 | Damon and Pythias |  |
1
ACT I.
Scene I.
—A Street in Syracuse.Dionysius and Procles discovered, as expecting tidings.
Dion.
Ere this the senate should have closed its councils,
And chosen the new year's president. I pant
To know their meeting's issue.
Proc.
Good my lord,
There's but light doubt a great majority
Of easy-purchas'd voices will be found
For your fast friend, Philistius.
Dion.
On his choice
Hangs the long chain of complicated purpose
Has ta'en such time in linking. Plague upon
The law, that from the senate-house excludes
All soldiers, like ourselves, or we should soon
Outvote all difficulty! (Senators cross the Stage).
Ha! methinks
The assembly hath dissolved.
By Jupiter,
Philistius' self doth hasten to us here,
And with him Damocles! How now, my friend?
Enter Philistius and Damocles.
Art thou the president?
Phil.
I am, my lord.
2
The honourable office: in the which
I may, at least, requite the benefits
Which you have heaped upon me.
Dam.
Yes, my lord,
We have at last attain'd the 'vantage ground,
Whence your broad view may take a boundless prospect.
Dion.
'Tis a bold step upon the mountain-path,
Wherein I have long been toiling. I no longer
Doubt of the senate's inclination.
What say the soldiers? Thou hast hinted to them
That we confided to thee?
Proc.
Yes, my lord;
And they are ready for it.
Dion.
Go thou hence,
And speak to them again; disperse more gold;
'Twill give a relish to thine eloquence;
And, hark ye, lead them this way: I shall here
Await thy coming. Ha! behold, in air,
Where a majestic eagle floats above
The northern turrets of the citadel;
And, as the sun breaks through yon rifted cloud,
His plumage shines, embath'd in burning gold,
And sets off his regality in heaven.
Thou knowest how readily the multitude
Are won by such bright augury—make use
Of divination,—haste thee.
[Exit Procles.
Philistius, give me your hand. I thank you:
Things look in smiles upon me. It was otherwise
But a year since, when I impeach'd the magistrates,
For treasonable dealing with the foe,
And the senate hurl'd me from my topmost height
Of popularity.
Dam.
Degraded you
From power, and office.
Dion.
Ay! at the appeal
Of that stale pedant, the Pythagorean,
Who hangs out his austerity for sale,
3
Dam.
Thou speakest of Damon?
Dion.
Ay, mine enemy,
The patriot, and philosophic knave,
Who hath been busy with my purposes,—
And one day shall not smile at it. He came
Into the senate-house, with a fierce crew
Of his associates in philosophy,
Silent and frowning, at his back; he rail'd
And had his triumph.—Times have alter'd since;
And to the mould and fashion of my will,
Shall yet take stranger shape, when, Damocles,
These long-trained lawgivers, these austere sages
Shall find I can remember.
Dam.
Let them feel it.
Dion.
In all that biting bitterness of heart
Which clings, and gnaws, by inches, to its object,
More keen, because a first essay hath fail'd,
In shame and suffering, failed, thus have I sped
My work, in silence, on. It did become
A thought in woven with my inmost being.
Dam.
The steps
Which since most visibly you have ascended,
Must have requir'd much effort?
Dion.
Yes! to have flung
Into the shade of public disrepute
The very men whose voices were most loud
In working out my ruin;—after that,
To gain the army's suffrage;—to be chosen
Its head and general, that was another;
To have won that very senate,—
Phil.
Yet pause, my lord,—
Howe'er complying you have hitherto
Found that assembly, and though most of them
Are plung'd into your debt, beyond all means
Of their redemption, yet may there be still
Some sudden reluctation to the last,
And mightiest of all hopes.
Dion.
The garrison
Is not a bad ally methinks?
4
The war
Hath ta'en the flower of all the troops from Syracuse;
And Damon heading the vile populace—
Dion.
I came from Agrigentum, to entreat
Arms, corn, and money, from the senators,
While I myself have purposely delay'd
The granting them; meantime, the city is filled
With many thousands of my followers.
Phil.
But, are they not unweapon'd?
Dion.
This city of Syracuse,—
It hath a citadel?
Phil.
True, sir,—it hath.
Dion.
And therein, as I deem, its national stock
Of corn, and arms, and gold, is treasur'd?
Phil.
True.
Dion.
The citadel is not impregnable;
And when it is mann'd, and order'd to my will,
What of these frothy speech-makers?
[A shout is heard abroad.
Phil.
My lord,
The soldiers shout for you.
Dion.
Procles, I see,
Is at his work.—Good Damocles, Philistius,
As you are senators, retire ye hence;
It were not meet that you should look to have been
Parties to any act, which afterwards
May grow into discussion.—And, Philistius,
One effort more among our city friends;—
I will forewarn thee of the time to call
The senators together—Yet, I mean not
Exclusively to trust them, good Philistius;—
Sure means sure ends.—I'll have a friend or two
Within my call, to help them.—If their councils
Become too knotty for unravelling,
A sharp sword may be useful.—Fare you well.
[Exeunt Philistius and Damocles.
Voices
(Without.)
Ay, to the citadel—The citadel.
Enter Procles and Soldiers.
Dion.
Who talks of moving to the citadel?
5
It is himself,—huzza!
All.
Huzza! our general!
Dion.
Good friends, I thank ye. Procles art thou here?
Hast thou distributed to these much-wrong'd men,
The trifling bounty which I charg'd thee with?
Proc.
They have it, noble general.
Dion.
My friends,
'Twas a poor offering, and beneath your taking;
But, as yourselves do know, my private purse
Is light as that of any other veteran,
Within the walls of Syracuse. Speak, Procles,
Who talks of moving on the citadel?
All.
We, Dionysius, we.
Proc.
Yes, these brave spirits.
Indignant at the senate's heedlessness
Of you, and them, and of the general honour.—
1st Soldier.
Ay, we will spurn their yoke, and have no master
But our most noble general Dionysius!
Dion.
Give me not cause, my friends, to deem myself
Dishonour'd and endanger'd in your love;
For, as I am a soldier and a man,
Could I believe that any other thought
Engag'd you to possess the citadel,
Save your anxiety for the soldier's weal,
And the state's safety, I would raise my hand,
In supplication, 'gainst your enterprise;—
But, as the time now urges, and cries out
For sudden muster, and organization
Of the brave thousands, who but wait for swords,
To join your ranks, and rush with you to glory,—
And yet the senate,—
Proc.
Speak not of the senate:
We do renounce its service and despise it.
Dion.
It was my thought to say, if they object,
We may submit it, as a needful step,
Claiming allowance in the exigency
Of the occasion.
6
They shall not control it.
We seek not for their judgment of our act.
All.
On, general, on!
Dion.
When did ye call,
That I replied not with my word and deed,
My heart and hand? Even as you say it, on,
On, fellow-soldiers, to the citadel!
And let your swords be out, more in the show
Of what ye are, soldiers and fighting-men,
Than with a harmful purpose. Let us on!
All.
On to the citadel! the citadel!
[Exeunt, with cries, and brandishing their swords.
Scene II.
—Another Street.Enter Damon.
Damon.
Philistius, then, is president at last,
And Dionysius has o'er sway'd it? Well,
It is what I expected: There is now
No public virtue left in Syracuse.
What should be hop'd from a degenerate,
Corrupted, and voluptuous populace,
If highly-born, and meanly-minded nobles
Would barter freedom for a great man's feast,
And sell their country for a smile? The stream,
With a more sure eternal tendency
Seeks not the ocean, than a sensual race
Their own devouring slavery. I am sick,
At my inmost heart, of every thing I see,
And hear! O, Syracuse, I am, at last,
Forc'd to despair of thee! And yet thou art
My land of birth,—thou art my country still,
And, like an unkind mother, thou hast left
The claims of holiest nature in my heart,
And I must sorrow for, not hate thee! (Shouts)
Ha!
What shouts are these? 'Tis from the citadel
The uproar is descending.
7
Speak, Lucullus,
What has befallen?
Luc.
Have you not heard the news?
Damon.
What news?
Luc.
As through the streets I pass'd, the people
Said that the citadel was in the hands
Of Dionysius.
Damon.
The citadel
In Dionysius' hands? What dost thou tell me?
How,—wherefore,—when? In Dionysius' hands?
The traitor Dionysius?—Speak, Lucullus,
And quickly.
Luc.
It was said, that by rude force,
Heading a troop of soldiers, he had ta'en
Possession of the citadel, and seized
The arms and treasure in't.
[Exit.
Damon.
I am thunder stricken!
The citadel assaulted, and the armory
In that fierce soldier's power! (Shouts)
Again! By all
The gods on high Olympus, I behold
His standard waving o'er it,—and they come,
His most notorious satellites, high heap'd
With arms and plunder! Parricidal slaves,
What have ye done?
Enter Procles and Soldiers.
Soldiers.
For Dionysius! Ho!
For Dionysius!
Damon.
Silence! obstreperous traitors!
Your throats offend the quiet of the city;
And thou, who standest foremost of these knaves,
Stand back, and answer me,—a senator.
What have you done?
Proc.
But that I know 'twill gall thee,
Thou poor, and talking pedant of the school
Of dull Pythagoras, I'd let thee make
Conjecture from thy senses: But, in hope
8
We have ta'en possession of the citadel,
And—
Damon.
Patience, ye good gods! a moment's patience,
That these too ready hands may not enforce
The desperate precept of my rising heart—
Thou most contemptible, and meanest tool
That ever tyrant used!—
Proc.
Do you hear him, soldiers?
First, for thy coward railings at myself
And since thou hast called our Dionysius tyrant,
Here, in the open streets of Syracuse,
I brand thee for a liar, and a traitor!
Damon.
Audacious slave!
Proc.
Upon him, soldiers,—
Hew him to pieces!
Soldiers.
On him! (With a shout.)
Enter Pythias, as they rush upon Damon.
Pyth.
Back on your lives!
Cowards, damn'd, treacherous cowards, back I say!
Do you know me? Look upon me: Do you know
This honest sword I brandish? You have seen it
Among the ranks of Carthage; would you now
Taste its shrewd coldness in your quaking selves!
Back! back! I say. He hath his armour on.—
I am his sword, shield, helm; I but enclose
Myself, and my own heart, and heart's blood, when
I thus stand before him.
Damon.
False-hearted cravens!
We are but two—my Pythias, my halved heart!—
My Pythias, and myself; but dare come on.
Ye hirelings of a tyrant! dare advance
A foot, or raise an arm, or bend a brow,
And ye shall learn what two such arms can do
Amongst a thousand of ye.—My good friend,
The gods have sent thee to me—Who had deem'd
To find thee here from Agrigentum?
[Soldiers advance.
9
Off!
Off, villains, off!—Each for the other thus,
And in that other, for his dearer self.
Why, Procles, art thou not asham'd,—for I
Have seen thee do good work in battle time—
Art not asham'd, here on a single man
To rush in coward numbers? Fie upon thee!
I took thee for a soldier.
Proc.
For thy sake,
Who art a warrior like ourselves, we spare him—
'Twas a good star of his that led thee hither,
From Agrigentum, to lift up thine arm
In the defence of that long robe of peace
Wherein he wraps his stern philosophy.
Come, teach him better manners. Soldiers, on,—
Let us to Dionysius.
[Exeunt Procles and Soldiers.
Pyth.
Art thou safe
From these infuriate stabbers?
Damon.
Thanks to thee,
I am safe, my gallant soldier, and fast friend:
My better genius sent thee to my side,
When I did think thee far from Syracuse.
Pyth.
I have won leave to spend some interval
From the fierce war, and come to Syracuse,
With purpose to espouse the fair Calanthe.—
The gods have led me hither, since I come
In time to rescue thee.
How grew this rude broil up?
Damon.
Things go on here
Most execrably, Pythias. But you are come
To be a husband, are you not?
Pyth.
To-morrow
I call my soft Calanthe wife.
Damon.
Then, Pythias,
I will not shade the prospect of your joys
With any griefs of mine. I cry you mercy—
These are experiments too over nice
For one that has a mistress, and would wed her
With an uncut throat. I have oft wish'd myself,
10
My lot had been awarded;—every hour
Makes one more sick and weary with the sense
Of this same hopeless service of a state,
Where there is not enough of virtue left
To feed the gleamings of our liberty.—
But, my soldier,
I will not make thee a participant
In my most sad forebodings. Pythias,
I say, 'twere better be the Persian's slave,
And let him tread upon thee, when he would
Ascend his horse's back, than—yet, not so,
I am too much gall'd and fretted to pronounce
A sober judgment, and the very mask
Of freedom, is yet better than the bold,
Uncover'd front of tyranny.—Farewell!
Pyth.
Nay, I must follow thee, and find the cause
That so perturbs thy spirit.
Damon.
How, sir! You have
A mistress here in Syracuse, and, look,
Herself comes forth to meet you.
Pyth.
Where! Calanthe!
Nay, I behold her not—you mock me, Damon.
Damon.
(Pointing to a different side of the stage.)
Look this way, sir.
Pyth.
It is herself, indeed,
My own, my fond, betrothed one.
Enter Calanthe.
Cal.
My dear,
But most neglecting Pythias!
Pyth.
By the birth
Of Venus, when she rose out of the sea,
And with her smile did fill the Grecian isles
With everlasting verdure, she was not,
Fresh from the soft creation of the wave,
More beautiful than thee!
Cal.
Thou fondly thinkest
To hide thy false oblivion of the maid,
11
Now, Pythias, I do take it most unkind,
That thou to friendship hast made sacrifice
Of the first moment of thy coming here.
Pyth.
Nay, chide me not; for I was speeding to thee.
Cal.
Soon as I heard thou wert in Syracuse,
I ran at once to hail thee with a smile,
Although my mother would have staid me.
(Pythias kisses her hand.)
Damon.
(who is lost in thought.)
Yes,
They must at least be safe.
Pyth.
And how, Calanthe,
Fares thy dear mother?
Cal.
Happy in the thought
If she must needs (as she must) part with me,
It is at least to thee.
Pyth.
And my poor father?
Cal.
Time has almost shut up his faculties,
And he can scarce distinguish any voice
That is address'd to him. The day is pass'd,
Upon his couch; at evening, in a chair,
He is carried to the terrace-walk before
The threshold of his mansion, where the wind,
Fresh from the sea, plays with his locks of grey,
Till pleas'd at last he smiles. That gentle smile,
As 'tis the first denotement of a thought
In speechless infancy, 'tis the last sign
Of the expiring mind.
Pyth.
My soft Calanthe
Must be a tender on infirmity,
Before her time. But where's my silent friend?
Why, Damon, what's the matter?
Damon.
(Aside, and still lost in thought.)
One brave blow,
And it were done! By all the gods, one blow,
And Syracuse were free!—Pythias, is't you?—
I cry you mercy, (to Cal.)
fair one—Pythias,
You are to be married. Haste thee, Pythias,—
12
Give to his paramour.—Take thou no care
Of the politician's study—'twill turn pale
Thy face, make thee grow sick at nature's loveliness,
And find in her pure beauty but one blank
Of dismal, colourless, sterility.
Calanthe, look to it—let him not play
The statesman's sorry part.
Pyth.
Damon, you let
The commonwealth o'erfret you. I was about
To pray you to our wedding.
Damon.
I intended,
Unbidden, to be there.
Pyth.
From friendship's eyes
I'll win addition to my happiness.
Calanthe, come—I should be half in fear,
To seem thus loving of thee, in the sight
Of this philosopher.
Cal.
Nay, he pretends
To be by half more rugged, and more wise,
Than he hath any right to: I have seen him,
(Have I not, Damon?) looking at his wife,
When he imagin'd none was there to mark
The proud Pythagorean, with an eye
Filled with tenderness:—and his young boy, too,
That seems Aurora's child, with his fine face,
Stirr'd his stern visage to complacency.
Come, come, we'll be reveng'd upon you both:
I swear, his wife and I will be accounted
Your rivals in the godlike quality
Your lordly sex would arrogate its own
Peculiar privilege, and show the world
The unseen, and yet unrumour'd prodigy,—
The friendship of a woman.
[Exeunt Pythias and Calanthe.
Damon.
Hark thee, Lucullus.—
My wife and child must instantly depart
From Syracuse;—you must attend them hence,
Unto my villa, on the mountain side.
Luc.
Alas, my lord!
13
Why dost thou droop?
Luc.
My lord,
I was your slave; you gave me liberty;
And when I see you peril'd—
Damon.
Nay, Lucullus,
Where is the warrant for thy fear?
Luc.
I read
You are engag'd in some dread enterprise,
Else you would not deny them to your sight:
You fear the leaning ruin may fall down,
Upon their dearer heads.
Damon.
I charge you, sir,
No prying in my purposes.—Take care
You speak not to my wife of any thing
May stir her apprehensions—see, she comes—
Beware thy looks betray thee.
Enter Hermion.
Herm.
Art thou safe,
Damon, art safe?
Damon.
You are not a widow yet,
Herm.
For shame to talk of such a thing. I have heard
Of thy rude quarrelling with that same fierce,
And overbearing soldier. But thou art safe.—
Proud men? how reckless of the faithful hearts
That doat on you,—that hang their weakness on ye!
How reckless of us in your bustling hours
Of occupation and despatch, ye are!
Ah, then you think not of the pining mate,
Left in her solitude, with nought to do,
But weep for your return, and chide the gods,
That make your minds so stern and enterprising.
Damon.
Hermion, I think the city's fulsome air
Likes not our boy:—The colour in his cheek
Hath lost its rich and healthful purity.
Herm.
Nay, you are wrong there;—'tis like a young peach,
Or yet more fresh and blooming.
14
Hermion,
I have resolv'd that you and he shall go
Unto my villa, near to Syracuse.
Herm.
But you will come with us?
Damon.
Hermion, you know
My occupation forbids that wish.
Luc.
My lord—
Damon.
Forbear sir—yet I cannot go,—
I mean, I cannot go immediately—
The state affairs lay hold upon me. You
Must hence before me thither.
Herm.
Damon—
Damon.
Come,
Look not thus sadly.
Herm.
I have learn'd too well
The usage of obedience, to inquire
Into your purposes.
Damon.
Hermion, I'll take
Occasion oft to visit you—to-morrow—
If possible, to-morrow,
Herm.
Will you so?
Nay, will you truly promise it?
Damon.
I do.—
Hermion, you must be sudden—you must despatch.—
Come—but I'll see my boy before you go.—
Hermion, he is our only one.—That child
Is made of thy own heart, and mine—I charge thee,
Have thou a care, in all vicissitudes
Of private or of public incident,
To form in him, what will out-top the height
Of the best laurel-tree in all the groves
Of the Academy,—an honest man.
[Exeunt.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
| Damon and Pythias | |