University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Conor's Private Apartment in the Palace of Eman. Enter Gannan to Conor.
CONOR.
What now? how is Daidra?

GANNAN.
She is fled,
Great Sovereign,—gone with Usna's Sons!

CONOR.
Gone with Usna's Sons? Gone where?

GANNAN.
God knows,
Great Sovereign! for I cannot tell!

CONOR.
How know
You she is gone then?

GANNAN.
Because she is not here,
Great Sovereign!

CONOR.
Then your head shall pay for this!
I put her in your care,—commanded you
To take good care of her; now you inform me
She is gone. Call Lavercam! Search all the house!
Search every corner in the mansion, till
You find her out; or, by God's Heavens! your blood
Shall flow for it! Out of my sight! nor ever let
Me see your face, until you bring her back!
Call Lavercam! tell her to come to me!
Send out the guard—from Esro all around
To Binedar! Away!

GANNAN.
I will, great King.
[Exit.
Enter Lavercam.
Well, Lavercam! what hellish news is this?
When did Daidra go?

LAVERCAM.
Last night, I think—
About the midnight hour; but did not miss her
Until this morning.

CONOR.
But why did she go?

LAVERCAM.
As well may you inquire why birds migrate
From North to South in Winter time, or mate
In Spring.

CONOR.
Who stole her off?

LAVERCAM.
Her mate, no doubt,
Naisa, who must love her as his life,—
For none but love would run so great a risk.

CONOR.
How did he enter where she was? You were
Commanded not to let any one see
Her face.

LAVERCAM.
Nor did lie ever see her face
In any room within this house.

CONOR.
How did
He see her then?

LAVERCAM.
They must have met by stealth
Upon the Plain.

CONOR.
But how could they have met,
She knowing nothing of such man?

LAVERCAM.
That is
Far more than I can tell. You cannot shut
Love out. Though blind, yet he can see farther
Than any mortal with ten thousand eyes,—
All Cherub-like, around, above, beneath.

CONOR.
Where think you she is gone?

LAVERCAM.
Where could they go,
But into Scotland?

CONOR.
Surely nowhere else.
Perfidious wretch! There will I, also, go,
And bring her back, or lose my life there else!

LAVERCAM.
Be not too rash. Reflect before you act.
You know that Scotland's King is Conor's foe.

CONOR.
How shall I win them back? Now let me see.
I have it now. Leave me alone. I am
In trouble far beyond all words to tell.
[Exit Lavercam.
Now will I use the cunning of my soul.—
All the vile schemes of infinite treachery,—
To the damning of my soul forever more,—
But to revenge myself on that damned fiend!
By my Eternal God! I will not sleep,
Either by night or day, until I find
Sure means to wreak swift vengeance on his soul!
Now, then, to seek my Nobles,—there to learn
Who is my friend or foe. Now, Hell! rejoice.

Enter Caffa.
CAFFA.
You say you wish to be a Proselyte?

CONOR.
I do—for, ever since poor Ethnea died,
I have been weary of the world! I want
Some burial-place for my dead child of Hope—
My Bird of Paradise, which once took Heaven
By storms of Happiness—singing aloft!
Some solid ground above the waves of this
Deep sea, where my lone Dove can rest her wings—
Anchoring her feet from her long, tiresome flight!
Some place where I can lie down with my soul,
And be at peace!

CAFFA.
That Resting-place is Heaven!
Religion has the only Key that can
Unlock the Gates of Paradise, where you
Can find what you now seek—eternal joy.

CONOR.
Then I would follow her to that sweet Place.

CAFFA.
There you will find the heavenly Joy you seek,
Guarded by million Cherubim of Light.
You see yon evergreen Mistletoe bough,
Making eternal Paradise up there?
Such are the joys Religion brings the soul.
I now will cut it with this golden-knife.
You see it is an Emblem of God's love—
Perennial as the joy it emulates—
As changeless as the Heaven's eternal love—
Wearing its Spring in Winter as in Spring.
So will Man flourish in eternal youth,
If he be true to God—true to himself;
If not, he will decay like flowers in Fall—
Casting his hopes away upon the world,
Like leaves from some deciduous tree, to rot—
Never to flourish in his soul again!
With this all man's diseases can be cured;
Hence it is called, The Healer of us All.

CONOR.
Would I had known this when my wife was ill.

CAFFA.
But you were ignorant then—dead in your sins;
Now, you are wakened from the death of life,
To circle in the likeness of God's love,
As Stars do, drinking sunshine from the Sun.

CONOR.
They say that you can raise the dead to life?

CAFFA.
They who report this thing of me, speak truth.

CONOR.
Some men need Miracles for their belief—
Their souls' conviction needing works, not words.
Now, such a man am I. I have no faith
In anything that man can say, unless
He prove it by some mighty work, proportioned
To the magnitude of the truth he teaches.
To touch my heart, my eyes must be convinced.
Reaching my heart, depends on something more
Than hearing—feeling being the naked truth.
Hence my skepticism on Religious points.
Now, could mine eyes bear witness to this thing—
Vouchsafing to my soul the truth my soul
Desires the most to know—how gladly would
I trumpet to the world that the dead live
Again. How long since your Slessama died?

CAFFA.
Just eighteen years.

CONOR.
Yet, you affirm that you
Have seen her often since?

CAFFA.
Often since she
Departed life—five hundred times at least.

CONOR.
How looked she when she died?

CAFFA.
Angelic! even
In death she looked more beautiful than life;
So, while she slumbered on this breast of love,
She breathed her soul out in the arms of Heaven!

CONOR.
At what time did she die?

CAFFA.
At three o'clock
In the morning.

CONOR.
Beautiful time to die.

CAFFA.
Her eyes were of that neutral violet tint,
Whose soft, serenity of saintly glow
Lay in the shadows of her moonlike brow,
Like Heaven at twilight, under some clear lake
Born of the crystal of the Eternal Wells.
She tranced my spirit as the sky is tranced
When some new singing Star is born in Heaven.
Down from the Alpine peaks of her white youth,
She came, crowned with the snows of innocence,
White as the bays the Angels wear in Heaven.

CONOR.
Was it by your own will, or hers, she came?

CAFFA.
Partly by mine—partly by hers—her love
For me, as mine for her, inspiring us
To reunite again on earth.

CONOR.
Does she
Respond always, by coming, to that will?

CAFFA.
Always—her coming being the consequence
Of that eternal love which causes her
To come.

CONOR.
Could you not will that same strong will
To bring her here before us now?

CAFFA.
I can.

CONOR.
So that mine eyes can see her, as it did
When she was living in the flesh?

CAFFA.
I can—
Precisely as they did when you beheld
Her first standing beside me as my bride.

CONOR.
Then, by my soul! if you will do this thing,
I will believe not only that the soul
Can live again, but be your Proselyte,
In deeds of holiest righteousness, for life.
Now call her up!

CAFFA.
This I can never do
For any man until his eyes are couched;
For an unclouded eye alone can see,
The soul of heavenly love transfigured here
On earth, as it is glorified in Heaven.

CONOR.
Then couch my eyes.

CAFFA.
This you must do yourself
By deeds of heavenly love. This opens them
To see not only all the beautiful things
Of earth, but all the wonderful things of Heaven.

CONOR.
But what are deeds of heavenly love?

CAFFA.
Such deeds
Of holiness as have no hell in them;
The incarnation of the will of God
In active wisdom of celestial use—
The sweet melodious harmony of love.

CONOR.
Then I can never see you raise the dead,
If I must wait perfection in this life;
For what I cannot understand to do,
Can never give me eyes to see it done.

CAFFA.
Wisdom is light; by drinking in this light,
The soul is purified to see what was
Invisible before for want of it;
The only fruit of that celestial Tree
Can save the hungry soul from perishing.

CONOR.
Give me this Angels' food—this Bread of Heaven.
Methinks you feed me only on the leaves.

CAFFA.
One nourishes the soul—the other heals.

CONOR.
Then rub some in mine eyes, that I may see
The dead come back to life again. If not
Slessama, raise my Ethnea from the grave.
Let me but see her once before I die,
And I will know the soul can live again
After the body's death—that we shall see
Each other in the world beyond the grave—
And I will sacrifice all hopes in time
For the attainment of that glorious end.
Will you not raise her up?

CAFFA.
Were I to raise
Her up, you could not see her with blind eyes.

CONOR.
Raise her—then I will tell you whether she
Is raised or not.

CAFFA.
This I can never do,
But by the enchantment of sweet songs—
Music being the language of the skies—
The tongue by which the Angels talk to God.

CONOR.
Then sing—for God's sake sing! Raise up your wife—
Then mine—that I may know, beyond dispute,
There is no Magic in the web of it.

[Caffa performs enchantment, during which the atmosphere all around is suffused with the most celestial odors from the opening roses of Angels' Songs, while chanting the following
INVOCATION.

[The Spirit of Slessama, as Lavercam, arrayed in milk-white shining Angel-robes, appears at the back of the Stage, attended by celestial Spirits singing.
CONOR.
But I see nothing! All is dark as night!
Then why this ecstasy? Why all this talk?
Is Caffa mad?

CAFFA.
Mad with divine delight!
Look at Slessama there, standing before
Your eyes, shining in Angels' robes of fire!

CONOR.
I see nothing but darkness now—around—
Above—beneath!

CAFFA.
Because of the great light.
[Lavercam passes slowly out, attended by the same Spirits singing.
Heard you no songs?

CONOR.
No songs at all—no sounds,
Save your own voice.

CAFFA.
Then are your ears most gross—
Your eyes irrevocably blind! They must
Be purged by the leaves from the Tree of Life.

CONOR.
Now do I know you cannot raise the dead.

CAFFA.
Did I not say you could not see the souls
Of the departed with blind eyes?

CONOR.
Blind eyes!
I am not blind. My eyes are good as yours.
I see. It is not that my eyes are blind,
But you, by playing false, would put them out.
You throw the dust of too much light in them.

CAFFA.
Pure diamond-dust ground off by Heaven's own wheels
Gyrating in the eternal clock, whose bell
Of gold will soon be heard tolling thy death,
With blindfold swing, to all the living stars!

CONOR.
But try again—raise up my Ethnea now.

CAFFA.
Would you behold her face just as she died?

CONOR.
No parley now—but raise her from the grave!
I want none of your darkness, but pure light.
If you do fail this time, the thing is sure,
That none of God's High Priests can raise the dead;
Not only so, but that the dead live not.
If you will raise her now, I will believe you yet.
If not, then never mention Heaven again;
For I will not believe in Heaven or Hell!

CAFFA.
Now, then, prepare thy soul to look on her!

CONOR.
I am prepared. Now raise her up.

CAFFA.
[Caffa performs incantation, chanting the following
INVOCATION.
[The Spirit of Ethnea appears at the back of the Stage, arrayed in bloody robes. Celestial music heard in Heaven.

CONOR.
[On his knees.
The Lord have mercy on my soul!

CAFFA.
Ah, ha!
Do the dead live again? Are you convinced?
Why all this ecstasy? Why all this talk?
Is she not something more than night? Look up!
Hide not thine eyes, but look upon her face.
Methinks the darkness is too great for thee!
Thine eyes are out! thou art struck blind by Truth,
Like poor Elymas for impiety!
Methinks I hear the azure Bell of Heaven,
Whose clapper is the Sun, tolling thy death,
With blindfold swing, to all the Stars in Hell!
Art thou converted now? But hark! she speaks!

SPIRIT OF ETHNEA.
Conor! prepare to meet thy God!

[Vanishes.
CONOR.
Away!
The vision of thy loveliness has struck
Me blind forever!

CAFFA.
Now, then, she is gone!

CONOR.
What! gone? Oh! call her back! Do call her back!
Let me but gaze upon her face once more!

CAFFA.
Why not do so when she was here? Why put
Your hands over your eyes, if you did wish
To see her face? No, you did not—nor will
I ever call her back again.

CONOR.
No more?

CAFFA.
No more forever more.

CONOR.
Oh! God! Oh! God!
Then I shall never see her more!

CAFFA.
You will.

CONOR.
Again? But when?

CAFFA.
At the LAST DAY!

CONOR.
Oh! God!
May that Day never come!

CAFFA.
It will. I hear
The Clock of Eternity tolling now
Thy midnight hour of Doom! The Dawn is nigh,
Which ushers in the Everlasting Day!
Night is this life; Day is the life to come!
Remember what thy wife has said; she lives
And loves thee still—for love survives the grave;
This thou hast seen with thine own mortal eyes—
“Prepare to meet thy God!”—Farewell!

[Exit.
CONOR.
Farewell!
She warned me in that visionary undertone
Of sad soprano, saints do when they speak
Of their own graves—something between pure speech
And solemn whispers—such as good men use
When speaking of the dead! Thus spoke she low—
Laying her hand upon her sad heart—thus—
Sobbing the while she spoke—a wintry fear
Raging, like wildfire, through my heart of hearts!
“Prepare to meet thy God!”—I will. Farewell!

[Exit.
Curtain Falls.