 | Philip |  |
ACT II.
Scene I.
—A garden belonging to the Palace of Antigonus.(Enter Janira and Archo.)
Jan.
'Tis late i' th' morn I think. The dew's all gone.
Archo.
The sun has risen this hour.
Jan.
Demetrius said
He'd meet me here by sunrise; and then ride
Among the mountains to enjoy the morning.
'Tis his first promise,—yet he keeps it not.
Archo.
Heaven bless you, madam! don't believe a word
Of what he promises. A lover's word
Is less than nothing, for his oaths are nothing.
(Demetrius enters behind.)
Why they will swear by all the eternal Gods,
That you are lovelier than a nymph o' th' woods;
That violets are poison to your breath;—
That—I have heard them say it—
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What,—to thee?
Archo.
To me? Why not to me? To me they've said it;
And to a million, and a million more:—
That your sweet eyes are bluer than the sky—
When they, perhaps, are jaundiced;—that your skin
Is smooth as marble,—purer than fresh snow,—
Tho' it, in truth, be dingy, freckled, rough:—
They'll swear—I know not what they'll swear;—and may,
Ere I again believe them.
Jan.
Prithee, peace!
I did not think thou'dst been so forward, girl.
Demetrius would not swear, or say, I'm sure,
Other than truth,—or,—if I thought he would—
I'd . . .
Dem.
What, Janira?
Jan.
Tear him from my heart.
Dem.
Stay till you find him false. But, my sweet love,
No more of this. And let not this light wench
Sully your better thoughts of holy love.
Pure love is as a fire that shoots from Heaven
Into the human heart;—where all that's gross,
Selfish, or false,—it burns and melts away;—
But all that's true, and generous, and pure,—
That doth it brighten still, and glorify,
Till the poor earthly breast becomes a shrine
For thoughts and passions pure as those of Heaven!
Jan.
I do believe it.
Dem.
He who slanders love,—
Hath never felt it:—who calls woman false,
Hath never been beloved:—who rails at lovers—
Hath never known, or not deservëd one.
Jan.
My dear Demetrius!—But, I pray you now,
Why have you failed your promise?—I've been here
This hour or more.
Dem.
In sooth my purest plea
Is but a soiled one.
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Antig.
Pardon me, fair lady.
(Then to Demetrius)
A word with you.
Dem.
A moment give me leave.
Antig.
The king demands your presence instantly.
Three messengers upon each other's heels,
Came breathless.
Dem.
What's the business?—say it quick.
Antig.
One that, alas! will little pleasure you.
What, last night, passed between you,—I know not:
But Perseus to the king accuses you
Of an intended fratricide.—
Dem.
Of what?
Antig.
That at the tournament you sought his life,
Which he but saved by flight;—that to your feast
You asked him, there to stab, or poison him—
Dem.
Oh Gods! is't possible?—
Antig.
That, failing so,
You went unto his palace at dead night,
Pretending jollity, and generous love,—
But seeking murder.—
Dem.
Am I in a dream?
Is this a brother?—Oh Antigonus!
I am aweary of this wretched life.
Day after day some petty lie:—some word,
Dropt as by chance;—some brotherly excuse,
That is in truth, a slander;—some head-shake;—
Some half-checked sigh, as though the loving breast
Groaned, to breathe forth my guilt;—all odious arts
That cunning can devise, and malice act,
Are practised to my ruin:—and, at last,—
The crown of all,—this bold and hellish charge
Strikes at my life,—and from a brother's hand!
Oh Gods!
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(coming forward).
My dear Demetrius,—what's amiss?
Dem.
Nothing, Janira;—nothing—nothing, love.
Jan.
Nay, say not that. Why strike upon your breast,
And clench your hands, and . . .
Dem.
Listen to me, love.
I must away unto the king. A charge
Most black and false hath been against me brought;
Which, like foul smoke, I can at once blow off;—
But I must speak for't. Pray you stay not now.
When I return I will unburthen all
My griefs unto you; which will thus grow light.
Go, and fear nothing.
Jan.
Dear Demetrius—
Lysius hath left me. Make no longer stay
Than need demands;—and, pray you, think of me.
Dem.
Sweet love! I will—I will.
[Exeunt Janira and Archo.
Of fratricide?
Antig.
Were you at strife, my lord?
Dem.
At strife? Oh no!
The mounting lark is not in merrier mood
Than I last night. In sooth too merry mood.
Antig.
What—flushed with wine?
Dem.
Even so. Yet nothing more
Than might th' occasion, and such friends excuse.
I never had a humour less disposed
To aught unkind:—but—to a brother's death?
Oh Heavens!
Antig.
That you are innocent, my lord,
I'd pledge my life:—but yet I hope your proofs
Are such, would laugh at question;—for the king
Is stirred against you; and, when passion storms,
The strongest reason's a weak citadel.
Dem.
Oh! when suspicion sits beside the scales,
A thing too light to bow the snowdrop's head,
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You will plead for me when my words are vain:
He'll lean to you.
Antig.
Yes—as a madman leans
To him that would control him.—Never raged
A fiercer madman than . . .
Dem.
Antigonus!
Antig.
Take not offence that I plain truth speak out.
What are our passions, uncontrolled and fierce,
But a mere madness?—You are Philip's son,—
Yet were as safe within your enemy's reach.
He bids me warn you. Look, Demetrius—
Thus did he stamp his heel into the earth;
And thus to crush you, like a venomous snake,
Should he but prove you false—swore horribly.
Dem.
So let him!
Antig.
Let him?—Ay! and let him, too
Put boys, and girls, and infants to the death,
By hundreds! He's their king:—what claim have such
To life, when Philip wills their death?
Dem.
What mean you?
Antig.
That you're not safe;—that none of us are safe.
Me—spite of my grey hairs, and years of toil,
He has cast off—I heed not for myself,—
But for my country. The wild beast is loosed;
And I, who tamed him, trodden to the earth.
Dem.
I have heard nought of this.
Antig.
But yesterday,—
Burning with fury against Rome, and all
That favoured Rome,—and most against yourself—
Dem.
Alas! my father!
Antig.
To complete the crime
Begun on those, whom his suspicious dread
Sent,—for their love to Rome,—to violent death,
Upon their children he resolved to seize;
Of age, or sex unheeding,—yes—by Heaven!
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Oh! say it not.
Antig.
‘I'll weed this treason-bed—
‘They shall all die’—he cries:—‘give order for it’—
‘I'll have no tiger-cubs, for their bright skins,
‘Preserved till the grown monsters tear their feeder.
‘Give order for their seizure:—they shall die.’
Dem.
Oh! horrible!
Antig.
Even to his face I told him
I would not do it. He went off in wrath;
And threatening me. Yet would I not there cease;
But to the palace, at the evening hour,
Went to have speech with him.
Dem.
How sped you then?
Antig.
He would not hear me:—called me doting fool:—
Bade me away,—and in my presence, signed
The fatal mandate.
Dem.
Will he shed their blood?
Antig.
In sooth I fear it.
Dem.
Good Antigonus,—
There is a lady whom, for all that's loved,—
Beauty—and dignity—and heavenly grace—
All men might worship. Somewhat past her bloom,
Even like the rose full blown,—she yet hath charms
Might tempt the sickliest taste:—yet not for these
I love her, but for that fine majesty,
And purity, and nobleness of soul,
Which make her, more than woman, great and good;
Yet leave all woman's best and loveliest gifts
In all their tenderness.
Antig.
There is but one
Upon whose head this diadem will sit,—
The noble Theoxana.
Dem.
Even she.—
When her brave husband to the scaffold went,—
He was my friend; gay, strong, and beautiful.
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Embracing me, were these—‘Protect my wife—
Protect my children.’—In my soul I swore,—
And have not failed them. Good Antigonus,
Advise her instantly;—bid her depart
Ere on her tender young the tiger spring.—
Her means are ample,—and her spirit high.
She needs not gold—nor other aid than this
Timely advisement. Not a moment lose,
Or all may then be lost. I'll to the king,
And trust my own defence. Adieu, dear friend.
Antig.
Dear prince, farewell. The time is sore diseased,
And we must bleed for't.—Ere the sun go down,
My messenger shall bear the warning voice.
Heaven guard her;—and you, prince, not less. Heed well—
Snares are about you;—swords are bared against you,—
And daggers in men's tongues. Jove shield you well!
Dem.
And thee, kind friend!—I have no fears. Adieu.
[Exeunt at opposite sides.
Scene II.
—A room in the Palace.(Philip, seated upon the throne; with Lysimachus and Onomastes upon lower seats at either hand. Perseus and Demetrius stand on opposite sides, attended by their respective friends.)
Onomastes.
Under submission, my dread liege,—thus read,—
And truth-like most it seems,—the blacker stain
Flies from the charge,—and leaves upon the prince
No spot save such as . . .
Philip.
Truth-like may it seem,
And yet be false as hell!
Dem.
'Tis true as heaven!
And the foul charge as foolish, as 'tis foul!
My true offence is that I'm loved at Rome:—
With this you taunt me, father; and call crime,
What ought to be my glory. I sought not,
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To be sent thither. When you gave command,
I but obeyed;—and such my conduct there
As, humbly do I hope, reflected not
Upon yourself, your crown, or country, aught
That honour censures. 'Tis yourself, my father,
That have my friendship with the Romans caused:
While you're at peace, that friendship will subsist:
But, at the war's first signal, it will die,
And I'll proclaim our enmity. Our love
In peace was born, and cannot live in war.
If, father, towards yourself I lack respect;
Or, if against my brother . . .
Philip.
Stay,—enough!
Who'd be a father, seeing sons like mine,
That should be staffs whereon his age might lean,
Turned into rods to bruise him!—Brothers? Asps!
A false accuser this, or that a wretch
Unfit to live, who would his brother's life
Have taken from him! But I know you now.
Upon my throne both turn your guilty eyes,
And just so long would suffer me to live,
That, by surviving one of you, I hold
The crown for th' other . . .
Dem.
Never such a thought . . .
Philip.
Silence, presumptuous boy! May the king speak?
Demetrius, and Perseus,—not from words,
Or from such hasty trial, will I pass
On this affair my sentence, but from all
Your other actions, small as well as great,
And from your general carriage, which shall be
O'erlooked with keenest scrutiny. Go now,
And, if you can, in heart, as well as name,
Be brothers.
Perseus.
I would be so.
Dem.
Would you were!
[Exeunt, on opposite sides, Perseus and Demetrius, and their partisans.
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He's clear of this;—yet fouled with what is worse:
His heart's a traitor, for it clings to Rome.
Oh wretched Philip! cursed with sons like these!—
My reverend friends, I thank you,—ere the night
I'll farther speak with you. As you pass hence,
Bid the lord Dymas here.
Onom.
Our love and duty
Are ever at your bidding.
Lysim.
And our prayers
Are for your good success.
Philip.
Farewell. I thank you.
[Exeunt Lysimachus and Onomastes.
He shall not live, if I do prove him false.
By heaven! I'd pluck my heart from out my breast,
Could it conspire with Rome;—and shall my son
Be dearer than the very seat of life?
(Enter Dymas.)
Come hither, Dymas. I believe thee true;—
Single of heart,—and with no party leagued
To warp thy judgment, or thy virtue taint.
Dymas.
Your majesty too deeply honours me.
Philip.
Not more than thy deserts. I have a task,
That, for its proper execution, asks
A pure and upright soul; a wary eye,
Observing all things,—and a judgment ripe.
These qualities are thine.
Dymas.
My gracious liege!
Philip.
Speak not; but hear me. For some certain end,—
Not now to be disclosed,—I would make proof
If, from the top of Hæmus, all that stretch,
Incredible, of prospect may be seen.
'Tis said, the Black Sea, and the Adriatic—
The Danube, and the cloud-surmounting Alps,
And the vast, beauteous plains of Italy,—
All lie within the scope of that hill's ken.
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I've heard 'tis so, my liege.
Philip.
That will I prove:
And, to that end, to-morrow shall set forth.
With me goes Perseus; but Demetrius stays:
Him to thy special charge do I consign.
Watch every motion;—dive into his soul;—
Hear his discourse;—and lead him on to speak
His unrestricted mind;—and, when he halts,
And looks suspicious,—then do thou speak first,
What he would seem to ponder.—When he grieves,
Do thou be sorrowful;—and, when he laughs,
Be thou his echo.—If he talk of Rome,
Do thou out-go him when he praises most:
If of his brother, let his deepest hate
Find thine yet deeper;—so his very heart
Shall lie for us to read;—and, of his guilt,
Or innocence, assured,—our future course
Shall, with unhesitating step, be trod,
Acquitting, or condemning.
Dymas.
My dread liege!
The subject lives but in his monarch's smile:—
And every sense and faculty he owns
Is his but as an instrument to use
In his great master's service.—Your command
Truly will I obey:—yet in such fear,
Knowing my weakness,—and this mighty task,—
As that I'd gladly to some stronger back
Have left the valued burthen. But 'tis mine;
And I will labour in it.
Philip.
Be a spy—
Not a seducer. Tell the guilt thou seest—
But, make none.—'Tis a fearful trust thou hast:
A prince's life,—a monarch's happiness,
Lie in thy hand. If other than the truth
Thy tongue shall tell:—if bribe, or party zeal,—
Or any base advantage of thine own,
Sway thee to falsehood,—there's no plague in hell
Horrid enough to pay thee.—Look well to't.
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My gracious liege . . .
Philip.
No, no; I doubt thee not,
I do but warn thee. On the strongest bridge
We tread with caution when a gulf's below.
Were I to doubt thee,—doubt must quickly change
To strong assurance. Monarchs do not toy
With traitors, proved, or dreamed of. Fare thee well—
Yet stay a moment.—Look thou leave not aught
To uncertain memory, that may disguise,
Or alter, or distort what once was plain.—
Keep thou a tablet, where each word and deed,
Fresh in thine ear, or eye, may be fixed down,
For me to ponder on.—He is my son:
Heaven grant he prove not false!—And yet, if true,
His truth makes Perseus false!—Accursëd Rome!
All is thy doing. Oh! Eternal Gods!
Give but one hour of conquest; and, all else,
Refuse me if you will.
[Exit.
Dymas.
Demetrius—
Thy fate is in my hands; and thou must fall.
I do not hate thee;—nay, I honor thee:—
But, plucking thee from thy bright eminence,
I may myself uplift even to that height
From which thou fallest.—Power and honor call,
And I must follow them. Good—I would be;—
Great—must be. So farewell Demetrius.
I'll lead thee to the precipice's brow;—
Philip shall hurl thee down.
[Exit.
Scene III.
—Another room in Philip's Palace.(Enter Perseus and a Servant.)
Perseus.
Ere Dymas leave the palace, bring him here,
Haste, or you'll miss him.
[Exit Servant.
Let the fool be his!—
I quarrel not with that. The crown's my bride;
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(Enter Dymas.)
Good-morrow, Dymas.
Dymas.
'Tis to thee good-morrow,
More than to me: yet may to both be good,
So made good use of.
Perseus.
Answer me at once,
What sudden journey's this, where I must go,
Dangling among the train of the old king,
Like some smart gewgaw?—And what conference
Held he with you even now?
Dymas.
That journey's end
May lead you to the throne. That conference
Hath told me so; and pointed out the way.
Perseus.
Then let us spur upon it. Speak at once.
Dymas.
But,—Perseus on the throne,—will he forget
The hand that helped him there?
Perseus.
That hand shall be
Feared as my own. What politic soul is thine
That still distrusts what I a thousand times
Have sworn unto thee!—If, thro' aid of thine,
I climb that eminence where I, by right,
Should sit,—and not thro' favour or intrigue,
I'll hold thee yet as giver of that throne;
And thou shalt use the sceptre when thou wilt,
As 'twere thine own.—By heaven, and by deep hell!
I swear it to thee!
Dymas.
Philip looks towards Rome.
This new alliance hath blown up the flame
That seemed burnt out. Yet he saith nothing on't.
Lycius, with secret orders, is gone home.
And Philip, on the morrow, will set forth
To look from Hæmus, on th' Italian plains.
And thither must you also.
Perseus.
Ha! for what?
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Into the empty throne?—Goes he not too?
Dymas.
No—no—he stays behind to lose the throne.
To my especial charge the king hath left him;
To watch him,—read his purposes,—his thoughts.—
So far is your work, prince; the rest is mine.
You've wrought suspicion;—I must forge the proof:
And I will do't—aye! and such blazing proof,
That Philip, looking on it, shall be blind
To all but vengeance.
Perseus.
Thou'rt the best of friends!—
Dymas.
Let this suffice thee now. It were not well
That we were seen together;—and sharp eyes
Are in the palace. Come to me at night,
And we'll speak farther.
Perseus.
Urge him to the death!—
Remember that. I have no hope to live,
And reign, Demetrius living. He's a drug
That every day I am compelled to drink.
The phial must be broken,—cast away,—
Ere I can breathe in health.
Dymas.
If that weak clay
That's called Demetrius be not iron proof,
He shall be broken,—and his poison spilt.
So up to Hæmus, prince, and draw free breath;
For Macedon is thine.
Perseus.
And Perseus thine,
To use in what thou wilt.—The idiot's caught
With this new toy,—this princess.
Dymas.
Heed her not.
Perseus.
Oh no! The pretty butterfly may light
On that flower suits her best. She is no bee
To know where lies the honey. Let her go.
An hour past sunset we shall meet again;—
Till then adieu.
Dymas.
Adieu. I'll to my charge.
[Exeunt.
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Scene IV.
—Thessalonica.A room in the house of Theoxana.
(Enter Theoxana with her two Children.)
Theox.
No—not to-night, my children! 'Twas this night—
Two long, dark years back—that your noble father
Received the tyrant's summons;—and the morrow . . .
But no—why should I cloud your sunny brows
Because my own is dark?—Go to your dance.
Eldest Child.
Thank you, dear mother, we'll not dance to-night.
Second Child.
Pray you forgive us.
Theox.
Go—go—take your mirth.
I'll watch you from this window. How the sun
Pours gold upon the lawn,—and steeps the trees
In floods of golden light!—You pretty May-flies,
Go, wanton in his beams!—and, as your feet
Press the green sod, put in them all your soul;
And for one hour, at least, you shall be happy.
Eldest Child.
Come—come away;—'twill please our mother so.
(The Children go out. Theoxana stands looking at them through the window.)
Theox.
Beautiful children! How their nimble feet
Spring on the velvet turf!—and their bright faces
Sparkle like sunny waters! Kind heavens!—
And I was gay as these;—had foot as light;—
A glance as quick;—a heart all merriment!—
And now—what am I?—
(Enter a Servant.)
Servant.
A messenger from Prince Demetrius
Craves instant audience.
Theox.
Bring him hither quick.
[Exit Servant.
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Aims at his life;—or the old tyrant—Well—
(Enter a Messenger.)
What is thy business?
Messenger.
Pray excuse my boldness.
This to the noble lady Theoxana
The Prince Demetrius sends;—and this Antigonus,—
(Giving letters)
Whose messenger even at your city gates
I overtook.
Theox.
What dreadful business needs
This double warning?—Generous prince, thine first. (She reads.)
‘My father's fury is at its height. Fly, dear lady:—the
lives of your children are threatened. The bearer of this is
trusty, and may aid in your escape.—Yours—Demetrius.’
Messenger.
Nothing, fair lady.
Theox.
Good Antigonus
Clear thou this mystery. (She reads.)
Messenger
(aside).
Some dreadful thing
That scroll does tell her.—Heaven have mercy then!
Theox.
Amen! for man hath none.
Messenger
(aside).
She has o'erheard me
Oh! she is sorely racked.
Theox.
Thou shalt not, tyrant!
While there's a mother's hand to set them free.
Their father thou hast sent into his grave;
And now—but they shall 'scape thee, if there's steel—
Poison,—or choking water,—or steep rock,
That can their souls, and beauteous bodies part.
Ay! tho' this hand should deal the horrid blow.
What's to be done?—Save them,—or with them die!
Good friend, thy name?
Messenger.
Aratus, gentle dame.
Theox.
Ha! 'tis a name owes Philip little thanks.
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The tyrant poisoned, and his son Aratus.
Aratus.
Oh! 'twas a cruel deed!
Theox.
Dost serve the king?
Aratus.
No farther than all subjects serve their king;
My service is to Prince Demetrius.
Theox.
And he reports thee faithful.
Aratus.
The kind prince
Should have none else but such.
Theox.
Wilt serve me truly?
Aratus.
Ay! madam—to the death!
Theox.
I do believe thee;
Thy face is index to a faithful heart.
Then hear, and mark me well. Th' insensate king,
Mad in his hate, hath issued a decree
To seize the children of all those, whose lives
He late took on the scaffold. They will die.
Thus am I now forewarnëd, ere escape
Be hopeless.
Aratus.
Gracious Heavens!
Theox.
Forbear, and hear me.
To Ænéa on the morrow are we bound,
To keep the festival. Go thou with us.
The vessel lies in port, and all's prepared.
There as in wonted sports we pass the day,
Hire thou a bark, as for our home return;
See that 'tis roomy, and provisioned well:—
At deep midnight, when all are locked in sleep,
For some far isle, beyond the tyrant's grasp,
We will put forth. Oh! heaven will fill the sails
To save the innocent.—And yet he died,
That was all truth and honour!—My good friend
Wilt thou so serve me?
Aratus.
To my latest breath!
Theox.
Then haste away, and get thee to thy rest:
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A king refuses not the beggar's mite,
That goes to fill th' exchequer. Be not thou
More haughty than a king.
Aratus.
Most gracious lady—
Command me to the death.
[Exit.
Theox.
Thou shalt not have them, tyrant. With these hands
I'll throw them to the waves; or pierce their hearts
Even with their father's dagger, ere to thee,
Black monster! I surrender them.—Oh Gods!
And they are dancing on the sunny grass,
As joyous as the summer flies about them—
Perhaps as soon to die!—Jove! to thy hands
I do commit them.
[Exit.
End of the Second Act.
| Philip | |