 | Callirrhoë |  |
Scene I.
—Citadel of Calydon: Acephalus, Megillus; Machaon on a higher level.Machaon.
Truly this is to affect the god. Thus the
Olympians, choosing a vauntage-ground above the field,
watch men's passions interact. Well, I can do it, and
play the god. 'Tis all I can. There's Acephalus, retributive,
alert, with tight lips where no breath passes.
[Enter Cleitophon.]
Here's old Cleitophon! He makes the hill-brow his
afternoon stroll—nothing perturbed; for the pious have
buzzings from their own bosoms they interpret oracularly,
—a small Dodonic grove in the rocky region of their
prejudices that knows which way the wind blows. How
now, Megillus? Those rosy cheeks belie the rueful
visage.
Megillus.
Why, doctor, I shall be a poor man if the
young fruits keep shrivelling. There's a blight in nature;
something offends. Could you counsel me?
Machaon.
You remember that round the temple of
Æsclepius some folks are stationed, with brains, to be
referred to if the divinity be not curative. Why, man,
you are the only mortal, not half-crazed by sorrow, who
gods hate inhuman parents. Don't tremble so; the
destruction of a few figs is light punishment! I advise
you be patient—Ah! [starting]
—and go help my mother
up the hill; the steepness distresses her.
[Exit Megillus.
Yes, truly, 'mid the dotted dark of yon patch of vine
something stirred. Then I lost it in the cypress grove;
yet I'll fasten my eye on the near edge of the black
trees. If he keep the path he cannot issue un-noted.
Meanwhile, I'll divert these watchers and myself by
learning their unofficial predictions; if these clash with
the oracle, how the fools will be crest-fallen!
[Enter Megillus with Aglauria.]
Aglauria.
I see you climb
Daily the hill as I; 'tis well to learn
How thinks the oracle before one thinks.
Acephalus.
You're curious. The plague has harmed
you not; but should you care—that son you have so doted
on—to leave his clammy corpse, and learn how the winds
blew over Dodona's oaks? An' though it felled the
Titan branches, could it trouble you? Hard woman, I
say Chiron must crowd his boat for the return passage he
ever makes in solitude, ere this calamity be repaired.
Machaon.
Well, if we're all bid straight get drunk and dance,
My comely mother, will you lead the step?
Aglauria.
I shall do what is best.
Machaon.
Time-serving is the true elastic mean
I err in the defect. Old Cleitophon
Is piety stone-blind. [To Cleito.]
What will you do
If faun-skins become ordinary wear
In Calydon; will you be singular?
Cleitophon.
We need no oracle to show our deeds
Clear heinousness. We know where lies the guilt—
By Artemis' lone altars.
[Enter Demophile.
Machaon.
My good nurse,
What brings you to the brow?
Demophile.
Care of my child.
Dear heart! But yester-night a mother brought
A dead stark babe and threw it at her feet.
Since then she has not cried at all. She sits
And spins, and sometimes in an altered voice
Sings snatches of her songs.
Acephalus.
He comes! he comes!
All.
Where, where?
Acephalus.
Out o' the cypress-grove, and he brings death.
Aglauria.
Machaon, he is here!
Machaon.
Hum! Would you make my knowledge know?
Aglauria.
Knew you?
Machaon.
Ay, you begot a prophet.
Megillus.
We'll make him answer for his sloth.
Acephalus.
Sharply.
Machaon.
Now to this people in extreme distress
The gods will give some riddle; it diverts
I have oft tried it. How divinity
Is imitative of my ways, or I
At heart oracular of the divine!
Aglauria.
Oh, see, he comes! Let each man shut his mouth;
Now shall we learn where lies the safest way.
Acephalus.
The safest way! I'll learn where lies the guilt.
[Rushes to meet Emathion.
Demophile.
Oh, now my girl will have her fears relieved!
Cleitophon.
Now will the Bacchic worship be supprest;
The land made clean!
Megillus.
Haply by sacrifice.
Whatever may be asked for we must give.
Machaon.
Truth, father! thinking little of thy life,
If the gods fancy that.
Megillus.
My life! Let those who have begot this plague
Die to allay it, if 'tis so decreed.
Machaon.
Great zeal for justice! Now I think of it,
That very day you beat poor Nephele,
The pestilence—
Before it was a summer sickness—grew
Deadly in force. That I distinctly marked.
The gods, discriminative, will adjust—
Aglauria.
Peace!
[Enter Acephalus, dragging Emathion.
Approachest? Speak, for the plague rages still.
Acephalus.
They are all ashes in the city. Give
A victim to our vengeance.
Demophile.
Speak, she dies,
Callirrhoë, if you delay—
Emathion.
She dies!
Gods, ye said truly. Why, what need of me.
Oh, is she dying fast?
Machaon.
How dare you tax
A man o'er-heated, unrefreshed? He raves.
Give him some drink. Rest on my arm awhile,
And then interpret what the doves and oaks
In concert with Dodona's breezes spoke.
Emathion.
What! Have you heard it, the great
clashing wind?
Machaon.
You see, the prophet's vacancy disturbs
brain's normal action.
[Enter a crowd of Citizens.]
1st Cit.
Speak! the oracle.
2nd Cit.
Speak, or we'll tear your throat to find the
words!
3rd Cit.
What is it? What's to do?
Machaon.
Emathion, make a clean breast of it.
Emathion.
Oh, the burthen of the oracle! the wind
seemed in labour of it, and moaned heavily.
1st Cit.
Do you think, man, we care for its mumbling?
[They lay hold on Emath.
Emathion.
She's to die, do you hear? And the
—you shall have it—as the women tore the sobs out.
Callirrhoë herself, so she find none to die for her, must
die for scorn of Evius' priest.
It said the knife—
It said—through her milkless—Oh, Machaon!
Machaon.
I'm a favourite with the babies; they're
always for my shoulder. You see here's a big one
requesting it. You're too old for a ride. What shall I
do with you? I'd laugh him into manhood.
Demophile.
But we will die.
I will die gladly, and who would not die?
Machaon.
Oh, doubtless many will give votes for death,
Writing a comrade's name upon the shell,
Never their own, for that were insolent
Self-choice in privilege. Nurse, not so fast.
Think you Emathion will not joyfully
Prevent you to preserve Callirrhoë.
Emathion.
Who—I? Why must it be her very blood.
Is there not one who loves her in this town
Would succour her? [Silence.]
Or if indeed her blood,
My uncle Cleitophon, I know your care
And scrupulous observance towards the gods.
You have been foremost in misguided zeal;
And now will doubtlessly desire to bear
The chiefest penalty.
Machaon
(aside).
He dug his nails
But I'll not be the still prey of his fears.
Let him look to't.
Cleitophon.
Except one die for her!
Were not obedience most precise if she
Herself should die?
Aglauria
[looking anxiously at Machaon].
Well said; a substitute
Will never satisfy. Thalia asked
This onyx ring of me. I prize the hoop,
And gave instead chalcedony fair set;
But ever on my finger jealously
She hath kept watch. Is it not laughable
To think the gods would take a shrunken thing
As you, or me, or indeed any one
But just the dainty creature of their choice?
Machaon.
Try them, Emathion; you are young and fair.
Emathion.
She never would consent. You, all of you
Refuse? Why, uncle, I ne'er had a doubt
You would not by a decade forestall death.
Cleitophon.
It is a pious maiden! Shall we learn
How lies her will before we intervene
With fond, precipitate suggestion?
1st Cit.
Her will! 'Tis settled she must die for us.
She dies! She must! she shall!
Machaon.
And you speak reason.
We must not waver; yet an instant pause.
I'll learn the exact conditions, truth's details,
From this poor boy. Soon as we clearly know
Th'ordained victim, we'll go fetch the priest.
Misread a word o' the oracle, we lay
Fresh miseries upon us.
[Citizens talk apart.
[To Emathion.]
Look you here!
She must not die,—
Why, I would die to save her. Save I will,
But never pander to a priestly fool.
Go, bid her fly by the far entrance,
And fly yourself,—there! Change your feet to wings.
And, nurse, prepare and have in readiness
Old garments fitted to dress up escape.
[Exit Demophile.
Stare not so aimlessly; address the crowd
One moment, ere you flee.
Emathion.
I cannot tell—I—I will die for her!
Machaon.
You! till the knife gleams,—but presumably—
Come, exercise your rhetoric; the crowd
Will tear you if you tender not the word,
And promise instant reparation.
Offer to die for her! I'll see you safe.
Emathion.
Good citizens,
Behold me here a wretched, doomèd man,
You thought to welcome a deliverer;
Suppliant I clasp your knees. Most faithfully
And for reward
Learn that this city must be purified
By blood—my sister's or—
Machaon.
He'll choke to death.
Emathion.
My own,—
If none whom life abuses takes this means
Of ridding him of all its miseries.
1st Cit.
We will not listen, we have died enough.
Come, we will bind you.
Machaon.
Softly, gentle friends.
Emathion misinterprets in his haste
To save his sister. 'Tis the girl must die,
If she accept not one to die for her.
Most manifestly she will never choose
Her only brother; me she would but flaunt
As somewhat liberal in my censorship
Of certain phases of Olympic life.
A victim must be passive as a sheep,
Ba-minded, or he'll irritate. You all
Are well content Callirrhoë should die.
She will be well content. Yet ruffianly
To fright and bind her were inhuman. Pause,
[To Emath.]
Keep from her doors a moment's interim.
Prepare your sister. We will keep the brow.
[Exit Emath.
| Callirrhoë | |