Ire. To think that once I loved that haughty woman! Ah, that was long ago, before love came To tear our lives asunder. Though her power Can pen me here a prisoner, yet I know That I have pierced her heart. Oh, it is sweet To be revenged, and know that vengeance brings Victory in its train! If I had power To make Asander jealous of this wonder, Then all were easy. But I know no means Whereby from this strait prison I might sow Suspicion of her who has never given A shadow of cause.

Attendant. The Lord Asander comes.

Enter ASANDER.

Asan. Lady, I grieve that thou art in this place, And fain would set thee free. Tell me what cause Has brought thee hither.

Ire. Ask me not, my lord; I cannot tell thee.

Asan. Nay, but know I must, To plead thy cause.

Ire. 'Twas too great love of thee, The love which thou didst spurn, that brought me here.

Asan. But how should that be so?

Ire. The Lady Gycia, Holding thee to thy promise that thou wouldst not Go hence—no, not to close thy father's eyes— Took umbrage that I spoke with scant respect Of such unreasoning and unnatural bond As that which she approves.

Asan. Then am I grateful For thy good-will, and grieve that it should bring thee To pine a prisoner here, and will essay What reason can to free thee.

Ire. Thanks, my lord, I would that thou wert free. I knew the King, And did receive much fatherly affection From that most reverend man. I grieve to hear That he lies sick, and would rejoice to tend him As if I were a daughter.

Asan. Gentle lady, No other voice of sympathy than thine Have I yet heard in Cherson, and I thank thee For thy good-will.

Ire. 'Tis always thine, my lord, And more, though I should end my wretched days In prison for thy sake.

Asan. I thank thee, lady, And fain would ask of thee a greater kindness: I would that thou wouldst tell me of thy brother.

Ire. My brother Theodorus? What of him?

Asan. This only. Did he, ere I knew my wife, Bear towards her a great though innocent love?

Ire. A great though innocent love? Ay, a great love, For certain. Spoke she not of it to thee?

Asan. No word!

Ire. Ah! yet, maybe, 'twas innocent—Nay, I believe it, though she spoke not of it, And 'tis the wont of wives to laugh and boast Of innocent conquests.

Asan. Nay, she spoke no word.

Ire. And did no other of thy friends at Cherson Tell thee? Why, 'twas the talk of all the city How close they grew together, till thy coming And the necessities of Cherson turned Her eyes from him to thee.

Asan. And does he still Bear love for her?

Ire. And does he still bear love? Ay, passionate love. The heart which truly loves Puts not its love aside for ends of State, Or marriage bonds, or what the dullard law Suffers or does not suffer, but grows stronger For that which seeks to thwart it.

Asan. And did she My wife return this love?

Ire. Ay, so 'twas said. Ask me no more, I pray!

Enter GYCIA unperceived.

Asan. Nay, by the love Thou bearest to me, speak!

Gycia. My Lord Asander, What dost thou with this woman thus alone?

Asan. 'Twere best thou didst not ask.

Gycia. I have a right I will be answered. First, thou didst deny Thou knewest aught of her; then said her nature Was such I might not call her friend, or live With her within four walls; and now, her fault— Which she herself proclaimed—penning her here In a close prison, thou my husband comest To comfort her, 'twould seem—to travel o'er Again the old foul paths and secretly To gloat on the old passion.

Asan. Nay, I came Not for this cause, but one which I will tell thee. I came to question of thy former love.

Gycia. To question her of me?

Asan. To know the cause That made my wife, scarce one short hour ago, Within my home, when hardly I had left her, Receive alone a lover kneeling to her With words of passionate love, and whisper to him, "I am a wife."

Gycia. Hast thou no shame, Asander, To speak such words to me before this woman, Who knows her brother's life?

Ire. Nay, prithee, madam, Appeal not to me thus; I could say much On which I would keep silence.

Gycia. Thou base woman, And thou poor dupe or most perfidious man, It were to honour ye to make defence Against a wanton and her paramour; But thee, Asander, never will I take To my heart again, till thou hast put from thee This lying accusation, and dost ask Pardon that thou hast dared with this base wretch To impugn my honour.

Asan. Thou hast said no word Of answer to my charge; thy bold defiance Argues thy guilt.

Gycia. My guilt? And canst thou dare To say this thing to me? I will speak no word; Denial were disgrace. Sir, I will have you Leave this place quickly.

Asan. Madam, I obey you.

[Exit.

Gycia. And I too go.

[Exit.

Ire. I hold these hapless fools In the hollow of my hand.

SCENE V.—Outside the palace.

LYSIMACHUS and three Courtiers; afterwards ASANDER.

Lys. My lords, what have you to report? Have the men arrived?

1st Court. For a week past they have been arriving at the rate of fifty a day. The ships anchor in due course. At dead of night, when everything is still, the merchandise is landed and conveyed well disguised to the great storehouses of Lamachus' palace, with good store of arms and provisions.

2nd Court. Yes, and by the day of the festival we shall have more than five hundred well-armed men within the walls, who, while the people are feasting, will bear down all opposing forces and open the gates to the larger body, who will lie concealed in the grain-ships in the harbour.

Lys. Does no one suspect, think you, as yet?

1st Court. Not a soul. The merchandise is landed at dead of night.

3rd Court. Does the Prince know?

Lys. Not yet, not a word. I can't trust him with his blind love for his wife.

3rd Court. What if he will not be of us?

Lys. Then he shall be put under hatches at once for Bosphorus, and may take his wife with him if he pleases.

1st Court. But will he pardon the deed?

Lys. The lad is a good lad enough, but weak as water. The world always pardons successful enterprises. Besides, I am in great hopes that he has so quarrelled with the ruler of Cherson, and may be, moreover, so out of conceit with his wife, that we can do as we will with him.

2nd Court. But be prudent, my Lord Lysimachus, I beg, for we know not how far he is with us, and if he is against us now, it may take more than we know to keep our heads on our shoulders.

Lys. My lords, you shall not lose a drop of your blood. But here is my Lord Asander. He looks cast down enough, in all conscience.

Enter ASANDER.

Well, Prince, hast thou seen the lady?

Asan. Speak not to me of her, I pray. I must leave this accursed place at once and for ever, and must take my wife with me. Once in Bosphorus, I may know again the happiness which is denied me here. I will not stay here a day. Is there any ship from Bosphorus in harbour? Get me away to-night secretly, and the Lady Gycia with me.

Lys. My lord, there are many ships here from Bosphorus, but none empty or which can be spared now; but it wants but two days to the festival, and if thou wilt tarry until then, it may be we can so arrange that either thou mayst set sail for Bosphorus at your will or bring Bosphorus hither at will.

Asan. What do these words mean? You speak in riddles. I care not what becomes of me, but remember my honour, Lysimachus, my honour! If any scheme against the State of Cherson is in your mind, I will have none of it. I want nothing of these people, only to be allowed to turn my back upon them and their intrigues for ever, and to carry the wife whom I love far away from the air of chicane and base deceit which makes this Cherson a hell.

Lys. My Lord Asander, thou hast not forgot Thy oath which thou didst swear ere first you left Our Bosphorus, that, come what fate should come, Thou wouldst not forget her. Now, as Fate would have it, These gentlemen and I, hearing report Of the grand festival which now approaches, Have ta'en such measures as may make our city Mistress of this her rival. Day by day Ships laden deep with merchandise cast anchor By Lamachus's palace, and unload At dead of night their tale of armed men, And by to-morrow night, which is the eve Of the feast, five hundred men-at-arms or more Will there lie hid. These, when the festival Has spent itself, and the drowsed citizens, Heavy with meat and wine, are fast asleep, Will issue forth at midnight and will seize The guardians of the gates, and throw them open To an o'erwhelmmg force which fills the ships Which lie within the harbour. For the rest, Cherson is ours, thou free to go or stay, King if thou wilt; but this, my lord, know well— If thou hast even no reverence for thy oath, No power on earth can free thee from thy bonds Or speed thee hence, if still this cursed State Keeps its free power. Therefore, look well to it.

Asan. I cannot do this thing. I am no thief Or midnight murderer, but a prince and soldier. Place me in open battle, and I care not For bloodshed; but this murderous intrigue, I will have none o't.

Lys. Nay, my lord, in sooth, Why think of bloodshed? If our scheme go right (And nought can mar it now), what need of blood? These smooth knaves, though they fight behind their walls With cunning enginery, yet when they see Our army in their streets, will straight grow prudent And hug discretion. But, indeed, my lord, We have gone too far to pause, and if thou like not Our scheme, which makes for thee and for our State, We cannot risk that thou denounce our plan, And therefore, if thou wilt not join with us, The safety of ourselves and of the State Holds thee a prisoner pent in durance vile Till victory is ours, and thou mayst take The fruit of others' daring, while thy wife Deserts her doubting and dishonoured lord For one who dares to act and play his part As a man should.

Asan. (after hesitation). I do not hold with you, That a man's oath can bind him to his God To do what else were wrong. Yet, since you swear Your purpose is not bloodshed, and my will Is impotent to stay your choice, and chiefly Because I am cast down and sick at heart, And without any trust in God or man, I do consent to your conspiracy, Loving it not.

Lys. There spoke my lord the Prince. We will succeed or die.

Asan. I would sooner die.



ACT IV.

SCENE I.—Cherson. Irene's prison.

IRENE; then the Gaoler's Child; afterwards GYCIA.

Ire. Ah me! The heaviness of prisoned days! Heigho! 'Tis weary work in prison here. What though I know no loss but liberty, Have everything at will—food, service, all That I should have, being free—yet doth constraint Poison life at its spring; and if I thought This woman's jealous humour would endure, I would sooner be a hireling set to tend The kine upon the plains, in heat or cold, Chilled through by the sharp east, scorched by the sun, So only I might wander as I would At my own will, than weary to be free From this luxurious cell. Hark!

[The tramp of armed men is heard.

What was that sound? I could swear I heard the measured tramp of men And ring of mail, yet is it but illusion. Last night I thought I heard it as I lay Awake at dead of night. Mere fantasy Born of long solitude, for here there are No soldiers nor mailed feet.

[Again heard.

Hark! once again. Nay, I must curb these fancies.

Enter Child.

Child. Gentle lady.

Ire. Speak, little one. Come hither.

Child. Gentle lady, My father, who is Warder of this tower, Bade me come hither and ask thee if thou wouldst That I should hold thy distaff, or might render Some other service.

Ire. Ay, child; a good thought. Bring me my spinning-wheel.

[Child brings it.

Ire. (spinning). The light is fading fast, but I would choose This twilight, if thou wilt not be afraid Of the darkness, little one.

Child. Nay, that I am not, With one so good as thou.

Ire. Nay, child, it may be I am not all thou think'st me.

Child. But, dear lady, Are not all noble ladies good?

Ire. Not all, Nor many, maybe.

Child. To be sure they are not, Else were they not imprisoned.

Ire. Little one, Not all who pine in prison are not good, Nor innocent who go free.

Child. The Lady Gycia, Is she not good?

Ire. It may be that she is. 'Tis a vile world, my child.

Child. Nay, I am sure The Lady Gycia is as white and pure As are the angels. When my mother died She did commend me to her, and she promised To keep me always.

Ire. But she sent me here.

Child. Ah! lady, then I fear thou art not good. I am sorry for thee.

Ire. So, my child, am I.

[The tramp of armed feet is heard again.

Child. Ah! lady, what is that? I am afraid. What means that noise?

Ire. What didst thou hear, my child?

Child. A tramp of armed men and ring of mail.

Ire. Then, 'tis no fancy of my weary brain. If it comes again I must inquire into it. 'Tis passing strange. Be not afraid, my child. 'Twas but the wind which echoed through the void Of the vast storehouses below us. Come,

[Spinning.

Let us to spinning. Twirl and twirl and twirl; 'Tis a strange task.

Child. Lady, I love it dearly. My mother span, and I would sit by her The livelong day.

Ire. Didst ever hear the tale Of the Fates and how they spin?

Child. I do not think so. Wilt tell me?

Ire. There were three weird sisters once, Clotho and Lachesis and Atropos, Who spun the web of fate for each new life, Sometimes, as I do now, a brighter thread Woven with the dark, and sometimes black as night. Until at last came Atropos and cut The fine-worn life-thread thus.

[Cuts the thread; the head of the spindle rolls away.

Child. And hast thou cut Some life-thread now?

Ire. My child, I am no Fate, And yet I know not; but the spindle's head Rolled hence to yonder corner. Let us seek it. Hast found it?

Child. Nay, there is so little light. I think that it has fallen in the crevice Beneath yon panel.

Ire. Stoop and seek it, child. Perchance the panel slides, and then, it may be, We shall let in the light.

[Draws back the panel and discovers a bright light, files of armed men, and ASANDER in the midst.

Child. Ay, there it is; We have it, we have found it.

[Sliding panel back again.

Ire. What have we found? What have we found? Yes, little one, 'tis found! Run away now—I fain would be alone— And come back presently.

[Kisses Child, who goes.

These were the sounds I heard and thought were fancy's. All is clear As is the blaze of noon. The Prince Asander Is traitor to the State, and will o'erwhelm it When all the citizens are sunk in sleep After to-morrow's feast. Well, what care I? He is not for me, whether we call him King Or Archon; and for these good men of Cherson, What is their fate to me? If he succeed, As now he must, since no one knows the secret, 'Twill only be a change of name—no more. The King and Queen will hold a statelier Court And live contented when the thing is done, And that is all. For who will call it treason When victory crowns the plot? But stay! a gleam Of new-born hope. What, what if it should fail As I could make it fail? What if this woman, Full of fantastic reverence for the dead, And nourished on her cold republican dream, Should learn the treason ere 'twas done and mar it? Would not Asander hate her for the failure? And she him for the plot? I know her well. I know her love for him, but well I know She is so proud of her Athenian blood And of this old republic, she would banish Her love for less than this. Once separated, The Prince safe over seas in Bosphorus, His former love turned to injurious pride, I might prevail! I would!

Re-enter CHILD.

Nay, little one, We will spin no more to-day. I prithee go And seek the Lady Gycia. Say to her, By all the memory of our former love I pray that she will come to me at once. Lose not a moment.

[Exit Child.

Hark! the tramp again; Again the ring of mail. I wonder much If she shall hear it first, or first the eye Shall slay her love within her.

Enter GYCIA.

Gycia. Thou dost ask My presence; wherefore is it?

Ire. Gycia, Thou dost not love me, yet would I requite Thy wrong with kindness. That thy love was false To thee, thou knowest, but it may be still There is a deeper falsehood than to thee, And thou shalt know it. Dost thou hear that sound? [The tramp of men again heard. What means it, think you?

Gycia. Nay, I cannot tell. 'Tis like the tramp of armed men.

Ire. It is; And who are they?

Gycia. Young citizens of Cherson, Maybe, rehearsing for to-morrow's pageant And the procession.

[Going.

Ire. Stay, thou stubborn woman, Canst bear to see, though the sight blight thy life?

Gycia. I know not what thou wouldst, but I can bear it.

Ire. Though it prove thy love a traitor?

Gycia. That it will not!

Ire. Then, make no sound, but see what I will show thee. Look now! Behold thy love!

[Draws back panel, and discovers ASANDER with the soldiers of Bosphorus marching. ASANDER'S voice heard.

Asan. At stroke of midnight To-morrow night be ready.

Soldiers. Ay, my lord.

[GYCIA tottering back. IRENE slides back the panel, and GYCIA sets her back against it, half fainting; IRENE regarding her with triumph.

Gycia. Was that my husband? and those men around him Soldiers of Bosphorus, to whom he gave Some swift command? What means it all, ye saints? What means it? This the husband of my love, Upon whose breast I have lain night by night For two sweet years—my husband whom my father Loved as a son, whose every thought I knew, Or deemed I did, lurking in ambush here Upon the eve of our great festival, Scheming some bloody treachery to take Our Cherson in the toils? Oh, 'tis too much; I cannot trust my senses! 'Twas a dream!

Ire. No dream, but dreadful truth!

Gycia. Thou cruel woman How have I harmed thee, thou shouldst hate me thus? But 'twas no dream. Why was it else that he, But for some hateful treachery, devised This festival? Why was it that he grew So anxious to go hence and take me with him, But that guilt made him coward, and he feared To see his work? Oh, love for ever lost, And with it faith gone out! what is't remains But duty, though the path be rough and trod By bruised and bleeding feet? Oh, what is it Is left for me in life but death alone, Which ends it?

Ire. Gycia, duty bids thee banish Thy love to his own State, and then disclose The plot thou hast discovered. It may be That thou mayst join him yet, and yet grow happy.

Gycia. Never! For duty treads another path Than that thou knowest. I am my father's daughter. It is not mine to pardon or condemn; That is the State's alone. 'Tis for the State To banish, not for me, and therefore surely I must denounce these traitors to the Senate, And leave the judgment theirs.

Ire. (kneeling). Nay, nay, I pray thee, Do not this thing! Thou dost not know how cruel Is State-craft, or what cold and stony hearts Freeze in their politic breasts.

Gycia. Thou kneel'st to me To spare my husband! Think'st thou I love him less Than thou dost, wanton?

Ire. Gycia, they will kill him. Get him away to-night to Bosphorus. Thou dost not know these men!

Gycia. I know them not? I who have lived in Cherson all my days, And trust the State? Nay, I will get me hence, And will denounce this treason to the Senate. There lies my duty clear, and I will do it; I fear not for the rest. The State is clement To vanquished foes, and doubtless will find means To send them hence in safety. For myself I know not what may come—a broken heart, Maybe, and death to mend it. But for thee, Thou shameless wanton, if thou breathe a sound Or make a sign to them, thou diest to-night With torture.

Ire. Spare him! Do not this thing, Gycia!

[Exit GYCIA.

O God, she is gone! he is lost! and I undone!

[Swoons.

SCENE II.—Room in LAMACHUS'S palace.

LYSIMACHUS, MEGACLES, Courtiers; afterwards ASANDER.

Lys. Well, good Megacles, I hope you are prepared to carry out your function. It will be a busy and anxious day to-morrow, no doubt, and most of us will be glad when midnight strikes.

Meg. My Lord Lysimachus, I hope so. I have not closed an eye for the last two nights. As to the Procession, I flatter myself that no better-arranged pomp has ever defiled before Caesar's Palace. It will be long, it will be splendid, it will be properly marshalled. There is no other man in the Empire who knows the distinctions of rank or the mysteries of marshalling better than I do. Look at the books I have studied. There is the treatise of the Learned and Respectable Symmachus on Processions. That is one. There is the late divine Emperor Theodosius on Dignities and Titles of Honour. That is two. There is our learned and illustrious Chamberlain Procopius's treatise on the office and duties of a Count of the Palace. That, as no doubt you know, is in six large volumes. That is three, or, nay, eight volumes. Oh, my poor head! And I have said nothing of the authorities on Costume—a library, I assure you, in themselves. Yes, it has been an anxious time, but a very happy one. I wish our young friends here would devote a little more time to such serious topics, and less to such frivolities as fighting and making love. The latter is a fine art, no doubt, and, when done according to rule, is well enough; but as for fighting, getting oneself grimed with dust and sweat, and very likely some vulgar churl's common blood to boot—pah! it is intolerable to think of it.

1st Court. Well, good Megacles, I am afraid that the world cannot spare its soldiers yet for many years to come. So long as there is evil in the world, and lust of power and savagery and barbarism, so long, depend upon it, there is room and need for the soldier.

Meg. Certainly, my lord, certainly; and besides, they are very highly decorative too. Nothing looks better to my mind at a banquet than bright gay faces and lithe young figures set in a shining framework of mail. By the way, my Lord Lysimachus, it was kind of you to provide our procession with a strong detachment of fine young soldiers from Bosphorus. I have secured a prominent place for them, and the effect will be perfect. I trust the Lady Melissa will like it.

Lys. My lord, you are mistaken; there are no soldiers from Bosphorus here.

Meg. But I was with the Prince last night, and saw them.

Lys. I tell you you are mistaken. There are none here. Do you understand me? There are none here.

2nd Court. Nay, indeed, my Lord Megacles. We were trying, with a view to the pageant, how a number of young men of Cherson would look in the array of Bosphorus; but we gave it up, since we feared that they would bear them so clumsily that they would mar the whole effect.

Meg. Ah, that explains it; quite right, quite right. Well, I see I was mistaken. But I wish I could have had soldiers from Bosphorus. They are the one thing wanting to make to-morrow a perfect success, as the Lady Melissa said.

Lys. They are indeed, as you say. But, my Lord Megacles, pray do not whisper abroad what you have said here; these people are so jealous. They would grow sullen, and spoil the pageant altogether.

Meg. Ah, my lord, you have a good head. I will not breathe a word of it till the day is done.

Lys. Thanks, my lord, and as I know you will be weary with the long day's work and your great anxieties, I am going to lay a little friendly compulsion upon you. You must leave the banquet to-morrow and go to rest by eleven o'clock at latest.

Meg. Well, my lord, I am not so young as I was, and if I have your permission to leave before all is over, well and good. No one knows what an anxious day is before me, and I have no doubt I shall have earned my night's rest by then. But I have much yet to do, so with your permission I will wish you good night.

[Exit MEGACLES, bowing low to each with exaggerated gestures.

Lys. Poor soul, poor soul! If any fight comes, it would be as cruel to let him take his part with men as it would be if he were a woman or a child.

Enter ASANDER.

Welcome, my Lord Asander. Hast thou seen our men, and are they ready for to-morrow?

Asan. I have just come from them, and they are ready, But I am not. I pray you, let this be; Send back these men to-night. I am oppressed By such o'ermastering presages of ill As baffle all resolve.

Lys. My Lord Asander, It is too late. Wouldst thou, then, break thy oath? Wouldst thou live here a prisoner, nor behold Thy father, though he die? Wouldst thou thy country Should spurn thee as the traitor whose malignance Blighted her hard-won gains? It is too late! It is too late!

Asan. I am grown infirm of will As any dotard. I will go on now So that thou dost no murder.

Lys. Why was it We came in such o'erwhelming force, but that We sought to shed no blood?

Asan. I will be ready, Though with a heavy heart. To-morrow night At stroke of twelve, when all the feast is done, And all asleep, we issue from the palace, Seize the guards at their posts, and open wide The gates to the strong force which from the ships At the same hour shall land. The citizens, Heavy with wine, will wake to find their city Our own beyond recall.

Lys. Ay, that's the scheme, And nought can mar it now. Good night, my lord. Sleep well; there is much to do.

Asan. Good night, my lords!

[Exit ASANDER.

Lys. No bloodshed! Why, what fools love makes of men! I have seen this very lad dash through the ranks Of hostile spearmen, cut and hack and thrust As in sheer sport. There will be blood shed, surely, Unless these dogs have lost their knack of war As he has; but we have them unprepared, And shall prevail, and thou shalt be avenged My father slain, and thou, my murdered brother, Shalt be avenged! My lords, you know what work Is given each to do. Be not too chary Of your men's swords; let them strike sudden terror. Slay all who do resist, or if they do not, Yet slay them still. My lords, give you good night. To-morrow at midnight, at the stroke of twelve— At the stroke of twelve!

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE III.—The council chamber of the Senate of Cherson.

ZETHO and Senators; afterwards GYCIA.

Zet. Most worthy brethren, Senators of Cherson, In great perplexity of mind and will I summon ye to-night. The Lady Gycia, Our Lamachus's daughter, sends request, Urgent as 'twere of instant life and death, That I should call ye here. What care can move Such anxious thought in her, on this the eve Of the high festival herself has founded, I know not, but 'twould seem the very air Is full of floating rumours, vague alarms, Formless suspicions which elude the grasp, Unspoken presages of coming ill Which take no shape. For whence should danger come? We are at peace with all. Our former foe Is now our dearest friend; the Prince Asander, Though of a hasty spirit and high temper, Dwells in such close, concordant harmony With his loved wife that he is wholly ours; And yet though thus at peace, rumours of war And darkling plots beset us. Is it not thus? Have ye heard aught?

1st Sen. Zetho, 'tis true. Last night, a citizen Sware he heard clang of arms and ring of mail At midnight by the house of Lamachus!

2nd Sen. My freedman, coming home at grey of dawn, Saw a strange ship unload her merchandise, And one bale chanced to fall, and from it came Groanings and drops of blood!

3rd Sen. Two nights ago, The ways being white with snow, I on the quay Saw the thick-planted marks of armed feet; But, rising with the dawn, I found the place Swept clean with care!

Zet. Brethren, I know not what These things portend.

Enter GYCIA.

But see, she comes! Good daughter, Why is thy cheek so pale?

Gycia. This is the wont Of women. Grief drives every drop of blood Back to the breaking heart, which love calls forth To mantle on the cheek. Sirs, I have come On such an errand as might drive a woman Stronger than I to madness; I have come To tell you such a tale as well might fetter My tongue and leave me speechless. Pity me If I do somewhat wander in my talk! 'Tis scarce an hour ago, that in my house, Drawing some secret panel in the wall, I saw the long hall filled with armed men Of Bosphorus, and at their head—O Heaven, I cannot say it!—at their head I saw My husband, my Asander, my own love,

[Senators rise with strong emotion.

Who ordered them and bade them all stand ready To-morrow night at midnight. What means this? What else than that these traitorous bands shall slay Our Cherson's liberties, and give to murder Our unsuspecting people, whom the feast Leaves unprepared for war? I pray you, sirs, Lose not one moment. Call the citizens To arms while yet 'tis time! Defeat this plot! Do justice on these traitors! Save the city, Though I am lost!

Zet. Daughter, thy loyal love To our dear city calls for grateful honour From us who rule. In thy young veins the blood Of patriot Lamachus flows to-day as strong As once it did in his; nay, the warm tide Which stirred the lips of bold Demosthenes And all that dauntless band who of old time Gave heart and life for Athens, still is thine. In our Hellenic story, there is none Who has done more than thou, who hast placed love, Wedlock, and queenly rule, and all things dear To a tender woman's heart, below the State— A patriot before all. Is there no favour A State preserved may grant thee?

Gycia. Noble Zetho, I ask but this. I know my husband's heart, How true it was and loyal. He is led, I swear, by evil counsels to this crime; And maybe, though I seek not to excuse him, It was the son's love for his dying sire, Whom he should see no more, that scheming men Have worked on to his ruin. Banish him To his own city, though it break my heart, But harm him not; and for those wretched men Whose duty 'tis to obey, shed not their blood, But let the vengeance of our city fall Upon the guilty only.

Zet. Brethren all, Ye hear what 'tis she asks, and though to grant it Is difficult indeed, yet her petition Comes from the saviour of the State. I think We well may grant her prayer. Though well I know How great the danger, yet do I believe It may be done. Is it so, worthy brethren?

[Senators nod assent.

Daughter, thy prayer is granted.

Gycia. Sirs, I thank you; I love you for your mercy.

Zet. For the rest, I counsel that we do not rouse the city. 'Twere of no use to-night to set our arms, Blunt with long peace and rusted with disuse, Against these banded levies. By to-morrow— And we are safe till then—we shall have time To league together such o'erwhelming force As may make bloodshed needless, vain their plot, And mercy possible. Meantime, dear lady, Breathe not a word of what thine eyes have seen, But bear thyself as though thou hadst seen nothing, And had no care excepting to do honour To thy dead sire; and when the weary day Tends to its close, school thou thy heavy heart, And wear what mask of joy thou canst, and sit Smiling beside thy lord at the high feast, Where all will meet. See that his cup is filled To the brim; drink healths to Bosphorus and Cherson. Seem thou to drink thyself, having a goblet Of such a colour as makes water blush Rosy as wine. When all the strangers' eyes Grow heavy, then, some half an hour or more From midnight, rise as if to go to rest, Bid all good night, and thank them for their presence. Then, issuing from the banquet-hall, lock fast The great doors after thee, and bring the key To us, who here await thee. Thus shalt thou Save this thy State, and him thy love, and all. For we will, ere the fateful midnight comes, Send such o'erwhelming forces to surround them That they must needs surrender, and ere dawn Shall be long leagues away. We will not shed A drop of blood, my daughter.

Gycia. Noble Zetho I thank you and these worthy senators. I knew you would be merciful. I thank you, And will obey in all things.

[Exit GYCIA.

Bardanes, 1st Sen. She is gone; I durst not speak before her. Dost thou know, Good Zetho, how infirm for war our State After long peace has grown? I doubt if all The men whom we might arm before the hour Are matched in numbers with those murderous hordes; While in experience of arms, in training, In everything that makes a soldier strong, We are no match for them. Our paramount duty Is to the State alone, not to these pirates Who lie in wait to slay us; nor to one Who, woman-like, knows not our strength or weakness, Nor cares, if only she might wring a promise To spare her traitorous love. But we have arts Which these barbarians know not, quenchless fires Which in one moment can enwrap their stronghold In one red ring of ruin. My counsel is, That ere the hour of midnight comes we place Around the palace walls on every side Such store of fuel and oils and cunning drugs As at one sign may leap a wall of fire Impassable, and burn these hateful traitors Like hornets in their nest.

Zetho. Good brethren all, Is this your will? Is it faith? Is it honour, think you, To one who has given all, for us to break Our solemn plighted word?

2nd Sen. We will not break it; We shed no drop of blood. The State demands it; The safety of the State doth override All other claim. The safety of the State Is more than all!

All the Senators, with uplifted arms. Ay, Zetho, more than all!

Zetho. Then, be it as you will. See, therefore, to it; Take measures that your will be done, not mine. Though I approve not, yet I may not set My will against the universal voice. Save us our Cherson. For the rest I care not, Only I grieve to break our solemn promise To Lamachus's child. Poor heart! poor heart!



ACT V.

SCENE I.—Outside LAMACHUS'S palace.

MEGACLES, LYSIMACHUS, Courtiers, and Citizens of Cherson.

Meg. Oh, this has been a happy day. All has gone admirably. Not a hitch in all the arrangements. Precedence kept, rank observed, dresses all they should be. I do not, I really do not think, though I say it who should not, that the Imperial Chamberlain at Constantinople could have conducted the matter better.

1st Court. Nay, that he could not, good Megacles. Let us hope that what remains to do will go as smoothly.

Meg. What remains? Doubtless you mean the banquet. That is all arranged long ago under three heads. First, the order of entering the hall; second, the order of the seats; third, the order of going forth.

Lys. Doubtless the last will arrange itself. Remember, the only order of going to be observed is this, that thou get thyself gone, and all the guests from Cherson gone, fully half an hour before midnight.

Meg. But, my lord, that is impossible; you ask too much. How long do you suppose it will take, at a moderate computation, to get one hundred men of ill-defined rank out of a room with a decent regard for Precedence. Why, I have seen it take an hour at the Palace, where everybody knew his place, and here I cannot undertake to do it under two.

Lys. My friend, you will get it done; you will waive ceremony. None but the Prince and ourselves must remain within half an hour of midnight, and the hall must be cleared.

Meg. Ah, well, my Lord Lysimachus, the responsibility rests with you; I will have none of it. It is as much as my reputation is worth. But if I do this, cannot you let me have a guard of honour of armed men to stand at intervals along the hall. I have been longing for them all day.

Lys. (angrily). Peace, fool! I have told you before we have no soldiers here.

[People of Cherson overhearing him.

1st Cit. Didst hear that old man? He believes there are soldiers here. Whence do they come? and why did the other check him?

Meg. Well, my Lord Lysimachus, if not soldiers, men-at-arms, and these there certainly are, and highly decorative too.

2nd Cit. I hate these Bosphorians. What if the rumour should be true? Pass the word to the citizens that they sleep not to-night, but keep their arms ready for what may come. We are a match for them, whatever may be their design. To-morrow we will probe this matter to its depths.

2nd Court. Depend upon it, there is no time to lose if we would forestall these fellows. But here comes the procession to the banqueting-hall.

[Citizens going to banquet two and two.

Meg. (with a gold wand). This way, gentlemen; this way, masters and mistresses; this way, Respectables!

[Accompanies them to the end of the stage towards the banqueting-hall in the distance. Returns to escort another party. Musicians, etc.

Enter Senators, two and two.

Meg. (bowing profoundly three times). Most Illustrious Senators! this way, your Highnesses; this way.

Enter MELISSA and other Ladies.

(To MELISSA) Fairest and loveliest of your adorable sex, your slave prostrates himself before your stainless and beatific feet (bowing low and kissing his fingers). Illustrious Ladies, I pray you to advance.

Lys. (with Courtiers standing apart). A good appetite, my friends. Enjoy yourselves while you may.

Bard. We are quite ready, my Lord Lysimachus. Are you not (with a sneer) for the banquet?

Lys. In good time, in good time. If they only knew.

[Aside.

Bard. (overhearing). If you knew all, my friends.

Meg. (returning). I pray you, most Illustrious Senators, to excuse the absence of a guard of honour.

Bard. Nay, nay; we are peaceful people, and have no armed men nearer than Bosphorus, as my Lord Lysimachus knows. There are plenty in that favoured State, no doubt.

Lys. (confused). What does this insolence mean? I would the hour were come.

Enter ZETHO, with his retinue.

Meg. Your Gravity, Your Sincerity, Your Sublime and Wonderful Magnitude, Your Illustrious and Magnificent Highness, I prostrate myself before Your Altitude. Will You deign to walk this way?

Zetho. My lord, I am no Caesar, but a simple citizen of Cherson, called by my fellows to preside over the State. Use not to me these terms, I pray of you, but lead on quickly.

Meg. I prostrate myself before Your Eminence.

Enter ASANDER and GYCIA.

Meg. (returning). Noble Prince, will your Illustrious Consort and yourself deign to follow me?

Asan. Nay, good Megacles, will you and these gentlemen go first? I have a word to say to the Lady Gycia. We will be with you before the guests are seated.

Meg. I obey, my Lord Asander, and will await you at the door.

[MEGACLES, LYSIMACHUS, and the rest, pass on.

Asan. Gycia, though we have passed from amity And all our former love, yet would I pray you, By our sweet years of wedded happiness, Give ear to me a moment. It may be That some great shock may come to set our lives For evermore apart.

Gycia. Ah yes, Asander— For evermore apart!

Asan. And I would fain, If it must be, that thou shouldst know to-night That never any woman on the earth Held me one moment in the toils of love Except my wife.

Gycia. What! not Irene's self?

Asan. Never, I swear by Heaven. She was a woman In whom a hopeless passion burnt the springs Of maiden modesty. I never gave her The solace of a smile.

Gycia. Dost thou say this? Is thy soul free from all offence with her, If thou camest now to judgment?

Asan. Ay, indeed, Free as a child's.

Gycia. Oh, my own love! my dear! Ah no! too late, too late!

[Embraces him.

Asan. I ask thee not Counter assurance, since I know thy truth.

Gycia. Speakst thou of Theodorus? He loved me Before I knew thee, but I loved no man Before I met Asander. When he knelt That day, it was in pity for my grief, Thinking thee false, and all his buried love Burst into passionate words, which on the instant I as thy wife repelled.

Asan. Oh, perfect woman!

[They embrace.

O God, it is too late! Come, let us go; The guests are waiting for us. What can Fate Devise to vanquish Love.

[Exeunt.

Enter two drunken Labourers of Cherson, bearing faggots and straw.

1st Lab. Well, friend, what kind of day has it been with you?

2nd Lab. Oh, a white day, a happy day! Plenty of food, plenty of wine, raree shows without end, such processions as were never seen—the very model of a democracy; nothing to pay, and everybody made happy at the expense of the State. I have lived in Cherson, man and boy, for fifty years, and I never saw anything to compare with it. Here's good luck to Lamachus's memory, say I, and I should like to celebrate his lamented decease as often as his daughter likes.

1st Lab. Didst know him, citizen?

2nd Lab. No, not I. He has been dead these two years. Time he was forgotten, I should think. They don't commemorate poor folk with all these fal-lals and follies.

1st Lab. Well, citizen, there is one comfort—the great people don't enjoy themselves as we do. Did you ever see such a set of melancholy, frowning, anxious faces as the grandees carried with them to-day? And as for the Prince and the Lady Gycia, I don't believe they spoke a word the livelong day, though they walked together. That is the way with these grandees. When you and I quarrel with our wives, it is hammer and tongs for five minutes, and then kiss and make friends.

2nd Lab. And fancy being drilled by that old fool from Bosphorus—"Most Illustrious, this is your proper place;" "Respectable sir, get you back there" (mimics MEGACLES), and so forth.

1st Lab. Well, well, it is good to be content. But I warrant we are the only two unhappy creatures in Cherson to-night, who have the ill fortune to be sober. And such wine too, and nothing to pay!

2nd Lab. Never mind, citizen, we shall be paid in meal or malt, I dare say, and we are bound to keep sober. By the way, it is a curiously contrived bonfire this.

1st Lab. It will be the crowning triumph of the whole festival, the senator said.

2nd Lab. But who ever heard of a bonfire on a large scale like this, so close to an old building? You know our orders: we are to place lines of faggots and straw close to the building on every side, well soaked with oil, and certain sealed vessels full of a secret compound in the midst of them. And just before midnight we are to run with torches and set light to the whole bonfire, to amuse the noble guests at the banquet.

[IRENE at a window, overhearing.

1st Lab. Ah! do you not see? It is a device of the Senate to startle our friends from Bosphorus. The faggots and straw blaze up fiercely round the wall; then, when all is confusion, the substance in the sealed vessels escapes and at once puts out the fire, and the laugh is with us. Our friends from Bosphorus know what we can do in chemistry before now.

2nd Lab. Faith, a right merry device! Ha! ha! What a head thou hast, citizen! Well, we must go on with our work. Lay the faggots evenly.

Ire. (at the window above). Great God! what is this? We are doomed to die! Good friends, Know you my brother, the Lord Theodorus? I have something urgent I would say to him. I will write it down, and you shall give it him When he comes forth from the banquet.

[Disappears.

1st Lab. Good my lady. Her brother, too, she calls him. I go bail it is her lover, and this is an assignation. Well, well, we poor men must not be too particular.

2nd Lab. No, indeed; but let us get on with our work, or we shall never finish in time.

Ire. (reappearing). Here it is. Give it him, I pray, when he comes forth. 'Tis a thing of life and death.

1st Lab. So they all think, Poor love-sick fools!

Ire. See, here is gold for you— 'Tis all I have; but he will double it, If you fail not.

1st Lab. Lady, we shall be here, We must be here. Fear not, we shall not miss him.

SCENE II.—The banquet hall.

At a table, on a dais, ZETHO, ASANDER, GYCIA, and Senators; LYSIMACHUS, and Courtiers of Bosphorus. Magnates of Cherson at cross tables. ASANDER, LYSIMACHUS, the Courtiers, and Senators seem flushed with wine.

Zetho. I drink to him whose gracious memory We celebrate to-day. In all our Cherson, Which boasts descent from the Athenian race, Who one time swayed the world, there was no man, Nor ever had been, fired with deeper love Of this our city, or more heartfelt pride In our republican rule (LYSIMACHUS sneers), which free-born men Prize more than life. I do not seek to bind Those who, long nurtured under kingly rule, Give to the Man the love we bear the State; But never shall the name of King be heard In this our Cherson.

Lys. Archon, 'twere unwise To risk long prophecies.

Bard. Be silent, sir, If you would not offend.

Zetho. I bid you all Drink to the memory of Lamachus And weal to our Republic.

Lys. Shall we drink Its memory, for it has not long to live, If it be still alive?

Bard. It will outlive thee. Thou hast not long to live.

Lys. Longer than thou, If swords be sharp.

Zetho. I pray you, gentlemen, Bandy not angry words.

Gycia. My Lord Asander, Thy cup is empty. Shall I fill it for thee? Thou lovedst Lamachus?

Asan. Ay, that I did; And I love thee. But I have drunk enough. I must keep cool to-night.

Gycia. Nay; see, I fill My glass to drink with thee.

Asan. Well, well, I drink, But not to the Republic.

Gycia. Ah! my lord, There is a gulf still yawns 'twixt thee and me Which not the rapture of recovered love Can ever wholly bridge. To my dead father I drink, and the Republic!

Lys. Which is dead.

Bard. Nay, sir, but living, and shall live when thou Liest rotting with thy schemes.

Enter MEGACLES.

Meg. My Lord Asander, A messenger from Bosphorus, just landed, Has bid me give thee this.

[Gives ASANDER letter.

Asan. (reading) "My Lord, the King Is dead, asking for thee." Oh, wretched day! Had I but gone to him, and left this place Of sorrow ere he died!

Gycia. My love, my dear! Thou wilt go hence too late. I would indeed The law had let thee go. Sorrow like this Draws parted lives in one, and knits anew The rents which time has made.

Lys. The King is dead! Ay, then long live the King of Bosphorus! And more ere long!

Bard. Think you that he will live To wear his crown?

Zetho. Brethren, the hour is late, And draws to midnight, and 'tis time that all Should rest for whom rest is. (To BARDANES aside) We must consider What change of policy this weighty change Which makes Asander King may work in us.

Bard. (aside). Nay, nay, no change! He is a murderer still, And shall be punished were he thrice a king.

Asan. Good night to all. And thou, good Megacles, Thou wert my father's servant, take thy rest. Go hence with these.

Meg. I have no heart to marshal These dignitaries forth. My King is dead; I am growing old and spent.

Zetho. Daughter, remember Thy duty to the State.

Gycia. I will, good Zetho. I am my father's daughter. Gentle Sirs And Ladies all, good night.

[Exeunt omnes except ASANDER and GYCIA; LYSIMACHUS and Courtiers by one door, then the Chersonites by another opposite.

Asan. Dearest of women, How well this fair head will become a crown! I know not how it is, but now this blow Has fallen, it does not move me as I thought. I am as those who come in tottering age Even to life's verge, whom loss of friend or child Touches not deeply, since the dead they love Precede them but a stage upon the road Which they shall tread to-morrow. Yet am I Young, and thou too, my Gycia; we should walk The path of life together many years, But that some strange foreboding troubles me. For oh, my dear! now that the sun of love Beams on our days again, my worthless life Grows precious, and I tremble like a coward At dangers I despised. Tell me, my Gycia, Though I am true in love, wouldst thou forgive me If I were false or seemed false to thy State? Hast thou no word for me? May I not tell thee My secret, which so soon all men shall know, And ask thy pardon for it?

Gycia. Say on, Asander.

Asan. Know, then, that soldiers sent from Bosphorus Have long time hid within our palace here— Long time before I knew, or I had nipt The treason in the bud; and in an hour Or less from when we speak, they will go forth, When all the citizens are wrapt in sleep After the toilsome day, and seize the gate, And open to the army which lies hid On board the ships without. They will not shed The blood of any, since the o'erwhelming force Will make resistance vain. I never liked The plot, I swear to thee; but, all being done, And I a subject, dared not disavow That which was done without me. But I have forced A promise that no blood be spilt.

Gycia. Asander, I have known it all, and have discovered all

[ASANDER starts.

Thy secret to the Senate! But I knew not, Save by the faith that is the twin with love, That thou didst follow only in this plot, And wert unwilling; and I do rejoice Thy hands are free from blood. But oh, my love, Break from these hateful men! Thou art now a King, Thou canst command. Come, let us fly together; There yet is time! I tell thee that this plot Is doomed to ruin. Ere the morning dawns, All but the guilty leaders will be sent Prisoners to Bosphorus, and thou with them. I have gained this on my knees; but for the guilty The State has punishments.

Asan. Gycia, thou wouldst not That I should break my faith? 'Tis a King's part To keep faith, though he die. But when they have seized The city, then, using my kingly office, I will undo the deed, and make alliance With Cherson, and this done I will depart, Taking my Queen with me.

Gycia. Then must I go; I cannot live without thee.

Asan. Now to rest, If not to sleep.

Gycia. Good night, my love; farewell.

Asan. Nay, not farewell, my love!

Gycia. Ah yes, farewell! Farewell! farewell for ever!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.—Outside the banquet hall. Darkness.

GYCIA hurriedly descends the steps, closing the great doors of the banquet hall softly.

Gycia. I hear no sound within; the lights are gone, And all the hall is dark. These doors alone Of all the many outlets of the palace Remain unlocked. There is not now a moment To lose ere midnight comes, and here I hold The safety of our Cherson. Oh, my love! I could not tell thee all, nor recompense Thy faith in me, since duty held me fast— My duty which should also prove thy safety, For now the solemn promise of the State Is pledged to hold thee harmless, and defeat The shameful plot I knew was never thine, Without one drop of bloodshed. All my path Shows clear as noonday, and I save our city And those who with thee err in innocence, Why do I hesitate? Yet does some dark And dreadful presage of impending ill So haunt me that I know not how to face it. I dare not do it. I must stay with him, Or bring him forth with me.

[Ascends the steps, throws open the doors, and finds all darkness and silence.

Asander! husband! It is thy wife who calls! Come forth, Asander!

[Listens.

Nay, there is no one there. I cannot stay; This is mere folly. I must keep my word; There's not a moment's time, or all is lost. Which is the key?

[Closes the doors and locks them with a clang.

I must go forth alone To the Senate-chamber. I have saved our Cherson And my Asander!

[Totters down the steps and exit hurriedly.

SCENE IV.—The Senate-chamber.

ZETHO and Senators; afterwards GYCIA.

Zetho. What is the hour?

Bardanes. It wants five minutes only To midnight. Think you she will come?

Zetho. I know her. She is the soul of honour, and would keep Her word if 'twere her death.

Bard. But would she keep it If 'twere her lover's?

Zetho. She thinks not that it is, Nor should it be, indeed, were we but true As I believe her.

Bard. True! There is no truth In keeping faith with murderers; they must perish In the same net which they laid privily Against a faithful city.

Enter GYCIA, tottering in, with the keys.

Zetho. Hail, noble daughter! Thou hast saved the State. I knew thou wouldst not fail us.

Gycia. See, good Zetho, The proof that I have done my part to you. There are the master keys of all the doors Within the palace. When I closed the last, A few brief minutes since, there was no sound Nor light in hall or chamber; every court Was silent as the grave.

Bard. Ay, as the grave It is, or will be soon.

Gycia. What mean you, sir, I pray you? I am but a timid woman, Full of foreboding fears and dread of ill, And such a doubt doth overspread my soul, Hearing thy words, I think I shall go mad. Nay, Zetho, he is safe; I have your promise Thou wouldst not harm him. An o'erwhelming force, Thou saidst, should so surround them that resistance Were vain, and ere the dawn they should go hence Without one drop of bloodshed.

Zetho. Ay, my daughter, Such was the promise.

Bard. And it will be kept.

[Bell strikes midnight.

Hark, 'tis the hour! An overwhelming force

[A red glare rising higher and higher is seen through the windows of the Senate-chamber. Confused noises and shouts heard without.

Surrounds them, but no drop of blood is shed. All will go hence ere dawn.

Gycia. Oh, cruel man, And most perfidious world! Oh, my Asander! To die thus and through me!

[A violent knocking is heard at the door.

Enter THEODORUS in great agitation, and IRENE, who throws herself on her knees, weeping. GYCIA falls swooning in Zetho's arms.

Zetho. Whence cam'st thou, Theodorus?

Theo. Straight, my lord, From Gycia's palace.

Zetho. Say, what didst thou there? And what of horror has befallen thee That makes thine eyes stare thus?

Theo. Most noble Zetho, When from the banquet scarce an hour ago I passed, came one who offered me a letter And bade me read. 'Twas from this woman here, My sister, and it told of some great peril By fire, which she, within the prison locked, Expected with the night. Wherefore I sped With one I trusted, and did set a ladder Against her casement, calling her by name, And bidding her descend. But no voice came, And all was dark and silent as the grave; And when I called again, the Prince Asander, From an adjacent casement looking, cried, "I had forgot thy sister. Take her hence; She should go free!" And then, at her own casement

[GYCIA revives and listens.

Appearing, he came forth, and in his arms A woman's senseless form. As they descended And now were in mid-air, there came the sound Of the bell striking midnight, and forthwith In a moment, like a serpent winged with fire, There rose from wall to wall a sheet of flame, Which in one instant mounted to the roof With forked red tongues. Then every casement teemed With strange armed men, who leapt into the flames And perished. Those who, maimed and burnt, escaped, Ere they could gain their feet, a little band Of citizens, who sprang from out the night, Slew as they lay. The Prince, who bore my sister Unhurt to ground, stood for a moment mute. Then, seeing all was lost, he with a groan Stabbed himself where we stood. I fear his hurt Is mortal, since in vain I tried to staunch The rushing blood; then bade them on a litter Carry him hither gently. Here he comes.

Enter Citizens, bearing ASANDER on a litter, wounded.

Gycia. Oh, my love, thou art hurt! Canst thou forgive me? I thought to save thee and the rest. I knew not, I did not know! Oh, God!

Asan. I do believe thee. The fates have led our feet by luckless ways Which only lead to death. I loved but thee. I wished thy State no wrong, but I am dying. Farewell! my love, farewell!

[Dies.

Gycia. Oh, my lost love!

[Throws herself on the body and kisses it passionately.

Zetho. Poor souls! Mysterious are the ways of Heaven, And these have suffered deeply in the fortune That bound their lives together.

Bard. That dead man Would have betrayed our State, and thou dost pity! So perish all the enemies of Cherson!

Gycia (rising). Nay, sir, be silent. 'Tis a coward's part To vilify the dead. You, my Lord Zetho, I had your promise that you would hurt none Except the guilty only, and I thought That to your word I might entrust my life And one more dear than mine; but now it seems That in some coward and unreasoning panic This worthy Senator has moved his colleagues— Since cruelty is close akin to fear— To break your faith to me, and to confuse The innocent and guilty, those who led And those who followed, in one dreadful death! I pray you pardon me if, being a woman, Too rashly taking part in things of State, I have known nought of State-craft or the wisdom Which breaks a plighted word.

Zetho. Daughter, I would Our promise had been kept, and I had kept it But that the safety of the State to some Seemed to demand its breach.

Gycia. Farewell, good Zetho, And all who were my friends. I am going hence; I can no longer stay. There lies my love. There flames my father's house. I go far off, A long, long journey. If you see me not In life again, I humbly pray the State May, if it think me worthy—for indeed I have given it all—bury me, when I die, Within the city, in a fair white tomb, As did our Grecian forefathers of old For him who saved the State; and, if it may be, Lay my love by my side.

Zetho and Sens. Daughter, we swear That thou shalt have thy wish.

Gycia. I thank you, sirs. Then, I may go. Kiss me, good Theodorus: I am no more a wife. I know thy love, And thank thee for it. For that wretch whose lie Has wrecked our life and love, I bless the gods That I am childless, lest my daughter grew As vile a thing as she; and yet I know not. She loved him in some sort, poor wretch, poor wretch! But now I must be going. 'Tis past midnight;

[Snatches dagger from THEODORUS'S side.

I must go hence. I have lost my life and love. But I have saved the State.

[Stabs herself and falls on Asander's body.

Citizens of Cherson bursting in.

Cits. The State is saved! Long may our Cherson flourish! The State is saved! Long live our Lady Gycia, Who saved the State!

Gycia (rising a little). Yes, I have saved the State!

[Falls back dead.

Citizens (without). Long live the Lady Gycia!

Curtain.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.



SELECTIONS FROM THE NOTICES

OF THE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

LEWIS MORRIS.



SONGS OF TWO WORLDS.

These poems were originally published in three volumes, issued in the years 1872, 1874, and 1875. The following are a few selections from the Press notices which appeared as they were issued.

FIRST SERIES.

"No one, after reading the first two poems—almost perfect in rhythm and all the graceful reserve of true lyrical strength—could doubt for an instant that this book is the result of lengthened thought and assiduous training in poetic forms. These poems will assuredly take high rank among the class to which they belong."—British Quarterly Review, April, 1872.

"If this volume is the mere prelude of a mind growing in power, we have in it the promise of a fine poet.... In 'The Wandering Soul,' the verse describing Socrates has that highest note of critical poetry, that in it epigram becomes vivid with life, and life reveals its inherent paradox. It would be difficult to describe the famous irony of Socrates in more poetical and more accurate words than by saying that he doubted men's doubts away."—Spectator, February 17th, 1872.

"In all this poetry there is a purity and delicacy of feeling which comes over one like morning air."—Graphic, March 16th, 1872.

SECOND SERIES.

"In earnestness, sweetness, and the gift of depicting nature, the writer may be pronounced a worthy disciple of his compatriot, Henry Vaughan, the Silurist. Several of the shorter poems are instinct with a noble purpose and a high ideal of life. One perfect picture, marginally annotated, so to speak, in the speculations which it calls forth, is 'The Organ-Boy.' But the most noteworthy poem is the 'Ode on a Fair Spring Morning,' which has somewhat of the charm and truth to nature of 'L'Allegro' and 'Il Penseroso.' It is the nearest approach to a master-piece in the volume."—Saturday Review, May 30th, 1874.

"This volume is a real advance on its predecessor of the same name, and contains at least one poem of great originality, as well as many of much tenderness, sweetness, and beauty. 'The Organ-Boy' we have read again and again, with fresh pleasure on every reading. It is as exquisite a little poem as we have read for many a day."—Spectator, June 13th, 1874.

"The reception of the New Writer's first series shows that, in his degree, he is one of the poetical forces of the time. Of the school of poetry of which Horace is the highest master, he is a not undistinguished pupil."—Academy, August 11th, 1874.

"The verses are full of melodious charm, and sing themselves almost without music."—Blackwood's, August 1st, 1874.

THIRD SERIES.

"Not unworthy of its predecessors. It presents the same command of metre and diction, the same contrasts of mood, the same grace and sweetness. It cannot be denied that he has won a definite position among contemporary poets."—Times, October 16th, 1875.

"'Evensong' shows power thought, and courage to grapple with the profoundest problems. In the 'Ode to Free Rome' we find worthy treatment of the subject and passionate expression of generous sympathy."—Saturday Review, July 31st, 1875.

"More perfect in execution than either of its predecessors.... The pure lyrics are sweeter and richer. In the 'Birth of Verse' every stanza is a little poem in itself, and yet a part of a perfect whole."—Spectator, May 22nd, 1875.

"If each book that he publishes is to mark as steady improvement as have his second and third, the world may surely look for something from the writer which shall immortalize him and remain as a treasure to literature."—Graphic, June 1st, 1875.

THE EPIC OF HADES.

BOOK II.[A]

"Fresh, picturesque, and by no means deficient in intensity; but the most conspicuous merits of the author are the judgment and moderation with which his poem is designed, his self-possession within his prescribed limits, and the unfailing elegance of his composition, which shrinks from obscurity, exuberance, and rash or painful effort as religiously as many recent poets seem to cultivate such interesting blemishes.... Perhaps the fine bursts of music in Marsyas, and the varied emotions portrayed in Andromeda, are less characteristic of the author than the prompt, yet graceful, manner in which he passes from one figure to another.... Fourteen of these pieces written in blank verse which bears comparison with the very best models make up a thoroughly enjoyable little volume...."—Pall Mall Gazette, March 10th, 1876.

[Footnote A: Book II. was issued as a separate volume prior to the publication of Books I. and III. and of the complete work.]

"It is natural that the favourable reception given to his 'Songs of Two Worlds' should have led the author to continue his poetical exercises, and it is, no doubt, a true instinct which has led him to tread the classic paths of song. In his choice of subject he has not shrunk from venturing on ground occupied by at least two Victorian poets. In neither case need he shrink from comparison. His Marsyas is full of fine fancy and vivid description. His Andromeda has to us one recommendation denied to Kingsley's—a more congenial metre; another is its unstrained and natural narrative."—Saturday Review, May 20th, 1876.

"In his enterprise of connecting the Greek myth with the high and wider meaning which Christian sentiment naturally finds for it, his success has been great. The passage in which Apollo's victory over Marsyas and its effect are described is full of exquisite beauty. It is almost as fine as verse on such a subject could be.... The little volume is delightful reading. From the first line to the last, the high and delicate aroma of purity breathes through the various spiritual fables."—Spectator, May 27th, 1876.

"The blank verse is stately, yet sweet, free, graceful, and never undignified. We confidently believe that our readers will agree with us in regarding this as one of the finest and most suggestive poems recently published. We trust to have, ere long, more poetic work from his hand."—British Quarterly Review, April 1st, 1876.

"The writer has shown himself more critical than his friends, and the result is a gradual, steady progress in power, which we frankly acknowledge.... This long passage studded with graces."—Academy, April 29th, 1876.

BOOKS I. and III. and the COMPLETE WORK.

"In one sense the idea of his Epic is not only ambitious, but audacious, for it necessarily awakens reminiscences of Dante. Not unfrequently he is charmingly pathetic, as in his Helen and Psyche. There is considerable force and no small imagination in the description of some of the tortures in the 'Tartarus.' There is genuine poetical feeling in the 'Olympus.'... We might invite attention to many other passages. But it is more easy to give honest general praise than to single out particular extracts."—Times, February 9th, 1877.

"The whole of this last portion of the poem is exceedingly beautiful.... Nor will any, except critics of limited view, fail to recognize in the Epic a distinct addition to their store of those companions of whom we never grow tired."—Athenaeum, March 3rd, 1877.

"We believe that the Epic will approve itself to students as one of the most considerable and original feats of recent English poetry."—Saturday Review, March 31st, 1877.

"Thought, fancy, music, and penetrating sympathy we have here, and that radiant, unnamable suggestive delicacy which enhances the attraction with each new reading."—British Quarterly Review, April, 1877.

"The present work is by far his greatest achievement; the whole tone of it is noble, and portions, more especially the concluding lines, are excessively beautiful."—Westminster Review, April, 1877.

"The work is one of which any singer might justly be proud. In fact, the Epic is in every way a remarkable poem, which to be appreciated must not only be read, but studied."—Graphic, March 10th, 1877.

"We do not hesitate to advance it as our opinion that 'The Epic of Hades' will enjoy the privilege of being classed amongst the poems in the English language which will live."—Civil Service Gazette, March 17th, 1877.

"Exquisite beauty of melodious verse.... A remarkable poem, both in conception and execution. We sincerely wish for the author a complete literary success."—Literary World, March 30th, 1877.

"Will live as a poem of permanent power and charm. It will receive high appreciation from all who can enter into its meaning, for its graphic and liquid pictures of external beauty, the depth and truth of its purgatorial ideas, and the ardour, tenderness, and exaltation of its spiritual life."—Spectator, May 5th, 1877.

"I have lately been reading a poem which has interested me very much, a poem called 'The Epic of Hades.' Many of you may never have heard of it; most of you may never have seen it. It is, as I view it, another gem added to the wealth of the poetry of our language."—Mr. Bright's speech on Cobden, at Bradford, July 25th, 1877.

"In the blank verse of the 'Epic of Hades,' apt words are so simply arranged with unbroken melody, that if the work were printed as prose, it would remain a song, and every word would still be where the sense required it; not one is set in a wrong place through stress of need for a mechanical help to the music. The poem has its sound mind housed in a sound body."—PROFESSOR MORLEY in the Nineteenth Century, February, 1878.

"I have read the 'Epic of Hades,' and find it truly charming. Its pictures will long remain with me, and the music of its words."—OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, April, 1884.

THE EPIC OF HADES.

ILLUSTRATED QUARTO EDITION.

"Of Mr. Chapman's illustrations it is pleasant to be able to speak with considerable admiration, not only because they are a fortunate echo of the verse, and represent the feelings and incidents of the 'Epic,' but because of their intrinsic merits. There is in them a fine and high inspiration of an indefinite sort."—Athenaeum, March 29th, 1879.

"'The Epic of Hades' is certainly one of the most remarkable works of the latter half of the nineteenth century. Here is an edition de luxe which may possibly tempt the unthinking to search for the jewel within the casket."—World, February 12th, 1879.

"The exquisite aerial feeling of 'Eros and Psyche,'—by far the best of the drawings,—in which the figures seem literally to float in ether. 'Laocoon' is grand and dignified, and all deserve to be noticed with attention."—Graphic, January 25th, 1879.

"These designs of themselves would be of the highest value, and when they are placed, as in this book, by way of illustration of a text which is full of power, their value is not easily estimated. The book ought to be one of the most cherished gifts that any lover of poetry or the pencil could desire."—Scotsman, January 23rd, 1879.

"The author has been most fortunate in his illustrator. The designs are gems of drawing and conception, and the mezzotint is admirably adapted to the style of drawing and subject. This is truly a charming addition to the literary table. It is seldom one sees figure illustrations of such graceful and powerful beauty, and so thoroughly in sympathy with the visionary subjects of the author."—Art Journal, April, 1879.

"'The Epic of Hades' has already won a place among the immortals. The lovely and terrible figures of the Greek mythology have never received a more exquisite consecration than at the hands of the author, who, with the true divination of the poet, has known how to interpret in the modern spirit the profound and pathetic fables of antiquity without vulgarizing by modern affectations their divine simplicity. This beautiful poem appears now in an edition de luxe—a setting not unworthy of such gems. The designs are noteworthy for their tenderness of sentiment and their languid grace."—Daily News, April 2nd, 1879.

GWEN:

A DRAMA IN MONOLOGUE.

"The charm of this beautiful little poem is its perfect simplicity of utterance; its chastened and exquisite grace. There is nothing very new in the incidents or in the characters of this most touching story, except in its unconventional ending, which takes the reader by surprise. The genius of the author has closed an idyll of love and death with a strain of sweet, sad music in that minor key which belongs to remembrance and regret."—Daily News, January 22nd, 1879.

"We have read this new work with the interest arising from the expectations which the author had quickened in us, and with the hope of finding those expectations confirmed. We are not disappointed, for we have here the same selectness of language, the same high, pure tone, the same delicate power of touching the deeper chords of thought and feeling, which have previously won our attention and sympathy."—Literary World, January 17th, 1879.

"At the close of the tale the heart swells with pathos, and the tears all but force their way into the eyes. To turn from the most noteworthy of modern poetry to the verse in which 'Gwen' is written is like turning from a brilliant painting to a fine statue. We are scarcely sensible of want of colour, so refreshed are we by purity of outline. All, indeed, is graceful, good, and poetical work, as pure and limpid in flow as a brook."—Sunday Times, February 2nd, 1879.

"The piece as a whole will repay very attentive perusal, while here and there in it there is a particular choice bit of work. Here, for example, is a fine lyric ... and here a love-song of rare and exquisite beauty."—New York Evening Post, February 20th, 1879.

"Few among the later poets of our time have received such a generous welcome as the author. He has been appreciated not by critics alone, but by the general public.... The charm of 'Gwen' is to be found in the limpid clearness of the versification, in the pathetic notes which tell the old story of true love wounded and crushed. Nothing can be more artistically appropriate or more daintily melodious than the following...."—Pall Mall Gazette, October 8th, 1879.

"The poem is, as a whole, tender, simple, chaste in feeling, and occasionally it rises to a lyrical loftiness of sentiment or grows compact with vigorous thought."—New York "Nation", March 27th, 1879.

"The writer has gained inspiration from themes which inspired Dante; he has sung sweet songs and musical lyrics; and whether writing in rhyme or blank verse, has proved himself a master of his instrument. He knows, like all true poets, how to transmute what may be called common into the pure gold of poetry."—Spectator, July 26th, 1879.

THE ODE OF LIFE.

"The 'Ode of Life' ought to be the most popular of all the author's works. People flock to hear great preachers, but in this book they will hear a voice more eloquent than theirs, dealing with the most important subjects that can ever occupy the thoughts of man."—Westminster Review, July, 1880.

"The many who have found what seemed to them of value and of use in the previous writings of the author, may confidently turn to this, his latest and, in his own view, his most mature work. It is full of beauty of thought, feeling, and language."—Daily News, April 8th, 1880.

"Full of exquisite taste, tender colour, and delicate fancy, these poems will add considerably to the reputation of their author."—Sunday Times, April 25th, 1880.

"The author is one of the few real poets now living. Anything at once more sympathetic and powerful it would be difficult to find in the poetry of the present day."—Scotsman, May 11th, 1880.

"Next to the 'Epic of Hades,' it is his best work."—Cambridge Review, May 19th, 1880.

"Here is one standing high in power and in fame who has chosen a nobler course.... The experiment is successful, and though we must not now discuss the laws to which the structure of an ode should conform, we rank the poem in this respect as standing far above Dryden's celebrated composition, but below the Odes of Wordsworth on Immortality and of Milton on the Nativity, which still remain peerless and without a rival."—Congregationalist, May 1st, 1880.

"A high devout purpose and wide human sympathy ennoble all the writer's work, and his clear language and quiet music will retain his audience."—Nineteenth Century, August, 1880.

"In all that respects technical points, certainly the most finished work we have yet had from the author's hand, and here and there the phrasing is exquisite. For ambitious aims, and for art which so far has justified those aims, for elevation and refinement, these poems are in advance of any of the author's former works."—British Quarterly Review, July, 1880.

"Any notice of recent poetry would be inadequate without a reference to the 'Ode of Life.' The only fault we have to find with this really remarkable effort—a sort of expansion of Wordsworth's famous Ode—is that it is rather too long for its ideas; but it possesses power, sweetness, occasional profundity, and unmistakable music. It is, when all is said and done, a true 'Ode,' sweeping the reader along as the ode should do, and

'Growing like Atlas, stronger for its load.'

It appears to us to bring definite proof that the writer's pretensions have not been over-stated."—Contemporary Review, February, 1881.

SONGS UNSUNG.

"Some of the more important pieces make almost equal and very high demands alike on my sympathy and my admiration, and I hope you may long be enabled to cherish the enviable gift of finding utterance for Truths so deep in forms of so much power and beauty."—Letter from MR. GLADSTONE, November, 1883.

"The reader of his former work will probably commence this volume with considerable expectations. Nor will he be altogether disappointed, although he will probably wish that Mr. Morris had given the world more of his exquisite classical workmanship."—Fortnightly Review, November, 1883.

"'The New Creed' is, in some respects, his most striking achievement. The poem is one well suited to his mind, but we are not aware that he has ever before written anything at once so impressive, so solemn, and so self-restrained. The last two lines have all the happy energy of the highest poetry."—Spectator, November 10th, 1883.

"In reading it one feels constantly 'How worthy this book would be of beautiful illustrations!'"—Academy, November 24th, 1883.

"The volume is full of the sweet fruits of a large experience; a profound study of the many problems of life; a clear insight into human nature; and the book as a whole ranks among the best gifts which the press has in recent years bestowed upon us."—Leeds Mercury, November 21st, 1883.

"There is not one of these 'Songs Unsung' which does not deserve to be read and re-read."—Glasgow Herald, November 16th, 1883.

"In Mr. Morris's new volume we recognize the old qualities which are so dear to his wide circle of admirers."—Daily News, December 4th, 1883.

"We may safely predict as warm a welcome for the new volume as has been accorded to its predecessors."—Ecclesiastical Gazette, November 15th, 1883.

"Those who have followed Mr. Morris's career will be pleased to find that his poetic grasp, his argumentative subtlety, his tenderness of sympathetic observation, his manly earnestness, are as conspicuous and impressive as before."—MR. BAYNE, in the Helensburgh Times.

"The reputation earned by the author's books has been such as few men in a century are permitted to enjoy. Beginning with the first volume, it has gone on increasing."—Liverpool Mercury, November 9th, 1883.

"For ourselves we dare hardly say how high we rank Mr. Morris. This last volume is deserving of highest praise. In some of its contents no living poet, to our mind can surpass him."—Oxford University Herald, March 8th, 1884.

"The gems of this volume, to our mind, are some of the shorter poems, which are full of melody and colour, saturated with lyrical feeling, and marked by that simplicity without which no poem of this class can be called great."—British Quarterly Review, January, 1884.

"The writer is never diffuse or vague or pointless, both his road and the end of it are always in view."—New York Critic, January 19th, 1884.

"In one sense 'Songs Unsung' is more typical of Mr. Morris's genius than any of his previous works. There is in them the same purity of expression, the same delicate fancy, the same mastery of technique, and withal the same loftiness of conception."—Scotsman, December 22nd, 1883.

"In some respects we must award him the distinction of having a clearer perception of the springs of nineteenth-century existence than any of his contemporaries.... What could be more magnificent than the following conception of the beginning of things...."—Whitehall Review, October, 1883.

"Mr. Morris has always that picturesque power which limns in a few words a suggestive and alluring picture of nature or of life evoking the imagination of the reader to supplement the clear and vigorous work of the poet."—New York Christian Union, February, 1884.

"No lover of poetry will fail to make himself possessed of this volume from the pen of one who has made for himself so high and distinctive a place among modern writers."—Manchester Examiner, January 31st, 1884.

"After making every possible deduction, 'Songs Unsung' is a noble volume, and ought to be received by those who, like ourselves, believe in the necessary subordination of art to morality with profound gratification."—Freeman, April 18th, 1884.

"We have quoted enough to show that this book has genuine merit in it, merit in poetry, merit in philosophy, and, we may add, merit in religion. Lewis Morris takes the 'new and deeper view of the world' of which Carlyle now and then caught sunny glimpses. He sings in sweet and measured Tennysonian strains of philosophy what Darwin and Herbert Spencer teach in prose; without the informing glow of the imagination. There are living poets greater than Lewis Morris, but of the younger race of poets he is foremost."—The Inquirer, April 5th, 1884.

"The hold which a poet who writes with such intense seriousness of purpose and such passionate earnestness gains upon his generation is far stronger and more lasting than if his sole attempt were to stimulate or to satisfy the sense of the beautiful. All the things of which we wish that poetry should speak to us, have voice given to them in the song of this glorious singer."—South Australian Advertiser, March 24th, 1884.

"As a whole this volume, while charming anew the poet's former admirers, should win for his genius a wider acquaintance and appreciation."—Boston Literary World, February 23rd, 1884.

"Mr. Morris has the invaluable gift of recognizing and being in full sympathy with the current ideas and feelings of the time. The broad humanitarianism, the genuine sympathy with the sufferings of the poor and unfortunate, characteristic of our age, is one of the most attractive features of his poetry, and to the revival of the feeling for classical beauty, which may be looked upon as a collateral branch of the 'aesthetic' movement, he owes more than one charming inspiration.... To sum up. Mr. Morris's volume is likely to add to his reputation. It is healthy in tone, and shows no decline of the varied qualities to which the author owes his widespread reputation."—Times, June 9, 1884.



Transcriber's note: Page 2: "hate and dread" has been changed to "I hate and dread" Page 184: "Tis a King's part" has been changed to "'Tis a King's part" with an apostrophe.

THE END