University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—A room in the house of Archias.
(Enter Philidas and a Servant.)
Philidas.
Not risen yet! . . . you say? Why, 'tis past noon.
Is he not well?

Servant.
He revell'd late last night.
Philip was here, with several Theban lords,
That loved their liquor better than their beds.
'Twas day-break ere they left it.

Philidas.
Is he stirring?

Servant.
I think not, sir,—for Menon is not up.
He stays his master's hours:—my services
Are to the lady Thulia.

Philidas.
Is she well?

Servant.
She takes no physic, sir.

Philidas.
How in her mind?

Servant.
She seldom weeps,—and never makes complaint.
Indeed she talks to no one,—save to give
Her quiet thanks for our poor services:—
Scarce eats at all,—and is most pale and wasted.

Philidas.
Unhappy lady!—Go—let Archias know,
That I have spurr'd from Athens since the morning,
And wait him here.

Servant.
From Athens did you say?

Philidas.
From Athens.—And, good fellow, bring some wine;
I've had a bitter ride.

Servant.
'Tis very cold, sir.

(He places wine on the table.)
Philidas.
Why dost thou linger?

Servant.
Oh! forgive me, sir!
You know not who I am: but you I know
To be the friend of my dear master's friends,
And of his wretched widow.

Philidas.
What's thy name?

Servant.
My name is Clonius. On that dreadful day
When Leontidas, with his faction, drove
Pelopidas, and his, from Thebes—

Philidas.
I know it.—
Thou art the youth whom Androclides saved
From prison,—art thou not?

Clonius.
I am;—and oft
From this worse prison have I hoped to save
My most unhappy lady:—but, alas! . . .

Philidas.
I've heard of all thy faithfulness. Be sure
It shall have more than thanks. Go—tell her now
The sky is brightening;—bid her have good cheer;
The clouds will quickly pass.

Clonius.
'Twould please her, sir,
To hear it from yourself. I'll call her here,
And guard the door without.

Philidas.
Good Clonius—haste,—
Implore her come. Let Archias, too, be told
Of my arrival. (Exit Clonius.)
How the news I bring
Will make her heart leap up! And Thebes—Oh! Thebes!
Thine, too, must rouse,—or be for ever still!

(He pours out wine.)
(Thulia enters, attired in black.)
Philidas
(aside).
Oh! what a blight hath fallen on that flower!
(Aloud)
Dear lady!

Thulia.
Sir, you wish'd to speak to me.
You are from Athens:—have you seen our friends?

Philidas.
Dear lady!—sit.

Thulia.
I thank you, sir;—my strength
Shall bear me up through our short conference.
I pray you, sir, go on.

Philidas.
Our friends, dear lady—
Are well,—and full of hope:—and I have news
Shall comfort even you.

Thulia.
Tell the cold corpse
To wrap its grave-clothes round, to keep it warm,—
And then bid me take comfort!—But, go on:—
I feel for others;—for myself, am dead.

Philidas.
And yet the news I bring shall comfort you.

Thulia.
Go on, sir—pray you.

Philidas.
Lady—a great blow
Will fall erelong, whose consequence may be
Deliverance to yourself—and to all Thebes—

Thulia.
Oh God! be merciful! and speed that blow,—
So it be just!

Philidas.
I may not more declare,
How this shall be. Heaven, in its mercy, keeps
The future from our eyes,—or our great dooms
Would madden us to see them. And in this,
If in nought else, I'll copy the kind Gods.
Knowledge is good, but as it works to good;—
Beyond that,—evil merely. Not to know
The ill may visit us,—is, not to see
The sharpening knife may cut us to the bone:—
Not to foreknow the good may chance to us—
Is—not to crave a fruit may be most sweet;—
Or may conceal a scorpion:—therefore, lady—

Thulia.
You are most kind, sir, and I thank you much.
If you have aught of moment else to say
I pray you tell it; for this conference stands
On a gulf's brink.

Philidas.
No, lady;—Clonius waits—
Our guard without the door. There is a thing
I have to tell;—that I would not but tell
For half this city's wealth:—and yet, when told,
'Twill shake you like a plague fit.

Thulia.
Pray, sir, tell it:
And see how harmless will your tempest blow
Upon my icy bosom.—Oh! you know not—
But, pray you, on sir.

Philidas.
When the sun is set,
Then come the freezing cold, and the black darkness,
And all the world seems dead.—But, when again
From the clear east he throws his golden fires,—
Darkness is gone;—the dead earth lives anew—
Dost thou conceive me, lady?

Thulia.
I know not
What thought you'd have me fashion from these words:
But you mean kindly, sir. My sun is set—
In the dark grave;—but never more shall rise
To bid me live!—Such settings have no dawn!

Philidas.
Yet, dearest lady—it hath sometimes chanced,
That, when we thought the bright orb gone below,
It hath but shrouded in some ebon cloud,
From which to burst in glory.—

Thulia
(after an earnest pause).
Either, sir,
With most false judgment, you would seek to rouse
My torpid heart by touch of cruel fire,—
Which were a grievous sin—or—tell me, sir—
I have a thought—Great God!—it cannot be—
(She seizes his hand.)
Tell—tell me—doth he—doth he—

Philidas.
Lady, pause.
Go not too far. Joy hath its drowning depths
As well as grief.

Thulia.
Speak—speak—my heart—my heart—
Mercy—for mercy speak—doth he—

Philidas.
He doth!

Thulia.
Ha!—speak his name—

Philidas.
Thy lord!—is—not—yet—dead—

Thulia.
Ha! ha!—not dead?—not dead?—did'st say not dead?

Philidas.
Yes, dearest lady: I did say not dead.

Thulia.
Art thou awake?—Am I not lunatic?—
Oh! burn me—cut me to the quick—not dead?—
My Androclides—is it he?

Philidas.
Yes—he.
I say he's not yet dead.

Thulia.
Not yet? not yet?
Where is he?—where?—Oh let me fly—where? where?—

Philidas.
Lady—be calm!

Thulia.
Where is he?—I must go—

Philidas.
Be patient, dearest lady.

Thulia.
Where's my lord?
My heart will burst—

Philidas.
In Athens is your lord—
And there you must not,—cannot go.

Thulia.
Oh God!
And he will die!—I will not be withheld—

(She rushes to the door.
Philidas.
He will not die,—unless you go to kill him.

Thulia.
How's that?—speak—speak—

Philidas.
I say he will not die
If this wild rashness slay him not. Be calm—
He is not ill—now start not, lady—force
Thy frenzied brain to reason.—Hear—and speak not.
The murderer's blow—

Thulia.
Ha!

Philidas.
Touch'd no vital part (a pause).

The wound is heal'd (a pause)
—his strength is come again (a pause)
—
Thou wilt behold him—

(During this last speech Thulia looks with a wild eagerness at Philidas—and remains silent and motionless after he has done;—and at last sinks upon the couch.)
(Enter Clonius.)
Clonius.
Menon is stirring, sir;—and comes, I fear,
This way.

Philidas.
Dear lady—haste you to your chamber;
Your tyrant will be here—for heav'n's sake—
(He endeavours in vain to rouse her.)
Clonius—
Open the door—I'll bear her to her room—
Wait you a moment here.

(He carries her off through the door at which she had entered.)
Clonius.
Poor lady! thou wilt soon go to thy rest!
Then Archias—then—look for thy punishment—

(Enter Philidas.)
Philidas.
Is it not strange how joy should mimic grief?
She's like a statue,—cold and bath'd in tears,
I've laid her on a couch. Go—send her women—
But speak no word of this.—
Ha! gentlemen—
(Enter Philip and Leontidas, ushered in by Menon, who retires. Clonius goes out.)
Good-morrow to you both.

Leon. and Philip.
Good-morrow, sir.

Leon.
What news from Athens—gentle Philidas?
What of the Exiles?—

Philidas.
Set your minds at rest—
I have so urg'd their speedy banishment,
They'll have no home at Athens.—Nay, I marvel
If even this day they be not driven forth.

Leon.
Your zeal deserves our thanks,—and something more
That shall not be forgot.—Come with us now,
And, as we walk, we'll farther question you.

(Enter Archias, much disordered.)
All.
Good-morrow, Archias.

Archias.
Gentlemen, good-morrow.
I pray you sit.

Philip.
Yes, Archias;—but not here,
We go to sit in judgment. There's a crew
Of wealthy traitors for our morning's meal:—
We call to take you with us.

Archias.
My good friends—
I'm much disorder'd—but will follow you
With what swift haste I may.

Leon.
As your true friend
I tell you, Archias,—leave your midnight cups—
Your spicëd meats,—and perfumed concubines,—
Or you will rue it.

Archias.
Sir—you are most kind
To charge yourself with my poor private faults:
I know not how to thank you:—but, dear sir—
Let me entreat you,—be less cold, and stern—
Pray less—and offer fewer sacrifices—
And have more charity—and—

Leon.
Ha!—what's this?—

Philip.
Ho! gentlemen,—for shame.—Nay—touch not steel:—
If, of our goodly tripod, two o' th' legs
Should break each other,—why the third must fall,
And all be shatter'd.—Speak no further word—
And think nought hath been spoken.—Archias—
You'll follow with all haste. Come—let's away—

Archias.
Leave Philidas an instant.
[Exeunt Leon. and Philip.
That proud lord
Misdeems himself a giant,—standing up
On his high self-conceit!—Oh Philidas!
I am made wretched with distemper'd dreams.
For ever at my bed there seems to stand
Pale Androclides, with his gaping heart
Spouting a flood.—I wake—and he is gone—
I sleep—he's there again.—What may it mean?
How came he by his death? hast ever heard?

Philidas.
Now by my faith! this is mere foolery.
Take physic, sir:—it is the body's ail
That thus infects the mind;—and, purging one,
You shall make sound the other.

Archias.
I do think
'Tis as thou say'st.—Here's for my physic then;
(Pouring out wine)
'Tis th' only drug. Is't not to-morrow night
We revel at your house?

Philidas.
To-morrow night—
Fail me,—and you shall miss such curious fare
As you shall marvel at.—

Archias.
What,—women?—ha—
You'll keep your secret still?—

Philidas.
Yes, Archias—
But take this of them.—Thebes hath had none such
Since she was Thebes.

Archias.
Ha-ha—good friend! Come, come—
Away—away—my excellent good friend!

[Exeunt.