University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

—A Chamber in Arria's House.
Enter Pythias and Calanthe.
Pyth.
So, my Calanthe, you would waste the moon
Of Hymen in this lonely spot?

Cal.
In sooth
I would, for 'tis the fairest place in Sicily:
A dell, made of green beauty; with its shrubs
Of aromatic sweetness, growing up
The rugged mountain's sides, as cunningly
As the nice structure of a little nest,
Built by two loving nightingales. The wind,
That comes there, full of rudeness from the sea,
Is lull'd into a balmy breath of peace,
The moment that it enters; and 'tis said
By our Sicilian shepherds, that their songs
Have in this place a wilder melody.
The mountains all about it are the haunts
Of many a fine romantic memory!
High towers old Ætna, with his feet deep clad
In the green sandals of the freshful spring;
His sides array'd in winter, and his front
Shooting aloft the everlasting flame.
On the right hand is that great cave, in which
Huge Polyphemus dwelt, between whose vast
Colossal limbs the artful Grecian stole.
On the other side,
Is Galatea's dainty dressing-room,
Wrought in the living marble; and within
Is seen the fountain where she us'd to twine
The ringlets on her neck that did ensnare
The melancholy Cyclop.—But what care you,
A soldier, for such fantasies? I know
A way that better shall persuade you to
That place for our sweet marriage residence—
There Damon hath his villa—Ha! you seem
Determin'd by the fast proximity
Of such a friendship, more than all my love.

Pyth.
Does Damon dwell there?

Cal.
No; his Hermion
And his young boy—O! 'tis a beauteous child!—
Are sent there from the city's noxious air,
And he doth visit them, whene'er the state
Gives him brief respite. Tell me, Pythias,
Shall we not see the Hymeneal moon
Glide through the blue heavens there?

Pyth.
My own ador'd one,
If thou should'st bid me sail away with thee,
To seek the isles of the Hesperides,
I would, with such a pilot, spread my sail
Beyond the trophies of great Hercules,
Making thine eyes my Cynosure!
Enter Lucullus.
How now, Lucullus?

Luc.
Where is my lord? I was inform'd
That I should find him here—a senator
Bade me require him instantly.

Pyth.
He waits here,
To attend us to the temple, and if things
Of weight demand his ear, you'll find him yonder
In the pale cypress-grove.
[Exit Lucullus.
Nothing I hope
Has happen'd to withdraw him from the rite
That makes thee mine.

Cal.
I hope not.—Who is this
That seeks him out so earnestly?

Pyth.
He is
A brave Italian, whom the Carthage pirates
Seiz'd on his native coast, and sold a slave.
Damon hath given him back his liberty,
But yet, of his free will, he tends him still:
And more than very freedom doth he hold
The right to serve a man that is fine touch'd
With a most merciful spirit.

Cal.
Nay, my Pythias,
Make not your friend's high qualities for aye
The burthen of your eloquence—In sooth,
I should be almost jealous of a steed
I saw you pat with a too liberal hand;
And—ha! he comes.

Enter Damon.
Damon.
Pythias— (aside)
I must not let
Calanthe read my purpose. Calanthe,
The blessing, and the bounty of the gods
Be with you, over you, and all around you,
Thou gentle girl!—Pythias, a word with you. (Aside to Pyth.)

What heard I, think you, Pythias, even now?

Cal.
There has been Pythias, all this forenoon,
Would speak to me of nothing but the esteem
In which he held thee, Damon.

Damon.
What! no word
Touching the quality of that foolish love
He bears the fair Calanthe? (To Pyth. aside.)
We are undone,
We, and our wretched city, Pythias!

Pyth.
(Aside to Damon.)
What dost thou mean?

Cal.
No, not a single word—
Thou, thou alone mad'st up his eulogy.

Damon.
What think'st thou, Pythias? A king? (Aside.)


Pyth.
(Aside to Damon.)
What! who?

Damon.
(To Cal.)
Heed not
His silken praises of me.— (To Pyth. aside.)
Dionysius
Is to be crowned in the senate-house.

Pyth.
Can it be possible?

Damon.
I say thee, yea—
His soldiers line the streets.

Pyth.
But will the senate,
The coward senate sanction it? Will none
Oppose him in it?

Damon.
Oppose him!— (Aloud.)
all the gods
So help, or strike me, as I will oppose him!
Let Etna vomit fire upon his side,
And I alone—Ha! I forgot my dagger.

[Searching about him.
Cal.
How now, my Pythias?

Pyth.
He is mov'd, Calanthe,
By some most urgent matter of the state;
Nay, heed him not!

Damon.
Pythias, as I intended
To be a witness to thy wedding-rite,
I did not bear a weapon—give me thy poniard.

Pyth.
Speak, to what end?

Damon.
No matter, give it me.

Cal.
Ha! what does he intend? Now, by my love
Pythias, I do adjure thee,—

Pyth.
Whither, Damon,
Where would'st thou go?

Damon.
Unto the senate-house.

Pyth.
Then I will with you, too.

Cal.
He shall not!

Damon.
No!
Thou say'st aright,—he shall not! Fair Calanthe,
This is no hour to leave thee! What, Calanthe,
Should bridegrooms give the law, and 'gin to rule
Even on their wedding-day? I charge thee, sweet,
Assert thy brief dominion, while thou canst:
'Twill speedily be his turn. (Aside to Pyth.)

It shall not be! It is against the law
For any soldier in the senate-house
To lift his helm of war, and what avail
Were thy companionship? Calanthe, take him,
Take him away, and heaven be o'er you both!

Pyth.
But thou wilt promise me, upon the faith
Of an old friendship, that thy sudden hand
Will not attempt a rashness?

Damon.
Be thou satisfied,
I will do nought in passion. Come, Calanthe, (Aside.)

Assert thy right in him, and bear him hence
Unto the garden-walk, and tell him o'er
The names of all thy favourite plants; I pray thee,
Keep him in busy trifles, till the hour
For the sweet rite be come—That's well, my girl—
There, take him by the arm!

Cal.
Come, Pythias, come!
I thank thee, Damon, for thy tender counsel.

Pyth.
Nay, Damon, nay, Calanthe—

Cal.
Nay me no nays;
I say it shall be so.

Damon.
May the gods pour
Their blessing o'er your heads!—Farewell! farewell!
I have no time to bide here, but my heart
Shall be beside you at the altar-place.
Perhaps it is an idle fear compels me
Hence from your sight—I will, if possible
Return and see you wedded.—Fare you well!
Now, Syracuse, for thee!—And may the fates
So bless, or curse me, as I act in this!

[Exeunt severally.

Scene II.

—The Senate-house of Syracuse.—Senators assembled.—Philistius at their head—Dionysius stands in the front of the Stage—Damocles.
1st Sen.
So soon warn'd back again!

Dion.
So soon, good fathers.
My last despatches here set forth, that scarce
I had amass'd and form'd our gallant legions,
When, as by magic, word of the precaution
Was spirited to their camp—and on the word,
These Carthagenians took their second thought,
And so fell back.

Phil.
I do submit to you,
That out of this so happy consequence
Of Dionysius' movement on the citadel,
Not only is his pardon for the act
Freely drawn forth, but we are call'd upon
Our thanks most manifestly to express
For such a noble service.

Dion.
Good Philistius,
I am a soldier; yours and the state's servant,
And claim no notice for my duty done
Beyond the doing it—and the best thanks
I merit, or can have, lie in the issue
Which has most happily resulted.

Dam.
Nay,
It rests in us to say so.

Phil.
Dionysius,
The work which of this enterprise thou hast made,
Proves that our citadel, and its resources,
Have been misus'd; and never so controll'd
And order'd for our good, as by thyself;—
Therefore retain it, govern and direct it.—
Would the whole state were like the citadel!
In hot and angry times like these we want
Even such a man.

Dam.
I, from my heart, assent to
And second this proposal.

Dion.
Most reverend fathers—

Dam.
We pray thee silence, noble Dionysius!
All here do know what your great modesty
Will urge you to submit—but I will raise
This envious veil wherein you shroud yourself.
It is the time to speak; our country's danger
Calls loudly for some measure at our hands,
Prompt and decisive.

Damon
(Without.)
Thou most lowly minion!
I'll have thee whipp'd for it, and by the head
Made less even than thou art!

Enter Damon.
Phil.
Who breaks so rude and clamorously in
To scare our grave deliberations?

Damon.
A senator!—First let me ask you why
Upon my way here to sit down with you
I have encounter'd in the open streets,
Nay, at the very threshold of your doors,
Soldiers and satellites array'd and marshall'd
With their swords out? Why have I been obstructed
By an armed bandit in my peaceful walk here,
To take my rightful seat in the senate-house?
Why has a ruffian soldier privilege
To hold his weapon to my throat? A tainted,
Disgrac'd, and abject traitor, Procles? Who
Dar'd place the soldiers round the senate-house?

Phil.
I pray you, fathers, let not this rash man
Disturb the grave and full consideration
Of the important matter touching which
We spoke ere he rushed in.

Dam.
I did require
To know from you, without a hand or head,
Such as to us hath been our Dionysius,
What now were our most likely fate?

Damon.
The fate
Of freemen in the full; free exercise
Of all the noble rights that freemen love!
Free in our streets to walk; free in our councils
To speak and act—

Phil.
I do entreat you, senators,
Protect me from this scolding demagogue,
And let us win your—

Damon.
Demagoguge, Philistius!
Who was the demagogue, when at my challenge
He was denounc'd and silenc'd by the senate,
And your scant oratory spent itself
In fume and vapour?

Dam.
Silence, Damon, silence!
And let the council use its privilege.

Damon.
Who bids me silence? Damocles, the soft
And pliant willow, Damocles!—But come,
What do you dare propose? Come, I'll be silent—
Go on.

Phil.
Resolve you then, is Dionysius
This head indeed to us? Acting for us—
Yea, governing, that long have proved we cannot
Although we feign it, govern for ourselves?

Dam.
Then who so fit, in such extremity,
To be the single pillar, on whose strength
All power should rest?

Phil.
Ay, and what needs the state
Our crowded and contentious councils here?
And therefore, senators,—countrymen, rather,
That we may be wiser, and better rul'd
Than by ourselves we are; that the state's danger
May be confronted boldly, and that he
May have but his just meed, I do submit
That forthwith we dissolve ourselves, and chuse
A king in Dionysius.

Damon,
King! A king?

1st Sen.
I do approve it.

2d. Sen.
Ay, and I.

Dam.
And all!

Damon.
And all! are all content?
A nation's rights betray'd,
And all content! O slaves! O parricides!
O, by the brightest hope a just man has,
I blush to look around and call you men!
What! with your own free willing hands yield up
The ancient fabric of your constitution,
To be a garrison, a common barrack,
A common guard-house, and for common cut-throats!
What! will ye all combine to tie a stone
Each to each other's necks, and drown like dogs
Within the tide of time, and never float
To after ages, or at best, but float
A buoyant pestilence? Can ye but dig
Your own dark graves, creep into them, and die?

3d. Sen.
I have not sanction'd it.

4th. Sen.
Nor I.

5th. Sen.
Nor I.

Damon.
O! thanks for these few voices! but alas!
How lonely do they sound! Do you not all
Start up at once, and cry out liberty!
Are you so bound in fetters of the mind,
That there you sit as if you were yourselves
Incorporate with the marble? Syracusans!—
But, no! I will not rail, nor chide, nor curse ye!
I will implore you, fellow-countrymen,
With blinded eyes, and weak and broken speech,
I will implore you—O! I am weak in words,
But I could bring such advocates before you;—
Your father's sacred images; old men
That have been grandsires; women with their children,
Caught up in fear and hurry, in their arms—
And those old men should lift their shivering voices,
And palsied hands—and those affrighted mothers
Should hold their innocent infants forth, and ask,
Could you make slaves of them?

Phil.
I dissolve the senate
At its own vote and instance. (Leaves his seat.)


Dam.
And all hail!
Hail, Dionysius, King of Syracuse!

Dion,
Is this the vote?

Damon.
There is no vote! Philistius
Hold you your seat; keep in your places, senators.

Dion.
I ask, is this the vote?

Phil.
It is the vote,
My gracious liege and sovereign!

Damon.
I say nay!
You have not voted, Naxillus, nor Petus—
Nor you, nor you, nor you.

Phil.
In my capacity
As head, and organ of the city council,
I do asseverate it is the vote!

(They all kneel to Dionysius except Damon.
Dion.
I thank you, friends, and countrymen, I thank ye!

Damon.
O, all the gods, my country, O, my country!

Dion.
And that we may have leisure to put on
With fitting dignity our garb of power,
We do now, first assuming our own right,
Command from this, that was the senate-house,
Those rash, tumultuous men, who still would tempt
The city's peace with wild vociferation,
And vain contentious rivalry. Begone!

Damon.
I stand
A senator within the senate-house.

Dion.
Traitor! and dost thou dare me to my face?

Damon.
Traitor! to whom? to thee!—O! Syracuse,
Is this thy register'd doom? To have no meaning
For the proud names of liberty and virtue,
But as some regal braggart sets it down
In his vocabulary? And the sense,
The broad bright sense that Nature hath assign'd them
In her infallible volume, interdicted
For ever from thy knowledge; or if seen,
And known, and put in use, denounc'd as treasonable,
And treated thus?—No, Dionysius, no!
I am no traitor! But in mine allegiance
To my lost country, I proclaim thee one!

Dion.
My guards there! Ho!

Damon.
What! hast thou then invok'd
Thy satellites already?

Enter Procles and Soldiers.
Dion.
Seize him!

(Damon rushes on Dionysius, and attempts to stab him.)
Damon.
First,
Receive a freeman's legacy!— He is intercepted by Procles.)
—Dionysius,
Thy genius is triumphant, and old Syracuse
Bows her to the dust at last!—'Tis done; 'tis o'er,
And we are slaves for ever!

Dion.
We reserve
This proud assassinating demagogue,
Who whets his dagger on philosophy,
For—an example to his cut-throat school!
The axe, and not the sword. Out of his blood
We'll mix a cement to our monarchy—
Here do we doom him to a public death!

Damon.
Death's the best gift to one that never yet
Wish'd to survive his country. Here are men
Fit for the life a tyrant can bestow!
Let such as these live on.

Dion.
Hold thou there!
Lest having stirr'd our vengeance into wrath,
It reach unto those dearer than thyself.
Ha! have I touch'd thee, Damon? Is there a way
To level thee unto the feebleness
Of universal nature? What, no word?
Come, use thy time, my brave philosopher!
Soon will thy tongue cleave an unmoving lump
Of thickest silence and oblivion,
And that same wide and sweeping hand of thine,
Us'd to the orator's high attitude,
Lie at thy side in inutility.
Thou hast few moments left!

Damon.
I know thee well—
Thou art wont to use thy tortures on the heart,
Watching it's agonizing throbs, and making
A science of that fell anatomy!
These are thy bloody metaphysics—this
Thy barbarous philosophy! I own
Thou hast struck thy venom'd sting into my soul,
But while I am wounded, I despise thee still!
My wife! my child!—O, Dionysius,
Thou should'st have spar'd me that!—Procles, lead on.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

—A Chamber in Arria's House.
Enter Pythias.
Pyth.
What shouts rend the wide city? There is a roar
Deep as the murmuring of Etna. Gods!
I tremble for his safety. What, hoa, there!
Enter a Servant.
Hast thou, sirrah,
Heard no intelligence how matters speed
Up at the senate-house?

Ser.
My lord, no word.

Pyth.
And those time-cheating knaves I sent to know,—
They have not yet returned?

Ser.
Not yet, my lord.

Pyth.
Run thither, then—for thou art light-limb'd,—
Regard Lord Damon well; note how he seems,
And what he says—On, on.

Ser.
My lord, I will.

Pyth.
And, hark!
Observe of all if any words of wrath
Fall between him and Dionysius—
Begone!

[Exit Servant.
Pyth.
He is hotly mettled,
And not life's autumn, nor the discipline
Of cold Pythagoras' school has tam'd it yet.

Enter a Servant.
Ser.
My lord,—

Pyth.
Now, sir, what from the senate-house?

Ser.
My lord, I know not of the senate-house.

Pyth.
Not, sir! I sent thee thither, did I not?

Ser.
Another, sir. I am despatch'd to say,
That all the guests and witnesses are come,
And that with them the bride Calanthe waits
To have thy company to the temple.

Pyth.
How!
Is it the hour?

Ser.
The hour, my lord, is past.

[Exit Servant.
Pyth.
Did ever man upon his wedding-day
Feel so impatient of the hour arriv'd
That is to bless him? But I dare not stir
Till I have tidings of my friend—He is
Expos'd to deadly loss, and may have need
Of Pythias' sword. By Heaven, I do him wrong
In tarrying from his presence at an hour
So full of peril, and perhaps of death.
Death, did I say? I must—

Enter Arria.
Arria,
Now, Pythias, Pythias,
Why is it that we wait so long for thee?
Fie! thou a bridegroom! absent now!

Pyth.
Gods! If that Dionysius
Should level at his life!—I pr'ythee, Arria,
How soon might one with active and light foot
Run to the senate-house, and back again,
From hence?

Arria.
Is the man craz'd and lunatic?
Is it your pleasure that we wait a season,
I, sir, Calanthe, and our guests and kinsmen,
For your best humour to get wedded in?

Pyth.
Good Arria, pardon me; take not amiss
This absent seeming—but I am not well,
I know not how, but so you see it is—
Give me an half-hour—nay, the half—the tithe
Of such a time!

Arria.
Pythias, indeed art ill?

Pyth.
'I faith, I am—sick in the head and heart!
Bear with me, Arria; go among our guests,
And cheat their notice of this accident,
I shall be better quickly—Well, quite well.

Arria.
The gods forefend it should fall otherwise.

[Exit Arria.
Pyth.
O how these leaden-footed limping minutes
Lag and creep beneath my lashing wish!
When fiery expectation mounts the time,
Time is a spiritless and jaded steed,
That staggers 'neath his rider. Gracious gods!
Will none of them come to relieve this weight
From my o'erloaded heart!—What shall I do?
Calanthe!

Enter Calanthe.
Cal.
My dear Pythias!

Pyth.
Calanthe!

Cal.
My mother whisper'd me you were not well;
And here, even as you see me, though you should not
Have seen me in my bridal garments thus
Till we were wedded—yet even thus,
To speak with you, and comfort you, I came.

Pyth.
Beshrew her heart now, though she be thy mother,
For such ill-tim'd and womanish whispering.
I am as well, as I am happy too.

Cal.
She said, too, but I heed it not—

Pyth.
What said she?

Cal.
She pray'd the gods your sickness might be free
From surfeit sickness: but, I heed it not:
You know I heed it not; I cannot think
Your heart is such a bad one, Pythias.

Pyth.
How!

Cal.
I do not think 'tis in your very nature
To stumble so—at least, I do not think
You would have waited till this very hour,
When, like two plants that have been long in neighbourhood,
Our souls had crept and twin'd around each other,
Leaves, fibres, roots, and all!

Pyth.
Tears, my Calanthe!
How like a virgin morn in May thou art,
That would be wedded to the amorous day,
In all it's watery freshness! My fair girl,
The maiden pulse beating upon thy brow
Is not so faithful to its sister pulse,
Which throbs within this little heart of thine,
As I have been, and am!—Ha! dost thou smile?
Now, by the gods! I cannot see thee smile,
And tarry longer from the property
Of this dear hand I grasp. Come, my Calanthe,
They tarry for us, do they not?

Cal.
They do.

Pyth.
Nay, do not bend thy head, but let me gaze
Upon thee as we go, that those fine looks,
So full of life and joy, may banish from me
The ghastly thought of death!

Cal.
Death!

Pyth.
Nay, forgive me;
I know not what I say.—Ye bounteous gods,
Who guard the good, because yourselves are good,
Wave your protecting arm around him!—Come,—
O, Friendship! thou must yield it for a time,
To the torch-bearer, when he lights his fires
From two such eyes as these are!—Come, Calanthe.

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.

—A Dungeon.
Damon discovered at a table, writing.
Damon.
Existence! what is that? a name for nothing!
It is a cloudy sky chas'd by the winds;
Its fickle form no sooner chosen than chang'd;
It is the whirling of the mountain-flood,
Which, as we look upon it, keeps its shape,
Though what compos'd that shape, and what composes,
Hath pass'd—will pass—nay, and is passing on,
Even while we think to hold it in our eyes,
And deem it there. Fie! fie! a feverish vision,
A crude and crowded dream, unwill'd, unbidden,
By the weak wretch that dreams it.

Enter Procles and Guards.
Proc.
Damon, thine hour is come.

Damon.
Past, sir, say past—to come, argues a stay
Upon the coming. He has refus'd me then—
Your general, Dionysius!—the king—
He has refus'd me even this little respite
I ask'd of him?

Proc.
All! he refuses all.

Damon.
Did'st tell him why I ask'd it? Did'st explain
It was to have my wife warn'd here to Syracuse,
From her near dwelling upon Ætna's side,
To see me ere I die?

Proc.
I said it, sir.

Damon.
And he refus'd it?

Proc.
Ay, sir; he refus'd.

Damon.
Upon the instant?

Proc.
Yes, upon the instant.

Damon.
Is he not wedded?

Proc.
Yes.

Damon.
A father, too?

Proc.
He is a father, too.

Damon.
And he refus'd it!
I will attend you, and I pray you pardon—
This is no time to play the catechist—
The little boon I have to beg of thee,
It is the last; I would not fain be irksome;
It is the last I shall prefer on earth
Unto my fellow-men.—This is my testament—
I pray thee give it to a friend of mine
Who may inquire about me; he will hold it
And use it for my wife.

Proc.
His name?

Damon.
It is—
I did not wish to trust my coward tongue
With utterance of that name; I fear'd it would
Pluck up all manhood by the roots; but, sir,
This now is childish; Pythias, sir—Alas!
To-day will prove a woful wedding-day
To thee, and thy Calanthe!—and my Hermion,
My fond, poor Hermion, and my boy—Good Procles,
Let me not stand here talking idly thus—
I am quite ready—on, sir; I attend you!

[Exeunt.