Scene II.—The Wood.
Scene II.—The Wood.
Scene II.—The Wood.
EnterDariafrom the chase with bow and arrows.
Daria.O stag that swiftly flyingBefore my feathered shafts the winds outvieing,Impelled by wings, not feet,If in this green retreatHere panting thou wouldst die,And stain with blood the fountain murmuring by,Await another wound, another friend,That so with quicker speed thy life may end;For to a wretch that stroke a friend must beThat eases death and sooner sets life free.[She stumbles and falls near the mouth of a cave.]But, bless me, heaven! I feelMy brain grow hot, my curdling blood congeal:A form of fire and snowI seem at once to turn: this sudden blow,This stumbling, how I know not, by this stone,This horrid mouth in which my grave is shown,This cave of many shapes,Through which the melancholy mountain gapes,This mountain's self, a vastAbysmal shadow castSuddenly on my heart, as if 't were meantTo be my rustic pyre, my strange new monument,All fill my heart with wonder and with fear,What buried mysteries are hidden hereThat terrify me so,And make me tremble 'neath impending woe.[A solemn strain of music is heard from within.]Nay more, illusion now doth bear to meThe sweetest sounds of dulcet harmony,Music and voice combine:—O solitude! what phantasms are thine!But let me listen to the voice that blentSounds with the music of the instrument.
Music from within the cave.
Song.Oh! be the day for ever blest,And blest be pitying heaven's decree,That makes the darksome cave to beDaria's tomb, her place of rest!
Daria.Blest! can such evil auguries bless?And happy can that strange fate beThat gives this darksome cave to meAs monument of my sad life?
Music.180 pixelYes.
Daria.Oh! who before in actual woeThe happier signs of bliss could read?Will not a fate so rigorous leadTo misery, not to rapture?—
Music.200 pixelNo.
Daria.O fantasy! unwelcome guest!How can this cave bring good to me?
Music.Itself will tell, when it shall beDaria's tomb, her place of rest.
Daria.But then, who gave the stern decree,That this dark cave my bones should hide?
Music.Daria, it was he who died,Who gave his life for love of thee.
Daria."Who gave his life for love of me!"Ah! me, and can it be in soothThat gentle noble Roman youthI answered with such crueltyIn this same wood the other day,Saying that I his love would beIf he would only die for me!Can he have cast himself awayDown this dark cave, and there lies dead,Buried within the dread abyss,Waiting my love, his promised bliss?—My soul, not now mine own, has fled!
Cynthia(within).Forward! forward! through the gloomEvery cave and cavern enter,Search the dark wood to its centre,Lest it prove Daria's tomb.
Daria.Ah! me, the sense confounding,Both here and there are opposite voices sounding.Here is my name in measured cadence greeted,And there in hollow echoes oft repeated.Would that the latter cries that reach my earCame from my mates in this wild forest sphere,In the dread solitude that doth surround meTheir presence would be welcome.[Enter Cynthia with bow and arrows.]
Cynthia.120 pixelTill I found me,Beauteous Daria, by thy side once more,Each mountain nook my search had well gone o'er.
Daria(aside).Let me dissembleThe terror and surprise that make me tremble,If I have power to feignAmid the wild confusion of my brain:—Following the chase to-day,Wishing Diana's part in full to play,So fair the horizon smiled,I left the wood and entered on the wild,Led by a wounded deer still on and on.And further in pursuit I would have gone,Nor had my swift careerEven ended here,But for this mouth that opening in the rock,With horrid gape my vain attempt doth mock,And stops my further way.
Cynthia.Until I found thee I was all dismay,Lest thou some savage beast, some monstrous foe,Hadst met.
Daria(aside).40 pixelAh! would to Jove 't were so!And that my death in his wild hands had paidFor future chastisement by fate delayed!But ah! the wish is vain,Foreboding horror fills my heart and brain,This mystic music borne upon the airMust surely augur ill.
(EnterNisida.)
Nisida.120 pixelDaria fair,And Cynthia wise, I come to seek ye two.
Cynthia.Has any thing occurred or strange or new?
Nisida.I scarce can tell it. As I came along,I heard a man, in a clear voice and strong,Proclaiming as he wentThrough all the mountain a most strange event:Rome hath decreedPriceless rewards to her whose charms may leadThrough lawful love and in an open wayBy public wedlock in the light of day,The son of proud Polemius from the stateOf gloom in which his mind is sunk of late.
Cynthia.And what can be the cause that he is so?
Nisida.Ah! that I do not know,But yonder, leaving the Salarian Way,A Roman soldier hitherward doth stray:He may enlighten us and tell us all.
Cynthia.Yes, let us know the truth, the stranger call.
Daria(aside).Ah! how distinct the painThat presses on my heart, and dulls my wildered brain!
(Enter Escarpin.)
Nisida.Thou, O thou, whose wandering footstepsThese secluded groves have entered . . .9
Escarpin.Thou four hundred times repeated—Thou and all the thous, your servant.
Nisida.Tell us of the proclamationPublicly to-day presentedTo the gaze of Rome.
Escarpin.140 pixelI 'll do so;For there 's nothing I love betterThan a story (aside,if to tell itIn divine Daria's presenceDoes not put me out, for no one,When the loved one listens, everSpeaks his best): Polemius,Rome's great senator, whose bendedShoulders, like an Atlas, bearAll the burden of the empire,By Numerian's self entrusted,He, this chief of Rome's great senate,Has a son, by name Chrysanthus,Who, as rumour goes, at presentIs afflicted by a sadnessSo extreme and so excessive,That 't is thought to be occasionedBy the magic those detestedChristians (who abhor his house,And his father, who hath pressed themHeavily as judge and ruler)Have against his life effected,All through hatred of our gods.And so great is the dejectionThat he feels, there 's nothing yetFound to rouse him or divert him.Thus it is Numerianus,Who is ever well-affectedTo his father, hath proclaimedAll through Rome, that whosoeverIs so happy by her beauty,Or so fortunately cleverBy her wit, or by her gracesIs so powerful, as to temperHis affliction, since love conquersAll things by his magic presence,He will give her (if a noble)As his wife, and will present herWith a portion far surpassingAll Polemius' self possesses,Not to speak of what is promisedHim whose skill may else effect it.Thus it is that Rome to-dayLaurel wreaths and crowns presentethTo its most renowned physicians,To its sages and its elders,And to wit and grace and beautyJoyous feasts and courtly revels;So that there is not a ladyIn all Rome, but thinks it certainThat the prize is hers already,Since by all 't will be contested,Some through vanity, and someThrough a view more interested:Even the ugly ones, I warrant,Will be there well represented.So with this, adieu. (Aside,Oh! fairestNymph Daria, since I venturedHere to see thee, having seen theeNow, alas! I must absent me!) [Exit.
Cynthia.What strange news!
Nisida.80 pixelThere 's not a beautyBut for victory will endeavourWhen among Rome's fairest daughtersSuch a prize shall be contested.
Cynthia.Thus by showing us the valueThou upon the victory settest,We may understand that thouMeanest in the lists to enter.
Nisida.Yes, so far as heaven through musicIts most magic cures effecteth,Since no witchcraft is so potentBut sweet music may dispel it.It doth tame the raging wild beast,Lulls to sleep the poisonous serpent,And makes evil genii, whoAre revolted spirits—rebels—Fly in fear, and in this artI have always been most perfect:Wrongly would I act to-day,In not striving for the splendidPrize which will be mine, when ISee myself the loved and weddedWife of the great senator's son,And the mistress of such treasures.
Cynthia.Although music is an artWhich so many arts excelleth,Still in truth 't is but a soundWhich the wanton air disperses.It the sweet child of the airIn the air itself must perish.I, who in my studious readingHave such learnéd lore collected,Who in poetry, that artWhich both teacheth and diverteth,May precedence claim o'er manyGeniuses so prized at present,Can a surer victory hope forIn the great fight that impendeth,Since the music of the soulIs what keeps the mind suspended.In one item, Nisida,We two differ: thy incentiveThy chief motive, is but interest:Mine is vanity, a determinedWill no other woman shallTriumph o'er me in this effort,Since I wish that Rome should seeThat the glory, the perfectionOf a woman is her mind,All her other charms excelling.
Daria.Interest and vanityAre the two things, as you tell me,That, O Cynthia! can oblige thee,That, O Nisida, can compel theeTo attempt this undertakingBy so many risks attended.But I think you both are wrong,Since in this case, having heard thatThe affliction this man suffersChristian sorcery hath effectedThrough abhorrence of our gods,By that atheist sect detested,Neither of these feelings shouldBe your motive to attempt it.I then, who, for this time onlyWill believe these waves that tell me—These bright fountains—that the beautyWhich so oft they have reflectedIs unequalled, mean to lay itAs an offering in the templeOf the gods, to show what littleStrength in Christian sorcery dwelleth.
Nisida.Then 't is openly admittedThat we three the list will enterFor the prize.
Cynthia.80 pixelAnd from this momentThat the rivalry commences.
Nisida.Voice of song, thy sweet enchantmentOn this great occasion lend me,That through thy soft influenceRank and riches I may merit. [Exit.
Cynthia.Genius, offspring of the soul,Prove this time thou 'rt so descended,That thy proud ambitious hopesMay the laurel crown be tendered. [Exit.
Daria.Beauty, daughter of the gods,Now thy glorious birth remember:Make me victress in the fight,That the gods may live for ever. [Exit.
Scene III.—A hall in the house of Polemius, opening at the end upon a garden.
Scene III.—A hall in the house of Polemius, opening at the end upon a garden.
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 readyAs you ordered. This apartmentOpening on the garden terraceHas been draped and covered overWith the costliest silks and velvets,Leaving certain spaces bareFor 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 fountainsStill run after to reflect them?—All things else have been provided,Music, dances, gala dresses;And for all that, Rome yet knows notWhat in truth is here projected;'T is a fair Academy,In whose floral halls assembleBeauty, wit, and grace, a sightThat we see but very seldom.All the ladies too of RomeHave prepared for the contentionWith due circumspection, sinceAs his wife will be selectedShe who best doth please him; thusThere are none but will present themIn these gardens, some to see him,Others to show off themselves here.
Polemius.Oh, my Claudius, would to JoveThat all this could dispossess meOf my dark foreboding fancies,Of the terrors that oppress me!—
(Enter Aurelius.)
Aurelius.Sir, a very learned physicianComes to proffer his best serviceTo Chrysanthus, led by rumourOf his illness.
Polemius.120 pixelBid him enter.[Aurelius retires, and returns immediately with Carpophorus, disguised as a physician.]
Carpophorus(aside).Heaven, that I may do the workThat 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, riseFrom the ground; thy very presenceGives me joy, a certain instinctEven at sight of thee doth tell meThou alone canst save my son.
Carpophorus.Heaven but grant the cure be perfect!
Polemius.Whence, sir, art thou?
Carpophorus.100 pixelSir, from Athens.
Polemius.'T is a city that excellethAll the world in knowledge.
Carpophorus.180 pixelThereAll are teachers, all are learners.The sole wish to be of useHas on this occasion led meFrom my home. Inform me thenHow Chrysanthus is affected.
Polemius.With an overwhelming sadness;Or to speak it more correctly(Since when we consult a doctorEven suspicions should be mentioned),He, my son, has been bewitched;—Thus it is these Christian pervertsTake revenge through him on me:In particular an elderCalled Carpophorus, a wizard . . .May the day soon come for vengeance!
Carpophorus.May heaven grant it . . . (aside,For that dayI the martyr's crown may merit).Where at present is Chrysanthus?
Polemius.He is just about to enter:—You can see him; all his ailmentIn 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 apartmentThis harmonious strain suggesteth,Since to counteract his gloomHe 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 exertedFor the cure of melancholy,Which in truth it but augmenteth.
A Musician.This your father bade us do.
Chrysanthus.'T is because he never knewPain like that which me tormenteth.For if he that pang incessantFelt, 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 ambitiousTo assume your evil mood,But to find that it is good.
Chrysanthus.No, sir, you mistake my wishes.I would not through you relieve meOf my care; my former stateSeemed, though, more to mitigateWhat I suffer: why not leave meThere to die?
Polemius.100 pixelThat yet I may,Pitying your sad condition,Work your cure:—A great physicianComes 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 thrownO'er my mind and o'er my feelings,A dark blank whose dim revealingsMake their sombre tints mine own.
Carpophorus.Can you any cause assign meWhence this sadness is proceeding?
Chrysanthus.From my earliest years to readingDid my studious tastes incline me.Something thus acquired doth wakeDoubts, 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.120 pixelFrom youI infer all good: that trueFaith I hope which you advise.
Carpophorus(to Polemius).Give me leave, sir, to addressSome few words to him alone,Less reserve will then be shown. (The two retire to one side.Have you recognized me?
Chrysanthus.180 pixelYes,Every sign shows you are heWho in my most perilous straitFled and left me to my fate.
Carpophorus.God did that; and would you seeThat it was His own work, say,If I did not then absent meThrough His means, could I present meAs your teacher here to-day?
Chrysanthus.No.
Carpophorus.40 pixelHow just His providence!Since I was preserved, that IHere might seek you, and more nighGive you full intelligenceLeisurely of every doubtWhich disturbs you when you read.
Chrysanthus.Mysteries they are indeed,Difficult to be made out.
Carpophorus.To the believer all is plain.
Chrysanthus.Iwouldbelieve, whatmustI do?—
Carpophorus.Your intellectual pride subdue.
Chrysanthus.I will subdue it, since 't is vain.
Carpophorus.Then the first thing to be doneIs to be baptized.
Chrysanthus.160 pixelI bow,Father, and implore it now.
Carpophorus.Let us for the present shunFurther notice; lest suspicionShould 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 youIn the principles of the faith;Only now one admonitionMust I give; be armed, be readyFor the fight most fierce and steadyEver fought for man's perdition;Oh! take heed, amid the advancesOf 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 themBy such dread allies assisted?
Carpophorus.He whom God assists.
Chrysanthus.140 pixelBe swayedBy my tears, and ask him.
Carpophorus.180 pixelYouMust too ask him: for he whoAids 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 himFrequently; in fact 'till heIs from all his ailment free,From my hand I will not free him.
Polemius.For your kindness I am grateful.
Chrysanthus.He alone has power to cure me.Since he knows whatwillallure me,When all other modes are hateful. [Exit Carpophorus.
(Enter Escarpin.)
Escarpin.All this garden of delightMust 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.40 pixelBecause the world doth showNaught so fair as this sweet place.Falsely boasts th' Elysian bowerPeerless beauty, here to-dayMore, far more, these groves display:—Not a fountain, tree, or flower . . .
Polemius.Well?
Escarpin.40 pixelBut by a nymph more fairIs surpassed.
Polemius.60 pixelCome, Claudius, come,He will be but dull and dumb,Shy the proffered bliss to share,Through the fear and the respectWhich, as son, he owes to me.
Claudius.He who gave the advice should seeAlso after the effect.Let us all from this withdraw.
Polemius.Great results I hope to gather:
Escarpin(aside).Well, you 're the first pander-fatherEver 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.60 pixelA tale in point I 'll tell:Once a snuffler, by a pirateMoor was captured, who in someWay affected to be dumb,That his ransom at no high rateMight be purchased: when his ownerThis defect perceived, the shuffleMade him sell this Mr. SnuffleVery cheaply: to the donorOf 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 youSo astray", replied the Moor."Had I heard youspeak,be sureIfor nothingwould have freed you".Thus it is I moderate meIn 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 estimationI have held you in so long.
Escarpin.Well, my memory is not strong.It requiresconsiderationTo admit that pleasant fact.
Chrysanthus.What of me do people say?—
Escarpin.Shall I speak it?
Chrysanthus.100 pixelSpeak.
Escarpin.140 pixelWhy, theySay, 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 madIf he only gets the name.
Chrysanthus.Well, it was not wrongly given,If they only knew that IHave consented even to dieSo to reach the wished-for heavenOf a sovereign beauty's favour.
Escarpin.For a lady's favour youHave agreed to die?
Chrysanthus.140 pixel'T is true.
Escarpin.Does not this a certain savourOf insanity give your sadness?
Chrysanthus.Were I certain as of breathI 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 healthShall you for your kindness have".Thus the hope as vain must beAfter 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 seeHither through the garden wending?
Escarpin.If you take a stroll with mePlenty of her sort you 'll see.
Nisida.One who would effect the endingOf thy sadness.
Chrysanthus(aside).80 pixelNow 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 surelyWilt thou act, as not to seeOne who comes to speak with thee?
Chrysanthus.To see one who thinks so poorlyOf herself, and with such lightnessOwns she comes to speak with me,Rather would appear to beWant of sense than of politeness.
Nisida.All discourse is not so slightThat 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."The blesséd rapture of forgettingNever doth my heart deserve,What my memory would preserveIs the memory I 'm regretting".
Chrysanthus.That melting voice, that melodySpell-bound holds th' entrancéd soul.Ah! from such divine controlWho his fettered soul could free?—Human Siren, leave me, go!Too well I feel its fatal power.I faint before it like a flowerBy 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 eyeFrom all that may offend and shock,—Nature doth seem a niggard here,Unequally her gifts disposing,For no instinctive means of closingShe 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 IOn this sweet conceit composed:"The blesséd rapture of forgettingNever doth my heart deserve;What my memory would preserveIs the memory I 'm regretting".When Nature from the void obscureHer varied world to life awakes,All things find use and so endure:—Thus she a poison never makesWithout its corresponding cure:Each thing of Nature's careful setting,Each plant that grows in field or groveHath got its opposite flower or weed;The cure is with the pain decreed;Thus too is found for feverish loveThe blesséd rapture of forgetting.The starry wonders of the night,The arbiters of fate on high,Nothing can dim: To see their lightIs easy, but to draw more nighThe 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 oweTheir rest, but, ah!thatcure of woeNever 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 serveNo useful purpose: But why fretMy heart at this? Do I deserve,Strange contradiction! to forgetWhat my memory would preserve?And thus my pain in straits like these,Must needs despise the only sureRemedial means of partial ease—That is—to perish of the cureRather than die of the disease.Then not in wailing or in fretting,My love, accept thy fate, but letThis victory o'er myself, to theeBring consolation, pride, and glee,Since what I wish not to forgetIs the memory I 'm regretting.
Chrysanthus.'T is not through the voice aloneMusic breathes its soft enchantment.10All things that in concord blendFind in music their one language.Thou with thy delicious sweetness [To Nisida]Host 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 meBut to ruin me hereafter:—Leave me; go: I cannot listenTo your wiles.
Nisida.80 pixelMy lord, oh! hearkenTo my song once more.
Cynthia.140 pixelWait! stay!
Nisida.Why thus treat with so much harshnessThose who mourn thy deep dejection?
Escarpin.Oh! how soon they 'd have an answerIf they asked of me these questions.I know how to treat such tattle:Leave them, sir, to me.
Chrysanthus.140 pixelMy senses'Gainst their lures I must keep guarded:They are crocodiles, but feigningHuman speech, so but to drag meTo 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 singethTo my genius thou must hearken.
Chrysanthus(aside.)God whom I adore! since IHelp myself, Thy help, oh! grant me!
Nisida."Ah! the joy" . . . . (she becomes confused.80 pixelBut what is this?Icy torpor coldly fastensOn my hands; the lute drops from me,And my very breath departeth.
Cynthia.Since she cannot sing; then listenTo this subtle play of fancy:"Love, if thou 'rt my god" . . . . (she becomes confused.160 pixelBut how,What can have my mind so darkenedWhat 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 sunTo 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 feetEarth doth tremble, and I stagger.
Cynthia.Mountains upon mountains seemOn my shoulders to be balanced.
Escarpin.So it always is with thoseWho make verses, or who chant them.
Chrysanthus.Of the one God whom I worshipThese are miracles, are marvels.
(Enter Daria.)
Daria.Here, Chrysanthus, I have come . . .
Nisida.Stay, Daria.
Cynthia.100 pixelStay, 't is rashnessHere to come, for, full of wonders,Full of terrors is this garden.
Escarpin.Do not enter: awful omensThreat'ning death await thy advent.
Nisida.By my miseries admonished . . . .
Cynthia.By my strange misfortune startled . . .
Nisida.Flying from myself, I leaveThis green sphere, dismayed, distracted.
Cynthia.Without soul or life I fly,Overwhelmed by this enchantment.
Nisida.Oh! how dreadful!
Cynthia.100 pixelOh! how awful!
Nisida.Oh! the horror!
Cynthia.100 pixelOh! the anguish! [Exeunt Cynthia and Nisida.]
Escarpin.Mad with jealousy and rageHave the tuneful twain departed.
Daria(aside).Chastisements for due offencesDo not fright me, do not startle,For if they through arroganceAnd ambition sought this garden,Me the worship of the godsHere has led, and so I 'm guarded'Gainst all sorceries whatsoever,'Gainst all forms of Christian magic:—Art thou then Chrysanthus?
Chrysanthus.180 pixelYes.
Daria.Not confused or troubled, ratherWith a certain fear I see thee,For which I have grounds most ample.
Chrysanthus.Why?
Daria.40 pixelBecause I thought thou wertOne who in a darksome cavernDied to show thy love for me.
Chrysanthus.I have yet been not so happyAs 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 useThe Christian armoury—enchantments.
Chrysanthus.That thou hast alone the powerTo subdue the pains that wrack me,I admit it; but in whatThou hast said of Christian magicI, Daria, must deny it.
Daria.How? from what cause else could happenThe 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 themAgainst thee; because from aidingNot 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 praisesOn the other side thy anger.
Daria.I would have thee understandThat our gods are sorely damagedBy thy sentiments.
Chrysanthus.180 pixelAnd IThat those gods are false—mere phantoms.
Daria.Then get ready for the conflict,For I will not lower my standardSave 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 IWould not give thee this advantage.
Chrysanthus.Oh! that love indeed may lead theeTo a state so sweet and happy!
Daria.Oh! what power will disabuse theeOf thy ignorance, Chrysanthus?
Chrysanthus.Oh! what pitying power, Daria,Will the Christian faith impart thee?
ACT THE THIRD.Scene I.—The Garden of Polemius.
ACT THE THIRD.Scene I.—The Garden of Polemius.
Scene I.—The Garden of Polemius.
EnterPolemius, Aurelius, Claudius,andEscarpin.
Polemius.All my house is in confusion,Full of terrors, full of horrors;11Ah! how true it is a sonIs the source of many sorrows!—
Claudius.But, my lord, reflect . . .
Escarpin.140 pixelConsider . . .Think . . .
Polemius.40 pixelWhy think, when misery follows?—Cease: you add to my affliction,And in no way bring me solace.Since you see that in his madnessHe is now more firm and constant,Falling sick of new diseases,Ere he 's well of old disorders:Since one young and beauteous maiden,Whom love wished to him to proffer,Free from every spot and blemish,Pure and perfect in her fondness,Is the one whose fatal charmsGive to him such grief and torment,That each moment he may perish,That he may expire each moment;How then can you hope that INow shall list to words of comfort?—
Claudius.Why not give this beauteous maidenTo your son to be his consort,Since you see his inclination?
Polemius.For this reason: when the projectI proposed, the two made answer,That before they wed, some problem,Some dispute that lay between themShould be settled: this seemed proper:But when I would know its natureI could not the cause discover.From this closeness I inferThat some secret of importanceLies between them, and that thisIs the source of all my sorrows.
Aurelius.Sir, my loyalty, my dutyWill not let me any longerSilence keep, too clearly seeingHow the evil has passed onward.On that day we searched the mountain. . . .
Polemius(aside).Woe is me! could he have known thenAll this time it was Chrysanthus?
Aurelius.I approaching, where with shouldersTurned against me stood one figure,Saw the countenance of another,And methinks he was . . .
Polemius(aside).160 pixelYe gods!Yes, he saw him! help! support me!
Aurelius.The same person who came hitherLately in the garb of a doctor,Who to-day to cure ChrysanthusSuch unusual treatment orders.Do you ascertain if heIs Carpophorus; let no portentFright you, on yourself rely,And you 'll find that all will prosper.
Polemius.Thanks, Aurelius, for your warning,Though 't is somewhat tardily offered.Whether you are right or wrong,I to-day will solve the problem.For the sudden palpitationOf my heart that beats and throbbeth'Gainst my breast, doth prove how trueAre the suspicions that it fostered.And if so, then Rome will seeSuch examples made, such torments,That one bleeding corse will showWounds enough for myriad corses. [Exeunt Aurelius and Polemius.
Claudius.Good Escarpin . . .
Escarpin.120 pixelSir.
Claudius.140 pixelI know notHow to address you in my sorrow.Do you say that Cynthia wasOne of those not over-modestBeauties who to court ChrysanthusHither came, and who (strange portent!)Had some share of his bewitchmentIn the stupor that came on them?
Escarpin.Yes, sir, and what 's worse, DariaWas another, thus the tormentThat we both endure is equal,If my case be not the stronger,Since to love her would be almostLess an injury than to scorn her.
Claudius.Well, I will not quarrel with youOn the point (for it were nonsense)Whether one should feel more keenlyLove or hate, disdain or fondnessShown to one we love; enough'T is to me to know, that promptedOr by vanity or by interest,She came hither to hold converseWith him, 't is enough to make meLose the love I once felt for her.
Escarpin.Sir, two men, one bald, one squint-eyed,Met one day . . .
Claudius.100 pixelWhat, on your hobby?A new story?
Escarpin.120 pixelTo tell stories,Sir, is not myforte,'pon honour:—Though who would n't make a hazardWhen the ball is over the pocket?—
Claudius.Well, I do not care to hear it.
Escarpin.Ah, you know it then: AnotherLet me try: A friar once . . .Stay though, I have quite forgottenThere are no friars yet in Rome:Well, once more: a fool . . .
Claudius.140 pixelA blockheadLike yourself, say: cease.
Escarpin.160 pixelAh, sir,My poor tale do n't cruelly shorten.While the sacristan was blowing . . .
Claudius.Why, by heaven! I 'll kill you, donkey.
Escarpin.Hear me first, and kill me after.
Claudius.Was there ever known such follyAs to think 'mid cares so graveI could listen to such nonsense? (exit.[Enter Chrysanthus and Daria, at opposite sides.]
Daria(to herself).O ye gods, since my intentionWas in empty air to scatterAll these prodigies and wondersWorked in favour of ChrysanthusBy the Christians' sorcery, why,Having you for my copartners,Do I not achieve a victoryWhich my beauty might make facile?
Chrysanthus.O ye heavens, since my ambitionWas to melt Daria's hardness,And to bring her to the knowledgeOf one God who works these marvels,Why, so pure is my intention,Why, so zealous and so sanguine,Does not easy victory follow,Due even to my natural talent?
Daria(aside).He is here, and though alreadyEven to see him, to have parleyWith him, lights a living fireIn my breast, which burns yet glads me,Yet he must confess my gods,Ere I own that I am vanquished.
Chrysanthus(aside).She comes hither, and though IBy her beauty am distracted,Still she must become a ChristianEre a wife's dear name I grant her.
Daria(aside).Venus, to my beauty givePower to make of him my vassal.
Chrysanthus(aside).Grant, O Lord, unto my tongueWords that may dispel her darkness.
Daria(aside).To come near him makes me tremble.
Chrysanthus(aside).To address her, quite unmans me:—Not in vain, O fair Daria, (aloud.Does the verdure of this garden,When it sees thee pass, grow youngAs beneath spring's dewy spangles;Not in vain, since though 't is evening,Thou a new Aurora dazzleth,That the birds in public concertHail thee with a joyous anthem;Not in vain the streams and fountains,As their crystal current passes,Keep melodious time and tuneWith the bent boughs of the alders;The light movement of the zephyrsAs athwart the flowers they 're wafted,Bends their heads to see thee coming,Then uplifts them to look after.
Daria.These fine flatteries, these fine phrasesMake me doubt of thee, Chrysanthus.He who gilds the false so well,Must mere truth find unattractive.
Chrysanthus.Hast thou then such little faithIn my love?
Daria.60 pixelThou needst not marvel.
Chrysanthus.Why?
Daria.40 pixelBecause no more of faithDoth a love deserve that actethSuch deceptions.
Chrysanthus.60 pixelWhat deceptions?
Daria.Are not those enough, Chrysanthus,That thou usest to convince meOf thy love, of thy attachment,When my first and well-known wishesThou perversely disregardest?Is it possible a manSo distinguished for his talents,So illustrious in his blood,Such a favourite from his manners,Would desire to ruin allBy an error so unhappy,And for some delusive dreamSee himself abhorred and branded?
Chrysanthus.I nor talents, manners, blood,Would be worthy of, if madlyI denied a Great First Cause,Who made all things, mind and matter,Time, heaven, earth, air, water, fire,Sun, moon, stars, fish, birds, beasts,Manthen.
Daria.Did not Jupiter, then, make heaven,Where we hear his thunders rattle?
Chrysanthus.No, for if he could have madeHeaven, he had no need to grasp itFor himself at the partition,When to Neptune's rule he grantedThe great sea, and hell to Pluto;—Then theywereere all this happened.12
Daria.Is not Ceres the earth, then?
Chrysanthus.160 pixelNo.Since she lets the plough and harrowTear its bosom, and a goddessWould not have her frame so mangled.
Daria.Tell me, is not Saturn time?
Chrysanthus.He is not, though he dispatchethAll the children he gives birth to;To a god no crimes should happen.
Daria.Is not Venus the air?
Chrysanthus.80 pixelMuch less,Since they say that she was fashionedFrom the foam, and foam, we know,Cannot from the air be gathered.
Daria.Is not Neptune the sea?
Chrysanthus.80 pixelAs little,For inconstancy were god's mark then.
Daria.Is not the sun Apollo?
Chrysanthus.160 pixelNo.
Daria.The moon Diana?
Chrysanthus.80 pixelAll mere babble.They are but two shining orbsPlaced in heaven, and there commandedTo obey fixed laws of motionWhich thy mind need not embarrass.How can these be called the gods—Gods adulterers and assassins!Gods who pride themselves for thefts,And a thousand forms of badness,If the ideas God and SinAre opposed as light to darkness?—With another argumentI would further sift the matter.Let then Jupiter be a god,In hisownsphere lord and master:Let Apollo be one also:Should Jove wish to hurl in angerDown his red bolts on the world,And Apollo would not grant them,He the so-called god of fire;From the independent actionOf the two does it not followOne of them must be the vanquished?Then they cannot be called gods,Gods whose wills are counteracted.One is God whom I adore . . .And He is, in fine, that martyrWho has died for love of thee!—Since then, thou hast said, so adverseWas thy proud disdain, one onlyThou couldst love with love as ardentAlmost as his own, was heWho would . . .
Daria.80 pixelOh! proceed no farther,Hold, delay thee, listen, stay,Do not drive my brain distracted,Nor confound my wildered senses,Nor convulse my speech, my language,Since at hearing such a mysteryAll my strength appears departed.I do not desire to argueWith thee, for, I own it frankly,I am but an ignorant woman,Little skilled in such deep matters.In this law have I been born,In it have been bred: the chancesAre that in it I shall die:And since change in me can hardlyBe expected, for I neverAt thy bidding will disparageMy own gods, here stay in peace.Never do I wish to hearkenTo thy words again, or see thee,For even falsehood, when apparelledIn the garb of truth, exertethToo much power to be disregarded. [Exit.
Chrysanthus.Stay, I cannot live without thee,Or, if thou wilt go, the magnetOf thine eye must make me follow.All my happiness is anchoredThere. Return, Daria. . . .
(Enter Carpophorus.)
Carpophorus.160 pixelStay.Follow not her steps till afterYou have heard me speak.
Chrysanthus.120 pixelWhat would you?
Carpophorus.I would reprimand your lapses,Seeing how ungratefullyYou, my son, towards me have acted.
Chrysanthus.I ungrateful!
Carpophorus.80 pixelYou ungrateful,Yes, because you have abandoned,Have forgotten God's assistance,So effectual and so ample.
Chrysanthus.Do not say I have forgottenOr abandoned it, wise master,Since my memory to preserve itIs as 't were a diamond tablet.
Carpophorus.Think you that I can believe you,If when having in this garmentSought you out to train and teach you,In the Christian faith and practice,Until deep theologyYou most learnedly have mastered;If, when having seen your progress,Your attention and exactness,I in secret gave you baptism,Which its mark indelibly stampeth;You so great a good forgetting,You for such a bliss so thankless,With such shameful ease surrenderTo this love-dream, this attachment?Did it strike you not, Chrysanthus,To that calling how contrastedAre delights, delirious tumults,Are love's transports and its raptures,Which you should resist? Recall too,Can you not? the aid heaven grantedWhen you helped yourself, and prayed forIts assistance: were you not guardedBy it when a sweet voice sung,When a keen wit glowed and argued,When the instrument was silenced,When the tongue was forced to stammer,Until now, when with free willYou succumb to the enchantmentOf one fair and fatal face,Which hath done to you such damageThat 't will work your final ruin,If the trial longer lasteth?—
Chrysanthus.Oh! my father, oh! my teacher,Hear me, for although the chargesBrought against me thus are heavy,Still I to myself have ampleReasons for my exculpation.Since you taught me, you, dear master,That the union of two willsIn our law is well established.Be not then displeased, Carpophorus . . .(Aside.) Heavens! what have I said? My father!
(Enter Polemius.)
Polemius(aside).Ah! this name removes all doubt.But I must restrain my anger,And dissemble for the present,If such patience Jove shall grant me:—How are you to-day, Chrysanthus? (aloud.
Chrysanthus.Sir, my love and duty cast themHumbly at your feet: (aside,Thank heaven,That he heard me not, this calmnessCannot be assumed).
Polemius.140 pixelI valueMore than I can say your mannerTowards my son, so kind, so zealousFor his health.
Carpophorus.60 pixelHeaven knows, much fartherEven than this is my ambition,Sir, to serve you: but the passionsOf Chrysanthus are so strong,That my skill they overmaster.
Polemius.How?
Carpophorus.40 pixelBecause the means of cureHe perversely counteracteth.
Chrysanthus.Ah! sir, no, I 've left undoneNothing that you have commanded.
Carpophorus.No, not so, his greatest perilHe has rashly disregarded.
Polemius.I implicitly can trust you,Of whose courage, of whose talentsI have been so well informed,That I mean at once to grant themThe reward they so well merit.
Carpophorus.Sir, may heaven preserve and guard you.
Polemius.Come with me; for I desireThat you should from my apartmentsChoose what best doth please you; IDo not doubt you 'll find an ampleGuerdon for your care.
Carpophorus.180 pixelTo beHonoured in this public mannerIs my best reward.
Polemius(aside).140 pixelThe worldShall this day a dread exampleOf my justice see, transcendingAll recorded in time's annals. (Exeunt Polemius and Carpophorus.)
Chrysanthus.Better than I could have hoped forHas it happened, since my fatherShows by his unruffled faceThat his name he has not gathered.What more evidence can I wish forThan to see the gracious mannerIn which he conducts him whitherHis reward he means to grant him?Oh! that love would do as muchIn the fears and doubts that rack me,Since I cannot wed Daria,And be faithful to Christ's banner.
(Enter Daria.)
Daria(aside).Tyrant question which methoughtTimely flight alone could answer,Once again, against my willTo his presence thou dost drag me.
Chrysanthus(aside).But she comes again: let sorrowBe awhile replaced by gladness:—Ah! Daria, so resolved13(aloud,Not to see or hear me more,Art thou here?
Daria.100 pixelDeep pondering o'er,As the question I revolved,I would have the mystery solved:'T is for that I 'm here, then seeIt is not to speak with thee.
Chrysanthus.Speak, what doubt wouldst thou decide?
Daria.Thou hast said a God once diedThrough His boundless love to me:Now to bring thee to convictionLet me this one strong point try . . .
Chrysanthus.What?
Daria.60 pixelTo be a God, and die,Doth imply a contradiction.And if thou dost still denyTo my god the name divine,And reject him in thy scornFor beginning, I opine,If thy God could die, that mineMight as easily be born.
Chrysanthus.Thou dost argue with great skill,But thou must remember still,That He hath, this God of mine,Human nature and divine,And that it has been His willAs it were His power to hide—God made man—man deified—When this sinful world He trod,Since He was not born as God,And it was as man He died.
Daria.Does it not more greatness prove,As among the beauteous stars,That one deity should be Mars,And another should be Jove,Than this blending God aboveWith weak man below? To theeDoes not the twin deityOf two gods more power display,Than if in some mystic wayGod and man conjoined could be?
Chrysanthus.No, I would infer this rather,If the god-head were not one,Each a separate course could run:But the untreated Father,But the sole-begotten Son,But the Holy Spirit whoEver issues from the two,Being one sole God, must beOne in power and dignity:—Untilthoudost hold this true,Till thy creed is that the SonWas made man, I cannot hear thee,Cannot see thee or come near thee,Thee and death at once to shun.
Daria.Stay, my love may so be won,And if thou wouldst wish this done,Oh! explain this mystery!What am I to do, ah! me,That my love may thus be tried?
Carpophorus(within).Seek, O soul! seek Him who diedSolely for the love of thee.
Chrysanthus.All that I could have repliedHas been said thus suddenlyBy this voice that, sounding near,Strikes upon my startled earLike the summons of my death.
Daria.Ah! what frost congeals my breath,Chilling me with icy fear,As I hear its sad lament:Whence did sound the voice? [Enter Polemius and soldiers.
Polemius.160 pixelFrom here:'T is, Chrysanthus, my intentThus to place before thy sight—Thus to show thee in what lightI regard thy restorationBack to health, the estimationIn which I regard the wightWho so skilfully hath cured thee.A surprise I have procured thee,And for him a fit reward:Raise the curtain, draw the cord,See, 't is death! If this . . .(A curtain is drawn aside, and Carpophorus is seen beheaded, the head being at some distance from the body.)
Chrysanthus.120 pixelI freeze!—
Polemius.Is the cure of thy disease,What must that disease have been!'T is Carpophorus. . . .
Daria.140 pixelDread scene!
Polemius.He who with false science cameNot to give thee life indeed,But that he himself should bleed:—That thy fate be not the same,Of his mournful end take heed:Do not thou that dost survive,My revenge still further drive,Since the sentence seems misread—The physician to be dead,And the invalid alive.—
Chrysanthus.It were cruelty extreme,It were some delirious dream,That could see in this the cureOf the ill that I endure.
Polemius.It to him did pity seem,Seemed the sole reward that heAsked or would receive from me:Since when dying, he but cried . .
The Head of Carpophorus.Seek, O soul! seek Him who diedSolely for the love of thee!—
Chrysanthus.What a portent!
Daria.120 pixelWhat a wonder!
Escarpin.Jove! my own head splits asunder!—
Polemius.Even though severed, in it dwellsStill the force of magic spells.
Chrysanthus.Sir, it were a fatal blunderTo be blind to this appallingTragedy you wrong by callingThe result of spells—no spellsAre such signs, but miraclesOutside man's experience falling.He came here because he yearnedWith his pure and holy breathTo give life, and so found death.'T is a lesson that he learned—'T is a recompense he earned—Seeing what his Lord could do,Being to his Master true:Kill me also: He had oneBright example: shallIshunDeath in turn when I have two?
Polemius.I, in listening to thy raving,Scarce can calm the wrath thou 'rt braving.Dead ere now thou sure wouldst lie,Didst thou not desire to die.
Chrysanthus.Father, if the death I 'm craving . . .
Polemius.Speak not thus: no son I know.
Chrysanthus.Not to thee I spoke, for thoughHumanly thou hast that name,Thou hast forfeited thy claim:I that sweet address now oweUnto him whose holier aimKindled in my heart a flameWhich shall there for ever glow,Woke within me a new soulThat thou 'rt powerless to control—Generated a new lifeSafe against thy hand or knife:Him a father's name I giveWho indeed has made me live,Not to him whose tyrant willOnly has the power to kill.Therefore on this dear one dead,On this pallid corse laid low,Lying bathed in blood and snow,By this lifeless lodestone led,I such bitter tears shall shed,That my grief . . .
Polemius.120 pixelHo! instantlyTear him from it.
Daria(aside).120 pixelThus to beBy such prodigies surrounded,Leaves me dazzled and confounded.
Polemius.Hide the corse.
Escarpin.100 pixelLeave that to me(The head and body are concealed).
Polemius.Bear Chrysanthus now awayTo a tower of darksome gloomWhich shall be his living tomb.
Chrysanthus.ThatI hear with scant dismay,Since the memory of this dayWith me there will ever dwell.Fair Daria, fare thee well,And since now thou knowest whoDied for love of thee, renewThe sweet vow that in the dellOnce thou gav'st me,Himto loveAfter death who so loved thee.
Polemius.Take him hence.
Daria.120 pixelAh! suddenlyLight descendeth from aboveWhich my darkness doth remove.Now thy shadowed truth I see,Now the Christian's faith profess.Let thy bloody lictors pressRound me, racking every limb,Let me only die with him,Since I openly confessThat the gods are false whom weLong have worshipped, that I trustChrist alone—the True—the Just—The One God, whose power I see,And who died for love of me.
Polemius.Take her too, since she in thisBoasts how dark, how blind she is.
Daria.Oh! command that I should dwellWith Chrysanthus in his cell.In our hearts we long are mated,And ere now had celebratedOur espousals fond and true,If the One same God we knew.
Chrysanthus.This sole bliss alone I waitedTo die happy.
Polemius.120 pixelHow my heartIs with wrath and rage possest!—Hold thy hand, present it not,For I would not have thy lotBy the least indulgence blest;Nor do thou, if thy wild brainSuch a desperate course maintain,Hope to have her as thy bride—Trophy of our gods denied:—Separate them.
Chrysanthus.140 pixelO the pain!
Daria.O the woe! unhappy me!
Polemius.Take them hence, and let them be(Since my justice now at leastMakes amends for mercy past)Punished so effectuallyThat their wishes, their desires,What each wanteth or requires,Shall be thwarted or denied,That between opposing firesThey for ever shall be tried:—Since Chrysanthus' former moodOnly wished the solitudeWhence such sorrows have arisen,Take him to the public prison,And be sure in fire and foodThat he shall not be preferredTo the meanest culprit there.Naked, abject, let him fareAs the lowest of the herd:There, while chains his body gird,Let him grovel and so die:—For Daria, too, hard byIs another public place,Shameful home of worse disgrace,Where imprisoned let her lie:If, relying on the powersOf her beauty, her vain prideDreamed of being my son's bride,Never shall she see that hour.Soon shall fade her virgin flower,Soon be lost her nymph-like grace—Roses shall desert her face,Waving gold her silken hair.She who left Diana's careMust with Venus find her place:'Mong vile women let her dwell,Vile, abandoned even as they.
Escarpin(aside).There my love shall have full play.O rare judge, you sentence well!
Chrysanthus.Sir, if thou must have a fellVengeance for this act of mine,Take my life, for it is thine;But my honour do not dareTo insult through one so fair.
Daria.Wreak thy rage, if faith divineSo offends thee, uponme,Not upon my chastity:—'T is a virtue purer farThan the light of sun or star,And has ne'er offended thee.
Polemius.Take them hence.