University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

—INTERIOR OF THE TEMPLE, as before.
Videna discovered seated at the altar. King Gorbudoc and Marcella in front of the stage.
Marcella.
Was ever maid so wretched? Forth hath gone
My sire against my lover, him to slay.
War terrible, when nation against nation
Meet in fierce strife upon the neutral field—
But, when 'tis house 'gainst house, or, worse than so,
The family within 'gainst one another,
Parent 'gainst child, and brethren against brethren—
Not only terrible art thou, O war,
But odious, without honour, without heroism,
Nothing but blood and tears, and broken hearts.

King.
Life has for thee a long and hopeful way
For happy travel yet. For thee remain
Yet many flowery paths and pleasant views—
And well for thee that still, within the springs
Of those fair eyes, abides a fount of tears—
Would that Videna's matron orbs might pour
Such plenteous shower, or shed one slender drop;
Then might the silent stubborn misery,
That eats her up, solution hope to find.

Videna
(rising).
'Tis done. Sweet pity's angel for thy griefs,
Marcella, felt what I might not for mine.
Thy tender plainings made me pity thee,
For there was that in them was pitiable.
Thy griefs had not outgrown all sympathy;
And, while thy tears were flowing, mine began,
And once again this heart is almost human.

King.
Videna, then again thou knowest me?
Thou art not now a fearful mockery
Of age and sorrow and infirmity,
But hast to me returned a gracious Queen.

Videna.
Returned indeed. For on a distant journey
I verily have been—and, in my trance,
My heart was hardened to a rock—and is.
Yet am I bent to meet the worst can chance—
And that the worst will happen well I know.
But I am armed—am rigid—every nerve
And fibre of my body is upstrung,
Like a set harp, for the dread solemn music
That fate means it to utter. I but bide
The period that is doomed—nor shall wait long.

Enter Philander.
King.
Well, speak thy business, boy.

Philander.
A horseman comes
Flying this way with such unearthly speed,
I could not choose but tell thee.

King.
Forth again,
And watch his course.

[Exit Philander.
Videna.
His course is hither. Yes,
The end hastes on.

King.
But it may not be evil—

Videna.
It must be.

King.
'Tis the kindness of the gods
To me, that they do make thee thus despair;
Whence, seeking to compose thy mightier woe,
I minister that comfort to us both
I had scorned else myself.

Re-enter Philander.
Philander.
The horseman is
Prince Porreo: he has dashed him from his steed,
And now is entering.
[Exit Philander.

King.
Calmly now, Videna.

Videna.
Fear me not, King—I am calm—I am stone—and thou?

King.
A wave that waits the wind.

Enter Porreo.
King.
What dost thou here?
To make submission, as a conquered man,
That thou hast left alone the field of battle?

Porreo.
I am a conquered man—who has lost all.

King.
Thou mightst have lost it to a sterner foe,
Who would make no return—but, if repentant,
Thou'rt still our son. Thy brother, then, is victor?

Porreo.
He too is vanquished—

King.
Speak not riddles, boy.
There was no third for victor o'er ye twain.

[Porreo remains silent.
Videna.
I know it, ere thou tellest me—yet speak.

Porreo.
Ferrex lives not.

Videna.
And it was thou who slewest him?

Porreo.
Alas!

Videna.
In open fight, or by a secret stroke?

Porreo.
In open fight, and not by secret stroke.

Videna.
On the fair plain?

Porreo.
My mother, even so.

Marcella
(to Videna).
And is it in thy heart to question thus;
When Ferrex lies upon the bloody field,
Slain by his brother?

Porreo.
Thou, Marcella, thou?

Marcella
(to Porreo).
Hence, for I find thou hast led my heart astray,
Which now I read aright—which should have loved him,
For virtues such as I ne'er saw in thee—
Misled by thy fair outside, how untrue.
How comely was the frankness of thy brow,
How princely was thy cheerful countenance,
How manly was thy breast, thy arms how lithe,
Thy limbs how graceful in their symmetry.
When thou wert mounted on thy generous steed,
For chase or tilt, with favours in thy helm,
At leisure or in tourney, never man
Was better formed to charm a lady's eye,
Was worthier seen to win a lady's heart.
But HE did wear the beauty in his soul,
The fitness we admired was in his mind,
And grandeur by his spirit was upheld.
There, where he lies on the red field of death,
Will I find out his corse, and, gazing on it,
Proclaim unto his spirit, hovering near,
What love I felt for him—but now first known.
[Exit Marcella.

Porreo.
Now am I lost, indeed. Abandoned thus,
To whom for safety shall I now repair?

King
(coming solemnly forward).
To me.—Look in my face—thou canst not?—Ah!—
Well—well. I will be calm as is thy mother.
She sets me good example—I will learn it—
Gods, gods! I'm patient. Tell thy tale right out,
That I may know what exculpation—what
Atonement has been—or is needed—speak.

Porreo.
Father, with wounded soul, I will obey.
The armies met—I saw him at the head
Of valiant numbers; wrath, and pride, and hate,
And jealousy, ay, and a thousand passions,
Which now his blood has quenched, perplexed my brain—
I sought him—he avoided me—but still
Him I pursued from point to point, till, seeing
Our party got advantage by the turns
He was compelled to take, to avoid my hunt,
He stood at bay. He fought, and with a valour
That showed he shunned me not from cowardice;
And I confess, with evident regard,
Forbore to smite me, when 'twas in his power.
But hell urged on my arm, and I smote him,
Even to the death. Then victory seemed mine—
But, at the moment, from the southern side,
Dunwarro, leading on slain Inmer's troops,
A troop of ghosts—(for so they seemed to me
In my confusion)—rushed from midst the lines
Of my own ranks, and, putting all to rout,
With tresses wildly rent, unhelmed and shieldless,
Scarce left me leisure to escape.

King.
And better
Had it been for thee thou hadst ne'er escaped.
Come, bare thy breast, and let my sword dig deep
Thy false heart from thy bosom.

Videna.
Seize upon
The altar's horns, O Porreo, and be safe.
[He does so.
For thee, O Gorbudoc, of Brutus' line,
Thou monarch of the ancestry of Troy,
This vengeance fits not thee. No, nor thine age,
Nor famous memory, shall be stained with blood.

King.
'Twere divine justice should I kill him now.
—Thy temple, and thy shrine, Apollo, guard him?
Restrain me not, aught holy, aught divine,
Lest I grow mad. Ye gods, are ye not fathers?

[Pacing round the stage in agony.
Porreo
(having taken refuge at the altar, kneeling).
What can I make of this? Surprise confounds me.
My mother, like the statue of a god,
Stands, in indifferent majesty serene,
As if the dead were nothing, having left
One of her children living; while my sire,
In vehement transport, circles round the fane,
With infinite swiftness, like a thunder cloud
Driven by a whirlwind o'er a wilderness.
Gods! terrible for him who slays his brother
To meet again his parents, terrible.

King
(suddenly stopping).
Then be it so. But what it is forbid
A father's sword to do, is not forbid
A father's curse. Hear me, thou sun, whose beams
Were not turned back when this misdeed was done.
Hear me, and consecrate my words for things;
Here in thy temple. Let him not go forth,
Unstamped with malediction. Let my curse
Be on him like a seal. Let it be in
His flesh like to a shaft shot from thy bow,
Apollo, and be mortal, as was that
Which slew the Python. Is he not a snake,
Who stung and slew his brother?

Porreo.
Sire and King,
Withdraw these obtestations from the ear
Of him who rules this shrine. A father's curse
Is more than I can bear.

King.
What punishment,
That man can bear, befits the fratricide?
Stay with thy mother, if she can endure
The company of such a wretch as thou.
Myself will forth, and, like Marcella, seek
My slaughtered son upon the battle-field,
For whom I would have died. Thee contemplate
I will not—cannot—living. But like him
To look on thee a corse were happiness.

[Exit.
Porreo.
I have no refuge but in thee, my mother.

Videna.
None, O my son!

Porreo.
Thy son?

Videna.
Yes—still, my son;
Albeit thy father cursed thee.

Porreo.
Thou wilt curse
Me not?

Videna.
No—for I waste not words.

Porreo.
Strange—brief—
And icy is thy speech.

Videna.
Wouldst have me praise,
(Because I will not blame,) in flowery phrase,
The deed which has deprived me of a son,
Whom once I loved as well as thee? And sure,
That love for thee was strong, which such a deed
Has not extinguished. From yon altar now
Thou mayst divorce thy hands. Come in with me
To yonder chamber, our sometime retreat,
While civil war was raging, to the which
Thou thus hast put an end. There will we talk,
In private, of this solemn business.

Porreo.
I thank thee, mother;—and 'twill stead me well—
For I am over-weary.

Videna.
Canst thou sleep?

Porreo.
What meanest thou?

Videna.
Nothing.

Porreo.
'Twas my phantasy
That made the tone thou spakest in startle me.
Truly, events like these will try us sore,
Howe'er we brave them out, and make us live
Even in the unconscious hairs that point our flesh.
I am grown sensitive; and, but that nature
Has been o'ertasked, should fear to slumber more.

Videna.
In—in— (aside)
Thy brother sleeps—why shouldst not thou?

[Exeunt.