Poetical Works
of
ROBERT BRIDGES

Volume IV

London
Smith, Elder & Co.
15 Waterloo Place
11902

OXFORD: HORACE HART
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

POETICAL WORKS OF
ROBERT BRIDGES

VOLUME THE FOURTH
CONTAINING

LIST OF PREVIOUS EDITIONS

PALICIO.

1. PALICIO. A Romantic Drama in Five Acts in the Elizabethan manner.

ACHILLES IN SCYROS.

1. ACHILLES IN SCYROS. A drama in a mixed manner. Published by Ewd. Bumpus. London, 1890. 4to.

2. ACHILLES IN SCYROS. Uniform with Shorter Poems (I). George Bell & Sons, 1892.

PALICIO.

1. PALICIO. A Romantic Drama in Five Acts in the Elizabethan manner.

Η καὶ ΠΑΛΙΚΩΝ εὐλόγως μενεῖ φάτις;

Πάλιν γὰρ ἵκουσ’ ἐκ σκότου τόδ’ ἐς φάος.

Æsch., Ætnææ, frag.

Published by Ewd. Bumpus. London, 1890. 4to. pp. 37-70.

RETURN OF ULYSSES.

1. THE RETURN OF ULYSSES. A Drama in Five Acts in a mixed manner.

Ἃ μὲν ἐποποιία ἔχει, ὑπάρχει τῇ τραγῳδίά

ἃ δὲ αὐτη, οὐ πάντα ἐν τῇ ἐποποιίᾳ.

Arist., Poet. 12.

Published by Ewd. Bumpus. London, 1890. 4to. pp. 71-100.

PALICIO

A ROMANTIC
DRAMA

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

The scene is in PALERMO, and sometimes in the hills above MONREALE.

Time, Spanish occupation of Sicily.

PALICIO

ACT · I

SCENE · 1

Palermo. Reception-room in the Palace.

BLASCO and FERDINAND.

BLASCO.

Have you not been in Sicily before?

FERDINAND.

Never.

Bl.And, sir, what think you of Palermo?

Have you as fine cities in Spain?

Fer.Your city,

Approached by sea or from the roofs surveyed,

Smiles back upon the gazer like a queen

That hears her praise. Nearer to speak I’ll grudge not,

When I may nearer know: but since we came

There’s been no hour a stranger might dare shew

His face in the streets.

Bl.The time is now unquiet.

10

Fer. Rather I’d say government given over

To murderous bandits, who range up and down

Unchecked: to whom the king’s commissioners

Were just the daintiest pricking. If I may brag

Of home, our cities are more orderly.

Bl. ’Tis a hot-blooded race, sir, full of stirrings,

Subject to fermentation, and like good wine

Ever the better for it.

Fer.But can you tell me

The real cause of these disturbances?

Bl. Nothing is easier, sir. Your viceroy, Hugo,

This is the point, is plunged in disesteem.

He has lost the fear and won the hate of the people.

Already, ere ye came, the news ye bring

Of the king being dead, was buzzed. Since at his death

His viceroy’s office falls to ground, our townsmen

Seize on this interval, wherein they hold

He hath no jurisdiction, to discredit him,

Kill him maybe, if nothing else will hinder

His reappointment. They but make the most

Of their occasion: that is all.

Fer.But how

Can a mere handful of such ruffians hold

The city, when the loyal troops are his?

Bl. ’Tis known to the people that their cause hath found

An ear in Spain: and here among the barons

Are many who wish well to the revolt.

Should Hugo push to extremes he might discover

Most potent enemies. Remember, sir,

’Twas a street scuffle in this very town,

That drave the French from Sicily.

Fer.The thought

Brings me no comfort.

Bl.Wherefore ’tis his policy

To meet the present rage by such concessions

As may be popular, and to give forth

The king is ill, not dead. ’Tis for this reason

No mass is sung nor mourning liveries worn:

To-night’s festivity, such as it is,

Hath only this pretence.

Fer.Are the two ladies

His daughters both?

Bl.The taller and the fairer,

The lady Constance, is his only daughter.

Your fine duke Philip, who comes now from court

With such a mightiness, was once her lover.

Fer. That doth not single her.

50

Bl.But then it did.

She was his first. ’Twas when duke Philip’s father

Was viceroy here; Hugo was then chief justice,

And Manuel, who succeeded him, was only

Young Philip’s tutor;—he succeeds moreover

Now to his pupil’s leavings, and will marry

The long-forgotten Constance.

Fer.’Twas the other

I asked of, in white satin, she who sat

On Philip’s right at supper; who is she?

Bl. That, sir, is Margaret.

Fer.And who is Margaret?

Bl. Sister to Manuel.

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Fer.She far outshines

Her future sister.

Bl.They that can see have thought it:

And, sir, ’twill tax your better wit to add

A tittle to her full accustomed homage.

Your broken heart were but a pinch of pepper

Sprinkled on porridge. Now for full two years

Her reign hath made a melancholy madness

The fashion ’mongst our youth.

Fer.I should much like

To be presented.

Bl.O, sir, at your will.

Judge for yourself. See, here they come. (Aside.) A moth!

Fer. (aside). A very civil fellow.

[They retire to back.

Enter R. Hugo, Philip, Manuel, Margaret,

Constance and Livio.

HUGO.

I am sorry, your grace,

We make so small a party. For our poor

Reception, and for all shortcomings else,

Accuse the occasion.

PHILIP.

I think, your excellence,

I cannot play the guest. This house was once

So long my home, that here I look to find

As little ceremony as I fear I have shewn.

Hu. So should it be. Make it your home again.

Ph. I shall forget I have ever been away.

MANUEL.

Five years.

Ph.Ay, but five years of wandering,

Such as can but endear one’s home the more.

My memory still would serve me to walk blindfold

From any point of the city to these doors.

Man. What is your memory for our studies, Philip?

Ph. Too slippery for my profit. Yet the pleasure

Lives very brightly;—nay, I could but name

One deprivation I have more regretted.

MARGARET.

But now

My brother has a new philosophy.

Ph. Ah! If you share the secret, and I be thought

Worthy of initiation, may I hear it?

Mar. And welcome. Manuel, in his deep research

For the first cause and harmony of things,

Hit upon both together—they are one:

’Tis love. And now, since I profess it not,

And since ’twas learnt of you...

Man. (to Mar.).Hush, sister, hush!

Ph. I am very proud of such a pupil. (Aside.) Since

He has learned my love so readily, it may be

That he may catch my jealousy—

Hu.Come, duke,

Sit here by me. There’s more to talk of. Livio,

Fetch us the papers.

Philip crosses to L. and sits by Hugo.

Man. (crossing to R.). They must grant us, Constance,

A moment now. All day I have been away,

And yesterday I saw you not at all.

Can you forgive a lover so remiss?

CONSTANCE.

I fear I half deserve your fear.

Man.The time

Can be but short, but it shall make amends.

[They talk together.

Bl. (coming forward with Fer.). Fair lady Margaret,

Count Ferdinand of Vergas; I present him

At his desire.

Fer.Your ladyship’s true servant.

Mar. I am much honoured.

Fer.Lady, ’tis worth the pains

To cross from Spain to see you.

Mar.From that I guess

That you are a better sailor than the duke.

Fer. Nay, you judge wrong.

Mar.Have you then ate no dinner?

Fer. Now if I had not, I’d blame your stormy town

Before the sea for that: since we left ship

We are cabined in this house; to pass the door

Were to leap overboard in a whole gale.

Mar. I fear this is no country for you, sir,

If noises in the street keep you indoors.

LIVIO.

Take warning, count; Sicily’s fairest rose

Blooms on an angry plant.

Mar.But we can boast

Of warriors that for fragrance shame the rose.

(To Liv.) Is’t musk to-day?

Liv. (to Fer.). I told you.

Enter Messenger R., crosses to Hugo L.

MESSENGER.

This paper, sire, is posted thro’ the town.

Hu. Eh, eh! what have we here? [Reads.

Citizens of Palermo, King Pedro is dead. God rest his soul! The office of Viceroy being vacant, the Parliament of townsmen, assembled in the church of San Lorenzo, have this day elected Manuel to be your viceroy, in place of Hugo. Death to Hugo! Long live the king!

Why, Manuel, what’s this parliament?

130

Man.I know

No more than doth your excellence. But ’tis plain

That they are orderers who put on a dress

Of regular authority; they use

The senatorial voice, and over all

They have now usurped my name to have it thought

That I have set their hatch.

[Shouts without of “Death to Hugo! The Despatches!”]

Ph.Here comes the parliament.

Hu. Now this is what I feared. Manuel, I pray you,

Go to the balcony, you have their ear;

Use then your credit.

Man.What, sire, shall I say?

140

Hu. Well, you should know.

Liv. (to Man.). Look, if they ask to hear

The last despatches, gull them with some paper;

Which while you show, you make as if therefrom

You read the king’s not dead.

Ph. (to Liv.). Nay, Livio:

The word is wanted for a troop of horse.

My father never would have brooked this insult

From such a mob.

Liv.Our soldiers are not idle.

They laid hands yesterday upon the chief

And head of all, one John Palicio.

We have certain information that the rebels

Cannot be kept together but by him.

Hark! they are quiet now.

Hu. (to Man. returning). What is your charm

To win such meek obedience?

Man.They’re gone, your excellence;

But not from aught I said: for ere I spoke

Some rumour reached them, and the skirt of the throng,

That far beyond my hearing stood apart

In scattered groups, broke hastily away:

Then the next ranks shed off; and then the next

Loosened and followed them: till the voice came

To the very midst and huddle, where they pressed

With upturned faces; then all heads went down,

And with a cry they fled.

Hu.Whither?

Man.I think

To the prison, my lord.

Enter a Soldier.

Hu.What now? give me thy matter.

SOLDIER.

The prisoner Palicio is escaped.

He killed his guards, and fled beyond pursuit.

Ph. (to Liv.). Why, is not this the man you spoke of?

Liv.Ay,

That is the man.

Hu.Let the patrol be doubled for the night,

And give not o’er the search. Alive or dead,

A hundred florins to whoever finds him.

Blasco, go see to it: he must not escape.

Bl. (aside). But if he be escaped, who’s viceroy then?

[Exit with soldier.

Hu. This same Palicio, duke, is the chief rebel:

While he was caged, I could despise the rest.

But he’s a dangerous fellow; bred in the hills,

He is yet of noble blood and high descent:

A proud and lofty temper, that hath taken

A graft of wildness, and shot forth afresh

In base luxuriance. Tho’ yet unbearded,

Bandits and exiles own him; and the people,

Who hold such men in honour, can be drawn

But by his name to any enterprise.

’Tis he that with his bread-tax cry hath stirred

The commons to rebel, and be he ’scaped

Clear, as ’tis thought, there will be more ado.

I’ll not so much as vouch, duke, for your safety,

If you should sleep in the palace.

Man.Let the duke

Come to my house. What say you?

Hu.What say you, Philip?

They would not seek you there.

Ph.If ’tis your wish.

I would not bring you trouble. (To Fer.) Ferdinand,

These papers must be copied: take them straight

Into your chamber. [Exit Ferdinand.

190

Hu.’Tis but truth, your grace,

We may be driven hence. The people’s cry

Is Sack and fire the palace.

Mar.See if Livio

Have not gone pale! Now, Livio, if you think

’Tis safer at our house, for pity’s sake

Spare your complexion and come back with us.

Liv. No doubt that sleep were sweeter, and all things else

Beneath thy roof, lady: and came there danger,

That my sword might protect thee...

Mar.The heavens shield us,

When we be left to that.

Liv.Didst thou not treat

All men with like contempt, I were much wronged:

But there’s none thou wilt praise.

Mar.Now, if I needed

A man to look at, I would pass my time

Searching for this Palicio. As for you,

When you can lead the people, and cut your way

Thro’ guards and prison walls, and get a price

Set on your head ... I’ll marry you.

Man.Come, sister,

This goes too far.

Mar.Why, no. Be generous.

If I be wrong, what makes you ill at ease

When this man’s free? Palicio is in prison,

And all goes cheerfully; you sit to feast,

You have no care, a joke will raise a laugh.

Palicio is escaped—hey! at that news

What blackness reigns! Forgive me, friends; I see

This man’s your master, and I like him for it.

Bravery I love, and there’s no cause so poor

It cannot justify.

Hu.If we should take him,

I’ll send him to you stuffed.

Mar.Is that a speech

One should forgive?

Man.Enough. We take our leave.

We pass by a private way, duke.

219

Ph.I come with you.

Good-night.

All.Good-night.

[Exeunt Philip, Manuel, and Margaret.

Hu. (to Con.).And you to bed.

Con.I pray there’s nought to fear?

Hu. Nay, nay. Good-night, child; sleep you sound.

Con.Dear father,

Heaven keep you safe. Good-night.

Hu.Fear not for me.

[Exit Constance.

Hark, Livio.

I have learned somewhat from Philip: the Spanish court

Is open to my enemies. My best hope

If things go worse will be to sail for Spain

And face them boldly there. ’Tis an extremity

’Twere best to avoid: but since my hands are tied

I may be forced; and am so far resolved,

That if Palicio now should raise the town,

And come to attack the palace, I shall fly.

I have had a way cut thro’ the chapel wall,

Whence by a covered passage I can reach

The harbour, where I keep a ship prepared.

Thee I must leave. But let this news be spread,

That Philip is with Manuel; it may serve

To draw the people thither—his being here

Would have impeded my escape. And first

We’ll go the rounds, and see that at all points

The watch is strong and wakeful. Come with me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE · 2

Hall in Manuel’s house. Enter PALICIO in woman’s clothes, bleeding, a dagger in his hand.

PALICIO.

No one, no sound. Can I hide here I am safe.

I have given the curs the slip, if I can hide.

Safe ... But this wound, the blood runs like a river:

Unless they track me by it I am clear—so far.

A paltry stab. I’ll bind it round and tie it

To stop the blood—so, so. Now, where to hide?

For here is no protection; ’tis the house

Of the chief justiciary ... a doubtful ’scape

From prison here. Yet when I saw the wall

’Twas home; then, oh, my God! this flip-flap gear

Shackling my knees—Over! ha, ha! the fools

Will never guess that leap. But I must hide:

Slip out ere morn: or if not that, be bold,

Give myself up to Manuel. Is that hope?

Manuel the just. ’Twere best reserve that hope

Till others fail. Hark!—steps. Where can I get?

Behind this curtain—so. [Hides.

Enter Manuel, Philip, Margaret, and Servant.

MANUEL (to servt.).

Giuseppe, show the duke my room.

(To Ph.) Taking us unawares o’erlook, I pray,

The want of ceremony. You will find all comfort

For sleep or wakefulness.

PHILIP.

260

This is the flower

Of hospitality. Now, for old sakes,

I’d beg some meaner shift, to prove me mindful

Of ancient benefits.

MARGARET.

O, be content:

My brother’s luxury will not o’erwhelm you

With obligation.

Man.Rest you well. Good-night!

Mar. and Ph. Good-night!

[Exit Philip with servant.

Man. Margaret!

Mar.My brother!

Man.You did ill to-night.

Mar. Forgive me. I said in jest you had learned your love

From Philip. I was sorry.

269

Man.Nay, what’s that?

Yet ’twas ill said, and may have wounded Philip;

Though he must wish us to assume there’s nothing

’Twixt him and Constance: and now he’s our guest

We must not let our courtesy be tainted

By his own lightness; nay, the tales told of him

Are nought to us. He’s of a generous nature,

And not forbidding to what faults beset

His age and rank. But we make no man better

By lower estimation; an open kindliness

And trust may help him; let us use such toward him.

Mar. I will. But then what was’t I said?

Man.Ah! Why,

Your praise of John Palicio. See you not

’Twill injure me with Hugo? Our relations

Are tried by public matters: ’tis in the scope

Of private intercourse to ease the strain,

Or force the rupture.

Mar.Brother, I am very sorry.

I thought ...

Man.I do not blame your thought. I grant

These Spaniards are bad masters. First they wrecked

This island to possess it; then the prize,

Which kindness might have much enriched, is stripped

Even to the bone by cruelty and rapine.

Their viceroy too, this Hugo—a man who governs

But to be governor, and even at that

Fails like a fool. To see the folk misruled

More grieves me than to see the folk misled.

And if they have much cause to rise, there’s none

Hath more to lead them, than the native outlaw,

Whom you so praised.

Re-enter Servant.

Mar.Then you forgive me, brother?

Man. Well, well, good-night!

Mar.Good-night! [Exit.

Man.Giuseppe, prepare

The little room at the end of the corridor;

I will sleep there. I shall not want thee more.

[Exit servant.

It matters not what happens, day by day

The rupture grows. ’Tis plain Hugo and I

Are foes at heart—and what a pitiful trick

To put the question of my marriage by,

Withholding his consent just for the thought,

That while my happiness hangs on his nod,

I must be closer bound to serve his interest,

Now, when his credit totters. Doth he not know

That honourable minds, thro’ very fear

Of their self-interest, are thrust away

Beyond their counter-judgment? Nay, ’tis clear

He falls, he falls; and were’t not now for Constance,

I’d gladly see him fall.

Palicio comes forward.

A woman here!

Why, who art thou?

Pal.Hush, hush! I am no woman.

[Lays his dagger on the table.

Draw not your sword. See here my dagger.

Man.Ha!

And bloodied freshly.

Pal.Let me bar the door. [Goes to door.

Man. Why, can it be?—

Pal.I am Palicio.

Man. Thou here!

Pal.You see.

Man.From prison?

Pal.Escaped, thank God!

I skirmished with my guards, and being pursued

Came thro’ your orange garden. Here none will seek me.

Hide me!

Man.Thee, madman, here?

Pal.Ay, call me madman.

I am mad, and praise God for it ... if to hate tyrants

Be madness, I’m past cure: or if ’tis madness

To escape from prison ...

Man.Nay, neither. I blamed thee not

In these; but that thou thinkest to overbear

The troops of Spain with thy small brigand crew:

To escape from justice flying to my house,—

The chief justiciary.

Pal.What will you do?

Man. Return thee straight to prison.

Pal.First, I beseech you,

Help me to bind my wound.

330

Man.Art thou much hurt?

Pal. A thrust in the arm, a petty prick, which yet

Bleeds uncontrolledly.

Man.Undo it. It spurts.

Hold here thy hand, while with thy handkerchief

I bind thy arm.

Pal.Look you, ’tis lower down.

Man. Peace, man! ’Twill stay the blood to bind thee here.

Hast thou no other hurt?

Pal.Nay, none but this.

And see, ’tis staunched already. I must thank you,

Tho’ here your help should end. Call in the hirelings;

They’ll not be far. I will go back with them.

And yet ’twere pity; for ’tis certain death:

I have killed three of them. Manuel, I pray you—

I pray you, Manuel, crush not all my hopes,

My just cause. Give me a sword and a man’s dress,

And let me forth to try my fortune!

Man.Nay.

Pal. Then if I take my dagger and venture out ...

[Takes it.

I’ll yet escape. Deny me not this chance.

See, I’ll not ask your leave, but only go. [Going.

Man. Giovanni, stay. Thou hast done me a great wrong

In flying here. Why didst thou choose my house?

350

Pal. ’Twas as I fled for life: the hue-and-cry

Came gathering faster round me: being still clear,

And seeing your wall, it seemed my safety lay

In that leap, could I make it.

Man.Thou’rt the last,

And only offspring of a noble stock.

The blood that I have staunched in thy veins,

Sprang from the heart of Sicily, and flows

Redder than mine, tho’ mine too once was mixed,

And not unworthily, with thine, and now

From my great grandsire’s marriage both our bloods

Are even as one, and thy blood on my hands

Is mine, and mine within my veins is thine.

I cannot send thee to thy death, Giovanni;

I may not shelter thee from justice: See,

Thou hast done me a grievous wrong.

Pal.Yet hide me awhile.

This house may be my prison.

Man.Thou hast this hope:

The king being dead ...

Pal.Is’t true that Pedro is dead?

Man. Ay, true enough.

Pal.Then are you free. I am safe.

[Puts dagger in his bosom.

Man. I say this is thy hope. The king being dead,

Such offices as hold under the crown

Need confirmation. Now I do not say

Allegiance lapses; but, if I be quick

To guess the new king’s will, that he will change

Our viceroy—which I doubt not,—I may be bold

Now to withhold my duties from a servant

Discredited, contending that they hang

Upon my judgment, for my deeds to give

After-account. See, ’tis a subtle point

I strain for thee, rather than hurt the claim

Of kinship. Thou shalt be my prisoner

For these few days. By chance I have a room

Fit for thy lodging: there I’ll shew thee now,

And thence thou must not stir. I’ll bring thee food,

Look to thy wants, and try to cure thy wound.

Thou on thy part must lie as still as one

That hushes for his life. What, man; thou’rt faint

For loss of blood, and strain? Cannot you stand?

Stand up, or I must carry you. Indeed,

Carry him I must ... see, now, where be my keys?

[Going, carrying Palicio.

ACT · II

SCENE · 1

Hall in Manuel’s house. MARGARET and CONSTANCE.

MARGARET.

390

Sweet, happy Constance, tell me why thou sighest.

What can’st thou lack?

CONSTANCE.

I am not very happy.

Mar. Not happy, thou? Woe for the world! I thought

Love was God’s perfect recipe, to drowse

All mortal stings. Yet sainted marriage hath

One threat—the loss of liberty: is’t that?

It well may fright. To have been a girl with me

So long, and make at last the outrageous stroke,

And live as do our aunts! Were’t not my brother,

I’d kill the man.

Con.Margaret!

Mar.Well mayst thou sigh:

I can sigh for thee.

400

Con.I should love to hear thee.

Thou owest me sighs, for mine were thoughts of thee.

Mar. Because I love not? Hast thou forgot already

Life may be tolerable for a woman

Without thy joy?

Con.You treat poor Livio

Unkindly, Margaret.

Mar.Now, if that’s the grief,

We have threshed it out before.

Con.I shall not spare you,

Till you are kinder.

Mar.Yet if I were kinder,

And he should build a hope upon that kindness,

Until it proved unkinder than unkindness?

Con. He loves you well.

Mar.No better than the others;

Than Ventimiglia loves, or Chiaramonte,

Good Michael Rosso, or the impudent Blasco,

Or my new courtier Ferdinand.

Con.He loves

With all his heart. Life is as tedious to him

As to the dark and dusty wheel, which jerks

Behind the dial-face, until he see you;

When for his joy you give him but disdain.

Mar. Thou didst not tell him thou wouldst speak for him?

Con. Why not?

Mar.Now I, Constance, have something fresh:

A mystery.

Con.A mystery?

420

Mar.Yes, a mystery.

Guess what it is.

Con.How should I guess?

Mar.Indeed,

Guessing would never wind it.

Con.Then, prithee, tell me.

Mar. I died to tell thee ere thou camest, and now

I grudge it sadly. Yet, for the fresh mount

’Twill give thy thoughts, I’ll tell. ’Twas yesternight,

Just on the stroke of one ...

Con.’Tis not a ghost?

Mar. If after all ’twere but a ghost!

Con.Come, tell me.

Mar. Thou wilt not breathe a word?

Con.No, not a word.

Mar. Thou know’st the casement of my bedroom looks

Across the court. There as I stood last night,

Watching the moon awhile, ere I shut out

The sleepless splendour from my dreams, I heard

A heavy step pass down the gallery.

’Tis Manuel, I thought, who goes to lie

In the little chamber at the back,—for Philip

Had his;—but, for some strangeness in the step

Pricked my attention, and to content my thought,

I lent my ear to the sound, until it reached

The door at the end: there, standing by the window

I saw him plain: ’twas he, but in his arms

A woman, fainting as I thought, or dead.

Her arms hung loose, and o’er his shoulder thrown

Her head fell back.

Con.A woman! art thou sure?

Mar. He could not carry a ghost. Besides, this morning

I watched him: he took thither meat and drink,

And locked the door, and strictly bade the servants

They should not enter.

Con.Hast thou questioned him?

Mar. I have not so much as let him speak with me.

He might forbid me: and, O my curiosity,

I must know more.

450

Con.What dost thou think to learn?

Mar. I have neither guess nor hope; I lay awake

An hour, and thought of fifty things, not one

Of any likelihood. In all romance

No lady in distress ere came at midnight

To the house of the chief justice. I could wish

This beauteous maiden were a young princess

Fled o’er the seas disguised.

Con.Then thou couldst see

What she was like.

Mar.Why, no,—how could I see?

I only saw that she was dark.

Con.Thou saidst

That she was beautiful.

460

Mar.Of course she is young

And beautiful. Why,—you are not jealous, Constance?

Con. Not jealous, no.

Mar.And the only pity of it

Is that she’ll prove in the end a poor relation

Fall’n to our care, or some more hapless girl

Left on the doorstep dying.

Con.In such case,

What were the need of secrecy?

Mar.I wish

I had never told thee aught. Why shouldst thou fancy

Impossibilities?

Con.What is impossible?

Mar. I fear now that the sight of thy old love,

Philip the false, hath turned thy happier trust.

Thou’rt changed.

Con.Nay, nay: I am not: and yet ’tis true

His coming is my trouble. [Weeps.

Mar.Forgive me, sweetest.

Con. Margaret, you know I have none at all but you

To unfold my heart to: only you can tell

What I must feel at his return: you know

How far I loved, how much I was deceived.

His oaths of faith you heard from me, and shared

The joy of my delusion: and at last,

When he deserted me, you made your heart

The prison of my sorrows: you exhorted,—

O, you advised me well,—Be sure, you said,

Love that so breaks cannot be trusted more.

You bade me cast it off like an ill dream.

You found what life he led: how he profaned

His honourable passion in the play

Of errant gallantries. All that sad time

I leaned on you, and ’twas your friendship gave

The occasions whence my love with Manuel sprung.

You led me still, you gave me confidence;

Your comfort turned to joy, Manuel was mine.

When suddenly on some mysterious cause

He holds aloof: my joy is bid await.

O, Margaret, if you understood love’s joy,

How closely ’tis inwoven with fear to lose,

You would not wonder that I tremble, seeing

This shadow blot my sunshine, that my fear

Discolours every circumstance. To me

The common course of things on which men count

Is the only miracle, all chances else

As they are feared are likely. O, do not blame me.

Philip is like an evil spirit beside me

That stands to smile on what I dread to think.

Mar. Philip being false can give no cause to doubt

Of Manuel’s faith.

Con.I doubt him not: and yet

If I speak of my brother you only laugh,

But if you speak of yours ...

Mar.Round, round again.

Betwixt our brothers grant some difference.

Thy Livio is a boy of slender parts,

Led by his passions. Manuel is a man

Austere and stern; he is above suspicion.

Con. I do not doubt his truth, but find such sternness

Unkind to love. My brother’s love for you

Is simple: Manuel’s love hath some reserve;

A veil, behind which, since I have never seen,

I have dreamed or feared a terror lay: ofttimes

When I have been with him, a pleasant hour

Has ended suddenly, as if his spirit

Was angered, and withdrew: then in his eyes

Is nothing left but barren contemplation,

To which I am an object as another;

Until he sighs, as conscious of the change.

The disappointment of our marriage brings

Scarce a regret to him: I heard him speak

Late to my father of it, as ’twere a thing

He held indifferently. There is some secret

Which I would know: maybe this is a clue.

Mar. What is the clue?

Con.This lady.

Mar.O, thou’rt sick.

But I can cure thee, wilt thou do my bidding.

Con. What would you bid?

Mar.Give rein to jealousy,

Ay, spur it on to falling. Fear the worst,

Believe the worst. Thou shalt suspect my brother;

He trifles, loves this lady: choose your tale:

Thou wilt not doubt again.

Con.I do not doubt him.

Nay, I will bid him tell me all.

Mar.And so

Betray thy doubt to him. Be wiser, madam!

Look to thy cure: indulge thy jealousy:

To which end I encourage it. Indeed,

I am come to think there’s cause, and thy suspicion

Hath much enhanced my mystery. Go thou home:

There make thyself unhappy. I meanwhile

Will root this out, and since I am housekeeper

I can go where I will.

Con.I pray thee, Margaret ...

Mar. I must be jealous where my brother is wronged.

Thou art the accuser, and the evidence

Tells now for thee: ’tis my part to acquit us.

Hinder me not.

Con.When wilt thou know?

Mar.Maybe

’Tis as thou fearest.

Con.Wilt thou mock me so?

Mar. I bid thee go. Be sure I’ll come to thee,

Or send thee word.

Con.But when?

Mar.I make no promise.

I cannot pity thee, and till thou goest

I can do nothing.

Con.Promise me to send.

Mar. I have promised that. Farewell!

Con.To-day?

Mar.To-day.

Trust me, I go at once. [Exeunt.

SCENE · 2

Room in the Palace. Enter BLASCO.

BLASCO.

I have sucked this Ferdinand. Duke Philip bears

Secret despatches sealed, not to be broken

Save on emergency; from which I gather

That if emergency arise, this Philip

Will be our viceroy. Palicio being escaped

Must make the emergency.—Then, where am I?

Packed off to Spain with Hugo’s broken service,

To answer his impeachment. ’Tis high time

I cast by these old friends, such as they are,

And turn my face to the rising sun, this Philip.

I see the way too. Manuel’s love for Constance

Hath roused again his former love for her

To a burning jealousy; if I feed that

I win his ear, and make my foe his foe.

As for Palicio, should he hold back

I have a way with him, and can contrive

He shall seize Hugo, or himself be seized,

As may suit best. The mischief set on foot,

Philip must break his seals; and I come in

With him as friendly to the people’s rights,

And trusted servant of the crown. By heav’n,

I shall deserve their credit. See, here he comes.

Enter Philip.

Good morrow to your grace.

PHILIP.

Good morrow, Blasco.

Bl. I served thy father well.

Ph.I know it, Blasco.

What of it now?

Bl.I do not urge my service

Looking for recompense; I do not ask

So much as that your grace remember me

At court, to mention my forgotten name

In the new king’s ear; as, When I was in Sicily

I saw old Blasco; nay, ’twas for good-will

I served, and now ’tis that I want a master

Which bids me speak. If but your grace could find me

Employment worth my wits, I would serve well.

Ph. I’ll think of it.

Bl.Let your grace know my life

Spent in this court should make my loyalty

More than a counsellor. In this rebellion

I know where Hugo fails, where Manuel leans;

Could blow upon the flame or snuff it out,

Could bring you to the leaders.

Ph.Honest Blasco,

Thou know’st the world.

Bl.I know that one who comes

To make peace in a quarrel that he knows not,

Needs other knowledge than he is like to get

From either party. The strings of policy

Are coiled in private chambers; if your grace

Would pull at these ...

Ph.True. If thou serve me thus

I’ll take instruction.

Bl.Let your grace now prove me

In any question.

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Ph.This, then. We in Spain

Supposed that your revolt stood on two legs,

Over-taxation and the hate of Hugo;

And had its claim for justice countenanced

By Manuel’s voice: but coming here, I find

That he and Hugo’s daughter are betrothed.

Now here’s a private matter, which, I take it,

Involves the public. Say, doth Manuel play

His policy on Hugo, or hath Hugo

Trumped up a match with Manuel to support

His failing credit?

Bl.They are not betrothed, your grace.

What passes between lovers is unknown:

But this is sure, Hugo withholds consent,

And doth so to win Manuel to his side.

Ph. Doth not that win him?

Bl.Nay.

Ph.Then I conclude

He loves not.

Bl.Nay, indeed; it gives me pain

To witness his indifference; for the lady

Deserves the best.

Ph.Stay, count. Remember

In what has passed that word may well blame me.

Bl. I hearken not to idle tales. Your grace

May be punctilious; but in Manuel’s instance

There’s no excuse.

Ph.I care not what men say.

And now it hurts me more to hear thee blame

Another for the fault I stumbled in,

Than if ’twas said of me. I need thy knowledge.

Look, thou canst serve me; and I let none serve

For nothing. Take my purse (gives it); thou mayst have need

To spend so much for me.

Bl.I thank your grace.

I shun no obligation, and I am poor.

Ph. True, all men are so. Come now to my chamber,

Where we may talk in private.

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Bl. (aside). ’Tis well begun.

[Exeunt.

SCENE · 3

A room in Manuel’s house. PALICIO reclining on a long chair half-dressed. Daylight nearly excluded: one candle burns.

PALICIO.

I seem to have lived a life in these few days;

To have died, and waked in no less strange a place,

Than where I think departed spirits will fly

In doom of death and unendurable silence

After their day of doing. Oh! ’tis strange

What just the shedding a few drops of blood

Will bring about—to loosen a handkerchief,

And on her undiscoverable journey

The soul sets forth. Nay, but to bleed so far

As I have done, breeds fancies much akin

To death; else would my spirit more revolt

’Gainst this enforcèd quiet and idleness:

This blocking of my life just on the stir

And hurry of hope, when all my operations

Pressed to success. I am surely very weak,

That I can lie and fret not, when I hear

The distant cries, passing from street to street,

Which tell how prompt and ripe my people were

For this their lost occasion. (Knocking heard.) Some one knocks.

Nay, the key turns. ’Tis Manuel.

MARGARET (at door).

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May I come in?

Pal. (aside). Ah! who is this? Who’s there?

[Covering himself.

Mar. (entering).

’Tis only I,

Manuël’s sister. I have come to see

If I can do you any service, lady.

Pal. He did not send you?

Mar.Nay, but I may hope

I shall not seem to intrude, thus waiting on you.

Pal. (aside). What’s to be done?

Mar.The room is dark. I fear you are ill.

Pal. I am hurt and must not stir.

Mar.Then lying here

In pain you must want help and company.

’Tis well I came. May I draw back the curtains?

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Pal. Nay, there was reason, madam, why your brother

Shut door and window: I have enemies.

Mar. Alas, alas!

I can shew equal care. First to relock the door.

(Aside, going to door.) She is a lady.

Pal. (aside). ’Tis the famous Margaret.

Mar. Now let me light these candles.

[Stage brightens.

Pal. (aside). Surely in God’s paradise, that rest of souls,

His angels and pure spirits look and speak

And move like this. O wonder! Wherefore comes she?

And how to keep her but a moment longer

From the discovery? and how to tell her?

Mar. Now while I sit. [Finds gown on the chair.

... Why, oh! ’tis drenched with blood,

Your gown. Are you so hurt?

Pal.A sword-thrust, lady.

Mar. A sword-thrust. Ah!

Pal.Thou earnest unadvised,

Lady: I wore the gown; if that deceived thee.

Yet ’twas but a disguise to save my life.

I am Palicio.

Mar.Sir!

Pal.Escaped from prison

And my pursuers hither. Thy brother’s kindness

Hides me from death awhile.

Mar.I pray thy pardon.

’Twas not mere idle curiosity

That made my fault; but made I’ll mend it, sir,

As soon as may be. [Going.

Pal. (springing up). Stay, nay, put down that key.

I bid thee stay. Thou hast forced my secret. Hear

The whole, and when thou hast heard I shall not fear

The unlocking of thy lips.

Mar.Why, sir, the thing

My brother means to hide is hidden to me.

Pal. ’Tis not alone my life ...

Mar. Ah! see the blood is trickling down thy hand!

Pal. Pest! it hath started freshly.

Mar.Cannot I help thee?

Pal. Ay, ’tis the bandage on this arm.

Mar.To tie it?

Pal. My moving hath displaced it.

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Mar.See, alas!

The ill I have done. Sit, I will bind it for thee.

Pal. Myself I cannot.

Mar.Nay. Tell thou me how.

Pal. Here, round this pad. As tightly as thou wilt.

Nay, tighter yet.

Mar.Shall I not harm thee?

Pal.Tighter.

Mar. I cannot pull it tighter.

Pal.Knot it so.

’Twill do: the blood hath ceased.

Mar.Oh, I am glad.

Do not thou stir: see, now, to wash thine arm,

I’ll bring thee water. [Goes for it.

Pal. (aside). By heaven, where have I lived,

Like a wild beast beneath the open skies,

In dens and caves, and never known the taste

Of this soft ravishment? The rich of the earth

Are right: their bars and bolts are wisely wrought,

Having such treasure in their closed chambers.

Mar. Here ’tis. Reach forth thine arm.

Pal.Nay, give’t to me.

Stain not thy hands.

Mar.I pray thee.

Pal.As thou wilt.

Mar. How did it happen?

Pal.Wouldst thou hear it?

Mar.Tell me.

Pal. I had been two days in prison ...

Mar.Tell me, first,

How could they catch thee?

Pal.Treachery: I was taken

By Hugo’s soldiers as I knelt at mass.

Three stole behind me, seized me by the arms,

And dragged me forth. I knew I was betrayed;

I had entered but that morning in the town;

I was not known to them, nor did the hirelings

Look on my face. They led me straight to prison,

Thrust me in a cell so dank and dark and small,

That to be built alive into the grave

Were not more horrible.

Mar.Hugo would have killed thee.

Pal. Or let me starve; or else some gentle mercy;

Gouged my live eyeballs out, or lopped my hands.

Mar. How couldst thou ’scape?

Pal.Now thou wilt see our people

Have their account. The second night my gaoler

Brought in a woman with a deed to sign.

I knew my hope, and to her feigned reproach

Answered in anger back: but when she bade

I took the deed, and felt beneath the paper

A dagger’s edge. That was my key to heaven,

Could I strike silently. To make occasion,

I thrust her from me with an oath: she fell,

As well she knew, against the foe, who stooping,

Stooped to his death and fell without a groan.

Then quick she doffed her gown for my disguise,

Telling me in few words how this was planned

By friends who had seen me taken: they had not means

For present rescue, but discovering soon

Who had betrayed me, used his cursed name

With the governour of the prison, to admit

Her, his pretended wife, that she might claim

Settlement of some debt before I died.

So was it paid. Then we went forth together,

I in her woman’s garments, following her,

Who wore the habit of the soldier slain:

And she went clear: but I, for some suspicion

Was questioned at the gate. Of those two men,

One I slew straight: the other, as I struck,

Thrust thro’ my arm, yet not so hurtfully

But that he fell for it too. But thence alarm

Was given: I fled pursued, and gat me clear,

Leaping your garden wall.

Mar.Who was the woman?

Pal. One of our people.

Mar.May her name be told?

Pal. I never heard it.

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Mar.Yet she knew thee well.

I had been proud to have done her deed. I think

There are not many men as brave as she.

Pal. O, lady, there are many, women and men,

Sworn to risk life in our good cause.

Mar.Alas,

That such fine courage should be so misled!

Pal. Misled? how, if I lead it?

Mar.I had forgot.

Pardon me, sir. It was my brother’s word.

Pal. Ay, ’tis his word. And yet I honour Manuel.

Were’t not for him there scarce would be a man

Of all our people who would reverence

Justice and order, and those other names

Of social welfare. ’Tis to him alone

We have looked to give us these. But if he stand

Where he can take our tyrants by the arm

And show them baits of righteousness, and lead them

Where they should go, shall we who lie beneath

Forbear to sting the laggard heel of justice,

Or think it crime to obstruct the path of wrong?

I blame not him that from his higher place

He finds offence in outcry and disorder:

To such as without loss or shame outride

The storms of shifting fortune this is easy.

Mar. What dost thou but exasperate ill-will?

Pal. Already our bread has been untaxed two days.

Mar. And may be two days more.

Pal.I have better hope,

Or had: for if I had once provoked the Spaniard

To set his troops against us, all the nobles,

Who now retired hold neutral parliament,

Would then have joined the people, and compelled

The justice of our claim by force of arms.

Mar. All, say’st thou?

Pal.All save one or two, who are bought

With Hugo’s money.

Mar.Say’st thou bought?

Pal.O lady,

Unto their great dishonour they are bought,

With sweated pence wrung from the labourer,

Ere he can buy a loaf to feed his children

Out of the corn his hands have sown and reaped.

Is not this shame?

Mar.’Tis shame.

Pal.And shall Palicio

See this thing done, because he hath not office,

Or those few paltry florins, which might turn

The scale for poor Sicilians?

790

Mar.Ah, indeed,

I knew, I felt that thou wert right; and now

I see it: I never blamed thee.

Pal.No, nor Manuel

Blames me at heart, tho’ he forbid my means.

Think, had I kept my old estate, and he

Had fallen as I, should I not do as he,

And he as I am doing?

Mar.Oh, I think

’Tis nobler to be poor. To share the suffering

Of them we pity ranks above redress.

I am come to envy thee.

Pal.And certain it is,

They who have least to lose will venture most.

Mar. Yet those that have can give. What’s the best hope

Of this rebellion?

Pal.We would make thy brother

Viceroy in place of Hugo.

Mar.Will that be?

Pal. Here I know nothing, save that nought is done.

Mar. Is there no leader then but thee?

Pal.The people

Are limbs without a head.

Mar.When will thy wound

Be healed?

Pal. Thy brother says that any surgeon

Could mend it quickly, but that his own skill,

Which knows the injury, was never practised

To find out and to bind the wounded vessel,

Which, being unhelped of art, may run to death.

Mar. To death! And hath he sent no surgeon?

Pal.Nay,

That were the greater risk for him and me.

Mar. Not so, if he could cure thee. I shall bring one. [As going.

Pal. It cannot be.

Mar.Thou mayst believe there’s none

In all Palermo but myself could do it:

Yet can I do it.

Pal.Speak with Manuel first.

Mar. Oh! I shall tell him all. He will consent.

’Tis well I came. No surgeon for thee! Ah!

I go.

Pal. Thou wilt return?

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Mar.Be sure, be sure.

And with the leech. [Exit.

Pal.She is gone.

[Scene shuts across.

SCENE · 4

In Manuel’s house. MARGARET and MANUEL meeting.

MARGARET.

Brother, what wilt thou say? Wilt thou forgive me?

Hear me confess.

MANUEL.

What now, my mischief-maker?

Mar. I have seen Palicio.

Man.Hey! ’twas thy evil genius

Led thee that way.

Mar.I thinking him a woman,

Offered some service: whereupon he told me

Who he was, all his story, and of his wound.

Man. I am sorry; I should have warned thee, for the knowledge

Makes thee so far accomplice; and I know not

How ’twill be taken when ’tis known.

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Mar.O, brother,

Thou hast done nobly.

Man.I will tell to thee

My motives.

Mar.Nay, I need no motives.

Man.Hear them.

Palicio’s life is forfeit, for he has killed

Three of his guards: but to the dangerous deed

He had provocation, such as I should hold

Clears him of crime: wherefore I take upon me

To force a loan of Justice while she sleeps,

For fear a thief should rob her: to this, moreover,

The claim of kinship binds me,—nay, be patient,

And hear me out.—Already our disorders

Have been reported at the Spanish court;

The enquiry set on foot will much endamage

Hugo’s good name: I doubt not we shall have

Another viceroy, and the revolution

Will justify the movers.

Mar.Oh! all that,

Be as it may, will never cure his wound.

He needs a surgeon: we must find a surgeon.

Man. No: he must lie concealed till I procure

His pardon. His discovery now were death.

Mar. But if I bring one secretly?

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Man.How secretly?

Better cry down the streets the man is here:

That might escape attention.

Mar.I know a man.

Have I not sometimes shewn thee certain sonnets

Writ in Sicilian speech?

Man.Eh! Michael Rosso?

Mar. ’Tis he. I think he’d love to do my bidding

In a more dangerous matter. Give me leave,

I’ll bring him here to-night.

Man.I had thought of him,

But shrank from taxing his good-will. And yet—

(Aside.) For his own sake ’twere kind ... and Margaret asks it ...

Secrets, they say, discover sympathies.—

(Aloud.) Ay, ’tis well thought of.

Mar.I can answer for him.

Man. I see. Yet there’s no cause why he should know.

Escort him blindfold hither; let Palicio

Have his face covered. Let him ask no questions:

And when ’tis done convey him blindfold back.

’Twere best he should not know.

Mar.O, brother, I thank thee.

Man. Why, girl, thou’rt crazed.

Mar.May I not go at once?

Man. Nay, wait till dusk; and see, take here my seal,

Since thou must go alone: ’twill be thy freedom

From any questionings of any people.

Use all precautions, and impose on Rosso

Sacredest secrecy: ’tis thou and he

Must carry it thro’. Be careful.

Mar.I will put on

Some common clothing, and disguise my face.

I thank thee. [Exit.

Man.The girl’s in love. Now, bravo Rosso!

I wish thee well. There’s not a purer spirit

Fleshed in all Sicily; nay, nor a man

I’d sooner call brother. Why, ’twas my choice,

Long urged in vain. That chanceth in an hour

Which comes not in nine years. ’Tis very true,

Fancy resents all judgment, and another’s

Will often kill it quite. Now, when I looked

Rather for anything than my own wish,—heigh-ho!

’Tis I that stand in the way. I must discourage it.

Enter Philip (with some papers).

Ah, Philip.

PHILIP.

Let me give you back the papers.

I have read them.

Man.Well?

Ph.The viceroy’s guilt is plain.

Your purpose cannot be to press this count.

Man. If the complaints, which I have already made,

Be quashed at court, I shall.

Ph.’Tis peculation

So gross, ’twould ruin Hugo to expose it.

Wished you to break with him,—yet his disgrace

Cannot be nothing to you: I should marvel

You had no associations, no affections,

Shocked at the thought.

Man.To interests manifold

As manifest, Justice is blind. If Spain

Remove not Hugo on the charges laid,

I have shewn thee what’s to follow. Would you avert it,

Press his dismissal. I must to the palace.

Guard thou the papers for me till I am back. [Exit.

Ph. These papers are conviction. Blasco is right:

He loves not. That is clear; for he would ruin

Her father. Then again my rivalry

Avowed,—ay, if he had an ear, avowed,—

He doth not see. So cold, how could he win her?

Or wish to win her? She is mine.—And yet I would

’Twere any man but Manuel. Ah! who comes?

’Tis she. Now may I prove her.

Enter Constance with Servant.

CONSTANCE (to servt.).

If she be not within, prithee enquire

Where she is gone. I will await thee here.

[Exit servt.

I have been most foolish. (Seeing Philip.) Philip!

Ph.Yes, ’tis I.

Constance.

Con.What wouldst thou?

Ph. (kneeling). I entreat a favour,

Which is to me the one boon in the world.

Con. Rise, sir, what is’t?

Ph.That I may speak, nor leave

Love’s wound unhealed.

Con.’Twere well to seal forgiveness,

Companion of forgetfulness. Say, therefore.

The few words that are due.

Ph.Tho’ I repent,

Repentance cannot own forgetfulness.

It pleads forgiveness in the name of love.

Con. How in that name?

Ph. Constance, I love thee still.

Con.Sir!

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Ph.Oh! ’tis true ...

Reproach me not, Constance: my evil life

I have quite renounced. I used it but to learn

The wisdom of that other. I come back

From folly and idleness and evil days.

Whate’er hath been, Constance, I have not left thee:

There hath been nothing near thee, nothing like thee,

Nothing but thee: and I return to find thee

More beautiful than ever ...

Con.Pray you, sir,

Remember.

Ph.Let me speak.

Con.When thou didst ask to speak,

I looked for that one word, which thou in honour

Wert, to amend thy silence, bound to speak.

’Twas in thy power to salve thy breach of faith

With full and free renouncement. Thine earlier ill

I had then forgiven: for if thou art not changed,

Philip, I am: then I was ignorant—

Maybe we both were—both mistook; but thou

Didst add an injury, and to-day thou addest

Another worse. Knowing me now betrothed,

How canst thou offer to renew thy love?

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Ph. O, Constance, Manuel doth not, cannot, love thee

As I.

Con. I pray he doth not.

Ph.Hear me, Constance!

Con. Nay, sir; no more. [Exit.

Ph.My passion hath aroused

Passion in her; and that must work for me.

Is it likely such a temper would sit down

And eat cold fare at Manuel’s feast of reason?

She will be mine. Ay, tho’ she said betrothed—

Once ’twas to me. So now to see her father;

He’s but a market where I rule with ease.

The papers! By heav’n, I had left them lying! [Stoops.

Ha!

Blood! blood upon the floor! I have knelt in blood—

Here were an omen, were I superstitious.—

And scarcely dry. This city hath fallen accurst.

There is nothing spoke of ... Ah! but what if this

Should be the track they seek? Palicio

Took shelter here! Impossible. Even Blasco

Thought not so ill of Manuel. Yet the other

Under the wall, and this within the house ...

They tally. Peace! I will go search the garden.

[Exit.

SCENE · 5

Room in Manuel’s house. PALICIO as before (sitting).

PALICIO.

To stand true to a cause because ’tis noble,

Tho’ it be thankless; to command a people

Against a tyranny, and teach their arms

To enforce the reasonable rights of life,

Beneath the crushing bond of wealth and power;—

To be an outcast, but to leave a name

Untarnished and beloved, remembered long;—

That was my choice, my hope. Can I now waver?

Shall I—having so well begun—

Step up into a throne above the throng,

And smiling on them from the hated height,

Take life at ease? Nay, when ’tis reasoned so,

’Tis hideous.—But, oh! thou treacherous enemy,

Thou selfish and unanswerable passion,

That bluntest resolution, and criest down

The voice of virtue! Margaret, Margaret!

Would I had never seen thee, or believed

I could not win thee. If I now could fly,

I might go free.

Squarcialupu, who has appeared at the window, gradually thrusting his head between the curtains, and peering round, enters.

SQUARCIALUPU.

Sq.Captain!

Pal.Ha! Squarcialupu!

Why, what! how com’st thou here? what dost thou?

Sq.Hush!

Pal. Begone, I pray.

Sq.Nay, now I have found thee, captain.

Thine arm is it only?

Pal.A prick in the arm.

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Sq.So, so!

Then thou canst come.

Pal.Tell me, how didst thou learn

That I was here?

Sq.We guessed it from thy track.

Pal. O, God! I’m tracked?

Sq.Thy blood is on the wall.

I undertook to tell thee. In the dusk

I scaled this window at the back of the house:

Had my old luck, captain. Make haste and fly.

Pal. Stay, stay! I cannot. Is it known to any

I am hiding here?

Sq.What use to stay for that?

Come ere they know it.

Pal.I cannot.

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Sq.I can help thee.

Pal. Nay, ’tis not that, altho’ I am bled to death.

’Tis honour holds me.

Sq.Honour will not help

Manuel nor thee, if they should search his house.

But if thou fliest ...

Pal.I may not.

Sq.That’s no word

Where life’s at stake. What shall I tell thy men?

Pal. Where are they?

Sq.At the news of thy escape

They gathered on the hills, and wait thee there.

I met a man in the town an hour ago,

Who said he had seen thee riding on the road

To Monreale. All the folk’s astir.

Pal. I cannot come.

Sq.Give me not such a word.

Who would believe I had seen thee, if I said

Palicio lieth safe in Manuel’s house,

And saith he cannot come?

Pal.Begone, I bid thee,

Lest thou be found here.

Sq.Nay, I’ll not be gone.

’Tis but some twenty feet: I’ll lift thee down.

The street is watched.

Pal.Hark, Squarcialupu, tell me;

Is’t true I’m tracked?

Sq.’Tis certain.

Pal.Then I think

If Manuel knew of this ... Hark, I will come.

Go thou and tell my men that I will come.

To-morrow morning let them look to find me

At Monreale. If I come not then

Let none look for me more. But if I come

All shall be well. Go thou and tell them this.

Sq. Come, captain, while thou mayst.

Pal.I bid thee go.

Obey me at once.

Sq. (whistles at window and is answered). I have thy promise.

To-morrow we shall see thee. [Exit.

Pal.But for this cursed wound

I had fled. To cure it must I risk my soul?

Fool that I was, had I escaped with him

I might have found a surgeon—now when she comes

I will say nothing. Nothing ... yet, that’s no hope;

For seeing her I must love her: and if I fail

To win her wholly, I must lose my soul

She is here. (Aside.) Ah! what is this?

Enter Margaret, with Rosso blindfold.

MARGARET (to Rosso).

You now are in the room. Stand in your place.

While I make ready. (To Pal.) Let me wrap this cloth

About thy face. Lie ever still, and speak not.

(To Rosso.) Your eyes, sir, are at liberty.

ROSSO (unbandaging).

Coming hither,

I thought ’twould make a pretty poem to tell

Of one, whose cruel mistress ne’er allowed

The meanest favour, till he dreamed one night

That he was blind, and she, in pity of him,

Led him forth by the hand where he would go,

But left him suddenly; whereat he awoke,

And wished no more to see ...

Mar. Now, sir Apollo, come. Here lies your patient.

Give him your aid, and tell your poem after.

Ros. Well, let us see. Ay, here is all I need.

Set them thus on the table, and here the light,

So. (arranging). ’Tis the right arm. (unbinding.) Ah! when was this done?

Mar. Have you forgot, sir? questions are forbidden.

Ros. See, thou must hold his arm for me. Press here

Thy fingers; firmly,—so. Thou dost not faint

At sight of blood?

Mar.Nay, nay. And yet I know not.

If there be much, I faint.

Ros. (operating). I had forgotten

I might not question;—’tis a surgeon’s habit.—

First,—for where all are eager with their tale,—

’Tis only courteous to invite the telling:—

But chiefly—that it stablishes his judgment—

Built on appearances,—and banishes

Conjecture from experience;—as ’twould now

For me,—should this man say,—’twas yesterday

The wound was made;—and he that dealt it me

Stood on my left,—and thro’ my arm outstretched,—

In attitude of striking at another,—

Thrust with—a sword.—Stir not, ’tis nearly done.—

But I withdrew my arm ere he his weapon.—

Loose not thy grasp: loose not!

Mar.Sir, my attention

Was taken by your story. Never speak:

’Twill mar your work.

Ros.’Tis a small thing. ’Tis done.

’Twas an unlucky lunge that lanced thee there.

(To Mar.) What thinkest thou of my story?

Mar.’Twas but guessing.

Ros. Nay, inference. ’Twere guess to say, the skill

Which staunched the running blood, but could no more,

Might be thy brother’s: that this sunburnt arm,

Fine skin, and youthful fibre, were the body

Of John Palicio.

Pal. (discovering). I am betrayed!

Ros.Not so:

Then had I held my tongue.

Pal.True.—What’s thy name?

Ros. My name is Rosso. Sling thine arm across:

There must it rest until the wound be healed.

Mar. You have guessed the secret, sir, which we withheld

In your respect. This is my brother’s house;

This is Palicio. Guard now what you have learned

As closely, I pray, as if we had freely told it.

Ros. Not to thee, lady, though in this and all

I am thy servant; yet not now to thee

I speak, but to Giovànn Palicio;

To whom I say he need not ask of me

Promise or oath. The good I am proud to have done

I shall not spoil by blabbing.

1080

Pal.Thank thee, Rosso.

Ros. Noble and brave Palicio, mayst thou prosper.

[Bandaging his own eyes.

Pal. Thank thee, I thank thee, Rosso. So now my arm

Is mended. By heaven! this surgery hath a trick

Worth knowing, could one learn it easily.

Ros. (blindfold). Come, lady, and lead me forth.

Mar.Why, what is this?

You know your way: there’s nothing now to hide.

Ros. Didst thou not bargain with me to lead me back?

Mar. But there’s no need.

Ros.Yet will I claim my fee.

Where is thy hand?

Mar.Sir, you but trifle.

Ros.And thou

Refusest me in a trifle? Then I will dare (unbandaging)

To raise my terms. If I may kiss thy hand

I’ll be content.

Mar.’Tis I, sir, should kiss yours.

’Tis that hath earned the homage: and I’ll be kind.

That hath done well; and thus I kiss it. (Kisses Rosso’s hand.) Now,

Go, go in peace: thou’rt paid. [Making him go out.

[Exit Rosso.

Pal. (sitting).Why didst thou that?

Mar. He loves me.

Pal.Wouldst thou be as kind to me,

If I should love thee?

Mar.But he sends me sonnets.

Pal. I could write sonnets.

Mar.Ah, but his are writ

In pure Sicilian.

Pal.’Tis my proper tongue.

1100

Mar. I have kept my promise, sir, and now must leave.

Your wound is healed.

Pal.I fear I scarce can thank thee,

If ’tis thy word to go. Or, if thou stayest

But to cure wounds,—I have another wound

I shewed thee not, which hath a deeper seat:

This hand may cure it.

Mar.Nay, what mean you, sir?

Pal. Margaret, I love thee. There, thou hast it all.

Thou hast stolen my soul. I thought—my pride, my hope—

O, I thought wrong—’tis nothing. All I have done,

Or would do, I cast aside: I love thee only.

1010

Mar. Giovanni.

Pal.O, ’tis true, there’s nothing noble,

Beautiful, sacred, dear, familiar to me,

I hold now at a straw’s worth: body and soul

I am thine, Margaret, I am thine. O, answer me!

Mar. Giovanni, ’tis so strange. ’Tis best I go.

Pal. Thou didst kiss Rosso’s hand.

Mar.For love of thee.

Didst thou not guess?

Pal.O, then, my dearest, kiss me

Now for myself. Can it be true thou lovest me?

Mar. Alas! ’tis learned too quickly.

Pal.Can I think it,

Spite of my savage life, my outlawry,

My poverty?

Mar.O, what are these?

1120

Pal.Indeed,

My blood is noble.

Mar.These are not the checks

Or lures of love. Nay, what is noble blood?

What were’t to be a lion, and to fly

The hunter like a hare? And if man shew

Less fearless fierce and hungry for the right

Than doth a beast for food, what is his title

To be God’s image worth? That best nobility

Hath no more claim.

Pal.But canst thou share my life?

Mar. I am restless for it.

Pal.Leave thy rank? thy wealth?

Mar. I have lived too long that counterfeit of life.

I’ll strive like thee: something I’ll do, like thee,

To lessen misery. Nay, if man’s curse

Hang in necessity, I have the heart

To combat that, and find if in some part

Fate be not vulnerable.

Pal.O joy, my dearest:

I wronged thee ages by a moment’s thought

That thou wouldst shrink ... Then is our marriage fixed?

Mar. There’s none can hinder it.

Pal.O, blessed joy!

Yet how can I be sure, love, that thou knowest,

Finding the word so easy, what a mountain

There lies to lift? Pledging to me and mine

Thy heart this hour, a hundred thousand stings

Will plague thee from this moment, to drive thee back.

Mar. Try me, Giovanni.

Pal.Wilt thou aid me, love,

To fly to-night? By morning I may meet

My men at San Martino: all my schemes

May yet be saved.

Mar.Ah! wilt thou go, Giovanni?

Thou’rt yet too weak.

Pal.My presence, not my strength,

Is needed.

Mar. Alas! I fear.

Pal.What, Margaret, dost thou fear?

Mar. Only for thee. Yet go; I can be with thee

By noon. My brother has a little house

At Monreale, where I am used to stay

When the wish takes me. There I’ll go to-morrow,

And thence can visit thee. Thou didst not mean

I should not come? I shall not hinder thee.

Pal. Nay, nay.

Mar.I’ll let thee from the house to-night,

And give thee money which will aid thee well.

My brother need know nothing. I can make

The journey thither in an hour, and choose

My time to beg his grace.

1160

Pal.What do I owe thee!

Freedom, and life, and love,—thy love ... O, Margaret,

What I shall do will pay thee.

Mar.I must leave:

For Manuel else will question of my stay.

Pal. My treasure lost so soon!

Mar.I go to save

What we have won. Farewell.

Pal.Say at what hour

I may go hence; and how.

Mar.At dead of night:

’Tis safest then.

Pal.And wilt thou come thyself?

Mar. When the church bell with double stroke hath tolled

The death-knell of to-morrow’s second hour,

While its last jar yet shelters in the ear,

Listen: and at thy door when thou shalt catch

A small and wakeful noise, such as is made

By the sharp teeth of an unventurous mouse,

Scraping his scanty feast when all is still,

Come forth. Thou’lt meet my hand, and at the gate

I’ll give thee what I have. Tied in thy bundle

Will be a letter shewing thee the place

Where thou must send me tidings. Now, farewell.

Pal. Yet not farewell.

Mar.To-night I shall not see thee:

Nor must thou speak. So, till to-morrow’s sun

Lasts our farewell.

Pal.Then with to-morrow, Margaret,

My life begins.

Mar.O, ’tis the greater joy

For me than thee.

Pal.Ay, for the giver ever

Hath the best share. And thus I kiss thee, love.

Farewell.

Mar.Be ready.

Pal.Trust me.

Mar.And take thy dagger.

Farewell. [Going.

ACT · III

SCENE · 1

Hall in Manuel’s house. MANUEL and MARGARET.

MANUEL.

Nay, ’twas ill done. The open window shews

He made a breakneck leap into the street.

I searched the room, in case he might have left

Some explanation written: there was none.

I am vexed. ’Tis a most graceless breach of trust.

MARGARET.

What promise made he?

Man.None was asked. The knowledge

Of duty were enough to bind a man

Far less obliged. And then ’tis thankless, Margaret.

Twice have we saved his life: first I, then thou:

And while we sleep he flies. I blame myself,

I should have pledged his word.

Mar.Hadst thou so done,

He would have stayed.

Man.I know not. Now he is gone ...

Go set his room as if he had never been.

We must forget the matter. I have summons

From Hugo, and must leave.

Mar.And when I have done

Thy bidding, may I go to Monreale?

Man. You wish it?

Mar.Yes.

Man.What calls you there?

Mar.A visit.

I’ll take Lucia, and can ride Rosamund.

Man. Nay, nay, I would not have it. Thou wilt meet

With Rosso’s people, maybe Rosso himself;

And he might misinterpret ... and I think

So soon after your game of blindman’s buff,

That since thou canst not love him ...

Mar.Manuel, I promise—

1210

Man. I want no promises; but if thou goest

Remember ...

Mar. Why, I’ll promise ...

Man.Nay, I bid.

Only be wise. Wilt thou be back to-night?

Mar. To-morrow, may I stay so long?

Man.Ay, stay.

Have good care of thyself. Farewell. [Exit.

Mar.Farewell.

(Calling.) Lucia, Lucia; come, Lucia, come!

Enter Lucia.

LUCIA.

My lady.

Mar. To horse, Lucia! we start at once.

Order the horses.

Lu.Holy Mary, defend us!

It cannot be thou meanest ...

Mar.What is this, now?

Last night didst thou not promise?

Lu.If I did,

’Twas madness: think of the risk.

1220

Mar.I take the risk.

Lu. Consider.

Mar.I have considered.

Lu.O, dear mistress,

I fear all will not end well; think again.

Think what thou leavest.

Mar.I think I shall leave thee.

Lu. But when shall we return?

Mar.Maybe to-morrow.

Order the horses. I shall go without thee.

Quick, quick, begone!

Lu.Well, well. Thou hast found a man:

I being a woman must help thee, tho’ ’tis madness.

Mar. Go, girl: I know it. Thou’lt be true, Lucia:

Only be quick.

Lu.Well, well: may heaven forgive us. [Exit.

1230

Mar. Forgive, she saith. Forgive me rather, oh heaven!

The sourness of my spirit hitherto:

Yet now forgive me not if I dare tamper

With this intrinsic passion. O joy, my joy!

This beauteous world is mine:

All Sicily is mine:

This morning mine. I saw the sun, my slave,

Poising on high his shorn and naked orb

For my delight. He there had stayed for me,

Had he not read it in my heart’s delight

I bade him on. The birds at dawn sang to me,

Crying ’Is life not sweet? O is’t not sweet?’

I looked upon the sea; there was not one,

Of all his multitudinous waves, not one,

That with its watery drift at raking speed

Told not my special joy. O happy lovers

In all the world, praise God with me: his angels

Envy us, seeing we are his favourites.

What else could grant such joy? Now on my journey

Must I set forth, to be a brigand’s wife ...

That’s but the outward of it, and looks strange:

For, oh, the heart of it is a fire of passion

To lick up trifling life. Away, such dainty stuff:

Let me stand forth myself.—Yet ere I go

I must send Constance word. To whom to trust

My letter? Ah, Philip ...

Enter Philip.

PHILIP.

Good morning, Margaret.

Mar. Good morning, duke: thou goest to the palace?

Ph. Ay.

Mar. May I ask thee, then, to bear this letter

To Constance? I’d not trust it willingly

Where it might wander.

Ph.’Twill pass from my hands

To hers.

1260

Mar. Pray tell her, for my health I go

To Monreale, or would have come myself.

Ph. I’ll tell her so. I pray the change restore thee,—

And soon. Indeed thou look’st not well. Farewell.

Mar. Farewell. (Aside.) Look I then ill? I never felt

So light and keen in spirit. [Exit.

Ph. (solus). This fits in, too. She is sent to Monreale,

Lest she should make discovery. ’Tis thus

I join the threads. Palicio climbed the wall,

Came hither thro’ the garden: here he stayed

And bound his wound. So far the track. There has been

At least no care to hide it; and now he lies

In the room across the courtyard: wherefore else

Drawn curtains, and the lamp, which yesterday

Burnt, as I saw, in the afternoon? All credit

To the king’s commissioner. Yet must I dissemble,

And not appear in the matter. ’Tis incredible

Of Manuel. What will he allege? He is gone

To the palace now: thither must I, and face him.

[Exit.

SCENE · 2

On the hills above Monreale. Brigands fantastically dressed and armed are seated about on the rocks, with drinking-cups and remains of feast. PALICIO, in a black suit, his right arm in a sling. Much talking and singing, or the scene may open with the following song—

SONG.

I would not change the hills that I range

For a house in the city street:

Nor the price on my head for a tax on my bread.

Liberty, lads, is sweet.

(Palicio getting up on a rock waves them to silence.)

SQUARCIALUPU.

Long live Lord Palicio!

All.Huzzah! Huzzah!

PALICIO.

Thank you, my men. Now silence; I must tell you

The feast is o’er, our meeting at an end.

We have laid our plans: but their success depends

On zealous preparation. Ye must to work.

A brigand. We have another song yet, captain.

Pal. See ye the sun is on this side of the city.

1290

Brigands. The song, the song!

Pal. What is this song ye call for?

A brigand.May’t please your honour,

If Squarcia sing we’ll be content.

Sq.I know

What they would have.

Pal.Sing then: and cut it short.

Sq. Nay, that lies with the chorus. Who hath the lute?

SONG.

If you’d hear me sing,

Why give me a skin of wine.

Creatures have their several ways,

Edod! and I have mine,

Chor.. And I have mine. (ad lib.)

Edod! and I have mine.

If you’d see me fight,

Why let me taste good cheer.

Was not I as good as my word?

Edod! am I not here?

Chor.. Am I not here? (ad lib.)

(Palicio gets up as before.)

Sq. Enough, enough! silence! Now were ye not

A set of loons ... make silence for the captain.

Pal. Hark, men: I bid you leave, each silently

And separately to his allotted task.

Gather your companies at tryst to-night;

Acquaint them of our plans. Once, ere ye go,

Look on those tyrannous towers, and swear revenge.

Revenge on them that grind the people down!

That tax our bread and wine! To-morrow night

Hugo shall need no candles.

Brigands. Revenge, revenge. Huzzah! Death to Hugo!

Burn him!

Pal. Not him, the palace: ’tis to burn the palace.

Him we must take alive.

Brigands.Not kill him, no.

Treat him as he would us.

1320

Pal.If ye love colour,

His gold is ruddier than his coward blood.

Brigands. Ay, ay, his gold—a ransom. Bleed his bags.

Pal. Above all, none forget good Manuel’s kindness,

And what I have told you. If any meet with him

And hurt a hair of his head, ’tis ...

Brigands.Death.

Pal.’Tis death.

Swear all, ’tis death.

All.We swear.

Pal.Now to your work.

Brigands. Huzzah!

Pal. Secretly, then. Farewell! To-morrow night

I’ll meet you all. God grant us a good meeting.

Farewell. [Exit.

1330

Brigands. Huzzah!

During following scene the brigands going, carrying off things to cave.

Sq. Come, help clear off this gear to the cave.

A brigand. Any wine in yon skin, good Squarcia?

Sq. Ay, for the chewing.

Brig. Thank ye. I’m off. Good-day, lads. [Exit.

Sq. Did I not well, I say?

A brigand. But how didst thou find him?—tell us.

Sq. Trust me. Not that ’twas a thing within the

bounds of mortal cleverness if a man should want

luck. But I’d buy the dog that would have run as

straight for him, as ’twere denoted by scent or instinct.

To climb the very wall, and in at the window,

and there to see him just face to face: on a fine

couch in a pleasant chamber enough, with his arm

bandaged ...

Brig. Is his arm broke?

Sq. Ay, and where the nerve runs to the heart:

the lady told me a thousand times that ’twere mortal

to move it; and the surgeon who bound it said that

his balance hung by a thread.

Brig. The lady was with him, then. Didst thou

see her?

Sq. It’s not all I see I’m bound to tell. But if she

was not there, how should she be here? And had

I not persuaded her, would she have let him come,

think you? And that a matter of disputation, an hour

and more.

Brig. How could she stay him?

Sq. Let alone wounds and surgeons, shall a lady

have nothing to say? And she’s hard hit, I take it.

A fine piece, and brings money with her.

Brig. And what may spoil his fighting.

Sq. Wilt thou grudge the captain what he has fairly

won? Or must thou be served first?

Brig. Serve me soon, and serve me well. Yet I like

not the lady. [Exit.

Sq. Nay, nor the coin neither, I’ll go bound. How

should he? Nay ... Wouldn’t old Beedo now have

liked to have been here?

A brigand. Well, he would.

1370

Another. Why came he not?

Sq. A bad reason, man, but a good excuse.

Brig. How mean you?

Sq. As if thou hadst never been on the wrong side

of four walls! tell not me. [Exeunt.

Enter Palicio and Margaret.

Pal. Now thou know’st all.

MARGARET.

But is that all, Giovanni?

Pal. Saw’st thou them well from where thou wert?

Mar.Ay, tell me:

The man in the blue jacket, who is he?

Pal. That’s Squarcialupu: he’s my first lieutenant.

Did they not greet me?

Mar.I could count eighteen.

Are there no more?

1380

Pal.The least of these can muster

Twenty as brave.

Mar.That’s not six hundred men.

Pal. But with them I can raise the town.

Mar.’Tis pity

The barons stand aloof.

Pal.They hold together

On certain claims that touch their own estate.

But in their hate of Hugo they will join us

At first report of our success; and that

I’ll make flame forth.

Mar.Alas! what canst thou do,

Having so little means?

Pal.To-morrow night

We shall surround the palace and capture Hugo.

Mar. One regiment could drive all thy men away.

Pal. He dare not give the word.

Mar.How know’st thou that?

Pal. I have sprung a cranny in his council-board,

Thro’ which crumbs fall to me.

Mar.Nay, but you force him ...

The viceroy to yield up his power to a rebel!

Hugo, his person to your hated hands!

Pal. Well, he may fly; and then my word is, Sack

And fire the palace.

Mar.Giovanni, if he fight,

Thou wilt be killed or taken.

Pal.And what of that?

Mar. What, askest thou! ask what! Methinks the world

Holds but one treasure—thee: and thou dost wrong

Creation, staking all her store at once

On such a sleight of fortune. It shall not be.

Nay, for my sake it shall not. Dost thou love me?

Pal. Love thee? O, Margaret, when I look on thee,

And see the dazzling wealth, with which I hardly

Shall scrape to heaven, may God forgive me, love,

But I would be for ever pinched in hell,

Rather than miss thee.

Mar.To me art thou as precious:

Therefore be wise. Where is the list of names?

Pal. ’Tis here.

Mar. What read I here? These are thy captains,

Palicio: these thy rivals, Margaret!

Why, ’mongst these names—nay, tho’ I here see names

Renowned for outrage—there is not one name

Of such respect, that I can think it possible

Its leadership can bid thee cast away

Thy life, my life, our love.

Pal.They are all brave men.

Mar. They are ignorant, desperate, and reckless men.

Pal. ’Tis by such recklessness I come at right.

Mar. ’Tis recklessness throughout. See, thou art wounded

And weak; a price upon thy head: think of it,—

And trust the people’s rights to Manuel;

Leave them to the barons: we’ve a better task:

Sail o’er to Rome, there reassume thy rank;

Let us be married, and await the day

That Manuel finds thy pardon.

Pal.Tempt me not, Margaret.

Mar. Else are we lost.

Pal.Nay, fear not: there’s a traitor

In the enemy’s camp; from whom I’ll have such tidings

As will ensure success.

Mar.Who is it?

Pal.Blasco.

Mar. Blasco!

Pal.He hath your money; and for that price

Will tell how Hugo may be best surprised.

That is my venture, Margaret ... If it fail ...

Mar. Thou wilt be slain.

Pal.Nay, I may still escape.

Mar. And then thou’lt come?

Pal.I will.

Mar.Promise but that:

That if this venture fail, and thou escape,

Thou wilt not risk again.

Pal.Ay, if I fail.

Mar.Promise.

Pal. I promise.

Mar. Thou wilt lose nothing, for my brother alone

Can do much more than thou with these base men,

Who stain the cause. One favour more.

Pal.What is it?

Mar. ’Tis that this evening, love, be spent together.

Pal. I mean it should. To-night our fellows meet

In various rendezvous, as you may see

Upon the paper. There are ten in all

They will not need my presence till to-morrow,

When the bands join at sundown. O, Margaret:

I knew that thou wouldst come.

Mar.I think, Giovanni,

Thou shouldst have met me first thyself: thy men

Are rough.

Pal.Was any rude?

Mar.Nay, ’twas well meant,

But sounded strangely.

Pal.Say but who it was.

1450

Mar. No, ’tis forgiven.

Pal. (going). Kiss me.

Mar.Ah, now, Giovanni,

Where wilt thou go?

Pal.But for one hour, my dearest,

I must be absent. Then shall I be yours

For all the day.

Mar.Farewell. And prithee send

Lucia. I will await thee.

Pal.Farewell. [Exit.

Mar.I have his promise,

If this scheme fail. ’Tis mine to make it fail.

O, ’tis too dangerous: to trust so far

That dollar-ballasted Iscariot,

The weather-trimming Blasco.—The paper! the list!

I’ll have their names. Where can I write them? Ah!

My prayer-book. I will send them straight to Hugo.

Poor Constance! Burn the palace! Ay, and thee,

For aught they care. Now, who comes first? Bendettu

Jacupu ... and your place?—within the cloister

Of Santo Spirito. Next, Squarcialupu ...

Why, that’s the ruffian who would like a dozen

Wives such as I. He’ll find one were too many.

Go you to prison, sir, and cool your thoughts.

You burn the palace!—Messer Vincentiu

Lazaru ... at his peltry shed at Baido.

Now there’s two pages of them: the little prayers

Will hardly shrive them ... here’s one I cannot read.

B-o-n-o-Bononio, now I have him.

Why who could trust such men? Set them in power

But for a day ... say this next villain here,

Fardello ... he’s a murderer—ay, for him

I write his death, maybe: but for the rest

I’ll take such care that Manuel’s voice shall ease

Their accusation. Now I have them all.

Lucia! Ho, Lucia!

Enter Lucia.

See, take this book:

Return straight to Palermo: find some friend,

Whom thou canst trust: commit it to her hands;

Tell her to give it secretly to Livio,

Bidding him read what is writ down in the margins;

And say ’twas given to her by one she knew not,

And with that message. All our happiness

Is staked on this. Begone. Haste for thy life.

LUCIA.

Alas! what’s this?

Mar.Why, have I frighted thee?

Be brave: I tell thee on this single thread

My life is hanging.

Lu.Trust me, lady, I’d risk

Ten lives for that.

1490

Mar.Hide it. I trust thee. Go.

I have played a bold stroke here: but if it prosper,

For Constance, and Giovanni, and myself,

’Tis not ill done. [Exeunt.

SCENE · 3

A room in the Palace. Enter HUGO and CONSTANCE.

HUGO.

Thou hast a daughter’s duty, I a father’s:

’Tis mine to seek thy good, thine to obey.

CONSTANCE.

I pray thee, father, hear me.

Hu.I have heard thee.

Thou tellest me nought but what I know. The duke

Hath been with me: his purpose to renew

His suit hath my support. ’Tis very honourable—

It shall be welcome. Though thy words to him

Betrayed reluctance, that makes yet no reason

To shun him. He will presently be here:

Stay and receive him.

Con.O, if I do not dream,

Heaven help me now!

Hu.Constance, I pray, be sober.

I am sorry for thee: but what seems thy grief

Will be thy comfort, when thou learn’st the cause

Which presses me to urge it.

Con.What lies behind?

What misery? Say!

Hu.Manuel, whom late we trusted,

Hath turned against me. He hath joined the rebels.

1510

Con. Who dares to slander him?

Hu.Fact makes no room

For slander. The devil himself could not invent

A tale to blacken him. First to the court

He hath writ of me in secret, in the sense

That I have stirred the king’s men to rebellion

By my misrule; and all the while at home

He feeds the mischief, and most treacherously

Favours the rebels, so to magnify

The blame on me he charges.

Con.The crime’s too great.

If this be all I breathe again. The time

When thou wilt prove this ’twill away like smoke.

Not till ’tis proved question our marriage, father.

Hu. The question now with him is not of marriage,

But of his head.

Con.Shame, shame! if these be words,

What is their sense?

Hu.To-morrow, or to-day,

I shall have proof.

Con.I knew ’twas all unproven.

Who brought this lie, and propped it with the promise

To make it true?

Hu.Go, girl, I hear the duke.

He must not see thee thus.

Con.So far is well.

I gladly go.—Dear father!

Hu.Go take thy grief

Where thou canst comfort it. This Manuel

Hath not deceived thee more than me, and me

Would have more grossly wronged.

Con.Alas! alas! [Exit.

Hu. The proof will be to search his house, and so

Both knaves are caught at once. Now to that end

Lest he get wind of it I have bid him hither,

And shall detain him till ’tis done.

Enter Philip.

Your grace,

I have stayed for you.

PHILIP.

’Tis well. I bring conviction.

Palicio lies in Manuel’s house. His room

Is locked and darkened: save for that, and orders

That none shall enter, there is no precaution.

Hu. The abominable Pharisee!

Ph. Now Margaret hath been hurried from the house

On plea of health: I bear a letter from her

To Constance.

Hu.Give’t me.

Ph.Pardon, your excellence;

I promised I would see it in Constance’s hands.

Hu. My hands are hers: a daughter cannot read

Letters her father may not. Nay, the more

Such right’s resented, more’s the need to use it.—

And from a traitor’s house!

Ph. (giving).Your privilege, sir,

Invades my honour.

Hu.Tut, tut, tut, ’tis mine: [Takes it.

Be not so squeamish.[Reads.

I can write all’s well.

Yet, as thou lovest Manuel, breathe no word

Of aught I saw. I go from home to-day;

Will see thee when returned.—Why, this is nothing.

Ph. Taken alone ’twere nothing; but there’s nothing

Could better fit our knowledge; nay it adds

To what we know. I see that Margaret flies

From the discovery that she hath made herself;

And fears for Manuel. I grieve but for her.

His enmity to you precludes all pity.

I have come to see his papers, which contain

Charges against your excellence, prepared

With such unfriendly skill, that to discredit them,

Should ever they reach court, would cost far more

Than any price or pains you now might spend

In their suppression.

Hu.O, the double-faced

Pretentious Greek! But in this other matter

We have him. I’ll charge the deed to his face. He’ll not

Deny it. The embassy delayed last night

May sail this evening, and with them aboard

Shall Manuel fare to the king with his accusers.

We shall at least be rid of him. I will call him.

[Rings a bell.

Thou hast done me a good service.

Ph.Shall I remain?

Hu. I beg you. The cursed villain!

Enter Servant.

I await

The chief justiciary. Shew him hither. [Exit servt.

Ph. (aside). I shall not face him well. He must not guess

My part in this: say he be proved a traitor,

And I abhor all such as undermine

The fabric of the throne,—yet have I shared

His guilt at heart, both in my wish to find it

And from my profit in it! ’Twould seem less foul

To steal a man’s fair earnings than to glean

The waste of his crime. I’ll stand and take what comes.

Enter Manuel.

MANUEL.

My service to your excellence.

Hu.Ay, well.

’Tis of thy service I would speak. Attend me.

Thou art an honest man; in all Palermo

No name so fair as thine. There’s none would dream

That thou at any press wouldst blink the right

In thine own interest: now for these three years

Thou hast done justice honour, holding up

Her majesty for worship: we ourselves

Have strained or waived opinion oftentimes

In trust of thee. ’Twas not then at first hearing

We took the tale which strong concurrent proofs

Now make me charge thee with. Know that ’tis said

That thou hast given a refuge in thy house

To John Palicio. Deny’t, I pray thee.

Man. ’Tis true, your excellence.

Hu.Then first I bid thee

Return him into custody.

Man.Last night

He left me without warning.

Hu.Gone! Then, by heaven!

Thou’rt doubly guilty.

Man.I admit my guilt

Upon the point of negligence: for the rest

I beg your excellence will hear my plea.

Palicio is my kinsman: he was driven

Without his purpose, nor with my connivance,

To shelter in my house. The claim of nature

Withstood the challenge of my royal duty

Suspended now in the interregnum ...

Hu.Enough!

Thou dost admit the act: ’tis downright treason.

I’ll hear no answer. Though thou wouldst deny

My authority, thou shalt not doubt my power.

Thou art my prisoner. To-night the embassy

Will sail for Spain. Thou goest with them to plead

Thy cause before the king.

Man.I shall be ready, sire.

Hu. Thou wilt be here detained until thy house

Is searched: which done thou wilt go home, and there

Resign thy keys. Knowing thy doings, sir,

I treat thee as I find thee. We are enemies.

1619

Man. I pray your excellence, for your daughter’s sake ...

Hu. My daughter! could I wed her to a traitor,

Would she herself consent?

Enter LIVIO with the book, and BLASCO.

Man.Call me not traitor,

Ere I be proved one.

Hu. (to Bl.). Ho! call in the guard. [Exit Blasco.

(To Liv.) What bring you, son? [Talks with him.

Man. (to Ph.). Philip, before I go;—

Thou see’st my case. Fate would look black upon me,

Left I no friend to speak for me: but thee

I trust. Tell Constance what thou knowest; the rest

Margaret can tell you. Add thereto assurance

Both of my innocence and speedy acquittal.

Re-enter Blasco with Guards.

One word and I am gone. Beware of Blasco.

He bears two faces. See he be not trusted

With aught of moment.

Hu. (to officer of guard). The chief justiciary is your prisoner

On charge of treason. Guard him in the palace

Till you hear more.

Man. (to Ph.). Stand my friend, and God aid thee.

[Exit guarded.

Ph. (aside). And so I may. I am not yet stepped so far

That I must push my purpose, where it wounds

Such ample trust.

Hu.Philip, see here.

Ph.What, sire?

Hu. From some most friendly hand we have full tidings

Of all the rebels; where they may be seized

This very night.

Ph. (to Liv.). You bring it?

1640

Liv.They are betrayed

By some one of themselves.

Hu.’Twill end the matter.

Ph. How came you by it?

Liv.A woman brought it me,

Who said ’twas thrust into her hands by one

She knew not, who escaped. She hath since confessed

That ’twas a maid of Manuel’s.

Bl.Look you, tho’,

How close this follows the discovery

Of Manuel’s treason. It must be that some,

On whom he used constraint, smelling his fall

Return to loyalty.

Hu.Most like. Now, Livio,

Seize them to-night. See thou observe in all

The dispositions which I have shewn thee. Stay,

There’s first a vacancy to fill: I make thee

Justiciary in Manuel’s place: in thine

I will take Blasco for my secretary.

Meanwhile I lend him thee: thou wilt have need

Of his experience.

Liv.I thank thee, father.

Bl. And I, your excellence.

Hu.Now to your work.

And then to Manuel’s house, and take possession

Of all thy office gives thee.

[Exeunt Livio and Blasco.

Hu. (to Ph.). Thy matter next:

I will fetch Constance.

1660

Ph.Not now, I pray, not now!

Hu. Nay, wherefore wait? This business shall be settled

In a few words. I’ll bring her to thee straight.

[Exit.

Ph. I pray you. Nay, he is gone. I must stand to it.

I play to win; and now the stakes are mine;

Unless against myself for friendship’s claim

I should uphold my rival. And he’s guilty.

The papers were his own: them he confessed,

And only deepened treason by the excuse

Of kinship with the rebel. And then his servants

Cognizant.—On the other hand his confidence

Staggering the evidence: his trust in me

To comfort Constance. How should Margaret know

More than the facts, or I deny the facts,

Should I plead for him? And yet against the facts

The man himself: his soul revealed to me;

And my persuasion of him. O, he has fallen

To the popular side. Moreover, his acquittal

Were Hugo’s ruin. I cannot help him: nay,

Not though I would; and Fate, which thrusts him down,

Is kind to me.

Re-enter Hugo with Constance.

1680

Hu.Constance, see here the duke:

He hath asked your hand of me: and I most happy

In such a match have granted it.

Con.I am here

Fooled by a promise of evil, but not this.

This is not Manuel’s treason. First of that:

Where’s the pretended proof?

Hu.He hath confessed it.

Con. This tale convicts itself. Treason is close,

And doth not bare the breast. Though here the man

Ye wrong were likelier to confess such crime

Than once be guilty of it.

Hu.He both is guilty

And hath confessed.

1690

Con.To what hath he confessed?

What deed that hatred thus can magnify?

Hu. ’Twas he contrived Palicio’s late escape;

And being detected and charged by me therewith,

He hath here this hour confessed it. Since which time

One of his household hath been traced in league

With the conspirators.

Con.I believe it not.

Would he speak for you, he were here to speak.

Hu. But if at least he hath gone out from the palace

Under strict guard, and sails to-night for Spain?

1700

Con. He is gone?

Hu.He is gone.

Con.Under constraint?

Hu.Most certain,

And charged with treason.

Con. (turning to Ph.). Now, Philip, I bid thee speak.

Ph. Ay, Constance, it is true, but ...

Con.Ay? thou too.

Ay and but: falsest falsehood, seeking grace

In shame. I knew devilry lurked about

When I came hither. I’ll go. I’ll not believe.

I shall know truth at last. [Going.

Hu.Nay, Constance, stay.

Philip will answer thee. Thou questionest him;

Hear him with patience. I shall leave thee with him.

Thou hast been a duteous daughter hitherto,

Recover my good grace ere I return.

(To Ph.) ’Twas an omission, duke, I gave no order

To seize the villain’s servants. I’ll go do it.

Use thy occasion. [Exit.

Ph.Constance, I beg thy favour.

Con. I stay, your grace,—why should I go? My father

Hath bid me hear thee: and ’tis nought to me.

Say what thou wouldst: speak on, nor be officious

To suit thy meaning to me, for there’s nothing

I can believe or doubt.

Ph.O, Constance, think not

That could I end thy sorrow by denial

Of what thou hast heard, I would not. All is true.

My kindest office is to unmask the ill

That this ill hath prevented, and to show thee

A balance of good. There lies ’gainst Manuel

Far more than we have charged and he confessed:

He loves thee, thinkest thou?—He hath used his place

To plot against thy father. I here have papers

In which thyself mayst see what accusation

He hath writ in secret. They are addressed to Spain,

And would have been presented ...

Con.’Tis his writing.

Whence was this filched?

Ph.He gave them me himself.

Con. O, a most open foe. Did he enjoin thee

To bear them to my father?

Ph.Nor have I done so.

Con. Then this, duke, yet remains for thee to do.

Take them at once. I know not what they mean:

But if ’tis secret it may be betrayed.

Do it, I pray thee, do it. [Exit.

Ph.And I could wince

At such reproach, had I dissembled further

Than loyalty may deign, grappling with treason.

Her anger springs but of that nobleness

Which makes her love worth winning; and in the end

It shall be mine again. [Exit.

SCENE · 4

On the hills above Monreale, as before. Enter PALICIO and MARGARET.

MARGARET.

How fresh the morning air is. See how the mist

Melts in the sun, and while we look is gone,

Leisurely gathered on his sloping beams.

And guarded by her angel towers the city

Sleeps like an island in the solemn gray:

’Tis beauteous.—

PALICIO.

I love the city: it holds the stir.

To-night I shall be there, and to do something

Worthy of thee.

Mar.Whate’er thou dost, Giovanni,

I could not love thee more.

1750

Pal.Beneath yon roofs

There’s many a heart that quicker beats and leaps

To hear my name.

Mar.Thinkest thou still of them?

They love thee not.

Pal.Not?

Mar.Nay; the thousandth part

Of my love dealt among them were enough

To make each man a hero. Now they are brave

Only to cheer thee on: and I that love thee,

And love but thee, shall lose thee.

Pal.Have better faith,

All will be well.

Mar.Pray heaven it be.

Pal.O, Margaret,

Speak not so sadly: I would have thee brave

To cheer me on as they. Last night I dreamed

That thou hadst turned against me.

Mar.What, Giovanni?

Pal. Thou didst deride me.

Mar.I deride thy dream.

Pal. I thought I failed, and lost thy love.

Mar.O, faithless,

That could not lose my love. If thou succeed

Or fail, ’tis one. But tell me, giv’st thou heed

To visions? Are they not a fickle fabric,

Distorted fancies of the spirit, intruding

By night in memory’s darkened cell? Or holdst thou

They come from heaven?

Pal.Ay. Talk not of them now.

Let me not think of it.—

1770

Mar.See here the flowers

I have plucked. Know’st thou, Giovanni, why they grow?

Pal. How meanest thou?

Mar.Why in one place one flower

Will grow, and not another.

Pal.Canst thou tell?

Mar. The spirits of good men, allowed to wander

After their death about the mortal sites

Where once they dwelt, there where they love to rest

Shed virtue on the soil, as doth a ray

Of sunlight: but the immortal qualities

By which their races differ, as they once

Differed in blood alive, with various power

Favour the various vegetable germs

With kindred specialty. This herb, I think,

Grows where the Greek hath been. Its beauty shows

A subtle and full knowledge, and betrays

A genius of contrivance. Seest thou how

The fading emerald and azure blent

On the white petals are immeshed about

With delicate sprigs of green? ’Tis therefore called

Love-in-a-mist.

Pal.Who is this thistle here?

Mar. O, he, with plumèd crest, springing all armed

In steely lustre, and erect as Mars,

That is the Roman.

Pal.Find the Saracen.

Mar. This hot gladiolus, with waving swords

And crying colour.

Pal.And this marigold?

Mar. That is the Norman: nay, his furious blood

Blazes the secret. ’Tis said where’er he roamed

This flower is common; but ’tis in those climes

Where he wrought best it wears the strongest hue,

And so with us ’tis bravest.

Pal.And that’s thy countryman!

Dost thou know Greek?

1800

Mar.My father ever spoke it;

And Manuel made me study in it, because

Their learning was the best.

Pal.And yet their books

Were little thought of till great Frederick’s time,—

The infidel.

Mar.Was he an infidel?

Pal. He loved their heathen books and mocked the Pope:

And brought into his court a Scottish wizard,

Who trafficked with the devil.—See, Margaret;

Their courts are all alike. Here is the letter

Fat Blasco writes me. He betrays his master

For those few coins thou gav’st me in thy bag.

[Mar. takes letter.

Gold goeth in at any gate but heaven’s.

Ay, ’tis his writing, tho’ it be not signed.

It tells how Hugo would escape by ship,

And how to intercept him.

Enter hastily a Brigand.

BRIGAND.

Captain, a word.

Pal. Speak, Roger.

Brig.’Tis for thee, captain, alone.

Pal. I am alone, this lady is as I.

What is’t?

Brig. Thou biddest?

Pal.Speak, man, by heav’n!

Brig.Our men

Are all betrayed. They were in dark of night

Closely surrounded at their several trysts

By Hugo’s soldiers; bound, and taken to prison.

Pal. O, Christ! my dream.

Mar. (aside). Now, well done, Livio!

Done like a man.

Pal.Thou say’st all taken?

Brig.All.

Mar. (aside). I fear joy will betray me.

Pal.It cannot be

They are all betrayed.

Brig.As many as had assembled

At the ten trysts were taken.

Pal.Who hath done it?

(To Mar.) Take courage, dearest.

Mar.Ay, ay.

Pal.Nay, thou’rt pale.

Mar. I thought that I should faint. (To Pal. aside.)

O, fly, Giovanni!

Fly now with me! thou see’st this game is lost.

Pal. Be still awhile. (To Brigand.) And where wert thou?

Brig. In the city,

From house to house.

Pal.What say they there?

1830

Brig.This tale

I heard. ’Tis told that ’mongst our men was one

Of Benedettu’s band, who, being engirt,

Stabbed himself to the heart. Some cried thereon

That he was the betrayer. There are others

Who dare the thought I would not breathe if thou

Couldst think I thought it.

Pal.Hold! I know, I see.

All hath been like to build it. Who is with thee?

Brig. Three, and the boy Federigo.

Pal.Go to the hut:

There I will join you. [Exit Brigand.

Margaret, fare thee well

Now for some time. This most untoward treason

Demands my care. Lucia is not far.

Mar. What wilt thou do?

Pal.Whatever may be done:

Trust me.

Mar.O, while thou’rt safe, Giovanni, fly.

I claim thy promise. Remember it: thou wilt see

If I deride thee. We will make this ill

Our perfect good.

Pal.It cannot be. It cannot.

Mar. What wilt thou do?

Pal.I know not. Thou remain.

I will go see these men, and send thee word.

Farewell. [Exit.

Mar.O, I had betrayed myself but that my fear

Took other pretext. Ah! well done, well done!

The ruffians caught—Giovanni safe, and mine;

Giovanni mine. Ah, Messer Squarcialupu,

And all your gang. Lucia, ho, Lucia! [Calling.

Yet will I have them treated well. Ay, now,

Manuel must know. No drop of their base blood

Shall stain my hand. Lucia!

Enter Lucia.

LUCIA.

Here I am.

Mar. The men are caught, Lucia; all goes well.

There’s none to steal Giovanni from me now.

We go to Rome. But first I must see Manuel.

Lu. I pray he take all kindly.

Mar.I fear him not.

Giovanni promised, should this venture fail,

To sail to Rome.

Lu.And I? shall I to Rome?

Mar. See, see! who is it, that gallops down the hill?

Why, ’tis Giovanni!

Lu.Where, my lady, where?

Mar. See’st thou not by the firs?

Lu.I hear the hoofs,

But cannot see the rider.

Mar.There he goes:

Now on the road.

Lu.I see him.

Mar.Look, Lucia;

That is his horse.

Lu.Maybe a messenger

He mounts for speed. He rides to Monreale.

Mar. Now we shall see. Nay, nay: he turns to the left.

He’s for Palermo: and ’tis he, ’tis he,

Giovanni.

Enter the Brigand with a letter.

Brig. A letter for the lady, from the captain.

[Gives and stands aside.

Mar. Give’t me. I faint. Lucia, take it, read it.

Look! Read it me. I cannot see. The letters dance.

Lu. (reading).

Margaret, there’s but one course. My men suspect me.

Of those who held this secret, I alone

Was absent. Manuel’s shelter, my escape,

Thy presence here, all point alike at me. 1880

I could not say farewell! When thou hast this

I am gone. I ride to join my men in prison.

Mar. Ah! ah! I knew it, I knew it! what have I done? [Sinks down.

Lu. Mistress, my dearest mistress!

ACT · IV

SCENE · 1

The hall in Manuel’s house: it is hung with black. PHILIP and LIVIO; the latter dressed in black, at a desk.

PHILIP.

Argue not with me, Livio: Manuel’s death

Lies at my door. This last catastrophe

Followed on his disgrace, which I was main

To bring about.

LIVIO.

But since his guilt was clear,

Your deed was honourable.

Ph.I am not sure.

I was too hasty. How can I quit myself

In the ill I have done thy sister?

Liv.Her fever, duke,

Cannot be laid to you.

Ph.’Twas the three shocks

Following so fast. Manuel’s disgrace, and then

My suit urged out of time, and last his death:

’Twill be no wonder if her mind give way.

Liv. Please heaven it pass. I never thought she loved him

So well.

Ph. Nor I, be sure. Where is that Blasco?

Liv. He went to gather what the sailors know

Of Manuel’s end.

Ph.No hope but that he’s drowned.

I go now to the palace. Should I meet

With Blasco, it may be I shall detain him. [Going.

Liv. Ah!

Ph.He has lied to me.

Liv.If there be better tidings

Of Constance, send them hither.

Ph.Indeed I will.

Is there no news of Margaret?

Liv.Not a word. [Exit Philip.

She knows I am here, no doubt: but when she hears

Of Manuel’s death she must return.—I think

That when her brother lived to do his worst,

My suit had fairer chance.

Enter Blasco.

Well, count, what news?

BLASCO.

Excellent.—Manuel was drowned, drowned like a dog.

I have seen the captain of the ship that ’scaped.

He tells that, putting forth at night, they kept

Their course till dawn, when in a fog they drave

On the French fleet, some two-and-twenty sail.

Of our five vessels three were taken: one,

His own, escaped, and the other—that’s the one

On which sailed Manuel—by a tall ship,

Which flew the admiral’s pennon, was run down,

And sunk in sight.

Liv.The news will please my father,

As it doth thee. For me ’tis ruin: my hope

I might please Margaret working for her brother

Is gone. Now will she hate me more than ever.

Bl. You never could have won her while he lived.

Liv. Well, take these papers. There are here the orders

For the execution of Palicio

To-morrow, in the public square, at noon.

See them in proper hands. They need a seal.

Bl. ’Twill be a pleasure. ’Twas the kindest freak,

This self-surrender.

Liv.He was strangely dashed,

Looking for Manuel, to find me here.

Bl. He’ll find that friend no more.

1930

Liv.Take them and go.

And for the present, count, avoid the duke:

He is angry with thee. [Exit Blasco.

I shall not leave this house

Till I be sure Margaret means not to come.

The unkindest tempers are broke down by grief:

And since she cannot blame me, she may find

Comfort in my compassion,—ay, and thank me

For some consideration.—She will see

I have put on black, and set the house in mourning,

Have ordered mass, have had his room shut up ...

Is there now nothing more? Why, who is this?

Enter Margaret, throwing off a veil.

MARGARET.

Livio! thou here! Where is my brother?

Liv.Oh!

Margaret!

Mar. Where is my brother? I am come

To speak with him. Where is he?

Liv.Hast thou heard nothing?

Mar. Heard what? Where is he?

Liv.O, if thou knowest not ..

Mar. What is it? speak. Why is the house in black?

What means it? say.

Liv.Nay, let it not be me

To tell thee.

Mar.Thinkest thou my fancy’s horror

Is gentler than thy bluntest tale? Speak quickly.

Liv. ’Twas on his own confession of connivance

In John Palicio’s shelter and escape,

My father put him from his place, and sent him

To answer to this charge before the king.

He sailed two nights ago. The ship ...

Mar.Go on, sir!

Liv. Our ships fell in with the enemy, and all

But two were captured, one on which he sailed,

And one which brought the news.

Mar.And Manuel’s ship?

Liv. ’Tis said the ship on which he sailed was sunk.

Mar. (falling on a chair). Sunk, say you, and he?...

Liv. My sister at the tidings straight fell ill,

And her mind wanders. Bear a braver heart.

Mar. O, fatal day. ’Tis I, ’tis I have done it.—

And did none see him?

Liv.Margaret, dearest Margaret,

Take courage. I have shared thy sorrow, Margaret:

Cannot I comfort thee? O, sweetest Margaret,

Thou dost not know my love.

Mar. (standing, and showing the dagger). Away! away!

Liv. Nay, wherefore treat me thus?

Mar.Is this an hour

To force thy love upon me?

Liv.Margaret,

Hast thou no pity?

Mar.Think if I have pity

To spend on thee.

Liv.If thou wouldst slay me, Margaret,

Thou need’st no dagger.

1970

Mar.Sir, stand back, I say:

And first tell plainly what thou knowest. One ship

Of three escaped?

Liv.The hindmost ’twas, that fled ...

Mar. And brought the tidings?

Liv.Ay.

Mar.And was none saved

Out of the ship which sunk?

Liv.I know not.

Mar.Know’st not?

There’s hope, thank God. And thou!—Why, if in thy heart

Lurked the least feeling, ’twould have shewn this side,

Not leapt to the worst ... Come, sir, I’ll keep this sorrow:

’Tis not with thee I’d share my fear for Manuel ...

Nor any other; tho’ my need compels me,

If thou’rt the man sits in his place.

1980

Liv.I am.

Mar. He would have aided me.

Liv.But I will aid thee

More than a brother. Thou canst ask no favour

I will not grant.

Mar.Sir, I shall ask no favour:

Nor aught but what it is thy part to grant,

Unless it be promise of secrecy.

Liv. O, but one secret with thee! there’s no jewel

In all the world I would esteem as that.

Mar. Where’s Giovanni Palicio, sir?

Liv.Palicio!

Mar. Ay, he’s my kinsman.

Liv.He is in the palace dungeon,

Awaiting death.

1990

Mar.He’s my near kinsman, Livio,

And must not die: and, being condemned to die,

I, as his kinswoman, desire a pass

To visit him in prison when I choose. [Livio writes.

My purpose with him is to extort a pledge

That he will leave the country, on which condition

I look for his release.

Liv.Here is the order.

And use it as thou wilt.

Mar. (taking). I thank you for it.

Liv. If ’tis so near thee he go quit, what means

Better than mine to work it?

Mar.I have means.

Liv. With whom?

Mar.I have the means.

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Liv.Believe it not.

There’s none could win this favour of my father.

Hath not his cry been Death to Hugo?

He’s more than rebel. There’s a private hate

Which makes his sentence grateful.

Mar.I have means.

Liv. ’Twere easier wouldst thou trust me. See, ’tis done

Without more words. Margaret, I’ll risk this thing

For thee. Palicio shall escape to Spain,

To Naples, where thou wilt, if thou ...

Mar.If what?

Liv. Margaret, accept my love.

Mar.O, Livio,

I am too sad to be angry with thee now.

But know if ever thou wouldst merit love

By generosity, thou must not beg

A bargain. ’Do this and I’ll love thee,’ ay,

That may be said, but not ’I’ll do this thing

If thou wilt love me’: and thou, Livio,

A chief justiciary!

Re-enter Blasco.

Liv.Hush, I pray thee!

Bl. The lady Margaret! We are very happy

In this return.

Mar. (aside to Blasco). What hadst thou of Palicio?

Bl. Ha! Sayst thou?...

Mar. (aside). Meet me at the palace, count.

I have thy letter. (To Liv.) I see there is no place here

In my house for me. I have still a hope, and in it

Shall fortify my comfort ... If aught is heard

I shall be with thy sister. Thou and Blasco

May serve me if ye will. [Exit.

Liv.What said she to you?

Bl. Art not thou too accustomed to her wit?

I bring ill news. Thy sister still is worse,

And calls for thee, and Rosso thinks ’tis well

That thou shouldst go.

Liv.Bide thou here in my place ...

Bl. Nay, I must go with thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE · 2

A public place. MANUEL disguised as a friar meeting ROSSO.

MANUEL.

’Tis doctor Rosso.

ROSSO.

2030

At your service, father.

Man. May I speak with thee?

Ros.With pleasure.

Man.Stand we aside.

Hast thou forgotten me?

Ros.Nay, for I think

I have never seen thee ... or I ask thy pardon.

Man. Now thou shouldst know me well.

Ros.Thy voice I think

I do remember.

Man. (discovering). Do you know me now?

Ros. Manuel! Thank God!

Man.Is it a good disguise?

Ros. Metamorphosis ... if indeed ’tis thou,

In such a husk. Then thou’rt nót drowned!

Man.Indeed,

There was a time when I had some fear to be;

But how came you to know it?

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Ros.Of the ships

One returned home with news that thine was sunk.

Was not that true?

Man.Ay, ay,

Ros.How didst thou ’scape?

Man. I took my only chance, leapt overboard

And swam to the enemy. By heavenly fortune

The ship that ran us down was Raymond’s, he

Who served so long with us. I had left my foes

To find old friends: and when the fight was o’er,

I told him in what hapless case I stood,

And promising to hold myself no less

His prisoner, and surrender to his master

At Naples if need were, I bade him land me

By night at Cefaledi; there arrived,

By the good sailor friars I was clad

In the disguise you see, and came in speed

To look to matters here.

Ros.There is great need.

Man. Ay, my affairs with Constance?

Ros.I grieve to tell

Constance is lying ill.

Man.She is in your hands?

Ros. Ay.

Man. Doth she doubt of me?

Ros.At your committal

A fever must have seized her. Then your death,

Which should have been concealed, was urged upon her,

In countenance of duke Philip’s suit ...

Man.How? Philip!

Ros. Did you not guess?

Man.Is’t possible?

Ros.At that

Her mind gave way: ’tis question of her life.

Man. I bring the medicine to work her cure.

Is’t not enough?

Ros.I trust so.

Man.And I think it.

How blind I have been! I trusted Philip, and he

Was playing against me. Time will right me, Rosso,

In this as in the other. Patience. And what

Of your affairs ...

Ros.How mine?

Man.Your love affairs.

Ros. My love affairs?

Man.Ay,—Margaret.

2070

Ros.Margaret?

Man. Can I be wrong? Her head was turned the day

She brought you to Palicio.

Ros.O, Manuel,

This makes it sure.

Man.Yes, and I’m glad of it.

Ros. Nay, nay: pray hear me. On the very day

Palicio left your house, she went, ’twas said,

To Monreale: there she hath not been seen.

Was’t to Palicio?

Man.Now, please God, thou’rt wrong.

Say, where is he?

Ros.Stranger than all, he has made

Surrender of himself to Livio,

Our new justiciary, and awaits his death

In Hugo’s dungeon.

Man.How! And Margaret?

Ros. She hath now this morn returned, full of distraction

As well might be, but firm beyond her wont.

She is in the palace, where she nurses Constance

With the cool skill of one that hath his stake

Ventured elsewhere ...

Mar.Good God! Now if thou’rt right,

Rosso, this matter needs me more than the other.

Thank heaven I am here. Constance is in thy hands:

Thou hast her cure. Yet use it with discretion,

Knowing my hazard. I shall visit at once

The archbishop; he will stand my friend, and give me

Commission in the habit of a priest

To see Palicio. Nay, there’s not a moment

To lose. Thou mayst contrive that Constance too

Should send for me; maybe I thus might see her.

Farewell. I go, yet must I take a name;

Let it be Thomas, father Thomas. To-night

Can I rest at thy house?

Ros.I pray you will.

Man. An hour hence couldst thou meet me there?

Ros.I will.

God speed you.

Man. O, Rosso, Rosso, I fear thou’rt right ...

[Exit.

2101

Ros. Ay, ay. I’m right. Alas for Manuel.

’Tis almost pity he is escaped from death.

I would tell Constance, but her throbbing brain

Hath no interpreter, and in her ear

All words are meaningless, or mean alike

Something insane, which in her eager dreaming

Steals the world’s place. I have no power to tell.

[Exit.

SCENE · 3

Room in the Palace. HUGO and PHILIP meeting.

HUGO.

No cheer. Thy questioning looks may not be answer’d

With any brightness, duke: and yet take heart.

The fever of our climate is in the onset

Oft overmasked as this. ’Twill clear and pass.

’Twere quite incredible she should so sicken

Of mere affection. The compacted body

Hath its machinery for health and action,

Its appetites for food and rest, too firm

To be unfixed by fancy. Like a river

Our life flows on, whose surface storms may vex,

But never move the current from its bed.

PHILIP.

I heartily repent my part in this.

I wronged poor Manuel.

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Hu.Now thou wrong’st me.

Him being dead thou canst not wrong. ’Tis plain

The objection falls. If once there was a motive

That might have stayed thee ...

Ph.Nay, upbraid me not.

Hu. How, I upbraid thee?

Ph.That I pressed my suit.

Hu. Rather for slackness in it.

Ph.If she recover

’Tis all I pray for.

Hu.Not so. This will pass.

’Twill be forgotten. All will be forgotten.

Look but on Margaret, doth her brother’s death

Craze her?

Ph.Indeed, I think she is nigh distracted;

And if she bear up better there’s a reason:

She hath a comforter. Nay, I may tell you

I saw your doctor here take her aside,

And when he spoke, her face of woe lit up.

She loves him. ’Twas a match that Manuel wished.

Hu. Nay, nay! what! Rosso, the apothecary!

Enter Livio and Blasco.

Ah, Livio; Constance calls thy name, ’tis hoped

That she may know thee.

LIVIO.

Is she better, sire?

Hu. Nay: but she asked for thee, and Rosso said

Thou shouldst be sent for. Come within.

Ph.May I

Far as the door?

Hu.Ay, come.

BLASCO (aside to Liv.).

2140

Tell Margaret,

Who hath some matter for me, that I am here.

[Exeunt Hugo and Livio.

Ph. Count, thou hast lied to me. If that suffice

To raise thy temper, meet me when thou wilt:

If not, and Constance die, I’ll use thee worse. [Exit.

Bl. Ay, ay. No doubt there may be danger for me

Even from that quarter: but I have a foe

That threats me more. How came she by the letter?

Only Palicio and his messenger

Could know ’twas mine.

Enter Margaret.

MARGARET.

’Tis business with thee, count:

Therefore few words. I have thy treasonous letter

And other proofs, which I shall bring against thee

Unless thou do my bidding.

2152

Bl.What is that,

My lady Peremptory? speak thy will.

Mar. Attend. Palicio is condemned to die

At noon to-morrow. I require that thou

Contrive that he escape, ay, and go clear

Three hours before that time.

Bl.Impossible.

Mar. ’Tis not so, count. For Livio had promised me

The very thing; but since his price exceeds

What I need pay to thee ...

2160

Bl.My price, how mean you?

Mar. I will give back thy letter to thy hands,

And promise secrecy in every matter

I had against thee.

Bl.Give me now the letter,

And I will do it.

Mar.Nay. Thou’lt do it first.

Bl. Then say that if at nine to-morrow morn

I have a friendly guard—

Mar.Keep to that hour:

’Twill do. I shall be there to see it done.

I’ll bring the letter with me. I can provide

His further safety. If thou fail, the enquiry,

Which I can set on foot, delays his death,

Till I find other means.

Bl.But still I see not

My own security.

Mar.Thou hast my promise:

And thy security is only this,

To keep to thine. I go. Remember, nine. [Exit.

Bl. Wheu! wheu! Who hath the secret now? Indeed,

I see this dainty lady hath a lover

We little dreamed of. Therefore was he housed

With Manuel. O, Giovann Palicio:

Thus Livio’s rival. And thou blab of me

To mistress Margaret, dost thou? well, well, well!

I’ll see thee die for that. Die now thou must.

I have, sir, but to tell this tale in the ear

Of the chief justiciary, and I am saved.

Re-enter Livio.

Livio, thou hast a rival.

Liv.I know.

Bl.Thou knowest?

Liv. My father saith Margaret will marry Rosso.

Bl. Rosso! Rosso be hanged! ’Tis John Palicio.

Liv. Palicio!

Bl.Yes, Palicio.

Liv.Nay.

Bl.I’ll tell thee.

Hark.—Was he not concealed in Manuel’s house?

Liv. Well?

Bl.And escaping from his house by night,

The next day where was Margaret?

Liv.Ah!

2190

Bl.And then

’Twas she betrayed the rebels.

Liv.Eh!

Bl.We traced

The little book to her servant.

Liv.That’s against it.

Bl. Nay: it explains why all the names were there,

Only not his.

Liv.But then ... nay, why should he

Surrender?

Bl.That’s but madness any way.

But now she comes demanding his deliverance.

Liv. Ay, she doth. O, the villain! he shall die.

Bl. He shall; but hark, I have promised Margaret

To set Palicio free at nine to-morrow.

Say that we go together. Margaret comes

To see her lover freed. Her we will take

And keep confined until his execution;

Which for our purpose may be hurried on.

Or if ...

Liv.Stay; why this promise? In the course

Of justice he must die.

Bl.Not so. My promise

To set him free was made for two good reasons.

First hearing thou hadst offered her the like:

Next for the knowledge that on my refusal

She could find other means. Beside all which

She bargains to restore me certain letters

I sent her years ago, which I confess

I am now ashamed of: (aside.)—Any lie will serve

To smooth this idiot.—These she brings with her,

And I can take them from her. My object gained

I hand her o’er to thee. For all her scorns

Repay her as thou wilt.

Liv.I fear her.

Bl.Nay,

I can secure thee. Come. [Exeunt.

SCENE · 4

Dungeon of the Palace. PALICIO discovered. A door at back of prison is L. of centre.

PALICIO.

I cannot think of death. Imagination

Is barren on that point, and hath no picture;—

To be so near should better prick the fancy.—

I see a grave—but stand beside the grave ...

Nothing.—And yet I am so near.—I judge

From this how dizzily deep rides the division

’Twixt this world and the next; tho’ in Time’s face

’Tis thin, ay, more invisibly sharp than is

The axe’s edge, which makes it.—Is our life’s stuff

So different? All the joys and hopes of earth

Wrought of too coarse a fibre to invest

An inkling of that other unseen world,

Which hath this only entrance? Wherefore my mind

Wanders in wasteful contemplation back

O’er what I have done, pitifully seeking

To wear renewed the robe of those proud deeds,

To dream again her disappointed dreams;

And over all is Margaret, ever Margaret;

Floating before these vain soul-treacherous eyes,—

My tempter and tormentor.

Enter Gaoler.

GAOLER.

A priest sent from the archbishop. Shall he enter?

Pal. Yea: bid him enter. But I pray thee now,

Thou execrable minion of that devil

Who sucks our people’s blood, come not thyself:

Each time I see thee I must wish to kill thee.

Thou art my soul’s last peril. Keep away.

Gaoler. Whate’er I be, I can be civil, sir. [Exit.

Pal. Ay, I was wrong. Now must I ask his pardon.

I am not yet fit to die. Yet is’t not written

“If hand or foot offend thee, cut it off;

If thine eye, pluck it out”? I have done all this;

Yet lurks there something in the accusing balance

Which my soul sickens at. What if I have lost

My world and soul? This good priest comes in time.

Enter Manuel disguised as priest.

2252

Father, if thou be come to shrive my soul,

I need thee sorely.

MANUEL.

I am here for that.

Pal. There’s comfort in thy face. I have much to tell.

Thou know’st me, who I am?

Man.Ay, son.

Pal.I pray

What said the archbishop of me?

Man.Pause not now

To ask and weigh man’s judgment, who so soon

Must answer to the Judge of all.

Pal.Nay, nay.

If thou bring hither such a thought of me,

What can I tell thee? How shall I begin?

Man. If there be any one thing on your mind,

More than another, which now brings you shame,

Begin with that.

Pal.Ay: such a thing there is.

Man. What is’t?

Pal.’Tis the story of the mischief,

Which makes me need thee; which hath sent me here.

For I was single-hearted, single-eyed,

As thou or any of the saints, who hold

Their place in heaven secure, three days ago,—

But three days: If thou then hadst come to me

I should have said, My sins are all forgiven;

I only beg of thee the heavenly bread

To be my passport to my home prepared.

My earthly sword hath won a heavenly crown.

I have not left undone aught, save where God’s will

Forbade accomplishment, and if I have done

Aught unpermitted ’twas in zeal’s excess.

My errors are the saints’—three days ago ...

And now my boast is gone, my soul is stained.

Hark, while I tell. Satan, who saw me thus

Pure-hearted and elect, an envied prey,

Used all his skill to take me: Ay, he came

And showed me, in the room where I lay sick,

Wounded, and weak and faint, a beauteous woman,

And all love’s world. He said, Take this; but I

Was ready awhile, and answered, Not for me.

I thread the narrow way; I climb at heaven.

If I touch this, I perish. But he said,

Not so, ’tis thy due prize. Take it, Palicio!

’Twas the old tale—“Thou shalt not surely die.”

I took it. God deserted me that hour:

My friends suspected me: all things went ill:

And now ...

Man.Stay. First, this woman, who misled you,

Is she your wife?

Pal.Nay, ’tis but now three days ...

Man. You say she is not your wife. Is then your sin

To have leapt the bounds which hold unmarried lovers?

Pal. O, father, thou couldst never ask such thing

If thou didst know who ’twas. Nay, thou mayst know:

’Twas Manuel’s sister,—Margaret of Palermo.

Man. (partly discovering). See, I am Manuel. * * *

* * * Ay, and so far is well.

Now say, did Margaret contrive thy flight?

Pal. ... (assents).

Man. And after followed thee to Monreale?

And met thee on the hills?

Pal. ... (assents).

Man.Then tell me now

Why hast thou left her?

Pal.Nay. Question me not.

Man. Why hast thou left her?

Pal.Why come to me thus?

I needed but a priest to comfort me,

And show me on death’s road: thou drag’st me back

To torture me. Thou canst not understand.

Man. Thou ow’st to me more than to any priest,

Who for thy sake might hear, to tell me true.

Why hast thou left her?

2310

Pal.If thou wert a priest,

Then wouldst thou see how well the stalking fiend

Snared for my soul. I planned for yesternight

To storm the palace: and I had promised Margaret

To make no further venture if that failed,

But sail with her to Rome and there be married,

Using thy interest to reclaim my rank.

But on the day I gave that word, my men

Were all betrayed, taken, and led to prison.

I was with Margaret, as well they knew:

My love for her, my shelter at thy house,

My flight permitted, set them on the thought

That I had been corrupted, was the traitor.

Fly with me, then cried Margaret. Ay, the fiend too

Said, Fly: go safe. I foiled him. I came here.

That was my only answer.

Man.And didst thou not

Betray them?

Pal.I! Palicio! when did I

Betray?

Man. Stay, while in turn I shew to thee

Another tale made of the self-same matter.—

A price set on thy head, pursued by justice,

Bleeding to death, thou camest to my house

Asking for shelter, begging but for life.

I gave it at my risk,—how great that risk

I’ll shew thee soon;—there at my house my sister

Secretly tended thee, and won thy cure.

Thou in return didst, all unknown to me,

Obtain her love, and use it to break trust,

Flying by stealth at night: and then, being fled,

Didst scruple not to use thy flight, to work

The very thing for which thy life was owed.

Further, when that went wrong, merely for fear

Men should think ill of thee, thou didst desert

Her, to whose love was due that thou wert free;

Wronging her then again, as me before ...

Pal. Manuel, forbear; thee I confess I wronged:

For the rest thy taunts are vain.

Man.Wait: there is more.—

Thy refuge being discovered, I was charged

With treason, and in course shipped hence for Spain.

My ship was sunk, and I, but for God’s mercy,

Drowned. My disgrace and rumoured death so wrought

On Constance, that she lies in life’s last hope.

To all of us thou hast done unmeasured ill:

What is thy plea?

Pal.Though God himself should curse me,

My purpose hath been good.

Man.Ay, that I’ll grant:

Thou’rt for the right, but being too hot upon it

Mistakest right. Thou art numbered with the madmen

Who, thinking the whole world’s unhappiness

Hangs on one string, tread all else underfoot

So they may reach to cut it.—And where’s the good?

Thyself, too, in what plight, that after all

This sacrifice of others’ rights, thou rushest

To die to save thine honour from a stain,

That needs no washing!

Pal.Enough: there let it end:

I die to-morrow.

Man.Nay, thou must escape:

Retrieve all that thou canst. I now shall go

To Margaret, whom before I feared to meet.

She will be working for thee. If she fail,

The archbishop yet hath power to stay thy death

Till I can serve thee. If thy love for her,

And hers for thee abide, you must be married.

Nay, all she urged was good.

2370

Pal.O, ’tis impossible.

Work not for my escape: ’tis best I die.

Man. Nay, nay. Thou that canst fight, fight with thyself.

The brave despair that fear not: that’s the shock

The strongest suffer. Thou wast ill of late;

Wert thou now strong, shame would not crush thy spirit. [Going.

Pal. Manuel, go not!

Man.Yes, I must go. Remember

My name is Father Thomas. None must guess

Who hath been with thee.—Farewell. Fight with thyself;

Palicio, with thyself. Thou shalt be saved. [Exit.

ACT · V

SCENE · 1

The same. PALICIO as before.

PALICIO.

2380

Three hours have fully passed since first I marked

Yon grated hole grow rosy, and exchange

Moonlight for dawn. Now soon will Margaret come:

And I must go forth to the world disgraced,

To fly my country or hide: ay, at the cue

Of the chief justiciary, led by a woman.

Hast thou the heart, Giovann Palicio,

To call this freedom. Nay, since thy right hand

Was raised ’gainst wrong in vain, and thou thyself

Art charged with wrong, and must admit the wrong,

Were’t not now best to end, and shroud thy fortune

In veils of death? Thou that hast led the people,

Hast thou a knee for favours? Will thy tongue

Confess I wronged thee, Manuel, I come forth

To be thy prisoner: and I wronged thee, Margaret:

I will come forth to be thy pensioner?

Shame: rather would I die.

Enter Margaret.

MARGARET.

’Tis I, Giovanni: all is well: thou’rt safe,

Manuel has told me all. Thou dost repent.

All is prepared. Ask not my pardon: give me

One kiss—I have forgiven thee. Be not sad.

’Twas like thee as I love thee, nobly done:

And being so cruel to thyself ’twas easy

Thou shouldst forget what I too now forget,

Recovering thee. I saw thee ride away,

And guessed before the letter. O, Giovanni,

Thank God, thou’rt safe. Look, I have brought the money

To serve thee on thy journey till the day

We meet again; and more. Thy ship will sail

But to Messina: there thou wilt disbark.

Nay, take the money; thou wilt need it, love,

’Tis Manuel’s gift, not mine.

Pal. (taking). I have no heart,

Margaret, for what is done on my behalf.

I thank him, but ...

Mar.Alas, alas! Giovanni:

I looked to find thee glad of heart and happy.

Our troubles all are over. Manuel lives,

Whom we thought drowned: Constance, who lay in death,

Hath risen from her bed: and even our marriage

Is furthered by my brother. How can it be

Thou art so dismal, and thy kiss as cold

As is this prison?

2420

Pal.I would not leave this prison.

Mar. Thou wouldst not leave it?

Pal.No: dankness and darkness

Are now my friends. I have failed. How can I wish

To step in the light of heaven?

Mar.O, then I see

This death-delivering dungeon hath o’ercome thee.

——There’s news. This morn the ships arrived from Spain.

They must bring tidings of the king’s accession.

We shall learn all to-day. When he’s proclaimed,

There’s nought that thou couldst do if thou wert free.

What thou hast done may have determined much.

Pal. When shall I hear of it?

2430

Mar.Love, thou must sail

Quickly and secretly: and canst not hear

Until thou come to land. But then if I

Should meet thee there with Manuel, oh, what joy,

Could I be first to tell thee.

Pal.Dost thou think

That Manuel hath forgiven me for the wrong

I did him, stealing from his house by night?

Mar. That was my theft, Giovanni; and he forgives:

Cry not thou forfeit.—See, I bring thy dagger.

Pal. But, Margaret, I wronged thee too. I fled

From thee; canst thou forgive me?

2440

Mar.Ask not me

If I have forgiven. Hearken, I will tell thee,—

This dagger is the dagger which the woman,

Whose name thou didst not know, brought thee in prison:

By help of this thou madest thy first escape.

’Tis I that bring it now. These two days past,

These days of misery, I have held and worn it

But for one purpose; that if thou shouldst die,

I might have something which had once been thine

To end my life with.

Pal.Thou!

Mar.Ay. I had promised

This caseless blade my empty heart for sheath.

Pal. Margaret!

Mar.Now take it. I have better hope.

[Palicio takes dagger, and puts it in his breast.

Thou shouldst be armed.

Pal.And thou hast thought of death?

Mar. Only if thou hadst died.

Pal.O, Margaret,

Margaret, I am not worthy of thy love.

Thou seest I am not. Look how poor a heart

I bring to take thee: ’tis too base. I thought

I loved thee overmuch. Now, fool, I see

I love too little.

Mar.’Tis this hateful prison

Hath chilled thy spirits. When again thou’rt free

Thou’lt be Giovanni.

2460

Pal.Canst thou love me so?

Mar. O, what hath come to thee? Did I not love

The hour I bound thy wound: the day I brought

Rosso to heal thee, and led thee by the hand,

Threading the blindest midnight silently,

To set thee free? Dost thou forget?

Pal.But then,

Then I was brave, a leader of the people

Against their tyrant: thou didst hold of me

As of a hero: now I have failed, I am shamed.

Mar. O no, Giovanni; thou mistakest sadly

My love for thee.

2470

Pal.I am no more myself.

Mar. Then dare I prove to thee how much I love thee,

How little thy renown. Remember, thou didst scheme

To burn the palace.

Pal.Ay.

Mar.Didst thou not promise

Me, trembling for thy life, that if that failed,

Thou wouldst to Rome with me?

Pal.My scheme miscarried:

I broke my promise.

Mar.The cause of that miscarriage

Was the betrayal?

Pal.How should I forget?

Mar. Now wilt thou say I love but thy success?

’Twas I betrayed thy men.

Pal.Ha! thou was’t! was’t thou?

(Leaping up from Margaret, who staggers against the wall.)

2480

From me, sorceress, thou viper, go from me!

Traitress, was’t thou? Thou wast my secret curse!

Sent by the devil, wast thou, to destroy me,

To kill my soul? And bringest now thy money

[Strews it about.

To buy thy happiness: and of thy love

Pratest, and sayst, Come forth with me! With thee?

Rather all deaths, a thousand deaths of shame,—

The axe, the gallows. O, my faithful men,

My brave men! and for them!—Ah! I will love

My executioner more than thee. Love thee!

There is not any tyrant or crowned fiend

Whom I will hate like thee.

Mar.Then kill me, Giovanni.

[Swoons falling.

Pal. (taking out dagger). This dagger in my heart, and I am avenged.

Nay, nay, O God, I am adding wrong to wrong.

[Putting dagger back.

And Manuel. Alas! what have I done?

[Runs to Margaret.

I spake too roughly, Margaret; I was angry:

I knew not what I said. Margaret, I am sorry.

Forgive me, Margaret. Nay, I meant it not.

I am not angry with thee now. I think

I can forgive thee. Hear me! She doth not hear me.

She doth not breathe. Her eyes are fixed and sightless.

Her hands are cold.

My God, oh, if I have killed her! Margaret, Margaret!

Dost thou not hear?—I have killed her.—Margaret!

I do forgive thee. I forgive thee all.

O God, she is dead, she is dead.—Now if I kiss her,

If she can feel (kissing). She stirs. O, Margaret,

Hear me. I do forgive thee all.

Mar.Giovanni:

I did it for thy love.

Pal.Thank God, thank God.

Now thou dost breathe and speak. O, I was cruel;

I was too angry.—Margaret, forgive me.

Kiss me, forgive. [Noise at door.

Mar.Hark, at the door they come;

’Tis now thy time to fly.

Pal.How can I leave thee?

I cannot thus.

Enter Blasco with sword drawn, Livio and two soldiers.

Mar.Go for thy life, Giovanni:

Fly, fly: think not of me!

BLASCO.

Stay, not so fast,

You pretty pair of loving turtle-doves,

Cooing your sweet farewells in such a cote;

We shall not separate you yet so far.

Mar. Ah me!

Pal.What means this insult?

Bl.Forward, fellows.

Take ye the lady to the cell I shewed,

And bind her arms.

Pal.Who dares?

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Bl.Fool, stand aside!

Seest thou my sword?

Pal. Ho! villain, die!		Palicio springs on Blascosuddenly, and stabs him with dagger in his left. Seizing Blasco’s sword inhis right, which he has disengaged from the sling, he kills another with that;and when the rest fly is left standing with a bloody weapon in each hand.
Bl.God! I am slain. [Falls.
Pal.And thou,Thinking to find me here unarmed, go thou!
Soldier. Ah!
[Dies ... the rest fly.
Pal.Two are escaped.

Mar. And one was Livio.

Pal. What means this damnable design?

Mar.Giovanni,

I see, I know. Fly now—take thou the sword.

Give me the dagger. Follow. I know the way.

There will be none to stay thee. If there be,

Serve them as Blasco. Come, come; follow quickly. [Exit.

Pal. (following). Margaret, Margaret. [Exit.

SCENE · 2

Room in the Palace. MANUEL, disguised as priest, meeting ROSSO.

ROSSO.

In good time, Manuel: welcome. All is well.

MANUEL.

Thank God. And doth she know?

Ros.Ay, thou shalt hear.

’Twas Margaret’s doing: all night long she sat

By Constance’ bed, and there with gentlest presence

And soft accustomed voice most gradually

She soothed and won the wandering spirit back.

But, oh, the sweetest skill!—she, as she saw

Constance take note of her, made no discovery,

But spoke of thee and all things else, as if

There never had been change: and that so well,

That Constance, who lay gazing on the wall,

And questioning of her error, whence it grew,

Soon laid it on herself, and by and by

Told Margaret of her dream, and asked how long

She had lain so sick in bed; nor ever learned

How real had her woe been, till she knew

That all was over.

Man.I thank God,—and thee,

Rosso, thee too. Margaret has had some cause

To blame herself,—to have helped in the repair

Will ease her heart of much. May I see Constance?

2551

Ros. At once. But come prepared to find her weak.

Enter Philip.

PHILIP.

Father, a word.

Man.I pray you excuse me now.

Ph. ’Tis that I know thy errand that I ask.

I would speak through thee to the lady Constance.

Man. What would you say?

Ph.Let me be private with thee.

Man. (to Ros.) Doctor, I’ll follow. (Aside.) Now to act my best.

[Exit Rosso.

Ph. Thou seest in me the man who wrought this ill.

I’d have thee use thine office with the lady,

To win her grace, that I may make confession

Of that which burdens me.

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Man.How! what is this?

What should I say?

Ph.I’ll tell thee: and thou must know

First, that I once was Manuel’s friend and pupil,—

My pride, alas! self-wrested to my shame—

And in those early days loved her, whom he

Should at this time have married. Five years spent

In graceless life meanwhile had far removed

My heart from my first love, nor had my thought

Once ventured back to think or wish her mine:

But, as it happened,—and being at the time

Stung by the sharp remorse of idle hours,—

Chance sent me hither, and her presence soon

Awaked those memories that I had thought were dead.

Then vainly felt I worthier than I was,

Seeing my better part desired to win

What I too surely had deserved to lose.

Constance denied me:—but now hear my crime.

I won her father’s ear; and then, being lodged

In Manuel’s house, I lit on a discovery

Of some suspicion, and contrived thereby—

Betraying him who was my friend and host—

His absence and disgrace: whence by ill fate

His death and all this lady’s trouble sprung.

Man. ’Tis a sad tale you tell.

Ph.I was misled

To think he loved the lady less than I.

Yet urge I no excuse, nor look for pardon:

But if ’twould not add sorrow to her sorrow,

I would discharge this burden from my soul.

Man. Do so: for you shall find pity and pardon.

Ph. Nay, nay: that could not be.

Man.Though hard it seem,

Ay, and may force awhile some generous tears;

She cannot yet fail in the foremost duty

Of all that sin. I shall prepare her well.

Ph. I thank thee, father. [Exit Manuel.

There is in these men

A quiet strength, which shames our self-esteem.

Enter Ferdinand and Hugo with despatches.

HUGO.

Philip, we have the news. Frederick is crowned.

See, here’s for thee. (Gives a despatch.) It bears the new king’s seal.

Ph. Well, ’twill help nought. (Opens.)

Hu.I pray there may be nothing

That meddles with my place.

Ph.Read here, your excellence. [Reads.

By reason of advices late received,

The kings commands are that the sealed despatch2600

Writ for emergency be now held valid,

And put in force by you.

Hu.There’s the despatch?

FERDINAND.

’Tis in my keeping.

Hu. (to Philip). Know’st thou its contents?

Ph. Nay, sir; not I.

Hu.Pray let us see it, straight.

Ph. Adjourn we to my secretary’s chamber:

A moment will discover it. [Exeunt.

SCENE · 3

Reception-room at the Palace. As first scene of first act. CONSTANCE, ROSSO, and MANUEL disguised.

CONSTANCE.

Nay, I can walk. I am very well. See, Manuel,

There’s no one here: thou mayst be Manuel

Yet awhile. Is not this, love, a recovery

To make the memories of sickness glad?

The days seem years since I stood here. But now

Must I see Philip?

MANUEL.

Be kind to him, Constance.

The self-condemned need more than full forgiveness

Ere they forgive themselves.

Con.I am too happy

To be unkind. And where is Margaret?

I long to rally her about her lover.

Sweet Margaret caught: Margaret who mocked us all.

Hath she not chosen a madcap brother for us?

Man. Well, I had wished for Rosso, love; but women

Favour strange fellows.

ROSSO.

2620

She was difficult

To win, and now at least she has met her match.

Man. I pray all may go well. Indeed I have hope

That Hugo is by this possessed of orders

Which will resolve all trouble.

Con.Hush, father Thomas;

See, here they come.

Enter Hugo, Philip, Livio, and Ferdinand.

HUGO.

My dearest daughter, ’tis a happy day.

Thy health and safety—Ay, I am glad to see

Thy face of happiness, and I can add

Now to thy joy. King Frederick is crowned,

And I shall rule in Sicily.

2630

Man. (aside). How is this?

Con. Then for this happy news grant me, dear father,

One favour. Philip here will join in asking.

PHILIP.

Ere it be asked, I wish before all here

To say some words. Good father, hast thou won

The lady’s ear for me?

Man.I have, your grace.

Ph. May I speak, Constance?

Con.Philip, you may speak.

Ph. Once I asked this, and thou didst bid me then

Speak and end all. Hear while I speak my last.

I have wronged thee, Constance.

Con.That is now forgiven.

Hu. O, well done, Constance.

2640

Ph.And I wronged Manuel.

I violated friendship, and the bond

Of hospitality.

Con.All that I know,

And all forgive.

Hu.Forgive him, and forget it.

So should it be.

Ph.Yet if thou sayest that,

Thou dost not know that ’twas my treachery

Procured his exile, whence ensued his death.

Con. All this I know, and I forgive it all.

Hu. (aside). This is too soft. Doth her mind wander still?

Ph. Thou understandest? Knowest thou that did he live

To-day he were the ruler of his country?

Con. Nay; now, sir, this is new. How came you by it?

Ph. In a despatch I hold, his full appointment

Is writ and sealed.

Con.He will be very glad

To hear of this.

Ph.What sayst thou, then?

Hu. (aside). O misery!

Con. I know you call him dead; but still to me

He makes his visitations. I have seen him

This morning in my chamber. Nay, I say,

I see him now.

Hu.What saith she? (To Livio.) Alas, alas!

Thy sister’s mind is gone. This was the reason

Of her strange cheerfulness.

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Ph.May God forgive us

Our fatal mischief.

Con.Give me the despatch:

I’ll shew it him, sirs, else he might not believe me:

But if I take it ...

Ph. (to Hu.). What, sir, shall I do?

Ros. Humour her fancy, I will lead her out.

Hu. Ferdinand, give it to her. Alas, alas!

Con. (taking). I thank thee, sir. (To Man.) Now, father, here’s a matter

To make us laugh within.

[Exeunt Rosso, Constance, and Manuel.

Hu. Philip, she is mad.

Ph.I see it, and I the cause.

Hu. A laughing idiot. O, cruel heavens,

Ye had no stroke more fearful. Would to God

That Manuel yet were living, tho’ I hate him,

Rather than this.

[Shouting without of “Palicio,” etc.]

What noise is that?

LIVIO.

The rebels, sir, again.

Enter an Officer.

OFFICER.

The city, sire, is risen; and the people,

With John Palicio at their head, demand

The king’s despatches.

Hu.John Palicio!

Is he escaped again? Send Blasco hither.

Livio, where is he?

Liv.Sir, I do not know.

Hu. ’Tis this accursed rebellion hath done all:

I have been too merciful. I tell thee, Philip,

That was the cause of all, of Constance’s madness,

Of Manuel’s death. By heaven, the sword shall fall.

I will have blood for blood, and wail for wail.

None of these villains whom I hold in prison

Shall see the sunset. Send me Blasco hither.

Call out the troops.

Ph.Pray you remember, sire,

Pardon to all is urged in the despatch.

Hu. Send pardon to the devil. Oppose me not!

I’ll teach these rebels I am master now.

[Cries heard without.

Enter Manuel (as himself, with paper in hand) and Constance. Margaret, Lucia, and Rosso following.

Manuel! why, Manuel!

Ph.O, Manuel,

My friend, I am saved.

2690

Con.My father,

Let me present to you my ghostly father;

And at your will my loving living husband.

Hu. Why, what! How’s this? Is’t thou? Is this a trick?

Man. Ay: but a trick of fortune. Let my escape,

Which makes you wonder, be explained hereafter.

But now, since here I hold my title, sire,

I’ll fill my place at once. Philip, I pray thee

Go to the window, and make known to all

These latest tidings. Send the people home.

[Philip goes to window.

Meanwhile, sir; if before thou hadst some warrant

For anger shewn against me, now I ask

Thy pardon; and for wrongs against me done

Assure thee, that if freely thou make over

Thy daughter for my wife, there is in my love

Means for full reconcilement. May I say

Constance is mine?

Hu.I see that she is thine.

Man. I pray thou never shalt regret this day.

Ph. (returning from window). There is John Palicio, with half the town

At their old cries. I can make nothing of him.

2710

Man. Bid him surrender as my prisoner.

I will receive him here.

Hu.Thou must not think

He comes at asking thus.

Man.He will obey.

But I will shew myself. [Goes to window.

Hu. How comes he out of prison?

MARGARET.

That I can tell.

Your secretary Blasco promised me,

Who desired nothing more than the release

Of John Palicio, that he would contrive

To free him, if on my part I returned

A certain letter to his hands, wherein, [Shewing.

As you may read, he had betrayed your person

To John Palicio for a price. Then I,

As holder of this written ransom, came

To see my kinsman freed; when in the dungeon

False Blasco, with two villains and another,

Who was your son, appeared before us armed:

And thinking there to find Palicio

Defenceless, would have slain him, and forced me

To give them back this writing: but Palicio

Sprang up, slew Blasco, and escaped.

Ph.His death

Was due from me.

2730

Hu.Give me the letter, pray.

Say, Livio, is this true?

Liv.I never knew

Of this betrayal, sir; I trusted Blasco.

Mar. He counts for nothing, since he ran away.

Enter Palicio.

Hu. Is this the man?

Man.Thou art my prisoner.

PALICIO.

I make submission to your excellence.

[Offering (Blasco’s) sword.

Man. Dost thou surrender of thy own free-will

To me, as legal viceroy of this island,

Under King Frederick, and now abjuring

Thy late rebellion, wilt thou trust henceforth

The people’s welfare to my lawful hands?

Pal. I do, and all will trust thee as do I.

Man. That is thy pardon. (Takes sword.) For the king’s good will

Is grace to all. Yet there will be for thee

Question in Blasco’s death. But now I need

Elsewhere thy presence. (Returning sword.) Go forth to the people,

And make it known that I am their governour:

And that for all disorder ere this day

There will be pardon, but from this day none.

Bid them disperse.

Pal.Those hundred men of mine,

Who lie in prison: is their pardon granted?

Mar. ’Tis I should plead for them. ’Twas I betrayed them.

Hu. Thou didst betray them?

Mar.Ay, sir.

Hu.’Tis nought but wonder.

Man. (to Pal.). This is a day of grace. None will resent

Our stretching mercy. I shall grant their pardon,

But not without some cautions; for among them—

Hear me, Palicio, thou who so dost cry

Against the taxes—many among thy men

Are a most burdensome and fruitless tax.

They go free but to work, and with such measures

As will ensure it. [Palicio is going.

Now, sir, ere thou goest,

Is there none here to whom a word is due?

Pal. O, Manuel, I dare not, nay,—I pray thee,

Be not too generous towards me: since my heart

Has fallen so far, let me have trial yet

That I may win what I but falsely stole,

And now would leave in thy security,

Till I may bring some right to claim it. Yet

I lack the worth to ask. But there’s one thing

Which I will ask (goes to Margaret), forgiveness; and for that

I kneel.

2770

Mar. I will not hide it from thee, sir,

That in the mutual interchange of pardons,

Which is our friendly game, I have had some pain

Standing out in the cold, merely for lack

Of such a suit as thine. I have looked and longed

To find a debtor; and I will take thee.

Rise, sir. I must present thee to a kinsman.

[Leads Palicio to Hugo.

(To Hugo.) Do you remember, sir, a cruel saying

Spoken to me against this gentleman?

Since that I have been his friend, ay, and yours too,

For I betrayed his people to your hands,

When they were setting forth to burn the palace;

And so prevented Blasco’s treachery;

From which him too I saved, and for that deed

He takes me now in marriage.

Hu.All thou sayst

Margaret, with much of what hath happed to-day

Needs explanation. I must see so far

That Livio by his conduct is cut off:

But if you tell me now that you will marry

This man ...

Man.Palicio is of noble blood,

My lord. Yourself have given him oft such praise

As by an enemy must be well deserved

Ere it be spoken. The king’s pardon proves

Justification: he is quit of treason.

We shall restore his rank, the loss of which,

Due to his grandsire in the civil wars,

Brings him no stain: nay, we shall further make him

Chief secretary, where his ancient zeal

For all the commons’ rights may still be shewn.

Con. Margaret, we may be married the same day.

2800

Hu.I see indeed this is a day of grace,

Of wondrous grace: and where I take so much

I should be churlish did I not rejoice

That I may rank behind no one of you

In the free dispensation of my favour.

And there’s one act would set the balance even,

Lay it even lower against me: it is this,

For I will do it: John Palicio,

I do forgive thee ...

Mar.Now I thank thee, sire.

Pal. And I, my lord, who never thought to do it,

Will forgive thee. DO YOU FORGIVE US ALL..

THE RETURN
OF
ULYSSES

A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS
IN A MIXED MANNER

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

ATHENA.
ULYSSES.
PENELOPE.
TELEMACHUS.
EUMÆUS		swineherd to Ulysses.
EURTMACHUS		wooers of Penelope.
AMPHINOMUS
ANTINOUS
CTESIPPUS
PHEMIUS		a bard.
LEIODES		a soothsayer.
CHORUS of WOOERS.

Neatherd and other servants to Telemachus and
Eumæus.

Retainers of Wooers; and Maids of Penelope.

The scene is laid in Ithaca. The first Act on the
sea-shore. The second at Eumæus’ hut.
The last three in the hall of Ulysses’ house.

ULYSSES

ACT · I

Ithaca: the seashore. Thick mist thro’ which Ulysses can scarcely be discerned asleep under a tree. In the foreground, Athena.

ATHENA.

This day, the last of twenty fateful years,

Fulfils the toil and wanderings of the Greeks,

Who sailed with Agamemnon against Troy

To win back Argive Helen; for to-day

Ulysses, last and most despaired of all,

Is safe again in Ithaca: and in truth

Have I, Athena, though the wisest power

And mightiest in Olympus, striven long

In heaven and earth to save him from the wrath

Of great Poseidon; but at length my will

Nears its accomplishment, for on this isle

Of Ithaca was he at break of morn

Landed by good Phæacian mariners,

Who ply the convoys of the dangerous sea;

Even as they promised him, their king and queen,

Alcinous and Aretè, honouring him

With loving gifts, tripods of bronze and iron,

Raiment and bowls of gold: thro’ blackest night,

And the confusion of the baffling waters,

With sail and oar urging their keel they bore him,

Who all the while wrapt in sound slumber lay

Deep likest death; and in that trance they laid him

Beneath yon olive tree, and, by his feet,

The gifts they brought: there may ye see him lying,

And there the gifts: and yet ye scarce may see,

With so thick darkness have I drenched the air,

Lest when he wake, the sight and sweet desire

Of home supplant his cunning, and he rise

Forthwith, and entering suddenly his house

Fall by the treachery of the infatuate lords,

Who prey there on his substance unrestrained,

Sitting in idle suit to woo his wife,

Who weeps his fate unknown; and thus my will

At last were crossed. So hither am I come

Myself to break the sleep I sent, and warn him

Against his foes. And now must I awake him;

But first will doff my helmet, and appear

In mortal semblance, as a delicate youth,

Some prince of the isle: so shall my javelin,

Long robe and shining sandals not betray

My godhead. He to me, disguised and strange,

Will answer nothing truly, nor believe

What truth I tell: ’tis thus I love to prove him,

And catch his ready mind at unawares.

Wake, merchant, wake, awake; whoe’er thou beest,

That sleepest thus so nigh the public road:

Arouse thee, man, and guard thy store: Look to it!

Ay, if some passer-by have not already

Filched from thee a sad loan of bronze or iron.

For though we reverence Zeus, thou giv’st occasion

To make a thief even of an honest man.

ULYSSES (awaking).

Hail, friend, whom first my waking eyes behold

Here in this land: and since thou speakest friendly,

Prove now my friend, and show how best to save

These few things, ay, and save myself, being here

Without thee friendless. And, I prithee, tell me

What land is this? What people dwell herein?

Is it an island, or some mainland shore

That from its fertile plains shelves to the deep?

60

Ath. What hast thou asked, man? Couldst thou hither come,

Not shipwrecked, as is plain, and yet not know

Our famous isle? Not so am I deceived.

Thyself tell rather who thou art and whence,

Else learn’st thou nought of me: And speak but truth.

Ill speeds entreaty on a lying tongue.

Ul. Indeed I speak but truth, friend, when I say

I know not where I stand; as thou must grant

At hearing how I came: for from wide Crete

Have I fared over sea with these my goods—

Where to my sons I left as much again,

When thence I fled in fear, because I slew

The noble and swift-footed prince of Crete,

Orsilochus, son of Idomeneus;

Who threatened to despoil me of the wealth

I won at Troy, suffering for many years

The woes of that long war; and all his grudge

Was that I had not served the king his father,

But kept my own retainers—for which thing

He would have robbed me: but I smote him dead.—

80

Ath. Ah, king of ready wile, what tale is this

Of Crete and of thy sons, which when I bid thee

Speak truth, trips on thy tongue? Dost thou not know

Thy goddess, great Athena? Was’t not I

Who stirred the hearts of those Phæacian men

To bring thee hither? Wherefore in my ears

Pourest thou fables?

Ul.’Tis thy voice indeed,

Which tho’ my eyes were blinded, well I knew.

Voice of Athena, dearest of the gods!

Now with my soul I grasp thee, now I see,

And worship thee, divine one, and thy knees

Embrace: but in this darkness and disguise

Not even a god had known thee; blame me not.

Ath. Nor for thy false tale to a stranger spoken?

Ul. Since thou who lackest cause hast more deceived.

And I—where were I now without my guile,

Without thy help?

Ath.If I should help thee still,

What wouldst thou ask?

Ul.Answer me.—Say, what shore

Is this I stand on, which is hidden from me

By so thick mist: whether they promised true

Who brought me hither, and it be indeed

Ithaca, or whether, as I rather fear,

Some other land, to which my fated curse

Hales me, or ever I may see my own?

Ath. ’Tis Ithaca.

Ul.I pray thee by my longing

For that dear boon, goddess, deceive me not.

Ath. Thou dost not yet believe; but if I show thee

Thy very Ithaca, wilt thou believe?

Turn now and set thy back against the noise

Of the stilly-moaning surge and look inland.

110

Ul. Nought.

Ath.Look!

Ul.I see nought. ’Tis a thicker mist

Than ever in my own cloud-gathering isle

Clung to the frowning cliffs, when the warm south

Beat up the vapours from the seas at morn.

Ath. Look.

Ul.Now it brightens somewhat, or mine eye

Wearies with vainly poring on the dark.

Ath. Look.

Ul.Ay, the vapours lift, the highlands loom,

The air obeys thee: thro’ its thinning veils

The figure of some mountain jags the sky;

And those should be my hills: ’tis Neritos,

’Tis Ithaca indeed.

120

Ath.’Tis Ithaca.

Ul. O Blessed Light, that unto all men’s eyes

Shewest the lands and waters: that uprisest

Day after day upon the windy seas

And fertile plains, valleys and lovely hills,

Rivers and shores, and heights and peopled towns;

Now in all Greece is no tongue praiseth thee

As mine, nor heart thanketh; nor any eye

Rejoicest thou as mine.

Ath.Turn now to left.

There is the haven of Phorcys, here the tree,

Thy well-remembered olive; and to right

The rock-roofed cave, where thou so oft hast done

Sweet sacrifice unto the native Nymphs.

Ul. Soil of my dear-desirèd fatherland,

For warrant that I dream not, take this kiss;

My home! And ye, dear sisters of the spring,

I raise my hands to you, whom nevermore

I looked to greet; but now, children of heaven,

As once of old I praise you, and henceforth

Will pay with loving vows, if your fair queen

But grant me life, and comfort in my son.

Ath. Now thou believest.

Ul.See, there be the firs,

Which eastward of my house bar the red dawn

With black, and in their feathery tops at night

Sigh to the moon. Ay, and my house I see

Unchanged. ’Tis Ithaca.

Ath.Wilt thou not go

Now to thy home, and with the sweet surprise

Of thy desired return gladden thy wife,

And greet thy son, a man, whom thou didst leave

In cradle? See, I here will guard thy goods.

Thou wouldst be gone.

150

Ul.Goddess, if strong desire

Could ever conquer me, now should I do

A thing for which no man might blame me, nay

Even tho’ he pitied me, if too great longing

Should fool me to my ruin. But in my heart

Are other thoughts. The wife of Agamemnon

At his return welcomed the king with state,

And to his chamber led, but in the bath

Soon as he lay, giving him honied words,

She slew him with a dagger, to the deed

Being prompted by her guilty paramour,

Ægisthus. Ten years numbered since that crime

Double the equal motive of my fear:

Nor can a woman, when her lord, tho’ loved,

Is long away, be trusted, that she should not

In weariness at last forsake her faith.

Wherefore I would not enter in my house,

Nay, nor be known of any, till I hear

Such tidings as bespeak my coming well.

Ath. O brave! thy wary mind has gone before,

The way I would have led it: thou art as ever

Fore-reckoner with chance, to take thy stand

Armed at all points.

Ul.This fear, goddess, I learnt

Of blind Tiresias, when at Circe’s bidding

I sailed for south beyond the coasts of men,

To dark Cimmerian cloud-land, and I saw

The hapless king himself, who with thin voice

Poured forth his wrongs; and many more I saw,

Who suffered pain: the tearful shadows penned

In mansions of austere Persephonè.

From that old prophet’s tongue of warning weird

Still for myself in the end I gathered hope,

And treasured it, but from thy tongue fear ill.

Ath. Yet shouldst thou cherish all the words he spake.

Ul. I ask not now what shall be, but what is.

Beneath yon roof what passes? Thou canst give

Present assurance. Tell me then. My wife—

She is well?

Ath.And beautiful.

Ul.Faithful?

Ath.And brave.

Ul. My son Telemachus?

Ath.He too is well.

Ul. Great are the gods in heaven! I need no more.

Thee, Goddess, will I worship while I live.

Ath. And much thou needest me yet. Hark while I tell.

Three years thy house hath been the hostelry

Of dissolute and shameless men, the lords

And princes of the isles and western shores;

Who woo thy wife, and feasting in thy halls

Make waste of all thy substance day and night.

As men besiege a city, and their host

Encamp about and let none out nor in,

Waiting the day when hunger and sore need,

Sharper than iron and cruder than fire,

Shall bow the starvèd necks beneath the yoke:

So sit they there: and ’mong them is an oath

That none will leave till one be satisfied;

Whoe’er it be that in the end shall take

Thy fair wife, and thy house and goods and lands;

Which false and covetous oath, since all have shared,

Must be the death of all.

Ul.Now with thine aid

Shall they be scattered, were their cursed swarm

Thick as the rooks, which from his new-sown fields

The husbandman a moment stays to scare,

Raising both hands.

Ath.Not so may they escape.

Better thou hadst not now returned, if one

Of all these men avoid his destined death.

Ul. How say’st thou, goddess, shall these men be slain?

Ath. How were Ulysses’ foes then wont to die?

Ul. It may not be.

Ath.Thou wert not used to fear.

Ul. Nay, but returned from exile and hard war,

I would not usher battle in my home.

Ath. Think’st thou of peace? Hadst thou but hence been stayed

So long as shall suffice yon dying moon

To launch her young bark on the western sea,

Then had Penelope no more been thine.

Ul. Thou saidst that she was faithful.

Ath.She withstands

The urgence of the wooers day by day;

But ’gainst herself, to save thy house from loss,

Deeming thee dead indeed, now falls to yield.

Ul. Vengeance upon them! Grant me but thine aid,

And though they count by hundreds they shall die.

Ath. If one escape, his joy will be for thine.

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Ul. All shall be slain, though ’twere a task too heavy

For great Alcides. But my son in this

Should stand with me. May I not see him first?

Shall he not know me, and, in that embrace

I yearn for, knit his willing strength with mine?

Ath. Telemachus hath lately at my bidding

Sailed hence to Lacedæmon, there to inquire

What might be learnt of thee.

Ul.Was this well done,

Or kindly of thee, who couldst have told him all:

To send him far, upon a useless errand,

Out of my sight, the eve of my return?

Ath. I sent him for his safety, there to win

Opinion too of such as knew him not,

And rouse remembrance of thee in the world.

To-day is he returned: I have brought his ship

North of the island, as was need, to shun

The wooers’ galley sent to take him; there

Is he disbarked alone. Thou mayst be first

To meet him.

Ul.Lead me thither.

Ath.Ah! thou forgettest.

If any one but he should see thy face?—

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Ul. Contrive then that I meet with him alone.

Ath. How if my plot were better, so that all

Might see thee, yet none know thee but thy son?

Ul. What manner of disguise is in thy thought?

Ath. Disfigurement, which thou mayst shrink to bear.

Ul. Ay, if my son behold me ill transformed.

Ath. Yet he alone shall see thee as thou art.

Ul. Then tell me, goddess, what thou wouldst: thou knowest

Playing another’s part I am most myself.

Ath. But I will make thee now least like thyself.

Ul. How! shall I stoop then to be less than man?

Ath. Nay, but of men the vilest, though a man.

For that thou mayst be hidden, lo! I will change

Thy outward seeming to the piteous aspect

Of age and beggary. Thy supple skin

I’ll wrinkle on thy joints, thy thick brown hair

Rob from thy head, and dim thy radiant eyes,

And o’er thy shoulders bowed cast sorry rags,

To make thee loathed of men. In such disguise

Mayst thou in safety seek thy herdsman’s hut,

Eumæus: he is faithful, and with kindness

Will serve thee as a stranger in distress,

No less than he will welcome thee revealed.

Accept his food and shelter, and the while

Learn from his lips what friends thou hast to look for,

What foes to reckon with, what wrongs to avenge;

And humour as thou wilt his honest ears,

Awaiting till I thither send thy son.

Ul. When wilt thou send him?

Ath.He will come ere noon.

Ul. Then must he first behold me thus deformed?

Ath. He cannot know thee. Thou betray thyself

No whit; I will be near and make occasion

To shew thee to him, as thou art, alone.

Ul. I have had no hope, goddess, but in thine aid:

Long as that tarried I despaired not then;

How should I, when thou comest, deny thee now?

Ath. Then first unto the cave, therein to stow

These goods; and after by this olive trunk

Sit we awhile together: when thou hast heard

My counsel, I will work this change upon thee,

That one who saw thee now of kingly port,

Hale and well-liking, ay, and bowed the head,

Should, when he next saw, spurn thee with his foot;

Thus must it be. Come, let us to the cave.

ACT · II

The hut of EUMÆUS. (Same background as Act I.)
Some swine seen thro’ pens.

EUMÆUS (who is cutting a thong for his sandal).

Let man serve God, but not for that require

An answerable favour: there is none

Outside himself: but yet within himself

He hath his guerdon and may be content.

Some three and thirty years of servitude

Have taught me this; dependence on the gods

Wins independence of the gods and fate.

I that was born a prince have lived a slave,—

No fault of mine;—and still if Zeus so willed

That man might look for favour, I might hope

Once more, ere I grow old, to make return

Unto my royal home and kingly sire,

—If yet he lives,—and rule myself the realm

I was born heir to: be good king Eumæus,

So should it be, Eumæus, king of men.

Nay—I must play the king over these swine;

This homestead for my kingdom, this hut for palace,

This bench my throne, these crowded pens and styes

My city; and I will boast ’twere hard to find

A commonwealth of men, whom equal justice

Flattered in distribution to this pitch

Of general content, such fat well-being

As holds among my folk, their laws regardant

Of them they govern and their good alone.

Ay, so: a king of beasts, no king at all.

Swineherd Eumæus; who would call me king?

Fool, fool! Serve God, Eumæus, and mend thy shoes.

And why complain? Had not Laertes too

A son that feared the gods? and where is he?

Would he not now be glad to be alive,

Were’t but to envy me who feed his swine,

And guard his goods from robbers, and pretend

The hope of his return; which is less like

For that Ulysses than for this Eumæus;—

There too I best him,—since ’tis easier

For any living slave to climb a throne,

Than for a king once dead to step again

Upon the joyous threshold of his house,

And take the loving kisses from the lips

Of wife and child.—Hark to the hounds. What foe

Invades my kingdom? O a piteous sight.

Off, dogs;—why they will rend him—Mesaulius, ho!

Cottus, call off the dogs! Will they not leave him?

To kennel, curs!—Ye heavens! Beggary

Is beggared in this miserable beggar.

Enter Ulysses (disguised).

How wast thou near, old man, to end thy days

Beside my gate, and bring me shame and sorrow:

And that no fault of mine, so suddenly

Hast thou appeared. Come, come, sir; step within.

Surely ’tis food thou needest. On this table

Are bread and wine, and I can bring thee meat:

Sit and be satisfied.

ULYSSES.

Now may the gods,

Since thou this day giv’st me so good a welcome,

Grant thee thy dearest wish, whate’er it be.

Eum. Thou art my guest, old man: and if there came

A meaner even than thou, I should not stint

To offer of my best. Strangers and beggars

Are sent from Zeus: and tho’ a poor man’s gift

Be poor, a hearty welcome makes it rich.

Ul. I pray the gods reward thee.

Eum.Nay, there’s the meat;

I’ll fetch it thee. [Exit.

Ul.Was ever sound on earth

So musical as the remembered voice

That welcomes home? By heaven, ’twas yesterday

That I was here. No change at all: this bench,

This board:—the very hogs might be the same.

O my good bread and wine! And here’s his loaf,

The shape he ever made; and cut the same,

Scooped to the thumb. Hail, grape of Ithaca!

Good day to thee! (Drinks.)

Eum. (re-entering). See, here is meat in plenty:

Fall to and spare not.

Ul.Thank thee, sir; I thank thee.

Eum. Art thou of Ithaca, old man?

Ul.Nay, sir;

Indeed I am not.

Eum.When cam’st thou then among us?

Ul. With this day’s sun I first beheld your isle.

Eum. Eh! hath a ship arrived so late in harbour?

Whence hails she?

Ul.From Thesprotia coasting south;

But driven far out to sea in beating back

Put in for water; when the notion took me

To leave her, and pursue my own starvation

Without the risk of drowning.

Eum.And how then

Cam’st thou aboard a vessel so ill-found?

Ul. My tale were long, sir, should I once begin:

And since I have seen no food since yestermorn,

Believe I’d lend thee ear rather than mouth.

Eum. Ay, so, no fool, and I was but a churl

To bid thee talk and eat: eat, sir, in peace.

Ul. I pray thee while I eat tell of thyself,

Whom here thou servest, and who rules this isle.

Eum. I am a servant, sir, that hath no master:

These swine I tend are no man’s: those I kill

I kill for any one; for on this isle

We pay our service to a gap between

A grandsire and a grandchild. Dost thou take me?

Ul. Yes, friend: thy master is away or dead.

Eum. Both as I think. The while, for lack of tidings,

We make believe he lives. His ancient father,

Decrepit and despairing, lies aloof,—

We call him king no longer;—and his son,

The old man’s grandchild, is away on quest

Of any tidings to be gleaned from those

Who years agone fought with his sire at Troy.

His widow keeps his house, and hath in hand

Some five or six score suitors. Judge from this

What hope hath beggary in Ithaca.

Ul. In all my wanderings never have I found

A kinder host. But since thou sayest thy master,

Whose absence makes thee masterless, was one

Who fought at Troy, I too was in that war;

If thou wouldst tell his name, I may know somewhat

To cheer his wife and child.

Eum.Try not that talk,

Old man. No more of him shall traveller hither

Come bringing tidings that may win their ear.

Lightly indeed for welcome’s sake will vagrants

Speak false, nor have they cause to wish for truth.

Nay, and there’s none strays to this isle, but goes

Seeking my mistress, and there spins his lie;

While she with tender care asks of each thing,

And from her sorrowing eyes the tears fall fast,

Hearing the name she doth not dare to speak.

And soon enough wouldst thou too coin thy tale,

Couldst thou but win a blanket for thy back:

The while for him vultures and wolves are like

To have stripped his bones of flesh—ay, ay, he is dead—

Or fish have preyed upon him, and his ribs

Bleach on the sea-shore, sunk in drifting sand.

Such fate is his, grievous to all who loved him,

And most to me; who ne’er shall find again

So kind a lord, wherever I may go:

Not even again if home to father and mother

I should return, where I was bred and born.

Nor are my tears for them, yearn as I do

With these eyes to behold them, and my country;

But my desire is for Ulysses gone:

Speaking whose name, stranger, tho’ far from hearing

I do obeisance (towards Ul.); for he loved me well;

And worshipful I call him, be he dead.

Ul. If ’tis Ulysses, friend, whom thou lamentest,

I know he lives.

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Eum.Try not that tale, I say.

Ul. Now, sir, tho’ thou deny it and think I lie,

Ulysses will return, and on that day

Give me my due; since I dare call on Zeus,

First of the gods, and by this friendly table

Swear, and his dear home whither I be come,

This thing shall be, and with the running year

He shall return.

Eum.Nay, ’tis not I shall pay

Thy recompense. Content thee, man, and drink.

Why wouldst thou force persuasion? Tell me rather

Thy own true story, who thou art and whence.

Ul. Would then that thou couldst give me food and wine,

Ay, and the gods fair sunshine and no toil,

The while my tale should last: for on this bench

Would I take comfort of thee many a day.

But of thy lord ...

Eum.Wilt thou not cease from that!

Ul. With my own ships I fought at Ilion;

And tho’ I look not now, in age and rags,

A master among men, nay, nor a foe

Many would fear, yet mayst thou see on me

The sign of what I have been, and I think

Still from the gratten one may guess the grain.

Eum. (aside). How age and misery will brag! And this

To me, who really am a king.

Ul.’Twas then

I knew Ulysses, and have since, like him

And many a Greek, striven against destiny

To gain my home:—at length our ship was cast

On mountainous Thesprotia, where the king

Pheidon was kind to me, and there I heard—

Nor yet are many weeks passed since that day—

Full tidings of Ulysses, and I saw

What wealth his arm had gotten: he himself

Was travelled to Dodona, but by this

Should be returned.

Eum.Stranger, if all thy words,

That grow in number, should outreach in tale

The moments of his absence, they were vainly

Poured in mine ears.

Ul.Nay, then, and if indeed

Ulysses came himself, here of his friends

He would not be received.

Eum.Ay, that may be:

And time will change a man so from himself,

That oft I wonder none have e’er contrived

To make pretence to be Ulysses’ self.

That were a game for thee, old man, if age

Did not so far belie thee. Nay, nay, nay!

Signs there would be: and if these eyes should see him,

And seeing know not, I would serve them so

That they should see no more.

Ul.Now when he comes ...

Eum. Still harking back! I tell thee, friend, our thought

Is rather for his son Telemachus,

And his return; who when he promised well

To be his father’s match, went wandering hence

To Lacedæmon, seeking for his sire:

An idle quest and perilous, for I say

’Twould much increase the tender love of them

That woo the mother, could they kill the son,

And quarrel for the inheritance: and now

They have sent a ship to take him in the straits,

As he comes home: but may the gods protect him.

Tho’, till I see him safe, my heart is vexed.

Ul. Fear not; the gods will save him.

Eum.Thank thee, sir.

Hast ever been in Sparta?

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Ul.Ask me nought,

If thou wilt credit nought; or shall I say

I have never lodged in Pitanè, nor drunk

Out of Eurotas, nor on summer noons

Gazed on the steep sun-checquered precipices

Of huge Taygetus?

Eum.Thy pardon, sir.

Hast eaten well?

Ul.Ay, to content: but, friend,

I shall not prey upon thee: an hour or two

I’ll rest me here; then, if thou shew the road

To good Ulysses’ house, I’ll e’en be gone.

Food must be there in plenty: I make no doubt

To beg a meal till I may serve for hire.

Eum. Why, man, what put this folly in thy head?

’Twere the short way to end thy days, to go

Among that insolent and godless herd,

To tempt their violence. Not such as thou

Their servants are: they that attend on them

Are young and gaily clad and fair of face:

And though the polished tables lack not food,

’Tis not for such as thou the hot feast smokes

From morn till eve, and the red wine is poured.

Bide here; for here thou vexest none, nor me

Nor any of my fellows. Bide awhile,

And if Telemachus return, I warrant

Thou shalt have no complaint. Hark, I hear feet:

Some one now comes.

Ul.And ’tis a friend; the dogs

Bark not, but fawn around. (Aside.) If this be he!

I dare not rise and look.

Enter Telemachus.

Eum.Why he! ’tis he!

Telemachus, my son Telemachus,

Art thou returned in safety?

Ul. (aside.) Praised be the gods! I see my son indeed!

TELEMACHUS (to Eum.).

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You see me, father.

Eum. Light of mine eyes, thou’rt come, Telemachus;

All shall go forward with us once again.

Ul. (aside). He calls him father, and I may not speak.

Tel. Hath aught been wrong?

Eum.Nay, nought is changed for that.

’Twas only lack of thee: and with the fear

Some ill might hap to thee, what dost thou think

Must old Eumæus feel?

Tel. What couldst thou fear?

Eum. Didst thou not know? The wooers sent a ship

To take thee, son. Thou didst not? Well, some god

Protected thee. Now let me look on thee.

Come within. Sit thee down.

Tel.So will I gladly.

Ere I would venture to the house, I came

To talk with thee, and learn if aught has passed.

My mother?...

Eum.All is well, prince, yet; she bides

Patient and brave, and weeps both day and night;

Weeps too for thee. Give me thy spear, my son.

Now sit thee down. I say we have feared for thee.

Tel. (to Ul.). Nay, rise not, stranger; there be other seats,

And men to set them.—Pardon me that my joy

O’erlooked thee. Thou hast guests, Eumæus?

Eum.Nay,

None but this ancient father.

Tel.And who is he?

Eum. To me is he a stranger as to thee.

’Twas yesterday, he tells me, that his ship

Thesprotian, as he says, driven from her course,

Put in for water: when for some mistrust

Or weariness of voyage he remained.

He hath fed with me, but thou being now returned

He looks to be a suppliant at the house.

He is thy man.

550

Tel.Eumæus, thou must know

I could not, whatsoe’er his claim, receive him

Where I myself am threatened: and even my mother

Holds no sure mind, wavering from day to day

Who shall be master. No: there is no place

For suppliants at the house: but as thy guest

I still may treat him well: here he shall have

Raiment and all he needs, and I will give him

A sword, and bid him fare where’er he will.

But not to the house I bid him come, for fear

Violence befall him and I be accursed.

Ul. Sir, since thy kindness makes me bold to speak,

Thou hast my thanks; nor can I hear thy wrongs,

Nor see thy shame unmoved, for thou art noble.

Hast thou provoked this, tell me, or are thy people

Moved by some god to hate, or is’t thy brethren

Play thee false?

Tel.Nay, there is neither grudge nor hate

Betwixt me and my folk, nor do my brethren

Stand faithlessly aloof. ’Tis all to say

That Zeus hath made our house of single heirs:

Arceisios gat one only son Laertes,

And he one only son, Ulysses; I,

Ulysses’ son, am too his only child:

And he hath left his house the prey of foes.

I cannot aid thee, stranger.

Ul.O would that I

Were young as thou, and in my present mood;

That I were this Ulysses or his son:

Far rather would I die slain in my halls

By my thick foes, than see this reckless wrong;

My good farms plundered, and my herds devoured,

My red wine wasted, and my handmaidens

Hither and thither haled about, at will

Of such a rabble as fear not God nor man,

Spoilers and robbers, who have set their hearts

Vainly upon a purpose, which I say

Shall never be accomplished.

Athena appears at the door to Ulysses.

Tel.I pray the gods

It never be, and thank thee well, my friend,

For thy good will.

Eum.How art thou moved, old man.

Ul. The heart unmoved by others’ wrongs is dead:

And yet maybe I am somewhat overwrought;

If I may go within ...

590

Eum.Ay, go within,

And rest thee; thou hast need.

Ul.I thank thee, friend.

I’ll lay me down to sleep: here I but shackle

Your private talk.

Eum.Be at thy ease, I pray.

Tel. Go, father; rest thee well.

Ul.I thank thee, sir. [Exit.

Eum. How earnest thou, son? Where didst thou land?

Tel.Is’t true

The wooers sent a ship?

Eum.Didst thou not meet them?

Tel. Hark now, and hear in what strange manner warned

I knew their ambush, to avoid them.

Eum.Ah!

Thou knewest it, thou knewest!

Tel.Wilt thou think

I was at Sparta but three days ago?

There in my sleep the goddess, at whose word

I made this voyage, came and stood beside me,

Called me by name, and bade me quick return;

And for my safety warned me that a ship

’Twixt Ithaca and Samè lay in wait;

Which if I would avoid I must sail round,

Keeping the west of the isle; and for that voyage

She promised a fair wind. So the next morn

Was I at Pylos; whence as I set forth,

I found the wind, and sailing day and night,

With swift unbroken passage came to shore

Last evening north of the isle. Hither alone

I passed in the dark, and sent my ship about.

Eum. That was well done: I praise the gods for that.

I knew that they would save thee.

Tel.But, Eumæus,

What of the ship? What knowest thou? What means it?

Were all agreed plotting my life together,

Or whose deed is it?

Eum.One rancorous spirit rules them,—

Save Lord Amphinomus, who stands as ever

Within the bounds: of all the rest there’s none

That would not take thy life by stealth, nor one

Who openly would dare.

Tel.Who sailed the ship?

Eum. Antinous.

Tel.Ah!

Eum.And if I die to avenge it,

Son, he shall pay for it.

Tel.Talk, I pray, of safety,

Not of revenge. Shall I make bold to go

Straight to the house, or must I hide me here?

Eum. Bide, son, bide! ’Tis not safe. Let me go, son.

When once ’tis known in the isle that thou’rt returned,

Then thou mayst shew thyself. The cowards fear

The love the people bear thee. Let me go.

Tel. Is all else well?

Eum.All’s well where ill is well.

Tel. Eumæus, I’ll not venture yet: but thou

Haste to the house, and in my mother’s ear

Whisper I am here: but let none other guess

That thou hast tidings of me.

Eum.Not to tell

Thy grandsire, son? He scarce hath eat or drunk

While thou hast been away: ’twere well he knew,

And quickly; for an hour is much to one

Whose life leans on the grave.

Tel.My safe return

Can be no secret, but my hiding-place

Must not be known: therefore I would not have

Thee for my herald. Thou mayst bid my mother

Send one to comfort him; but go not thou

Wandering among the hills. My bidding done,

Make swift return. I shall be here.

Eum.I pray

Let not that old man here come round thee, son,

With idle stories of thy sire: he is full

Of tales of Troy: and if he win thine ear

He hath a purpose.

Tel.He! Nay, trust me, father.

650

Eum. Well, he will try.

Tel.Fear not.

Eum.He hath a tongue:

He saith he fought at Ilion. Then, he saith

He knew Ulysses.

Tel.Saith he so?

Eum.And then

He hath been in Lacedæmon too.

Tel.His talk

While thou’rt away may well beguile the time.

Eum. Ay, and thee too. Thou hast not heard, I fear,

Aught of thy father now, where thou hast been?

Tel. Somewhat, but nothing recent. What I know

I’ll tell thee later. Thou couldst gather nought

From this old man?

Eum.He is cunning: didst thou see

How he could counterfeit? I tell thee, son,

He hath not been here an hour, and never knew

Aught of thy father; but he plucks from me

The story word by word, and then at once

Bursts out,—he knew Ulysses: ay, he stayed

Eating to speak of him.

Tel.What said he of him?

Eum. I would not hear him, son: I would not hear him.

Tel. Think you he lied?

Eum.Ay, ay. Why, how believe

Thy father now is in Thesprotia,

Where the king Pheidon hath a ship all stored

To bring him home?

670

Tel.Eumæus, good Eumæus!

What if ’tis true?

Eum.True! There, ’tis as I thought:

I would not leave thee with him, son; he is quick:

He will delude thee.

Tel.I must hear his tale,

Though it be false. Go thou: my ship will else

Be round before thee. Go, and never fear

That this old man will turn my head.

Eum.Be warned.

Trust him not, son. There is something strange about him

I like not.

Tel.Come: as far as to the gate

I will go with thee. [Exeunt.

Re-enter Ulysses as himself.

Ul. Lo! now the sun in the mid goal of heaven

Hath climbed to view my fortunes, and my shade

On this well-trodden floor falls neither way:

So towers my genius; so my future and past

Lie gathered for the moment.—How oft in dreams,

When longing hath forecast this hour, I have loved

The rescuing tears that loosed my heart: and now

The womanish water wells, I bid it back:

For nature stammers in me, and I see

Imagination hath a grasp of joy

Finer than sense; and my most passionate spirit,

When most it should leap forth, hangs back unwilling

To officer the trembling instruments,

By which delight is served. Back, then, my tears!

Fate rules; reason should fashion me.—And welcome

Even this harshness of fate; for if my son

Shall know me as I am, not as a merchant

Should I return at ease, that men might ask

Whether Ulysses were returned or no;

Rather in blood than doubt.—Here on this bench

I’ll wait him, nor myself be first to speak:

And ’twill be tried for once how a man’s son

Shall know his father, never having seen him.

Re-enter Telemachus.

Tel. Why, who art thou? Not he that on this bench

Sattest so late! In truth I much mistook thee,

Or thou art changed. Thy hair was thin and white,

Thy body rough and pinched with age, thy clothes

Were meanest rags. Say art thou he, the same,

Eumæus’ guest from the Thesprotian ship?

Ul. Ay, son, I am.

Tel.Surely thou art a god.

Be gracious to our house! [Kneels.

710

Ul. (rising). Nay, rise, my son.

I am no god. Why wilt thou liken me

To those immortals? I am thy father, son,

Ulysses to my home at last returned. [Kisses him.

Tel. Alas, thou art a god, and thy words mock me.

Ul. Thou knowest me not. [Sits.

Tel.Say, if thou wert a man,

How couldst thou put that change of semblance on,

Which only gods may use?

Ul.The wise Athena

Uses me as she will: then was I old

That none might know me; now I am myself

That thou mayst know.—’Tis I.

Tel.Father! my father!

O, happy day. [Weeps on his neck.

Ul.Thy kisses, O, my son:

Thy kisses and thy tears, my son, my son.

Tel. O, thou art come. O, happy, happy day.

Ul. I am come, Telemachus: but how to know

’Tis I?

Tel.O, I am sure; who could be like thee?

I knew too thou wouldst come, dear father, and yet

I never honoured thee enough: I thought

I should be worthy of thee: now I fear ...

Ul. I must be unlike thy thought, son; but in thee

I see myself again of twenty years:

Nay, I was somewhat thicker, but maybe

That will make up; and thou hast got instead

Thy mother’s grace. ’Tis true we mostly shape

Less to the father.

Tel.How, sire, didst thou come?

Ul. A good Phæacian ship brought me last night.

I came to land in the dark: and all the spoils

I have brought with me are hidden in the cave,

Till we may fetch them forth.

Tel.First come thou home.

Ul. And would I might. The hope of twenty years

Is gathered in this hour. Come home, thou sayst:

Ah, son; and would I might; but what of them

That stop the way?

Tel.The suitors of my mother?

O, they will fly to hear of thy return.

Ul. They must not fly. All, where they have done me wrong,

Must with their lives atone. This is the cause

Of my disguise, that none should know me here

But thou, to whom alone I am revealed,

That plotting with thee I may draw the net

About them. This the goddess bids me, son;

To slay thy mother’s wooers.

750

Tel.Father, I know

Thou art unmatchable among the Greeks

In warriorship and wisdom, ay, and here

Is none would dare to face thee: yet by tens

They reckon, and I fear would overpower thee

By very number.

Ul.Say: how many be they?

Tel. Out of Dulichium there be two and fifty

Princes and lords, each with his serving-man:

From Samè, four and twenty: from Zakynthus

A score; and even of Ithaca itself

Twelve of the best, with Phemius the bard,

Medon, and many followers: ’gainst all these

We are but two.

Ul.I fear them not, my son.

Tel. Seek other aid, I pray, ere ’gainst so many

We venture.

Ul.What, son, sayst thou, if Athena

And father Zeus aid us? will they, thou thinkest,

Suffice, or must we cast about to find

Some other champion?

Tel.Truly they are the best

Thou namest, father; tho’ among the clouds

Their seat is, and their countenance withheld

From mortal men.

770

Ul.They will not hold aloof,

When once our spears are plunging in the breasts

Of that vain rabble. Goes thy heart with mine?

Tel. With thee and for thee, father, will I fight,

Askest thou?

Ul.Wilt thou bear to look on me

As late thou sawest me, and seeing me so,

Find not the least diminishment of love?

Tel. I never shall forget this godlike mien,

Whence to disguise thou deignest as a god.

Ul. But when thou seest me mocked and scorned, a slave,

A beggar where I am lord, wilt thou discover

No indignation?

Tel.I will hide my wrath.

Ul. For I must be thy guest among my foes.

Tel. To be my guest, if they should set upon thee

To drive thee forth, will force me to resist.

Ul. Fear not the threatenings of those doomèd men.

Tel. They all are armed, and thou wilt be unarmed.

Ul. Tho’ they provoke me I will bide my time.

Tel. But how if they assault thee unprepared?

Ul. The goddess will withhold their impious hands.

790

Tel. Lurk rather here until the plot be ripe.

Ul. Nay, son; and were the lure of home less strong

To me so long deprived, yet would I see

Myself the wrongs there done me, see the shame

Of which men speak; and, once within the hall,

I can take count and measure of my foes.

A just cause, bold heart, and the aid of heaven

Should still thy fear.

Tel.Tell me thy bidding, father!

Ul. Ay, so ’tis best: and thro’ thee I may come

To see thy mother;—hark, the course is plain:

Go to the town; announce thine own return;

Thence to the house, and to Eumæus say

Thou wilt receive me; he must know no more:

Bid him to-morrow fetch me to the hall.

And when thou seest thy mother, tell her thus;

Thou hast seen a stranger in Eumæus’ hut,

Who having known thy father, carries news

That he is near. As to confirm thy tale,

Bring her to speech with me when none are by.

Ourselves may meet at night, and then consult

In secret on what stratagem may grow

From that occasion, or what further thing

The goddess may command.

Tel.Now thy disguise

Is my chief fear, father; I know these men:

Their insolent assumption would not brook

Any intruder, but against a beggar

They will make sport of outrage.

Ul.Sayst thou so?

Then shall we prove them thus: be they good men

They will show pity: if they mock my rags,

Try if they honour thee; and bid them make,

Each of his own, a portion unto me.

I then shall see their hearts: the more they rage,

Force them the more with full authority.

This canst thou well do. ’Tis thy harder task

Not to betray me. Youth is bold of heart

And hot in battle, but to guard the tongue

And to restrain the hand come with long years.

Tel. Now let this trial prove me once for all,

Whether in keeping counsel and in battle

I am thy true son, or another man.

830

Ul. All hangs on thee; for none but thou must know,

Not even thy mother. Tell me, I would learn

If in her thought I am alive or dead;

And what thine own mind was, fear not to say.

Tel. Truly ’twixt hope and hopelessness, we stood

In blank uncertainty; and if not yet

Our wishes wore the colour of our fears,

Now was the turn.

Ul.I come then not too soon?

Tel. Nay, nor too late.

Ul.’Tis well, but time is short;

Tarry no longer. Get thee home, and there

Ordain a sacrifice, such as befits

This day of days: such as may well content

The favourable deities, and appease

The unfriendly. Guess, son, if thy heart is stirred,

How ’tis with me. The ties of home are dear,

And what a man is born to, both the place,

Where’er it be, that hath received his being

Out of oblivion, and given his mind

The shapes and hues of earth, the sights of heaven,

The place whence he sets forth to meet strange things,

Whither returns to find his own, himself;

This bides, the harbour of his fancy,—and draws him

Spite of all else from world’s end to world’s end.

And more, more dear, are those whose place it was,

Whose name he is called by, whom he calls his own,

Whose love hath borne and nurtured him, whose life

He is offshoot of and diligent support.

This love thou knowest, and being to-day returned

But from short voyage, mayst in little gauge

My joy returning after many years.

But what thou know’st not—mayst thou come to know!—

I’ll tell thee. There be ties dearer than place

Or parents; there be bonds that break in pieces

The hearts that break them, and whose severance

Is more than banishment. Boy, ’tis thy mother

That makes this Ithaca the world to me;

These tears are hers: and seeing thee, my son,

Whose picture I have carried in my heart,

And year by year have checked and altered still

With vain imagination to thy growth

Since last I left thee fondled in her arms,

I learn how dear art thou. Now on thy brow

I’ll set this kiss. Begone and do my bidding.

The goddess calls me: I must take again

That shape which late thou saw’st me in. Farewell.

Forget not when I am changèd what I am.

Tel. Thy first commands are dear, sire; I obey.

ACT · III

Hall in house of Ulysses: [as described, in note]. EURYMACHUS, AMPHINOMUS, CTESIPPUS, PHEMIUS, and many suitors. Noise and brawling. Remains of feast.

EURYMACHUS.

Peace! Will none hear? Silence! O peace, I say.

Will ye not hearken? (Some abatement.)

AMPHINOMUS.

Friends, give ear awhile,

And hearken to Eurymachus.

CTESIPPUS.

For one,

I am not of his party.

A SUITOR.

880

Nay, nor I,

Let him command his own.

Eur.Princes and lords!

Have ye not chosen me to rule your feasts?

I claim no more precedence; I would urge

Nought but your honour, which ye go to shame

By such disordered brawling.

Ctes.O, we know thee.

’Tis nought Penelope should deem we lie

Under thy thumb!

A suitor.Ay, or what matters else

How these old beams may shake?

Ctes.What hast thou done?

Amph. My lords, ye do forget yourselves.

Ctes.O, nay.

Why went not Lord Eurymachus himself

To seize Telemachus? Doth he not bide

For the main chance? Will he not watch the play,

The while Antinous is furthered forth?

And—O, we know—when Lord Antinous

Returns, and saith The thing ye wish is done;

Telemachus is dead, and he who now

Winneth the widow winneth house and lands

And kingship; then the rich Eurymachus

Will raise his hands and weep, The very thing

I would have stayed. Alas! the neediness

And avarice of some!

Amph.Why, good Ctesippus,

Seek not a quarrel.

Ctes.Nay, but is’t not so?

Amph. ’Twill never be. The just and equal gods

Have yet respect unto Ulysses’ house.

And were’t their will Telemachus should die,

He that went forth to slay him is the man

Whose heart they turned to do it. For me, I say,

I willed it not, and think ’twill never be.

Ctes. Thou’rt but a craven!

Eur.Get ye to your seats:

Pass we the bowl in peace, and while we drink

Let Phemius soothe our rivalries with song.

But one can win the prize, and whose ’twill be

Lies in the lap of Zeus. Fair play and peace!

Amph. And shame not this good house. Lack we a lord,

This courtesy is due unto ourselves.

Ctes. When brave Antinous returns, I say,

We shall grow warm again.

Eur.Peace for the bard!

PHEMIUS.

1.

Follow my song that leads,

Ye wooers all, and come

To praise the flock, that feeds

Upon the grassy meads

Of fair Dulichium:

Where Acheloüs laves with rippling sweet

The low fields red with wheat.

2.

For thee, I praise, Amphinomus, thou prince,

Shepherd of sunset pastures; and I tell

Again what once befell

Nisus, thy sire, long since:

To fruitful Lacedæmon when he came,

With lords that made resort

From Calydon’s high court,

And western isles, at call of Helen’s fame,

Wooing the hand of Leda’s heavenly daughter:

But soon such jealousy and deadly gall

Inflamed the suitors all,

That then and there the fated slaughter

Of Danaans had begun,

Had not grave Tyndareus, her mortal sire,

To quench the kindling fire,

Called on Laertes’ son.

3.

“Wisest of men, Ulysses, tell me true,

If skill or grace to keep the peace may be

Among the lawless princes, here that sue

For Helen’s hand; if ever as of old

My house from curse of bloodshed may go free,

Do thou the rede unfold.”

Straight answered him the wise Ulysses then,

“O son of Thestius, ’tis in my mind,

That thou these lawless men

By firmest oath shouldst bind

To honour him, and give him all their aid,

Whose suit shall favour find,

And honour from the maid;

1 a.

“Whoever it may be

Who in fair Helen’s eye

His favour first may see;

And thus shall they agree.”

Whereto did all comply;

And gave to Tyndareus their banded troth,

And singly took this oath:

1 b.

“To keep good peace we swear,

And let that man go free,

Who winneth Helen fair,

And from all wrong whate’er

Shield him, whoe’er he be.

Good or ill fortune lieth in the lap

Of Zeus, what haps let hap.”

2 a.

So goodly Menelaus, whom erelong

Fair Helen chose of all the lords of Greece,

His bride led home in peace;

And no man did him wrong.

Then Tyndareus to good Icarius spake,

“Since now by one man’s wit

Our house is saved, ’tis fit

That thou this day be friendly for my sake,

So at our hands he go not unrewarded:

Give him thy daughter, fair Penelope,

If so it pleaseth thee.”

Who to this brother then the boon accorded:

And thus the wooers’ strife

Ulysses by good counsel quelled, and won

Of Thestius’ other son,

Penelope for wife.

3 a.

But when in time fair Helen’s virtue failed,

He with the suitors bounden to befriend

Wronged Menelaus, against Ilion sailed,

And joined his arms, pledged by that oath with them;

Till Priam’s broad-wayed city in the end

Fell by his stratagem. 989

But long being not returned, and passed for dead,

There gathered suitors in his house to woo

His fair wife in his stead;

And strife among them grew.

Nor is his arm more lacked to guard his walls,

Than his good counsel true

To keep peace in his halls.

1 c.

Which counsel I reclaim,

Remembered for your use,

Ye wooers, even the same

Which saved from blood and shame 1000

The house of Tyndareus.

So now unto my song your chorus bear,

As Helen’s suitors sware.

Chor. 1 d.

To keep good peace we swear,

And let that man go free,

Nor do him hurt whate’er,

Whoever wins the fair

And wise Penelope.

Good or ill fortune lieth in the lap

Of Zeus; what haps let hap.

Amph. I thank thee for my father, Phemius.

Eur. Thy tale is twice a tale told at this time.

Ctes. I’ll hold it, that an oath sung out of tune

Binds not the singer.

Enter Herald.

HERALD.

Tidings, my lords.

Eur.Speak forth.

Her. Be it known the prince Telemachus is come.

[Suitors rise and murmur.

Eur. Shame on you. Silence. Sir, we are much rejoiced

To learn the prince’s safety. When arrived he?

Her. He landed yestereve. We brought the ship

This morn in harbour.

Eur.Where disbarked the prince?

Her. Northward by Ægilips. 1020

Eur.Is’t known?

Her.My lord,

I speed to tell it. [Exit.

Eur.Friends, if this be true,

We are baffled.

Ctes.False, ’tis false.

Eur.And nought remains

But man a galley, that shall bear the tidings

To Lord Antinous and his men, who else

Will lie out watching for him in the straits.

Amph. Yet even that pains is spared us. Looking forth

I see two ships in harbour side by side,

And not far off a company of men,

I take to be Antinous and his band.

Ctes. How so? 1030

Amph.See then.

Ctes.O, true: they are at the gate.

How hath it happed?

Amph.Prophesy, sir, and tell us

Whether some god forewarned Telemachus,

Or if they gave him chase and could not catch him.

Enter Antinous and his men.

WOOERS.

Hail, Lord Antinous!

Eur.How went it with thee?

ANTINOUS.

Where is the prince?

Amph.Why, where’s the prince? he saith.

Where is the prince?

Eur.How missed you him?

Ant.Curst luck!

All day our scouts kept up unbroken guard

Along the windy headlands, and at night

None slept ashore, but cruising to and fro,

We watched the narrow channels until dawn,

Lying in wait to take him when he came.

And lo! he is here, hath run by into port,

And beached his ship upon the royal stade,

Before we knew it. Curst luck! Have ye seen him?

Eur. Nay, for he landed by the northern shore,

And sent his ship about: a god hath warned him.

Ant. God or no god, plant we before he comes

An ambush in the hills, and slay him there:

For once he reach the town alive, be sure

He is the huntsman then and we the game.

Ay, he hath wit eno’ ere he come hither

To babble of our plot, and ’fore the folk

Will, with his pretty face and cunning tears

And speeches of his mother, stir them up

To rise against us. Look, sirs, while he lives

We can do nothing, but if we should kill him,

His lands and goods are ours: we may divide

The wealth and let who will possess the widow.

That is my counsel, lords: but if ye suffer

This baby to return, then this I say—

Make we at once our gifts,—myself I count it

No satisfaction,—but that one of us

Should win at least the dame and such few chattels

As may go with her, is the only credit

We have to look for.

Ctes.What is that to us?

Ant. What say ye, lords?

Amph.Why, ’tis a pretty plan.

We came to woo the dame; but since ’tis clear

All cannot have her, in the general interest

Change we our purpose, saith he, kill the son,

And make division. Well! What say ye, lords?

Ctes. Hark not to him: he hath a specialty.

Amph. Imbrue ye not your hands in innocent blood,

Nor touch Telemachus: for ’tis a thing

Abhorred of Zeus to meddle with a life

Of royal strain. There be the oracles;

Consult ye them: and if Telemachus

Must die and ’tis decreed, I shall be last

Of men to oppose it: otherwise I stand

Against Antinous, ay, sword to sword:

Whose insolence, I say, the gods already

Have baulked and will not suffer.

Eur.Spoken well,

Amphinomus; yet hast thou shewn no way

To avoid the mischief that must fall on us,

If now Telemachus return alive.

Enter from the gallery above, Penelope.

Suitors. The queen, the queen!

PENELOPE.

Ye shameless men, and thou most shamed of all,

Antinous—nay, never think I know not

Because I hold aloof; or that I hear not

Because ye see me not. I know you all,

And none is there among you who more wrongs

The hospitality ye all constrain,

Than that Antinous:—doth he remember

How once his sire Eupeithes to this house

Fled from the people, when they would have slain him

For joining in the Taphian piracies

’Gainst the Thesprotians, who were then our friends

And good allies as now; but my Ulysses

Took him, and by great favour won his life?

And now his son against our noble son

Plotteth to kill him: is all due regard

For sacred ties ’twixt house and house so lost?

That ye too here, who sit in idleness

To waste the substance of my absent lord,

Hark to such insolent and bloody malice,

The while ye sue me for my hand? Pretence!

I say: ye are constant lovers, but ’tis wine

And meat ye love, and me ye only wrong.

Eur. And us thou wrongest, wise Penelope,

Deeming thy son hath not such friends among us,

As make his coming hither and his going

And converse with us safe. If one had dared

To plot his death, this spear, that now is bright,

Were red to-day with blood: for me too, lady,

Hath good Ulysses in the days gone by

Set on his knee, and to my boyish lips

Tendered the wine-cup: wherefore is his son

Dear to my soul, and from no man that moves

Within my reach, need he fear death or harm.

Ctes. (aside). Hark to him now!

Ant. (to Pen.). We all are bounden, lady,

To serve thy house; and I above the rest

Have shewn my zeal, sailing my galley forth

To meet thy son with honour, and in safety

To escort him home.

Pen.Standing but late above

I overheard your council; look, I bid you

Depart, lest on a sudden ye encounter

Him whom ye willed to slay. The gods have brought him

In safety home: he will be here; so ye

Go to your lodges, nor to-morrow morn

Come as your wont, unless ye bring in hand

Each of you, for a pledge of truth and peace,

Some gift of price. Strange suitors are ye, lying

Here at my charges, feasting day by day,

Nor ever make such offerings as a woman

Must look for where she is loved or wooed: begone.

My son hath passed the town. I have a message

He will be here. (Voices without.) Ay, now, before ye go

He is come. I hear him.

Enter Telemachus, spear in hand at back; the wooers throng round him as he presses forward.

Eur.Welcome, noble prince.

Amph. All hail, Telemachus!

Ant.The gods be praised.

Chor. Hail, noble offspring of a noble sire!—

Most gracious son of a most gracious lady!—

Dear to our eyes as is the light of morn—

Welcome as softest rain to new-sown fields—

Ctes. (aside). Or like a frost in spring.

TELEMACHUS.

My lords and friends,

I thank you all. (To Pen.) See me returned, dear mother.

Pen. Welcome, my son. I knew that thou wert come:

’Tis good. (Aside to Telem.) I had now discharged these lords: I pray thee

Rid us their company.

Tel.My friends, I fear

My entrance, just as ye were stood to go,

Delays your going: feel not such constraint,

Beseech you. We may look to meet again,

If I mistake not.

Ant. (aside to wooers). See how haughtily

He bears himself.

Ctes. (aside). Yield not an inch: abide!

Eur. My lords, let all depart.

Amph. (to Pen.). Lady, farewell,

To-morrow I will offer at thy feet

The best I have.

All.And I, and I.

Pen.Farewell.

Tel. Farewell, my lords.

Ant. Would I might stay to see the melting joy

Of this most happy meeting.

Pen.Go thy way.

If ever grace spake false, ’twas on thy tongue,

Falsest Antinous.

Suitors (going). Farewell, Farewell.

[They are heard singing without. To keep good peace we swear, etc.]

Tel. My dearest mother.

Pen.O, my noble son,

’Tis joy to kiss thee. Do I see thee safe?

But O, thou hast tarried long! And was it kind

To make thy journey hence without a word?

If thou couldst but have seen my pain, the day

I found thee gone, thy pity had surely made

Thy duty, and held thee back. But now to see thee,

And as thou earnest those rude men abashed,—

O, I was proud!

Tel.Thou canst not more rejoice

Than I.

1170

Pen. I wonder not they were abashed;

Thou hast a freer step, a manlier bearing:

I am much to blame keeping thee here at home,

Away from fellowship of noble spirits.

Whom hast thou seen?

Tel.Why that were long to tell.

Pen. I saw thy ship sail in, and then there came

Eumæus, saying how thou wert with him,

And wouldst not come: then came thy messenger,

That thou wert in the town, and on thy way.

How was it?

Tel.See, I am just escaped with life:

Spare questioning. First let the gods be served:

Go bid thy maidens, ere the night close in,

Prepare a worthy sacrifice to Zeus;

Ay, such a sacrifice, as to this day

This house has never seen.

Pen.’Tis very meet.

Yet why this urgence? there hath something passed

Thou keepest back. Is’t possible, my boy,

That in the southern courts some lady’s eyes

Have drawn thee to vow hecatombs?

Tel.Nay, mother.

Pen. I should be glad. What is it then hath changed thee?

Tel. How am I changed? 1190

Pen.Thou art aloof and strange.

Tel. It ever dulled my kinder spirits to view

These robbers in my father’s hall.

Pen.Alas!

What could I do, my son, and thou away?

Here is no change, nor ever any tidings.

I have neither power nor reason on my side:

I cannot say My lord is yet alive,

Wherefore depart, ye wrong me; nor as little

My lord is dead, I will requite your honour,

And choose the worthiest. O, where’er thou hast been,

If aught thou hast learned of any certainty,

Speak now, whate’er it be, fear not to tell:

Tell of thy sire, my son, though ’tis his death!

Tel. Now heaven forbid that word.

Pen.Alas, Telemachus;

What is our hope? Or if thou know of any,

Why art thou reticent of it?

Tel.Hearken, mother:

If thou wilt hear me, I will tell my story,

As time allows, stripped of all circumstance.

First sailed I then to Pylos, where I found

Nestor, who lovingly my stay entreated,

And held me as his son, but, when he learned

My quest, and nothing knew of my dear father,

Would have me go, and with a royal escort

Conveyed me to the court of Menelaus:

There I saw Argive Helen.—

But Menelaus, when I told my tale

Brake out in anger, and I think few words

Would draw him hither with his dukes to sweep

Our house of its dishonour; but in fine

Thus much he said, that still Ulysses lived,

But with the nymph Calypso in her isle

By subtle sleights withheld; in whom it lay

That he was not returned, and might not yet;

But there abode. Then, since he knew no more,

I sped me home, and should have sped to death,

Had not divine Athenè sent a dream

To warn me of the ambush, with the wind

To bring me round the isle: wherefore I bid thee

Perform the sacrifice, lest for such favour

We seem ungrateful.

Pen.Didst thou never ask

Of Menelaus, how he came to know

Thy father’s fate?

Tel.It was the wizard Proteus,

Whom strangely he entamed and all his art,

When he lay windbound in the isle of Pharos;

Who told him, for he held him fast for all

His magic shifts and slippery changefulness,

Becoming first a bearded lion, thereafter

A snake, a leopard, and a bristly boar;

And then as running water seemed he, or

A tall and flowering tree ...

Pen.My son, my son,

These are mere tales. When was this said to have been?

Tel. ’Twas scarce two years.

Pen.Ah, and so long!

Tel.’Tis tidings

Both sure and good, mother; and yet ’tis nought

To what remains. The thing I sought abroad

Has come to me at home: but if I tell thee,

Thou in thine inmost heart store it,—no word

Even to Eumæus, tho’ ’twas in his hut,

—Where as I crossed the isle I turned aside,—

I found an aged man, his beggar guest:

Whom, for Eumæus warned me he was full

Of tales of Troy, I held of no account

When first he spoke, but soon I learnt he knew.

He was himself at Troy, and, as he saith,

Hath lately seen my father, who is free,

And bent on swift return.

Pen.Is this thy news?

Tel. Is’t not then news?

Pen.Nay, nay, thou art deceived.

An idle tale Eumæus would not hear:

A rogue he warned thee of, and not the first

That thus hath lied.

Tel.There hath been none like him.

Pen. Their tale is still the same, and spiced to match

Any credulity.

1260

Tel.I would not have

Thy mind less wary, nor bespeak thy credit.

To-morrow I will bring him here, and then,

He being our guest, thyself mayst question him.

And be thou not persuaded, I will look

No longer for my father’s wished return;

Nor after lend an ear to any man,

But hold him as our enemy, who saith

Ulysses lives.

Pen.In hoping and despairing

Thou art too quick, my son; and past occasions

Have taught thee nought. Come, tell me of thyself,

And of thy journey. Tell me too of Helen,

Is she still beautiful? and doth she live

Forgiven of Menelaus and beloved?

Tel. In good time, mother, shalt thou hear all this,

And more. Consider now how best to prove

This beggar, when I bring him.

Pen.If need were

’Twere easy.—Yet, how should Eumæus err?

Hath he not means to sift the false from true?

Could such a guest as this thou deemest dwell

With him unknown?

1280

Tel.Thou shalt thyself enquire.

Weigh well what proof to use, but now no longer

Delay the sacrifice my safety calls. [Going.

Pen. My son!

Tel.Adieu, I go into the town.

Pen. Why wilt thou go?

Tel.First I must make report

To good Noëmon of his ship returned;

Then to pay off my crew.

Pen.Ah, prithee son,

Have care: the robbers have a plot to kill thee:

They now may lie in wait. ’Tis early dusk.

Tel. I fear them not. 1289

Pen.Indeed I know their minds.

Tel. The goddess will withhold their impious hands.

Pen. What goddess trustest thou to aid thee so?

Tel. Why who but she that hath preserved my sire?

Pen. Alas! Then take Eumæus with thee, son.

Tel. I need him not. Farewell.

Pen.Then if thou goest,

Farewell. But do not tarry.

Tel.Bid prepare

My chamber; for at night I shall return. [Exit.

Pen. The gods protect thee.—Would the gods, that made him

So handsome, loving, noble, brave, and good,

Had given him wisdom; for without that gift,

Grace bears no fruit. ’Tis plain to all, my son

Hath not the truth of his advertisement:

He wears the semblance only, such as lures

And flatters the deceiver. If I am vexed,

’Tis with myself: I looked for better things

And suffer in rebuff. That Menelaus,

The delicate, self-seeking Menelaus,

Should leave his easeful home to avenge a friend,

And that friend dead: and then the wizard tales,

Calypso and Proteus, and whatever else,

And worst of all this ancient beggar-man,

Who hath a tale better than all the tales!

Alas, alas! my son, thou wilt have need

Of much good care. ’Twas ill I did not send

Eumæus with him. Now till he return,

Patience—and when he is returned, again

Patience—’tis so: patience was made for me;

And one by one my deprecative days

Bring nought, but as they flee, still cry to-morrow.

ACT · IV

The same: many wooers seated about the hall over remains of feast. In front of stage TELEMACHUS (L.), EURYMACHUS (C.), AMPHINOMUS and ANTINOUS (R.). Phemius sitting near: at left of stage a table piled with gifts.

EURYMACHUS.

Order thou as thou wilt; with mine own hand

Will I present my gift.

ANTINOUS.

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And so will I.

Shall there be no distinction?

TELEMACHUS.

Sirs, consider

How ye would make distinction. Ye are many,

And acquiescence in a preference

Of two or three were the self-forfeiture

By all the rest of further claim in suit.

AMPHINOMUS.

Hark, ’tis well said, Eurymachus; and for one

I were content.

Eur.Why this is nought to me.

All cannot give; but we and such beside,

Whose title we acknowledge, may present

Our gifts in person: let the rest lay theirs

Here on the table: nor will we admit

More than are present now within the hall:

All others with the henchmen may remain,

Where they sit feasting, in the outer court.

Ant. So be it, I say.

Eur.’Twas on her own demand

We brought our gifts to-day: shall we not give them?

Ant. ’Tis fit there be reception. Here we wait

Since noon, and still she comes not. Will she come?

Tel. I am here, my lords, to tell you she will come.

Prepare to see her.

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Eur.My place is first: ye two

Will follow. For the rest, is’t left to me

To fix the order?

Amph.I would urge to abide

By what the prince desires.

Tel.Nay, nay, my lords.

I waive all word: the matter rests with you.

I say but this: since ’tis not possible

That each in person should present his gift,

My mother’s will is that ye lay them here

Upon the table. Yet if one or two

Command distinction, there is nought so far

Forbids exception.

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Eur.Lords, then sit we down;

Thence may we pass the word to whom we will.

And say that while we wait our lady’s coming,

Good Phemius sing. Prince, wilt thou sit by me?

Tel. Nay, I will take my seat where I was wont.

[They sit down.

Eur. Serve us some wine.

Tel.Phemius, I’d have thy song

Tell of my father.

Music. (All are seated.)

Enter Eumæus with Ulysses disguised.

EUMÆUS.

This way, old man, now art thou in the hall

Of good Ulysses.

Eur.Stay, stay, who come here

Breaking the music.

Ant.’Tis the wretched swineherd.

Eur. Prince, bid him hence!

Ant. What ruffian brings he with him? 1360

Amph. Who is this ancient patch?

Ant.O miserable

Tatterdemalion!

CTESIPPUS.

What a scurvy beggar!

Eur. Eumæus, I bid thee take thy plague away!

A suitor. Nor want we thee to-day, old swine-driver.

Another. When the meat fails, we’ll send.

Ctes.Rascally knave.

Another. Go fat thy pigs!

Ctes.The hog-tub stands without:

If thy old man be hungry, take him there.

Another. Ctesippus, force them forth.

Ctes.Begone, I say:

Or I will drive you quicker than ye came.

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Eur. Eumæus, hear me: take thy man away.

Eum. Nay, Lord Eurymachus, ’tis never thou

Canst say begone to any from this hall,

Nay, nor Antinous nor Ctesippus either:

But if to me ye say it, ye forget

How I stand here of right; nor is it like

I stir for you. As for your music-making,

Be still yourselves, and we can sit in peace,

And listen with you.

Ant.Ye to sit with us,

Insolent villain!

Eur.Whatsoe’er thy right,

This filthy beggar is beyond all reason.

Who is he?

Eum.Lord Eurymachus, this man,

Mean as he is, hath here more privilege

Than thou. He comes by invitation hither;

He is the prince’s suppliant.

Eur.Now, Telemachus,

Thou art reproached in this.

Eum.Come to reproach,

I know a word.

Ant.Wag not thy beard at us,

Thou low-bred hind.

Tel.Indeed, Eurymachus,

I am not disgraced; for in my father’s hall

Was ever room and welcome for all such

As needed food and shelter: nay, and they

Who most have need stand first; as doth this man.

As for my servant, he hath given an answer

To those that have reviled him.

Amph.If so be

This beggar is thy guest and suppliant,

His fitter place were still the outer court:

Invite him thither.

Tel.I have bid him here.

And here he shall remain. Fear not, good father,

Go sit thee by the hearth: and thou, Amphinomus,

Urge me not. I will have my way in this:

Were there no other reason than this one,

That I will have my way. Take thou that stool,

Old man, and sit at ease: none here can touch thee.

Ctes. (to Ul. aside). Dare!

Ant. (to Eur.). Shall we brook this?

Eur.Prince Telemachus,

Though thou be very son of great Ulysses,

Think not to overrule us thus with words.

Dispose thou mayst within fair reason’s bounds

Even as thou wilt: so much in courtesy

We grant, but not for fear; nor are our spirits

Of stuff to suffer what indignities

Thy haughty temper may prepare. In this

We shall resist thee.

Tel.There be men in Ithaca

Call thee not king, Eurymachus; though here

Thou take so much on thee.

Ant.Ha! threat’st thou us?

Telemachus! what next? This is’t to have been

In Lacedæmon. Now may we, who ne’er

Have looked upon the godlike Menelaus,

Behold his mirror. Why, what game is this?

Think’st thou with strength and might upon our side

We bandy words? I say this ragged loon

Shall not have place with us: the sight of him

Hath turned my stomach. If for any bond

Of blood or service thou set store by him,

Thou mayst do better for his skinny bones

Than stow them here. ’Twill not be many hours

That he shall trouble us.

Tel.Ay, so may be.

But wouldst thou kill him, Lord Antinous,

It had been better to have waylaid his ship,

Or set an ambush for him in the hills.

Ant. (aside). By heaven, I smart.