University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—A hall in the house of Polemius, opening at the end upon a garden.
(Enter Polemius and Claudius.)
Polemius.
Is then everything prepared?—

Claudius.
Everything has been got ready
As you ordered. This apartment
Opening on the garden terrace
Has been draped and covered over
With the costliest silks and velvets,
Leaving certain spaces bare
For the painter's magic pencil,
Where, so cunning is his art,
That it nature's self resembles.
Flowers more fair than in the garden,
Pinks and roses are presented:
But what wonder when the fountains
Still run after to reflect them?—
All things else have been provided,
Music, dances, gala dresses;
And for all that, Rome yet knows not
What in truth is here projected;
'T is a fair Academy,
In whose floral halls assemble
Beauty, wit, and grace, a sight
That we see but very seldom.
All the ladies too of Rome
Have prepared for the contention
With due circumspection, since
As his wife will be selected
She who best doth please him; thus
There are none but will present them
In these gardens, some to see him,
Others to show off themselves here.

Polemius.
Oh, my Claudius, would to Jove
That all this could dispossess me
Of my dark foreboding fancies,
Of the terrors that oppress me!—

(Enter Aurelius.)
Aurelius.
Sir, a very learned physician
Comes to proffer his best service
To Chrysanthus, led by rumour
Of his illness.

Polemius.
Bid him enter.

[Aurelius retires, and returns immediately with Carpophorus, disguised as a physician.]
Carpophorus
(aside).
Heaven, that I may do the work
That this day I have attempted,
Grant me strength a little while;
For I know my death impendeth!—
Mighty lord, thy victor hand,
[aloud.
Let me kiss and kneeling press it.

Polemius.
Venerable elder, rise
From the ground; thy very presence
Gives me joy, a certain instinct
Even at sight of thee doth tell me
Thou alone canst save my son.

Carpophorus.
Heaven but grant the cure be perfect!

Polemius.
Whence, sir, art thou?

Carpophorus.
Sir, from Athens.

Polemius.
'T is a city that excelleth
All the world in knowledge.

Carpophorus.
There
All are teachers, all are learners.
The sole wish to be of use
Has on this occasion led me
From my home. Inform me then
How Chrysanthus is affected.

Polemius.
With an overwhelming sadness;
Or to speak it more correctly
(Since when we consult a doctor
Even suspicions should be mentioned),
He, my son, has been bewitched;—
Thus it is these Christian perverts
Take revenge through him on me:
In particular an elder
Called Carpophorus, a wizard ...
May the day soon come for vengeance!

Carpophorus.
May heaven grant it ... ( aside,
For that day
I the martyr's crown may merit).
Where at present is Chrysanthus?

Polemius.
He is just about to enter:—
You can see him; all his ailment
In the soul you'll find is centered.

Carpophorus.
In the soul then I will cure him,
If my skill heaven only blesses.

[Music is heard from within.
Claudius.
That he's leaving his apartment
This harmonious strain suggesteth,
Since to counteract his gloom
He by music is attended.

(Enter Chrysanthus richly dressed, preceded by musicians playing and singing, and followed by attendants.)
Chrysanthus.
Cease; my pain, perchance my folly,
Cannot be by song diverted;
Music is a power exerted
For the cure of melancholy,
Which in truth it but augmenteth.

A Musician.
This your father bade us do.

Chrysanthus.
'T is because he never knew
Pain like that which me tormenteth.
For if he that pang incessant
Felt, he would not wish to cure it,
He would love it and endure it.

Polemius.
Think, my son, that I am present,
And that I am not ambitious
To assume your evil mood,
But to find that it is good.

Chrysanthus.
No, sir, you mistake my wishes.
I would not through you relieve me
Of my care; my former state
Seemed, though, more to mitigate
What I suffer: why not leave me
There to die?

Polemius.
That yet I may,
Pitying your sad condition,
Work your cure:—A great physician
Comes to visit you to-day.

Chrysanthus
(aside).
Who do I behold? ah, me!

Carpophorus.
I will speak to him with your leave.

Chrysanthus
(aside).
No, my eyes do not deceive,
'T is Carpophorus that I see!
I my pleasure must conceal.

Carpophorus.
Sir, of what do you complain?

Chrysanthus.
Since you come to cure my pain,
I will tell you how I feel.
A great sadness hath been thrown
O'er my mind and o'er my feelings,
A dark blank whose dim revealings
Make their sombre tints mine own.

Carpophorus.
Can you any cause assign me
Whence this sadness is proceeding?

Chrysanthus.
From my earliest years to reading
Did my studious tastes incline me.
Something thus acquired doth wake
Doubts, and fears, and hopes, ah me!
That the things I read may be.

Carpophorus.
Then from me this lesson take.
Every mystery how obscure,
Is explained by faith alone;
All is clear when that is known:
'T is through faith I'll work your cure.
Since in that your healing lies,
Take it then from me.

Chrysanthus.
From you
I infer all good: that true
Faith I hope which you advise.

Carpophorus
(to Polemius).
Give me leave, sir, to address
Some few words to him alone,
Less reserve will then be shown.
(The two retire to one side.
Have you recognized me?

Chrysanthus.
Yes,
Every sign shows you are he
Who in my most perilous strait
Fled and left me to my fate.

Carpophorus.
God did that; and would you see
That it was His own work, say,
If I did not then absent me
Through His means, could I present me
As your teacher here to-day?

Chrysanthus.
No.

Carpophorus.
How just His providence!
Since I was preserved, that I
Here might seek you, and more nigh
Give you full intelligence
Leisurely of every doubt
Which disturbs you when you read.

Chrysanthus.
Mysteries they are indeed,
Difficult to be made out.

Carpophorus.
To the believer all is plain.

Chrysanthus.
I would believe, what must I do?—

Carpophorus.
Your intellectual pride subdue.

Chrysanthus.
I will subdue it, since 't is vain.

Carpophorus.
Then the first thing to be done
Is to be baptized.

Chrysanthus.
I bow,
Father, and implore it now.

Carpophorus.
Let us for the present shun
Further notice; lest suspicion
Should betray what we would smother;
Every day we'll see each other,
When I'll execute my mission:
I, to cure sin's primal scath,
Will at fitting time baptize you,
Taking care to catechise you
In the principles of the faith;
Only now one admonition
Must I give; be armed, be ready
For the fight most fierce and steady
Ever fought for man's perdition;
Oh! take heed, amid the advances
Of the fair who wish to win you,
'Mid the fires that burn within you,
'Mid lascivious looks and glances,
'Mid such various foes enlisted,
That you are not conquered by them.

Chrysanthus.
Women! oh! who dare defy them
By such dread allies assisted?

Carpophorus.
He whom God assists.

Chrysanthus.
Be swayed
By my tears, and ask him.

Carpophorus.
You
Must too ask him: for he who
Aids himself, him God doth aid.

Polemius.
What, sir, think you of his case?

Carpophorus.
I have ordered him a bath,
Strong restoring powers it hath,
Which his illness must displace:—

Polemius.
Sir, relying on you then,
I will give you ample wealth,
If you can restore his health.

Carpophorus.
Still I cannot tell you when,
But I shall return and see him
Frequently; in fact 'till he
Is from all his ailment free,
From my hand I will not free him.

Polemius.
For your kindness I am grateful.

Crysanthus.
He alone has power to cure me.
Since he knows what will allure me,
When all other modes are hateful.

[Exit Carpophorus.
(Enter Escarpin.)
Escarpin.
All this garden of delight
Must be beauty's birth-place sure,
Here the fresh rose doubly pure,
Here the jasmin doubly white,
Learn to-day a newer grace,
Lovelier red, more dazzling snow.

Polemius.
Why?

Escarpin.
Because the world doth show
Naught so fair as this sweet place.
Falsely boasts th'Elysian bower
Peerless beauty, here to-day
More, far more, these groves display:—
Not a fountain, tree, or flower ...

Polemius.
Well?

Escarpin.
But by a nymph more fair
Is surpassed.

Polemius.
Come, Claudius, come,
He will be but dull and dumb,
Shy the proffered bliss to share,
Through the fear and the respect
Which, as son, he owes to me.

Claudius.
He who gave the advice should see
Also after the effect.
Let us all from this withdraw.

Polemius.
Great results I hope to gather:

Escarpin
(aside).
Well, you're the first pander-father
Ever in my life I saw.

Chrysanthus.
What, Escarpin, you, as well,
Going to leave me? Mum for once.

Escarpin.
Silence suits me for the nonce.

Chrysanthus.
Why?

Escarpin.
A tale in point I'll tell:
Once a snuffler, by a pirate
Moor was captured, who in some
Way affected to be dumb,
That his ransom at no high rate
Might be purchased: when his owner
This defect perceived, the shuffle
Made him sell this Mr. Snuffle
Very cheaply: to the donor
Of his freedom, through his nose,
Half in snuffle, half in squeak,
Then he said, “Oh! Moor, I speak,
I'm not dumb as you suppose”.
“Fool, to let your folly lead you
So astray”, replied the Moor.
“Had I heard you speak, be sure
I for nothing would have freed you”.
Thus it is I moderate me
In the use of tongue and cheek,
Lest when you have heard me speak,
Still more cheaply you may rate me.

Chrysanthus.
You must know the estimation
I have held you in so long.

Escarpin.
Well, my memory is not strong.
It requires consideration
To admit that pleasant fact.

Chrysanthus.
What of me do people say?—

Escarpin.
Shall I speak it?

Chrysanthus.
Speak.

Escarpin.
Why, they
Say, my lord, that you are cracked.

Chrysanthus.
For what reason? Why this blame?

Escarpin.
Reason, sir, need not be had,
For the wisest man is mad
If he only gets the name.

Chrysanthus.
Well, it was not wrongly given,
If they only knew that I
Have consented even to die
So to reach the wished-for heaven
Of a sovereign beauty's favour.

Escarpin.
For a lady's favour you
Have agreed to die?

Chrysanthus.
'T is true.

Escarpin.
Does not this a certain savour
Of insanity give your sadness?

Chrysanthus.
Were I certain as of breath
I could claim it after death,
There was method in my madness.

Escarpin.
A brave soldier of the line,
On his death-bed lying ill,
Spoke thus, “Item, 't is my will,
Gallant friends and comrades mine,
That you'll bear me to my grave,
And although I've little wealth,
Thirty reals to drink my health
Shall you for your kindness have”.
Thus the hope as vain must be
After death one's love to wed,
As to drink one's health when dead.

[Nisida advances from the garden.]
Chrysanthus.
But what maid is this I see
Hither through the garden wending?

Escarpin.
If you take a stroll with me
Plenty of her sort you'll see.

Nisida.
One who would effect the ending
Of thy sadness.

Chrysanthus
(aside).
Now comes near thee,
O my heart, thy threatened trial!
Lady, pardon the denial,
But I would nor see nor hear thee.

Nisida.
Not so ungallantly surely
Wilt thou act, as not to see
One who comes to speak with thee?

Chrysanthus.
To see one who thinks so poorly
Of herself, and with such lightness
Owns she comes to speak with me,
Rather would appear to be
Want of sense than of politeness.

Nisida.
All discourse is not so slight
That thou need'st decline it so.

Chrysanthus.
No, I will not see thee, no.
Thus I shut thee from my sight.

Nisida.
Vainly art thou cold and wise,
Other senses thou shouldst fear,
Since I enter by the ear,
Though thou shut me from the eyes.
Sings.

Chrysanthus.
That melting voice, that melody
Spell-bound holds th'entrancéd soul.
Ah! from such divine control
Who his fettered soul could free?—
Human Siren, leave me, go!
Too well I feel its fatal power.
I faint before it like a flower
By warm-winds wooed in noontide's glow.
The close-pressed lips the mouth can lock,
And so repress the vain reply,
The lid can veil th'unwilling eye
From all that may offend and shock,—
Nature doth seem a niggard here,
Unequally her gifts disposing,
For no instinctive means of closing
She gives the unprotected ear.

(Enter Cynthia.)
Cynthia.
Since then the ear cannot be closed,
And thou resistance need'st not try,
Listen to the gloss that I
On this sweet conceit composed:
“The blesséd rapture of forgetting
Never doth my heart deserve;
What my memory would preserve
Is the memory I'm regretting”.
When Nature from the void obscure
Her varied world to life awakes,
All things find use and so endure:—
Thus she a poison never makes
Without its corresponding cure:
Each thing of Nature's careful setting,
Each plant that grows in field or grove
Hath got its opposite flower or weed;
The cure is with the pain decreed;
Thus too is found for feverish love
The blesséd rapture of forgetting.
The starry wonders of the night,
The arbiters of fate on high,
Nothing can dim: To see their light
Is easy, but to draw more nigh
The orbs themselves, exceeds our might.
Thus 't is to know, and only know,
The troubled heart, the trembling nerve,
To sweet oblivion's blank may owe
Their rest, but, ah! that cure of woe
Never doth my heart deserve.
Then what imports it that there be,
For all the ills of heart or brain,
A sweet oblivious remedy,
If it, when 't is applied to me,
Fails to cure me of my pain?
Forgetfulness in me doth serve
No useful purpose: But why fret
My heart at this? Do I deserve,
Strange contradiction! to forget
What my memory would preserve?
And thus my pain in straits like these,
Must needs despise the only sure
Remedial means of partial ease—
That is—to perish of the cure
Rather than die of the disease.
Then not in wailing or in fretting,
My love, accept thy fate, but let
This victory o'er myself, to thee
Bring consolation, pride, and glee,
Since what I wish not to forget
Is the memory I'm regretting.

Chrysanthus.
'T is not through the voice alone
Music breathes its soft enchantment.
All things that in concord blend
Find in music their one language.
Thou with thy delicious sweetness
[To Nisida]
Hast my heart at once made captive;—
Thou with thy melodious verses
[To Cynthia]
Hast my very soul enraptured.
Ah! how subtly thou dost reason!
Ah! how tenderly thou chantest!
Thou with thy artistic skill,
Thou with thy clear understanding.
But what say I? I speak falsely,
For you both are sphinxes rather,
Who with flattering words seduce me
But to ruin me hereafter:—
Leave me; go: I cannot listen
To your wiles.

Escarpin.
My lord, oh! hearken
To my song once more.

Cynthia.
Wait! stay!

Nisida.
Why thus treat with so much harshness
Those who mourn thy deep dejection?

Escarpin.
Oh! how soon they'd have an answer
If they asked of me these questions.
I know how to treat such tattle:
Leave them, sir, to me.

Chrysanthus.
My senses
'Gainst their lures I must keep guarded:
They are crocodiles, but feigning
Human speech, so but to drag me
To my ruin, my destruction.

Nisida.
Since my voice will still attract thee,
'T is of little use to fly me.

Cynthia.
Though thou dost thy best to guard thee,
While I gloss the words she singeth
To my genius thou must hearken.

Chrysanthus
(aside.)
God whom I adore! since I
Help myself, Thy help, oh! grant me!

Nisida.
“Ah! the joy”. ...
(she becomes confused.
But what is this?
Icy torpor coldly fastens
On my hands; the lute drops from me,
And my very breath departeth.

Cynthia.
Since she cannot sing; then listen
To this subtle play of fancy:
“Love, if thou'rt my god”. ...
(she becomes confused.
But how,
What can have my mind so darkened
What my memory so confuses,
What my voice can so embarrass?

Nisida.
I am turned to frost and fire,
I am changed to living marble.

Cynthia.
Frozen over is my breast,
And my heart is cleft and hardened.

Chrysanthus.
Thus to lose your wits, ye two,
What can have so strangely happened?

Escarpin.
Being poets and musicians,
Quite accounts, sir, for their absence.

Nisida.
Heavens! beneath the noontide sun
To be left in total darkness!

Cynthia.
In an instant, O ye heavens!
O'er your vault can thick clouds gather?

Nisida.
'Neath the contact of my feet
Earth doth tremble, and I stagger.

Cynthia.
Mountains upon mountains seem
On my shoulders to be balanced.

Escarpin.
So it always is with those
Who make verses, or who chant them.

Chrysanthus.
Of the one God whom I worship
These are miracles, are marvels.

(Enter Daria.)
Daria.
Here, Chrysanthus, I have come ...

Nisida.
Stay, Daria.

Cynthia.
Stay, 't is rashness
Here to come, for, full of wonders,
Full of terrors is this garden.

Escarpin.
Do not enter: awful omens
Threat'ning death await thy advent.

Nisida.
By my miseries admonished. ...

Cynthia.
By my strange misfortune startled ...

Nisida.
Flying from myself, I leave
This green sphere, dismayed, distracted.

Cynthia.
Without soul or life I fly,
Overwhelmed by this enchantment.

Nisida.
Oh! how dreadful!

Cynthia.
Oh! how awful!

Nisida.
Oh! the horror!

Cynthia.
Oh! the anguish!

[Exeunt Cynthia and Nisida.]
Escarpin.
Mad with jealousy and rage
Have the tuneful twain departed.

Daria
(aside).
Chastisements for due offences
Do not fright me, do not startle,
For if they through arrogance
And ambition sought this garden,
Me the worship of the gods
Here has led, and so I'm guarded
'Gainst all sorceries whatsoever,
'Gainst all forms of Christian magic:—
Art thou then Chrysanthus?

Chrysanthus.
Yes.

Daria.
Not confused or troubled, rather
With a certain fear I see thee,
For which I have grounds most ample.

Chrysanthus.
Why?

Daria.
Because I thought thou wert
One who in a darksome cavern
Died to show thy love for me.

Chrysanthus.
I have yet been not so happy
As to have a chance, Daria,
Of thus proving my attachment.

Daria.
Be that so, I've come to seek thee,
Confident, completely sanguine,
That I have the power to conquer,
I alone, thy pains, thy anguish;
Though against me thou shouldst use
The Christian armoury—enchantments.

Chrysanthus.
That thou hast alone the power
To subdue the pains that wrack me,
I admit it; but in what
Thou hast said of Christian magic
I, Daria, must deny it.

Daria.
How? from what cause else could happen
The effects I just have witnessed?

Chrysanthus.
Miracles they are and marvels.

Daria.
Why do they affect not me?

Chrysanthus.
'T is because I do not ask them
Against thee; because from aiding
Not myself, no aid is granted.

Daria.
Then I come here to undo them.

Chrysanthus.
Most severe will be the battle,
Upon one side their due praises
On the other side thy anger.

Daria.
I would have thee understand
That our gods are sorely damaged
By thy sentiments.

Chrysanthus.
And I
That those gods are false—mere phantoms.

Daria.
Then get ready for the conflict,
For I will not lower my standard
Save with victory or death.

Chrysanthus.
Though thou makest me thy captive,
Thou my firmness wilt not conquer.

Daria.
Then to arms! I say, to arms, then!

Chrysanthus.
Though the outposts of the soul,
The weak heart, by thee be captured;
Not so will the Understanding,
The strong warden who doth guard it.

Daria.
Thou'lt believe me, if thou'lt love me.

Chrysanthus.
Thou not me, 'till love attracts thee.

Daria.
That perhaps may be; for I
Would not give thee this advantage.

Chrysanthus.
Oh! that love indeed may lead thee
To a state so sweet and happy!

Daria.
Oh! what power will disabuse thee
Of thy ignorance, Chrysanthus?

Chrysanthus.
Oh! what pitying power, Daria,
Will the Christian faith impart thee?