University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

—Inside Troy, near the Scæan Gate.
Enter Troilus [L.], in a gala costume.
Troi.
I'm giddy—expectation whirls me round.
I've got no straps on. No; yet from the ground
Lifted I seem. Cupid a meeting grants.
Hence these strange flutterings, and these new “pants!”
After long months of obduracy strange,
Over her bosom there has come a change.
How about my shirt front? All right, I think.
Having brought me to desperation's brink,
The darling soul—I hope she'll like my boot—
Seems—Hang it, she must smile upon this suit:
I've had it made express for the occasion.
Yes, the dear girl, long deaf to all persuasion,
At length consents to take a walk with me,
And crown our raptures with a cup of tea!

Enter Cupid, disguised as Pandarus [L.].
Troi.
Ha, Pandarus!

Cupid.
She's getting ready.
[Aside to audience.]
Mum!
I have Sir Pandarus of Troy become,
And by my side wear steel which he has felt,
But my disguise's secret has not smelt.

Troi.
Will she be long, good Pandarus?

Cupid.
Why, no.
She's a quick dresser—say three hours or so.

Troi.
Oh, it will seem an age!

Cupid.
Wait till you see
The wonderful results.

Troi.
Sweet coz, tell me
What does she mean to wear?

Cupid.
Her maid ne'er blabs.
I only know it came home in six cabs.
But I'll go in and ascertain what progress.

[Exit L.
Troi.
Troilus, how now? Is it a witch, or ogress,
Or gentle Cressid you await? Be steady!

Re-enter Cupid, leading Cressida.
Cupid.
Come on!

Cressida
[timidly].
I really couldn't.

Troi.
What, already!
Now heaven walks on earth!

Cupid.
Come, Miss Demure,
The prince won't bite.

Cres.
Oh, kinsman, are you sure?

Cupid
[putting her arm in that of Troilus].
There!

Troi.
[aside].
Bliss unhoped for!

Cupid.
Does it hurt?

Cres.
Not much.

Troi.
The thrilling rapture of those fingers' touch!
Lady, you have bereft me of all words.

Cupid.
You, pretty pair of jolly green love-birds,
At leisure, bill and coo, and leave to me
The arduous task of seeing about tea.

[Exit R.
Troi.
Cressid, how often have I wish'd me thus!

Cres.
Have you, my lord?

Troi.
O joy delirious!
Those silver tones, more than War's brazen trumpets,
Ring through my soul, and say—

Cupid
[re-entering].
Muffins or crumpets?

Troi.
Both. [Exit Cupid.]
My heart's feelings must remain unutter'd,
For the most honey'd speeches—

Cupid
[re-entering].
Dry or butter'd?

Troi.
The latter. [Exit Cupid.]
Has my Cressid nought to say?

Cres.
Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day.
For weary months—

Troi.
What sounds do I drink in?
Why was my Cressid, then, so hard to win?

Cres.
Hard to seem won, my lord; but I was won.

Troi.
There's not another in the world—

Cres.
[raising her hand].
Have done!

Troi.
[catching her hand, and offering to put a ring on it].
Nay, that hand's mine, so—

Cres.
You may try it on.

Troi.
Again this cripple tongue both halts and limps
When I anticipate our future—

Cupid
[re-entering].
Shrimps?

Troi.
We're coming, Pandarus—whate'er you please.

[Exit Cupid.
Cres.
I wish he'd not annoy one with his teas.

Troi.
Blame not the friend whose kindliness so striking
Has sweeten'd my cup so much to my liking
With sweet perfection's cream. Ah, how she blush'd!
You lump of best refined, come and be crush'd!

[Embraces her. Exeunt R.
Alarums, shouts below. Enter Priam [R.], Thymœtes, Lampus. Antenor, and other Trojan Elders.
Priam
[looking off after Troilus].
Eh? Where's that puppy off to now, I wonder?
[Shouts below.
Come, lads, we're just in time. [Looks over the walls.]
Eh? Turf and thunder!
My spectacles, how stupid to forget!
Of course there's no one here with a lorgnette.

Ant.
My eyes, though queer, enable me to say
There's a much better pair coming this way.

Priam.
Whose?

Ant.
Helen's.

Priam.
Ha! she wants to see the fun.
[The old men have disposed themselves in attitudes looking over the walls.
Enter Cupid [R.].
“Lean'd on the walls, and basking in the sun,
Chiefs who no more in bloody fight engage,
But wise through time, and narrative with age.”
The poor old fogies! 'Twouldn't hurt them much,
But do them good, to give them each a touch.

[Draws a dart, and stabs the old men with it in rapid succession, and runs out L.
Priam
[startled].
What's that?

Clyt.
Police!

Lamp.
Stop thief!

Ant.
Great king of Troy,
'Twas nothing but a little vulgar boy.

Priam.
A saucy knave! but never mind him. Eh?

Ant.
No; metal more attractive comes this way.

Priam
[poking him in the ribs].
You rogue!

Lamp.
“No wonder such celestial charms
For nine long years have set the world in arms.”

Ant.
You dog!

Clyt.
“What graces, what majestic mien!
She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen!”

Music. Enter Helen, attended by her handmaids, Clymene and Æthra, Hecuba and her suite following.
Priam.
Approach, my child, and grace thy father's side.
[Aside to Antenor.]
Forty years younger—eh? one might have tried
Against the youngsters. See, on yonder plain,
Thy former husband and thy kinsfolks' train.
No crime of thine our present suffering draws—

Helen.
Please don't, papa-in-law—

Priam.
Why not?

Helen.
Because
Mamma from praise, even the slightest speck, you bar.

Hecuba.
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?

Priam
[aside].
Lord, what a difference! My love, your pardon—

[Shouts below.
Ant.
[looking over wall].
They're at it now in earnest—laying hard on.

Hecuba.
Make room for me!

[Shouts continued.
Priam.
By Jove and Mars, they're at it!
Twenty to one on Paris! Eh? 'Od rat it—
He bolts—turns tail—a son of mine—and flee!

Helen.
He always runs away—he did with me.

[Shouts.
Hecuba.
Aha! turn'd tail you said?

Priam.
Dare you gainsay us?
The tail he has turn'd, though, by Menelaus
Is seized—I mean the horsetail of his casque!

Hecuba
[shrieks].
Horror! My son!

Helen.
My husband!

Enter Paris [L.], coolly fanning himself.
Paris
[foppishly].
May I ask
The cause of this disturbance?

Priam
[astonished].
Paris here?

Hecuba.
Alive?

Helen.
Unhurt?

Paris.
It does seem rather queer,
But yet quite explicable when one made is,
As I am, such a fav'rite with the ladies.

Priam.
Puppy effeminate, explain this riddle!
But now we saw you fighting in the middle
Of yonder distant plain with Menelaus.

Paris.
Coarse party—like what cockneys call a dray 'oss!
Hits brutally!

Priam.
But how escaped you him?

Paris.
As yet I scarcely know—my senses swim.
Some kind celestial being stepp'd between us,
In whom I recognised—or think so—Venus:
Whisk'd me up here instanter in a cloud.
'Twould turn most heads; but, bless you, I'm not proud:
I take it as my due. My love of loves—

Helen.
My dear?

Paris.
The curling-tongs and clean white gloves
Send to my dressing-room—I'm quite dishevell'd;
I've been so—pray excuse the word—bedevil'd
By that rude Spartan person, whom I fear
I positively must have touch'd—O dear!
My hands to whiten and deodorise
Want two good hours of nail-brush exercise.
I'm going, sweet, to bath; bid Jane or Fanny
Bring me an uncork'd flask of frangipanni.

[Exit R.
Helen.
Whence could the sad infatuation emanate
That made me love that coxcomb so effeminate?
That bent my royal will to sign, in fact,
That strange Divorce and Matrimonial Act,
For him from home and friends and duty straying?
Go, go to Bath, and get— [checks herself]
. What am I saying?
His head shaved—horror!—of those curls ambrosial?
No! friends, fame, fortune, rather would I lose ye all,
My native hills and my adoptive vales cut,
Than see one paring of his filbert nails cut.
Still must I place my neck beneath a foot
That wears so exquisite a Paris boot.
Paris, my husband! my affection's winner,
Thy Helen comes to help thee dress for dinner.

[Exit after him.
Priam.
What shouts are those disturb the peaceful camps?

Enter Homer, running [L.].
Homer.
Have you a wafer and eight postage stamps?

Priam.
No. Why?

Homer.
There's such a precious row below!
Venus whisk'd Paris off—but that you know.
And that's not half. Minerva's play'd the deuce,
By prompting Pandarus to break the truce.
That party rashly let an arrow fly,
And wounded Menelaus in the thigh.
They're at it, tongs and hammer, tooth and nail;
Hector is laying on them like a flail:
Where'er he shows, the Greeks his prowess damps.
My kingdom for a wafer and eight stamps!

[Rushes out R. Shouts resumed below, L.
Priam.
On horror's head horrors accumulate—
The Greeks are forcing in the Scæan gate.
But ah! those shouts not thus the vanquish'd chafe.
What do I see?

Hecuba.
My boy—my Hector safe!

[Trojans run in L., shouting.
Hector enters rapidly in a four-horse chariot; his helmet and shield are battered, his sword and spear broken.
Hector
[descending hastily, and kissing his mother].
Just time to take a kiss—perhaps a snack.
Where's the old woman? Fetch her! Here, come back!
Tell her to bring the boy. [Exit Soldier.]
Where's Troilus?

Priam.
Courting.

Hector.
My right-hand man at such a time disporting?
Oh, treach'rous Cupid, you're a nice ally!
Quick! a new spear, sword, shield, and helmet—fly!
I broke this lath on Agamemnon's head;
[Throws hilt away.
This 'gainst Tydides' shield in splinters fled.
[Throws end of spear away.
A stone smash'd this [shows battered shield]
, by Ajax thrown, no doubt.
I shall be back in time to serve him out.

Hecuba.
Return not to the field to-day, my son.

Hector.
Mother, be quiet! Vanish ev'ry one,
And leave these ramparts clear, lest I compel you:
We're going to have it hot, that I can tell you.
Pallas and Juno both assist the Greeks—
Their fav'rite Diomed fearful vengeance wreaks
Upon our troops, with blows by no means light,
But Diomedrically opposite.
SONG.—Hector.
[Exeunt omnes except Hector.

Hector.
Why stays Andromache when I expect her?
I wonder what folks think of me as Hector.
The name stands high—most warlike ones below it;
And shall it fall to-day? Not if I know it.
For these dear walls, familiar to my sight,
My ev'ry nerve and ev'ry ounce of fight
I'll strain to stand, without defeat's alloy,
This new and unforeseen attack on Troy.
But see where comes, what checks with potent charm
The jester's laugh, unnerves the warrior's arm.

Enter Andromache [R.]. followed by a Nurse, with Astyanax in a pretty, classic-shaped perambulator.
And.
[embracing him].
My lord!

Hector.
Andromache!

And.
You are not hurt?

Hector.
Not even scratch'd, my darling.

And.
My desert
Scarce merits this. This rapture after pain
How many times may I enjoy again?

Hector.
Come, come!

And.
The bitter watching on the walls;
The agony, as ev'ry helmet falls;
The straining eyes with sick'ning film oppress'd,
Afraid to see that 'tis my Hector's crest;
The twilight joy I feel when once again
Thy plumes I witness waving o'er the plain;
The glare of bliss, oppressive as the sun
To lidless eyes, when thee, my only one,
I see returning scathless from the fight—
I cannot bear the darkness or the light.
Leave me no more—

Hector.
Tut!

And.
Or a night will come,
So long and dark! with even Hope's voice dumb
To whisper that the sun will shine again,
Or only speak to whisper it in vain.
Leave me no more!

Hector.
What you! a soldier's wife!
Is this the way to nerve me to the strife,
When Greeks and gods their blows have 'gainst struck now?
Be a real Trojan—think yourself in Luck now,
To own a husband who can fight for Troy.
You haven't even let me kiss the boy.

And.
[presenting the child].
Doesn't he grow?

[The child turns his head away.
Hector.
He scarcely grows polite.
What! of his daddy can't he bear the sight,

And.
“The babe clung, crying, to his nurse's breast,
Scared by the dazzling plume and nodding crest.”
He doesn't like that thing, nor I—remove it.

Hector.
Since such distinguish'd judges disapprove it,
Behold the evil floor'd!
[Kisses the child, who this time submits.
That's better, rather.
Now let me talk to you, sir, as a father.
Tread in my shoes. Of course, you'll wait a bit:
At present they're in use, and wouldn't fit;
But when they're yours, to keep them clean, with care
Avoid the gutters, and walk on the square.
Unbribed to learn your duty make a rule;
That is, don't cry for halfpence going to school.
Defend the little 'uns; bullies' threats despise;
But, mind hit no one under your own size.
Enjoy each holiday with cheerfulness,
But never get yourself into a mess.
To gain your class's head become a martyr,
Not for the prize of ribbon, star, or garter,
Or bust, slab, monument, which oft truth garbles
(I hope my boy will never cheat at marbles);
And when your task is done, your prayers are said,
Like a good boy go cheerfully to bed.
Follow rough Hector's rule—you'll need no other—
To make you grow a man—before your mother.

Enter Æneas, wounded [L.].
Æneas.
You're wanted, quick.

Hector.
Æneas, how now, stupid?

Æneas.
Diomed's wounded me, my brother Cupid,
(Disguised as Pand'rus), and our mother Venus.
E'en Mars, who from his fury tried to screen us,
He's sent home groaning from a dreadful stab.

Hector.
Away, then, with domestic weakness! Cab!

[His chariot is brought in R.. Priam, Helen, Hecuba, Paris, Antenor, &c., come in with it.
And.
Dear husband, go not—

Hecuba.
Hector!

Hector.
Peace, mamma!

Paris
[eating, with a plate and champagne glass in his hand].
We've such a splendid pâté de foie gras.
Do stop and dine.

Hector.
O wretch! thy country's foe!
Thy hate to Troy is this the time to show?
Paris and Greece against us both conspire:
To bake your pies our fat is in the fire.
To oil a blade for fight too weak and narrow,
A toy-shop beau that can't e'en shoot an arrow.

Paris.
Did you say beau?

Hector.
I did, my kinsman spruce,
Regretting that I said it—to a goose.

Paris.
You quite invigorate a man, old chap!
Pray, have you room for one inside your trap?

Hector.
What! do you mean it?

Paris.
Yes, I do.

Hector
[slaps him on back].
A trump!

Helen.
Paris, you'll hurt yourself! Mind how you jump!

[Paris gets into chariot.
Hector
[pulls on gloves].
Give them their heads! Get all indoors again!
Now Xanthus, Lampus—good old horses then!
Æthon, Podargus, prove your gen'rous race.
If e'er horse-taming Hector earn'd a place
In your affections; if beyond his means
He e'er indulged you in good wine-steep'd beans;
If good warm stabling ye've enjoy'd of old,
Give me to seize rich Nestor's shield of gold,
And Diomed's arms by Vulcan's skill design'd,
Paris, you muff, hold on! All right behind!

[Drives off rapidly, L. The others follow cheering. Alarums. One or two large stones are thrown over the wall; an arrow sticks in the stage.
Enter Homer [R.], writing calmly, an arrow in his helmet.
Homer
[writes].
“The Greeks are throwing stones—”
[A large stone hits him; he catches it.
I call that pleasant!
[Goes to wall, and throws the stone back.
“And so no more on that head just at present.
The usual foresight of my gifted order
Enables me to be the brief recorder
Of what is going to happen. In a trice,
This present hot work will both sides suffice:
There'll be another truce before the night.
Hector will challenge then, to single fight,
The bravest Greek, to settle their dispute,
The Greeks will then draw lots to see who'll suit.
'Twill fall on Ajax—p'rhaps 'twill disconcert him;
But, being strong, a lot more wouldn't hurt him.
[Trumpet.
Hah! signal for the truce.
[Writes].
“They've ceased to fight:
Your correspondent was, as usual, right.”
[Slow music. Wounded Trojans pass over the stage, L. to R.
“The wounded Trojans from the field return.”
[To a wounded Soldier.]
Your name, my friend?
[The Trojan passes on with an impatient gesture.
“As yet I cannot learn
The list of wounded; but—”
[To another Trojan passing.]
Sir, pardon me—
[The Trojan knocks him down and goes out R.
“Your correspondent has not 'scaped scot free.
[Muffled drums and a dead march.
Aha! an ambulance this way proceeding!

[Cupid is borne in on a litter, wounded.
Cupid.
Here's a sad go, old fellow! Love lies bleeding!

Homer.
Not kill'd, I hope, my pet?

Cupid.
You precious flat!
Do you suppose that they could manage that?
Love cannot die, but there are various things
That may conspire to singe or break his wings.

Homer.
Love shouldn't fight.

Cupid.
A pretty phrase in writing;
But Love, unfortunately, dotes on fighting.
Yet, if rude knocks his tender skin annoy,
Love changes into Hate.

Homer.
You naughty boy!
I'll tell your mother.

Cupid
[angry].
How now, master poet?
Whose servant, pray, are you?

Homer.
Love's slave—I know it.

Cupid.
Then don't presume to answer your young master;
Bridle your tongue, and let your legs move faster.
Fetch Cressida.

Homer.
Anything else, great king?

Cupid.
Not for the moment. If there is I'll ring.
[Exit Homer, R.
Tremble, fierce Greeks! Love will his vengeance hurl,
In the dread missile of a pretty girl.
There, you may go; I'm rather more the thing;
[To Attendants.
At any rate, I'm well enough to sing.
[Exeunt Attendants.
SONG.—Cupid.
[Retires.

Enter Hector, Æneas, Paris, and Diomed [L.].
Hector.
Welcome to Troy, thou flow'r of Grecian virtue!
And let me hope and trust I didn't hurt you.

Dio.
Not much.

Hector.
The next time, if preferr'd more hot,
Pray don't say no, if you would rather not.

Dio.
[politely].
I won't—rely upon it. But to business—

Hector.
True—(pray excuse the rhyme)—exchange of prisoners.
Calchas's child is sent for, I believe,
[Aside].
If Cupid's word for aught one dares receive,
And will be here anon. That other matter—
My challenge to the Greeks—

Dio.
Sir—not to flatter—
Consider that fight won.

Hector.
You do me proud.

Dio.
The only Greek, by common voice allow'd,
Great Hector's match in pluck, nerve, muscle, bulk,
Is very ill.

Hector.
Dear me! His ailment?

Dio.
Sulk.

Hector.
A bad attack?

Dio.
Incurable, 'tis thought;
So, in his absence, Ajax has been brought,
At your superior hands, to seek disaster.

Hector.
It may prove Ajax AS good as his master.
That fact one trial must decide; but see!
Here comes your ransom'd prisoner.

[Cupid slips round, stabs Diomed in the side with an arrow, and withdraws.
Dio.
[looking off R.].
Dear me!

Homer enters [R.], bringing in Cressida, Troilus following.
Homer.
Now you must come.

Troi.
Divide us nothing shall.

Hector.
What! Troilus running after that there gal?

Troi.
Give me my Cressid!

Hector.
Yours?

Troi.
We are engaged.

Hector.
Pray, sir, where were you when the battle waged?

Troi.
At tea.

Hector.
With she?

Troi.
With her.

Hector
[restraining his rage].
Let's have no clamour!
Troilus, you've ventured to asperse my grammar;
But that's a trifle, scarce deserving heed:
I'm in the army, and the Tenth don't read.
Much more than that—I find a soldier brave
In war time turn'd a wench's milksop slave.
Therefore, my Grecian friend, I've nought to say,
Except instanter take that girl away!

Enter Homer [L.], writing: his helmet is smashed, and his coat torn and covered with mud.
Homer
[writes].
“Your correspondent grieves to be complaining
Of some ill-treatment—Ajax is in training.
Your correspondent, wishing to know all,
Was found conceal'd behind a sunken wall.
Thinking he watch'd it to affect the betting,
They gave to him a bonneting and wetting.
Your correspondent therefore thinks it right
Not to take any notice of the fight,
Unless”—a happy thought—“he feels inclined”
Inspire me, Phœbus—ha!—“to change his mind.”

[Exit, writing.