The Two Lovers of Heaven : Chrysanthus and Daria A Drama of Early Christian Rome |
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Scene I.
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 | The Two Lovers of Heaven : Chrysanthus and Daria |  |
Scene I.
—A Room in the house of Polemius at Rome.Chrysanthus is seen seated near a writing table on which are several books: he is reading a small volume with deep attention.
Chrysanthus.
Ah! how shallow is my mind!
How confined! and how restricted!
Ah! how driftless are my words!
And my thoughts themselves how driftless!
Since I cannot comprehend,
Cannot pierce the secrets hidden
In this little book that I
Found by chance with others mingled.
I its meaning cannot reach,
Howsoe'er my mind I rivet,
Though to this, and this alone,
Many a day has now been given.
But I cannot therefore yield,
Must not own myself outwitted:—
No; a studious toil so great
Should not end in aught so little.
O'er this book my whole life long
Shall I brood until the riddle
Is made plain, or till some sage
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For which end I'll read once more
Its beginning. How my instinct
Uses the same word with which
Even the book itself beginneth!—
“In the beginning was the Word” ...
If in language plain and simple
Word means speech, how then was it
In the beginning? Since a whisper
Presupposes power to breathe it,
Proves an earlier existence,
And to that anterior Power
Here the book doth not bear witness.
Then this follows: “And the Word
Was with God”—nay more, 't is written,
“And the Word was God: was with Him
In the beginning, and by Him then
All created things were made
And without Him naught was finished”:—
Oh! what mysteries, what wonders,
In this tangled labyrinthine
Maze lie hid! which I so many
Years have studied, with such mingled
Aid from lore divine and human
Have in vain tried to unriddle!—
“In the beginning was the Word”.—
Yes, but when was this beginning?
Was it when Jove, Neptune, Pluto
Shared the triple zones betwixt them,
When the one took to himself
Heaven supreme, one hell's abysses,
And the sea the third, to Ceres
Leaving earth, the ever-wingéd
Time to Saturn, fire to Phœbus,
And the air to Jove's great sister? —
No, it could not have been then,
For the fact of their partition
Shows that heaven and earth then were,
Shows that sea and land existed:—
The beginning then must be
Something more remote and distant:
He who has expressly said
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At the primal cause of all things,
At the first and great beginning,
All things growing out of Him,
He himself the pre-existent:—
Yes, but then a new beginning
Must we seek for this beginner,
And so on ad infinitum;
Since if I, on soaring pinion
Seek from facts to rise to causes,
Rising still from where I had risen,
I will find at length there is
No beginning to the beginning,
And the inference that time
Somehow was, ere time existed,
And that that which ne'er begun
Ne'er can end, is plain and simple.
But, my thought, remain not here,
Rest not in those narrow limits,
But rise up with me and dare
Heights, that make the brain grow dizzy:—
And at once to enter there,
Other things being pretermitted,
Let us venture where the mind,
As the darkness round it thickens,
Almost faints as we resume
What this mystic scribe has written.
“And the Word”, this writer says,
“Was made flesh!” Ah! how can this be?
Could the Word that in the beginning
Was with God, was God, was gifted
With such power as to make all things,
Could it be made flesh? In pity,
Heavens! or take from me at once
All the sense that you have given me,
Or at once on me bestow
Some intelligence, some glimmer
Of clear light through these dark shadows.—
Deity, unknown and hidden,
God or Word, whate'er thou beest,
Of Thyself the great beginner,
Of Thyself the end, if, Thou
Being Thyself beyond time's sickle,
Still in time the world didst fashion,
If Thou'rt life, O living spirit,
If Thou'rt light, my darkened senses
With Thy life and light enkindle!—
(The voices of two spirits are heard from within, one at each side.)
First Voice.
Hear, Chrysanthus ...
Second Voice.
Listen ...
Chrysanthus.
Two
Voices, if they are not instincts,
Shadows without soul or body,
Which my fancy forms within me,
Are contending in my bosom
Each with each at the same instant.
(Two figures appear on high, one clothed in a dark robe dotted with stars; the other in a bright and beautiful mantle: Chrysanthus does not see them, but in the following scene ever speaks to himself)
First Voice.
What this crabbed text here meaneth
By the Word, is plain and simple,
It is Jove to whose great voice
Gods and men obedient listen.
Chrysanthus.
Jove, it must be Jove, by whom
Breath, speech, life itself are given.
Second Voice.
What the holy Gospel means
By the Word, is that great Spirit
Who was in Himself for ever,
First, last, always self-existent.
Chrysanthus.
Self-existent! first and last!
Reason cannot grasp that dictum.
First Voice.
In the beginning of the world
Jove in heaven his high throne fixéd,
Leaving less imperial thrones
To the other gods to fill them.
Chrysanthus.
Yes, if he could not alone
Rule creation unassisted.
Second Voice.
God was God, long, long before
Earth or heaven's blue vault existed,
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Grave to time its life and mission.
First Voice.
Worship only pay to Jove,
God o'er all our gods uplifted.
Second Voice.
Worship pay to God alone,
He the infinite, the omniscient.
First Voice.
He doth lord the world below.
Second Voice.
He is Lord of Heaven's high kingdom.
First Voice.
Shun the lightnings of his wrath.
Second Voice.
Seek the waves of his forgiveness.
[The Figures disappear.
Chrysanthus.
Oh! what darkness, what confusion,
In myself I find here pitted
'Gainst each other! Spirits twain
Struggle desperately within me,
Spirits twain of good and ill,—
One with gentle impulse wins me
To believe, but, oh! the other
With opposing force resistless
Drives me back to doubt: Oh! who
Will dispel these doubts that fill me?
Polemius
(within).
Yes, Carpophorus must pay
For the trouble that this gives me.—
Chrysanthus.
Though these words by chance were spoken
As an omen I'll admit them:
Since Carpophorus (who in Rome
Was the most renowned, most gifted
Master in all science), now
Flying from the emperor's lictors,
Through suspect of being a Christian,
In lone deserts wild and dismal
Lives a saintly savage life,
He will give to all my wishes
The solution of these doubts:—
And till then, O restless thinking
Torture me and tease no more!
Let me live for that!
[His voice gradually rises.
Escarpin
(within).
Within there
My young master calls.
Claudius
(within).
All enter.
(Enter Polemius, Claudius, Aurelius, and Escarpin).
Polemius.
My Chrysanthus, what afflicts thee?
Chrysanthus.
Canst thou have been here, my father?
Polemius.
No, my son, 'twas but this instant
That I entered here, alarmed
By the strange and sudden shrillness
Of thy voice; and though I had
On my hands important business,
Grave and weighty, since to me
Hath the Emperor transmitted
This decree, which bids me search
Through the mountains for the Christians
Hidden there, and specially
For Carpophorus, their admitted
Chief and teacher, for which cause
I my voice too thus uplifted—
“Yes, Carpophorus must pay
For the trouble that this gives me”—
I left all at hearing thee.—
Why so absent? so bewildered?
What's the reason?
Chrysanthus.
Sir, 't is naught.
Polemius.
Whom didst thou address?
Chrysanthus.
Here sitting
I was reading to myself,
And perchance conceived some image
I may have addressed in words
Which have from my memory flitted.
Polemius.
The grave sadness that o'erwhelms thee
Will, unless it be resisted,
Undermine thy understanding,
If thou hast it still within thee.
Claudius.
'T is a loud soliloquy,
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That compels one's friends to hasten
Full of fear to his assistance!
Chrysanthus.
Well, excitement may ...
Polemius.
Oh! cease;
That excuse will scarce acquit thee,
Since when one's alone, excitement
Is a flame that's seldom kindled.
I am pleased, well pleased to see thee
To the love of books addicted,
But then application should not
To extremes like this be driven,
Nor should letters alienate thee
From thy country, friends, and kinsmen.
Claudius.
A young man by heaven so favoured,
With such rare endowments gifted,
Blessed with noble birth and valour,
Dowered with genius, rank, and riches,
Can he yield to such enthralment,
Can he make his room a prison,
Can he waste in idle reading
The fair flower of his existence?
Polemius.
Dost thou not remember also
That thou art my son? Bethink thee
That the great Numerianus,
Our good emperor, has given me
The grand government of Rome
As chief senator of the city,
And with that imperial burden
The whole world too—all the kingdoms,
All the provinces subjected
To its varied, vast dominion.
Know'st thou not, from Alexandria,
From my native land, my birth-place,
Where on many a proud escutcheon
My ancestral fame is written,
That he brought me here, the weight
Of his great crown to bear with him,
And that Rome upon my entry
Gave to me a recognition
That repaid the debt it owed me,
Since the victories were admitted
Which in glorious alternation
By my sword and pen were given her?
Through what vanity, what folly,
Wilt thou not enjoy thy birth-right
As my son and heir, indulging
Solely in these idle whimseys?—
Chrysanthus.
Sir, the state in which you see me,
This secluded room, this stillness,
Do not spring from want of feeling,
Or indifference to your wishes.
'T is my natural disposition,
For I have no taste to mingle
In the vulgar vain pursuits
Of the courtier crowds ambitious.
And if living to myself here
More of true enjoyment gives me,
Why would you desire me seek for
That which must my joys diminish?
Let this time of sadness pass,
Let these hours of lonely vigil,
Then for fame and its applauses,
Which no merit of my own,
But my father's name may bring me.
Polemius.
Would it not, my son, be fitter
That you should enjoy those plaudits
In the fresh and blooming spring-time
Of your life, and to hereafter
Leave the loneliness and vigil?
Escarpin.
Let me tell a little story
Which will make the whole thing simple:—
A bad painter bought a house,
Altogether a bad business,
For the house itself was bad:
He however was quite smitten
With his purchase, and would show it
To a friend of his, keen-witted,
But bad also: when they entered,
The first room was like a kitchen,
Black and bad:—“This room, you see, sir,
Now is bad, but just permit me
First to have it whitewashed over,
Then shall my own hand with pictures
Paint the walls from floor to ceiling,
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To him thus his friend made answer,
Smiling archly: “Yes, 'twill glisten,
But if you would paint it first,
And then whitewash o'er the pictures,
The effect would be much better”.—
Now's the time for you, my lord,
To lay on the shining pigment:
On that brilliant ground hereafter
Will the whitewash fall more fitly,
For, in fine, the poorest painting
Is improved by time's slow finger.
Chrysanthus.
Sir, I say, that in obedience
To your precepts, to your wishes,
I will strive from this day forward
So to act, that you will think me
Changed into another being.
[Exit.
Polemius.
Claudius, my paternal instinct
Makes me fear Chrysanthus' sadness,
Makes we tremble that its issue
May result in total madness.
Since thou art his friend and kinsman
Both combined, make out, I pray thee,
What occasions this bewitchment,
To the end that I may break it:
And my promise now I give thee,
That although I should discover
Love's delirious dream delicious
May be at the root,—most likely
At his age the true suspicion,—
It shall not disturb or grieve me.
Nay, since I am doomed to witness
His dejection, it will glad me
To find out that so it springeth.
Escarpin.
Once a high priest of Apollo
Had two nephews soft and silly,
More than silly, wretched creatures,
More than wretched, doltish drivels;
And perceiving from experience
How love smartens up its victims,
He but said to them this only,
“Fall in love at least, ye ninnies”.—
Thus, though not in love, sir, now,
I'll be bound he'll be so quickly,
Merely to oblige you.
Polemius.
This
Is not quite as I would wish it,
For when anything has happened,
The desire to know it, differs
From the wish it so should happen.
Claudius.
I, my lord, my best assistance
Offer thee to strive and fathom
From what cause can have arisen
Such dejection and such sadness;
This henceforth shall be my business
To divert him and distract him.
Polemius.
Such precisely are my wishes:
And since now I am forced to go
In obedience to the mission
Sent me by Numerianus,
'Mid the wastes to search for Christians,
In my absence, Claudius,
Most consoling thoughts 'twill give me,
To remember that thou watchest
O'er Chrysanthus.
Claudius.
From this instant
Until thy return, I promise
Not to leave his side.
Polemius.
Aurelius ...
Aurelius.
My good lord.
Polemius.
Art sure thou knowest
In this mountain the well-hidden
Cave wherein Carpophorus dwelleth?
Aurelius.
Him I promise to deliver
To thy hands.
Polemius.
Then lead the soldiers
Stealthily and with all quickness
To the spot, for all must perish
Who are there found hiding with him:—
For the care with which, ye Heavens!
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Of the gods, their faith and worship,
For the zeal that I exhibit
In thus crushing Christ's new law,
Which I hate with every instinct
Of my soul, oh! grant my guerdon
In the cure of my son's illness!
[Exeunt Polemius and Aurelius.
Claudius
(to Escarpin).
Go and tell my lord Chrysanthus
That I wish he would come with me
Forth to-day for relaxation.
Escarpin.
Relaxation! just say whither
Are we to go forth to get it;
Of that comfort I get little—
Claudius.
Outside Rome, Diana's temple
On the Salarian way uplifteth
Its majestic front: the fairest
Of our Roman maids dwell in it:
'T is the custom, as thou knowest,
That the loveliest of Rome's children
Whom patrician blood ennobles,
From their tender years go thither
To be priestesses of the goddess,
Living there till 't is permitted
They should marry: 't is the centre
Of all charms, the magic circle
Drawn around a land of beauty—
Home of deities—Elysium!—
And as great Diana is
Goddess of the groves, her children
Have to her an altar raised
In the loveliest cool green thicket.
Thither, when the evening falleth,
And the season is propitious,
Various squadrons of fair nymphs
Hasten: and it is permitted
Gallant youths, unmarried also,
As an escort to go with them.
There this evening will I lead him.
Escarpin.
Well, I doubt that your prescription
Is the best: for fair recluses,
Whose sublime pursuits, restricted
To celestial things, make even
The most innocent thought seem wicked,
Are by no means likely persons
To divert a man afflicted
With this melancholy madness:
Better take him into the thickest
Throng of Rome, there flesh and bone
Goddesses he'll find, and fitter.—
Claudius.
Ah! you speak but as the vulgar:
Is it not the bliss of blisses
To adore some lovely being
In the ideal, in the distance,
Almost as a vision?—
Escarpin.
Yes;
'T is delightful; I admit it,
But there's good and better: think
Of the choice that once a simple
Mother gave her son: she said:
“Egg or rasher, which will I give thee?”
And he said: “The rasher, mother,
But with the egg upon it, prithee”.
“Both are best”, so says the proverb.
Claudius.
Well, if tastes didn't sometimes differ,
What a notable mistake
Providence would have committed!
To adore thee, sweetest Cynthia,
[aside
Is the height of all my wishes:
As it well may be, for am I
Worthy, worship even to give her?
[Exeunt.
The whole of the first scene is in asonante verse, the vowels being i, e, as in “restricted”, “driftless”, “hidden”, etc. These vowels, or their equivalents in sound, will be found pretty accurately represented in the last two syllables of every alterrnate line throughout the scene, which ends at p. 25, and where the verse changes into the full consonant rhyme.
The resemblance between certain parts of Goethe's Faust and The Wonder-Working Magician of Calderon has been frequently alluded to, and has given rise to a good deal of discussion. In the controversy as to how much the German poet was indebted to the Spanish, I do not recollect any reference to The Two Lovers of Heaven. The following passage, however, both in its spirit and language, presents a singular likeness to the more elaborate discussion of the same difficulty in the text. The scene is in Faustus's study. Faustus, as in the present play, takes up a volume of the New Testament, and thus proceeds:
“In the beginning was the Word”. Alas!
The first line stops me: how shall I proceed?
“The word” cannot express the meaning here.
I must translate the passage differently,
If by the spirit I am rightly guided.
Once more,—“In the beginning was the Thought”.—
Consider the first line attentively,
Lest hurrying on too fast, you lose the meaning.
Was it then Thought that has created all things?
Can thought make matter? Let us try the line
Once more,—“In the beginning was the Power”—
This will not do—even while I write the phrase,
I feel its faults—oh! help me, holy Spirit,
I'll weigh the passage once again, and write
Boldly,—“In the beginning was the Act”.
Anster's Faustus, Francfort ed., 1841, p. 63.
The first line stops me: how shall I proceed?
“The word” cannot express the meaning here.
I must translate the passage differently,
If by the spirit I am rightly guided.
Once more,—“In the beginning was the Thought”.—
Consider the first line attentively,
Lest hurrying on too fast, you lose the meaning.
Was it then Thought that has created all things?
Can thought make matter? Let us try the line
Once more,—“In the beginning was the Power”—
This will not do—even while I write the phrase,
I feel its faults—oh! help me, holy Spirit,
I'll weigh the passage once again, and write
Boldly,—“In the beginning was the Act”.
| The Two Lovers of Heaven : Chrysanthus and Daria | |