

Dam.
Yes, my lord,
We have at last attain'd the 'vantage ground,
Whence your broad view may take a boundless prospect.

Dion.
'Tis a bold step upon the mountain-path,
Wherein I have long been toiling. I no longer
Doubt of the senate's inclination.
What say the soldiers? Thou hast hinted to them
That we confided to thee?

Proc.
Yes, my lord;
And they are ready for it.

Dion.
Go thou hence,
And speak to them again; disperse more gold;
'Twill give a relish to thine eloquence;
And, hark ye, lead them this way: I shall here
Await thy coming. Ha! behold, in air,
Where a majestic eagle floats above
The northern turrets of the citadel;
And, as the sun breaks through yon rifted cloud,
His plumage shines, embath'd in burning gold,
And sets off his regality in heaven.
Thou knowest how readily the multitude
Are won by such bright augury—make use
Of divination,—haste thee.
[Exit Procles.
Philistius, give me your hand. I thank you:
Things look in smiles upon me. It was otherwise
But a year since, when I impeach'd the magistrates,
For treasonable dealing with the foe,
And the senate hurl'd me from my topmost height
Of popularity.

Dam.
Degraded you
From power, and office.

Dion.
Ay! at the appeal
Of that stale pedant, the Pythagorean,
Who hangs out his austerity for sale,
In frowns, clos'd lips, and pithy sentences.

Dam.
Thou speakest of Damon?

Dion.
Ay, mine enemy,
The patriot, and philosophic knave,
Who hath been busy with my purposes,—
And one day shall not smile at it. He came
Into the senate-house, with a fierce crew
Of his associates in philosophy,
Silent and frowning, at his back; he rail'd
And had his triumph.—Times have alter'd since;
And to the mould and fashion of my will,
Shall yet take stranger shape, when, Damocles,
These long-trained lawgivers, these austere sages
Shall find I can remember.

Dam.
Let them feel it.

Dion.
In all that biting bitterness of heart
Which clings, and gnaws, by inches, to its object,
More keen, because a first essay hath fail'd,
In shame and suffering, failed, thus have I sped
My work, in silence, on. It did become
A thought in woven with my inmost being.

Dam.
The steps
Which since most visibly you have ascended,
Must have requir'd much effort?

Dion.
Yes! to have flung
Into the shade of public disrepute
The very men whose voices were most loud
In working out my ruin;—after that,
To gain the army's suffrage;—to be chosen
Its head and general, that was another;
To have won that very senate,—

Phil.
Yet pause, my lord,—
Howe'er complying you have hitherto
Found that assembly, and though most of them
Are plung'd into your debt, beyond all means
Of their redemption, yet may there be still
Some sudden reluctation to the last,
And mightiest of all hopes.

Dion.
The garrison
Is not a bad ally methinks?

Phil.
The war
Hath ta'en the flower of all the troops from Syracuse;
And Damon heading the vile populace—

Dion.
I came from Agrigentum, to entreat
Arms, corn, and money, from the senators,
While I myself have purposely delay'd
The granting them; meantime, the city is filled
With many thousands of my followers.

Phil.
But, are they not unweapon'd?

Dion.
This city of Syracuse,—
It hath a citadel?

Phil.
True, sir,—it hath.

Dion.
And therein, as I deem, its national stock
Of corn, and arms, and gold, is treasur'd?

Phil.
True.

Dion.
The citadel is not impregnable;
And when it is mann'd, and order'd to my will,
What of these frothy speech-makers?

[A shout is heard abroad.
Phil.
My lord,
The soldiers shout for you.

Dion.
Procles, I see,
Is at his work.—Good Damocles, Philistius,
As you are senators, retire ye hence;
It were not meet that you should look to have been
Parties to any act, which afterwards
May grow into discussion.—And, Philistius,
One effort more among our city friends;—
I will forewarn thee of the time to call
The senators together—Yet, I mean not
Exclusively to trust them, good Philistius;—
Sure means sure ends.—I'll have a friend or two
Within my call, to help them.—If their councils
Become too knotty for unravelling,
A sharp sword may be useful.—Fare you well.

[Exeunt Philistius and Damocles.
Voices
(Without.)
Ay, to the citadel—The citadel.

Enter Procles and Soldiers.
Dion.
Who talks of moving to the citadel?

1st Soldier.
It is himself,—huzza!

All.
Huzza! our general!

Dion.
Good friends, I thank ye. Procles art thou here?
Hast thou distributed to these much-wrong'd men,
The trifling bounty which I charg'd thee with?

Proc.
They have it, noble general.

Dion.
My friends,
'Twas a poor offering, and beneath your taking;
But, as yourselves do know, my private purse
Is light as that of any other veteran,
Within the walls of Syracuse. Speak, Procles,
Who talks of moving on the citadel?

All.
We, Dionysius, we.

Proc.
Yes, these brave spirits.
Indignant at the senate's heedlessness
Of you, and them, and of the general honour.—

1st Soldier.
Ay, we will spurn their yoke, and have no master
But our most noble general Dionysius!

Dion.
Give me not cause, my friends, to deem myself
Dishonour'd and endanger'd in your love;
For, as I am a soldier and a man,
Could I believe that any other thought
Engag'd you to possess the citadel,
Save your anxiety for the soldier's weal,
And the state's safety, I would raise my hand,
In supplication, 'gainst your enterprise;—
But, as the time now urges, and cries out
For sudden muster, and organization
Of the brave thousands, who but wait for swords,
To join your ranks, and rush with you to glory,—
And yet the senate,—

Proc.
Speak not of the senate:
We do renounce its service and despise it.

Dion.
It was my thought to say, if they object,
We may submit it, as a needful step,
Claiming allowance in the exigency
Of the occasion.

Proc.
They shall not control it.
We seek not for their judgment of our act.

All.
On, general, on!

Dion.
When did ye call,
That I replied not with my word and deed,
My heart and hand? Even as you say it, on,
On, fellow-soldiers, to the citadel!
And let your swords be out, more in the show
Of what ye are, soldiers and fighting-men,
Than with a harmful purpose. Let us on!

All.
On to the citadel! the citadel!

[Exeunt, with cries, and brandishing their swords.