Philon. Speak first, Archippe. I'll follow you.
Arc. My friends,
I'm such a one as you do most contemn,—
A woman disobedient to her lord.
But if you judgment give upon that point,
Remember that my lord is Stesilaus.
When this my daughter here,—yes, Pyrrha, she,—
Child of my nurturing blood,——
Voices. What? What? Your child?
Amen. Silence! Speak on, Archippe.
Arc. When she lay
A morsel cradled, two months' breath in her,
Came he, the father, swearing she must go
To Sachinessa's breast, and I must take
Her Phania to my own,—thereby to serve
In some occulted way the future good
Of Greece. And all the mercy won from him
Was leave to journey with my child to Athens——
Sac. But I was not so meek! By Pallas, no!
What—who—was Pelagon, to rob my bosom
Of Hera's gift? Who made him greater than
The gods? 'Tis but a girl, he said, to me,
A mother! I went to Philon then, the priest
Whom Athens honors, and by holy counsel,
We did not change our babes, but let our deed
Wear face that pleased them, with a heart our own,
And home Archippe went with Pyrrha safe,
While I in Athens held my Phania close.
And they, fond sires, who knew no difference
Between a girl and girl, hugged their deep plan
And built the phantom of united Greece
Upon it.
Arc. If those ghostly towers, now fallen,
May rise again, it is our act, my lords,
Provides them nature's base, and not a dream's.
Condemn us, if you will, as erring wives,
But as true mothers give us softer justice.
And if there's scale or balance that can hold
Such torturous weight, lay on it all the pain
Of lonely years that saw me turn my face
From my loved daughter, lest this man of rock
Should know her mine and his.
Pyrr. Your own, your own,
My mother!
Ste. So you slip me, dame,
And Pyrrha goes with you. But Biades
Is under thumb by this same turn. He now
Must know himself a Spartan, and shall keep
My terms.
Arc. Make them full easy. You shall lay
No marring hand upon our children's joy
As fell on mine.