University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

—A Terrace attached to the Prison, with the Sea outstretched before it.—A Portal on one side—on the other, the Dungeon-door of Pythias, barred and chained.
Enter Dionysius, preceded by an Officer, who points to the Dungeon.
Dion.
Is this the dungeon?—Unbar the door.—
I'll probe him deeply.—
Slave!
Observe well the orders that I gave thee!
[Motions him away, and opens the door.
My lord Pythias!—

Pyth.
(Within)
How now! who calls me?

Dion.
A friend, Pythias:—the time is precious; haste,
And follow me.

Enter Pythias.
Pyth.
Where do you lead me?

Dion.
I come
To serve and succour thee.

Pyth.
And who art thou,
And how can'st succour me?

Dion.
I dwell beneath the tyrant's roof, and learn'd by accident
This fell determination—he hath resolv'd—

Pyth.
My life!—

Dion.
Thy life!—
Ere this, he hath despatch'd some twenty men
To intercept thy friend, on his approach
To meet and ransom thee.

Pyth.
Almighty Heaven!

Dion.
He not arriving at the appointed hour,
Thy life is forfeited.

Pyth.
We try the depth together; I had hop'd
That one or other of us could have liv'd
For thy poor Hermion's, or Calanthe's sake.—
No matter.

Dion.
Pythias, I came to save thee.

Pyth.
What dost thou mean?

Dion.
Urg'd by my pity for such noble friends,
So trusting and betray'd—anxious, besides,
To-leave the tyrant's court,
Hither I brib'd my way.—Thy fair Calanthe
Shall be the partner of thy flight.—Thy father—

Pyth.
Sir!—

Dion.
Yes, thy father, too—thy time-struck father,
Who, till this day, for many circling years
Hath not held human intercourse,
Was visited by me—he hath uprais'd him
From his lonely bed.

Pyth.
Thou speakest of miracles!

Dion.
And ere I came, with all despatch and secresy,
I have provided in the port of Syracuse
A good quick-sailing ship—yonder she lies,
Her sails already spread before the breeze,
And thou, and thy Calanthe—see, she comes—
Haste, lady, haste to thy betrothed lord!

Pyth.
Wide-working Heaven, Calanthe!

Enter Calanthe.
Cal.
Pythias!
Though when thou should'st have cherish'd, thou did'st spurn me,
Though in the holy place where we had met
To vow ourselves away unto each other,
Though there, when I was kneeling at thy feet,
Thou did'st forswear, and mock at me—yet here
I do forgive thee all—and I will love thee
As never woman lov'd her young heart's idol,
So thou but speed'st to safety.

Pyth.
Hold, Calanthe.—
If mothers love the babe upon the breast,
When it looks up with laughter in it's eyes,
Making them weep for joy—if they can love,
I loved, and do love thee, my Calanthe:—
But wert thou magnified above thyself,
As much in fascination as thou art
Above all creatures else,—by all the gods,
In awful reverence sworn, I would not cheat
My honour!

Cal.
How!

Dion.
Madman, what dost intend?

Pyth.
Dost thou not know the tyrant spar'd his life,
On the security I gave for him—
Stand I not here his pledge?

Dion.
(Aside.)
'Tis wonderful!
His brow is fix'd; his eye is resolute.

Cal.
Pythias, mine idoliz'd, and tender Pythias,—
Am I then scorn'd?—Behold! look, Pythias, there!

Pyth.
What do I see?

Cal.
Thy father,—Nicias!
He who did give thee being, and the blood
That bubbles round thy heart. Since my poor tears
Are valueless, hear him, and disobey not.

Pyth.
Ha! dream I this?

Dion.
(Aside.)
There! he is shaken there!

Enter Nicias, extremely old and feeble.
Nicias.
Where is my son, the child of my old years,
The last of all my blood—where is my son?
I scarce behold the day-light—where is my son?

Pyth.
Here, father, here!

Nicias.
Is this my Pythias' hand?
Are these his arms that press me? O, my son,
Come to thy father's heart! Child of my age,
I do believe thou lov'st me!

Pyth.
O, my father!
Witness these burning tears, tears which came not
In such a gush as now.

Nicias.
Upon my lonely bed, thy long-lost name,
Pronounc'd in shrieking anguish to mine ear,
Came, and I heard it—the first human sound
That for a lapse of time held intercourse
With my forgotten heart—and lo! I heard it!
And then I ask'd of thee, and what they purpos'd
To do on thee—and here I came, my son,
To go with thee to safety.

Pyth.
Spare me that!
All things
I'll do but that; and that I dare not do.

Nicias.
The tyrant doth break faith with thee.

Pyth.
'Tis said so.

Cal.
And Damon cannot come to be thy ransom.

Pyth.
I have heard it, my Calanthe.

Cal.
And that thou—
That thou—O gods!—must die when he comes not?

Pyth.
And that I know, Calanthe.

Cal.
If thou knowest it,
What is thy heart, that it can still be obstinate?

Pyth.
I should not have heard it; or, having heard it,
I still may hold it false. This busy world
Is but made up of slight contingencies—
There are a thousand that may alter this,
Or leave it where it was:—there is not one
Should push us a mere point from any pledge
Of manliness and honour.

Nicias.
Look on thy father, Pythias—he scarce sees
His son—darkness has pour'd her waters on him,
Quenching the spark that lights up human life,
In gay variety; yet I would live.

Pyth.
And yet would I, my father,
Live to support, befriend, and cherish you!
Live to possess my own Calanthe here,
Who recommends existence with a smile
So sad and beautiful!—Yet would I live,
But not dishonour'd—Still, Calanthe, he may return!
May! may!—That word ends all!—Death looks but grimly,
And the deep grave is cheerless—yet I do—
I do prefer the certainty of death
Unto the possibility of dishonour!

Nicias.
Pythias, my son, the cold dim house of death—
To be a lonely, shuddering tenant in it,
Or live in sun-shine one's own young heart gives out!
Thy hand, Calanthe; give thy hand, my girl,—
And thine, my son—here, take her—save, or lose her!

Cal.
Thyself, and me! Save both!

Dion.
Behold! behold!—
(Pointing to the side of the stage.)
The good ship hath her streaming signal out!
The canvass swells up to the wooing wind!
The boat puts off—now, now, or never!

Cal.
See
How swiftly, in her gallant liberty,
She comes through the calm sea!—O, hark! the oars,
How rapidly they plash in harmony!
O look at freedom, Pythias, look at it!
How beautiful it is upon the sea!
Pythias, my Pythias—O! how we shall laugh
While bounding o'er the blessed wave that bears us
From doom and death, to some fair Grecian isle!

Dion.
See, they approach! dost hesitate?

Nicias.
My son!

Cal.
Pythias!—my husband, Pythias!

Pyth.
No! no! so help me heaven!—'Tis hard!
It plucks my heart up—but, no! no! (Kneels.)


Cal.
O, gods! (She falls into his arms.)