University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—Callirrhoë's Home. Enter Callirrhoë and Emathion.
Callirrhoë.
What says the oracle?

Emathion.
The word is you must die, ere Calydon
Be saved—except . . .

Callirrhoë.
Why pause you? Give me all.

Emathion.
One die for her. My uncle Cleitophon
Refuses, holding precious his grey hair.

Callirrhoë.
My brother, what said he?

Emathion.
Callirrhoë, if you would have it so . . .
If so . . . but yet . . .
'Twas your peculiar impiety,
Slighting Coresus' love, that brought the town
To this great pass. . . But if you'd have it so . . .
Callirrhoë, have it . . .

Callirrhoë.
None will die for me?

Emathion.
Not Cleitophon; the elders were all mute.

Callirrhoë.
It is not that.
You will not die for me. Indeed, I thought
The city loved me.

Emathion.
My dear sister, think.
Men love their lives. You know not how it hurts—
The spectral crowd and the grim ferryman—
Sharp from the burning sunshine and blithe youth.
Come to Demophile's.
My dearest, fly, and we shall both be saved.

Callirrhoë.
My city—I will save it! Oh, be soothed
Poor mother, bending o'er thy tortured babe;—
It will recover. You, Emathion,
Say to this people I in ignorance
Have wrought them evil, let them flock to see
The expiation.

Emathion.
No, I'll never see
Knife near your breast.

Callirrhoë.
Although you pierced it through,
Emathion, when I knew you could not die
To save me. Think'st thou I had suffered it,
My beautiful, so amorous of the light?
What, give my mother's only boy to death!
Not so. I was a little grieved you failed,
But so you failed at the palæstra once,
Itys proved stronger—was it possible?
And so I kissed you. Now I add farewell!

Emathion.
Farewell, farewell! What would you have me do?
What do you mean? To leave me raving mad,
To wander round the temple? Stay with me,
Stay with me, succour, teach me to escape!
I shall go mad. I'm like a lighted torch—
There's fire upon my head. Deliver me!

Callirrhoë.
Vex not my few last breaths. Be serious.
Demophile will tend you faithfully,
Nay, dote on you. Think of Callirrhoë
Where she hath been most happy, by the brook;
And of my father, raising to his lips
My little twy-eared bowl.

Emathion.
No, not like that;—
Lying in bestial death i' the midst of blood.
Well, you must love this taste o' the shambles, love it,
To choose it. There, they'll drag me. From the hill
I hear them shriek Emathion. 'Tis like
Actæon with the hounds about his heart!
Pull them away!

Callirrhoë.
Emathion, be calm.
Fear not this people; 'tis for me they cry.
You, by this secret portal shall escape
And take the narrow cliff stairs to the home
Of good Demophile, who ever watches
Her children's blanching faces. Stay with her
Till you see health's bright tincture on their cheeks;
That is the sign that Calydon is saved,
And all at peace.

Emathion.
You . . .?

Callirrhoë.
Think you have left me at the spinning-wheel.
[Shuts and bolts the door behind him.
And that is true. A few more fateful threads!
The scissors blink on me. How very still
It is. They're waiting me. My little bed
Looks dreary, as they'd newly borne away
A corpse from it; ay, and a maiden corpse,
No children crowd to kiss.
To give one's body, with its great desire
For love—the very love it's fashioned for,
As firebrand for the flame-tip—to be cut
Away from sense, so that unlovingly
Men will behold it! Oh, my Hylia!
Death caught you sudden in a husband's arms!
He hath mistook his place—the rear of love,
Never the vanward. Shame on me! They come!

[Exit.