ACT IV
Scene: On board a galley off Athens. An open door left of centre, rear, shows a moonlit sea. Cressets burning within. Pyrrha discovered, seated and fingering a dagger. A diminishing sound of dipping oars and rowers singing.
God of the bold who ride With song o'er their dead Whose unsown graves wait wide, The singers' bed,— Poseidon, befriend, befriend, And the good wind send!
The sirens are on their rocks; Like a piercèd moon Weeping her gold, their locks To the waters run. Poseidon, befriend, befriend, And the good wind send!
Fleet are the foam-toothed hounds That hunt unfed, With hunger that aches like wounds, And ships their bread. Poseidon, befriend, befriend, And the good wind send!
[Enter Lysander]
Pyrr. Lysander! You? Is 't battle?
Lys. At dawn we move
Upon the Athenian ships.
Pyrr. They've come from harbor?
Lys. Nay, lurking still, fear-cabled to the land,
Like weanlings round a skirt.
Pyrr. At last a battle!
And Biades is true. The watch is done.
I'm sick of spying, hanging on him like
A doubt with teeth. He leaves this galley then?
Lys. Commands from the Ino, now so brave repaired
She sits her place as though the sea and air
Debated who should claim her, and she no more
Adorns both elements than herself's adorned
By our young admiral.
Pyrr. He is gone? So soon?
Lys. Went, but is here again, and here must stay
These next three hours or more.
Pyrr. Why so, Lysander?
Lys. We sacrifice aboard Thrasyllus' ship,
Where now the captains gather, and the hand
Of one who leads the foe to his fathers' hearth
Would cloud the omen. He must keep apart.
Pyrr. You've told him that?
Lys. We have not dared.
Pyrr. Not dared?
Way, Spartan lions, for the Athenian puppy!
Lys. He's tender with his honor.
Pyrr. His honor!
Lys. Soft!
We shunt all danger if you mew him here
Unwitting of our hand.
Pyrr. I do not wear
Athene's ægis on my jerkin, friend.
Lys. You can divinely drug his vanity
Without immortal aid. Attach him by 't,
For free he'll chafe. Drift with him in such wise
He'll not suspect our rudder.
Pyrr. Ay, more lies.
Lys. Truth is no absolute virtue. 'Tis a vice
If 't takes a screw from safety.
Pyrr. There is law
Higher than Sparta utters. If not so,
What mean our altars, and a kneeling world?
Lys. Hmm! I delay the sacrifice. Dost know
I take my Dianessa? A virgin's hand
Must weave the victim's garland.
Pyrr. Ah, the moon
Of Artemis! A virgin's hand. They ask
Not mine?
Lys. You are a bride in Sparta's eyes.
Would Truth might speak it too! For Biades
Has won all love but yours.
Pyrr. I'll wed no traitor.
Lys. What? He is false?
Pyrr. Ay, false to Athens.
Lys. Phut!
[Enter Hieron]
Hie. How like you this, sir? Biades has stripped
The galley of its rowers,—sent them all
To his gilded Ino,—every boat in charter
To bear his trappings,—parchments, maps, and gifts
From Phernes,—curtains, instruments——
Lys. The stuff
Goes with the admiral, and what other way
Than by the boats? Say naught of 't.
Hie. This a time
To spend a feathering!
Lys. Nay——
Hie. And why send all?
A half—a third—had answered. There's not left
An oarsman on the galley save the men
Who brought you from the Thetis.
Lys. You've the guard,—
Yourself its head. Give Biades his way
When prudence pays no cost. We've hedged and hemmed
His wrestling will until his pride is brashed
To the rebel quick——
Hie. Sst! He is here.
[Biades stands in door]
Bia. Lysander,
They hail you from Thrasyllus' ship. You stay
The rites.
Lys. [Troubled] But is it time——
Bia. Full time.
Lys. My boat——
Bia. Is waiting.
Lys. I—you, sir——
Bia. You'll bear my grace
To our priestly captains?
Lys. You stay here?
Bia. I shall,
If you'll not press me other. As you pray
For clearer omen and a morning battle,
Let only those whose land holds them untainted
Stand in the holy ring.
Lys. Above our prayers
This act will speak to Heaven in Sparta's name
And make her gods your own.
Bia. If that might be,
Lysander! To have no altars is a fate
Man can not bear for long.
Hie. The rowers, sir!
How soon do they return?
Bia. They've leave to see
The midnight toward with their fellow crew
On the Ino.
Hie. Midnight!
Bia. Loyal beggars, all.
They're sad to lose their captain, and I pay
Their grieving flattery with this stinted lease
From duty here. They'll use 't in prayerful rite——
Hie. Not prayer! The casks will drip too free for that.
If any prayers come from the heart to throat,
They'll downward wash again, not out and fly.
Say'st midnight, sir?
Bia. I do. They will return
In time to set the galley from the cast
Of morning danger.
Hie. Move again? The ship
Is now to rearward, by some rods.
Bia. She is.
And shall go farther. Here's no fighting deck.
Hie. Ay, these soft cabins, Corinth-modelled as
A prince, would make a floating holiday,
Put soldiers from their place.
Bia. The ship must lie
Full east, on th' safest wave. We've treasure 'neath
These sails that make their weathered woof more dear
Than threaded gold of Hera's mantle.
Hie. Ah,
You mean the women.
Bia. No,—a woman. Come,
Lysander.
Lys. Sir, what time wilt take your place
Aboard the Ino?
Bia. Give me till the midnight,
I'll from that moment be your admiral.
But for these gentle hours that lie between,
I would as merest man use their light wings
To chase a hope through heaven.
Lys. [With a glance at Pyrrha] And bring it down,
My lord!
[Exeunt Lysander, Biades, and Hieron]
Pyrr. Now, Impudence, no more's to do!
Go up and take thy crown. Before my eyes
He teaches them he wooes me, and my pride
Mutely abets his guile. [Holds up the dagger]
My fine defence,
Thou'rt warder to a bosom unbesieged.
In Biades' contempt I have a guard
That saves thine office. Go, you glittering mock!
[In a passion of resolution she throws the dagger through the door]
That's done. No matter. He does not look at me,
Or looks as though his eyes begged pardon of him,
For their chance stop on nothing.
[Re-enter Biades, the dagger in his hand]
Bia. Here's a toy
Caught from the rigging. Yours, I think.
[Offers it to her. She does not take it]
It must be dear. I've seen you fondle it.
Is it not yours?
Pyrr. It was.
Bia. Then is. And worth
Your keeping. A good blade, though Spartan plain.
Pyrr. I'm weary of it. In Athens I shall find
Another pattern.
Bia. [Testing blade] Fine and strong. Will wear
A hundred years, then make a door for death.
[Turns it against his heart. She starts]
You'll take it, Pyrrha. To throw it to the sea
Were waste for an Athenian.
Pyrr. Keep it then.
Bia. You give this blade to me?
Pyrr. I care not. Keep
What you have praised.
Bia. [Pressing it against his cheek]
A gentle weapon,—but
I've somewhat 'gainst it.
[Goes to door and throws it far into the sea]
Kiss the waves, my friend!
[Returns to Pyrrha and sits by her]
Bia. [Softly] I leave the ship to-night.
Pyrr. [Uneasy] And time you led
The fleet to battle. You've excused delay
Till palling breath became the shroud of action,
And yet refused it funeral.
Bia. I know
How you have doubted. O, this soul of Sparta,
That can not trust! It peeps from every eye,
Deepest where kindest. Tags each friendly word
With its unspoken dread,—and comradeship,
That strives to wrap it in a gala cloak,
Strains vainly round the huge, dun doubt, agape
In dreary revelation.
Pyrr. You are free
To leave us.
Bia. Free? Five Spartan nobles watch
Beside me, move with every step, for so
The admiral must be honored! Hieron
Foregoes his place at sacrifice to serve
My dignity. Not for his gods he'll put
A furlong 'tween us.
Pyrr. He's the ship's good eye.
And all the men except the lords of guard
Are, by your grace, a-neighboring. Would you leave
The galley without watch?
Bia. No, Pyrrha, sweet.
But I would woo you with no ear at the door.
Pyrr. [Rising] My lord!
Bia. [Indifferent] Nay, then. I can't oppose the sex
Of Aphrodite. My one frailty.
Pyrr. One!
Bia. What? I have more?
Pyrr. The moments of your life
Are not so many!
Bia. Gods be thanked, I'm young!
How may I change to please a Spartan scold?
Pyrr. Be anything you're not.
Bia. You have not heard
I am the admiral of the Spartan fleet,
With Persian Phernes yonder at my beck,
Broad-winged with all Phoenicia? You know not
I am a general?
Pyrr. Oh, to be that name,
Not make 't thy bauble! What dost know
Of secret, sleepless hours, and delving thought
That nations may lie safe? By what grave right
Wear you the title? What deep sacrifice?
Bia. Leave sacrifice to fools and women! Ay,
More lies are huddled in that saintly word
Than ever smirked outside it. The strong soul
Low bowing there, lies to his god,—the weak
Lies to the world behind a holy shield
That turns the spear of justice. Pallas, hear!
A general makes himself a master, lest
The State make him a servant.
Pyrr. True in Athens!
But you've another name. I've heard you called
The young philosopher. Play you at that.
'Twill tire naught but the tongue. Yours will go far.
Bia. Nay, spare me toil of spirit searching through
Earth, sea, and sky for phrases magical
To wrap creation in, as 'twere a babe
Each man might call his own could he but find
Some good-wife fancy to deliver it.
No other hope?
Pyrr. They name you poet, too.
Build round your spirit an Elysian cheat
And buzz it through upon a golden wing.
Is that not idle enough?
Bia. You touch me now
With flattery's gold point. I wince and love
The pain. Yet I'd not be a frolic breath
At play with Spring and florets in the dew,
Or move in rhymèd courtesies before
The smile or frown of gods. Trick my dear soul
In May-day rags to catch a languid eye.
Babble of moods and minds, how some think this,
Some that, and some have never thought. Drone how
On such a day one struck another down,
Or led a fleet, or laid a city wall.
Pyrr. What would you sing then, pray?
Bia. I would not sing.
Was there not poetry before men spake?
I'd go behind the broidered veil we've wrought
Before the face of one that we loved much
And then forgot for beauty of the shroud.
The old lere's lost, the new but irks our dream.
We listen to ourselves, while round us ever
Are worlds that vainly pluck us to their doors,
Giving us sign in lightning, heat, and wave,
In flake of snow, flint-spark, and crystal rock,
In stones that make the iron creep, and color,
Fair flag and challenge to our shuttered minds.
Pyrr. [Moving nearer] Oh!
Bia. [Seeming to forget her]
Round our lives is life whose destiny
Is that frontier no word of ours has crossed,
But man to come shall plant and harvest there,
Where his soul sets the plough.
Pyrr. [Softly] You know that too?
Bia. That life shall warm his barest common way
Of in and out. In field and market-place,
He'll lay his cheek 'gainst its unbodied love
And flush translations of its silent touch.
Then will be poets! Thought that now must fail
In bird-wing flight, shall from a violet's eye
O'erlook the sun. Till then I will not sing.
Pyrr. Not fight, philosophize, or sing!
What's left for an Athenian?
Bia. [Remembering her] Love, fair Pyrrha!
You know the tale how Chaos once uncurled
Her laboring bulk from round a fire-leafed rose
And sent its petals drifting down to fields
Where mortals foot with chance? Whoso they touch
Are lovers always, and one came to me.
Pyrr. Now here's ambition! And you live for that?
Bia. Ay there's the charm contents me with dull earth,
And puts a rainbow in my listless hand.
The way is pleasant if the road be love's,
And I'd not shorten it by one maid's eye.
To be a lover,—that's the graceful thing.
Then one moves velvetly, forgets no curve,
And lives his picture, line and color true.
Pyrr. That rôle's struck from your play, you'll find, my lord.
Maidens will smile, but scorn will set the lip,
And women's eyes be warm, but hate their fire
For you, the traitor.
Bia. Traitor?
Pyrr. [In the door] See the gleam
On Athens, yours no more. The softest breast
Within her walls is steel when you are named.
Bia. But there are maids in Sparta.
Pyrr. Not for you,
A traitor to the soil that gave you life.
Bia. That soil first cast me off.
Pyrr. A mother strikes
Her child, but should the child return the blow
Gods would droop eyes and blush.
Bia. But were I true
To my own land, I should be false to yours.
Pyrr. A virtue that. A maid might love you then.
Bia. A Spartan maid?
Pyrr. A Spartan maid. But now
We hold you as no more than loathèd bait
To capture Athens. Used as a stuck fly
To hook a chub!
[Enter Hieron]
Bia. What saucy fury sports
With Hieron? His even smile's unfixed
As the middle of two minds.
Hie. Sir, Phernes sends
Six maidens from his ship to dance before you.
The noble Persian chooses time most fit
For wantoning,—the hour of sacrifice
And battle prayer.
Bia. You're justly kindled. What
Though it be royal custom in his East,—
A grace from king to king,—to garnish danger
With frillet of relief that makes death seem
The last-dropped toy, we'll dare to let him know
That we are Greeks, and walk the edge of graves
With eyes upon the gods. Go, pack them off!
Hie. Why,—so I meant. The act struck rudely on
Our ritual hour. But if his Eastern mind
Paints it a courtesy——
Bia. A sovereign honor.
Hie. He is of haughty blood,—burns at rebuff——
Bia. Ay, like a hornet blind. A thousand times
I've eased his fret and run his humor's mould
Like summer wax, lest he should break from Sparta
That stood in rigid ruin. Now I leave it!
His anger can be put to gentlest sleep,
But 'tis no babe when stirred. Choose as you will.
Hie. The honor is to you. Be yours the answer.
Bia. I'm worn with him. Three hours to-day I played
His vanity, while chance touched either side,
Waiting the word that should cut through suspense
And seal him ours for battle.
Hie. To huff his pride
'Tween this and dawn would poorly soothe our own
At an uncertain cost. But let him leer
I' the oracles' face....
Bia. He has not sent Alissa?
Hie. There's one so calls herself. Spoke out the name
As we should fall before it.
Bia. She's most free
In Phernes' heart. Knows all the honey-ways
To his secret soul, and what is said to her
He'll hear ere morn. As you love victory,
I hope you met her gently.
Hie. If surprise
Made greeting harsh, I will undo that harm
With softer welcome. And beseech you, sir,
To suffer this mistimed civility
For Sparta's sake.
Bia. I will, dear Hieron,
Since 'tis your suit.
Hie. Thanks, thanks, my lord.
Bia. Let them come in. I'll see their briefest dance,
And give Alissa one commending word,
Which straight as faithful bee she'll hive
In Phernes' ear.
[Exit Hieron]
What think you of it, Pyrrha?
You do approve me?
Pyrr. Approve your wits, my friend.
Had they been Spartan trained, you'd bring them off,
Untarnished still, from argument with Zeus.
Bia. When Pallas praises, bow.
Pyrr. Poor Hieron
Is now the sweating agent of your will
To see these callets dance.
Bia. Unpitiful!
I'd touch my lips to Lethe, and you'd snatch
The oblivious drop from me! You know how dear
The bond that shall be cut with sword of dawn,—
So close no seer may tell which shall bleed most,
Athens or her lost son.
Pyrr. Art low at last?
Bia. Dun, dun, my Pyrrha, as a Barbary pigeon!
So low not all my pride can vaunt me up.
Then let me have my wine,—the draught of eyes,
Of music and of smiles, till I be drunk
And sleep.
[Enter six Athenian youths, led by Clearchus, all disguised as Persian dancers. As they dance before Biades his pleasure quickens to abandonment]
Bia. Ah, Pyrrha, you've denied my heart
All noble love, but here's a pleasure left.
Soft eyes and gentle bosoms may be mine
Where scorn is taught to sleep and never sting.
... That is Alissa. We must honor her.
[He signals Clearchus, and the others pass out, leaving him to dance alone. As he ventures more flirtatiously about Biades, Pyrrha's disgust increases and she retreats. Clearchus, dancing mockingly, follows her to door, and when she has passed through audaciously closes it]
Bia. Now! Quick! In name of Zeus! The senators
Received my message?
Clea. [Darting to Biades] Ay, the answer's here!
[Gives him a parchment]
Full pardon! Athens will lay down her walls
To make your entry proud! Her gates are small,
For honor she intends you!
Bia. [Glances at parchment and sobs]
My Athens! Mine! Though she should take my life,
And my bruised body fling unburied forth,
Yet would my shade drop kisses on her soil
And weep to leave it for Elysium! [With sudden control]
What of my plan?
Clea. Adopted, in each item.
Soon as the dropping moon is in the sea,
The Athenian rowers, coming as your own,
Will board this galley and bear her a bird
To th' harbor nest.
Bia. They've force to meet the guards?
Clea. Thrice measured, sir. The Theia——
Bia. My own ship!
Clea. Your own—will meet you, every sailor true
As when he wept your banishment. And Phaon,
Critias, Pelagon, Antiganor,
With twenty senators and men of name,
Wait on her deck in welcome.
Bia. Back, ye tears!
The rowers know my signal?
Clea. Yes, my lord.
Three cressets on the left,—set here in this
Embrasure. They will watch, near as they dare,
And instantly as darts your triple gleam
Their oars will sweep you answer.
[A commotion without]
Bia. Hist! What's wrong?
[Enter Hieron and Pyrrha. Hieron goes to Clearchus and tears off his veil and head-dress]
Clea. O, pardon! I'll confess!
Hie. 'Tis you, my lord,
I now unmask, not this bought wretch.
Bia. What, sir?
Hie. Your Persian dancers are Athenian boys,
All slim as lizards. We o'er-eyed their steps,
And on suspicion gave them such a pinch
The truth flew out.
Bia. Their guilt does not prove mine.
Is it my crime that Athens touched me near
With bribe of pardon?
Pyrr. Hear the boy. You are
Clearchus? And of Athens?
Clea. I am.
Pyrr. You brought
His pardon. Did he welcome it?
Clea. He did.
Bia. He lies! The coward lies!
Clea. He did agree
That Phernes should draw off his fleet and join
With Athens.
Bia. Oh! Where are the Olympian thunders
That they now let you live?
Hie. Draw off his fleet
To-night?
Clea. Ere dawn.
Bia. That such an atom—such
A trifle of a body could enclose
So great a lie!
Clea. The Persian is at watch,
Waiting the signal——
Bia. Toad!
Clea. If pardon came,
Two cressets set——
Bia. I'll shred him!
Clea. At the left——
Just here, my lord, would start the Persian ships
For Athens.
Bia. Oh!
Clea. But if three cressets burnt,
Then he would hold to Sparta.
Hie. Three?
Clea. Three, sir.
Look in his bosom if you'd read the proof.
His pardon's there.
Bia. By the altars I have lost,
By Sparta's yet unwon, I swear he lies!
[Pyrrha snatches the parchment from his bosom]
Bia. You bat—you mole—you cur-born flea——
Clea. [To Hieron] O, sir,
Your mercy! Save me from him!
Hie. Wait without.
Pyrr. Full pardon! Bring the irons! We are sold!
Irons for Biades!
Bia. [Accepting defeat] Ay, let me wear
My honor's livery. Every foe-locked gyve
Will be my country's kiss, and make my blood
Flow proud beneath it. Irons! Load me down,
Now that you know me man, and not the thrall
Of vilest fear that buys suspected breath
With a mother-city's doom.
Pyrr. I'll grant you, sir,
That by this act you do no longer lie
In the unconsidered trash of estimation,
But have crept up in my surprisèd mind
To where I keep my jewels of regard.
That is soon said,—but for the rest, you die.
And more than die, for we shall hurl your name
A palsy over Athens.
Bia. You'll not fight
Athens and Persia!
Pyrr. Persia is not lost.
Your signal is unlit.
Hie. But we'll light ours!
Three cressets——
Pyrr. [Stopping him] Wait! The event's too great
To helve with such slight word. That snivelling blab
May've lied, or crossed the signals, for the young
Are easiest dyed in craft, and take its hue
As natively as innocence doth wear
Its smile in sleep.
Hie. What then?
Pyrr. You'll go to Phernes.
Hie. There are no boats.
Pyrr. Tut, take the boats that brought
Those purfled cymlings here. Their rowers too.
Ah, Biades, you'll serve us still. And thought
To trap all Sparta with this tip-toe bait!
We have a saying. "Wit against the world,—"
And there's another too, "The last lie wins."
Hast heard it, Biades? We'll bear your word
To Phernes that with dawn you move with him
Upon the Athenian sails.
Bia. He'll hear no word
From Spartan mouth. So 'twas agreed between us,
To annul such move as this if chance should strip
My bent of cover. I alone may reach
His ear with Sparta's prayer.
Pyrr. We'll cast for proof
Of that. If true, we shall remember, sir,
That Sparta has won cities with no aid
From Persia.
Bia. You'll not go alone to meet
The strength of Athens?
Pyrr. Your far-wingèd name
And sea-born battle-skill shall go with us.
Your single arm's no loss, but in your fame,
Yet ours to use, the Spartan strength
Is doubled. Ha! They call us landmen,—say
We must have feet on ground ere we can fight.
But you they fear, bred to the wave, and first
Of their commanders.
Bia. Let me die, but leave
My name unmurdered.
Pyrr. It shall be outflung
In challenge to the Athenians. They know well
The sailor rabble loves you, and will oppose
But half a heart to Biades. Some too,
Of higher place, believe you wronged, and fear
The angered gods will station on your side.
By spearman Ares, you shall keep the oath
Great-sworn on Sparta's ground, to set her lance
Through Athens' triple shield! Ay, though you lie
In irons waiting death.
Bia. The sunken souls
Of deepest, damnèd Dis have never borne
So vile a sting! You can not mean it, Pyrrha.
Cast on my soul what Pluto would disbar
From his fire-vaulted hell? I'll proudly die
For treachery to you, but clear my name
To Athens. Take not life and honor too!
Pyrr. One you may save,—your life.
Bia. What do you say?
Pyrr. Draw Phernes back to us, and you shall live.
Bia. You offer me but death, knowing I could not live
A traitor.
Pyrr. You choose to die as one?
Bia. Oh, Zeus,
All-giver, hear!
Pyrr. What gain is death to you
If reputation dies eternally
In Athens' hate? Sparta will do as much
As spare your life.
Bia. Nay——
Pyrr. She shall nothing know
Of this hour's lapse——
Bia. O, bitter stars! O, Death
Past fatal!—reaching o'er thy charnel bound
To usurp the immortal garden! Die a traitor!
Never will dew from a forgiving eye
Fall on my grave!
Pyrr. Nor will the upbraiding gaze
Of Heaven be more tender. For you chose
To risk your country's life on turn of chance,
Having no surety that drawn to danger
You then could pluck her out. Ah, made her fate
Your stake at dice, because, escaped the hazard,
You'd toss with her to fortune! And your guilt
Is heavy in her fall as though your hand
Bore down her last defence and fierce untrussed
Her heart to th' wolvish air.
Bia. Oh, Pyrrha, Pyrrha!
Pyrr. Then why haste on to death? The noblest shades
Will make no room for you where'er they walk.
Why rush through the first gate to meet their cold
Immortal scorn?
Bia. But life with honor gone!
Pyrr. If death could buy it, then 'twere wise
To buy so goldenly. But that's too late.
Choose life,—with honor such as Sparta lays
On those who serve but her. This treachery
That we've by hap unbagged in 'ts eanling hour
Shall be safe snugged again. And cherished too!
For in my eyes it is the one brave flower
Of your most barren being. None shall know it,
And Sparta, as she will, may laurels weave
About your faith.
Bia. But Hieron?
Pyrr. [To Hieron] You'll swear with me? [He hesitates]
In Sparta's name? [Takes his hand] And mine?
Bia. No, no!
Hie. I'll swear.
Bia. Oh, not that price! No, till the end
O' the world!
Pyrr. Life, Biades, life!
Bia. I will not do it!
Athens may singly conquer!
Pyrr. Then you die
By Sparta's hand, and Athens holds your name
Accursed through time. The irons, Hieron.
[Biades hunches despairingly, his face hidden]
Pyrr. [Apart] Gods! He will yield!
Bia. [Looking up] I'll do it,—dare to live,—
And Attica may call me what she will.
A traitor breathes, and feels the blessed sun.
He's ne'er so poor but can his housing find
In alms-lapped Nature. Her unchoosing airs
Ask not his name before they touch his brow
And tell him when 'tis spring. He yet may dream
In unrebuking shades, and birds will sing
As liquidly as though he were not by.
Food is yet food, and wine is ever wine.
I will not die. [Rises] By Maia's son, I'll live!
What is my country but the bit of earth
Where chance did spawn me? 'Tis no treachery.
We're traitors unto love, not hate,—to trust,
Not doubt and slander such as Athens poured
Upon me guiltless.
Pyrr. [Crossing to him] So you've found a way
To save both life and honor!
Bia. May a worm
Not creep to cleaner dust? Pyrrha, be kind.
Spare me the trampling foot.
Pyrr. We've lost an hour.
You'll send to Phernes?
Bia. First we'll signal him.
He may be setting off. We must despatch,
For if he saw no sign he meant to draw
His fleet from doubtful waters and give aid
To neither side. [Taking up a light]
Three cressets—that was true.
When once these lights have spoken, he'll receive
Your envoy as myself. Then Hieron
May bear confirming word to him, and bring
Assurance back.
Hie. [To Pyrrha] You do not doubt?
Pyrr. Doubt now?
Nay, Hieron. I'll trust him with his life.
Hie. But——
Bia. [Trembling] O, ye gazing gods, must it be done?
In Athens' living heart set up the torch
That leaves her a charred blotch where she lay white
'Neath heaven and smiled up to sister stars!
Pyrr. Come, Biades!
Bia. Shall not the earth be lost
To God's own eye when Athens, quenched, no more
Marks where we wander? I can not do it!
Pyrr. [Taking the cresset] Too late,
My lord!
[Fixes light in the open embrasure, then places two others. Biades falls back, mantling his face]
Hie. To Phernes now! We must not boggle this!
Pyrr. If you've a doubt, sir, look on that. [Points to Biades]
Hie. I'll hasten back to you.
Bia. But note our light.
The galley rowers may return ere you,
And move us to the east.
Hie. I shall not lose you.
Bia. What escort will you take? A noble one
Will best please Phernes.
Hie. Mirador and Agis
Shall go with me. Meanthes shall remain
To be your watch.
Bia. You'll tell them nothing?
Hie. Sir,
I've sworn. I shall say naught but this. That Athens
Proffered you pardon, and you hold to Sparta.
[Exit Hieron. Pyrrha watches from the door until the boats put off. The sea is now dark. Biades takes up a harp and strums it]
Pyrr. [Turning] You can do that? And I—I held my heart
At halt, there at the door, nor turned my head
Lest pity should emburn my eyes to tears. [Crosses to him]
Dost know that all the juniper in the world,
Burnt in thy house of honor, would not cleanse
Its doors of stench? [Throws the harp aside]
And you can use that air
For breath of song!
Bia. Those are the bitterest words
That ever dropped me gall, but I can find
A crushèd balsam in them,—for they say
You might have loved me, Pyrrha.
Pyrr. I might.
Bia. You did.
The moment that I cast my Spartan mask
And showed me true to Athens, you were mine.
That instant there was joy-fall on your heart
That swept its icy sentinels with fire,
And they were down. Oh, had I then proved staunch,
Ta'en helmet off to death and bade him strike,
You would have closed my eyes with kisses warm
As rose-drift on a tomb——
Pyrr. Nay, I'd have kept
Those eyes to be my light on earth, not star
Elysian skies. Had fought for you against
My mother Sparta. Fought as woman fights
For her one love,—with wit and armèd tongue,
And cunning that throws puzzle on the gods.
Fought till subduèd Death had knelt to Fate
And prayed your life for me!
Bia. Have I lost that?
Pyrr. You yielded—sank—unlustred even your soul
For a poor pinch of time——
Bia. But if some touch
Of heaven could make me true again——
Pyrr. Look on
Those lights, that you with single breath could turn
To weeping smoke,—they've lit a quenchless wreck
That all your sighs blow vain against,—a flame
Ungovernable to remorse. Not furrowing winds
That split the watery fields to Thetis' bed,
And make a foamy Ural of her shore,
Can sweep it out. Ay, groan and shake,
And draw your mantle up! Behind a cover
Thick as Taygetus' sides, I'd see you limned
In shame!
Bia. [Springing up] What's shame to love? To love fire-sprung
From instant meeting of fore-strangered eyes?
And such was ours, there in that Athens' grove.
Imperial of itself, it asks no loan
Of subject virtue's smock to drape it royal.
As fen-born vapors seem to nest the stars,
Yet far below them do but thatch the world
When they look down, the vassal qualities
May lift no touch to love, that yet must wear,
To earth's unvantaged eyes, their reek and hue.
Pyrr. Aerial love is but an earthling still,
It must come down for food or mortal die,
And what but virtues feed it?
Bia. Nay, you speak
Of a fair, lesser thing,—a grace not lit
From thurible in uncreated Hand,
But coaxed from clay to a persuaded life.
Garbed as the days,—patched, plastered, hung with dear
Possessive vanities, it serves to make
Contentment's bed, and cook a patient meal
On comfort's hearth,—even snuggles in the void
That else might ache, sings low, and makes
Companioned feet tread bravely to the grave.
It has a thousand names, but never one
Is love. Be thine that white, ungendered spark,
And naught can feed it, naught can make it less.
Virtue and vice, nobility and shame,
Are rags that drop away, while you sweep on,
Stripped as a flame, with arms about your star.
[Pyrrha is silent. Both start at sound of a noise on the water]
Pyrr. What sound is that?
Bia. The rowers are returning.
Pyrr. So quietly?
Bia. [Goes to door and closes it]
The world shall not come in
On me and you. Be mine this broken hour,
And Hieron may flute through after-time
At secret doors where you lock up your favors.
For you will go with him.
Pyrr. A prophet too?
Bia. You'll make his home, but I shall come and go
The unseen master there.
Pyrr. Now for the vision!
Bia. You'll watch your door,—the unheard step is mine,—
And rock the babe born of a dream of me.
And I, far-wandered, lost unto myself,
Shall never lose you, Pyrrha. As the light
Wrapping the wave reveals its silver dance,
My being shall exult through shade and wear
The chlamys of your gleam. Your voice behind
The wind shall draw me lover-lipped to meet
Adventure's breath. You'll lie upon the hush
That girdles evening,—be the thrill within
The throstle's note, and silence when
His song is done.
Pyrr. Nay, it will speak of Phania,
Of Sybaris.——
Bia. Ay, and a hundred more
In whom I've sought for thee, my Pyrrha, always thee!
'Twill speak of them as statues speak of shards
About their feet,—the sculptor's broken dreams
That made the perfect one.
[The ship rocks]
Pyrr. We're moving!
Bia. Yes,
You know,—to safer waters. Listen, Pyrrha,
To me—to me!
Pyrr. Those sounds——
Bia. [Kneels] Hear me! My head
I'll votive lay till you may set your feet
Like tangled roses in my curls——
[Pyrrha springs toward the door, but Biades is before her. The noises increase. Groans, blows, shouts]
Pyrr. Aside!
I'll pass!
Bia. O, save our bones. I am the stronger.
You know 't.
Pyrr. You! I'll wind you like a thread!
Bia. You didn't.
Pyrr. Didn't....
Bia. When we wrestled.
Pyrr. When....
Oh, then! My arm was lame. Come, I will pass!
Bia. Nay, 'twas your heart that spared me!
Pyrr. Ay, like this!
[Throws him aside. He staggers against the wall for support. She opens door. Two soldiers in armor silently oppose spears to her passage. She slowly closes the door]
Pyrr. Where are we going?
Bia. You love me. What an arm!
'Twas never lame!
Pyrr. Come! Tell me what's our port,
Then I shall know one place we do not go.
Bia. Tut, love! Pry into men's affairs?
Be calm——
Pyrr. What does this mean? [Advancing] I'll know!
Bia. [Retreating] You shall! It means
"The last lie wins." We go to harbor.
Pyrr. Ah!...
Those rowers....
Bia. Faithful and fleet as ever bore
An Athenian general home. They came upon
Your signal——
Pyrr. Mine?
Bia. They lay at watch, not Phernes.
Look on those lights! O, trinal star, set high
By my beloved! My honor's flaming hedge——
Pyrr. You fly,
But in a net! The Spartans heard those shouts.
They are in chase—you'll see——
Bia. They're unprepared.
The captains off their ships, the guards in doubt,
And oarsmen half asleep. But let them come
Far as they dare, and if they dare too far
From Persia's shelter, the Athenian fleet
Will close like jaws about them.
Pyrr. [Sits, with sudden hopelessness] You have won,
My lord.
Bia. I have.
Pyrr. What will you do with me?
Bia. I'll wed thee, sweet.
Pyrr. I'll not——
Bia. Yes, love, you will.
There is a dagger hangs in Phelas' shop,
Shall be your bridal gift. A prizèd blade
Of coppered gold, hued like a battle morning.
Smooth-cheeked as Artemis, although inlaid
With pictured tale. A captured Amazon,
Wrought palely in alloy,—a silvered fear
On th' bronzen flush of courage,—bows before
Her conqueror, a knight who gently bends
As I do now——
Pyrr. [Thrusting him off] No! Never! I'll not trust
Your dolphin nature! Long as fish have fins
You'll sport in every sea! Go—go to Phania!
Bia. [Turns angrily from her] Ay, by my gods that I have found again,
I shall wed none but an Athenian maid!
[Pyrrha swoons. He rushes to her]
Her heart is still. O, curse my double-tongue!
She's dead—she's dead! She takes the Spartan way—
To die, not yield! Oh, Pyrrha, Pyrrha, Pyrrha! [Rushes about distractedly]
I will not live! I'll leap into the sea!
Pyrr. [On her elbow, as he reaches door]
You might catch cold. [He stares at her. She sits up]
Is this your grace in love?
Your pictured ease, with no dissuasive line?
Bia. O, Pyrrha, peace! Let us be done with cheat
And mockery!
Pyrr. [Rising] My heart on that, my lord!
Bia. Own thou art mine! My world when sunsets die!
My breath of meadows lying past the moon!
Compassionate this earth, and in my soul
Fix thee its centre. Say thou'lt come!
Pyrr. My lord,
Could I be sure....
Bia. Ah, Pyrrha, there's no light
Falls from thine eye that does not sway me like
A bee in rose wind-shaken. I am thine.
There'll be no battle, but a nuptial feast
With three great armies for our brothered guests.
Your land and mine are one. Give me your hand.
Pyrr. I will. For Sparta's sake.
Bia. And love's!
Pyrr. [Giving her hand] And love's.
[Curtain]