CYNTHIA. Thus by showing us the value Thou upon the victory settest, We may understand that thou Meanest in the lists to enter.

NISIDA. Yes, so far as heaven through music Its most magic cures effecteth, Since no witchcraft is so potent But sweet music may dispel it. It doth tame the raging wild beast, Lulls to sleep the poisonous serpent, And makes evil genii, who Are revolted spirits—rebels— Fly in fear, and in this art I have always been most perfect: Wrongly would I act to-day, In not striving for the splendid Prize which will be mine, when I See myself the loved and wedded Wife of the great senator's son, And the mistress of such treasures.

CYNTHIA. Although music is an art Which so many arts excelleth, Still in truth 't is but a sound Which the wanton air disperses. It the sweet child of the air In the air itself must perish. I, who in my studious reading Have such learn'ed lore collected, Who in poetry, that art Which both teacheth and diverteth, May precedence claim o'er many Geniuses so prized at present, Can a surer victory hope for In the great fight that impendeth, Since the music of the soul Is what keeps the mind suspended. In one item, Nisida, We two differ: thy incentive Thy chief motive, is but interest: Mine is vanity, a determined Will no other woman shall Triumph o'er me in this effort, Since I wish that Rome should see That the glory, the perfection Of a woman is her mind, All her other charms excelling.

DARIA. Interest and vanity Are the two things, as you tell me, That, O Cynthia! can oblige thee, That, O Nisida, can compel thee To attempt this undertaking By so many risks attended. But I think you both are wrong, Since in this case, having heard that The affliction this man suffers Christian sorcery hath effected Through abhorrence of our gods, By that atheist sect detested, Neither of these feelings should Be your motive to attempt it. I then, who, for this time only Will believe these waves that tell me— These bright fountains—that the beauty Which so oft they have reflected Is unequalled, mean to lay it As an offering in the temple Of the gods, to show what little Strength in Christian sorcery dwelleth.

NISIDA. Then 't is openly admitted That we three the list will enter For the prize.

CYNTHIA. And from this moment That the rivalry commences.

NISIDA. Voice of song, thy sweet enchantment On this great occasion lend me, That through thy soft influence Rank and riches I may merit. [Exit.

CYNTHIA. Genius, offspring of the soul, Prove this time thou 'rt so descended, That thy proud ambitious hopes May 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.

(Enter Polemius and Claudius.)

POLEMIUS. Is then everything prepared?—

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

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

(Enter Aurelius.)

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

POLEMIUS. Bid him enter. [Aurelius retires, and returns immediately with Carpophorus, disguised as a physician.]

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

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

CARPOPHORUS. Heaven but grant the cure be perfect!

POLEMIUS. Whence, sir, art thou?

CARPOPHORUS. Sir, from Athens.

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

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

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

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

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

CARPOPHORUS. In the soul then I will cure him, If my skill heaven only blesses. [Music is heard from within.

CLAUDIUS. That he 's leaving his apartment This harmonious strain suggesteth, Since to counteract his gloom He by music is attended. (Enter Chrysanthus richly dressed, preceded by musicians playing and singing, and followed by attendants.)

CHRYSANTHUS. Cease; my pain, perchance my folly, Cannot be by song diverted; Music is a power exerted For the cure of melancholy, Which in truth it but augmenteth.

A MUSICIAN. This your father bade us do.

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

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

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

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

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

CARPOPHORUS. I will speak to him with your leave.

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

CARPOPHORUS. Sir, of what do you complain?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHRYSANTHUS. No.

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

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

CARPOPHORUS. To the believer all is plain.

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

CARPOPHORUS. Your intellectual pride subdue.

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

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

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

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

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

CARPOPHORUS. He whom God assists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

POLEMIUS. For your kindness I am grateful.

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

(Enter Escarpin.)

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

POLEMIUS. Why?

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

POLEMIUS. Well?

ESCARPIN. But by a nymph more fair Is surpassed.

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

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

POLEMIUS. Great results I hope to gather:

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

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

ESCARPIN. Silence suits me for the nonce.

CHRYSANTHUS. Why?

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

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

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

CHRYSANTHUS. What of me do people say?—

ESCARPIN. Shall I speak it?

CHRYSANTHUS. Speak.

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

CHRYSANTHUS. For what reason? Why this blame?

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

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

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

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is true.

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

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

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

CHRYSANTHUS. But what maid is this I see Hither through the garden wending?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sings. "The bless'ed rapture of forgetting Never doth my heart deserve, What my memory would preserve Is the memory I 'm regretting".

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

(Enter Cynthia.)

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

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is not through the voice alone Music breathes its soft enchantment.[10] All things that in concord blend Find 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 me But to ruin me hereafter:— Leave me; go: I cannot listen To your wiles.

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

CYNTHIA. Wait! stay!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Enter Daria.)

DARIA. Here, Chrysanthus, I have come . . .

NISIDA. Stay, Daria.

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

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

NISIDA. By my miseries admonished . . . .

CYNTHIA. By my strange misfortune startled . . .

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

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

NISIDA. Oh! how dreadful!

CYNTHIA. Oh! how awful!

NISIDA. Oh! the horror!

CYNTHIA. Oh! the anguish! [Exeunt Cynthia and Nisida.]

ESCARPIN. Mad with jealousy and rage Have the tuneful twain departed.

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

CHRYSANTHUS. Yes.

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

CHRYSANTHUS. Why?

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

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

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

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

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

CHRYSANTHUS. Miracles they are and marvels.

DARIA. Why do they affect not me?

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

DARIA. Then I come here to undo them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



ACT THE THIRD.



SCENE I.—The Garden of Polemius.

Enter POLEMIUS, AURELIUS, CLAUDIUS, and ESCARPIN.

POLEMIUS. All my house is in confusion, Full of terrors, full of horrors;[11] Ah! how true it is a son Is the source of many sorrows!—

CLAUDIUS. But, my lord, reflect . . .

ESCARPIN. Consider . . . Think . . .

POLEMIUS. Why think, when misery follows?— Cease: you add to my affliction, And in no way bring me solace. Since you see that in his madness He 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 charms Give to him such grief and torment, That each moment he may perish, That he may expire each moment; How then can you hope that I Now shall list to words of comfort?—

CLAUDIUS. Why not give this beauteous maiden To your son to be his consort, Since you see his inclination?

POLEMIUS. For this reason: when the project I proposed, the two made answer, That before they wed, some problem, Some dispute that lay between them Should be settled: this seemed proper: But when I would know its nature I could not the cause discover. From this closeness I infer That some secret of importance Lies between them, and that this Is the source of all my sorrows.

AURELIUS. Sir, my loyalty, my duty Will not let me any longer Silence keep, too clearly seeing How the evil has passed onward. On that day we searched the mountain. . . .

POLEMIUS (aside). Woe is me! could he have known then All this time it was Chrysanthus?

AURELIUS. I approaching, where with shoulders Turned against me stood one figure, Saw the countenance of another, And methinks he was . . .

POLEMIUS (aside). Ye gods! Yes, he saw him! help! support me!

AURELIUS. The same person who came hither Lately in the garb of a doctor, Who to-day to cure Chrysanthus Such unusual treatment orders. Do you ascertain if he Is Carpophorus; let no portent Fright 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 palpitation Of my heart that beats and throbbeth 'Gainst my breast, doth prove how true Are the suspicions that it fostered. And if so, then Rome will see Such examples made, such torments, That one bleeding corse will show Wounds enough for myriad corses. [Exeunt Aurelius and Polemius.

CLAUDIUS. Good Escarpin . . .

ESCARPIN. Sir.

CLAUDIUS. I know not How to address you in my sorrow. Do you say that Cynthia was One of those not over-modest Beauties who to court Chrysanthus Hither came, and who (strange portent!) Had some share of his bewitchment In the stupor that came on them?

ESCARPIN. Yes, sir, and what 's worse, Daria Was another, thus the torment That we both endure is equal, If my case be not the stronger, Since to love her would be almost Less an injury than to scorn her.

CLAUDIUS. Well, I will not quarrel with you On the point (for it were nonsense) Whether one should feel more keenly Love or hate, disdain or fondness Shown to one we love; enough 'T is to me to know, that prompted Or by vanity or by interest, She came hither to hold converse With him, 't is enough to make me Lose the love I once felt for her.

ESCARPIN. Sir, two men, one bald, one squint-eyed, Met one day . . .

CLAUDIUS. What, on your hobby? A new story?

ESCARPIN. To tell stories, Sir, is not my 'forte', 'pon honour:— Though who would n't make a hazard When the ball is over the pocket?—

CLAUDIUS. Well, I do not care to hear it.

ESCARPIN. Ah, you know it then: Another Let me try: A friar once . . . Stay though, I have quite forgotten There are no friars yet in Rome: Well, once more: a fool . . .

CLAUDIUS. A blockhead Like yourself, say: cease.

ESCARPIN. Ah, 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 folly As to think 'mid cares so grave I could listen to such nonsense? (exit. [Enter Chrysanthus and Daria, at opposite sides.]

DARIA (to herself). O ye gods, since my intention Was in empty air to scatter All these prodigies and wonders Worked in favour of Chrysanthus By the Christians' sorcery, why, Having you for my copartners, Do I not achieve a victory Which my beauty might make facile?

CHRYSANTHUS. O ye heavens, since my ambition Was to melt Daria's hardness, And to bring her to the knowledge Of 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 already Even to see him, to have parley With him, lights a living fire In 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 I By her beauty am distracted, Still she must become a Christian Ere a wife's dear name I grant her.

DARIA (aside). Venus, to my beauty give Power to make of him my vassal.

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). Grant, O Lord, unto my tongue Words 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 young As beneath spring's dewy spangles; Not in vain, since though 't is evening, Thou a new Aurora dazzleth, That the birds in public concert Hail thee with a joyous anthem; Not in vain the streams and fountains, As their crystal current passes, Keep melodious time and tune With the bent boughs of the alders; The light movement of the zephyrs As 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 phrases Make me doubt of thee, Chrysanthus. He who gilds the false so well, Must mere truth find unattractive.

CHRYSANTHUS. Hast thou then such little faith In my love?

DARIA. Thou needst not marvel.

CHRYSANTHUS. Why?

DARIA. Because no more of faith Doth a love deserve that acteth Such deceptions.

CHRYSANTHUS. What deceptions?

DARIA. Are not those enough, Chrysanthus, That thou usest to convince me Of thy love, of thy attachment, When my first and well-known wishes Thou perversely disregardest? Is it possible a man So distinguished for his talents, So illustrious in his blood, Such a favourite from his manners, Would desire to ruin all By an error so unhappy, And for some delusive dream See himself abhorred and branded?

CHRYSANTHUS. I nor talents, manners, blood, Would be worthy of, if madly I denied a Great First Cause, Who made all things, mind and matter, Time, heaven, earth, air, water, fire, Sun, moon, stars, fish, birds, beasts, Man then.

DARIA. Did not Jupiter, then, make heaven, Where we hear his thunders rattle?

CHRYSANTHUS. No, for if he could have made Heaven, he had no need to grasp it For himself at the partition, When to Neptune's rule he granted The great sea, and hell to Pluto;— Then they were ere all this happened.[12]

DARIA. Is not Ceres the earth, then?

CHRYSANTHUS. No. Since she lets the plough and harrow Tear its bosom, and a goddess Would not have her frame so mangled.

DARIA. Tell me, is not Saturn time?

CHRYSANTHUS. He is not, though he dispatcheth All the children he gives birth to; To a god no crimes should happen.

DARIA. Is not Venus the air?

CHRYSANTHUS. Much less, Since they say that she was fashioned From the foam, and foam, we know, Cannot from the air be gathered.

DARIA. Is not Neptune the sea?

CHRYSANTHUS. As little, For inconstancy were god's mark then.

DARIA. Is not the sun Apollo?

CHRYSANTHUS. No.

DARIA. The moon Diana?

CHRYSANTHUS. All mere babble. They are but two shining orbs Placed in heaven, and there commanded To obey fixed laws of motion Which 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 Sin Are opposed as light to darkness?— With another argument I would further sift the matter. Let then Jupiter be a god, In his own sphere lord and master: Let Apollo be one also: Should Jove wish to hurl in anger Down his red bolts on the world, And Apollo would not grant them, He the so-called god of fire; From the independent action Of the two does it not follow One 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 martyr Who has died for love of thee!— Since then, thou hast said, so adverse Was thy proud disdain, one only Thou couldst love with love as ardent Almost as his own, was he Who would . . .

DARIA. Oh! 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 mystery All my strength appears departed. I do not desire to argue With 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 chances Are that in it I shall die: And since change in me can hardly Be expected, for I never At thy bidding will disparage My own gods, here stay in peace. Never do I wish to hearken To thy words again, or see thee, For even falsehood, when apparelled In the garb of truth, exerteth Too much power to be disregarded. [Exit.

CHRYSANTHUS. Stay, I cannot live without thee, Or, if thou wilt go, the magnet Of thine eye must make me follow. All my happiness is anchored There. Return, Daria. . . .

(Enter Carpophorus.)

CARPOPHORUS. Stay. Follow not her steps till after You have heard me speak.

CHRYSANTHUS. What would you?

CARPOPHORUS. I would reprimand your lapses, Seeing how ungratefully You, my son, towards me have acted.

CHRYSANTHUS. I ungrateful!

CARPOPHORUS. You ungrateful, Yes, because you have abandoned, Have forgotten God's assistance, So effectual and so ample.

CHRYSANTHUS. Do not say I have forgotten Or abandoned it, wise master, Since my memory to preserve it Is as 't were a diamond tablet.

CARPOPHORUS. Think you that I can believe you, If when having in this garment Sought you out to train and teach you, In the Christian faith and practice, Until deep theology You 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 surrender To this love-dream, this attachment? Did it strike you not, Chrysanthus, To that calling how contrasted Are delights, delirious tumults, Are love's transports and its raptures, Which you should resist? Recall too, Can you not? the aid heaven granted When you helped yourself, and prayed for Its assistance: were you not guarded By 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 will You succumb to the enchantment Of one fair and fatal face, Which hath done to you such damage That 't will work your final ruin, If the trial longer lasteth?—

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! my father, oh! my teacher, Hear me, for although the charges Brought against me thus are heavy, Still I to myself have ample Reasons for my exculpation. Since you taught me, you, dear master, That the union of two wills In 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 them Humbly at your feet: (aside, Thank heaven, That he heard me not, this calmness Cannot be assumed).

POLEMIUS. I value More than I can say your manner Towards my son, so kind, so zealous For his health.

CARPOPHORUS. Heaven knows, much farther Even than this is my ambition, Sir, to serve you: but the passions Of Chrysanthus are so strong, That my skill they overmaster.

POLEMIUS. How?

CARPOPHORUS. Because the means of cure He perversely counteracteth.

CHRYSANTHUS. Ah! sir, no, I 've left undone Nothing that you have commanded.

CARPOPHORUS. No, not so, his greatest peril He has rashly disregarded.

POLEMIUS. I implicitly can trust you, Of whose courage, of whose talents I have been so well informed, That I mean at once to grant them The reward they so well merit.

CARPOPHORUS. Sir, may heaven preserve and guard you.

POLEMIUS. Come with me; for I desire That you should from my apartments Choose what best doth please you; I Do not doubt you 'll find an ample Guerdon for your care.

CARPOPHORUS. To be Honoured in this public manner Is my best reward.

POLEMIUS (aside). The world Shall this day a dread example Of my justice see, transcending All recorded in time's annals. (Exeunt Polemius and Carpophorus.)

CHRYSANTHUS. Better than I could have hoped for Has it happened, since my father Shows by his unruffled face That his name he has not gathered. What more evidence can I wish for Than to see the gracious manner In which he conducts him whither His reward he means to grant him? Oh! that love would do as much In 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 methought Timely flight alone could answer, Once again, against my will To his presence thou dost drag me.

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). But she comes again: let sorrow Be awhile replaced by gladness:— Ah! Daria, so resolved[13] (aloud, Not to see or hear me more, Art thou here?

DARIA. Deep pondering o'er, As the question I revolved, I would have the mystery solved: 'T is for that I 'm here, then see It is not to speak with thee.

CHRYSANTHUS. Speak, what doubt wouldst thou decide?

DARIA. Thou hast said a God once died Through His boundless love to me: Now to bring thee to conviction Let me this one strong point try . . .

CHRYSANTHUS. What?

DARIA. To be a God, and die, Doth imply a contradiction. And if thou dost still deny To my god the name divine, And reject him in thy scorn For beginning, I opine, If thy God could die, that mine Might 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 will As 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 above With weak man below? To thee Does not the twin deity Of two gods more power display, Than if in some mystic way God 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 who Ever issues from the two, Being one sole God, must be One in power and dignity:— Until thou dost hold this true, Till thy creed is that the Son Was 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 died Solely for the love of thee.

CHRYSANTHUS. All that I could have replied Has been said thus suddenly By this voice that, sounding near, Strikes upon my startled ear Like 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. From here: 'T is, Chrysanthus, my intent Thus to place before thy sight— Thus to show thee in what light I regard thy restoration Back to health, the estimation In which I regard the wight Who 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. I freeze!—

POLEMIUS. Is the cure of thy disease, What must that disease have been! 'T is Carpophorus. . . .

DARIA. Dread scene!

POLEMIUS. He who with false science came Not 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 cure Of the ill that I endure.

POLEMIUS. It to him did pity seem, Seemed the sole reward that he Asked or would receive from me: Since when dying, he but cried . .

THE HEAD OF CARPOPHORUS. Seek, O soul! seek Him who died Solely for the love of thee!—

CHRYSANTHUS. What a portent!

DARIA. What a wonder!

ESCARPIN. Jove! my own head splits asunder!—

POLEMIUS. Even though severed, in it dwells Still the force of magic spells.

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, it were a fatal blunder To be blind to this appalling Tragedy you wrong by calling The result of spells—no spells Are such signs, but miracles Outside man's experience falling. He came here because he yearned With his pure and holy breath To 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 one Bright example: shall I shun Death 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 though Humanly thou hast that name, Thou hast forfeited thy claim: I that sweet address now owe Unto him whose holier aim Kindled in my heart a flame Which shall there for ever glow, Woke within me a new soul That thou 'rt powerless to control— Generated a new life Safe against thy hand or knife: Him a father's name I give Who indeed has made me live, Not to him whose tyrant will Only 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. Ho! instantly Tear him from it.

DARIA (aside). Thus to be By such prodigies surrounded, Leaves me dazzled and confounded.

POLEMIUS. Hide the corse.

ESCARPIN. Leave that to me (The head and body are concealed).

POLEMIUS. Bear Chrysanthus now away To a tower of darksome gloom Which shall be his living tomb.

CHRYSANTHUS. That I hear with scant dismay, Since the memory of this day With me there will ever dwell. Fair Daria, fare thee well, And since now thou knowest who Died for love of thee, renew The sweet vow that in the dell Once thou gav'st me, Him to love After death who so loved thee.

POLEMIUS. Take him hence.

DARIA. Ah! suddenly Light descendeth from above Which my darkness doth remove. Now thy shadowed truth I see, Now the Christian's faith profess. Let thy bloody lictors press Round me, racking every limb, Let me only die with him, Since I openly confess That the gods are false whom we Long have worshipped, that I trust Christ 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 this Boasts how dark, how blind she is.

DARIA. Oh! command that I should dwell With Chrysanthus in his cell. In our hearts we long are mated, And ere now had celebrated Our espousals fond and true, If the One same God we knew.

CHRYSANTHUS. This sole bliss alone I waited To die happy.

POLEMIUS. How my heart Is with wrath and rage possest!— Hold thy hand, present it not, For I would not have thy lot By the least indulgence blest; Nor do thou, if thy wild brain Such a desperate course maintain, Hope to have her as thy bride— Trophy of our gods denied:— Separate them.

CHRYSANTHUS. O the pain!

DARIA. O the woe! unhappy me!

POLEMIUS. Take them hence, and let them be (Since my justice now at least Makes amends for mercy past) Punished so effectually That their wishes, their desires, What each wanteth or requires, Shall be thwarted or denied, That between opposing fires They for ever shall be tried:— Since Chrysanthus' former mood Only wished the solitude Whence such sorrows have arisen, Take him to the public prison, And be sure in fire and food That he shall not be preferred To the meanest culprit there. Naked, abject, let him fare As the lowest of the herd: There, while chains his body gird, Let him grovel and so die:— For Daria, too, hard by Is another public place, Shameful home of worse disgrace, Where imprisoned let her lie: If, relying on the powers Of her beauty, her vain pride Dreamed 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 care Must 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 fell Vengeance for this act of mine, Take my life, for it is thine; But my honour do not dare To insult through one so fair.

DARIA. Wreak thy rage, if faith divine So offends thee, upon me, Not upon my chastity:— 'T is a virtue purer far Than the light of sun or star, And has ne'er offended thee.

POLEMIUS. Take them hence.

CHRYSANTHUS. Ah me, to find Words, that might affect thy mind! Melt thy heart!

DARIA. Ah, me, who e'er Saw a martyrdom so rare?—

POLEMIUS. Wouldst thou then the torment fly, Thou hast only to deny Christ.

CHRYSANTHUS. The Saviour of mankind? This I cannot do.

DARIA. Nor I.

POLEMIUS. Let them instantly from this To their punishment be led.—

ESCARPIN. Do not budge from what you said. It is excellent as it is.

CHRYSANTHUS. Woe is me! but wherefore fear, O beloved betroth'ed mine?— Trust in God, that power divine For whose sake we suffer here:— HE will aid us and be near:—

DARIA. In that confidence I live, For if He His life could give For my love, and me select, He His honour will protect.

CHRYSANTHUS. These sad tears He will forgive. Ne'er to see thee more! thus driven. . .

DARIA. Cease, my heart like thine is riven, But again we 'll see each other, When in heaven we 'll be, my brother, The two lover saints of Heaven. (They are led out.



SCENE II.—The hall of a bordel.

Soldiers conducting Daria.

A SOLDIER. Here Polemius bade us leave her, The great senator of Rome.[14] (exeunt.)

DARIA. As the noonday might be left In the midnight's dusky robe, As the light amid the darkness, As 'mid clouds the solar globe: But although the shades and shadows, Through the vapours of Heaven's dome. Strive with villainous presumption Light and splendour to enfold, Though they may conceal the lustre, Still they cannot stain it, no. And it is a consolation This to know, that even the gold, How so many be its carats, How so rich may be the lode, Is not certain of its value 'Till the crucible hath told. Ah! from one extreme to another Does my strange existence go: Yesterday in highest honour, And to-day so poor and low! Still, if I am self-reliant, Need I fear an alien foe? But, ah me, how insufficient Is my self-defence alone!— O new God to whom I offer Life and soul, whom I adore, In Thy confidence I rest me. Help me, Lord, I ask no more.

(Enter Escarpin.)

ESCARPIN. Where I wonder can she be? But I need not farther go, Here she is:—At length, Daria, My good lady, and soforth, Now has come the happy moment, When in open market sold, All thy charms are for the buyer, Who can spend a little gold; And since happily love's tariff Is not an excessive toll, Here I am, and so, Daria, Let these clasping arms enfold . . .

DARIA. Do not Thou desert Thy handmaid In this dreadful hour, O Lord!—

Cries of people within.

A VOICE (within). Oh, the lion! oh, the lion!

ANOTHER VOICE (within). Ho! take care of the lion, ho!

ESCARPIN. Let the lion care himself, I 'm engaged and cannot go.

A VOICE (within). From the mountain wilds descending, Through the crowded streets he goes.

ANOTHER VOICE (within). Like the lightning's flash he flieth, Like the thunder is his roar.

ESCARPIN. Ah! all right, for I 'm in safety, Thanks to this obliging door: Lightning is a thing intended For high towers and stately domes, Never heard I of its falling Upon little lowly homes: So if lion be the lightning, Somewhere else will fall the bolt: Therefore once again, Daria, Come, I say, embrace me. . . . . (A lion enters, places himself before Daria, and seizes Escarpin.)

DARIA. Oh! Never in my life did I See a nobler beast.

ESCARPIN. Just so, Nor a more affectionate one Did I ever meet before, Since he gives me the embraces That I asked of thee and more: O god Bacchus, whom I worship So devoutly, thou, I know, Workest powerfully on beasts. Tell our friend to let me go.

DARIA. Noble brute, defend my honour, Be God's minister below.

ESCARPIN. How he gnaws me! how he claws me! How he smells! His breath, by Jove, Is as bad as an emetic. But you need n't eat me, though. That would be a sorry blunder, Like what happened long ago. Would you like to hear the story? By your growling you say no. What! you 'll eat me then? You 'll find me A tough morsel, skin and bone. O Daria! I implore thee, Save me from this monster's throat, And I give to thee my promise To respect thee evermore.

DARIA. Mighty monarch of these deserts, King of beasts, so plainly known By thy crown of golden tresses O'er thy tawny forehead thrown, In the name of Him who sent thee To defend that faith I hold, I command thee to release him, Free this man and let him go.

ESCARPIN. What a most obsequious monster! With his mane he sweeps the floor, And before her humbly falling, Kisses her fair feet.

DARIA. What more Need we ask, that Thou didst send him, O great God so late adored, Than to see his pride thus humbled When he heard thy name implored? But upon his feet uprising, The great roaring Campeador[15] Of the mountains makes a signal I should follow: yes, I go, Fearless now since Thou hast freed me From this infamous abode. What will not that lover do Who for love his life foregoes!— (Goes out preceded by the lion.

ESCARPIN. With a lion for her bully Ready to fight all her foes, Who will dare to interrupt her? None, if they are wise I trow. With her hand upon his mane, Quite familiarly they go Through the centre of the city. Crowds give way as they approach, And as he who looketh on Knoweth of the game much more Than the players, I perceive They the open country seek On the further side of Rome. Like a husband and a wife, In the pleasant sunshine's glow, Taking the sweet air they seem. Well the whole affair doth show So much curious contradiction, That, my thought, a brief discourse You and I must have together. Is the God whose name is known To Daria, the same God Whom Carpophorus adored? Why, from this what inference follows? Only this, if it be so, That Daria He defends, But the poor Carpophorus, no. And as I am much more likely His sad fate to undergo, Than to be like her protected, I to change my faith am loth. So part pagan and part christian I 'll remain—a bit of both. (Exit.



SCENE III.—The Wood.

(Enter NISIDA and CYNTHIA, flying.)

CYNTHIA. Fly, fly, Nisida.

NISIDA. Fly, fly, Cynthia, Since a terror and a woe Threatens us by far more fearful Than when late a horror froze All our words, and o'er our reason Strange lethargic dulness flowed.

CYNTHIA. Thou art right, for then 't was only Our intelligence that owned The effect of an enchantment, A mere pause of thought alone. Here our very life doth leave us, Seeing with what awful force Stalks along this mighty lion Trampling all that stops his course.

NISIDA. Whither shall we fly for shelter?

CYNTHIA. O Diana, we implore Help from thee! But stranger still!— Him who doth appal us so, The wild monarch of the mountain See! a woman calm and slow Follows.

NISIDA. O astounding sight!

CYNTHIA. 'T is Daria.

NISIDA. I was told She had been consigned to prison: Yes, 't is she: on, on they go Through the forest.

CYNTHIA. Till the mountain Hides them, and we see no more.

(Enter Escarpin.)

ESCARPIN. All Rome is full of wonder and dismay.[16]

NISIDA. What has occurred?

CYNTHIA. Oh! what has happened, say?

ESCARPIN. Chrysanthus, being immured By his stern sire, a thousand ills endured. Daria too, the same, But in a house my tongue declines to name. It pleased the God they both adore Both to their freedom strangely to restore, And from their many pains To free them, and to break their galling chains, Giving Daria, as attendant squire, A roaring lion, rolling eyes of fire:— In fine the two have fled, But each apart by separate instinct led To this wild mountain near. Numerianus coming then to hear Of the event, assuming in his wrath, That 't was Polemius who had oped the path Of freedom for his son and for the maid, Has not an hour delayed, But follows them with such a numerous band, That, see, his squadrons cover all the land.

VOICES (within). Scour the whole plain.

OTHERS (within). Descend into the vale.

OTHERS (within). Pierce the thick wood.

OTHERS (within). The rugged mountain scale.

ESCARPIN. This noise, these cries, confirm what I have said: And since by curiosity I 'm led To sift the matter to the bottom, I Will follow with the rest.

CYNTHIA. I almost die With fear at the alarm, and yet so great Is my desire to know Daria's fate, And that of young Chrysanthus, that I too Will follow, if a woman so may do.

ESCARPIN. What strange results such strange events produce! The very wonder serves as an excuse.

NISIDA. Well, we must only hope that it is so. Come, Cynthia, let us follow her.

CYNTHIA. Let us go.

ESCARPIN. And I with love most fervent, Ladies, will be your very humble servant. [Exeunt.



SCENE IV.—A wilder part of the wood near the cave.

(Enter DARIA guided by the lion.)

DARIA. O mighty lion, whither am I led? Where wouldst thou guide me with thy stately tread, That seems to walk not on the earth, but air? But lo! he has entered there Where yonder cave its yawning mouth lays bare,

[The lion enters a cave.]

Leaving me here alone. But now fate clears, and all will soon be known; For if I read aright The signs this desert gives unto my sight, It is the very place whence echo gave Responsive music from this mystic cave. Terror and wonder both my senses scare, Ah! whither shall I go?

CHRYSANTHUS (within). Daria fair!

DARIA. Who calls my hapless name? Each leaf that moves doth thrill this wretched frame With boding and with dread. But why say wretched? I had better said Thrice bless'ed: O great God whom I adore, Baptize me in those tears that I outpour, In no more fitting form can I declare My faith and hope in thee.

CHRYSANTHUS (within). Daria fair.

DARIA. Who calls my name? who wakes those wild alarms?

(Enter Chrysanthus.)

CHRYSANTHUS. Belov'ed bride, 't is one to whom thy charms Are even less dear than is thy soul, ah! me, One who would live and who will die with thee.

DARIA. Belov'ed spouse, my heart could not demand Than thus to see thee near, to clasp thy hand, A sweeter solace for my long dismay, And all the awful wonders of this day. Hear the surprising tale, And thou wilt know . . .

VOICES (within). Search hill.

OTHERS. And plain.

OTHERS. And vale.

CHRYSANTHUS. Hush! the troops our fight pursuing Have the forest precincts entered.[17]

DARIA. What then shall I do, Chrysanthus?

CHRYSANTHUS. Keep thy faith, thy life surrender:—

DARIA. I a thousand lives would offer: Since to God I 'm so indebted That I 'll think myself too happy If 't is given for Him.

POLEMIUS (within). This centre Of the mountain, whence the sun Scarcely ever is reflected— This dark cavern sure must hold them. Let us penetrate its entrails, So that here the twain may die.

DARIA. One thing only is regretted By me, in my life thus losing, I am not baptized.

CHRYSANTHUS. Reject then That mistrust; in blood and fire[18] Martyrdom the rite effecteth:—

(Enter Polemius and Soldiers.)

POLEMIUS. Here, my soldiers, here they are, And the hand that death presents them Must be mine, that none may think I a greater love could cherish For my son than for my gods. And as I desire, when wendeth Hither great Numerianus, That he find them dead, arrest them On the spot, and fling them headlong Into yonder cave whose centre Is a fathomless abyss:— And since one sole love cemented Their two hearts in life, in death In one sepulchre preserve them.

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! how joyfully I die!

DARIA. And I also, since the sentence Gives to me the full assurance Of a happiness most certain On the day this darksome cave Doth entomb me in its centre. (They are cast into the abyss.)

POLEMIUS. Cover the pit's mouth with stones. (A sudden storm of thunder and lightning: Enter Numerianus, Claudius, Aurelius, and others.

NUMERIANUS. What can have produced this tempest?

POLEMIUS. When within the cave they threw them, Dark eclipse o'erspread the heavens.

CLAUDIUS. Shadowy shapes, phantasmal shadows Are upon the wind projected.

CYNTHIA. Lightnings like swift birds of fire Dart along with burning tresses.

CLAUDIUS. Lo! an earthquake's awful shudder Makes the very mountains tremble.

POLEMIUS. Yes, the solid ground upheaveth, And the mighty rock descendeth O'er our heads.

NISIDA. While on the instant Dulcet voices soft and tender Issue from the cave's abysses.

NUMERIANUS. Rome to-day strange sights presenteth, When a grave exhibits gladness, And the sun displays resentment.

(A choir of angels is heard singing from within the cave.) "Happy day, and happy doom, May the gladsome world exclaim, When the darksome cave became Saint Daria's sacred tomb". (A great rock falls from the mountain, and covers the tomb, over it is seen an angel.)

ANGEL. This great cave which holds to-day In its breast so great a treasure, Never shall by foot be trodden;— Thus it is I 've sealed and settled This great mass of rock upon it, Which doth shut it up for ever. And in order that their ashes On the wind be ne'er dispers'ed, But while time itself endureth Shall be honoured and respected, This brief epitaph, this simple Line shall tell this simple legend To the ages that come after: "Here the bodies are preserv'ed Of Chrysanthus and Daria, The two lover-saints of Heaven".

CLAUDIUS. Wherefore humbly we entreat Pardon for our many errors.



3. The whole of the first scene is in 'asonante' verse, the vowels being i, e, as in "restrIctEd", "drIftlEss", "hIddEn", etc. These vowels, or their equivalents in sound, will be found pretty accurately represented in the last two syllables of every alternate line throughout the scene, which ends at p. 25, and where the verse changes into the full consonant rhyme.

4. The resemblance between certain parts of Goethe's Faust and The Wonder-Working Magician of Calderon has been frequently alluded to, and has given rise to a good deal of discussion. In the controversy as to how much the German poet was indebted to the Spanish, I do not recollect any reference to The Two Lovers of Heaven. The following passage, however, both in its spirit and language, presents a singular likeness to the more elaborate discussion of the same difficulty in the text. The scene is in Faustus's study. Faustus, as in the present play, takes up a volume of the New Testament, and thus proceeds:

"IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD". Alas! The first line stops me: how shall I proceed? "The word" cannot express the meaning here. I must translate the passage differently, If by the spirit I am rightly guided. Once more,—"IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE THOUGHT".— Consider the first line attentively, Lest hurrying on too fast, you lose the meaning. Was it then Thought that has created all things? Can thought make matter? Let us try the line Once more,—"IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE POWER"— This will not do—even while I write the phrase, I feel its faults—oh! help me, holy Spirit, I 'll weigh the passage once again, and write Boldly,—"IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE ACT". Anster's "Faustus", Francfort ed., 1841, p. 63.

5. The same line of argument is worked out with wonderful subtlety of thought and beauty of poetical expression by Calderon, in one of the finest of his Autos Sacramentales, "The Sacred Parnassus". Autos Sacramentales, tom. vi. p. 10.

6. The metre reverts here again to the asonante form, which is kept up for the remainder of this act. The vowels here used are e, e, or their equivalents.

7. "This Clytie knew, and knew she was undone, Whose soul was fix'd, and doted on the sun". OVID, Metamorphoses, b. iv.

8. In the whole of this scene the asonante vowels are a-e, or their equivalents.

9. The asonante in e-e, recommences here, and continues until the entry of Chrysanthus.

10. The metre changes to the asonante in a-e for the remainder of this Act.

11. The asonante in this scene is generally in o-e, o-o, o-a, which are nearly all alike in sound. In the second scene the asonante is in a-e, as in "scAttEr", etc.

12. See note referring to the auto, "The Sacred Parnassus", Act 1, p. 21.

13. The asonante changes here into five-lined stanzas in ordinary rhyme. Three lines rhyme one way and two the other. Poems in this metre are called in Spanish 'Versos de arte mayor,' from the greater skill supposed to be required for their composition.

14. The asonante is single here, consisting only of the long accented o, as in "ROme", "glObe", "dOme", etc.

15. Champion, or combater, the name generally given the Cid.

16. The metre changes to an irregular couplet in long and short lines.

17. The metre changes to the double asonante in e-e, which continues to the end of the drama.

18. Baptism by blood and fire through martyrdom. Calderon refers here evidently to the words of St. John the Baptist: "He shall baptize you in the Holy Ghost and fire"—St. Matth., c. iii. v. ii. The following passage in the Legend of St. Catherine must also have been present to his mind:

"Et cum dolerent, quod sine baptismo decederent, virgo respondit: Ne timeatis, quia effusio vestri sanguinis vobis baptismus reputabitur et corona". Legenda Aurea, c. 167.



THE SPANISH DRAMA.

CALDERON'S DRAMAS AND AUTOS,

Translated into English Verse BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.



From Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. London: 1863.

"Denis Florence M'Carthy published in London (in 1861) translations of two plays, and an auto of Calderon, under the title of 'Love, the greatest Enchantment; the Sorceries of Sin; the Devotion of the Cross, from the Spanish of Calderon, attempted strictly in English Asonante, and other imitative Verse', printing, at the same time, a carefully corrected text of the originals, page by page, opposite to his translations. It is, I think, one of the boldest attempts ever made in English verse. It is, too, as it seems to me, remarkably successful. Not that asonantes can be made fluent or graceful in English, or easily perceptible to an English ear, but that the Spanish air and character of Calderon are so happily preserved. Mr. M'Carthy, in 1853, had published two volumes of translations from Calderon, to which I have already referred; and, besides this, he has rendered excellent service to the cause of Spanish literature in other ways. But in the present volume he has far surpassed all he had previously done; for Calderon is a poet who, whenever he is translated, should have his very excesses, both in thought and manner, fully produced, in order to give a faithful idea of what is grandest and most distinctive in his genius. Mr. M'Carthy has done this, I conceive, to a degree which I had previously considered impossible. Nothing, I think, in the English language will give us so true an impression of what is most characteristic of the Spanish drama; perhaps I ought to say, of what is most characteristic of Spanish poetry generally".—tom. iii. pp. 461, 462.



Extracts from Continental Reviews.

From "Blaeater fuer Literarische Unterhaltung". 1862. Erster Baude, 479 Leipzig, F. A. Brockhans.

"Erwaehnenswerth ist folgender Kuehne versuch einer Rachdildung Calderon' scher stuecke in Englishchen Assonanzen.

"Love, the greatest enchantment; The Sorceries of Sin; The Devotion of the Cross, from the Spanish of Calderon, attempted strictly in English Asonante, and other imitative verse. By Denis Florence Mac-Carthy".

Diese Uebersetzung ist dem Verfasser der "History of Spanish Literature", George Ticknor, zugeeignet, der in einem Schreiber au den Uebersetzer die Arbeit "marvellous" nennt und dam fortfaehrt:

"Richt das sie die Assonanzen dem englischen Ohr so hoerbar gemacht haetten, wie dies mit den Spanischen der Fall ist; unsere widerhaarigen consonanten machen dies unmoeglich; das Wunderbare ist nur, das sie dieselben ueberhaupt hoerbar gemacht haben. Meiner Meinung nach nehme ist Ihre Assonanzen so deutlich wahr, wil die Von August Schlegel oder Gries und mehr als diejenigen Friedrich Schlegel's. Aber dieser war der erste, der den versuch dazu machte, und ausserdem bin ich Kein Deutscher. Wurde es nicht lustig sein, wenn man einmal ein solches Experiment in franzoeschicher Sprache wolte?"

"Ohne zweifel wuerde MacCarthy Ohne den vorgaug deutscher Nachbilder des Calderon ebenso wenig darauf gekommen sein englische Assonanzen zu versuchen, als man ohne das ermunternde Beispiel deutscher Dichter und Uebersetzer darauf gekommen sein wurde, in Uebersetzungen und originaldichtungen unter welchen letztern wol besonders Longfellow's 'Evangeline', zu nennen ist, englische Hexameter zu versuchen, was in letzter zeit gar nicht selten geschehen ist".

From "Boletin de Ferro-Carriles". Cadiz: 1862.

"La novedad que nos comunica de la existencia de traducciones tan acabadas de nuestro grande e inimitable Calderon, ostendando, hasta cierto punto, las galas y formas del original, estamos seguros sera acogida con favor, si no con entusiasmo, per los verdaderos amantes de las letras espanolas. A ellos nos dirijimos, recomendandoles el ultimo trabajo del Senor Mac-Carthy, seguros de que participaran del mismo placer que nosotros hemos experimentado al examinar su fiel, al par que brillante traduccion; y en cuanto a la dificil tentativa de los asonantes ingleses, nos sorpende que el Senor Mac-Carthy haya podido sacar tanto parido, si se considera la indole peculiar de los dos idiomas".



Extracts from Letters addressed to the Author.

From Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Esq. Cambridge, near Boston, America, April 29, 1862.

"I thank you very much for your new work in the vast and flowery fields of Calderon. It is, I think, admirable; and presents the old Spanish dramatist before the English reader in a very attractive light.

"Particularly in the most poetical passages you are excellent; as, for instance, in the fine description of the gerfalcon and the heron in 'El Mayor Encanto'.—11 Jor.

"Your previous volumes I have long possessed and highly prized; and I hope you mean to add more and more, so as to make the translation as nearly complete as a single life will permit. It seems rather appalling to undertake the whole of so voluminous a writer. Nevertheless, I hope you will do it. Having proved that you can, perhaps you ought to do it. This may be your appointed work. It is a noble one.

"With much regard, I am, etc., "HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

"Denis Florence Mac-Carthy, Esq.".

From the Same. Nahant, near Boston, August 10, 1857.

"MY DEAR SIR,

"Before leaving Cambridge to come down here to the sea-side, I had the pleasure of receiving your precious volume of 'Mysteries of Corpus Christi'; and should have thanked you sooner for your kindness in sending it to me, had I not been very busy at the time in getting out my last volume of Dante.

"I at once read your work, with eagerness and delight—that peculiar and strange delight which Calderon gives his admirers, as peculiar and distinct as the flavour of an olive from that of all other fruits.

"You are doing this work admirably, and seem to gain new strength and sweetness as you go on. It seems as if Calderon himself were behind you whispering and suggesting. And what better work could you do in your bright hours or in your dark hours than just this, which seems to have been put providentially into your hands!

"The extracts from the 'Sacred Parnassus' in the Chronicle, which reached me yesterday, are also excellent.

"For this and all, many and many thanks.

"Yours faithfully, "HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

"Denis Florence Mac-Carthy, Esq.".

From George Ticknor, Esq., the Historian of Spanish Literature. "Boston, 16th December, 1861.

"In this point of view, your volume seems to me little less than marvellous. If I had not read it—indeed, if I had not carefully gone through with the "Devocion de la Cruz", I should not have believed it possible to do what you have done. Titian, they say, and some others of the old masters, laid on colours for their groundwork wholly different from those they used afterwards, but which they counted upon to shine through, and contribute materially to the grand results they produced. So in your translations, the Spanish seems to come through to the surface; the original air is always perceptible in your variations. It is like a family likeness coming out in the next generation, yet with the freshness of originality.

"But the rhyme is as remarkable as the verse and the translation; not that you have made the asonante as perceptible to the English ear as it is to the Spanish; our cumbersome consonants make that impossible. But the wonder is, that you have made it perceptible at all. I think I perceive your asonantes much as I do those of August Schlegel or Gries, and more than I do those of Friederich Schlegel. But he was the first who tried them, and, besides, I am not a German. Would it not be amusing to have the experiment tried in French?"

From the Same. "Boston, March 20, 1867.

"The world has claims on you which you ought not to evade; and, if the path in which you walk of preference, leads to no wide popularity or brilliant profits, it is, at least, one you have much to yourself, and cannot fail to enjoy. You have chosen it from faithful love, and will always love it; I suspect partly because it is your own choice, because it is peculiarly your own".

From the Same. "Boston, July 3, 1867.

"Considered from this point of view, I think that in your present volume ["Mysteries of Corpus Christi", or "Autos Sacramentales" of Calderon] you are always as successful as you were in your previous publications of the same sort, and sometimes more so; easier, I mean, freer, and more happily expressive. If I were to pick out my first preference, I should take your fragment of the 'Veneno y Triaca', at the end; but I think the whole volume is more fluent, pleasing, and attractive than even its predecessors".

From the first of English religious painters.

"I cannot resist the impulse I have of offering you my most grateful thanks for the greatest intellectual treat I have ever experienced in my life, and which you have afforded me in the magnificent translations of the divine Calderon; for, surely, of all the poets the world ever saw, he alone is worthy of standing beside the author of the Book of Job and of the Psalms, and entrusted, like them, with the noble mission of commending to the hearts of others all that belongs to the beautiful and true, ever directing the thoughtful reader through the love of the beautiful veil, to the great Author of all perfection.

"I cannot conceive a nation can receive a greater boon than being helped to a love of such works as the religious dramas of this Prince of Poets. I have for years felt this, and as your translations appeared, have read them with the greatest possible interest. I knew not of the publication of the last, and it was to an accidental, yet, with me, habitual outburst of praise of Calderon, as the antidote and cure for the trifling literature of the day, that my friend (the) D—— made me aware of its being out".

[The work especially referred to in the latter part of this interesting letter is the following: "Mysteries of Corpus Christi (Autos Sacramentales), from the Spanish of Calderon, by Denis Florence Mac-Carthy". Duffy, Dublin and London, 1867.]



Extracts from American and Canadian Journals.

From an eloquent article in the "Boston Courier", March 18, 1862, written by George Stillman Hillard, Esq., the author of "Six Months in Italy"—a delightful book, worthy of the beautiful country it so beautifully describes.

"Calderon is one of the three greatest names in Spanish literature, Lope de Vega and Cervantes being the other two. He is also a great name in the universal realm of letters, though out of Spain he is little more than a great name, except in Germany, that land so hospitable to famous wits, and where, to readers and critics of a mystical and transcendental turn, his peculiar genius strongly commended him. To form a notion of what manner of man Calderon was, we must imagine a writer hardly inferior to Shakespeare in fertility of invention and dramatic insight, inspired by a religious fervour like that of Doune or Crashaw, and endowed with the wild and ethereal imagination of Shelley. But the religious fervour is Catholic, not Protestant, Southern, not Northern: it is intense, mystical, and ecstatic: like a tongue of upward-darting flame, it burns and trembles with impassioned impulse to mingle with empyrean fire. The imagination, too, is not merely southern, but with an oriental element shining through it, like the ruddy heart of an opal". . .

"But our purpose is not to speak of Calderon, but of his translator Mr. MacCarthy; and to make our readers acquainted with his very successful effort to reproduce in English some of the most characteristic productions of the genius of Spain, retaining even one of the peculiarities in the structure of the verse which has hardly ever been transplanted from the soil of the peninsula". . . .

"Mr. MacCarthy's translations strike us as among the most successful experiments which have been made to represent in our language the characteristic beauties of the finest productions of other nations. They are sufficiently faithful, as may be readily seen by the Spanish scholar, as the translator has the courage to print the original and his version side by side. The rich, imaginative passages of Calderon are reproduced in language of such grace and flexibility as shows in Mr. MacCarthy no inconsiderable amount of poetical power. The measures of Calderon are retained; the rhymed passages are translated into rhyme, and what is more noticeable still, Mr. MacCarthy has done what no writer in English has ever before essayed, except to a very limited extent—he has copied the asonantes of the original". . . .

"We take leave of Mr. MacCarthy with hearty acknowledgments for the pleasure we have had in reading his excellent translations, which have given us a sense of Calderon's various and brilliant genius such as we never before had, and no analysis of his dramas, however full and careful, could bestow".

From a Review of "Love the Greatest Enchantment", etc., in the "New York Tablet", July 19, 1862, written by the gifted and ill-fated Hon. Thomas D'Arcy M'Gee, of Montreal.

"This beautiful volume before us—like virtue's self, fair within and without—is Mr. Mac-Carthy's second contribution to the Herculean task which Longfellow cheers him on to continue—the translation into English of the complete works of Calderon. Two experimental volumes, containing six dramas of the same author, appeared in 1853, winning the well-merited encomium of every person of true taste into whose hands they happened to fall. The Translator was encouraged, if not by the general chorus of popular applause, by the precious and emphatic approbation of those best entitled by knowledge and accomplishments to pronounce judgment. So here, after an interval of seven years, we have right worthily presented to us three of those famous Autos, which for two centuries drew together all the multitude of the Madrilenos, on the annual return of the great feast of Corpus Christi. On that same self-same festival, in a northern land, under a gray and clouded sky, in the heart of a city most unlike gay, garden-hued, out-of-door Madrid, we have spent the long hours over these resurrected dramas, and the spell of both the poets is still upon us, as we unite together, in dutiful juxtaposition, the names of Calderon and Mac-Carthy.

"How richly gifted was this Spanish priest-poet! this pious playwright! this moral mechanist! this devout dramatist! How rare his experience! how broad the contrasts of his career, and of his observation. . . . . Happy poet! blessed with such fecundity! Happy Christian! blessed with such fidelity to the divine teachings of the Cross. . . .

"Very highly do we reverence Calderon, and very highly value his translator; yet, if it be not presumptuous to say so, we venture to suggest that Mac-Carthy might find nearer home another work still worthier of his genius than these translations. Now that he has got the imperial ear by bringing his costly wares from afar, are there not laurels to be gathered as well in Ireland as in Spain? The author of 'The Bell-Founder', of 'St. Brendan's Voyage', of 'The Foray of Con O'Donnell', and 'The Pillar Towers', needs no prompting to discern what abundant materials for a new department of English poetry are to be found almost unused on Irish ground. May we not hope that in that field or forest he may find his appointed work, adding to the glory of first worthily introducing Calderon to the English readers of this century, the still higher glory of doing for the neglected history of his fatherland what he has chivalrously done for the illustrious Spaniard".



A LIST OF Calderon's Dramas and Autos Sacramentales,

Translated into English Verse BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY, M.R.I.A.



THE PURGATORY OF SAINT PATRICK.

"With the 'Purgatory of St. Patrick' especial pains seem to have been taken".

"Considerable license has been taken with the prayer of St. Patrick; but its spirit is well preserved, and the translator's poetry must be admired".

"If Calderon can ever be made popular here, it must be in the manner generally adopted by Mr. Mac-Carthy in the specimens, six in number, which are here translated, preserving, namely, the metrical form, which is one of the characteristics of the old Spanish drama. This medium, through which it partakes of the lyrical character, is no accident of style, but an essential property of that remarkable creation of a poetic age—remarkable, because while the drama so adorned was entirely the offspring of popular impulse, in opposition to many rigorous attempts in favour of classical methods, it was at the same time raised above the tone of common expression by the rhythmical mode which it assumed, in a manner decisive of its ideal tendency. It thus displays a combination rare in this kind of poetry: the spirit of an untutored will, embodied in a form the romantic expression of which might seem only congenial to choice and delicate fancies. . . . .

"In conclusion, what has now been said of Calderon, and of the stage which he adorned, as well as of the praise justly due to parts of Mr. Mac-Carthy's version, will at least serve to commend these volumes to curious lovers of poetry".

From an elaborate article in "The Athenaeum", by the late eminent Spanish scholar, Mr. J. R. Chorley, on the first two volumes of Mr. Mac-Carthy's translations from Calderon.



THE CONSTANT PRINCE.

A Drama.

"In his dramas of a serious and devout character, in virtue of their dignified pathos, tragic sublimity, and religious fervour, Calderon's best title to praise will be found. In such, above all in his Autos, he reached a height beyond any of his predecessors, whose productions, on religious themes especially, striking as many of them are, with situations and motives of the deepest effect, are not sustained at the same impressive elevation, nor disposed with that consummate judgment which leaves nothing imperfect or superfluous in the dramas of Calderon. 'The Constant Prince' and 'The Physician of his own Honour', which Mr. Mac-Carthy has translated, are noble instances representing two extremes of a large class of dramas".

From the same article in "The Athenaeum", by J. R. Chorley.



THE PHYSICIAN OF HIS OWN HONOUR.

"'The Physician of his own Honour' is a domestic tragedy, and must be one of the most fearful to witness ever brought upon the stage. The highest excess of dramatic powers, terror and gloom has certainly been reached in this drama".

From an eloquent article in "The Dublin University Magazine" on "D. F. Mac-Carthy's Calderon".



THE SECRET IN WORDS.

A Drama.

"The ingenious verbal artifice of 'The Secret in Words', although a mere trifle if compared to the marvellous intricacy of a similar cipher in Tirso's 'Amar por Arte Mayor', from which Calderon's play was taken—loses sadly in a translation; yet the piece, even with this disadvantage, cannot fail to please".

J. R. Chorley in "The Athenaeum".



THE SCARF AND THE FLOWER.

A Drama.

"The 'Scarf and the Flower', nice and courtly though it be, the subject spun out and entangled with infinite skill, is too thin by itself for an interest of three acts long; and no translation, perhaps, could preserve the grace of manner and glittering flow of dialogue which conceal this defect in the original".

J. R. Chorley in "The Athenaeum".



LOVE AFTER DEATH.

A Drama.

"'Love after Death' is a drama full of excitement and beauty, of passion and power, of scenes whose enthusiastic affection, self-devotion, and undying love are drawn with more intense colouring than we find in any other of Calderon's works".

From an article in "The Dublin University Magazine" on D. F. Mac-Carthy's Calderon.

"Another tragedy, 'Love after Death', is connected with the hopeless rising of the Moriscoes in the Alpujarras (1568-1570), one of whom is its hero. It is for many reasons worthy of note; amongst others, as showing how far Calderon could rise above national prejudices, and expend all the treasures of his genius in glorifying the heroic devotedness of a noble foe".

Archbishop Trench.



LOVE THE GREATEST ENCHANTMENT

A Drama.

"This fact connects the piece with the first and most pleasing in the volume, 'Love the greatest Enchantment', in which the same myth [that of Circe and Ulysses] is exhibited in a more life-like form, though not without some touches of allegory. Here we have a classical plot which is adapted to the taste of Spain in the seventeenth century by a plentiful admixture of episodes of love and gallantry. The adventure is opened with nearly the same circumstances as in the tenth Odyssey: but from the moment that Ulysses, with the help of a divine talisman, has frustrated all the spells (beauty excepted) of the enchantress, the action is adapted to the manners of a more refined and chivalrous circle".

"The Saturday Review" in its review of "Mac-Carthy's Three Plays of Calderon".



THE DEVOTION OF THE CROSS.

A Drama.

"The last drama to which Mr. Mac-Carthy introduces us is the famous 'Devotion of the Cross'. We cannot deny the praise of great power to this strange and repulsive work, in which Calderon draws us onward by a deep and terrible dramatic interest, while doing cruel violence to our moral nature. . . . Our readers may be glad to compare the translations which Archbishop Trench and Mr. Mac-Carthy have given us of a celebrated address to the Cross contained in this drama. 'Tree whereon the pitying skies', etc. Mr. Mac-Carthy does not appear to us to suffer from comparison on this occasion with a true poet, who is also a skilful translator. Indeed he has faced the difficulties and given the sense of the original with more decision than Archbishop Trench".

"The Guardian", in its review of the same volume.



THE SORCERIES OF SIN.

An Auto.

"The central piece, the 'Sorceries of Sin', is an 'Auto Sacramental', or Morality, of which the actors represent Man, Sin, Voluptuousness, etc., Understanding, and the Five Senses. The Senses are corrupted by the influence of Sin, and figuratively changed into wild beasts. Man, accompanied by Understanding and Penance, demands their liberation and encounters no resistance; but his free-will is afterwards seduced by the Evil Power, and his allies reclaim him with difficulty. Yet the plan of the apologue is embellished with many ingenious conceits and artifices, and conformed in the leading circumstances with an Homeric myth—the names of Ulysses and Circe being frequently substituted for those of the Man and Sin".

"The Saturday Review" on "Mac-Carthy's Three Plays of Calderon".



BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.

An Auto.

"The first auto translated is 'Belshazzar's Feast', a fortunate selection, for it is probably unsurpassed in dramatic effect and poetic description, and withal is much less encumbered with theology than most others".

From an article in "The New York Nation", by a distinguished professor of Cornell University, on "Mac-Carthy's Translations of Calderon".



THE DIVINE PHILOTHEA.

An Auto.

"'The Divine Philothea', probably the last work of the kind written by Calderon, and as such worthy of attention, inasmuch as it is the composition of an old man of eighty-one, is conceived with much boldness and executed with marvellous skill. No fewer than twenty personages are represented on the stage, and these have their several parts allotted to them with great discrimination, ingenuity, and judgment. The Senses, the Cardinal Virtues; Paganism and Judaism; Heresy and Atheism; the Prince of Light and the Power of Darkness, figure amongst the characters".

"The Bookseller", June 29, 1867, on Mac-Carthy's "Mysteries of Corpus Christi (Autos Sacramentales), from the Spanish of Calderon".



THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN.

A Drama.

"Of these 'The Wonder-working Magician' is most celebrated; but others, as 'The Joseph of Women', 'The Two Lovers of Heaven', quite deserve to be placed on a level if not higher than it. A tender pathetic grace is shed over this last, which gives it a peculiar charm".

Archbishop Trench.



Calderon's Autos Sacramentales, or Mysteries of Corpus Christi. Duffy: Dublin and London, 1867.

From "The Irish Ecclesiastical Record".

"In conclusion, we heartily commend to our readers this most interesting and valuable specimen of Spanish thought and devotion, wrought, as it is, into such pure and beautiful English. . . . . When we remember the great literary advantages which Spain once possessed in the intellect and faith of her literary giants, we may well rejoice in the appearance among us of one of the greatest of that noble race in the person of Calderon, especially when introduced to us by a poet whose claim upon our consideration has been so emphatically made good by his own original productions as Denis Florence Mac-Carthy".



THE SPANISH DRAMA

Just ready, double columns, price 2s. 6d.,

THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN,

From the Spanish of Calderon, BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY,

Author of The Voyage of St. Brendan, The Bell-Founder, Waiting for the May, etc.

DUBLIN: W. B. KELLY, 8 GRAFTON STREET.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

In one vol. small 4to, double columns, with the Spanish text, beautifully printed by Whittingham, Price 7s. 6d.,

THREE DRAMAS OF CALDERON,

FROM THE SPANISH, BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.

From Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature.

"It is, I think, one of the boldest attempts ever made in English verse. It is, too, as it seems to me, remarkably successful . . .

"Nothing, I think, in the English language will give us so true an impression of what is most characteristic of the Spanish drama: perhaps I ought to say, of what is most characteristic of Spanish poetry generally".—tom. iii. pp. 461, 462.

BERNARD QUARITCH, 15 PICCADILLY, LONDON.



Transcriber's Notes.

General. Only the most obvious of printer's errors have been corrected in this electronic edition. Some inconsistent use of quotation marks and several forms of ellipses (with varying numbers of dots and spaces) have been retained as originally published. I have also retained the original's format of contractions, namely to include a space as in "I 'll" rather than "I'll."

Play, General. Stage directions following lines of spoken text are typically right justified in the printed source. In this electronic edition they simply follow the line of spoken text.

Play, General. In a few places, Denis Florence MacCarthy's (1817-1882) translation as published differs noticeably from a Spanish (or more properly, Castillano) text of the drama, published after this translation, available to this transcriber. I do not have access to the Spanish edition that Mr. MacCarthy used as the basis of his translation, so perhaps a better preserved version of Pedro Calderon de la Barca's (1600-1681) drama was discovered. Or perhaps Mr. MacCarthy used some poetic license in editing the drama. Some differences may be due to printer's errors. Whatever the reason, I have noted below these differences so that a reader comparing this e-book to a Spanish edition will not be confused about these omission, and think them caused by a transcription error of mine, or pages missing from the printed source.

Act 1, Scene 2. Ovid's 'Remedy of Love' is referred to three times, but as 'Remedies of Love' on the third occasion. A Spanish text has "Remedio" the first time, and "Remedios" elsewhere. I have found references to the work as both 'Remedium Amoris' and 'Remedia Amoris.'

Act 1, Scene 2. There is an apparent discrepancy in the play. Chloris is clearly present in the grove, and in "Persons" is listed as one of four priestesses of Diana, yet the lines "We three share;—'t is thy delight" and "For here three objects we behold" imply she is not part of the group of priestesses. There is no stage direction [such as: (Chloris sits behind a tree.] in the printed source, nor in a Spanish text of the play, to explain this. Perhaps (as may be guessed from the line "From their tender years go thither" in the previous scene) the character is an acolyte or novice priestess played by a child. She only appears in this scene.

Act 1, Scene 2. "My blessings on your choice and you! / . . . Are nothing to a pretty face." A Spanish text gives Escarpin seventeen lines here, rather than five. The last dozen lines contain a story of a clever vixen and a comely partridge.

Act 1, Scene 3. The line "Yes, God and Man is Christ" is not indented in the printed source, but logically should be, and is in a Spanish text of the play. I have indented it above.

Act 1, Scene 3. The line "Why delay? Arrest them." in the printed source is shown as two lines ("Why delay? / Arrest them."), but this seems to be a printer's error as it breaks the asonante verse pattern.

Act 1, Scene 3. In order to preserve the verse, I have indented the line "Why, why, O heavens!"

Act 2, Scene 1. I have indented the line "What then?"

Act 2, Scene 1. With the line "Clemency in fine had won," there is another apparent discrepancy in the play. Polemius is angry at Chrysanthus when the soldiers return in Act 1, Scene 3.

Act 2, Scene 3. In the line "Here the jasmin doubly white," the word jasmine is spelt without an "e."

Act 2, Scene 3. In Nisida's song, in the line "The bless'ed rapture of forgetting", the printed source has "blessed" without an accent on the second "e." Because this line is repeated twice more in the scene with the accent, I have added it to this first instance in the text above.

Act 2, Scene 3. The printed source lists Escarpin as the speaker of the lines "My lord, oh! hearken / To my song once more." A Spanish text indicates that Nisida speaks here, as is only logical, so I have listed Nisida as speaker in the text above.

Act 2, Scene 3. There seems to be a gap in the dialog after "Not myself, no aid is granted." A Spanish text has four additional lines here: Ḍ Luego tu tan de su parte / Estas, que a ellos los ensalzas? / C Si; que he visto muchas cosas / Hoy en mi favor obradas.

Act 3, Scene 1. In a Spanish text, after the line "I could listen to such nonsense?" Escarpin has five lines of monolog.

Act 3, Scene 1. In a Spanish text the line "Whence did sound the voice?" is spoken by Chrysanthus, which would naturally agree with Polemius' reply to Chrysanthus immediately below. Also, just before this line, Chrysanthus says: Sin mi me ha dejado a mi.

Act 3, Scene 1. In the line "The two lover saints of Heaven." the phrase "lover saints" is not hyphenated, although the same phrase is hyphenated just before the end of the play. The Spanish text has "Los dos amantes del cielo" in both places.

Act 3, Scene 1. After the line "The two lover saints of Heaven." there are forty lines of dialog between Escarpin and Polemius. In typical Escarpine style, it contains a story. Here is a free translation: A man is on trial for killing his father and loving his mother. The judge berates the lawyer, "How dare you defend a man who has committed the worst possible crime." The lawyer replies, "I disagree, your Honor, for to kill his mother and love his father would, indeed, have been a worse crime."

Act 3, Scene 2. There is a break in the asonante verse at the line "They the open country seek".

Act 3, Scene 2. In the line "So part pagan and part christian", near the end of the scene, Christian is not capitalized in the printed source.

Note 3. The scene actually ends on page 17 rather than 25 in the source publication. This page numbering problem also occurs in Note 12 and probably corresponds to a draught version of the publication—a detail not caught in the final editing. The last phrase of this note was actually printed: "the fu ll consonant rhyme." As no letters seem to logically fit in the empty space between "fu" and "ll," I have replaced this with the word "full" in the text above.

Note 12. This refers to Note 5, which is actually on page 12 in the source publication, rather than page 21.

Note 13. The Spanish text in the section of the drama noted is in five-lined stanzas. However, although Mr. MacCarthy's English generally follows that metre here, he does break the format in a several places.

THE END