 | Ulysses |  |
117
SCENE II
Interior of the banqueting-hall in Ulysses' palace. The walls richly decorated and encrusted with coloured patterns, bosses and friezes of animals, etc. Two columns plated with bronze sustain the roof, the central part of which is raised so as to admit the light. On a wall hang the three spears and three shields as ordered by Ulysses, and in another place his bow in a richly-decorated case. The hall is lighted by lamps held by Attendants. The main entrance from without is through a doorway with a raised threshold in the centre of the stage at the back: this door stands open to the vestibule and the moonlight: a staircase on the left leads up to another door opening into the women's apartments. A daïs extends along the back of the hall: on this and on the floor to right and left are disposed the tables and couches where the Suitors are118
Great is he who fused the might
Of the earth and sun and rain
Into draughts of purple light,
Draughts that fire the heart and brain:
Let us praise him when the goblets flash in light
And the rapture of the revel fills the brain.
Of the earth and sun and rain
Into draughts of purple light,
Draughts that fire the heart and brain:
Let us praise him when the goblets flash in light
And the rapture of the revel fills the brain.
What were revel without wine?
What were wine without a song?
Let us hymn the gift divine
With a music wild and strong,
With a shouting for the god who gave the wine,
And a guerdon to the minstrel for his song.
What were wine without a song?
Let us hymn the gift divine
With a music wild and strong,
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And a guerdon to the minstrel for his song.
Blest is he who strikes the lyre
At the feast where princes quaff:
Higher mounts the mirth and higher,
Loud and louder peals the laugh—
At the feast where princes quaff:
Higher mounts the mirth and higher,
Loud and louder peals the laugh—
[Phemius breaks off suddenly, gazing on the Suitors in horror while a dim mist comes down on the hall and the moonlight is obscured.
Antin.
What ails thee, man?
Eurym.
Why dost thou stare on us?
Phem.
O wretched men! What doom is coming on ye?
What mist is this that overspreads the world?
Shrouded are all your faces in black night!
[They laugh together softly and sweetly.
See how the feast is dabbled o'er with blood,
And all your eyes rain tears, and though ye laugh
Sweetly on me, ye laugh with alien lips!
[Again they laugh sweetly upon him.
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Drip fast with blood, yea, and with blood the roof!
[They laugh again.
And the porch is full and full is the court of ghosts
And spirits hurrying hell-ward in the gloom,
Yea, and the light hath perished out of heaven!
Laugh not so idly on me with your lips,
But arise and flee! your doom is at the doors.
[Phemius hurries out of the hall. The mist clears and Ulysses is seen standing on the threshold in the central doorway unobserved by any.
Antin.
Madness is come upon him!
Eurym.
O, a poet!
Ctes.
He hath taken from me all desire for food.
And there! is that blood there? Eurymachus!
Am I not rosy and round as ever I was?
Eurym.
You are, Ctesippus.
Ctes.
And I see no ghosts.
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He hath drunk o'ermuch: hence all this mist and blood.
Eum.
[To Telemachus.]
O master, see you that old beggar man?
Say, shall I put him from the door? Out, out!
[With exaggerated roughness.
Ulys.
[Coming down into the hall.]
I crave a word, sir, with Ulysses' son.
Which is he?
Eum.
There!
Ulys.
[Approaching Telemachus humbly].
Suffer me, sir, a word!
I bring you tidings of your father.
Telem.
[With simulated harshness.]
O!
The old tale!
Ulys.
[Cringeingly.]
Sir!
Telem.
Out with thee!
Eum.
Out!
Telem.
Or stay!
Thou shalt have leave to limp from guest to guest
And eat what thou canst beg. As for your tale,
My father is long dead.
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Then first from you
I beg a crust of bread, or sip of wine.
Telem.
Here's for thee.
[Tosses him bread.
Ulys.
Humbly, sir, I thank you.
[He passes from guest to guest.
A Suitor.
Here.
[Pushes wine-cup to him.
Ctes.
My appetite is fled: take what you will.
Eurym.
Here is a gristly morsel for old gums.
Mel.
[To Antinous, as Ulysses approaches.]
Antinous, keep the old man far from me!
He'll soil this robe; and hath a smell of swine.
Ulys.
I would not soil you, lady; but you, sir—
Antin.
You louting beggar, I have nought for you!
From me!
[He strikes him on the mouth.
Eurym.
He stood thy buffet like a rock!
Ulys.
O my deep soul, endure!
Telem.
[Starting up.]
Antinous,
I'll have no beggar struck within my halls!
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Oho! And did I strike one of thy blood
Or of thy guests? Thou filthy beggar, off!
[Strikes him again.
Ulys.
Athene, patience!
Eum.
All my blood boils up.
[Throws log savagely on fire.
Ulys.
[Coming near to Antinous.]
O noble sir, of all who feast around,
Tall men and fair, thou art the fairest far,
And splendid in thy youth and in thy strength.
But I am old and many have I seen
So fair, so strong, fallen into misery,
Princes whom in their pride the gods laid low.
Remember in thy strength the evil days.
Antin.
[Starting up.]
This dismal beggar I'll endure no more,
Who gibbers at the feast of evil days.
Away with him or I will hurl him forth.
Ctes.
A sad feast this—the minstrel first sees blood:
And now this beggar croaks to us of age.
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Since he came in we are all grown miserable.
Mel.
Sirs, drive him forth, that we may laugh again.
Suitors.
[Rising from the tables.]
Out with the old crow! cast him out: away!
[They come round Ulysses and hustle him to the door.
Telem.
I say the old man shall not be thrust forth.
[Aside to Ulysses.]
Is it now, father, is it now?
Eum.
When, when?
Suitors.
[Hustling Ulysses.]
Out with him!
Handmaids.
Spit on him!
Suitors.
Unloose the dogs!
Ctes.
[Interposing.]
A word, a word! thy mother still delays:
Let us beguile the time; leave him to me,
And we'll wring laughter from this kill-joy yet.
[To Ulysses with mock deference.]
Give me your hand, old man!
[To Suitors.]
These beggars all
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Behind these rags and filth what man thou art.
Tell us—and now I look on thee I mark
A something noble in thy air—thou hadst
A palace once, and riches, hadst thou not?
Ulys.
A palace and great riches had I once.
[General laughter.
Ctes.
[To Suitors.]
What said I? Yet in rags the great are known.
Wast thou not in old days thyself a king?
Ulys.
In the old days I was myself a king.
[All laugh heartily.
Ctes.
[To Suitors.]
Hush!
[To Ulysses.]
Look around; even such a hall hadst thou.
Ulys.
[Gazing slowly around.]
Once did I feast in some such hall as this.
Ctes.
Not by thine own fault (ah! I know it well)
But by some anger of the gods thou art fallen.
Ulys.
The gods, the gods have brought me to this pass.
Antin.
Impudent liar!
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And thou didst leave behind
A wife most beautiful, a queen of women!
Telem.
How long will he endure?
Eum.
O for a blow!
Mel.
He is grown cautious, he'll not speak to that.
Clyt.
His wife! Some addled hag that tendeth swine!
Mel.
Was woman found to mate her with such mud?
Telem.
His spirit is dead in him.
Eum.
Thou art broken at last!
Clyt.
He speaks not! See, the old fool's eyes are dim.
Mel.
[With mock caress.]
O shall I kiss thy tears away, my love?
Chlor.
Thy wife is old: wilt thou have me, fair youth?
Clyt.
O wouldst thou take me, bridegroom, to thy halls!
Eurym.
Cease, cease! Ye all mistake. He hath come here
A suitor for Penelope.
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[Throwing cup at him.]
Then take
This gift to aid thy suit.
A Suitor.
[Throwing a bowl.]
And this.
Ctes.
[Throwing a scrap from the feast.]
And this.
Others.
[Casting things upon him.]
And here: and here.
Ctes.
Now up and urge thy suit!
Telem.
[To Eumæus.]
Why wait a word that never comes? The swords!
Eum.
Stay, stay: he looks on us, and his eye burns.
Enter Penelope down staircase from the upper chambers; she walks slowly and sadly to her chair beside the hearth in the centre of the room.
Suitors.
[Making way for her and then gathering to right and left of her in the central space.]
The Queen, the Queen!
Antin.
Now be the bridegroom chosen!
Eurym.
Lady, this is the night when thou shalt choose.
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Bring forth this wooer lordliest and last.
Ctes.
These rags are but a guise: a noble man!
Pen.
[To Telemachus.]
Child, knowest thou this old man whom they mock?
Telem.
Mother, it is an old poor beggar man
Who says that he brings tidings of my father.
Wilt thou not hear him, mother, ere thou choose?
Eurym.
Art thou still eager, lady, for new lies?
Antin.
Art thou not weary of these beggars' tales?
Pen.
I have been too oft deceived: now my still heart
I bare no more to every beggar's eye:
Sacred shall be this hunger of my soul
And silent till the end—
[To Telemachus, who makes signs to her.]
What wouldst thou say?
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[Taking her apart.]
Mother, a word; but a word.
Antin.
[Interposing.]
Stand back, young sir!
There shall be no more plots between you two.
[Murmurs of assent.
Nor beggars weave another web—of lies.
The moon is full! Now shalt thou choose at once.
Telem.
Mother!
Antin.
An end of tricks!
Some Suitors.
Thy word, thy word!
Others.
Now answer!
Others.
Now no more delay!
All.
Choose, choose!
[They all crowd about Penelope to hear her decision, Ulysses in the meantime crouching in the ashes by the hearth.
Ulys.
Goddess, hast thou forsaken me at last?—
Telem.
[To Ulysses.]
A moment, and too late!
130
I wait the sign!
Pen.
Speak any then who will: I'll answer him.
Ctes.
I claim to speak the first.
Eurym.
By right of age.
Ctes.
Lady, I cannot speak as a raw boy,
But as a man of comfortable years;
Though in my youth more terrible was none
To foemen; and I like not to remember
The blood that I have spilt. Behold me now
A man not old, but mellow, like good wine,
Not over-jealous, yet an eager husband.
This figure something of Apollo lacks,
But though I might not catch the eye of a girl,
Still a wise woman would consider well,
Ponder by nights ere she would let me go.
Yet I would urge less what Ctesippus is
Than what Ctesippus has the power to give.
[To Attendants.]
Now hold up to the moon that glimmering robe;
Turn it this way and that; this coffer now,
With armlets of wrought gold, brooches of price,
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These draught-boards, ivory inlaid with silver,
That glistering tire and these enamelled chains.
Lo, whatsoever woman can desire
I'll give thee without pause and without stint,
Wilt thou but suffer me to lead thee home.
Pen.
Ctesippus, not the glory of gems or gold
Can move me: hath the sea a pearl so rich
As dead Ulysses which it treasureth
Far down, far from these eyes? Rather would I
Possess some rag of him drawn up perchance
By nets of seamen hauling 'neath the moon
Than all these jewels glistering at my feet.
How couldst thou think to please me with these toys,
When in that chamber I have garnered up
Garments more rich to me, faded and dim,
Old robes and tarnished armour lovelier far?
Those hadst thou seen, thou couldst not offer these.
Eum.
[To Ctesippus.]
Now thou hast leave to go—
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Your pardon, princes.
Eurym.
Lady, I bring no gauds of pearl and gold,
I know thou art not this way to be lured.
I share thy grief for him who now is dead:
Noble was he, a wise man and a strong.
O were he here, I first would clasp his hand.
A moment till my voice return to me.
[He bows his head on his hands.
But she who sits enthroned may not prolong
The luxury of tears; nor may she waste
In lasting widowhood a people's hopes,
So hard is height, so cruel is a crown.
Thou art a queen: a moment then for grief;
Then for the people what remains of life.
I offer thee the comfort of high cares,
And consolation from imperial tasks:
To share with me the governance of a land
And bring thy woman's insight to the state;
The touch that's gracious, deft, and feminine.
I know thou art not this way to be lured.
I share thy grief for him who now is dead:
Noble was he, a wise man and a strong.
O were he here, I first would clasp his hand.
A moment till my voice return to me.
[He bows his head on his hands.
But she who sits enthroned may not prolong
The luxury of tears; nor may she waste
In lasting widowhood a people's hopes,
So hard is height, so cruel is a crown.
Thou art a queen: a moment then for grief;
Then for the people what remains of life.
I offer thee the comfort of high cares,
And consolation from imperial tasks:
To share with me the governance of a land
And bring thy woman's insight to the state;
The touch that's gracious, deft, and feminine.
Sea-gazing consort of a hero dead,
Reign thou with me, and find in rule relief.
That thou no longer art a girl, and green,
Troubles me not; rather I prize thee more
For that long suffering and sleeplessness
And the sweet wisdom of thy widowhood.
Thou hast caught splendour from the sailless sea,
And mystery from many stars outwatched;
Rarer art thou from yearning and more rich.
Humbly I would entreat you for my answer.
Reign thou with me, and find in rule relief.
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Troubles me not; rather I prize thee more
For that long suffering and sleeplessness
And the sweet wisdom of thy widowhood.
Thou hast caught splendour from the sailless sea,
And mystery from many stars outwatched;
Rarer art thou from yearning and more rich.
Humbly I would entreat you for my answer.
Pen.
Sir, could I list to any, 'twere to thee:
Fair were thy words, and such as women love,
And thou hast found my brain, but not my heart,
Feigning a ruth I felt thou didst not feel.
Ask me not to forget in public good
This solitary, dear, and piercing loss.
Rather would I remember one dead man,
Wasting the years away, and yet remember,
Than rule a living kingdom by thy side.
Alas! I am a woman utterly!
Antin.
Enough of jewels, and enough of thrones!
Would these men lure thee? I by thee am lured.
For thee, O woman, thee alone, I thirst.
134
Ashens the hair and scribbles round the eye,
Weareth not thee, thou miracle, away,
Ever in beauty waxing without wane.
No more I'll toss upon a burning bed,
Leap out at midnight on a smouldering floor,
Pacing, pacing away the aching night.
Thou, thou didst light this fire, and thou shalt quench it.
Telem.
[Aside to Ulysses.]
Dost thou hear, father?
Ulys.
Goddess, now the sign!
Antin.
Or, if thou will not, I'll compel thee.
[Murmurs.
O!
I care not for your murmurs: I risk all!
Come now away! or on the instant I
Will catch thee in these arms up from the ground
And fling thee o'er my shoulder, and run with thee
As from a house aflame.
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I'll spill thy blood.
Ulys.
Unleash me, goddess, let me go.
Eum.
Up, up!
Antin.
For what dost thou still wait? For whom, for whom?
Thy husband? he is dead, drowned in the ooze:
The fish are at him now in the deep slime.
Pen.
O!
Telem.
[To Ulysses.]
Art thou tame?
Ulys.
I bite these bloody lips.
Antin.
Or if he be not dead, what is he now?
A shambling shadow, a wrecked, mumbling ghost,
A man no more: no better than yon beggar
That huddles to the fire: so bowed, so worn,
So ragged and ruined, and so filthy and fallen!
Look on that beggar! There thy husband see!
Pen.
Splendid Antinous, I tell thee this;
That if my husband on this moment came
In by that door even as yon beggar man,
So bowed, so worn, so ragged and so fallen,
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And hold his holy ruins in my arms,
Than touch thee in thy glory and thy strength.
Ulys.
[Starting up.]
O nobly spoken!
[Uproar.
Suffer an old man
Antin.
Now answer.
Eurym.
Lady!
Ctes.
Bring those robes again!
Pen.
[Bewildered.]
Sirs, but one moment, will you give me leave?
Then do I swear by all the gods to choose.
A womanish last request—a silly favour!
Antin.
O!
Eurym.
[Fawning on her.]
Lady, I will not refuse thee.
Pen.
'Tis
That I may satisfy me if this beggar
Perhaps doth bring me tidings of Ulysses.
Antin.
This but to put us by!
Eurym.
Suffer her, sirs!
[The Suitors retire sullenly up.
137
Pen.
Old man, wilt thou deceive me yet again?
Be not afraid: there's nought in me to fear.
Ulys.
I'll not deceive thee, lady: nearer draw
And motion all away!
[Penelope signs to all to move away.
Canst thou endure
The shaft of sudden joy, yet make no cry?
Pen.
Though I shall fall I'll not cry out: say, say.
Ulys.
Ulysses lives—thou art gone white—be still!
Grip fast thy chair and look upon the ground?—
And he is very near to thee even now.
Pen.
Where, where?
Ulys.
This night is he in Ithaca;
Perchance even now is rushing to his halls;
Might at this moment come in by that door.
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How shall I trust thy tale? If thou sayest true
Thou ne'er shalt beg again.
Ulys.
I come from him.
Pen.
What is thy name?
Ulys.
Idomeneus from Crete.
He charged me with these tidings—and this ring.
Pen.
This would he not have given: O this was pulled
From his dead finger!
Ulys.
Lady, if I lie,—
If on this night Ulysses comes not home,—
Then give me to thy thralls to slay me here.
Pen.
Ah! they will kill him.
Ulys.
Fear not; he is wise.
Only do thou each moment still delay
Thy answer.
Pen.
Yet what plea?
Ulys.
Propose to them
Some simple trial whereby thou mayst choose.
Pen.
What, what?
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The bow: is that Ulysses' bow?
Pen.
Cherished and daily suppled by these hands.
Ulys.
Say thou wilt choose whoe'er shall bend his bow.
But still to interpose some brief delay,
Call you some woman forth to bathe my feet.
Pen.
Melantho, bring clear water hither and bathe
This old man's feet.
Mel.
I? I'll not touch his feet,
For I can touch the lips of better men.
Ulys.
Lady, some woman that hath seen much sorrow
As I have.
Pen.
Eurycleia, bathe his feet.
[Eurycleia brings water in a brazen vessel to Ulysses; as he lifts his robe she sees the scar and drops the basin.
Eur.
The scar there.
Ulys.
Wouldst thou slay me? hold thy peace.
140
What ails thee, Eurycleia?
Eur.
O my mistress!
These old hands tremble even at such a task.
Antin.
[Advancing.]
Now, lady, now! This is delay enough!
Hast thou at last heard tidings of thy lord?
Doth he come home to-night?
Pen.
Alas, alas!
He is drowned, and from his finger, lo! this ring.
Antin.
Thou'rt satisfied at last?
Suitors
Now answer: choose.
Pen.
No one of you I like above the rest,
Yet have I sworn to choose: so I will put
This matter to a simple trial.
Suitors
What?
Pen.
See where behind you hangs Ulysses' bow.
He that can bend his bow and loose a shaft,
Him will I take as husband from you all.
[They rush to take it.
Suitors.
The bow!
141
[Staying them.]
My son alone shall reach it down
After such time shall be the first to touch it.
[Penelope retires down to watch the trial. Telemachus brings down the bow and a sheaf of arrows. Ctesippus advances, and after much groaning and panting fails to string it.
Ctes.
Easily in the morning could I bend it,
But I have supped!
[Eurymachus essays to string it and fails.
Eurym.
Lady, wilt choose a husband
For brutish force? what play hath the mind here?
[Antinous fails to string the bow.
Antin.
If I can bend it not, no man can bend it.
Pen.
[To Others.]
And will you not essay? or you?
Others.
Not we.
Another.
Where craft and strength have failed what use for us?
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I will wed no man till he bend that bow.
[Angry murmurs among the Suitors. Lightning flashes; Ulysses recognises by the sign that the moment for action has come.
Ulys.
[Rising.]
Lady, and princes, but to make you sport,
I will essay to bend Ulysses' bow:
[Loud laughter.
To make you sport—for I have supped full well.
Antin.
Impudent rags! Thou shalt not vie with us.
Telem.
The beggar shall make trial: come, old man!
Ctes.
The old man! excellent!
All.
[Laughing loudly.]
The beggar man!
Eurym.
Come forth, thou wooer lordliest and last.
Antin.
Here is a broad mark for thy shaft, old man.
Pen.
Ah, mock him not!
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Sirs, but to make you sport.
[He totters towards the bow.
Athene, strength! O if my might should fail me!
[He takes the bow, and after simulated faltering strings it amid the amazed silence of the Suitors. He springs to his height, and appears in his own likeness, his rags falling from him and disclosing him armed and in the full glory of manhood. He shoots, killing Antinous, who falls.
Dogs, do ye know me now?
Pen.
[Rushing towards him.]
Ulysses!
Ulys.
Back!
[The wicked Handmaids fly huddling up the staircase into the women's quarters, Eurycleia pursuing them.
Suitors.
[Amazedly amongst themselves.]
Ulysses! is it he? Is it he—Ulysses?
144
I have seen the scar; 'tis he! O vengeance here!
Ulys.
Who is for me? The swords there and the shields!
[Telemachus and Eumæus snatch down the weapons, and arming Ulysses and themselves, stand by him.
Eurym.
[Coming over fawningly from among the Suitors towards Ulysses.]
Hero restored, I'll stand by thee for one!
Ulys.
[Striding out and spearing him.]
Would'st fawn on me? go fawn among the dead.
[Eurymachus falls. The Suitors, finding no weapons on the walls, crowd waveringly together.
Ctes.
[Encouraging them.]
We are ten to one: crush, crush them by sheer weight.
[The Suitors make a headlong rush upon Ulysses and his companions, but are stayed in mid rush by thunder, lightning, and supernatural
145
Suitors.
The gods fight for him, fly! we are undone.
[Athene and Ulysses with Eumæus and Telemachus fall on them, and they are driven in fierce brief medley, visible by flashes of lightning, and with noise of groans and falls, out headlong through the door. The darkness lifts, discovering Ulysses standing on the threshold at the upper end of the hall, Athene still at his side He turns, laying by sword and shield, while Penelope gazes in passionate expectancy toward him from the corner of the hall.
Ulys.
[Solemnly.]
First unto Zeus and to Athene praise!
146
And leave me with Penelope alone.
Ath.
Thou art come home, Ulysses! Now farewell!
For violated laws are here avenged,
And I, who brought thee through those bitter years,
Those bitter years which make this moment sweet,
I, even, in this moment have no share.
[Athene disappears.
[Ulysses and Penelope slowly approach each other across the hall, with rapt gaze hesitatingly. Then she is folded to his breast in silence, while the voice of the Minstrel is heard without, repeating the words of the song from the First Act, and the fire on the hearth, which has burnt low throughout this scene, leaps up into sudden brightness.
| Ulysses | |