University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene: The palace of Arbaces. A great hall, richly furnished, containing strange astrological and alchemical instruments, a library of scrolls, etc. A statue of Isis, with a coffer at the base. A table upon which are papers and a naked sword. In the center of flat a large archway, covered with curtains. As the curtain rises, an orgy of Isis is going on—with music, dancing and drinking, etc. Enter Arbaces hastily.
Arb.
Vanish! I weary of these mummeries. [Exeunt suddenly all the revellers]

Calenus! sluggard, have you leaden feet? [Enter Calenus deliberately]


Cal.
The slave reports that she has left her house,
Bound hither.

Arb.
Well.

Cal.
[Aside]
For you, mayhap: for her—

Arb.
Are the ships ready? All the stores aboard?

Cal.
All but the treasure.

Arb.
That will be embarked,
Under my eyes.

Cal.
[Aside]
He does not trust me. Well,
I would not trust him were his case my own.

Arb.
The captains are instructed, and can cut
Their cables in a trice, and put to sea?

Cal.
At any moment.

Arb.
And the secret way,
That leads from this room to the shore, has that
Been cleared of rubbish? It has been disused
So long, that it may be encumbered.

Cal.
Yes:
And torches are at hand to light the way.
I wonder if I told you—

Arb.
Told me what?

Cal.
Something about that passage.

Arb.
What?

Cal.
One day,
About a month ago, when she was here
Singing for you, I met blind Nydia
Feeling her way along the dripping walls
Of that same passage. Why, the gods can tell.
For when I boxed her ears, and questioned her,
She sank into that obstinate, dumb mood,
She is so good at, and made no reply.
I think that little demon knows the house
Better than any rat that ranges it.

Arb.
Pshaw! she is harmless.

Cal.
Yes; so was the mouse
That gnawed the lion's net.

Arb.
You will remain.

Cal.
For what?

Arb.
To take my property in charge,
And carry on your house of Isis work.

Cal.
Oh, Pluto take old Isis and her work!
I am sick of her. Our profits will run down
Almost to nothing if Apaecides
Turn traitor, and go brawling through the streets
About my new machinery, as he threatens.
Ha! ha! the scoffer calls me—think of it—
“The soul of Isis!” Well, as if the goddess
Might not have had a worse soul than myself.

Arb.
Apaecides? He must be looked to. You
Think sacrificing him to Isis' wrath
Were dangerous.

Cal.
Very: for the worldly law
Might call our good deed by another name—
Murder, for instance.

Arb.
Umph! I have a crypt,
Under this very room, of solid rock;
There he might pass the remnant of his days
In penitence to Isis, or relate
His dangerous stories to the listening stones.

Cal.
An excellent and pious pastime.

Arb.
[Aside]
Yes.
Should you become irksome to me, you,
You grasping miser, also may find room
In the same lodging. [Aloud]
You must watch the boy:
Track him about the city like a hound;
Know all his doings, from the time he wakes
Until he slumbers.

Cal.
How about his dreams?

Arb.
His dreams, his dreams! Is not life all a dream—
This chase of phantoms, and this tug with fate—
As we may find when death awakens us?
Are my slaves ready, armed, and at their posts?
The girl shall yield; or must be made to yield:
This day shall end the matter.

Cal.
I said, and say
Your orders, to the letter, are obeyed.

Arb.
Why do you linger then? It is your charge
To keep your eye upon my Nubians,
And bring them when I call.

Cal.
I thought, perhaps,
You might have something else besides a charge
To give—a credit, say; or, what were better,
Some solid cash, hey!

Arb.
How this avarice
Grows on you, man! And it is hideous,
To see a man whose only thought is gold,
Forever gold! Here, take this bag. [Gives bag from the table]


Cal.
All gold—
I think you said, all gold?

Arb.
Look for yourself. [Calenus counts money]


Cal.
But seventeen pieces. Hum! now had it been
Twenty, to make things even.

Arb.
Miscreant!
Go, ere I brain you.

Cal.
Barely seventeen. [Exit slowly]


Arb.
That knave will quarrel with my patience soon.
His raging maw would bolt a world of gold,
And still be hungry. Fellows of his kind
Cannot be trusted. His fidelity
Is in his pocket, ready to desert
To any rival bidder. Well, my man,
There is a cell, to pocket you alive,
And all your stealing, if you dare to show
Treachery to me. [Re-enter Calenus hastily]

How now?

Cal.
My lord, the girl
Is at the door.

Arb.
Admit her. Hide yourself:
Your grin would breed suspicion in a lamb.

Cal.
Well for the lamb. [Exit]


Arb.
Now to assume the sage. [Seats himself at the table in seeming study]

That footfall and the rustle of that robe
Set my blood bounding. [Enter Ione, escorted by Arbaces' slaves. Exeunt slaves]

Dear Ione, welcome! [Rises]


Ione.
You show scant hospitality, my lord,
Not to receive me in your atrium.

Arb.
That which you seek is here. [Pointing to a large coffer]

I was absorbed
In reading o'er your horoscope.

Ione.
Ha! ha! [Laughing]

What say the riddling stars about a girl
As humble as myself?

Arb.
Nothing but good,
If you but heed the stars' interpreter.

Ione.
But of the letter.

Arb.
[Hands key]
Open for yourself.

Ione.
So then. [Unlocks coffer]
What's here?—Jewels and gold! Ah! yes;
Here is a letter. By your leave, my lord. [Reads]


Arb.
Let me read you, as you peruse the lines.
Distress?—a frown?—what, anger and disgust?
No sign of pleasure! Am I come to this?—
A priest and king of Egypt, of a race
Older than earth's traditions! Upstart Greek,
Those looks shall cost you dearly! [Aside]


Ione.
This is all?

Arb.
All that I know of, and that little all
Seems not to please you.

Ione.
Do you know, Arbaces:
The substance of this letter?

Arb.
Certainly:
Your father read it to me as he wrote.
It was his darling project; planned, he thought,
To be your happiness and mine.

Ione.
You know
It is impossible, and always was,
And always will be. Let me pass. [Going]


Arb.
[Preventing her]
Not yet.
Listen to me. When you were yet a child,
I but a man, your father solemnly
Betrothed us two; as far as then he could,
Joined us as one forever. You have read
His dying testament, confirming that;
And then enjoining you, by all the love
You bear his memory, to obey his will;
And, at a marriageable age, to give
Yourself to me in wedlock.

Ione.
I cannot:
The thought is monstrous.

Arb.
Why?

Ione.
Pray let me go!
There was no moment in my life or yours,
When the mere thought of marriage with yourself
Could have been tolerable to me.

Arb.
[Retaining her]
Alas!
And I have loved you, ah! so tenderly,
Not with a parent's or a tutor's love,
But with the fiery passion of a man
Who saw before him his one hope in you,
And bent his life to compass that. For that
I toiled, I studied, won both wealth and power;
Made man my subject, and the hands of men
My willing instruments; became, Ione,
That which I am, that which you know, I am,
A giant among pigmies. O, I pray you,
Pause ere you put this mighty love aside,
To pick up slighter morsels! You are great;
Your spirit longs for grandeur and for power;
See, I can give them. Think you I abide
In this dull country, rather than the land
Where I am priest and monarch, for aught else
Than to crown you my empress? Let us flee
To the dateless, deathless Egypt; to the realm
That ruled the world ere history began.
Come, come, aboard! My ships await us, love,
Eager to start as I am. Pause, and think:
Take time for thought.

Ione.
I ask for that alone.
Come to my house tomorrow—

Arb.
Ha! ha! ha! [Laughing]

Be sure of this; if you wed me, my own,
You will not wed a fool.

Ione.
How dare you use
A term like that to me?

Arb.
My own you are.
For when I look about upon these walls,
Mute, deaf, impenetrable, I almost think
That you are quite my own. You must decide
This matter ere we part; for, once at large,
You might assume your woman's right to change
Your tender mind. An oath as deep as hell,
As high as Jove's Olympus, must be bound
About your soul before you quit my sight.
What of your father's will?

Ione.
O villain, cease!
Wrong not the dead with falsehood, howsoe'er
You play the tyrant with his helpless child.
That letter is a fraud, from first to last,
As you best know of all men.

Arb.
Grant it so;
Then, of all women, who can better tell
Than you before what sort of man you stand?

Ione.
Arbaces, hear me: would you force my love?—

Arb.
Nay, win it, darling.

Ione.
Mockery of a man,
My senses sicken at your loathsome words,
Call me your slave, your victim; do not dare
Thus to profane the sanctity of love
With foul endearments. Have a care! today
Will not be time's conclusion. I have friends,
Who will exact a reckoning at your hands
For all I suffer now.

Arb.
Within an hour
We shall be sailing on the middle sea
Towards Egypt, my beloved. Once there, where I,
The son of kings, am master of events,
Your friends may rage uncared for.

Ione.
Gracious gods,
Are you responsible for such a man,
Or did the demons form him?

Arb.
Come, aboard!
Go kindly with me, or my slaves shall toss
Your haughty beauty, like a bale of goods,
Into my galley. Come, come! [Seizes her]


Ione.
Pity me!
Pity the child whom once you seemed to love,
Not as a satyr, as a father!

Arb.
No!
You have heaped insult on my love; 'tis now
My turn to answer scornful words with deeds. [She breaks from him and kneels]


Ione.
Pallas Athene, save your helpless child!
Glaucus!—My Glaucus! [Enter Glaucus from behind the statue of Isis]


Glau.
[Drawing]
I am here, beloved!
Call on your gods, Arbaces, for your time
Is dwindled to a span. Have courage, love!
O flower of women, lift your drooping head!
The storm is passed. Behold me at your side.
Now there can be no danger; for the right
Strengthens my arm, and makes my buoyant heart
To dance with joy, that I am here to brave
Nought worse than death in your defense.

Arb.
Vile Greek,
Boast when you see the sun again; not now,
While Hell prepares to swallow you! Begone!
Your sight is odious to me! [Snatches sword from table. They fight; Arbaces is disarmed]

Murderer!—
Ione, spare me!

Ione.
Oh! no blood, no blood!—
Not before me, dear Glaucus!

Glau.
Do I hear?
You said, “dear Glaucus?”

Ione.
Now and ever. Hear
The coward's prayer. Henceforward he can have
No portion in our lives.

Glau.
Go, miscreant!
And pass your days in sorrowing o'er yourself.
A voice within me says I am unwise
To spare a broken serpent; but her voice,
Lifted in supplication, is too sweet
To be resisted. Trickster, solemn knave,
Who make an earthly trade of heavenly things,
Return not to your shallow juggleries
In Isis' house, or I shall let the world
Into your frauds. Go wallow in the Nile,
Whose slime begot you, to make men ashamed
Of you, their likeness. Come, Ione, come! [Going with Ione. As they reach the door, Arbaces sounds a sistrum. His guards drive back Glaucus and Ione from the door. Other guards enter from the side, and surround Arbaces. Enter Calenus]


Arb.
The trap is sprung. Now, insolent, some more
Of your abounding eloquence! Let me have
A little more insufferable advice
About my future life! I wager you,
You cannot tell as much about your own
For the next hour or two.

Glau.
[Apart to Ione]
Be not dismayed!
Yet there is hope, if my prevision hold.
Where, where is Nydia?

Arb.
Seize them! To the ship—
But tenderly, no rudeness—with the girl.
The man I shall provide for. There's a cage,
My Attic linnet, underneath this hall,
Where you may sing your death-song to yourself,
Till voice and life both fail you. Seize on them! [As the guards advance cautiously, dreading Glaucus' sword, Nydia sings without]


Nyd.
[Sings]
The gods are descending in power from the sky;
The darkness is broken, and succor is nigh;
Hell quails at their glance, as their glories increase,
And light bathes the forehead of beautiful Greece. [Enter Nydia]


Glau.
[Apart to Ione]
At last! Forget not, darling, that you are
Almost my wife: be brave!

Nyd.
What, Glaucus!

Glau.
Here:
Come hither, child! [She approaches, and whispers Glaucus]


Arb.
Why do you pause, my men,
To watch this comedy? Another mouse
Has fallen into the trap, and that is all.
Disarm the Greek! aboard with both the girls!
Athenian fribble, let the latest look
You take of earth, ere you descend forever
Into the darkness of your living tomb,
Be on my triumph! Look! and let that look
Be Hell's affliction to your solitude,
Upon my galleys rocking in the bay;
Ere long to bear me and my lovely bride
Upon our wedding progress. Look your last! [Flings aside the curtains of the great door, and discovers Clodius, Apaecides, Lydon and an array of Gladiators, heavily armed, standing there in silence. Arbaces' guards, who have been advancing on Glaucus, retreat. Arbaces recoils in confusion]


Glau.
[Apart to Arbaces]
Shall it be peace or war? Think, ere you make
Your house a shambles.

Apae.
[Advancing]
Sister, you are safe.

Ione.
Safe evermore. For am I not the prize
And willing trophy of that brave man's sword?

Glau.
Ione, make me not insane with joy;
Oh, make me not even grateful to the wretch
Who brought me such a fortune.

Clod.
[Advancing]
Glaucus, pray,
What is the meaning of this summons?

Glau.
[Apart to him and Apaecides]
Friends,
I beg your silence. You shall hear anon.
Arbaces had prepared a spectacle
Of Isis, to amuse himself and us;
And so I summoned you for company.
Somehow, the spectacle has failed to work
Indeed he seems to be, unwillingly,
The only spectacle within our view,
Save that which you present him.

Cal.
[Apart to Arbaces]
So, my lord,
The game is up.

Arb.
[Apart to him]
Not for another set:
Not while they leave me life. Be silent, man!
Today is theirs; tomorrow may be mine.