University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—A Garden.
A Table, with Fruit laid out.
Hermion discovered arranging a little Feast.—Her Child beside her, with a basket of Flowers.
Child.
Will he come soon home, mother?

Herm.
I pray the gods
He may, my child.

Child.
It seems so long a time
Since he hath ta'en me on his knee, and kiss'd me.

Herm.
Hark thee, my boy!
This is the hour, wherein Lucullus said
He would arrive to-day to visit us.
Go, see if he be coming, he'll be glad
To greet the rosy fruit upon thy cheeks,
Even as he enters our sweet garden here.
Hie thee, and bear me word if he approaches—
The first kiss shall be thine.

[Exit Child.
Herm.
Thou unkind Damon!
To send me here to woman's loneliness,
A prey to all the sickening hopes and fears
I must have of thee, in these blustering times.

Enter Damon, with the Child in his arms.
Child.
See, I have found him for you, mother!

Herm.
Ha!

Damon.
Hermion! my treasure, Hermion!

Herm.
My dear lord!
I had prepar'd this little feast for you,
But hope at last grew sick within my heart
And I could hardly force it to a thought
That yet thou would'st arrive—Oft I look'd out
Upon the weary way thou should'st have journey'd,
And oft the hills' dim vapour rose like Damon,
Till the sun came to shape it, and to shew me
That yet thou wert away.

Damon.
And are ye then,
Are ye so helpless in our absence, Hermion?

Herm.
Come, now—you know it. O, my dear, dear husband!
If I should tell thee of my quaking heart,
While thou art bustling there in Syracuse,—
Why wilt thou start?—'twould cheat thee of thy tears,
And make thee womanish; and—for I know
Thou lov'st thy own poor Hermion,—thou should'st swear
Never again to leave her.

Damon.
Nerve me, Heaven!

Herm.
Indeed thou should'st! and look thee here, my Damon,
But for this little boy, who is so like thee—

Damon.
Is he so very like me, Hermion?

Herm.
Nay,
A very little self of thee;—and, but
For looking long into his face—so long
That the tears blinded me,—I've half consented
To think it was thyself; and then I kiss'd
My boy, and I was happy for a time.
And but for this, my Damon, and his talk
His childish prattle on my knee, of what
He would achieve and be—Come, sir, rehearse
These matters over; say what would'st thou be?

Damon.
What would'st thou be, my boy?

Child.
A soldier, father.

Damon.
Come, come, now, not a soldier.

Child.
Nay, but I'd chuse sir,
To be what Pythias is.

Damon.
(Much moved.)
Thou art a brave boy!
Go pluck a flower from yonder gay recess,
At the other end of the garden.—Wreathe me now
The fairest garland for my welcome—there—
A brave, brave boy.
[Exit Child.
Now, gods!— (Aside.)


Herm.
Dost thou not think
He grows apace?

Damon.
Have I in all my life
Given thee an angry look, or word, or been
Ever an unkind mate, my Hermion?

Herm.
Never! the gods know, never!

Damon.
From thy heart
Thou sayest this?

Herm.
Yea, from my inmost heart!

Damon.
I am glad of it; for thou wilt think of this
When I am dead, my Hermion: and 'twill make thee
The kindest mother to our boy!

Herm.
O, gods!
Why dost thou talk of death? Damon, thy cheek,
Thy lip is quivering—art sick, or griev'd
With some discomfiture? O, these wild wars
And bickerings of the state, how have they robbed thee
Of thy soul's quiet!

Damon.
Tell me, tell me, Hermion,—
Suppose I should impart the heaviest news
That could possess thine ear, how would'st thou bear it?

Herm.
Laugh at it!—mock at it to make thee smile,
And teach thee to be happy in despite
Of any turn of fortune.—What dost thou mean?
What heavy news? I know the part thou takest
In the state's service.—Hath the tyrant risen?

Damon.
He hath; but that's not it.

Herm.
The Carthagenians
Have sack'd the city?
Why then thy friend
So well beloved of thee—Pythias!—'tis he!

Damon.
No, thank the gods, not he!

Herm.
What is it then?—
The heaviest news that could possess mine ear!—
Ha! 'tis thyself—some danger hath befallen thee,
Or threatens thee.—Speak, my dear Damon, speak.
Or I shall die of thoughts that come to kill me!

Damon.
When I wooed thee, Hermion,
'Twas not the fashion of thy face, or form,—
Though from the hand of Heaven thou camest so rich
In all external loveliness, it was not
Such excellence that rivetted my heart
And made me thine; but I said to myself,
Thus:—Here is one, who, haply were I wreck'd,
Or, were I to-morrow, or a later day,
Struck down by fortune—

Herm.
Wert thou made as low
From what thou art as earth's foundation-stone
Is from the top of Etna—did men scorn thee—

Damon.
Nay, thus I said, my Hermion:—Did the blow
Fall deadly as it might—here is a woman
Who hath such firm devotion in her love,
She would not rend my heart, but for my sake,—
And, should we have a child, for his sake too,—
Bear firmly up, though death itself—

Herm.
Death! death!

Damon.
(Giving her the testament.)
Take this—read this—'twill speak what I cannot—
I thought I could, and by the gods I cannot!

Herm.
Ha! here's a poisoning adder in this scroll—
It eats into my heart!—Die, Damon!—Death!
When? how? I cannot understand it—Die!
Where? what offence?

Damon.
I have been doom'd to death by Dionysius.

Herm.
But thou hast 'scaped the sentence; thou art here,
Alone! unguarded!—It is but to fly
To Greece, or Italy, or any where
From this.

Damon.
From this to Syracuse.—I'll tell thee—
Ere now I had been dead—

Herm.
No! no!

Damon.
Ere this
I had been dead, but that my friend, my Pythias,
By putting on my fetters—giving up
Himself as hostage for my sure return,—
Wrought on the tyrant to bestow me time
To see thee here.

Herm.
By the wide world, thou shalt not!
I hold thee here—these arms encompass thee
As doth thy heart it's life-spring!—

Damon.
Not!

Herm.
Thou shalt not!

Damon.
Not! not return!—Not go to take my friend
Out of the fetters I have hung upon him?

Herm.
Life! to save that, the wrong becomes the right!
The gods that made us have so quicken'd us,
Nature so prompts us, and all men forgive it,
Because all men would do it.—By the love
(If thou hast any) of thy wife and child—
Ay, frown—do, Damon, frown, and kill me too,
Or live for us!
Re-enter Child with flowers.
The blessed gods have sent thee
With thy sweet helplessness—kneel down, my child,
Hold up thy little hands with mine, and pray
Not to be made an orphan—not so soon,
So very soon!—Kind Damon, look upon us!
Husband, look on us, we are at thy feet!

Damon.
Ye are!—I see it, and my heart bleeds for ye!
Nay, I must turn my eyes away from you
While you are urging me to my dishonour,
And bid me murder him that I may live!
Hermion, farewell!

(Turning round and embracing her.)
Herm.
(In agony.)
Live Damon! live! live! live!

Damon.
Hermion, my life, look up! awake my Hermion. (She swoons in his arms.)


Enter an old Servant.
Damon.
The hour is past! I trifle with necessity!
Hermion! I now indeed must part from thee,
All pale and cold and death-like as thou art;
Thus may I part from thee, to go and be
Myself full soon as cold!—Here, here, old man,
Here, hold her from the earth,—
(Giving Hermion to the old Servant.)
And say to her,
With what a broken-hearted love I press'd her
For the last time!—And, Neucles, for my sake
Be thou a faithful servant when I am gone!
Once more—My child too!—O, this is too much!
My little orphan!—my dear boy! the gods,
The gods will take my care of thee, my child!

[Rushes out.
(The Scene shuts.)