University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

A Room in the Palace.
Enter Brangonar, from the battle-field.
BRANGONAR.
One more such rout, and firm I stand; so firm,
Their utmost war will wreck themselves on me.
About the eastern gate they muster strong.
'T is my last throw. Now help me, sovereign Chance,
And I'll help thee; and skill and Chance conjoined
Dictate decrees to very Fate himself.
What if I fall?—A world falls crashing with me:
The world that I have reared holds by my will.
Have I then laid no deep foundation piles,
To live beyond my life?—Ha! it strikes deep,
That question. Principles, ideas, these are
Th' essential. Mimicries of th' unsubstantial
Are these regalities, this flimsy pomp,
These Imperialities. Too much I 've made
My strength the servant of my weaknesses.
Upon myself and for myself I 've built;
And so, out of myself I have no stay.
Myself! myself! naught but myself; and now
Myself doth taunt me, and flee from myself
I cannot. In the far dim fastnesses
Of my lone being I find but me, but me.—
Am I awaked from a transcendent dream?
What if my life were a sublime mistake?
Are power, allegiance, majesty, fulfillment,
And million-voiced acclaims no more for me?
But for the hates that bark and hiss around
I were alone.—What is to me this hate?
Men hate the good:—but many, many love them.
And some love me: too few, too few. Not so:
My soldiers love me—they are not a few.
My soldiers, my dear comrades; they are mine,
And I am theirs, and we together are
A force colossal, swift, resistless strong.
Aye wait they for me, and, my presence felt,
Their eyes flash victory.—But I am faint:
First a brief sudden sleep, my sure resource;
And then, back to my panting legions.
[He lies down and sleeps.
Enter a troop of women, all in black, some old, some middle-aged, some young, some with infants in their arms. With low, solemn voice they wail, “Give me back my husband—give me back my son—give me back my father—give me back my child—give me back my friend.” Brangonar shrieks and starts up.
Lusky! Lusky!
Enter Lusky.
I 've had a dreadful dream.
Methought I passed the gaping gates of hell.
All was one gloom immense, save spots of blood
That twinkled 'bout me. Then I heard, methought,
A wail of women-ghosts: it seemed to come
From in myself. In agony I shrieked.
And my shriek waked me.

LUSKY.
Sire, no ghosts were they,
But fleshly women here around you. Hark!

The women renew their wail,—“Give them back, give them back, from death, from death: they are dead, they are dead; and we are alone, alone!” Brangonar turns slowly round and looks at them.
BRANGONAR.
Hell-hags! breeders of demons in my brain!
Your wail infernal gendered its own hell
On me, witching with lies my slumbered sense.
Hence! What to mine are passionate women-pains?
I wail the death of ripening hopes, of plans
Earth-clasping, of Dominions, Empires, Powers.
Away, ye triflers! Go, find better use
For your thin breath than darting stings at me.
To work, as best ye can. Your friends have died,
And so shall you. To all death cometh once.
You cannot say I gave to any man
A second death. God ever gives the first,
The one, the only one: all die by him:
To-day, to-morrow, yesterday—it boots not.
[Women retire.
Such pother as men make about this death,—
Nature's strong need, divine ubiquity.
Swift Death cleanseth the earth, nourisheth life.
Birth and Death keep the world aye poised in health;
And were Death to relax his certain spring,
Great Birth would quickly fill our globe with worms,
Man the chief crawler on the wormy pile.—
Lusky, send me Borini.—Lusky!

LUSKY.
Sire—

BRANGONAR.
Borini, I would speak to him, at once.

LUSKY.
Borini, Sire—is gone.

BRANGONAR.
Gone! whither? whither?
To th' enemy? to th' enemy?

LUSKY.
Aye, Sire.

BRANGONAR.
'T is like him, Lusky; like him. Call Alardo.—
Lusky, Lusky, Alardo has not gone—
Not to our foes?

LUSKY.
He has, Sire.

BRANGONAR.
He, Alardo!
He whom I lifted, trusted, loved, enriched;
The first to leave me in my extremity!
Who trusts him now will trust a various knave.
A vice corrosive is Ingratitude:
It eats the bloom from every virtue's front.
The man, apt to a base forgetfulness,
Is stripped for any brand of infamy.
Say to the Empress, I would speak with her.—
Dost thou not hear? The Empress, the Empress.
[He goes to Lusky, who has sunk into a seat weeping, and puts his hand on Lusky's shoulder.
The Empress, Lusky.
[Lusky weeps more bitterly.
Whither? where? Speak, speak!

LUSKY.
Gone to her father, Sire.

BRANGONAR.
Gone to her father!
O Time, stand still, that all mankind may pause
To castigate this act. Gone to her father!
How rich the heart in novelties of ill.
On the long catalogue of regal crimes
This one was wanting. Gone, gone to her father!
Had cynic knave told this a month ago,
I 'd had him whipt for slander on the sex.—
Lusky, go bid the Countess bring my son.—
My son, my son, Lusky; I 'd see my son
Before I go.—What—Lusky—What—no, no—

LUSKY.
Gone, gone.

BRANGONAR.
They 'd dare! Is Brangonar alive?
Or was he slain in the last fight this morning?
No—no—it cannot be—it cannot be.
Go bring my son, good Lusky.

LUSKY.
Sire, the Empress—

BRANGONAR.
To hell the Empress: bring my boy, my boy.

LUSKY.
She took him with her, Sire.

BRANGONAR.
My poor, poor boy!
They 've murdered him to be revenged on me.
O Devil! Devil!—Bear ye this, ye Heavens?
Did you look coldly on while this was doing?—
At last I know what 't is to suffer. Oh!
[He sinks on a sofa.
Is there a man on earth who hates me so,
He would not weep to see me thus? Oh! Oh!—
I am not worth the slaying now. My life,
That was so full, so great, is shrunk to nothing.
Poor Brangonar! Thou art a ship dismasted,
Tossed rudderless upon th' inhuman storm.—
But, see! thy flag still flies! One rope there is
Still stiff enough to hold it. Ha! it flies!
It streams, and the strong wind delights to meet
A strip yet stronger than itself. It flies—
See how it flames!—Give me my swiftest horse.
Away—away.

[Exit.