University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene I.

—A room in Philip's Palace.
(Philip discovered.)
Philip.
There is no way but this. His guilt is plain
To dullest eyes—bold—monstrous—seen far off
As huge Olympus.—When a limb's diseased
Beyond the leech's art to make it sound,
He cuts it off;—thus saving the whole man,
Who else had perished with it.—Macedon
Is now that man,—Demetrius that limb;—
And I, alas!—his father—am the leech
That must the sharp and cruel knife direct
To its stern purpose.
(Enter a Servant.)
What's thy business here?

Servant.

The lord Antigonus, so please your majesty,
most urgently requests admission to your royal presence.

Philip.
What would he now? I have forbid his coming:
But let him enter.
[Exit Servant.
(Enter Antigonus.)
Well, old lord,—thy business?

Antig.
Philip, thy happiness,—thy son's—the State's.
Forgive me, for I love Demetrius,
And know him innocent. He is your son,
And therefore should find mercy;—he's a prince,
And should have amplest justice. That at Rome
He is beloved may be in him no crime:
Is he not young, and beautiful, and brave,—
Open—and generous—liberal in expense—
Gifted with qualities that make men love
And women worship? Are not these enough—
Being a prince beside,—to draw the hearts
Of Romans as of Macedonians?
Is it a treason then to be beloved?
If so the hated vicious are most loyal:—
Is it—

Philip.
Stay—stay—old man,—thou'rt ignorant here:
He has found mercy,—and, be sure, shall find
The amplest justice.—I will hear no more.

Antig.
Philip, farewell. Remember he's your son.

[Exit.
Philip.
I would I could forget it (a pause)
. He must die;
And presently;—or the mad people's love
Will fortress him against the siege of justice—
Demetrius, or Philip, must go out;—
Rome must be stabbed, or Macedon.—Who waits?
(Enter a Servant.)
Bid the lord Dymas enter. (Exit Servant.)
It must be!
I cannot—may not—dare not shrink. Come hither.
(Enter Dymas.)
Hast thou a heart to feel thy country's wrongs?

Dymas.
I have, my liege:—to bleed,—to die for her.

Philip.
Hast thou unto thy king such loyal love,
That, well to aid him in a need extreme,
Thou'dst on thy gentle nature violence put,—
Drive pity and remorse from thy soft breast;—
And be,—even like the axe, that strikes the head off,—
Feeling no sympathy?—

Dymas.
What Philip bids,—
That will his servant act. I have no heart
But what is Philip's;—have nor hands, nor tongue,
Nor any power of sense—but what are his,
To use as likes him best.

Philip.
Enough—enough—
He sups with you to-night.—

Dymas.
He does, my liege.

Philip.
His life is dangerous to the State and us.
He must not live—

Dymas.
Then bring you him to trial?

Philip.
That were but shallow wisdom. Of the mob
He is beloved,—the soldiers too:—his youth
And comeliness would be loud orators
In ears whereto his treasons could not speak.
Yet must he die;—or, in his room, a host,
Whom his rebellion, to a bloody death,
Will bring untimely.—Something must be done;
Instantly,—secretly,—yet, done, avowed;
And his black guilt to all the world proclaimed
The cause of this great justice.—What is done,
Is borne with patience oft, as past recall;—
Though, were it yet to do, a thousand swords,
And fifty thousand tongues, would interpose
To stay its execution— (a pause).

Dost thou think
He might be spared, and yet the State . . . but no!—
Advise me not to mercy,—for his guilt
Is broader than heaven's concave. Die he must—
Or Philip fall,—and Rome. . . . It shall not be! (A pause.)

To-morrow let me hear thee say . . . dost mark me?

Dymas.
Most earnestly!—

Philip.
To-morrow let me hear
That . . . Macedon is safe—that treason's flame
Hath been put out—that . . . dost thou understand?

Dymas.
I see a fearful spectre in your words;
But 'tis in darkness yet.

Philip.
Dost dread to meet it?

Dymas.
I would 'twere more substantial. But, that thing
Which Philip hath no fear to wish enacted,
I may not fear to act.

Philip.
Thou sayst enough.
He sups with thee to-night.—Fill thou his cup.
What! dost thou start?—Thy words were bold enough.

Dymas.
So shall my deeds be. 'Twas a passing sting
Of foolish pity;—but the last. 'Tis gone!

Philip.
I'd have him laid asleep;—but—tenderly.
Seek thou some drug that shall extinguish life;—
Not tear't to pieces.—I would have him dead;
Yet would not wish him feel what 'tis to die.
For oh! he's still my son,—my youngest boy!
Have ye no mercy, Gods?—Might he not live?—
But no—no—no—I'll think upon't no more.—
Fate calls him—he must go—

[Exit.
Dymas.
So he but go,
I care not at what door. But go he must;
Or the bright honors that I seek to wear
Will prove a drunken dream.—What matters it?
Peasant, or prince—all must at some time die:—
His turn is now;—mine when the Gods shall please.
But not, I trust, before yon haughty dame
Her lofty head as low as mine shall stoop;—
Ay—call me friend, and kind deliverer.
I'll to her, and the tyrant paint so black,—
Tell her of deaths contrived so terrible,—
Shew her her children in their agonies
Herself to brutal lust exposed, and death
Horrid and infamous,—then, for one poor boon,
Promise escape.—She must—she shall be mine.

[Exit.

Scene II.

—A room in a Prison.
(Theoxana and Aratus discovered.)
Theox.
So potent sayst thou?

Aratus.
Scarce the lightning flash
Strikes with more sudden stroke. Upon the eye,
Within the lip, or ear, one drop let fall,
Doth, even like water on the lingering spark,
All life extinguish.

Theox.
Without pain?

Aratus.
Sleep falls not
Upon the infant's eyelids with a touch
More tender than this gently dropping death.
'Tis but the breath breathed forth, nor drawn again.

Theox.
Oh thou most excellent balm of the bruised heart,
For all the laughing nectar of the Gods
I would not barter thy few joyless drops!
I thank thee, true and gentle friend,—I thank thee.
Commend me to the generous prince, thy lord,
And say I blessed him ere I died. Make known
The manner of our end, and for what cause,
Lest cruel and unnatural he should deem
The mother who her children could destroy.
Tell him to 'scape the torture, and a death
Of ignominy, she their innocent souls,
In gentle sleep, without a pang, set free;
Then hasted after. Say—but now no more—
Time urges:—the abhorrëd monster comes
With hellish suit again to file my ears.—
Take thou this jewel:—'tis the sole one left
By the rapacious spoiler,—yet so rich,
That in contentment mayst thou pass thy days
Unpressed by labour. Take it. Where I go,
I may not carry it. This little phial
Is worth to me a mine of gems.

Aratus.
Oh heavens!
For such reward what have I done!

Theox.
The best,
The kindest service;—oped for us the gate
That leads from shame and pangs to liberty.
But to thyself look now: no hand but thine
Could bring this help. Fly quickly, or thou'rt lost.
Adieu, and be thou happy.—Haste,—away:—
I would be on our journey.

Aratus.
Oh farewell!
Most hapless lady—and dear innocents,
Farewell—farewell.

[Exit.
Theox.
How is it to be done?
What is't that I would do?—Be firm, my soul;
(She opens the door of an inner chamber.)
And let no woman's weakness . . . How they sleep!
Beautiful children—on their beds of straw!
Their death-beds! Like pure rose-buds do they lie,
All health and fragrance. 'Tis the spirit of life—
The in-breathed mystery from Divinity,
All freshly glowing in them: and that fire,
That light, I must extinguish! Can I do it?
'Tis but a touch:—better than—Oh! ye Gods!
To see their little limbs upon the rack
Writhing in agony—and hear their cries
To me, their mother, who might thus have saved,—
But, with false kindness and a cruel love,
Selfishly pitiful, dared not—Oh! the curse
Of every mother would pursue my name,
And brand me weakest—most unnatural!
But what if to that villain's horrid suit
I should appear to listen,—Hateful thought!
Foolish as hateful! Victims we must be—
Nor could he—would he, save us. Die we must!
Or thus,—or by the torture! Now to pause,
A trembling coward, when, with but a touch,
One merciful touch, from the black despot's bonds
I might release them thus—It shall not be!
Ye awful Deities, within whose hands
Are life and death to all things,—look not down
With eye of anger on this mortal deed,
Fate's, and not mine,—but, as your minister,
In mercy sent, uphold me to the end!
Fast locked in sleep! Now,—now, my soul, be firm!

(She goes into the inner chamber, and closes the door.)

Scene III.

(The foregoing scene draws up, and discovers the inner chamber, with the Children lying on their couches, and Theoxana sunk upon the floor beside them.)
(Enter Philip with the Jailer.)
Philip.
Soft—they're sleeping—Shade thy lantern, fellow,
Or they may wake.—Whose order did he shew?

Jailer.
So please your majesty, he bore the ring
Of the lord Dymas.

Philip.
Dymas?

Jailer.
Yes, my liege.

Philip.
I cannot think why Dymas sent him here.
He urged me give the fellow his release,
That he might use him to advantage me,
Someway—I know not how.—But, was he not
The servant of Demetrius, ere this woman's?

Jailer.
So I have heard, my liege.

Philip.
Didst hear them talk?

Jailer.
No word, my liege.

Philip.
He has been twice, you say.

Jailer.
Twice, my dread lord.

Philip.
And brought he nothing with him?

Jailer.
Nought that I saw, my liege.

Philip.
No letter?—nothing?

Jailer.
Nought, to my knowledge. Coming from lord Dymas,
I'd no suspicion.

Philip.
Let him be detained:
His looks were wild; I'll question him myself.
For old Antigonus—say I will not see him,
Bid him away—his presence doth offend me.
Put down the light, and leave me.
[Exit Jailer.
Dead asleep!
I do not hear a breath.—And in a prison!
And on the night, too, that she thinks her last!
Might I but sleep like these.—I'd be the captive;
And let her sit upon the golden throne,—
And count myself the gainer. Shall I wake her?
She will not answer me,—or say a word
To bring my son in question. Yet she must;—
For I would have his guilt more bright than day,
To clear my terrible justice.—Ho—awake!—

Theox.
(starting up).
What art thou?—Ha! the tyrant!—have I slept?
My children.—Merciful Gods!—they're safe—they're safe!

Philip.
And thou too shalt be safe, so thou confess
Thy treasons, and my son's.

Theox.
I will be safe.
One precious drop remains. (Raising the phial to her lips.)

His treasons?—fiend!
He is a God to thee, and all thy race.

Philip.
But he's a traitor. Dymas hath revealed
His black designs: he knew them all.

Theox.
False! false!
Thy son is true;—and Dymas false as hell!

Philip.
What ails thee, woman?

Theox.
Dying, tyrant.—Look,
My babes are gone before.

Philip.
Ho! help—help—ho!
What horror's this?

Theox.
Thy work! Oh Gods!—one word—
Demetrius is most true—Demetrius—
Dymas—is false—is false—thy son—Oh Gods! (She dies.)


Philip.
Help—help.—She's dead.—Ha! poison?

(Taking up the phial.)
Jailer
(rushing in).
Good my liege!

Philip.
She's poisoned.—All of them are poisoned!—Fellow,
What dost thou know of this?—Speak, on thy life!
If thou dost palter with me . . . (Drawing his sword.)


Jailer
(sinking on his knees).
Gracious king!
Have mercy on me! I am innocent!

Philip.
Ha! now I see it—'Tis that menial's work—
Aratus—hence—drag him before me!—fly!
[Exit Jailer.
We're mocked.—Hath Dymas known of this? What?—how?
She called him false—He dared not—To what end?—
If he be false—Demetrius may be . . . Ha!
A letter?—'Tis the hand of Dymas— (He reads.)

‘Most beautiful, and unhappy—The king is enraged to the
utmost. If no shield come between you and his wrath,
yourself and your children will on the morrow die miserably
in torture.’—Why thou shameless liar! ‘I will visit thee
again to-night. Consent to my wishes, and I can, and will
save you. Refuse me—and bid farewell to hope,—the
tortures are prepared.—I shudder to think of them.’—

'Tis sure the hand of Dymas.
(Enter Jailer with Aratus.)
(To the Jailer).
Hasten back—
Call in Antigonus: something he may know.—
[Exit Jailer.
Have I been played on?—Fellow! wouldst thou live,—
Answer me truly:—palter with me now—
And I will scatter thee abroad like dust.—
Who sent thee here?

Aratus.
Lord Dymas.

Philip.
What the errand?

Aratus.
I bore from him that letter.

Philip.
And the poison?

Aratus.
At her most earnest prayer I brought her that.
Lord Dymas knew not of it.

Antigonus
(hastening in).
Philip! Philip!
Thou'st almost broke my heart. Thou art betrayed!
Apelles, as he left the court to-day,
Was struck with death.—His conscience tortured him;—
He sent for me, and, with his dying breath,
Made full confession of such treachery
As chokes belief.—That letter was a lie—
Quintius ne'er saw it—'twas the damned issue
Of Perseus and black Dymas—

Philip.
Sayst thou?—

Antig.
Yes—
They forged it,—bribed the ambassadors to bring it,—
To poison you with lies against your son . . .

Philip.
Away—away—Demetrius may be lost!—
Oh! if the horrid cup be at his lips—
Dash it away, I do beseech you Gods!
My guard ho! and my chariot!

[Exeunt omnes.