University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE FIRST.

Demariste, Timoleon.
Timol.
I come to reap the harvest of thy judgment.
Since last I saw thee Archidas alone
Hath fall'n assassinated: thy discourse
Hath hitherto much check'd thy haughty son:
Now certainly thou hast entirely changed
And mollified his heart: that which in vain
My ineffectual and fraternal words,
The universal cries, the general tears,
Friendly reprovings, and the bitter pangs
Of a remorseful conscience, sought to effect,
At last have been achieved by the absolute,
And virtuous intercessions of a mother.

Dem.
... That I applied myself to this effect
With strenuous warmth, I call the heavens to witness;
But is there any rock that may compare
In hardness with the bosom of my son?
He hath imbibed the poisonous draught of power;
Nor are there prayers, or tears, or arguments,
Of force, that now can change him! I with thee
Was here conversing, scarcely had he left us,
When he inflicted a tremendous death
On Archidas. After such deeds as these,
What avail words? I spoke in vain; still more
Timophanes persists ... Ah thou! who art
Humane and wise, do thou awhile then yield
To irresistible impetuous power:
Perhaps afterwards ...

Timol.
Lady, to me speak'st thou?

Dem.
Alas! ... If thou dost not, what will befall us? ...
Ah! hear me. Would'st thou see him massacred?
Or would'st thou, that by force a turbulent,
Frantic ambition now should drag him on
To crimes more heinous still? His state from thine
Is too dissimilar: of too much blood
He is already guilty, that he now
Should live securely were he stripped of power.
Now is it indispensable that he
Supply with power the forfeiture of fame.
But thee, who art arm'd in complete innocence,
Calm reason may convince: and I may find
Thee a more facil listener. His power,
His honour, perhaps e'en life itself, all, all,
If he should yield himself to us, he loses:
Thou, if to me thou yieldest, losest nothing ...

Timol.
What infamous conclusions! Callest thou
Thy country nothing? nothing my renown?—
Art thou my mother, thou?—If he should cease
To be a tyrant, for his life thou fearest?—
But tell me, thinkest thou that he can live,
Provided he persist to be a tyrant?

Dem.
Oh heaven! ... Every word of thine breathes vengeance!
Fierce to thy brother art thou, while for thee
He is all love: while he would have in thee,
In thy intelligence and lofty heart,
His country live; and that magnificence
Which he in time of war bestow'd on her,
He wills, that now she should receive from thee,
In time of peace, in more abundant streams.
And this he swore to me ...

Timol.
And dost thou yield
Belief to words (or be they true or false)
Always corrupt? Thou shouldest know, methinks,
That I'm a citizen, and not the city.
The country lives in sanctimonious laws;
In upright magistrates, its ministers,
And not its masters; in the multitude,
And in the great; in uncorrupted votes,
And in the union of these suffrages;
In an incessant and pervading freedom
That makes all equal that are so in goodness;
And, more than all, the country's life consists
In the fix'd hate of individual rule.
This know'st not thou?—It was the highest insult
That could be shewn me by yourselves, to dare,
Or feign to deem me the confederate
Of tyranny in you.—And, lady, thou
Art equally convicted with thy son,
By signs conclusive: it is clear to me,
That less it pleases thee to be the mother
Of me, a citizen, than of him, a tyrant.

Dem.
'Tis clear to all, that, as thou canst, I cannot
Divest myself of love for my own blood;
That I am evermore a mother ... Thus
Wert thou a brother!

Timol.
Oh what mother art thou?
The Spartan ladies, that which mothers should be,
They teach thee in their austere commonwealth.
The effeminate fondness of a partial woman
Is thine, miscall'd by thee, maternal love,
Making thee yield thy son's intrinsic honour
To his unprincipled and headstrong pride.
Behold the Spartan mothers, in their sons
Rejoicing, for their country sacrificed;
Counting their wounds, and washing, kissing them
With patriotic, not lamenting tears;
And she that is of most sons destitute,
By stately grief ennobled, move along
Most dignified in aspect: these are women,
Women, and citizens, and mothers, these.
Thou to thy son's inflexible intent,
Although thou know'st it criminal, dost yield:
And dar'st thou say to me, and dar'st thou hope,
That I should also yield to it? Ah why
To my still more inflexible intent,
Which thou dost know to be the child of virtue,
Dost thou not rather yield? For him alone
Dost thou ejaculate a mother's name;
For me suppressest it?

Dem.
Ah, calm thyself;
Hear me, Timoleon ... What have I not done?
And what have I not said? ... I am aware
That on thy side is reason; but thou knowest
That force, which listens to no arguments,
Combats for him ...

Timol.
No, mother, no; by words
Thou hast done little, and by deeds still less,
Nay, nothing. Have impassion'd sentiments
Inflamed thy heart? That patriotic fire
That gives new courage to the weakest breast?
Which had inspired thee with an eloquence
Imperative, ferocious, masculine.
In thy antipathies and sympathies,
Timophanes, believe me, craftily
His hopes hath founded: he discovers clearly
How much the fascination of a throne
Flatters thy sickly appetite. Say, mother,
Has he e'er heard thee thunder forth in tones
Of lofty menace? Has he ever heard thee ...

Dem.
As far as might a powerless mother venture,
I have presumed; but ...

Timol.
Was a Grecian mother
Ever incapable, or ever powerless?
Thou hast, more than thou meritest to have,
Effective arms; if thou neglectest them,
Thine is the fault. If he to prayers, and tears,
And arguments resisted, thou thyself
Shouldest have banish'd hence (for this abode
Is thine) the scandalous, pestiferous train
Of tyranny; have taken from thy son
The sources of corruption; taken from him,
Ere aught thou tookest, weapons worse than swords,
The master key of all base passions, gold.
Did not thy consort's last and sacred will,
Do not the laws of Corinth, render thee
The absolute disposer of our substance?

Dem.
'Tis true, I might have spoken ... but, if ...

Timol.
Thou should'st have acted, not have spoken, mother:
And if his guilt arose to such a pitch
As to contend with thee, why didst not thou,
With hair dishevell'd, weeping, and in weeds
Of widowhood, tearing thy breast and face,
Depart from this contaminated roof?
And in thy hand, at thy departure thence,
The children of thy son thou should'st have led,
Themselves not guilty for their guilty sire;
And with them should'st have dragg'd their weeping mother,
A grateful spectacle of ancient virtue
To all good citizens: have shelter'd thee
And them with me, thy true, thy only son,
And to himself the tyrant have abandon'd,
Amid his bullies and his parasites:
Not accessory to his usurp'd power
Have loftily proclaim'd thyself; and thus
Have taken from thyself the horrible blot
Of being his accomplice.—This didst thou,
To such exposure could he have resisted? ...
Surely he scorn'd that which he well might scorn,
Imbecile tears and female lamentations.

Dem.
My son, ... I fear'd ... Ah! hear me ...

Timol.
He should hear thee ...

Dem.
I fear'd to exasperate his cruelty,
By thus defying him: I turn'd to thee,
And still I turn to thee, to whom an evil,
Still greater than to him, might have ensued;
To thee ...

Timol.
Thou fearest? If fear be thy guide,
If fear in thee must now usurp the place
Of patriotic love, know thou that ruin,
Irreparable ruin, over him,
Not over me, impends; and that this day,
This day alone, if thou would'st have him saved,
Remains to thee ...

Dem.
What do I hear? ... Alas! ...

Timol.
Yes, but this day, now verging towards night ...
I love my brother, but I love him, mother,
With a far different love to thine; in heart
I weep for him, although with thee I weep not.
I speak to thee with this ferocity
Because I love you both ... For Corinth now
No more I fear; ... I fear alone for you.
Timophanes unwarily confides
In his bribed mercenaries ... Ah, my mother,
My last petitions now I raise to thee.
I supplicate thee for my brother's life,
If thou dost hold it dear. I now alone
Over his head myself suspended hold
The citizen's retributory sword;
I add, I only, to the tyrant's days
A single day: I that first ought to wreak
My vengeance in the life-blood of the tyrant,
I, ah disgraceful weakness! I preserve it.
Take warning from my words, and be persuaded
That Corinth has not yet so much incensed
Her guardian deities, is not beheld
By them so inauspiciously, that yet
They would to one man's arbitrary will
Annihilate her high prerogatives.—
Behold the tyrant. I no more accost him;
I have said all to him that I can say.—
If ill result, blame thou thyself alone.