University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

—The Banqueting-room.
(Archias—Philip—Philidas—and many Theban Lords lie upon couches beside tables covered with wines and fruits. Two Boys are in waiting to pour out the wine. Music is heard.)
Archias.
Once more—once more.—By Jupiter! once more—
Come—come—again—‘Oh! love and wine.’

(Sings).
Philip.
Are you all sleeping, lords?

Several Voices.
No, Philip—why?

Philip.
Then Archias disturbs you. For my part,—
I'm so well season'd to them,—his best songs
Still set me snoring for a harmony.

Archias.
Thou hast no harmony about thee, Philip.—
Thou'dst rather hear a traitor's wind-pipe squeak,
Pinch'd by a cord,—than hear Apollo sing.

Philip.
If he sings aught like thee. Take off thy wine
In pity to our ears.

Philidas.
Come, my good lords—
You're sluggards at your drink. Here is a wine
Ye have not tasted;—'tis a drink for Gods.
Their nectar's physic to it.

Archias.
Pour it out—
Brim up the goblets:—Fill,—thou rosy knave!
Thou Ganymede to me thy Jupiter!—
Fill to the brim, thou blushing peony!
Leave space but for a fly to stand and sip,
I'll fling a lightning at thee.—Lords—I drink
To the bright goddesses, who from their heaven
Shall visit us to-night.—Are you prepar'd?

Philidas.
The goblets are all crown'd.

Archias.
Then off with them.

All.
To the bright goddesses!—

Philip.
Ah! Philidas!
This is indeed a nectar-mocking drink!
It is not Greek?

Philidas.
No—'tis from Italy.
I've but a stinted measure,—yet enough
For this night's rouse.—Fill up the cups again—
We'll sleep in heav'n to-night.

Philip.
Oh, Jupiter!
Methinks I see thee on thy golden throne!

Archias.
Where—Philip—where?

Philip.
There, Archias—dost not see?
And Juno stands beside;—and Mercury
Holding his cup:—all Thebes might lie within it
Like a huge pearl. Dost not behold?—there—there—

Archias.
No—no!—'tis thou that liest in Thebes—thou'rt drunk. . . . .
Where are the goddesses? Dear Philidas,
Why tarry their bright wings?—Bring round the cups.
Who gives a health?

Philip.
I'll give one, Archias.—
A health to Lentulus, and his three sons!

Archias
(lifting the cup).
To Lentulus and his—Why, they are hang'd!
Were hang'd this morning,—were they not, wise wag?

Philip.
No:—tumbled headlong from the citadel.
But drink their health the same: they were good fellows
To you and me;—come,—drink to the kind friends
Whose talents we inherit.

Archias.
Hold thy tongue!
Thou brainless drunkard!—Dost thou think the rose
Will keep such secrets safe?—Where are the girls?
The goddesses?—Go—fetch them, Philidas—
I drink to them again.

Philip.
And I.

Philidas.
And all. (All drink.)


(A knocking at the outer gate.)
Philidas.
Hark! they are here. I go to welcome them,
And bring them to you. Fill your cups again:
Be jovial, lords.—What, Archias—thou'rt awake
At such a sunrise. I'll be back anon.
See that the cups be fill'd (to the boys).


[Exit.
Archias.
I'll drink no more.
Lords—do not drink again.—'Tis drunkenness
To drink till you are drunk.—‘Oh! love and wine.’

(Sings.)
1st Lord.

'Tis a marvellous piece doubtless. That stag's
head looks almost more natural than Nature herself. And for
the dog close behind his haunches, I will take it on my oath
that I can hear him bark.

2nd Lord.

Now art thou more natural than Nature made
thee, to say thou canst hear a picture bark. But 'tis past controversy,
a most choice work. Methinks I can see the eyes of
that black steed flashing like a torch in a gusty night. Whose
is the work?

3rd Lord.

'Tis done by one Apollo,—a native of Cos,—so
Philidas reports.

1st Lord.

Apelles—Apelles—not Apollo.—What! is all
the world drunken?—Apelles, I tell thee:—a lad of some
eighteen years.—I saw him at work upon that very picture, and
offered him money for it.

2nd Lord.

How much?

1st Lord.

Nay,—that's a secret. But in truth 'twas fifty
drachmas, and yet he refused it.

2nd Lord.

And, had he been dead a few Olympiads, thou
wouldst have offer'd another,—fifty times that sum,—though,
maybe, the picture should be the worse for age and ill-using.—
I see thou art a true patron. Your true patrons let living

artists starve,—and almost starve themselves to encourage
those that are dead. A painting shall never get the true
mellowness till the painter be rotten.

3rd Lord.

And faith, that's partly true!—

2nd Lord.

I have known your staunch patrons to refuse,
at a small price, a new picture that would do honour to any
country,—and yet, almost on the same day, to give a princely
sum for one that had little to recommend it but that the
painter died three hundred years before. This they call
‘patronizing of the art’—but in truth they should call it ‘the
art of patronizing’—Eh—lords?

3rd Lord.
Thou'st hit it on the head. I've seen it oft.

(Enter Philidas.)
Archias.
What! are they not yet here?

Philidas.
Yes—they are come.
But being ladies of true modesty,
They like not that their looks be pored upon
By curious servants—nor their talk o'er-heard.

Philip
(to the Servants).
Get everyone of you away.

[Exeunt Servants and Boys.
Philidas.
And more:—
They make demand that, till themselves consent,
They shall not be uncover'd—nor required
To speak but in a whisper.

Archias.
Show them in,
And let's proceed to judgment.

Philip.
None shall harm them.
I'll be their champion. All of you take heed;—
If any touches them but by their leave,
I'll trip his heels up.

Philidas.
Then I'll bring them in.

[Exit.
Archias.
Wilt thou trip me up?

Philip.
You,—or any man.

Archias.
They are more likely, Philip, to trip thee.
Why, thou'rt so drunk a straw might knock thee down.

Philip.
A straw?—why that's a giant's club, to what
Would serve to lay thee flat.—See that no fly
Be on the wing before thou dare to walk,—
For, if it light on thee, thou canst not stand.
A kitten sneezing in thy face should be
A hurricane to thy top-heavy boat
Would turn keel upmost. Why a mustard seed,
Shot from a baby's dimpled thumb, would knock
Thy drunken head down like a battering-ram!

(Enter Philidas, leading in Androclides—Gorgidas— Charon—Theopompus—Cephisidorus—Democlides —and Pherenicus, disguised like women, with long cloaks, and their heads covered and overshadowed with garlands. —The Lords all rise, and offer seats to them. Philidas takes Androclides to the couch of Archias, which is in the front.)
Philidas.
Now lords, I pray you, of your courtesy,
Be gentle, and not rude. For a short space
I leave you to yourselves.

[Exit.
Archias.
Why, thou art sweeter than a citron grove;
But there's no breath comes through thy perfum'd leaves.

Philip.
Now, lords—fair play.—What would I give to see
That beauteous face in the broad light of day!
That ugly garland sits like night upon it.

(Enter a Servant.)
Archias.
Fellow! what dost thou here?

Servant.

My lord, there is just arrived from Athens a
messenger who hath brought this packet—from your kinsman
and namesake, Archias the High Priest, and—he demands
most importunately that it be instantly read, for that it contains
business of the utmost importance.

Archias
(putting the packet under his pillow).
‘Business to-morrow!’ see the fellow fed,
And bid him come to-morrow.
[Exit Servant.
Loveliest lady—
If that thy voice be sweet as is thy breath,
'Twill drown our ears with heavenly melody.

Philip.
Why dost not answer me? I swear by Jove!

(Re-enter the Servant.)
Archias.
Why—what again?—

Servant.

My lord, the messenger most vehemently demands
that you read the packet without delay; for that a report is
therein given of some dreadful conspiracy. He says 'tis a
most awful business.

Archias.
‘Business to-morrow.’—He's a merry fellow;—
I'm sure he is,—and so commend me to him.—
Tell him I'll make his fortune:—but not now—
‘Business to-morrow!’—What's the fellow's name?

Servt.

'Tis Abas, my lord,—the tailor,—and he entreats
that you will read the packet.—He has spurred all the way
from Athens within these three hours.

Archias.
He's a good fellow—make him drunk as Bacchus.
‘Business to-morrow!’—Tell my worthy friend
The night was made for sleep and jollity.
‘Business to-morrow!’
[Exit Servant.
Is't not so, sweet girl?

(The Servant re-enters, forcibly holding back Abas.)
Servt.
My lord, he will come in—I cannot hold him.

Abas
(without).
My lord—my lord!—your life—the life o' th' state!—

Archias
(staggering up).
Where is my sword?—Thou curs'd ill-manner'd slave!
Bind him, I tell you!—whip him well—old fool!
Drag him to prison!—

(Abas is dragged away—crying out—‘Dreadful plot’— ‘Murderous conspiracy’—etc.)
Archias
(reeling to his couch).
The outrageous ass!—
How he hath flush'd me!—Come, my loveliest,
Take off this odious garland, that shuts up,
Like a dull fog, the beauteous lamps of Heaven.
I am not drunk.—Come—let me see thy face—
I swear to thee I think I know thee—Come—
I' faith I am not drunk!—

(Androclides slowly uncovers his face, and looks on him.)
Archias
(in a terrified, but suppressed tone).
Ha!—who art thou?
What is thy name?—I do not like thy face—
Speak—what's thy name?—
(Androclides shows him a dagger, and points to his own heart.)
Art thou his sister then?—
I did not slay him!—Put thy garland on—
And go away.—Why look'st thou at me so?—
Art thou alive?—or from the charnel-house?
Thou horrid thing!—take off thy burning eyes—
What would'st thou have?—What would'st thou do?—
(Shouting in an agony of terror.)
Help, Philip!—He is come!—Oh! help!

Andro.
(throwing off his cloak and leaping up).
Strike! strike!

(He stabs Archias, who falls dead. At the same moment all the Exiles fling off their garlands and cloaks, and cry ‘Strike!’ Philip is stabbed by Gorgidas —and falls.)
(The Exiles then draw their swords. Charon runs to one door, and Democlides to the other. Cries of ‘Treason!’ ‘Murder!’)
Charon.
Silence, a moment—silence!—hear me speak!

Several Voices.
'Tis Charon—listen to him—

Charon.
Your lives are safe—so you resist us not—
We want no blood.—For this night must you be
Our prisoners:—on the morrow we'll talk more.
Friends—take them hence.
(The Lords are led out by some of the Exiles.)
Now to the market-place!
Epaminondas, with a thousand youths,
Is there already;—and Pelopidas
Hath ere this question'd Leontidas.—
Leave that dead brute, dear Androclides,—come,—
We must away.

Andro.
Oh! thou foul homicide!
I hate thee—for thou'st made me hate myself!—
Would thou hadst died of dropsy—or of plague—
And left my hand unfoul'd!

(Enter Pelopidas, in haste.)
Pelop.
Hath he been here?
The tyrant was gone forth—and hath escap'd me—

Charon.
Escaped?—That must not be!—

Pelop.
I'll hunt him out;
If any hole in Thebes do give him room.
Farewell at present.—To the market-place!—
Ho! gentle Archons—are you there?—I' faith
You seem to love that carrion, Androclides.

The voice of Leontidas is heard without, exclaiming:
Refuse me not—I will go instantly—
Where are these lords—and their vile paramours?
Stand back—I tell ye.

Pelop.
By the great Gods! 'tis he!—Let him come in—
Then guard the door:—but drag these out of sight.

(The bodies are drawn back.)
Leon.
(without).
By heav'ns! I'll cleave thee to the earth!
Give room!
(He enters.)
Shame on you, Archons! feasters with loose women!—
What's this?—Where are the Archons?—Who are ye?
Why are ye silent?—

Pelop.
Your best friends are so—
Why should we talk?—Call Archias,—or Philip,—
They'll answer you from hell—and bid you down.
Look there— (pointing to the bodies.)


Leon.
Ha!—murder?—treason?—What's thy name?—
Villain!—I know thee now!—Foul Democrat!
Is this thy bloody work?—

Pelop.
No—no—'tis theirs—
Mine is with thee.—Black dragon!—'tis thy hour!—
I told thee it should come!—Look at this blade—
Ismenias wore it—

Leon.
Then it was a villain's!—
And doth become thee—coward that thou art!
Thou dar'st not meet me in the open field,
Sword against sword!

Pelop.
As thou Ismenias met'st?—
But thou'rt brave now.—Friends,—to the market-place!
Make proclamation of the tyrant's deaths.—
These take with you,—and bid them wait the third.—
Charon, I'll have no nay:—that man who stirs
To meddle here, shall be no friend of mine.
Get hence—and quick!—

Charon.
Come, Androclides—come—
He'll have his humour.—To the market-place!

(The Exiles go out, with the bodies, leaving Leontidas and Pelopidas alone. Pelopidas locks the doors, and throws the keys out of the window.)
Pelop.
Now, bloody dragon!—sword to sword we meet.
Thy reign is past; thy punishment to come—
Thy grave, or mine, is here—

Leon.
(attacking him).
Then be it thine!

Pelop.
Ha!—what so quick?— (They fight.)


A loud knocking is heard at the door, and voice of Epaminondas exclaims:
Pelopidas,—I charge thee ope the door—
Or I will force it—

Leon.
Let thy good friends in—
Valiant Pelopidas,—they come to help thee.

Pelop.
Dost think so?—Then I'll ope the door. But first
Answer me this—
They fight again. The noise continues, and the door is just giving way, when Pelopidas exclaims:
Nay then—the sport must close.—Take that—and this—
And get thee to thy friends—

(Leontidas falls dead. At that instant the door is burst open, and Epaminondas, with Androclides, Charon, many of the Exiles, and others, rush in.)
Epam.
Madman!—what frenzy's this?—

Pelop.
Not worse than thine
At Mantinea, when I lay for dead,
And thou, against a score of glittering blades,
Didst guard me—

Epam.
Tush! no more of this!—Come on—
The market-place is like sea of heads,
And, if we speed not, there may come a storm.

Andro.
Pelopidas,—the people call for you.

(Shouts are heard without.)
Pelop.
Then some of you bear off this tyrant's corse,
And I'll go with you.—Ha! good Philidas!
(Enter Philidas, and many others.)
Our work has thriven, you see—
(Pointing to the body as it is carried out.)
How have you sped?

Philidas.
Stay not to talk.—I come to fetch you hence.
The prisons are thrown wide—our friends are free—
The city's in a roar—the people call
For their deliverers.—Go, all of you
Link'd in a body, to the market-place.—
Come—come—away—

Pelop.
And, as you go, still shout,
‘The tyrants are o'erthrown—and Thebes is free!’

(Shouts heard without.)
Epam.
Hark! hark! They call for you—Yet list one word.
Three tyrants ye have slain!—see that for these
Ye do not make a thousand!—Now—away—

(As they are going out, Philidas detains Androclides.)
Philidas.
Stay, Androclides.—When they've all pass'd out,
I have a word for thee.

Andro.
They are all gone—
What is it you would say?

Philidas.
There is a friend
Here in the house, whom I would bring to you.
Wait but a moment.

[Exit.
Andro.
Friend?—Oh heav'ns! what friend,
Thou thoughtless Philidas, can move me now
Till I behold my Thulia!—I'll not stay.

(He goes to the door. At that instant the opposite door opens, and Thulia enters. Both stand for a moment motionless: then walk slowly till they meet. They gaze, each in the other's face—then rush together— and the curtain drops.)