 | Gycia |  |
ACT I.
SCENE I.
—Bosphorus. The King's Palace.The King, in anxious thought. To him Lysimachus, afterwards Asander.
Enter Lysimachus.
Lys.
What ails the King, that thus his brow is bent
By such a load of care?p
King.
Lysimachus,
The load of empire lies a weary weight,
On age-worn brains; tho' skies and seas may smile,
And steadfast favouring Fortune sit serene,
Guiding the helm of State, but well thou knowest—
None better in my realm—through what wild waves,
Quicksands, and rock-fanged straits, our Bosphorus,
Laden with all our love, reels madly on
To shipwreck and to ruin. From the North,
Storm-cloud on storm-cloud issuing volleys forth
Dallies within his closed seraglios,
Letting his eunuchs waste the might of Rome,
While the fierce Scythian, in a surge of blood,
Bursts on our bare-swept plains. Upon the South,
Our rival Cherson, with a jealous eye,
Waits on our adverse chances, taking joy
Of her republican guile in every check
And buffet envious Fortune deals our State,
Which doth obey a King. Of all our foes
I hate and dread these chiefly, for I fear
Lest, when my crown falls from my palsied brow,
My son Asander's youth may prove too weak
To curb these crafty burghers. Speak, I pray thee,
Most trusty servant. Can thy loyal brain
Devise some scheme whereby our dear loved realm
May break the mesh of Fate?
Lys.
Indeed, my liege,
Too well I know our need, and long have tossed
Through sleepless nights, if haply I might find
Some remedy, but that which I have found
Shows worse than the disease.
King.
Nay, speak; what is it?
I know how wise thy thought.
Lys.
My liege, it chances
The Archon Lamachus is old and spent.
He has an only child, a daughter, Gycia.
The treasure of his age, who now blooms forth
In early maidenhood. The girl is fair
As is a morn in springtide; and her father
A king in all but name, such reverence
His citizens accord him. Were it not well
The Prince Asander should contract himself
In marriage to this girl, and take the strength
Of Cherson for her dowry, and the power
Of their strong fleets and practised arms to thrust
The invading savage backward?
King.
Nay, my lord;
No more of this, I pray. There is no tribe
Of all the blighting locust-swarms of war,
Which sweep our wasted fields, I would not rather
Take to my heart and cherish than these vipers.
Dost thou forget, my lord, how of old time,
In the brave days of good Sauromatus,
These venomous townsmen, shamelessly allied
With the barbarian hosts, brought us to ruin;
Or, with the failing force of Cæsar leagued,
By subtle devilish enginery of war,
Robbed Bosphorus of its own, when, but for them,
Byzantium were our prey, and all its might,
And we Rome's masters? Nay; I swear to thee,
I would rather see our loved State sunk and lost,
Than know my boy, the sole heir of my crown,
The sole hope of my people, taken and noosed
By this proud upstart girl. Speak not of it;
Ruin were better far.
Lys.
My liege, I bear
No greater favour to these insolent townsmen
Than thou thyself. I, who have fought with them
From my first youth—who saw my father slain,
Not in fair fight, pierced through by honest steel,
But unawares, struck by some villanous engine,
Which, armed with inextinguishable fire,
Flew hissing from the walls and slew at once
Coward and brave alike; I, whose young brother,
The stripling who to me was as a son,
Taken in some sally, languished till he died,
Chained in their dungeons' depths;—must I not hate them
With hate as deep as hell? And yet I know
There is no other way than that Asander
Should wed this woman. This alone can staunch
The bleeding wounds of the State.
King.
Lysimachus,
I am old; my will is weak, my body bent,
Not more than is my mind; I cannot reason.
But hark! I hear the ring of coursers' feet
Bespeak Asander coming. What an air
Of youth and morning breathes round him, and brings
A light of hope again!
Enter Asander from the chase.
Asan.
My dearest sire and King, art thou thus grave
Of choice, or does our good Lysimachus,
Bringing unwonted loads of carking care,
O'ercloud thy brow? I prithee, father, fret not;
There is no cloud of care I yet have known—
And I am now a man, and have my cares—
Which the fresh breath of morn, the hungry chase,
The echoing horn, the jocund choir of tongues,
Or joy of some bold enterprise of war,
When the swift squadrons smite the echoing plains,
Scattering the stubborn spearmen, may not break,
As does the sun the mists. Nay, look not grave;
My youth is strong enough for any burden
Fortune can cast on me.
King.
Couldst thou, Asander,
Consent to serve the State, if it should bid thee
Wed without love?
Asan.
What, father, is that all?
I do not know this tertian fever, love,
This green-sick blight, which turns a lusty soldier
To a hysterical girl. Wed without love?
One day I needs must wed, though love I shall not.
And if it were indeed to serve the State,
Nay, if 'twould smooth one wrinkle from thy brow,
Why, it might be to-morrow. Tell me, father,
Who is this paragon that thou designest
Shall call me husband? Some barbarian damsel
Reared on mare's milk, and nurtured in a tent
In Scythia? Well, 'twere better than to mate
With some great lady from the Imperial Court,
Part tigress and all wanton. I care not;
Or if the scheme miscarry, I care not.
Tell me, good father.
King.
Wouldst thou wed, Asander,
If 'twere to save the State, a Greek from Cherson?
Asan.
From Cherson? Nay, my liege; that were too much.
A girl from out that cockatrice's den—
Take such a one to wife? I would liefer take
A viper to my breast! Nay, nay, you jest,
My father, for you hate this low-born crew,
Grown gross by huckstering ways and sordid craft—
Ay, more than I.
King.
It is no jest, my son.
Our good Lysimachus will tell thee all
Our need and whence it comes.
Lys.
My gracious Prince,
Thus stands the case, no otherwise Our foes
Press closer year by year, our wide-spread plains
Are ravaged, and our bare, unpeopled fields
Breed scantier levies; while the treasury
Stands empty, and we have not means to buy
The force that might resist them. Nought but ruin,
Speedy, inevitable, can await
Our failing Bosphorus' unaided strength,
Unless some potent rich ally should join
Our weakness to her might. None other is there
To which to look but Cherson; and I know,
From trusty friends among them, that even now,
Perchance this very day, an embassy
Comes to us with design that we should sink
Our old traditional hate in the new bonds
Which Hymen binds together. For the girl
Gycia, the daughter of old Lamachus,
Their foremost man, there comes but one report—
That she is fair as good.
Asan.
My lord, I pray you,
Waste not good breath. If I must sell myself,
It matters not if she be fair or foul,
Angel or doubly damned; hating the race,
To save my country.
King.
Thanks, my dearest son.
There spake a patriot indeed.
Servant.
My liege,
An embassy from Cherson for the King.
Enter Ambassador, with retinue.
Ambas.
Sirs, I bring you a message
from Lamachus, the Archon of
Cherson.
Lys.
Sirs, forsooth! know ye not
the dignity of princes, or does your
republican rudeness bar you from all
courtesy? I do not count myself equal
to the King, nor, therefore should you.
King.
Nay, good Lysimachus, let
him proceed.
Ambas.
If I am blunt of speech, I
beg your forgiveness. I bring to you
a letter from the citizen Lamachus,
which I shall read, if it be your
pleasure.
King.
Read on.
Ambas.
“To the King of Bosphorus,
Lamachus sends greeting. We are
both old. Let us forget the former
enmities of our States, and make an
alliance which shall protect us against
the storm of barbarian invasion which
Cæsar is too weak to ward off. Thou
hast a son, and I a daughter. Thy son
is, from all report, a brave youth and
worthy. My daughter is the paragon
of her sex. I have wealth and
possessions and respect as great as if I were a
sceptred King. The youth and the
maid are of fitting age. Let us join
their hands together, and with them
those of our States, and grow strong
enough to defy the barbarians, and
Rome also.”
Asan.
My liege, I am willing for
this marriage. Let it be.
King.
My son, we have not yet
heard all. Read on, sir.
Ambas.
“There is one condition
which not my will, but the jealousy of
our people enforces, viz. that the Prince
Asander, if he weds my daughter, shall
thenceforth forswear his country, nor
seek to return to it on pain of death.
I pray thee, pardon the rudeness of my
countrymen; but they are Greeks, and
judge their freedom more than their
lives.”
Asan.
Insolent hounds!
This is too much. I will have none of them.
Take back that message.
King.
Thou art right, my son.
I could not bear to lose thee, not to win
A thousand Chersons. Let us fight alone,
And see what fortune sends us.
Lys.
Good my liege,
Be not too hasty.
(To Ambassador)
Sir, the King has heard
The message which you bring, and presently
Will send a fitting answer.
[Exit Ambassador.
Nay, my liege,
I beg your patience. That these fellows make
Their friendship difficult is true; but think
How great the value of it, and remember
How easy 'tis to promise and break faith
With insolent dogs like these. This Lamachus
Is older than your grace, and feebler far.
Will not the Prince Asander be as great,
The husband of his daughter and his heir,
As he is now, and sway the power of Cherson
For our own ends, and cast to all the winds
This foul enforcèd compact, and o'er-turn
This commonwealth of curs? I will stake my life
That three years shall not pass ere he is King
Of Cherson in possession, and at once
Of Bosphorus next heir.
“The tongue hath sworn, the mind remains unsworn,”
So says their poet.
Asan.
I'll have none of it.
I am not all Greek, but part Cimmerian,
And scorn to break my word.
Let us face ruin, father, not deceit.
King.
My noble son, I love thee.
Lys.
Good, my liege,
And thou, my Lord Asander, ponder it.
Consider our poor country's gaping wounds,
And what a remedy lies to our hands.
I will die willingly if I devise not
A scheme to bend these upstarts to your will.
[Exeunt omnes.
SCENE II.
—Outside the Palace.Megacles and Courtiers.
Meg.
Well, my lords, and so it is
all settled. We must all be on board
in half an hour. His Altitude the
Prince sails at once for Cherson, and
with a view to his immediate marriage.
Was ever such a rash step heard of?
Not twenty-four hours to get ready the
marriage equipment of a Prince of
Bosphorus. Well, well, I dare say they
would be glad enough to take him with
no rag to his back. I dare say these
rascally republicans would know no
better if he were to be married in his
everyday suit.
1st Court.
I' faith, I should never
have dreamt it. Asander, who is the
boldest huntsman and the bravest
soldier, and the best of good fellows,
to go and tie himself to the
apronstring of a Greek girl, a tradesman's
daughter from Cherson, of all places on
earth! Pah! it makes me sick!
2nd Court.
But I hear she is
beautiful as Artemis, and— Well, we are
all young or have been, and beauty is
a strong loadstone to such metal as the
Prince's.
3rd Court.
Nay, he has never set
eyes on her; and, for that matter, the
Lady Irene was handsome enough, in
all conscience, and a jovial young
gentlewoman to boot. Ye gods! do
you mind how she sighed for him and
pursued him? It was a sight to please
the goddess Aphrodite herself. But
then, our good Asander, who had only
to lift up his little finger, was so cold
and positively forbidding, that I once
came upon the poor lady crying her
eyes out in a passion of mortified
feeling.
1st Court.
Ay, she was from this
outlandish Cherson, was not she?
Aphrodite was a Greek woman also,
remember.
2nd Court.
So she was. I had
quite forgotten where the lady came
from. Well, if she is there now, and
cannot get her Prince, and would like
a gay, tolerably well-favoured young
fellow for a lover, I suppose she need
go no further than the present
company.
Meg.
My lords, I pray you leave
these frivolities, and let us come to
serious matters. Think, I beg you, in
what a painful position I am placed.
I am to go, without proper notice, as
Master of the Ceremonies of the Court
of Bosphorus, to conduct an important
Court-ceremonial with a pack of scurvy
knaves, who, I will be bound, hardly
know the difference between an
Illustrious and a Respectable, or a
Respectable and an Honourable. I must do
my best to arrange all decently and in
order, and as near as may be to the
Imperial model, and all these matters
I have to devise on shipboard, tossed
about on that villanous Euxine, with a
smell of pitch everywhere, and
seasickness in my stomach. And when I
get to Cherson, if ever I do get there
alive, I have not the faintest idea whom
I am to consult with—whether there
is a Count of the Palace or anybody, in
fact. I dare say there is nobody; I am
sure there is nobody. A marriage of
the heir apparent is a very serious
affair, let me tell you. What a comfort
it is that I have got the last edition of
that precious work of the divine
Theodosius on Dignities! If it were not for
that, I should go mad.
1st Court.
My good Megacles, I
warn you the Prince cares as little for
etiquette as he does for love-making.
Meg.
Very likely, and that makes
my position so difficult. Just reflect
for a moment. When we go ashore at
Cherson, I suppose we shall be
received by the authorities?
2nd Court.
Surely, good Megacles.
Meg.
Then, how many steps should
Prince Asander take to meet his
father-in-law Lamachus—eh? And how many
steps should Lamachus take? You
never gave the matter a thought? Of
course not. And these are questions
to be settled on the spot, and scores
like them.
3rd Court.
I dare say it won't
matter at all, or very little.
Meg.
Matter very little, indeed!
very little, forsooth! Why, in the
name of all the saints, do not alliances
fall through for less? Are not bloody
wars fought for less? Do I not
remember the sad plight of the Grand
Chamberlain, when the Illustrious Leo,
the Pro-Consul of Macedonia, had a
meeting at Court with the Respectable
the Vice-Prefect of Pannonia? Now,
the Pro-Consul should have taken four
steps forward, as being the most noble,
the Vice-Prefect five. But, the
Vice-Prefect being a tall man, and the Pro
Consul a short one, the Grand
Chamberlain did not sufficiently measure
their distances; and so when they had
taken but four steps each, there were
the two Dignitaries bolt upright, face
to face, glaring at each other, and no
room to take the fraction of a foot pace
more.
1st Court.
Faith, a very laughable
situation, good Megacles. Was it hard
to settle!
Meg.
I should think it was hard to
settle. No one could interfere; the
Book of Ceremonies was sent for, and
was silent. There was nothing for it
but that the Emperor, after half an
hour, broke up the Court in confusion,
and those two remained where they
were till it was quite dark, and then
they got away, no one knows how.
But what came of it? For fifteen years
there was war and bloodshed between
the provinces, and but for the invasion
of the Goths, there would be to this day.
Matter little, indeed! Why, you foolish
youngster, ceremony is everything in
life. To understand Precedence aright
is to know the secrets of nature. The
order of Precedence is the order of
Creation. It is, in fact, a very
cosmogony. Oh, a noble science! a noble
science!
1st Court.
Right, good Megacles,
to magnify your office. Bravery is
nothing; goodness is nothing; beauty
is a foolish dream. Give us Ceremony,
Ceremony, more Ceremony; it is the
salt of life.
Meg.
A very intelligent youth. But
here comes the King.
Enter the King, Asander, and Lysimachus.
Asan.
My liege, I do your will,
Though with a heavy heart. Farewell, my father.
If I must bid farewell to this dear City,
Which nourished me from childhood, 'tis to save it,
Not otherwise, and thou my sire and King.
From thee I do not part, and often-times,
If the saints will, I yet shall welcome thee,
When all our foes are routed and our troubles
Fled like some passing storm-cloud, to my hearth,
And set thy heir upon thy knees, a Prince
Of Bosphorus and Cherson.
King.
Good, my son,
I pray God keep you, for I dimly fear,
So dark a presage doth obscure my mind,
That we shall meet no more.
Lys.
My honoured liege,
These are the figments of a mind which grief
Hath part disordered. Thou shalt see thy son,
Trust me for it; I swear it. One thing more
Remains. I know what 'tis to be a youth
As yet untouched by love; I know what charm
Lies in the magic of a woman's eyes
For a young virgin heart. I pray you, sir,
Swear to me by the saints, that, come what may,
For no allurement which thy new life brings thee,
The love of wife or child, wilt thou forget
Our Bosphorus, but still wilt hold her weal
Above all other objects of thy love
In good or adverse fortune.
Asan.
Nay, my lord,
There is no need for oaths; yet will I swear it,
Here on this soldier's cross.
[Makes a cross with the hilt of his sword.
Farewell, my father,
I mar my manhood, staying.
King.
Farewell, son.
Let my old eyes fix on thee till thou goest
And you brave gentlemen, be faithful all
To me and to your Prince.
Lys.
My Lord Asander, Remember!
| Gycia | |