University of Virginia Library

ACT II

Scene: House of Ione
Ione and Nydia discovered. Ione embroidering; Nydia winding silks
Ione:
I pray you, Nydia, lay your work aside:
My eyes are wearied with these brilliant dyes.

Nydia:
I wish mine were. Mistress—

Ione:
Call me not that:
Call me Ione. Glaucus does not like
That slavish word.

Nydia:
(Aside)
How readily his name
Comes to her lips; and how she holds it there,
And kisses it—ah, me!

Ione:
What would you say?

Nydia:
I wonder often what it is to see.
What is it you call light? and how do you
Know of a thing when 'tis so far away!
And what is beauty?

Ione:
You bewilder me.
With your demands, child. You can never know
Aught of a sense which you do not possess.
Were you born blind?

Nydia:
They said so. Yes, the man
Who called himself my father—could he be,
To sell me like a faulty sheep?—he told
The bustling trader that I never saw:
Therefore he sold me.

Ione:
It was infamous.

Nydia:
Perhaps not. I am almost useless, lady.
I was a burden, and he very poor.
Why do you keep me?

Ione:
Nydia, Nydia, cease!
Or you will have me weeping.

Nydia:
Zeus, forbid!

Ione:
I love you, Nydia: is not that enough,
Reason enough, to make me cherish you?

Nydia:
Ay, that I understand, without my eyes.
Love, love! is not that something like to sight?
I often think it is another sense.

Ione:
It is the vision of the gods. Right, girl!
Love is another sense.

Nydia:
Or why should I—
Blind as I am—love you, love Glaucus? hate—
Enter Arbaces behind, unobserved
Oh! how I hate!—one person, with a fire
Almost as hot as love is—Hist! I hear
An evil footstep.

Arbaces:
(Advancing)
It is only mine.

Nydia:
(Aside. She shrinks apart)
Cat, treacherous cat!

Ione:
Arbaces, when you come
Into my house, I pray you, that, henceforth,
You have yourself announced. Remember, too,
I am a child no longer.

Arbaces:
Sad am I
At all these changes. 'Twas but yesterday—
So seems it in the hurried flight of time—
I held you in my arms, or taught your feet
Their first few steps. You and Apaecides
Will ever seem my children.

Ione:
Pardon me:
My wish was not to wound you.

Arbaces:
Dear Ione,
Why have you lost your confidence in me?

Ione:
But have I?

Arbaces:
Yes; witness your new-made friend,
This wandering Greek. Witness your handmaid there,
A public flower-girl, a common slave,
Likewise his gift, now your companion. These,
These unwise acts, were all, all contrary
To my advice.

Ione:
Come hither, Nydia.
Lay your cheek close to mine; twine both your arms
About my neck; now kiss me on the mouth,
Free citizen of Rome. Mark it, my lord;
Thus, thus, I think of her.

(Kisses Nydia)
Arbaces:
A fond mistake.

Ione:
Grant that as possible. Were she not pure—
Yea, pure as I am—would she dare do that?
You may be deep in all the ways of man,
But, ah! you know not woman.

Arbaces:
Haply so.
(Aside)
Let these two kittens play: why should I care?
(Aloud)
The other matter is more serious.
It is the common tattle of the town
That Glaucus, an Athenian fop, a man—

Ione:
Beware!

Arbaces:
Who owes the little fame he has
To his successes with your sex, is here
Daily, or, as he boasts before the world,
Whene'er he pleases, or has idle time.

Nydia:
That is a lie!

Arbaces:
I do not say this thing
Of my own knowledge. Is it scandal?

Ione:
Which—
His coming, or his boast?

Arbaces:
Say both.

Ione:
Since when
Took I companions as the world prescribed?
You know the freedom of a woman's life
In Greece, my country, where each woman stands
As guardian of her honor. There no bars
Shut up her virtue, at a man's behest,
As in your Egypt. As for Glaucus—

Arbaces:
Well?

Ione:
He is most welcome to my house and me
At any seemly hour. That much is truth.
That he has ever boasted of my favor,
In any manner to discredit me,
Is not alone untrue, but, more than false,
Impossible.

Arbaces:
But why?

Ione:
We are betrothed.

Nydia:
(Aside)
Ah me!

Arbaces:
Betrothed!

Ione:
Betrothed. What follows then?
Think you that he would cast the slightest shade
Upon the woman that will be his wife?

Arbaces:
Think! I am mad; I cannot think. Ye gods!
Have all my hopes come to this sorry end?
Ione, are you sane?

Ione:
Quite sane, I think:
And till the madness you confess be passed,
Let us avoid this subject.

Arbaces:
Wonderful!
My child, my pupil, casts me to the wind;
Does not consult me, does not ask consent
Of me, her guardian, to the gravest step
Woman can take!

Ione:
I have a monitor,
Here, in my bosom; and when that says yea,
All the world's no were nothing.

Arbaces:
(Aside)
Shall I hold
This hell, that burns within me, still; or launch
Its fires upon her wayward head? Be calm:
Patience is power. (Aloud)
Ione, one last word.
Your dying father, my dear friend—O would
That love descended by inheritance!—
Your father left a letter in my hands,
Addressed to you, with charge that you should read,
When you attained a marriageable age,
The letter in my presence.

Ione:
That is strange.

Arbaces:
It is his last, most sacred testament.
Now, as your acts bespeak you of that age,
'Tis time that you should read it.

Ione:
Give it me.
My father's wishes are supreme commands,
Within the bounds of reason.

Arbaces:
Saving clause!
Differing somewhat from blind obedience,
And what the Romans here call piety.

Ione:
Truly; but would you have the unreasoning dead
Judge for the quick; when, if the dead could rise,
To hear the cause, his judgment might agree
With living reasoners?

Arbaces:
Logic, if not love:
More wise than loving.

Ione:
Pray, no more of this.
Give me the letter.

Nydia listens eagerly to what follows
Arbaces:
That I cannot do.
'Tis locked within a coffer of great weight,
With other things, also your heritage.
I was forbidden to unclose the chest—
Strictly forbidden. My duty ends with this,
The proffer of this key. (Gives her a key)


Ione:
But of the chest?

Arbaces:
'Tis at my house, resting in holy ward
Under the eye of Isis.

Ione:
Must I go
Thither to find it?

Arbaces:
Not unless you wish;
Or choose to disregard your father's will.
This thing is sure; it will not come to you;
For, by your father's lips, I was enjoined
That you should ope the coffer only there,
And only in my presence.

Nydia:
(Steals to her, and whispers)
Do not go.

Ione:
(Apart to her)
Why not?

Nydia:
I know not; only do not go.

Ione:
But child, I must. 'Twere as though I refused
To hear my father speak. What time, my lord,
Will suit your pleasure?

Arbaces:
Nay; your pleasure's mine.
Say then tonight. 'Tis early yet. I know,
You cannot read your father's words too soon,
As matters stand with you.

Ione:
Well, then, tonight.
Have entertainment for my slaves.

Arbaces:
I trust,
You will not bring an army to a house
That's peaceful as a temple.

Ione:
Fear not that.

Arbaces:
I shall await you in my study. Now,
Farewell! I hope no lingering distrust
Dwells in that pretty head, to banish thence
Your old familiar guardian.

Ione:
Can you ask,
With your own conscience to reply for me?

Arbaces:
(Aside)
Triumphant! Lady, you shall groan for this,
This torture of my heart! (Aloud)
Farewell, farewell!

(Exit)
Enter Apaecides, moodily
Ione:
My own dear brother! (Embraces him)


Apaecides:
Sister! who went hence?

Ione:
Only Arbaces.

Apaecides:
Hah! Ye gods, I am doomed!
Even in her gentle presence, something starts
This pack of hellish thoughts upon my track.
Does conscience bar all outlets of escape
To self-convicted guilt?

Ione:
Apaecides,
Why are you ever murmuring at yourself?
Why do you cloud a life as pure as yours
With baseless fancies!—You, almost a priest
Of mystic Isis, who, behind her veil,
Soon to be cast aside for you, displays
The inner secrets of the universe?

Apaecides:
Folly, rank folly—a deluding lie—
A fool-trap, sister, in which I am caught;
A fraud, to gull the people of their rights,
And throttle sacred truth at every step.
Talk not to me of Isis; of all men,
Talk least to me.

Ione:
I fear your studies, brother,
Have overwrought your health.

Apaecides:
My studies! What,
To find the more we know, the wider grow
The bounds of ignorance; the more remains
Unknown, and, yea, unknowable?—my studies!
Go ask your Glaucus—how I love the man!—
A bold, brave thinker, not afraid of aught
That lies between him and the holy truth.

Ione:
Dear, brother!

Apaecides:
He's a Platonist; to him
The whole Pantheon is symbolical,
And nothing more, of the one, only Power.
[If he be right, then all the rest is false.

Ione:
His faith is mine. Why not give Isis up,
Before it is too late?

Apaecides:
My vows, my vows;
My honorable bondage to a lie.

Ione:
Pray talk with Glaucus.

Apaecides:
That I will. Perhaps
His clearer eye may see an issue hence.
(Takes out a scroll, and reads)
One conscious central Power! Is that the truth
My soul has groped for through this labyrinth?
So Plato thought—thinks; for the man still lives,
Like the immortals, in this vital scroll!
But no more of Arbaces and his lore,
His cheating mummeries, acknowledged lies;
His vocal Isis, with no better tongue
Than base Calenus for her oracles.

Ione:
Brother, you talk in riddles.

Apaecides:
Plain enough
To Isis' priests. Ione, fare you well!]
I must once more to what you call my studies.
A blind man feeling vaguely for the light
He cannot see.

Ione:
Forget not Glaucus; he
Is wiser and more learned than he cares
To let the world believe.

Apaecides:
Who doubts of that,
Since he chose you as mistress of his heart?

Ione:
Fie, jester, you are merry!

Apaecides:
(Embracing her)
Love is so.

(Exit)
Ione:
[Why is it that beneath Arbaces' touch
All things become involved in mystery,
In doubt, in gloom, in pain? Apaecides,
A twelve-month scholar, in that time has lost
His boyish spirit, changed into a man
As dark, secretive, wretched and forlorn,
As though he harbored undivulged crime
Within a heart I know to be unstained.]
If these be learning's fruits, the gods forbid
To me such dreary knowledge! Glaucus though—

Enter Scoros
Scoros:
Glaucus of Athens.

Ione:
At my call he comes!
Admit him. (Exit Scoros)


Nydia:
(Aside)
Ah! poor heart, sleep on!

Enter Glaucus
Ione:
My lord!

Glaucus:
My very life! Ione, do you know
What leaden feet the weary hours delay
That keep me from you?

Ione:
Nydia, go play;
Or rest yourself; I care not which, child, go!

Nydia:
(Aside)
Go play at murdering my heart,—a cheerful sport!
Or rest, the while my echoing bosom groans
With my heart's tortures! Child, child, ever child,
To him, to her: I who am but too much,
Alas! too much a woman!

Ione:
Why, my girl,
Loiter you thus?

Nydia:
(Apart to her)
O tell him, I beseech,
Of your intended visit to Arbaces.

Ione:
What need of that? You make too much of it.
Pardon this whispering, Glaucus.—Go, girl, go!
(Exit Nydia)
You do not mind our female mysteries:
You must get used to them betimes, my lord;
Else a new gown, a ribbon—nay, a stitch
Will make you sorrow.

Glaucus:
While I look on you,
I can defy all sorrow. If the Fates
Secure me you, they may take all the rest,
Save only life enough to love you with.

Ione:
Enchanter, if I love you, where's my blame,
Who ne'er was charmed before by words so sweet?
I have employment for your sorcery—
Ay, in my service too—Apaecides—
Who loves you, thank the gods!—is tempest-tossed
By doubts about his faith; and, most of all,
Touching those vows, made in his boyish days,
To goddess Isis. In another month,
He must advance from neophyte to priest,
Taking the last irrevocable step,
With all his heart against it, and his reason
Following his heart. Now, Glaucus, will you make
His growing confidence entirely yours;
Talk with him, and advise him; plant a faith
Within his doubting soul, to bring him rest,
And peace to me concerning him?

Glaucus:
Beloved,
This I can promise: if Apaecides
Will tolerate my friendship, I shall be
Close by his side, when I am not by yours.

Ione:
That is enough. We two conspirators,
For his soul's comfort, surely must succeed,
If love go hand in hand with policy.

Glaucus:
Give me love's hand. O fair, contriving brain,
What a pure heart inspires your purposes!
Shall I begin tonight? Where shall I find
My scholar?

Ione:
At his house with Plato.

Glaucus:
Yes?
In good companionship. My own, I hoped
To give this lovely evening to ourselves.
See how the moonlight glimmers on the bay,
Clinging to every wavelet's little crest,
As though she loved to make it beautiful!
Such is love's splendor on the stream of life;
Beneath his gaze, the prospect of our earth
So dazzles us as to seem heaven itself.
But you are anxious for your brother's fate,
And so should I be. Let us put aside
Our pleasure for that duty. May the gods
Guard you, beloved! (Embraces her)


Ione:
Until tomorrow then.

Glaucus:
Yes.

Ione:
But betimes:
No loitering.

Glaucus:
Nay, none.

Ione:
It is so weary—
Wearier than aught beside—to wait for you.

Glaucus:
Ah! gentle flatterer! Can we not part?
Farewell, love! (Exit)


Ione:
He is gone. Glaucus!—Nay, nay;
I must not call him back.
(Claps her hands)
Enter Scoros
My litter, Scoros.

(Scoros bows, and retires)
Enter Nydia
Nydia:
You called me, lady?

Ione:
No; Scoros I called,
To get my litter ready.

Nydia:
Shall I go
Along with you?

Ione:
What? to Arbaces' house?
No, that were needless. I shall soon return.

Nydia:
Glaucus is gone. I thought, when he came in,
He meant a longer visit.

Ione:
(Laughing)
Poor, poor Glaucus!
Must he have two, two tyrants of one sex,
To rule his ways? He is upon a mission
From me, the other tyrant, to my brother.

Nydia:
Ah! to Apaecides? Will he stay long?

Ione:
Perhaps till daybreak. For you know, my child,
When two men get to talking, heaven alone
Can tell when they will stop.

Nydia:
You're merry, lady.

Ione:
And you are very sad. What is it?

Nydia:
O,
I pray you, lady, on my bended knees, (Kneels)

Never again to visit that man's house.
When he went hence there was an evil ring
In his false voice. I know 'tis dangerous.

Ione:
Pshaw! Nydia, dangerous? When I was a child,
I played there by the day.

Nydia:
But, recollect,
You are a child no longer.

Ione:
Yes, to him
I shall be ever so; and, as I fear,
A froward one.

Enter Scoros
Scoros:
My lady's litter waits.

Ione:
Wait my return. (Going)


Nydia:
Then give me but one kiss.
It will so strengthen me.

Ione:
Dear Nydia, there.

(Kisses her. Exit)
Nydia runs to the window, and listens
Nydia:
Tramp, tramp! One, two, three, four;
one, two, three, four:
Four bearers and four slaves. That's not enough.
(Advances)
Arbaces' house is overrun with slaves,
That dare not disobey his whisper. Gods,
What shall I do? Shall I abandon her?
Let her come back, so foul, in her own soul
That she will never dare meet him again?—
See Glaucus—O my love, my hopeless love!
Oh! vile temptation, murdering love with love!
Thou poor blind creature, what hast thou to do
With love to one who is almost a god?
(Claps her hands)
Enter Scoros
Fly you, outstrip the winds! Bring Glaucus here,
With the same speed. He's with Apaecides.
Say that Ione sends for him; that life,
Or worse than death, hangs on his footsteps.—Go!
Why do you lag thus? He will pave your way
With gold tomorrow. Not a word but that:
Your mistress sends. Mark you, no word but that.

Scoros:
But—but—

Nydia:
How dare you loiter? By the gods,
I'll tear your eyes out, make you blind as I,
If you but fail me!
(Exit Scoros hastily)
(Kneeling)
Thank you, gracious gods!
You make me do that which alone is right
In your regard. Inspire ye Glaucus, too,
To come upon my bidding. Needless prayer!
He loves; and in her name, and with that charm
I called him here. Come? he must come, though death
Stood full before him with uplifted dart!
Hark! he is at the portal. Oh! that step!
My ear could pick it from an army's tread!

She seats herself, representing Ione, with her face turned aside. Enter Glaucus hastily
Glaucus:
My darling, what? Why is this summons?

Nydia:
(Aside)
Ah!
For once he called me by a tender name.
(Aloud)
Glaucus.

Glaucus:
What, Nydia?

Nydia:
(Aside)
O forgive me, heaven,
For that one moment lost: it was so sweet!

Glaucus:
Where is Ione?

Nydia:
Where? where is the dove
Within the falcon's grip? Gone; lured by wiles
Into Arbaces' house.

Glaucus:
Impossible!

Nydia:
'Tis so. She has no fear, and no distrust,
No knowledge even, of that wicked man.
Hark you! he loves her, in his own bad way,
As one beast loves another. Glaucus, come!

Glaucus:
Come, whither?

Nydia:
To Arbaces' house.

Glaucus:
What, I
Insult her by suspicion? I am a gentleman.

Nydia:
More than a man? By all the sacred gods,
You'll drive me mad among you! If I say,
Ione is in danger, lost perhaps,
Even at this moment; made a thing so low
That never in this life, or that to come,
Will she dare lift her wretched face to yours,
Because, now, now, while I am warning you,
You will not rescue her? What will you say—
What will your heart say to its misery,
When all this thing is done? Speak not, but act!
If you so fear your nice gentility,
Look you, this blind thing, this weak Nydia,
Knows every corner of Arbaces' house.
I can conduct you from its outer wall
Into the centre—back and forth again—
And no one know that you were ever there.
O Glaucus, if you love her, if you would
Save her from that would make her loathe herself,—
Come, come!

Glaucus:
Enough; go on! for at the worst,
'Twere but a loving folly on my part.
Hence, to the winds with scruples! Nydia,
You have evoked a fury in my heart;
What if your fears prove baseless?

Nydia:
Oh, why then
Beat out my life—beat from my silly clay
My very soul! But are you armed?

Glaucus:
Not I.

Nydia:
Alas! you may have need of arms? But why
Can I not think?
(Feels about the wall for a trophy of arms, from which she takes the sword)
Here, here! this is the sword
Her father carried in the German wars.
Throws the baldric over Glaucus' neck. Claps her hands
Enter Scoros
Scoros, take all our people, armed with staves,
But quietly, not in a noisy mob,
By twos and threes, let them assemble straight
By Isis' shrine, close to Arbaces' house.
If I should call, let them break in that house,
And find their mistress, though each step they take
Cost them a life. You hear me! Off, begone!
(Exit Scoros)
And now, my lord.

(She takes a stylus from the table, and thrusts it in her girdle)
Glaucus:
You have convinced me, child,
Of your sincere belief that this mad act
Is needful for Ione's sake. O how
Shall I repay you, if your fears prove true?

Nydia:
Perhaps you'll kiss me, here, between my eyes,
And wish that they could see you.

Glaucus:
Come, away!

Nydia:
Let the blind lead; for night and day are one
To me. No, not together. Follow you
My form afar; that no one may observe.

Glaucus:
Be quick then, Nydia. I shall know no rest
Until I know how groundless were your fears.

Nydia:
Shade of my mother, have I not done right?

(Exeunt)
Curtain