 | Gycia |  |
SCENE IV.
—The garden without the banqueting-room. Moonlight. The sea in the distance, with the harbour.Asander and Gycia descend the steps of the palace slowly together. Music heard from within the hall.
Asan.
Come, Gycia, let us take the soft sweet air
Beneath the star of love. The festive lights
Still burn within the hall, where late we twain
Troth-plighted sate, and I from out thine eyes
Drank long, deep draughts of love stronger than wine.
And still the minstrels sound their dulcet strains,
Which then I heard not, since my ears were filled
With the sweet music of thy voice. My sweet,
How blest it is, left thus alone with love,
To hear the love-lorn nightingales complain
Beneath the star-gemmed heavens, and drink cool airs
Fresh from the summer sea! There sleeps the main
Which once I crossed unwilling. Was it years since,
In some old vanished life, or yesterday
When saw I last my father and the shores
Of Bosphorus? Was it days since, or years,
Tell me, thou fair enchantress, who hast wove
So strong a spell around me?
Gycia.
Nay, my lord;
Tell thou me first what magic 'tis hath turned
A woman who had scoffed so long at love
Until to-day—to-day, whose blessed night
Is hung so thick with stars—to feel as I,
That I have found the twin life which the gods
Retained when mine was fashioned, and must turn
To what so late was strange, as the flower turns
To the sun; ay, though he withers her, or clouds
Come 'twixt her and her light, turns still to him,
And only gazing lives.
Asan.
Thou perfect woman!
And art thou, then, all mine? What have I done,
What have I been, that thus the favouring gods
And the consentient strength of hostile States
Conspire to make me happy? Ah! I fear,
Lest too great happiness be but a snare
Set for our feet by Fate, to take us fast
And then despoil our lives.
Gycia.
My love, fear not.
We have found each other, and no power has strength
To put our lives asunder.
Asan.
Thus I seal
Our contract with a kiss.
[Kisses her.
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Oh, happiness!
To love and to be loved! And yet methinks
Love is not always thus. To some he brings
Deep disappointment only, and the pain
Of melancholy years. I have a lady
Who loves, but is unloved. Poor soul! she lives
A weary life. Some youth of Bosphorus
Stole her poor heart.
Asan.
Of Bosphorus saidst thou?
And her name is?
Gycia.
Irene. Didst thou know her?
Asan.
Nay, love, or if I did I have forgot her.
Gycia.
Poor soul! to-day when first we met, she saw
Her lover 'midst thy train and swooned away.
Asan.
Poor heart! This shall be seen to. Tell me, Gycia,
Didst love me at first sight?
Gycia.
Unreasonable,
To bid me tell what well thou knowest already.
Thou know'st I did. And when did love take thee?
Asan.
I was wrapt up in spleen and haughty pride,
When, looking up, a great contentment took me,
Shed from thy gracious eyes. Nought else I saw,
Than thy dear self.
Gycia.
And hadst thou ever loved?
Asan.
Never, dear Gycia.
I have been so rapt in warlike enterprises
Or in the nimble chase, all my youth long,
That never had I looked upon a woman
With thought of love before, though it may be
That some had thought of me, being a Prince
And heir of Bosphorus.
Gycia.
Not for thyself;
That could not be. Deceiver!
Asan.
Nay, indeed!
Gycia.
Oh, thou dear youth!
Asan.
I weary for the day
When we our mutual love shall crown with marriage.
Gycia.
Not yet, my love, we are so happy now.
Asan.
But happier then, dear Gycia.
Gycia.
Nay, I know not
If I could bear it and live. But hark, my love!
The music ceases, and the sated guests
Will soon be sped. Thou must resume thy place
Of honour for a little. I must go,
If my reluctant feet will bear me hence,
To dream of thee the livelong night. Farewell,
Farewell till morning. All the saints of heaven
Have thee in keeping!
Asan.
Go not yet, my sweet;
And yet I bid thee go. Upon thy lips
I set love's seal, thus, thus.
[Kisses her. They embrace.
Good night!
Gycia.
Good night!
[Exit Gycia.
Enter Irene unperceived.
Asan.
Ah, sweetest, best of women! pgon
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Helen, the curse of cities and of men,
Marshalled the hosts of Greece! But she brought discord;
Thou, by thy all-compelling sweetness, peace
And harmony for strife. What have I done,
I a rough soldier, like a thousand others
Upon our widespread plains, to have won this flower
Of womanhood—this jewel for the front
Of knightly pride to wear, and, wearing it,
Let all things else go by? To think that I,
Fool that I was, only a few hours since,
Bemoaned the lot which brought me here and bade me
Leave my own land, which now sinks fathoms deep
Beyond my memory's depths, and scarce would deign
To obey thee, best of fathers, when thy wisdom
Designed to make me blest! Was ever woman
So gracious and so comely? And I scorned her
For her Greek blood and love of liberty!
Fool! purblind fool! there is no other like her;
I glory being her slave.
Irene.
I pray you, pardon me, my Lord Asander.
I seek the Lady Gycia; is she here?
Asan.
No, madam; she has gone, and with her taken
The glory of the night. But thou dost love her—
Is it not so, fair lady?
Ire.
Ay, my lord,
For we have lived together all our lives;
I could not choose but love.
Asan.
Well said indeed.
Tell me, and have I seen thy face before?
A something in it haunts me.
Ire.
Ay, my lord.
Am I forgot so soon?
Asan.
Indeed! Thy name?
Where have I seen thee?
Ire.
Where? Dost thou, then, ask?
Asan.
Ay; in good truth, my treacherous memory
Betrays me here.
Ire.
Thou mayest well forget
My name, if thou hast quite forgot its owner.
[Weeps.
I am called Irene.
Asan.
Strange! the very name
My lady did relate to me as hers
Who bears a hopeless love. Weep not, good lady;
Take comfort. Heaven is kind.
Ire.
Nay, my good lord,
What comfort? He I love loves not again,
Or not me, but another.
Asan.
Ah, poor lady!
I pity you indeed, now I have known
True recompense of love.
Ire.
Dost thou say pity?
And pity as they tell's akin to love.
What comfort is for me, my Lord Asander,
Who love one so exalted in estate
That all return of honourable love
Were hopeless, as if I should dare to raise
My eyes to Cæsar's self? What comfort have I,
If lately I have heard this man I love
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Betray a heart flung prostrate at the feet
Of another, not myself; and well I know
Not Lethe's waters can wash out remembrance
Of that o'ermastering passion—naught but death
Or hopeless depths of crime?
Asan.
Lady, I pity
Thy case, and pray thy love may meet return.
Ire.
Then wilt thou be the suppliant to thyself,
And willing love's requital, Oh, requite it!
Thou art my love, Asander—thou, none other.
There is naught I would not face, if I might win thee.
That I a woman should lay bare my soul;
Disclose the virgin secrets of my heart
To one who loves me not, and doth despise
The service I would tender!
Asan.
Cease, I pray you;
These are distempered words.
Ire.
Nay, they are true,
And come from the inner heart. Leave these strange shores
And her you love. I know her from a child.
She is too high and cold for mortal love;
Too wrapt in duty, and high thoughts of State,
Artemis and Athené fused in one,
Ever to throw her life and maiden shame
As I do at thy feet.
[Kneels.
Asan.
Rise, lady, rise;
I am not worthy such devotion.
Ire.
Take me
Over seas; I care not where. I'll be thy slave,
Thy sea-boy; follow thee, ill-housed, disguised,
Through hardship and through peril, so I see
Thy face sometimes, and hear sometimes thy voice,
For I am sick with love.
Asan.
Lady, I prithee
Forget these wild words. I were less than man
Should I remember them, or take the gift
Which 'tis not reason offers. I knew not
Thy passion nor its object, nor am free
To take it, for the vision of my soul
Has looked upon its sun, and turns no more
To any lower light.
Ire.
My Lord Asander,
She is not for thee; she cannot make thee happy,
Nor thou her. Oh, believe me! I am full
Of boding thoughts of the sure fatal day
Which shall dissolve in blood the bonds which love
To-day has plighted. If thou wilt not take me,
Then get thee gone alone. I see a fire
Which burns more fierce than love, and it consumes thee.
Fly with me, or alone, but fly.
Asan.
Irene,
Passion distracts thy brain. I pray you, seek
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And gone beyond recall.
[Exit.
Enter Theodorus unseen.
Ire.
(weeping passionately).
Disgraced! betrayed!
Rejected! All the madness of my love
Flung back upon me, as one spurns a gift
Who scorns the giver. That I love him still,
And cannot hate her who has robbed me of him!
I shall go mad with shame!
Theo.
Great Heaven! sister,
What words are these I hear? My father's daughter
Confessing to her shame!
[Irene weeps
Come, tell me, woman;
I am thy brother and protector, tell me
What mean these words?
Ire.
Nay, nay, I cannot, brother.
They mean not what they seem, indeed they do not.
Theo.
They mean not what they seem! Thou hast been long
In Bosphorus, and ofttimes at the Court
Hast seen the Prince. When he to-day comes hither,
Thou swoonest at the sight. I, seeking thee,
Find thee at night alone, he having left thee,
Lamenting for thy shame. Wouldst have me credit
Thy innocence? Speak, if thou hast a word
To balance proofs like these, or let thy silence
Condemn thee.
Ire.
(after a pause, and slowly, as if calculating consequences).
Then do I keep silence, brother,
And let thy vengeance fall.
Theo.
Oh, long-dead mother,
Who now art with the saints, shut fast thy ears
Against thy daughter's shame! These are the things
That make it pain to live: all precious gifts,
Honour, observance, virtue, flung away
For one o'ermastering passion. Why are we
Above the brute so far, if we keep still
The weakness of the brute? Go from my sight,
Thou vile, degraded wretch. For him whose craft
And wickedness has wronged thee, this I swear—
I will kill him, if I can, or he shall me.
I will call on him to draw, and make my sword
Red with a villain's blood.
Ire.
(eagerly).
Nay, nay, my brother,
That would proclaim my shame; and shouldst thou slay him,
Thou wouldst break thy lady's heart.
Theo.
Doth she so love him?
Ire.
Ay, passionately, brother.
Theo.
Oh, just Heaven!
And oh, confusèd world!
How are we fettered here! I may not kill
A villain who has done my sister wrong,
Since she I love has given her heart to him,
And hangs upon his life. I would not pain
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That wrings a childish heart, for all the world.
How, then, to kill her love, though killing him
Would rid the world of a villain, and would leave
My lady free to love? 'Twere not love's part
To pain her thus, not for the wealth and power
Of all the world heaped up. I tell thee, sister,
Thy pmour is safe—I will not seek
To do him hurt; but thou shalt go tonight
To my Bithynian castle. Haply thence,
After long penances and recluse days,
Thou mayst return, and I may bear once more
To see my sister's face.
Ire.
Farewell, my brother!
I do obey; I bide occasion, waiting
For what the years may bring.
Theo.
Repent thy sin.
| Gycia | |