 | Damon and Pythias |  |
55
ACT V.
Scene I.
—A public Place in Syracuse.—A Scaffold, with steps ascending to it, upon the right hand—In the back of the Stage, the Gates of a Prison.—Executioner, with an Axe, and Guards discovered.Enter Damocles and Procles.
Proc.
It is a marvellous fantasy, thou speakest of
In Dionysius.
Dam.
Yes, his mind is made
Of strange materials, that are almost cast
In contrariety to one another.
The school and camp in his ambition make
A strange division: with the trumpet's call
He blends the languor of the poet's lyre!
The fierce intrepid captain of the field
Hath often on the great Athenian stage
Cop'd with the mightiest monarchs of the Muse,
And in mine apprehension, he doth prize
The applauses of that polished populace
More than the rising shout of victory.
Proc.
And over all that science which doth hold
Touching the soul and its affections
Its high discoursing hath attracted him.
It is his creed that in this flesh of ours
Self ever entertains predominance,
And to all friendship he hath ever been
A persevering infidel. For this,
Belike, he tries a strange experiment.
What sayest thou? Will Damon come again?
It urges on the crisis of the danger.
Dam.
Our love of life is in the very instinct
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Even so slight a thing, as wink an eye
Against the wind. Place me a soul-less dog
Upon the bare edge of a height, and he
Shall shudder and shrink back, though none have prov'd
To his capacity that the fall were dangerous.
I hold the thing impossible.
Proc.
He'll not?
Dam.
What, when he feels his pent-up soul abroad,
His limbs unfetter'd, and the mountain-breeze
Of liberty all around him, and his life
Or death upon his own free choice dependant?
'Tis visionary!
Proc.
But is there no hope
Of Dionysius' mercy?
Dam.
He'll not give
A second's hundredth part to take a chance in.
His indignation swells at such a rashness,
That in its fling of proud philosophy
Can make him feel so much out-soar'd and humbled.
What a vast multitude upon the hills
Stretch their long blackening outline in the round
Of the blue heavens!
Proc.
They wait the great event.
Mute expectation spreads its anxious hush
O'er the wide city, that as silent stands
As its reflection in the quiet sea.
Behold, upon the roof what thousands gaze
Towards the distant road that leads to Syracuse!
An hour ago a noise was heard afar,
Like to the pulses of the restless surge;
But as the time approaches, all grows still,
As the wide dead of midnight!
Calanthe
(Without.)
There's no power
Shall stay me back! I must behold him die,
Then follow him!
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Arria.
My child!
Cal.
I cannot hear thee!
The shrieking of the Furies drowns thy cries!
Arria.
This is no place for thee—no place Calanthe,
For such a one as thou!
Cal.
No other place
Is fit for such a wretch! I am his wife
Betrothed, though not married. There is no place
For me but at his side: In life or death
There is no other.
There is the scaffold with the block on it!
There is the—O, good gods!
Arria.
Come back, my child!
Good Damocles, give me your aid to bear
This wretched woman hence.
Cal.
O, mother, mother,
I'll not be grudg'd that horrible delight!
I'll take a long and maddening look of him,
Whom in the morning I thought I should have waited,
Blushing within the chamber of a bride,
And with a heart all full of love and fear,
Now I await him in a different place,
And with a cheek that ne'er shall blush again;
Whose marble may be spotted o'er with blood,
But not with modesty: love yet remains,
But fear its old companion's fled away,
And made room for despair!
Enter Dionysius, still in disguise.
Ha! are you come?
'Twas you that brought it to me for a guest,
And froze the running currents in my bosom
To one deep cake of ice! You said too well
That Damon would not come—The selfish traitor!
The traitor Damon!
Dion.
Hark thee, Calanthe!
It was an idle tale I told to thee!
Cal.
Ha!
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A mere coinage, an invention.
Cal.
I do not ask thee why that tale was fram'd,—
Fram'd in thy cold deliberate cruelty—
But only this—one question:—May he yet—
May Damon yet return?
Dion.
He may—he is
As free to come, or stay, as are the winds.
Cal.
And Dionysius withholds him not?
Dion.
He does not.
Cal.
Whatsoe'er thou art, the gods
For that one word, be unto thee, and thine
Guardians for ever!—O, that ray of hope
That breaks upon my soul, is worth a flood
Of the sweet day-light of Elysium!
Damon may yet return!—But, powers of Heaven!
Death is prepared already!—What is the time!
Dion.
Thou may'st perceive by yonder dial-plate,
Against the temple, six poor minutes only
Are left for his return.
Cal.
And yet he comes not!
O but that temple, where the shade of time
Moves unrelentingly, is dedicate
To the great Goddess of Fidelity—
She will not in the face of her high fane
Let such a profanation hurl for ever
The altars of her worship to the ground;
For who will offer incense to her name
If Damon's false to Pythias? Ha! they unbar
The ponderous gates!—There is a clank of chains!
They are leading him to death!
Dam.
Bring forth the prisoner!
The gates of the Prison are flung open, and Pythias is discovered.—He advances.
Cal.
Pythias?
Pyth.
Calanthe here!—My poor fond girl!
Thou art the first to meet me at the block,
Thou wilt be the last to leave me at the grave!
How strangely things go on in this bad world—
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I did not think of such a one as death!
I deemed I should have gone to sleep to-night,
This very night—not on the earth's cold lap,
But, with as soft a bosom for my pillow,
And with as true and fond a heart-throb in it
To lull me to my slumber, as e'er yet
Couch'd the repose of love.—It was, indeed,
A blissful sleep to wish for!
Cal.
O, my Pythias,
He yet may come!
Pyth.
Calanthe, no!—Remember
That Dionysius hath prevented it.
Cal.
That was an idle tale of this old man,
And he may yet return.
Pyth.
May yet return!
Speak!—how is this? return!—O life, how strong
Thy love is in the hearts of dying men!
Thou art he dids't say the tyrant would prevent
His coming back to Syracuse.
Dion.
I wrong'd him.
Pyth.
Ha! were it possible!—may he yet come?
Cal.
Into the sinews of the horse that bears him
Put swiftness, gods!—let him outrace and shame
The galloping of clouds upon the storm!
Blow breezes with him; lend every feeble aid
Unto his motion!—and thou, thrice-solid earth,
Forget thy immutable fixedness—become
Under his feet like flowing water, and
Hither flow with him!
Pyth.
I have taken in
All the horizon's vast circumference
That in the glory of the setting sun
Opens it's wide expanse, yet do I see
No signal of his coming!—Nay, 'tis likely—
O, no—he could not! It is impossible!
Cal.
I say, he is false! he is a murderer!
He will not come! the traitor doth prefer
Life, ignominious, dastard life!—Thou minister
Of light, and measurer of eternity
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Great sun, behind the confines of the world!
On yonder purple mountains make thy stand!
For while thine eye is opened on mankind,
Hope will abide within thy blessed beams—
They dare not do the murder in thy presence!
Alas! all heedless of my frantic cry,
He plunges down the precipice of Heaven!
Pythias—O, Pythias!
Pyth.
I could have borne to die,
Unmov'd by Dionysius—but to be torn
Green from existence by the friend I lov'd,—
Thus from the blossoming and beauteous tree
Rent by the treachery of him I trusted!
No! no! I wrong thee, Damon, by that half thought—
Shame on the foul suspicion! he hath a wife,
And child, who cannot live on earth without him,
And Heaven has flung some obstacle in his way
To keep him back, and lets me die who am
Less worthy, and the fitter.
Proc.
Pythias, advance!
Cal.
No, no! why should he yet? It is not yet—
By all the gods, there are two minutes only!
Proc.
Take a last farewell of your mistress, sir,
And look your last upon the setting sun—
And do both quickly, for your hour comes on!
Pyth.
Come here, Calanthe! closer to me yet—
Ah! what a cold transition it will be
From this warm touch all full of life and beauty,
Unto the clammy mould of the deep grave!
I pr'ythee, my Calanthe, when I am gone,
If thou shoulds't e'er behold my hapless friend,
Do not upbraid him! This, my lovely one,
Is my last wish—Remember it!
Cal.
(Who, during this speech has been looking wildly towards the side of the stage.)
Hush! Hush!
Stand back there!
Pyth.
Take her, you eternal gods,
Out of my arms into your own!—Befriend her!
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For she is gentle, and doth merit it.
Cal.
I think I see it—
Proc.
Lead her from the scaffold!
Pyth.
Arria, receive her!—yet one kiss—farewell!
Thrice—thrice—farewell!—I am ready, sir.
Cal.
Forbear!
There is a minute left—look there! look there!
But 'tis so far off, and the evening shades
Thicken so fast, there are no other eyes
But mine can catch it—Yet, 'tis there! I see it—
A shape as yet so vague and questionable
'Tis nothing, just about to change and take
The faintest form of something!
Pyth.
Sweetest love!
Dam.
Your duty, officer.
Cal.
I will not quit him
Until ye prove I see it not!—no force
Till then shall separate us.
Dam.
Tear them asunder!
Arria, conduct your daughter to her home.
Cal.
O, send me not away—Pythias, thine arms—
Stretch out thine arms, and keep me!—see, it comes!
Barbarians!—Murderers!—O, yet a moment—
Yet but one pulse—one heave of breath! O, heavens!
[She swoons, and is carried away by Arria and Guards.
Pyth.
(To the Executioner.)
There is no pang in thy deep wedge of steel
After that parting.—Nay, sir, you may spare
Yourself the pains to fit me for the block.—
[Drawing the lining of his tunic lower.
Damon, I do forgive thee!—I but ask
Some tears unto my ashes!—
[A shout is heard—Pythias leaps up on the scaffold.
By the gods,
A horse, and horseman!—Far upon the hill
They wave their hats, and he returns it—yet
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Why should they shout as he comes on? It is—
No!—that was too unlike—but there now—there!
O, life, I scarcely dare to wish for thee,
And yet—that jutting rock has hid him from me—
No!—let it not be Damon!—he has a wife
And child!—gods! keep him back!
Damon.
(Without)
Where is he?
[He rushes in, and stands for a moment, looking round.
Ha!
He is alive! untouched! Ha! ha! ha!
[Falls with an hysterical laugh upon the scaffold.
(Loud shouts without.)
Pyth.
The gods do know I could have died for him!
And yet I dared to doubt!—I dared to breathe
The half-utter'd blasphemy!
(Damon is raised up.)
He faints!—How thick
This wreath of burning moisture on his brow!
His face is black with toil, his swelling bulk
Heaves with swift pantings—Damon, my dear friend!
Damon.
Where am I? Have I fallen from my horse
That I am stunn'd, and on my head I feel
A weight of thickening blood!—What has befallen me?
The horrible confusion of a dream
Is yet upon my sight.—For mercy's sake,
Stay me not back—he is about to die!
Pythias, my friend!—Unloose me, villains, or
You will find the might of madness in mine arm!
(Sees Pyth.)
Speak to me, let me hear thy voice!
Pyth.
My friend!
Damon.
It pierc'd my brain, and rush'd into my heart!
There's lightning in it!—That's the scaffold—there
The block—the axe—the executioner!—
And here he lives!—I have him in my soul!
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Ha! ha! ha!
Pyth.
Damon!
Damon.
Ha! ha!
I can but laugh!—I cannot speak to thee!
I can but play the maniac, and laugh!
Thy hand!—O, let me grasp thy manly hand!—
It is an honest one, and so is mine!
They are fit to clasp each other! Ha! ha! ha!
Pyth.
Would that my death could have preserv'd thee!
Damon.
Pythias,
Even in the very crisis to have come,—
To have hit the very forehead, of old time!
By heavens! had I arriv'd an hour before
I should not feel this agony of joy,—
This triumph over Dionysius!
Ha! ha!—But did'st thou doubt me? Come, thou did'st—
Own it, and I'll forgive.
Pyth.
For a moment.
Damon.
O that false slave!—Pythias, he slew my horse,
In the base thought to save me!—I would have kill'd him,
And to a precipice was dragging him,
When from the very brink of the abyss
I did behold a traveller afar,
Bestriding a good steed—I rush'd upon him,
Choking with desperation, and yet loud
In shrieking anguish, I commanded him
Down from his saddle; he denied me—but
Would I then be denied? as hungry tigers
Clutch their poor prey, I sprung upon his throat.
Thus, thus I had him, Pythias? Come, your horse,
Your horse, your horse, I cried. Ha! ha! ha!
Dion.
(Advancing.)
Damon!
Damon.
I am here upon the scaffold! look at me;
I am standing on my throne; as proud a one
As yon illumin'd mountain, where the sun
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He never did behold a spectacle
More full of natural glory. Death is—Ha!
All Syracuse starts up upon her hills,
And lifts her hundred thousand hands! She shouts,
Hark, how she shouts! (Shouts heard.)
O, Dionysius,
When wert thou in thy life hail'd with a peal
Of hearts and hands like that one? Shout again!
Again, until the mountains echo you,
And the great sea joins in that mighty voice,
And old Enceladus, the Son of Earth,
Stirs in his mighty caverns. Tell me, slaves,
Where is your tyrant? Let me see him now;
Why stands he hence aloof? Where is your master?
What is become of Dionysius?
I would behold, and laugh at him.
Dionysius advances between Damon and Pythias (Damon being on the scaffold) and throws off his disguise.
Dion.
Behold me!
Damon & Pyth.
How?
Dion.
Stay your admiration for awhile,
Till I have spoken my commandment here.
Go, Damocles, and bid a herald cry
Wide through the city, from the eastern gate
Unto the most remote extremity,
That Dionysius, tyrant as he is,
Gives back his life to Damon.
(Exit Damocles.
Pyth.
How, Dionysius!
Speak that again.
Dion.
I pardon him.
Pyth.
O, gods!
You give his life to Damon?
Dion.
Life and freedom.
(Damon remains mute with astonishment upon the scaffold.)
Pyth.
O, Dionysius! O, my sovereign! Life
And freedom! Let me fall down at your feet
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In one wild gush of weeping gratitude!
O, Damon!
(Damon still continues motionless.
Dion.
Almighty virtue,
Now do I own, and worship thee! I see
The glorious spark which the Eternal One
Struck from himself into the soul of man,
Blaze up in such excelling majesty,
It awes, while it illumes my heart. What hoa!
How, Damon, is it with thee? Come, descend!
Let me conduct thee from this place of death,
Into the bosom of your friend.
Pyth.
O, Damon!
Damon.
Pythias—good Dionysius—no, I cannot;
Lend me your hand, good Pythias—I could weep.
(They take each other's hands, and remain looking at each other.
Dion.
Until this wondrous hour I walk'd in error,
And liv'd in darkness! Either my heart was born
Blind to the light of virtue, or some film
Hath crept upon its fine susceptibility.
Pythias, 'twas I that visited your dungeon,
To put your faith unto the test—and one thing
Hath griev'd me in its issue—your old father—
Pyth.
He is dead?
Dion.
The shock was terrible!
Pyth.
The earth
Lie lightly on his bosom!
Dion.
But here is
The loveliest face that ever yet was worn
By consolation!
Enter Calanthe.
Cal.
O, my Pythias!
Pyth.
Calanthe!
Cal.
My dear husband!
Pyth.
Thou hast heard all?
Cal.
Yes—through the city a loud voice goes forth,
Of love, and life, and holy gratitude,
And piety, and exultation.
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“And the gods look more beautiful within.
“O, Damon! I must thank thee with such news
“As will awake thee to the keenest sense
“That ever thrill'd through life!—Husband, awake!
“Hermion even now arrives in Syracuse!
“Damon.
Hermion!
“Cal.
And let the father start!—thy child—
Damon.
“My child too! Mighty gods!” I did not yet,
In the wild wonder of recover'd life,
Appreciate the blessing; but it rushes
Now, full and deep, in one wide gush of joy!
“My wife!—my child!—Where is my wife, Calanthe?
“Where is my child?
“Hermion. (Without.)
Damon!
“Enter Hermion.
“Damon.
My wife! my wife!
“I'll take thee all, and crush thee in my heart!
“Yet is there something wanting—I must have
“The cup of joy fill'd higher. I am drunk
“Already with it, but not satisfied
“Till I have quaff'd it unto madness! Ha!
“My child!
“Enter Lucullus, with the Child of Damon, and Damocles.
“Boy! boy! there are who will dare to call
“Thy father coward at his ecstasy
“In getting back existence. Tell them, boy,
“They never yet were fathers! Dionysius!
“I now can thank thee. I before refrain'd
“From saying aught to thee;—but look here! O, gods,
“What it is to be a father!— (Embracing the Child, and weeping.”
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Damon, and Pythias,
You have rewarded me: I now begin
To taste of pleasures never touch'd before—
Perfect the work you have begun—“the heavens
“With length of life, and lives of transport bless you!
“Each day the happiest, and yet the next
“Eclipsing that in all comparison!
“Thus may the world have opportunity
“To wonder at you, and grow better by you!”
And I myself, by the continued light
Of your example, may at last essay
To tread such wondrous ways of virtue with you !
[The Curtain falls.
THE END.
| Damon and Pythias | |