 | Gycia |  |
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
—Cherson. Irene's prison.Irene; then the Gaoler's Child; afterwards Gycia.
Ire.
Ah me! The heaviness of prisoned days!
Heigho! 'Tis weary work in prison here.
What though I know no loss but liberty,
Have everything at will—food, service, all
That I should have, being free—yet doth constraint
Poison life at its spring; and if I thought
This woman's jealous humour would endure,
I would sooner be a hireling set to tend
The kine upon the plains, in heat or cold,
Chilled through by the sharp east, scorched by the sun,
So only I might wander as I would
At my own will, than weary to be free
From this luxurious cell. Hark!
[The tramp of armed men is heard.
What was that sound?
I could swear I heard the measured tramp of men
And ring of mail, yet is it but illusion.
Last night I thought I heard it as I lay
Awake at dead of night. Mere fantasy
Born of long solitude, for here there are
No soldiers nor mailed feet.
[Again heard.
Hark! once again.
Nay, I must curb these fancies.
Enter Child.
Child.
Gentle lady.
Ire.
Speak, little one. Come hither.
Child.
Gentle lady,
My father, who is Warder of this tower,
Bade me come hither and ask thee if thou wouldst
That I should hold thy distaff, or might render
Some other service.
Ire.
Ay, child; a good thought.
Bring me my spinning-wheel.
[Child brings it.
Ire.
(spinning).
The light is fading fast, but would choose
This twilight, if thou wilt not be afraid
Of the darkness, little one.
Child.
Nay, that I am not,
With one so good as thou.
Ire.
Nay, child, it may be
I am not all thou think'st me.
Child.
But, dear lady,
Are not all noble ladies good?
Ire.
Not all,
Nor many, maybe.
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To be sure they are not,
Else were they not imprisoned.
Ire.
Little one,
Not all who pine in prison are not good,
Nor innocent who go free.
Child.
The Lady Gycia,
Is she not good?
Ire.
It may be that she is.
'Tis a vile world, my child.
Child.
Nay, I am sure
The Lady Gycia is as white and pure
As are the angels. When my mother died
She did commend me to her, and she promised
To keep me always.
Ire.
But she sent me here.
Child.
Ah! lady, then I fear thou art not good.
I am sorry for thee.
Ire.
So, my child, am I.
[The tramp of armed feet is heard again.
Child.
Ah! lady, what is that? I am afraid.
Didst hear the ghostly feet.
Ire.
What heardst thou, child?
Child.
A tramp of armèd men and ring of mail.
Ire.
Then, 'tis no fancy of my weary brain.
If it comes again I must inquire into it.
'Tis passing strange. Be not afraid, my child.
'Twas but the wind which echoed through the void
Of the vast storehouses below us. Come,
[Spinning.
Let us to spinning. Twirl and twirl and twirl;
'Tis a strange task.
Child.
Lady, I love it dearly.
My mother span, and I would sit by her
The livelong day.
Ire.
Didst ever hear the tale
Of the Fates and how they spin?
Child.
I do not think so.
Wilt tell me?
Ire.
There were three weird sisters once,
Clotho and Lachesis and Atropos,
Who spun the web of fate for each new life,
Sometimes, as I do now, a brighter thread
Woven with the dark, and sometimes black as night,
Until at last came Atropos and cut
The fine-worn life-thread thus.
[Cuts the thread; the head of the spindle rolls away.
Child.
And hast thou cut
Some life-thread now?
Ire.
My child, I am no Fate,
And yet I know not; but the spindle's head
Rolled hence to yonder corner. Let us seek it.
Hast found it?
Child.
Nay, there is so little light,
I think that it has fallen in the crevice
Beneath yon panel.
Ire.
Stoop and seek it, child.
Perchance the panel slides, and then, it may be,
We shall let in the light.
[Draws back the panel and discovers a bright light, files of armed men, and Asander in the midst.
Child.
Ay, there it is;
We have it, we have found it.
[Sliding panel back again.
Ire.
What have we found?
What have we found? Yes, little one, 'tis found!
Run away now—I fain would be alone—
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[Kisses Child, who goes.
These were the sounds
I heard and thought were fancy's. All is clear
As is the blaze of noon. The Prince Asander
Is traitor to the State, and will o'er-whelm it
When all the citizens are sunk in sleep
After to-morrow's feast. Well, what care I?
He is not for me, whether we call him King
Or Archon; and for these good men of Cherson,
What is their fate to me? If he succeed,
As now he must, since no one knows the secret,
'Twill only be a change of name—no more.
The King and Queen will hold a statelier Court
And live contented when the thing is done,
And that is all. For who will call it treason
When victory crowns the plot? But stay! a gleam
Of new-born hope. What, what if it should fail
As I could make it fail? What if this woman,
Full of fantastic reverence for the dead,
And nourished on her cold republican dream,
Should learn the treason ere 'twas done and mar it?
Would not Asander hate her for the failure?
And she him for the plot? I know her well,
I know her love for him, but well I know
She is so proud of her Athenian blood
And of this old republic, she would banish
Her love for less than this. Once septed,
The Prince safe over seas in Bosphorus,
His former love turned to injurious pride,
I might prevail! I would!
Re-enter Child.
Nay, little one,
We will spin no more to-day. I prithee go
And seek the Lady Gycia. Say to her,
By all the memory of our former love
I pray that she will come to me at once.
Lose not a moment.
[Exit Child.
Hark! the tramp again;
Again the ring of mail. I wonder much
If she shall hear it first, or first the eye
Shall slay her love within her.
Enter Gycia.
Gycia.
Thou dost ask
My presence; wherefore is it?
Ire.
Gycia,
Thou dost not love me, yet would I requite
Thy wrong with kindness. That thy love was false
To thee, thou knowest, but it may be still
There is a deeper falsehood than to thee,
And thou shalt know it. Dost thou hear that sound?
[The tramp of men again heard.
What means it, think you?
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Nay, I cannot tell.
'Tis like the tramp of armèd men.
Ire.
It is;
And who are they?
Gycia.
Young citizens of Cherson,
Maybe, rehearsing for to-morrow's pageant
And the procession.
[Going.
Ire.
Stay, thou stubborn woman,
Canst bear to see, though the sight blight thy life?
Gycia.
I know not what thou wouldst, but I can bear it.
Ire.
Though it prove thy love a traitor?
Gycia.
That it will not!
Ire.
Then, make no sound, but see what I will show thee.
Look now! Behold thy love!
[Draws back panel, and discovers Asander with the soldiers of Bosphorus standing in line. Asander's voice heard.
Asan.
At stroke of midnight
To-morrow night be ready.
Soldiers.
Any, my lord.
[Gycia tottering back. Irene slides back the panel, and Gycia sets her back against it, half fainting; Irene regarding her with triumph.
Gycia.
Was that my husband? and those men around him
Soldiers of Bosphorus, to whom he gave
Some swift command? What means it all, ye saints?
What means it? This the husband of my love,
Upon whose breast I have lain night by night
For two sweet years—my husband whom my father
Loved as a son, whose every thought I knew,
Or deemed I did, lurking in ambush here
Upon the eve of our great festival,
Scheming some bloody treachery to take
Our Cherson in the toils? Oh, 'tis too much;
I cannot trust my senses! 'Twas a dream!
Ire.
No dream, but dreadful truth!
Gycia.
Thou cruel woman,
How have I harmed thee, thou shouldst hate me thus?
But 'twas no dream. Why was it else that he,
But for some hateful treachery, devised
This festival? Why was it that he grew
So anxious to go hence and take me with him,
But that guilt made him coward, and he feared
To see his work? Oh, love for ever lost,
And with it faith gone out! what is't remains
But duty, though the path be rough and trod
By bruised and bleeding feet? Oh, what is it
Is left for me in life but death alone,
Which ends it?
Ire.
Gycia, duty bids the banish
Thy love to his own State, and then disclose
The plot thou hast discovered. It may be
That thou mayst join him yet, and yet grow happy.
Gycia.
Never! For duty treads another path
Than that thou knowest. I am my father's daughter.
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That is the State's alone. 'Tis for the State
To banish, not for me, and therefore surely
I must denounce these traitors to the Senate,
And leave the judgment theirs.
Ire.
(kneeling).
Nay, nay, I pray thee,
Do not this thing! Thou dost not know how cruel
Is State-craft, or what cold and stony hearts
Freeze in their politic breasts.
Gycia.
Thou kneel'st to me
To spare my husband! Think'st thou I love him less
Than thou dost, wanton?
Ire.
Gycia, they will kill him.
Get him away to-night to Bosphorus.
Thou dost not know these men!
Gycia.
I know them not?
I who have lived in Cherson all my days,
And trust the State? Nay, I will get me hence,
And will denounce this treason to the Senate.
There lies my duty clear, and I will do it;
I fear not for the rest. The State is clement
To vanquished foes, and doubtless will find means
To send them hence in safety. For myself
I know not what may come—a broken heart,
Maybe, and death to mend it. But for thee,
Thou shameless wanton, if thou breathe a sound
Or make a sign to them, thou diest to-night
With torture.
Ire.
Spare him! Do not this thing, Gycia!
[Exit Gycia.
O God, she is gone! he is lost! and I undone!
[Swoons.
Scene II.
—Room in Lamachus's palace.Lysimachus, Megacles, Courtiers; afterwards Asander.
Lys.
Well, good Megacles, I hope
you are prepared to carry out your
function. It will be a busy and anxious
day to-morrow, no doubt, and most of
us will be glad when midnight strikes.
Meg.
My Lord Lysimachus, I hope
so. I have not closed an eye for the
last two nights. As to the Procession,
I flatter myself that no better-arranged
pomp has ever defiled before Cæsar's
Palace. It will be long, it will be
splendid, it will be properly marshalled.
There is no other man in the Empire
who knows the distinctions of rank or
the mysteries of marshalling better than
I do. Look at the books I have studied.
There is the treatise of the Learned and
Respectable Symmachus on Processions.
That is one. There is the late divine
Emperor Theodosius on Dignities and
Titles of Honour. That is two. There
is our Learned and Illustrious
Chamberlain Procopius's treatise on the
office and duties of a Count of the
Palace. That, as no doubt you know,
is in six large volumes. That is three,
or, nay, eight volumes. Oh, my poor
head! And I have said nothing of the
authorities on Costume—a library, I
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assure you, in themselves. Yes, it has
been an anxious time, but a very happy
one. I wish our young friends here
would devote a little more time to such
serious topics, and less to such frivolities
as fighting and making love. The
latter is a fine art, no doubt, and, when
done according to rule, is well enough;
but as for fighting, getting oneself
grimed with dust and sweat, and very
likely some vulgar churl's common
blood to boot—pah! it is intolerable
to think of it.
1st Court.
Ah! good Megacles, I
am afraid that the world cannot spare
its soldiers yet for many years to come.
So long as there is evil in the world,
and lust of power and savagery and
barbarism, so long, depend upon it,
there is room and need for the soldier.
Meg.
Certainly, my lord, certainly;
and besides, they are very highly
decorative too. Nothing looks better
to my mind at a banquet than bright
gay faces and lithe young figures set in
a shining framework of mail. By the
way, my Lord Lysimachus, it was kind
of you to provide our procession with a
strong detachment of fine young soldiers
from Bosphorus. I have secured a
prominent place for them, and the
effect will be perfect. I trust the Lady
Melissa will like it.
Lys.
My lord, you are mistaken;
there are no soldiers from Bosphorus
here.
Meg.
But I was with the Prince last
night, and saw them.
Lys.
I tell you you are mistaken.
There are none here. Do you
understand me? There are none here.
2nd Court.
Nay, indeed, my Lord
Megacles. We were trying, with a
view to the pageant, how a number of
young men of Cherson would look in
the array of Bosphorus; but we gave
it up, since we feared that they would
bear them so clumsily that they would
mar the whole effect.
Meg.
Ah, that explains it; quite right,
quite right. Well, I see I was mistaken.
But I wish I could have had soldiers
from Bosphorus. They are the one
thing wanting to make to-morrow a
perfect success, as the Lady Melissa said.
Lys.
They are indeed, as you say.
But, my Lord Megacles, pray do not
whisper abroad what you have said
here; these people are so jealous.
They would grow sullen, and spoil the
pageant altogether.
Meg.
Ah, my lord, you have a good
head. I will not breathe a word of it
till the day is done.
Lys.
Thanks, my lord, and as I
know you will be weary with the long
day's work and your great anxieties,
I am going to lay a little friendly
compulsion upon you. You must leave the
banquet to-morrow and go to rest by
eleven o'clock at latest.
Meg.
Well, my lord, I am not so
young as I was, and if I have your
permission to leave before all is over, well
and good. No one knows what an
anxious day is before me, and I have no
doubt I shall have earned my night's
rest by then. But I have much yet to
do, so with your permission I will wish
you good night.
[Exit Megacles, bowing low to each with exaggerated gestures.
Lys.
Poor soul, poor soul! If any
fight comes, it would be as cruel to let
him take his part with men as it would
be if he were a woman or a child.
419
Welcome, my Lord Asander. Hast
thou seen our men, and are they ready
for to-morrow?
Asan.
I have just come from them, and they are ready,
But I am not. I pray you, let this be;
Send back these men to-night. I am oppressed
By such o'ermastering presages of ill
As baffle all resolve.
Lys.
My Lord Asander,
It is too late. Wouldst thou, then, break thy oath?
Wouldst thou live here a prisoner, nor behold
Thy father, though he die? Wouldst thou thy country
Should spurn thee as the traitor whose malignance
Blighted her hard-won gains? It is too late!
It is too late!
Asan.
I am grown infirm of will
As any dotard. I will go on now
So that thou dost no murder.
Lys.
Why was it
We came in such o'erwhelming force, but that
We sought to shed no blood?
Asan.
I will be ready,
Though with a heavy heart. To-morrow night
At stroke of twelve, when all the feast is done,
And all asleep, we issue from the palace,
Seize the guards at their posts, and open wide
The gates to the strong force which from the ships
At the same hour shall land. The citizens,
Heavy with wine, will wake to find their city
Our own beyond recall.
Lys.
Ay, that's the scheme,
And nought can mar it now. Good night, my lord.
Sleep well; there is much to do.
Asan.
Good night, my lords!
[Exit Asander.
Lys.
No bloodshed! Why, what fools love makes of men!
I have seen this very lad dash through the ranks
Of hostile spearmen, cut and hack and thrust
As in sheer sport. There will be blood shed, surely,
Unless these dogs have lost their knack of war
As he has; but we have them unprepared,
And shall prevail, and thou shalt be avenged,
My father slain, and thou, my murdered brother,
Shalt be avenged! My lords, you know what work
Is given each to do. Be not too chary
Of your men's swords; let them strike sudden terror.
Slay all who do resist, or if they do not,
Yet slay them still. My lords, give you good night.
To-morrow at midnight, at the stroke of twelve—
At the stroke of twelve!
[Exeunt omnes.
420
SCENE III.
—The council chamber of the Senate of Cherson.Zetho and Senators; afterwards Gycia.
Zet.
Most worthy brethren, Senators of Cherson,
In great perplexity of mind and will
I summon ye to-night. The Lady Gycia,
Our Lamachus's daughter, sends request,
Urgent as 'twere of instant life and death,
That I should call yet here. What care can move
Such anxious thought in her, on this the eve
Of the high festival herself has founded,
I know not, but 'twould seem the very air
Is full of floating rumours, vague alarms,
Formless suspicions which elude the grasp,
Unspoken presages of coming ill
Which take no shape. For whence should danger come?
We are at peace with all. Our former foe
Is now our dearest friend; the Prince Asander,
Though of a hasty spirit and high temper,
Dwells in such close, concordant har mony
With his loved wife that he is wholly ours;
And yet though thus at peace, rumours of war
And darkling plots beset us. Is it not thus?
Have ye heard aught?
1st Sen.
Zetho, 'tis true. Last night, a citizen
Sware he heard clang of arms and ring of mail
At midnight by the house of Lamachus!
2nd Sen.
My freedman, coming home at grey of dawn,
Saw a strange ship unload her merchandise,
And one bale chanced to fall, and from it came
Groanings and drops of blood!
3rd Sen.
Two nights ago,
The ways being white with snow, I on the quay
Saw the thick-planted marks of armèd feet;
But, rising with the dawn, I found the place
Swept clean with care!
Zet.
Brethren, I know not what These things portend.
Enter Gycia.
But see, she comes! Good daughter,
Why is thy cheek so pale?
Gycia.
This is the wont
Of women. Grief drives every drop of blood
Back to the breaking heart, which love calls forth
To mantle on the cheek. Sirs, I have come
On such an errand as might drive a woman
Stronger than I to madness; I have come
To tell you such a tale as well might fetter
My tongue and leave me speechless. Pity me
If I do somewhat wander in my talk!
421
Drawing some secret panel in the wall,
I saw the long hall filled with armèd men
Of Bosphorus, and at their head—O Heaven,
I cannot say it!—at their head I saw
My husband, my Asander, my own love,
[Senators rise with strong emotion.
Who ordered them and bade them all stand ready
To-morrow night at midnight. What means this?
What else than that these traitorous bands shall slay
Our Cherson's liberties, and give to murder
Our unsuspecting people, whom the feast
Leaves unprepared for war? I pray you, sirs,
Lose not one moment. Call the citizens
To arms while yet 'tis time! Defeat this plot!
Do justice on these traitors! Save the city,
Though I am lost!
Zet.
Daughter, thy loyal love
To our dear city calls for grateful honour
From us who rule. In thy young veins the blood
Of patriot Lamachus flows to-day as strong
As once it did in his; nay, the warm tide
Which stirred the lips of bold Demosthenes
And all that dauntless band who of old time
Gave heart and life for Athens, still is thine
In our Hellenic story, there is none
Who has done more than thou, who hast placed love,
Wedlock, and queenly rule, and all things dear
To a tender woman's heart, below the State—
A patriot before all. Is there no favour
A State preserved may grant thee?
Gycia.
Noble Zetho,
I ask but this. I know my husband's heart,
How true it was and loyal. He is led,
I swear, by evil counsels to this crime:
And maybe, though I seek not to excuse him,
It was the son's love for his dying sire,
Whom he should see no more, that scheming men
Have worked on to his ruin. Banish him
To his own city, though it break my heart,
But harm him not; and for those wretched men
Whose duty 'tis to obey, shed not their blood,
But let the vengeance of our city fall
Upon the guilty only.
Zet.
Brethren all,
Ye hear what 'tis she asks, and though to grant it
Is difficult indeed, yet her petition
Comes from the saviour of the State. I think
We well may grant her prayer. Though well I know
How great the danger, yet do I believe
It may be done. Is it so, worthy brethren?
[Senators nod assent.
Daughter, thy prayer is granted.
422
Sirs, I thank you;
I love you for your mercy.
Zet.
For the rest,
I counsel that we do not rouse the city.
'Twere of no use to-night to set our arms,
Blunt with long peace and rusted with disuse,
Against these banded levies. By tomorrow—
And we are safe till then—we shall have time
To league together such o'erwhelming force
As may make bloodshed needless, vain their plot,
And mercy possible. Meantime, dear lady,
Breathe not a word of what thine eyes have seen,
But bear thyself as though thou hadst seen nothing,
And had no care excepting to do honour
To thy dead sire; and when the weary day
Tends to its close, school thou thy heavy heart,
And wear what mask of joy thou canst, and sit
Smiling beside thy lord at the high feast,
Where all will meet. See that his cup is filled
To the brim; drink healths to Bosphorus and Cherson.
Seem thou to drink thyself, having a goblet
Of such a colour as makes water blush
Rosy as wine. When all the strangers' eyes
Grow heavy, then, some half an hour or more
From midnight, rise as if to go to rest,
Bid all good night, and thank them for their presence.
Then, issuing from the banquet-hall, lock fast
The great doors after thee, and bring the key
To us, who here await thee. Thus shalt thou
Save this thy State, and him thy love, and all.
For we will, ere the fateful midnight comes,
Send such o'erwhelming forces to surround them
That they must needs surrender, and ere dawn
Shall be long leagues away. We will not shed
A drop of blood, my daughter.
Gycia.
Noble Zetho,
I thank you and these worthy senators.
I knew you would be merciful. I thank you,
And will obey in all things.
[Exit Gycia.
Bardanes, 1st Sen.
She is gone;
I durst not speak before her. Dost thou know,
Good Zetho, how infirm for war our State
After long peace has grown? I doubt if all
The men whom we might arm before the hour
Are matched in numbers with those murderous hordes;
While in experience of arms, in training,
In everything that makes a soldier strong,
We are no match for them. Our pmount duty
Is to the State alone, not to these pirates
423
Who, woman-like, knows not our strength or weakness,
Nor cares, if only she might wring a promise
To spare her traitorous love. But we have arts
Which these barbarians know not, quenchless fires
Which in one moment can enwrap their stronghold
In one red ring of ruin. My counsel is,
That ere the hour of midnight comes we place
Around the palace walls on every side
Such store of fuel and oils and cunning drugs
As at one sign may leap a wall of fire
Impassable, and burn these hateful traitors
Like hornets in their nest.
Zetho.
Good brethren all,
Is this your will? Is it faith? Is it honour, think you,
To one who has given all, for us to break
Our solemn plighted word?
2nd Sen.
We will not break it;
We shed no drop of blood. The State demands it;
The safety of the State doth override
All other claim. The safety of the State
Is more than all!
All the Senators,
with uplifted arms.
Ay, Zetho, more than all!
Zetho.
Then, be it as you will. See, therefore, to it;
Take measures that your will be done, not mine.
Though I approve not, yet I may not set
My will against the universal voice.
Save us our Cherson. For the rest I care not,
Only I grieve to break our solemn promise
To Lamachus's child. Poor heart! poor heart!
| Gycia | |