University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene I.

—A Temple of Hymen.
Pythias and Calanthe discovered with Arria, Guests, Priests, and Virgins—Pythias holding Calanthe's hand.
At the beginning of this Chorus, Pythias and Calanthe kneel; at the close of it, Lucullus enters, and runs up to Pythias, and whispers him; Pythias lets drop Calanthe's hand, and starts up.
Pyth.
Hold! hush your songs of Hymen, for I hear
A raven's croaking, that discordantly
Breaks in upon your joyous melody!
(To Luc.)
Where, sirrah, where? Where shall I speak with him?

Luc.
He did desire, my lord, that I should lead you.

Pyth.
And not say where?

Luc.
It was his charge, my lord.

Pyth.
In one word, say the hour and place of this,
Or—ha! I see it in thine eye—his life,
His life is forfeit—he is doom'd to death!

Luc.
Alas! my lord.

Pyth.
O, by the gods, it is so!
And like a selfish coward did I stand,
And saw him rush and singly front himself
Against a host, when it was evident,
As is the universal light of day,
He must have perish'd in't—Coward! coward!
He would not thus have done!

Luc.
My lord,—

Pyth.
Speak not.
I know thou would'st admonish me to speed,
Or see him dead.

Cal.
Pythias!

Arria.
Where would'st thou go?
Would you yet more insult us?

Cal.
Pythias!

Pyth.
Now let me go—away, I say!

Cal.
Pythias!

Pyth.
I say unloose me, or, by all—
Thou art as guilty, with thy blandishments,
That did provoke this ruin, as I am
For being tempted by thee!—Woman, away!

Cal.
Unkind one!

Pyth.
Ha! thou weepest!—O, Calanthe!
Forgive me—pity me—I am desperate!
I know not what I do—but— (Embraces her.)
—O Calanthe,
There is a horrid fate that tears me hence.
Now, sirrah, lead me on!—Away! away!

(Rushes out with Lucullus.
[Scene closes on the rest.

Scene II.

—A Street.
Enter Damon, guarded, and Procles.
Damon.
A moment's pause here, Procles.
We discours'd together
Of an old friend of mine, who in all likelihood
Would question thee concerning my last thoughts,
While leaving this vain world; I do entreat thee,
When thou shalt see that man, commend me to him,
And say, a certainty of how true a friend
And father he will be unto my wife,
And child—

Pyth.
(Without)
Hold back! it is impossible
That ye butcher him, till we speak together!
Enter Pythias, preceded by Soldiers, who obstruct his way.
I am his nearest friend! I should receive
His dying words—hold back!
(Breaks through them.)
O, Damon! Damon!

Damon.
I wish'd for this, but fear'd it, Pythias!
Tush!—we are men, my Pythias, we are men,
And tears do not become us.

Pyth.
Doom and death
In the same moment! Is there no hope, Damon?
Is every thing impossible?

Damon.
For me,
With Dionysius, every thing.—I crav'd
But six hours' respite, that my wife may come,
And see me—

Pyth.
And he would not?

Damon.
Not an hour—
Just to have kiss'd her, and my little boy—
Just to have kiss'd her—

Pyth.
The cold villain!

Damon.
Well,
All that is o'er now, and this talk superfluous.
Ere you came up, my friend, I was about
To leave a greeting for you with the officer—
I bade him say, too,—for, despite of rules
Well conn'd and understood, in such a time
As this—so sudden, hopeless, and unlook'd for,
The eye will water, and the heart grow cowardly,
At thoughts of home, and things we love at home;
And something like a sorrow, or a fear,
For what may happen, will stick in the throat,
To choke our words, and make them weak and womanish.

Pyth.
Tears have a quality of manhood in them,
When shed for what we love.

Damon.
I bade him say,
That half my fear for her, and my young boy,
As to their future fate, was banished,
In the full certainty I felt of all
The care and kindness thou wilt have of them.

Pyth.
That was a true thought, Damon.

Damon.
I know it, Pythias;
O, I know it Pythias;
And when the shock of this hath pass'd away,
And thou art happy with thy sweet Calanthe,—

Pyth.
Damon.

Damon.
Well, Pythias?

Pyth.
Did'st thou not say
It was thy last desire to look upon
Thy wife and child, before—

Damon.
I would give up,
Were my life meted out by destiny
Into a thousand years of happiness,
All that long measure of felicity,
But for a single moment, in the which
I might compress them to my heart.

Pyth.
Good Procles,
Lead me at once to Dionysius—
I mean unto the king—that's his new name—
Lead me unto the king—Ha! here he comes!
Enter Dionysius and Damocles.
Behold me, Dionysius, at thy feet!
As thou dost love thy wife, and thy sweet children;
As thou art a husband and a father, hear me!
Let Damon go and see his wife and child
Before he dies—for four hours respite him—
Put me in chains; plunge me into his dungeon,
As pledge for his return: do this—but this—
And may the gods themselves build up thy greatness
As high as their own heaven.

Dion.
What wonder's this?
Is he thy brother?

Damon.
No, not quite my brother?
Not—yes, he is—he is my brother!

Dion.
Damon, is this a quibble of thy school?

Pyth.
No quibble, for he is not so in kin,
Not in the fashion that the word puts on,
But brother in the heart!

Dion.
(To Damon.)
Did'st urge him on
To this?

Pyth.
By the gods, no!

Dion.
And should I grant
Thy friend's request, leaving thee free to go,
Unwatch'd, unguarded, thou mak'st nought of it,
Quite sure that thou wilt come and ransom him,
At the imminent time?

Damon.
Sure of it? Hearest thou, Heaven?
The emptiest things reverberate most sound,
And hollow hearts have words of boisterous promise.
I can say only—I am sure!

Dion.
'Tis granted.
How far abides thy wife from hence?

Damon.
Four leagues.

Dion.
For six hours we defer thy death. 'Tis now
The noon exactly; and at the sixth hour
See that thou stand'st not far from him; away!
Conduct that man to prison.

Damon.
Farewell, Pythias!

Pyth.
And farewell, Damon! Not a word upon it.
Speed thee. What, tears?—Forbear.

Damon.
I did not think
To shed one tear; but friendship like to thine—

Pyth.
Farewell! Come, officer.

Damon.
I pray thee, Procles,
Give me the testament thou had'st of me.
(Procles gives it him.
Pythias, thy hand again: Pythias, farewell!

Pyth.
Farewell!

(Exit Damon on one side, Pythias, Procles, and Guards on the other.)
Dion.
O, by the wide world, Damocles,
I did not think the heart of man was moulded
To such a purpose.

Dam.
It is wondrous.

Dion.
Wondrous!
Sir, it doth win from the old imaginers
Their wit and novelty!—
I'll visit Pythias in his dungeon:—get me
A deep disguise.—We'll use such artifice
As the time, and our own counsel may suggest—
If they should triumph, crowns are nothingness,
Glory is sound—and grandeur, poverty!

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

—Another Street.
Enter Damon and Lucullus.
Luc.
O my dear lord, my master, and my friend,
The sight of you thus safe—

Damon.
Safe!

Luc.
For at least
A respite, my kind lord.

Damon.
No more, Lucullus.
Is my horse ready?

Luc.
Yes, the gallant grey
Of Anaxagoras you lately purchased.

Enter Calanthe.
Cal.
Hold sir!—Is what they tell me true?

Damon.
Calanthe,
At any time save this, thy voice would have
The power to stay me—Pr'ythee, let me pass—
Nor yet abridge me of that fleeting space
Given to my heart.

Cal.
Speak! have they said the truth?
Have you consented to put in the pledge
Of Pythias' life for your return?

Damon.
'Tis better
That I should say to her,—‘Hermion, I die!’
Than that another should hereafter tell
‘Damon is dead!’

Cal.
No! you would say to her,
‘Pythias has died for me’—even now the citizens
Cried in mine ear, ‘Calanthe, look to it!’

Damon.
And do you think I would betray him?

Cal.
Think of it?—
I give no thought upon it—Possibility,
Though it should weigh but the least part of a chance,
Is quite enough—Damon may let him die—
Ay, meanly live himself, and let him die!

Damon.
Calanthe, I'll not swear—When men lift up
Their hands unto the gods, it is to give
Assurance to a doubt: But to confirm
By any attestation the return
Of Damon unto Pythias, would profane
The sanctity of friendship.—Fare thee well—
Nay, cling not to me.

Cal.
So will Hermion cling—
But Damon will not so reject her.—
She will implore thee back to life again,
And her loud cries will pierce thy inmost breast,
And Pythias will be murder'd.

Damon.
I must unloose thy grasping.

Cal.
Mercy, Damon!

Damon.
Unwillingly I stay thy struggling hands—
Forgive me for't.

Cal.
Damon, have mercy on me!

Damon.
May the gods bless thee!

[Exeunt Damon and Lucullus.
Cal.
Damon, mercy, Damon!
He flies!—and there's a voice that from my heart,
As from the grave, cries out, that never more
He will return to Pythias.—Hermion—his child—
And his own selfish instinct—or some accident
May fall, and stay him back, and that will be
The axe to Pythias!—O, I will follow him—
I'll tell him that, and, like a drowning wretch,
Fasten about his neck, and cling to him!
But, ah!—he flies—his steed is on the wind!
My evil demon wings him, and he tramps
Already the wide distance!—Pythias,
The flowers in bridal mockery on my brow
Thus I rend off, and keep them for the grave!

Enter Dionysius disguised.
Dion.
Thy name's Calanthe, and thou art the bride
Of Pythias—is't not thus?

Cal.
What dost thou come
To say to me of Pythias?

Dion.
Art thou not
His bride?

Cal.
The marriage-temple was prepar'd,
The virgin's voices were sent up to Heaven,
When death did all at once
Rise up, and all that pomp did disappear,
And for the altar, I behold the tomb!—
He never will return.

Dion.
He will not.

Cal.
Ha!
Dost thou confirm my apprehensions?
They were black enough already—and thy smile—
It is the gloss upon the raven's plumes—
Thy smile is horrible!

Dion.
Calanthe, hear me.
The tyrant, Dionysius, has resolved
To intercept this Damon, and prevent
His coming back to Syracuse.

Cal.
O, gods!

Dion.
I am an inmate in the tyrant's house,
And learn'd his fell decree!

Cal.
Then, speed thee hence:
Mount thou the fleetest steed in Syracuse—
Pursue the unhappy Damon—tell him this;
I know he has a brave and generous nature,
Will not betray his friend! Go after him
And save my husband!

Dion.
I have found a way
To rescue him already: thou and Pythias
Shall fly from Syracuse.

Cal.
What! shall he 'scape
The tyrant's fangs?

Dion.
For ever!—But thou must
Follow my precept.

Cal.
I will obey you, sir,
And bless you!

Dion.
Then to Pythias come with me.

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.

—A Terrace attached to the Prison, with the Sea outstretched before it.—A Portal on one side—on the other, the Dungeon-door of Pythias, barred and chained.
Enter Dionysius, preceded by an Officer, who points to the Dungeon.
Dion.
Is this the dungeon?—Unbar the door.—
I'll probe him deeply.—
Slave!
Observe well the orders that I gave thee!
[Motions him away, and opens the door.
My lord Pythias!—

Pyth.
(Within)
How now! who calls me?

Dion.
A friend, Pythias:—the time is precious; haste,
And follow me.

Enter Pythias.
Pyth.
Where do you lead me?

Dion.
I come
To serve and succour thee.

Pyth.
And who art thou,
And how can'st succour me?

Dion.
I dwell beneath the tyrant's roof, and learn'd by accident
This fell determination—he hath resolv'd—

Pyth.
My life!—

Dion.
Thy life!—
Ere this, he hath despatch'd some twenty men
To intercept thy friend, on his approach
To meet and ransom thee.

Pyth.
Almighty Heaven!

Dion.
He not arriving at the appointed hour,
Thy life is forfeited.

Pyth.
We try the depth together; I had hop'd
That one or other of us could have liv'd
For thy poor Hermion's, or Calanthe's sake.—
No matter.

Dion.
Pythias, I came to save thee.

Pyth.
What dost thou mean?

Dion.
Urg'd by my pity for such noble friends,
So trusting and betray'd—anxious, besides,
To-leave the tyrant's court,
Hither I brib'd my way.—Thy fair Calanthe
Shall be the partner of thy flight.—Thy father—

Pyth.
Sir!—

Dion.
Yes, thy father, too—thy time-struck father,
Who, till this day, for many circling years
Hath not held human intercourse,
Was visited by me—he hath uprais'd him
From his lonely bed.

Pyth.
Thou speakest of miracles!

Dion.
And ere I came, with all despatch and secresy,
I have provided in the port of Syracuse
A good quick-sailing ship—yonder she lies,
Her sails already spread before the breeze,
And thou, and thy Calanthe—see, she comes—
Haste, lady, haste to thy betrothed lord!

Pyth.
Wide-working Heaven, Calanthe!

Enter Calanthe.
Cal.
Pythias!
Though when thou should'st have cherish'd, thou did'st spurn me,
Though in the holy place where we had met
To vow ourselves away unto each other,
Though there, when I was kneeling at thy feet,
Thou did'st forswear, and mock at me—yet here
I do forgive thee all—and I will love thee
As never woman lov'd her young heart's idol,
So thou but speed'st to safety.

Pyth.
Hold, Calanthe.—
If mothers love the babe upon the breast,
When it looks up with laughter in it's eyes,
Making them weep for joy—if they can love,
I loved, and do love thee, my Calanthe:—
But wert thou magnified above thyself,
As much in fascination as thou art
Above all creatures else,—by all the gods,
In awful reverence sworn, I would not cheat
My honour!

Cal.
How!

Dion.
Madman, what dost intend?

Pyth.
Dost thou not know the tyrant spar'd his life,
On the security I gave for him—
Stand I not here his pledge?

Dion.
(Aside.)
'Tis wonderful!
His brow is fix'd; his eye is resolute.

Cal.
Pythias, mine idoliz'd, and tender Pythias,—
Am I then scorn'd?—Behold! look, Pythias, there!

Pyth.
What do I see?

Cal.
Thy father,—Nicias!
He who did give thee being, and the blood
That bubbles round thy heart. Since my poor tears
Are valueless, hear him, and disobey not.

Pyth.
Ha! dream I this?

Dion.
(Aside.)
There! he is shaken there!

Enter Nicias, extremely old and feeble.
Nicias.
Where is my son, the child of my old years,
The last of all my blood—where is my son?
I scarce behold the day-light—where is my son?

Pyth.
Here, father, here!

Nicias.
Is this my Pythias' hand?
Are these his arms that press me? O, my son,
Come to thy father's heart! Child of my age,
I do believe thou lov'st me!

Pyth.
O, my father!
Witness these burning tears, tears which came not
In such a gush as now.

Nicias.
Upon my lonely bed, thy long-lost name,
Pronounc'd in shrieking anguish to mine ear,
Came, and I heard it—the first human sound
That for a lapse of time held intercourse
With my forgotten heart—and lo! I heard it!
And then I ask'd of thee, and what they purpos'd
To do on thee—and here I came, my son,
To go with thee to safety.

Pyth.
Spare me that!
All things
I'll do but that; and that I dare not do.

Nicias.
The tyrant doth break faith with thee.

Pyth.
'Tis said so.

Cal.
And Damon cannot come to be thy ransom.

Pyth.
I have heard it, my Calanthe.

Cal.
And that thou—
That thou—O gods!—must die when he comes not?

Pyth.
And that I know, Calanthe.

Cal.
If thou knowest it,
What is thy heart, that it can still be obstinate?

Pyth.
I should not have heard it; or, having heard it,
I still may hold it false. This busy world
Is but made up of slight contingencies—
There are a thousand that may alter this,
Or leave it where it was:—there is not one
Should push us a mere point from any pledge
Of manliness and honour.

Nicias.
Look on thy father, Pythias—he scarce sees
His son—darkness has pour'd her waters on him,
Quenching the spark that lights up human life,
In gay variety; yet I would live.

Pyth.
And yet would I, my father,
Live to support, befriend, and cherish you!
Live to possess my own Calanthe here,
Who recommends existence with a smile
So sad and beautiful!—Yet would I live,
But not dishonour'd—Still, Calanthe, he may return!
May! may!—That word ends all!—Death looks but grimly,
And the deep grave is cheerless—yet I do—
I do prefer the certainty of death
Unto the possibility of dishonour!

Nicias.
Pythias, my son, the cold dim house of death—
To be a lonely, shuddering tenant in it,
Or live in sun-shine one's own young heart gives out!
Thy hand, Calanthe; give thy hand, my girl,—
And thine, my son—here, take her—save, or lose her!

Cal.
Thyself, and me! Save both!

Dion.
Behold! behold!—
(Pointing to the side of the stage.)
The good ship hath her streaming signal out!
The canvass swells up to the wooing wind!
The boat puts off—now, now, or never!

Cal.
See
How swiftly, in her gallant liberty,
She comes through the calm sea!—O, hark! the oars,
How rapidly they plash in harmony!
O look at freedom, Pythias, look at it!
How beautiful it is upon the sea!
Pythias, my Pythias—O! how we shall laugh
While bounding o'er the blessed wave that bears us
From doom and death, to some fair Grecian isle!

Dion.
See, they approach! dost hesitate?

Nicias.
My son!

Cal.
Pythias!—my husband, Pythias!

Pyth.
No! no! so help me heaven!—'Tis hard!
It plucks my heart up—but, no! no! (Kneels.)


Cal.
O, gods! (She falls into his arms.)