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Full text of "The Chief European Dramatists"

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THE CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



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THE CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



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THE CHIEF EUROPEAN 
DRAMATISTS 

TWENTY-ONE PLAYS FROM THE DRAMA OF 

GREECE, ROME, SPAIN, FRANCE, ITALY 

GERMANY, DENMARK, AND NORWAY 

From 500 B.C. to 1879 A.D. 



SELECTED AND EDITEQ 

WITH NOTES, BIOGRAPHIES, AND 

BIBLIOGRAPHIES 

BY 

BRANDER MATTHEWS 



HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

BOSTON - NEW YORK ■ CHICAGO ■ DALLAS ■ SAN FRANCISCO 
ditiieUbnsflu ¥nMi CambrOgc 



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BEPLACING 

fi 11 i -1- 



.73 



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H. C. CHATFIELD-TAYLOR 

ACCOMPUSHiD IHTERPRETEIL OF TWO 

CRltF EUKOPEAH DKAMATUT* 

OOLDOHl AND MOUtKB 



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CONTENTS 



bmaovcrtOH 

AoAUKXOH jSwtyltu 

Tranilattd bv S. D. A. Monhead 
(&>iroB ima Sura .... ... Soj^udtt 

TnndaUd by Sir Hichant Claoe-koiue JdA 
Mbdu BwipidM 

TrorulaUd by OiOert liMrraji 
TWB Ftoob AHUofham 

Trmdated by J. HooMtom Frwn 
Turn CAFTivja Ptenilu* . 

Tnmflolcd by fldtwntl H. Stigdm 
PHonao Ttrmet . 

TranAUtd by Morri* H. Morgan 
Thb Star or Sbvilli Lop» d» Vtga 

TrmOated by PhUip M. Haydtn 
Lm 18 A Drbam CoUeron . 

Trarulal^ by Denit Flortnix Uae-Carthy 



Tax CiD 



TnaAiM by Flomu* Ktndritk Cooper 
rranddted by Curtis Hiddm Page 



TranilaM by Bebert Bruea BotwtU 
Ibm Barbbb op SartiJA 

Trmulatad by Arthvr B. Myrvk 
HiBMAin 

TVondotod bv Mrt. Ntu^ Crodand 
Thb BoN'Ix-Law op M. Ponmm 

TTmOated by Barrett H. Clark 
Thb Ovtsb Edqi or Socmr .... 

Trandated by BarrtU H. Clark 
Tbb HivranB or thb Inn . 

rroMbitoil &v tffrif Pitrmm 



. IDS 



CortmO* 283 

MoUirt 26S 

JiBeiM 801 

Btaumarehau .... 829 
Yidor Hvgo . . . . tBO 
Avgitr and Sanitaa . . 411 
vlfeMndn Dvmatfi* . . 447 
QMaU iOS 



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viU CONTENTS 



MncifA TON Basnhblu Li ui ng . . 

Oovn TOM BiBLTCBiNaiiN Goelkt , • 

Tmulattd hy .Sir WalUr Soott 
William Tmll iSdUKir . . 

TronJat»d by Sir Theodore Martin 
Rajutob Montantb Holberg . 

Trondaled by Otar Jamee CanpMI and Prtderie Sdiendc 
A Doll's Housb Hemik Ihmn 

TnmdaUd by WiOiani Ardutr 
ApRMsn 

I. Noras oh thb Aothobb 

II. NoTBB ON TUB Plats 

lU. A RmuHKO Idsr in Edbofban DEUUimt ..... 



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INTRODUCTION 

It « ia nsponM to & wider and mon intelligent interest in dmnktic litcfature, mac! 
m tbe dnm» « an ut, ti»t tlie idkywrighta of ereiy ouxlero Ungiuge now publish their 
|itoy» tKon4tiyiaQrdCT that tbeae miff ba read both by tho»e who bftve already witn n wad 
tba pafonatJte* and by tiww d^rivad of this pleaBura by remotoneaa fiom the [day- 
bouM. Fraoadius and accompanying tim interest in the drama of the immediate preaaot 
there ia alao a otHtrtantly ina«a>ing attention to the drama of the past, and more eapa- 
ciilly to tin dramatic literature of tiie Fingliah lansuage- Profeoeor Neileon haa made a 
wlortion of the moat important tnotdies and oomediw of the dramatists who were 
Shakaspean's oootcnqiofaries under Queeo EUaabetb and hia succesaon under King 
Jama; and Pnifewor BoJcei is preparing a aareeponding collection choeen from out 
the WDihe of the Beatoration dramatiste. In Professor Dickinson's volume, the Clwf 
Cawtifwwry Dramatitti, there is ample repreoentation of the foremost British and 
IkmKican playmaken at the beginning of ihB twentieth century* 

Hitherto, ho««rer, iw adequate att^npt bae been made to select, out of the drama of the 
lemotat psst and out of the drama of other tongues than Engliah, a group of [^jb, tre^ 
and eonic, which might illustrate and illuminate the development of dramatic literature 
fnm tba Occek of the fifth oentuiy bj:. to the Scandinavian of the end of the nineteenth 
cautuiyxD. Iliia is the difficult task which hAs been undertaken by the editor of this TiA- 
tBn& It has been hia duty to Mcertain who, among the scores and the hundreds of [riay- 
wnghts that have floudshed in the different countriee of Europe during the past twenty- 
four aantauiea, wen entitled to be reoogniud as acknowledged masters of the art of 
the drama or aa indiapulahle representatives of their race and of their era. This sdection 
his proved to be a matter of uneipeeted delicacy; and the editor cannot hope that the 
scholars, into whoae hwrHs this volume in ay oome, will all of tiwm ^ree with his choioe or 
acMpt the prinoiples upon which it has been guided. 

Yat, wh«i ffrety allawaace has been made, it ought to be admitted that any selectimi 
like this muat inevitably be afiect«d by the personal aquation of the editor, fnm «4iich he 
esangt fiaa himself, however much he may struggle. And this editor confesaee frankly 
that if be oould have had his own way, disregarding tiie necessary limitatiim of a sin^ 
wdume^ be would have been glad to include the most amusing medtteval Pierre Paihdin 
of an unknown Frenchman aad a correqnudiiig German farce by Hans Sachs. He would 
have heritated long before deciding upon the eKcIusioQ of Seneea, of Grillparier and 
nsftag; of Al&ed da Musset and the elder Dumas. It was te him a pereonal grief Uiat 
Ui esmoisnce ompcfled him to leave out Kotsebue and Scribe, playwrights rather Uian 
''TnratiBts, maiisr tscbaiciana irfio made the path straight iar arti^ of a richer endow- 
aaot and of a man significant measage. 

Evan after the list of dramatiata bad been drawn up, there renutned the almost equally 
difficult du^ <tf deddiag upon the single play which should best represent the totsl 
iiihiiiMiiiaiil of aadi of them. There is no doubt that .fsohylus is satisfaotonly rapro- 
•ntid by .^0B"M<>MN and S^hocles by (£dt)mi <As £hv; but is Jtf sdra necanatily the betl 



s INTRODUCTION 

l^v ^ Mkot trom Euripides or Phormio from TcRDoaT Whst ahould be tbe choioe fram 
Goetba, from SchilW, aad from Holberg? For Bwmmarehwi ought the fioriwr of &ntb 
to be taken or the Marriage of Pigarat And from Cftlderon ought Lift U • Dream to be 
picked out or the Devotion to lite Crout All th&t the editor can urge in juetificatiixi of 
the sdeotion tiiat he finall; made ia that he has been piided by a variety of reasons — by 
the availability of a Batisfactory translation, in eonw cases; and in others by Ute supoior 
fitness of the cluMen play for tbe general reader. 

A collection of masterpieces of the drama eittending over a soot^ of oenturies serves to 
jnake pUin something which ouf^t never to be ovo^ooked. TIm prinoiides of dnunatio 
art (un unchanging through the agee, tlie same to-day in Paris or in Nov York that tbqr 
were in Athens twenty-four hundred years ago. Th^ an to be deduoed from tbe tngs- 
dies of Sophodee ss cleariy ss from Um trsgediGe of Shakeapean, from the comedies <d 
MoUdre as obviously as from iha oomedies of Lessii^ and Goldmi and Augier; and thsy 
are all the result of tbe fact that a dramatist always composes his [days with tbe desn 
and the intent that they shall )x performed by actors in a Uiester and before an audi- 
enoB. He takes thought of the performers of hie own time and city; and Bapbodn and 
Moli^. while they were creating oharactcrs for tbe apprecnation of posterity, were also 
pieparing parts for contemporary performers in whom they had confidence. He adjiists 
the stories he tdls on the stage to the physical coikditions of tbs only [da^iouse with 
which he is famQiar. And he feels constrained always to chooss tbe kind of story wiiek 
win arouse and retain the intereete of his conteinpcmuies in his own country, giving no 
thought to the possible lildngs of any other audience either abroad or in tlte future. 

A dramatist ia .a playwright who is also a poet — in the largest meaning of the wt*d; 
and he is a playwright before he is a poet. As a (daywright he faaa an intuitive pcnxf>- 
tion of tbe undeniable fact that spectators massed in a theater are always likely to be 
moat keenly interested in an action which deals with the deeds of strong-willed men; 
and therefore he is prone to provide plot« caused by tbe clash of contending desins- 
As a playwright he is aware that tbe niassed spectators insist on seeing for themselves 
tbe culminating moments of the essential strug^e, and therefore these necessary epi- 
sodes are always shown in action and never tamely related. As a playwright he knows 
that an audience will not be moved unless it understands fully what is happening befoe 
its eyes; and therefore he takee infinite pains with tbe problem of expoeition, making 
clear so much of the past as may be essential for the understanding of the preaent. As 
a idaywright he ia conscious that the pla^oers need to have their attention kept ali*e 
as tbe story is unrolled before them; and therefore be articulates bis idot adroitly that 
suspense thickens and that tbe stress of tbe ocmtest is steadily intensified. And as a 
pl^fwri^t, finally, he new f<^eta that tbe audience bas eyes as well as ears; and there- 
fore be provides the utmost spectsole possible in bis own theater so far as tiiis is in ai^ 
cord with the quality of his work. 

To the many friends who have aided him with encouragement and helped him with 
counsel — eq)eciaOy to bis ccdieague Professor Edward Ddavan Perry — the edito 
desires to express his abiding gratitude. And he takes pleasure in recording htm his ob- 
ligation to Um kindly oourte^ of the translators and of the ownen of oopj'right who ban 
made possible the inclusion of translations espedally desirable: to the Preaident and 
fellowB of Barvard Univeruty for permission to use the late Professor Morria H. Morgsn'i 
rendering of Phormio of Termce; to the American-Scaodinarian Foundation for pH^ 
misKon to use tlte version of Aumua ifonlontM ivepared by Professor Oscar JaoM 



INTRODUCTION ^ 

Ckinpbell and Mr. Frederic Sohenok; to the Wisconain Dramatic Society for permimon 
to uM MiM Merle Vitnoa'a trandation of Goldoni's Mialnas qf Die Inn: to the Oxford 
Un iv et wty Vnm, Americas Branch, and Professor Gilbert Murray for penviniim to 
htdude his meWcal rsndKiiig cA Uie Medea of Euripides; to the Cambridge Univenritjr 
"Pttm tar penniaaion to reprint Jebb'a prose vconon of (Edifm*; to G. F. Putnam's Bods 
and Pr^eoaor Curtis Hidden Page for permission to include his vene traiulation of 
Tartufft; to Charles Scn'bner'a Sons and Mr. William Archer for pennianon to use the 
latest Tersioii of his rendering of A DaU'a Htnue; to the Macmillaii Company for pov 
■manon to use Morshead's Agtanenmon; to Georee Betl A Sons for permission to use ths 
ttanriatioas from Hugo, Lessing, and Radne; to J. M. Dent & Co. for penniaaion to 
jsdnds the trandation of the Barber ^ SesilU; and to D. Apfdettm ft Co. for permiHiiNl 
to reprint the translation of the Cid. 



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AGAMEMNON 

By .eSCHYLUS 
miHilaUd intt Englith vtrti ty M. D. A. MORSHEAD 



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CHARACTERS 

A Watcbicam. . 
Chohdb. 
clttiimnx6tul 
A HaRAU>. 

AOAMEMMON. 
CABftANSBA. 



ft Ou Pallet of Atrmi* at Myetiue. In front of OitPa 
tlatvM of IA« ffodi, and ottor* pr(pE>rad for moerifittt 



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AGAMEMNON 



A WATcmuK. I pnv th» gods to quit 

me of my toils, 
To done the wktoh I ke^, thia livelong 

ye"; 
Fbr M a watoh-dog lying, not at rest, 
FroK>ed on one arm, upon tiie palace-nxrf 
Of Atraus' race, too long, toe well 1 know 
TbestsRy ocHuilaTe of the midnight sky, 
Too wdl, the aplrodwe of the firmament , 
The lorda of light, whose kin^ a^wot 

■hotn — 
What time tiuij eet or climb the aky in 

The year'a diviaionii, bringing fratt or fire. 

And DOW, as ever, am I set to mark 
When diall stream up the ^ow of aignal- 

The bale-fire bright, and tdl its Trojan 



IteiuixHimine unrestful ooucb I lie, 
Bathed with the dews of night, unvisited 
By dnama — ah mel — for in tbe place of 

Stands Pear as my familiar, and repels 
The Mit repose that would mine eyelids seal. 

And if at irtiilee, for the lost balm of sleep, 
I medioane my aoul with melody 
Of trill or SMig — anon to tears I turn, 
Wding the woe that broods upon this 

Not Dow by honor guided as of old. 

But now at last fair fall the welcome hour 
lliatwto me free, wh«ie'er the thick night 

^ow 
With beaoon-fire of hope dderred no more. 
Allhaill 

(A btaeon-Ught it (mh nddming 
As dMonl sifcv.] 



Fire of the night, that bringe my spirit di^. 
Shedding on AigCM light, and d&ttce, and 

song. 
Greetings to fortune, baill 

Let my loud summons ring within the eaia 
Of Agamemnon's queen, that she anon 
Start from her oouch and with a shrill 

A joyous welcMoe to the beacon-blaie, 
For Ilion'a fall; such fiery message gleams 
From yon high flame; and I, before the nst, 
Will foot the lightsome measure of our joy; 
Fori can M,y, My matim'* diet feli fair — 
Beholdl tht triple aie», Uu btcky fame! 
Now be my lot to olasp, in loyal love, 
l^e hand of him restored, who rules our 

Home — but I aoy no more: uprai my 

tongue 
Treads hard the ox o' the adage. 

Had it voice, 
The home itself might soothlieet tell its 

tale; 
I, of set will, speak words the wise may 

To others, nought remember nor discern. 
[Ettt. The chorut of old men t^ 
Myema enter, each leaning on a 
^aS. During their eong Cut' 
TKMNVSIRA appear t in the bocfc- 
gmund, kindling the altare.] 
Chorts. Ten livelong years have rolled 
away, 
Since the twin lords of soeptered sway, 
By Zeus endowed with pride of place, 
Tba dou^ty chiefs of Atreus' raoe. 
Went forth of yore, 
To plead with Priam, face to face. 
Before the judgment-seat of Warl 

A thousand ships from Argive land 
Put forth to bear the martial band. 
That with a spirit stem and strong 
Went out to right the kingdom's wrong — 



■ CHIEF. -EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Peiled, aa th^ weoi, tlie'bAttre-song, 

Wild as ttw vultures' cry ; 

When o'er the eyrie, soaring high, 

In wild bereavAd agony, 

Around, annmd, in airy rings. 

They wheel with oarage of their wifig^ 

But not the eyas-brood behold. 

That called them to the nest erf old; 

But let Apollo from the sky, 

Or Pan, or Zeus, but hear tiie cry, 

The exUe cry, the wail forlorn. 

Of birds from whom their home is lorn — 

On thoK irtko wrought the rapioa fdl, 

Heaven sends the vengeful fiends of heU. 

Even BO doth Zeus, the jealous lord 
And guardian of the hearth and board. 
Speed Atreus' sons, in vengeful ire, 
'Gainst Paris — sends them forth on fire, 
Her to buy back, in war and blood. 
Whom one did wed but many woo'dl 
And many, many, by hia wiB, 
The last embraoe of foes shall feel. 
And many a knee in dust be bowed, 
And si^ntered speaii on shields ring loud, 
Of Trojan and <^ Qreek, before 
That iron bridal-feast be o'erl 
But as he willed 't is ordered all. 
And woes, by Heaven ordained, must fall — 
Unaoothed by tears or spilth of wine 
Poured forth too late, the wrath divine 
Glares vengeanoe on 



And we in gray diahonnred eld, 

Feeble of frame, imfit were held 

To join the warrior array 

That then went forth unto the fray : 

And here at home we tarry, fain 

Out feeble footat«p« to sustain, 

Eaoh on his staff — so strength doth waae, 

And turns to childishness again. 

For while the etf of youth ia green, 

And, yet unripened, leaps within. 

The young are weakly as the old. 

And each alike unmeet to hold 

The vantage post of war I 

And ahl when flower and fruit are o'er. 

And on life's tree the leaves are sere. 

Age wendeth propped its joum^ drear. 

As forceless as a child, as light 

And fleeting as a dream of night 

Lost in the garish dayl 



But thou, child of Tyndaiena, 

Queen Clytemneatra, speaki and a»y 

What messenger of joy to-d^r 

Hatb won thine earT what wdomne news. 

That thua in sacrificial wise 

£*«■ to the city's bouodafiea 

Thou biddest altar-fires ariieT 

Eaoh god who dotliaur city eiard. 

And keeps o'er Argoa ootdi and witd 

From heaven above, f nwi with bsknr — 

The mighty lords who rule the skiaa. 

The market's leww dntiM, 

To each and all the dt«s|^, 

Piled for tba sacrifieet 

And here and ther^ aoMi, star, 

Btrewns skyward many » beaeon-atar, 

Conjur'd and chacm'd uid kindlad well 

By pure oil's soft and guileleas apeU, 

Hid now do mtan 

Within the palace' secret stom. 

queen, we pray thee, whatsoe'er. 
Known unto tbee, wen well reveidad, 
That thou wift trust it to our ear. 
And bid our anxious heart be healadt 
That waoeth dow unto despair — 
Now, waxing to a presage fair. 
Dawns, from Uh altar. Hop* — to tear* 
From our rant hsAita the vultvre Clare. 

ListI for the power is mine, to chant on hi^ 
The cbxtn' emprisf^ the stm^th that 

omonagavel 
List! on my swil breatliaa y«t Ahanao^, 
From realms of agelon powers, aad atrong 

How brother kings, twin lords of one oom- 

Led forth the youth of BeUaa k their 

flower, 
Uiaed on their w^r, with vei^ul Qwar 

and brand. 
By warricr-birda, that watehad Uie|MvtiBK 

Go/orei to Trov, the aaglas seaowd to«y — 
And the sea-kings obeyed the sl^lunga' 

When on the right they soared across the Ay, 
And ooe was blaek, one bore a white tail 
barred. 



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AGAMEMNON 



High •'« tht palftM mn they Mtn to Bcwr, 
Tben lit in ai^t of all, and rent and tare, 
Far fiDB tba BeUa that ahe Bkould Tange 

Domofe, 
Big with her unbcna brood, a mother-hara. 

And one beheld, the i(ddi«r-fffophet touo, 
And the two ohiela, unlike of aoul aokl win, 
la thetwy-eolorad aaglea atrai^t he knew. 
And itfiake the omnt forth, tot good and ill. 

CAh, woe and ^nlSl^rdasi but be the iaaue 
Url) 

Oo forth, he oried, and Priam'g loam aAoU 

fa&. 
Ytt long til* IMM thall be; andjUidemtd herd, 
T*e pMpb'a VMtUh, tiial rosm ln^on Ote 

uoU,- 
SkaU force ktw dowa, tehcn Fate AaU fk» 



Bvt O beware! leal wmlA in hem)en <Mde, 
To dint Ae trowing bal^forge ante more, 
And mar tiu vttgktif curb of Trojan pride, 
Hu iM (^ vengeance, toeidedaeformirt 

For twytn Artemit beortjealoue Aote 
Againtt the royal htwM, tite ea^o-pair. 
Who read the unborn brood, iinatiatt — 
Yea, leatkei Ihtir banft*^ on tke q u tm r irtg 



The lender new-tmrnetiibKif Hone beU, 

7W (*wk to r awfe — and locU Ae tucMig 

dktU 
QfeMTfibeaetOuUroamtbvwoodandviM- 

SoloOie Lord of Heaven the praveth etUl, 
"Naii,1fUma»tbe,bet}ieotnentntel 
YetdothemtionedeagUepretageill; 
TheendbeiMll.btdtroteedwiihenlUio!" 

Heater Apottot be her viraih eontroU'd, 
Nor weave tite long delay qf tkwtrtin^ gale*, 
To uxn- (HKi<n«( (ke iJaniwn* and uilUoM 
From the free 



SheeraM*,abullo»mam)eiidttfe 
Shod forth, a omtt wnAa tf owa J uaijia — 
'Tiaixt wtddtd tovia, arUfietr <4 tbrtfe. 
And hate that knowi nolfeor, mdftil device. 

Al home there tarriet like a hirkinf make, 
Biding ilt time, a wraih mtroeoneHod, 
A wUvvxUcher, paeeionale lo elake. 
In blood, reeenimtM for amurderodekOd. 



Such was the mighty warning, pealed of 

Amid good tidings, such the word of fear. 
What time the fateful eaglea horerad o'er 

Ttia lringBj ■.ml flnlnltrta JiMji ftn««wn»iu4jwn- 

(In stoains ISie hia, onoe more. 

Sing woe and well-a-dayt but be the iaaue 

fair!) 

Zeua — if to The Unknown 

That name of many namea Boem good — 

Zeua, upon Thee I call. 

Thro' the mind'a erory nttd 

I pawed, but vain are all. 

Save that which namea thee Zens, the 

Higheat One, 
Were it bat mine to oaat away the load, 
The wearjr load, that wei^is my qiirH 

He that was Lord of old, 

In fuU-bknra pride of |riaee and valor bold, 

Hath fallen and is gone, even as aa old tale 

toldl 
And be that next held sway. 
By stronger grasp o'erthrown 
Hath paae'd away! 
And whoBo now shall bid the triumpb-chant 

arise 
To Zeus, and Zeus alone. 
He Shan be foond tbetrvly wwe. 
"r is Zeus alone who ahows the perfect wi^ 
Of knowledBe: He hath ruled. 
Men shall learn wisdom, by alDiotion 



In visions (^ thani^it, hka dropping rain 
Descend the many memories of pain 
Before the spirit's of^: thiou^ tenia ai 

dole ' 

Cornea wisdom o'er the mnrflSng aoul — 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



A boon, I wot, of «11 rUvinity, 
Tbhb holds its sacred throne in strength, 
above the sky I 

And then the elder chief, at whone ootn- 



The fleet at Greece 

Cast on the aeer no word of hate, 

But veered before the sudden breath of 

Fate — 

Ah, weaiy while! for, ere they put forth 

sail. 
Did every store, each minJ^'dveesel, fail, 
While all the AcIubbii host 
At Aulis anchored lay, 
Looidag aoroBs to Chalcia and the coast 
Whwe refluent waters welter, rook, and 

And rife witfi ill delay 

From northern Strymon blew the tiiwart- 

ing blast — 
Mother of famine fell, 
That holds mm wand'ring still 
Far from the haven where they fain would 

bel — 
And pitiless did waste 
Each ship and (»ble, rotting on the sea. 
And, doubling with delay each weary hour. 
Withered with hope deferred th' AduBans' 

warlike flower. 

But when, for bitter storm, a deadlier re- 

Uef, 
And heavier with ill to either chief, 
Pleading the ire of Artemis, the seer 

avowed, 
The two Atrids smote thw sceptos on the 

And, striving hard, could not their tears 

restrain! 
And then the elder monardi spake aloud — 
lii lot vxrt nine, to ditobeyl 
And iU, to amtte my child, my AouseAoId'i 

lave and pride I 
To tiain with mrgin blood a father't handt, 

and flay 
My daughter, by the altar'* tidtl 
'TtvixtTPoecrndtPoe TdteeU — 
/ dare not life a reereantfiy. 
And leaoe the league of Aipt, and fail each 



InteaUy; 



Far rightftdly they erotw, wi& eager Jury 

The virgin't blood, ahad forth to IvU the ad- 

iwse mnd — 
Ood und thg deti he weUI 

Thus on his neck he took 

Fate's hard compelling yoke; 

Thm, in the oountar-gale of will abhorr'd, 



To reckleesnen hig shifting spirit veered — 
Alas! that Freuy, first of ills and wont. 
With evil craft men's souls to sin hath ever 
stirred! 

And BO he steeled his heart — ah, w«U-»- 

Aiding a war for one false woman's sake. 
Bis child to slay. 
And with her apilt blood make 
An offering, to speed the ships upooth^ 
way I 



The girl-vniee plead. 

Pity mo, Paiher! nor her prayers, 

Nor tender, virgin years. 

Bo, when the chant of sacrifice was Axsat, 
Her father bade the youthful {nieetty ta«in 
Raise her, like some poor kid, above the 

altar-stone. 
From whoe amid her robes she 1^ 
Sunk sll in swoon away — 
Bade them, sb with the bit that mutdy 

tames the steed. 
Her fair lips' speech refrain. 
Lest she should speak a curse on Atreus' 

home and seed, 

So, bailing on the earth her robe of saffrtHi 

dye, 
With one Isst piteous dart from her b«- 

geechiog eye 
Those that should smite she smote — 
Fair, silent, as a pictur'd form, but fain 
To plead, la aU forgot t 
How oft thote hatU of old. 
Wherein mj/ aire kighfMH did hold, 
Rang to tiie vwvtnal *eft Mratn, 



Google 



AGAMEMNON 



Wlun /, a (totnlMt cMU, 

Sangjrom pure Hpi and vnd»fiUd, 

Saag of my tire, <md aU 

HiahiMmdlife,aridkoiBonliimihoiMfaU 

Haatm,'* highett gift and gainl 

And than — but I beheld not, iu>r«an tell, 

Whftt further fate befeU : 

But thia ia sure, tlut Calohu' boding 

Cea ne'er be void or vain. 

Hill mge from Juatioe' hand do auffeien 

The future to diacem; 

And jret — farewdl, O aeoret of To-morrowl 

Fore-knowledge ia fore-aorrow. 

Clenr with the clear beams ol the monow'a 

Hw future preeMth on. 

Now, let the house's tale, how dark ■oe'er, 

Rnd ]«t an iaaue f airt — 

Bo j>nj» the loyal, aolitary band 

'Riat guaida tiie Apian land. 

[They turn to CLiniontfTBA, uAo 
booM lie allan and eomtt for- 

queen, I ooi»e in reveienee ot thy away — 
For, irtub the rukr's kin(^ teat is vrnd, 
The loyal heart before his constat bends. 
Now — be it sure and certain newa of good. 
Or the fair tidings ot a flatt'ring hope. 
That bida thee qnread the light fnunahrine 

toahiine, 
I, fain to hear, yet gnidge not if Utou hide. 
CLTnHKioTBA. As saitJi the adage, 
Fnm lh» wmb (^ Night 
Spring forth, mlh promUe fair, (At yotmg 

tkOdldtla. 
Aye — fairer even than all hope my news — 
^ Grecian hands ia Priam's city ta'ent 
CsoRua. What say'at thou? doubtful 

heart makea tieach'roua ear. 
CLTnaismnoA. Hear then again, and 

plainly — Troy ia ourgi 
CaoKDB. Tluills thro' my heart such joy 

aa wakens tears. 
CLTTmimnsA. Aye, thro' those tears 

thine eye looka loyalty. 
Chobdb. But hast thou proof, to make 

CLT^DcntBTRA. Go to; 1 hare — un- 
Imb the god has lied. . 



Cbobos. Hath aome night-TisioD woo 

theetobelirfT 
CLTTBimBTXA. Out on all presage of a 

slumb'roua soul I 
Chobub. But wert thou cheered by 

Rumor's wingless woid T 
CLmnfNBsniA. Peace — thoudostdiide 

roe ae a credulous girl. 
Chorus. Say them, how long ago the city 

fellT 
CLTTiMNBaTBA'. Even in this night that 

now brings forth the dawn. 
Chorus. Yet who so swift could speed 

the menage htm? 
Ci.TTmfNaBTRA. From Ida's top He- 
phiestus, lord of fire, 
Sent forth his sign; and on, and ever oh, 
Beaoon to beacon sped the oouiiar-flame. 
From Ida to the crag, that Hmnee loves. 
Of Letnnoe; thence unto the steep sublime 
Of Atbos, throne of Zens, the broad blase 

flared. 
Thence, raised aloft to shoot across the sea. 
The moving light, rejoioiitg in its strength. 
Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its 

way, 
In gi^doi ^ory, like some strange new sun, 
Onwaid, and reached Maciatus' watching 

httghte. 
Then, with no dull delay nor heedless 

deep, 
The watcher sped the tidings on in turn. 
Until the guard upon Mesnnpius' peak 
Saw the far flame ^eam on Euripus' tide, 
And from the high-piled he^ of with««d 

Lit the new ngn and bade the menage on. 
Then the strong light, far-flown uid yet 

undimmedj 
Shot thro' the sky above Aeopus' plain. 
Bright tm the moon, and on (^thBion'a 

crsg 
Aroueed another watch of flying fire. 
And there the sentinels no whit disowned. 
But sent redoubled on, the best d flame — 
Swift shot the light, above Gorgopis' bay. 
To ^Igiplanctus' mount, and bade the peak 
Fail not the onward ordinance irf fire. 
And like a long beard streaming in the 

wind, 
FullTfed with fuel, toand and rose the 

blase. 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Ami cawd fiiciiiB, ^earned above die 

BaDmth wfaiah riuimMn the 8v(»k bay, 
And thenoe le^t light unto Aradtne'fl pe^, 
The raoTOtain wktch tfaftt loiAs upon our 

OImbm to th' AtritW roof — is IiMi«e 

fair, 
A bii^ psBleritr oT Ida's Ire. 
80 qwd trom stage to stage, fulflUed in 

t«ni, 
flame aft«' flmic, along tbe eouiae ot- 

dMoed, 
And lot the last to qwed opm Ha way 
Si^ts tiie end fin^ and glow" Ki>to ^e 

goal. 
And Troy u tft'eo, oad by tUa sigti my lord 
Telia me the tale, and ye have learned my 

worL 
Cbokib. To haatvHi, O quean, wffl I np- 

taise new Bomg: 
But, wouldst thou apeak once toon, I fun 

wotddbear 
From first to last tbe BMTvel of tbe taJe. 
CLTTSHmmu. Think yoa — thie t«ry 

mora — the Greeks in Troy, 
And loud tbneia tbe voioe of uttw wajlt 
Wttiim one esp pour Timgir and oil. 
And lookt unbloit, unreoonciled, ttny war. 
80 in the trnfold iaaue ot the strife 
Mingle the victor'a shout, the eiqitivea' 

For all tiie eooqaered iriiom tbe wronl has 

ding weeping — some unto a bnitfaer 

Some dkildlike to a Mning f atkei'a f(ff» , 
And wail the loved and lest, the wbSe tiRR- 

neck 
Bows down already 'aaath the o^Xive'a 

And lol the -rictora, now the fight is done, 
Qoaded by nsUeea hunger, far and wide 
Range all diaontoed thro' tbe town, to 

■oatoh 
Such victoal and audi reet as Amux may 

give 
ffitbin ttie o^itin balk that oaoe wete 

Troy- 
Joyful to rid them of the frost and dew, 
Wbernn they oouobed upoa tbe plain of 

old — 



Joyful to sle^ Uk gndovs night ■> 

Unsummoned of the wxtebmg sentind. 
Yet let tbem reverence w^ the city's goda. 
The lords ot Troy, 1^' f^len, and her 

Ruiiiesj 
Bo shall the apoilera not in turn be spotod . 
Yea, let no eravmg for forbidden gain 
Bid conquerors yield before tin darta of 

greed. 
For we need yet, before the raee be won. 
Homewards, unharmed, to round th» 

ooune once more. 
For should the host wax wanton ere it 

Tlien, tbo' tbe sadden blow of fate be 
spared, 

Yet in the sight of gads shaS rise once ntore 

Tbe great wrong of the riain, to dum re- 
venge. 

Now, bearing from thia woman's mouA of 

The tale and ehe Its wanuBg, pray with nte. 

Lack amy the teaie, wiA no wteertatn poite 

For my fair hopet are changed to fairer joj/t. 

Chorus. A gracious word thy wotnau'a 

Kps have tt^d, 
Worthy a wise man's utterance, O my 

queen; 
Now with etMr trust in thy convincing tale 
I set me to salute the gods with song, 
Who bring us bins to counterpoise our 

pain. [Exit CLmmmBTBA.) 

Zeua, I^^ of heaveni and weleotne ni|^ 
Ot victory, that hast our rai|^ 
With bU the gloriea erownedt 
On towers of lUon, bee no more, 
Hast flung tbe mighty medi of war, 
And closdy girt tbem round, 
Till neither warrior may 'acape, 
Nm- stripling lightly overleap 
The trammeb as they doee, and dose, 
TiSi with tte grip of doom our foes 
In slavery's 008 are bouadi 

Zeus, Lord of hospitality, 

In gratefid awe I bend to U>ee — 

T is thou hast atruofc tbe blow I 

At Alexander, kmg ago. 

We marked thee bend thy vMigefid bow, 

Bat long aad warily withhold 

The eager abaft, i^ieb, unoaatrofled 



AGAMEMNON 



And loaaed too nxn or Uimotiad too high. 
Had waadarad bk>odl(M thnmi^ tbo aky. 

Zew, tiw high God] — iriwta'cc bs dim in 

doubt, 
Ttui oaa our tboucht tiaok out — 
The bbw that fella the aaner w of God, 
AndMbewilk, the rod 
Of vengeance KaitBtbaonL Om Mud of (dd, 
1**0 pod* Jut twlfoAoU 
J rtekaniitff wiA kim wfujtefttt trpjm** 
Th* graea qf hoUnMt — 
An impioiu vord! lot whaosoe'er the aire 
Bnttthad lorth nb^iona foe ~ 
What time his houaehold orertowed the 

Of bliaa tad health asd tnaoura — 

Hia chilcban's ohildren road the lOffcowtBg 

At last, in toan ^ui pun. 

On nw let weal that ban^ no woe be sent, 

And therewitbat, eontontl 

Who qwRH (he dirine of Right, nor wealth 

nor power 
ibaUhetahimalcnMr, 
To guard hioi froBi tite gidf : titere Uw hie 

lot, 
When all thinga are forgot. 
Lust dnvaa bim on — luet, daepccate and 

wild, 
Fate's BiD-oontrinng child — 
And cure ie none; beyond oooeeelmant clear, 
Kindlos ^n'a baleful glare- 
Aa aa iD coin beneatk the wearing tau<^ 
Betrays by stain and smutch 
ItamelaJfidBe — euijiia the sinful wight. 
Before, on pinions light, 
Fwr Pleaaure flita, and huea him (diildlike 

en. 
While hoiae and kin tnAke moaa 
Beneath thra grinding bnrden ot his cnnw; 
Till, in the md of time. 
Cast down of heaven, he poun forth fruit- 

lenpf^rer 
To powen tltat tnS not hear. 



And ahe, nato bar ooualir asd her kin 
Leaving Uie elaah of shields and ipeara and 

uming ships, 
And bearing unto Ttoy d 

doww. 
And ovetbold in sin, 
Went OovOf thn' tlM g 

Oft from the peopbeta' lipa 

Moaned out the warning and the wail — 

Woe for the hmncs tba houMl and for the 

dueftaino, wool 
Woe for the bri^^Md, wans 
Yet from tbe loWy limfaa, the taapreM of 

the form 
Of her who loved her lordt awhile agol 
And woet tor him who Btends 
Shamed, ailent, uaieproachful, atretcfaiug 

banda 
That find her not, and aees, yet will not 

see. 
That she is far awayl 
And his sad fancy, yeaming o'er the aea, 
KiaU summon and recall 
Her wraith, once more to queu it id his 

haB. 
And sad with many memtmeq. 
The fait eoM beauty of caob leul^tnred 

(aee — 
And all to hatefulneae is turned tiieir grace. 
Seen blankly by foriccn and hungering 

eyee! 
And when the night ia deep, 
Come viMM, aweet and aad, and beating 

, pain 
Of hopings viun — 
Vmd, void aad vain, for aoaroe the deeping 

sight 
Has seen its cdd delif^t, 
When thro' the grasps of love that bid it 

stay 
It vanishes away 
On silent wings that roam adown the wigra 



Sudt are tite sigbta, the at 

About our hearth — and wmae, wbneof I 

may Bot tdl. 
But, bU the wide town o'er, 
Eaeh hooM that sent ita maater far »way 
FrauHdlaa' Am*. 



.CiOo<-i\c 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Peda the keen thiill of heart, the pug of 

loes, to-d«7. 
For, touth t« u.y, 

The touch of bitter de&th is nuuiif old! 
Familiar wm each face, and dear as life. 
That went unto the war, 
But thitiiw, whence a warrior went of old, 
Doth nought return — 
Only a spear and sword, and aahee in an 

For Area, lord of strife, 
Who doth the swaying aoalee of battle hold, 
War's money-changer, giving dust for gold, 
Sends back, to hearts that held them dear. 
Scant aab <A wairiots, wept with many a 

Umx, 
Id^t to the hand, but heavy to tlte soul; 
Yea, fills the light urn futt 
WitJi what survived the Same — 
Death's dusty measure of a hero's framel 

Alaal one cries, and j/el aUu agamt 

Our chief ii gone, Iheherooftheapear, 

And halh notl^thit -p^l 

Ah, woeJ anotjier moans — my ajwuM m 

tiain, 
ThtihaAqftumor.roiMintht^andbhod, 
Slain far a uxman't tin, a/oIm wife'* iKamtf 
Such muttered words of bitter mood 
Riae against those who went forth to re- 
Yea, jealous wrath creeps on against th' 

Atfides' name. 

And others, far beneatji the Ilian wall, 
Sleep their last deep — the goodly chiefs 

and tall. 
Couched in the foeman's land, irtieereon 

they gave 
Their breath, and lords of Troy, each in his 

Trojan grave. 

Tlierefare for each and all the city's breast 

la heavy with a wrath supprest, 

As deep and deadly as a curse more loud 

Flung by the common crowd: 

And, brooding deeply, doth my soul await 

Tidings of coming fate. 

Buried as yet in darkness' womb. 

For not forgetful is tlw high gods' doom 

Against tj>e sons of oamage: all too long 

Seems the unjust to proiper and be strong, 



Till the dark Furies come, 
And smite with stwn revcnal all hit borne, 
Down into dim obstruction — he is gone. 
And help and hope, among the kwt, ia none i 

O'er him who vauntetb an exceeding fame, 

Impends a woe condign; 

The vengeful bolt upon hie eyes doth flanoe. 

Sped from the hand divine. 

This blias be mine, ungrudged of God, to 

feel — 
To tread no city to the dust, 
Nor see my own life thrust 
Down to a slave's eetate beneath another's 

heelt 

Behold, throughout the dty wide 

H&ve the swift feet of Rumor hied, 

Roused by the joyful flame: 

But is the news they acattw, sooth ? 

Or haply do they ^v» for truth 

Some cheat which heav«a doth ftameT 

A child were he and all unwise, 

Wholethiaheartwitti joy be stirred. 

To see Uie beaoon-firee arise. 

And then, beneath some thwarting wt/rd, 

Sicken anon with hope deferred. 

The edge of woman's insight still 

Good news from true divideth ill; 

Light rumors leap within the bound 

That fences female credence round. 

But, lightly bom, as lightly dies 

The tale that springs of her surmise. 

Boon shall we know whereof the bale-firea 

tell. 
Hie beacons, kindled with trananutt«d 

Whether, as well 1 deem, their tale is true. 
Or whether like some dream delusive caste 
Tlie welcome blase but to befool our soul. 
For lot I see a herald from the shore 
Draw hither, shadowed with the olive- 

And thirsty dust, twin-brother of the clay, 
Speaks plain of travel far and truUiful 

No dumb surmise, nor tongue of flame in 

smoke, 
Fitfully kindled from the roovmtain pyre; 
But plainlier shall his voice say, AU it toell, 
Or — but away, foreboding advarae, now. 



AGAMEMNON 



And on fail [HtHniae f mir fulfiUmeat comel 
And whoBo for the atat« pnyB otherwiw, 
Hi«— If nap homeat of hia ill d«sinl 

[Bnitr Herau>.] 

Hmsau). O land of A^oa, fatiierUnd of 

To Umo ftt but, beiMftth the tenth yenr'a 

Ht feet return; the bark of my enqiriae, 
Vbo' oae by ana hope's anchon broke 

Held by the Uat, and now ridea aafely here. 
Long, long niy aoul despaired to win, in 

death, 
Its tooged-for leet within our ArgiTB land: 
And now all bail, O earth, and hail to thee, 
New-riaen aim I and hail our country's God, 
Bi^-mling Zeiu, and tbou, the Pythian 

lord, 
Wboaa arrowa amote ua onoe — amite thoU 

no morel 
W«a not thy wrath wreaked full upon our 



And hail, all goda who rule the atreet and 

mart 
And Hnrnea hail 1 my patron and my pride, 
Henld ot heaven, and lord of heralds hent 
And Heroes, ye who aped us on our way — 
To one and all I cry, Btetive again 
With fToet «uM ArgiM* a* the tpear haa 



Ah, home ot royalty, betovdd h^ls. 

And aolfmn ahrisea, and gods that front 

tiiemoml 
Bmign oa ervt, with aun-fluahed aqieot 

greet 
The king returning after many days. 
For as from night flaah out the beams of 

day. 
So oat of datkneea dawns a light, along, 
On you, on Argos — Agamemnon txHues. 
TImb bail and greet him welll such meed 

befiU 
ffim whom rii^t bond hewed down the 

towns of Troy 
Vitib the great axe of Zeus who righteth 



And amote ♦■H« plain, amote down to noth* 

Eaoh altar, every shrine; sad for and wide 
Dies from the whole land's face its off- 

qningfait. 
Such mighty yoke of fate he set on Troy — 
Our lord end monsrch, Atreus' ddsr son. 
And Domce at last with blissful honor home; 
Highest of all who walk on earth to-day — 
Not Paris nor the dty's self that paid 
Sin's jnioe with him, can boast, Whate'er 

hefaJl. 
Th* pitrdon im ha»e won outweigha it all. 
But at Fate's judgmentHwat the robber 

Condemned of rapine, and his pny is torn 
Forth from his hands, and by his deed ii 

reaped 
A bloody harvest of his home and land 
Gone down to death, and for his guilt and 

lust 
His father's race pays double in ttke dust. 
Chobus. Hail, herald of the Greeks, 

new-oome from war. 
HxBAiJ>. AU hoill not death itadf can 

flight me now. 
Cbobdb. Waa thine heart wrung with 

longing for thy land? 
H»nni.n So that this joy doth brim 

mine eyes with tears. 
Choxus. (hi you, too, then, this sweet 

distrees did faU — 
HxBAU). How say'at thou? make um 

master of thy word. 
Chobttb. You longed for ua nbo pined 

for you sgain. 
Bmkau>. Craved the land us who cravet 

it, love far love? 
Chobus. Yea, till my brooding heart 

moaned out with pain. 
Hhrau). Whence thy despair, that 

mare the army's joy? 
Chobus. ScU eurt ^ lORmg t« misnce, 

saiUi the saw. 
Hbbald. Thy kinga afar, oouldat thou 

fear otiier men? 
Chobus. Death had been sweet, as the u 

didst say but now. 
Hbbuj). "T is true; Fate smiles at laat. 
Throu^KHit our toil, 
These many yean, some ohonoei ivusd 



fair. 



oqIc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



And MMM, I wot, wen dMokeiad with a 

But wb), OB Mlh, hath wm Um Ujm of 

bawren. 
Thro' time's whole tenor an ii^roken 

wailT 
I oould a tsle unfbU ti * wHn g om, 
III net, eoant Innflingi on a ahtoe rock- 
All paina, all sorram, for our dotMy dovm. 
And wane and haWulior our woea on land; 
For wherewe couched, clcMe by the foeman's 

wall, 
"Hm nrer-plaiii waa smr daidt with dewB, 
Dropped from the aky, exuded from the 

earth, 
A erne that dune unto anr Bodden gaib , 
And hair aa horrent ae a wild bMaf ■ fell. 
Why taH Ite woe* of winter, whtK the binfa 
Laf afewk and itiS, bo atam waa Ida's 

Or ■uomer's eoordi, what time tfas atirfan 

Sank to ita Bleep ben eat b fee aocmday win T 
Why tnottrn oU woea T thair pain haa passed 

away; 
And iMiaiiil aw^, from tlwae who iell, all 

can, 
P bw r wnu ore, to aae and live again. 
Why sum the eoimt of death, awl render 



For life by i 

Farewdl, along fanwell to aQ our 1 

To UB, the remnant of die boat of Greece, 



Hiua boaat we rightfully to yonder ana, 
like him far-fleeted over tea and laad. 
ThaAT^mKottprmmM to amqttar Trail, 
AndinAtt»mfintfHte9od*efOnaee 
HmiguptfiMitpaita,aikminQnf/nl»Time. 
Let thoee who learn thia legend Uan aright 
Tba city and ite darftaina, and repi^ 
The meed of gratitude to Zeua who willed 
And «n<i|^ the dead. 80 alanda tfaa tale 

fulfflled. 
CBOfiDB. Thy woidao'eibear my doubt: 

fornewa of good, 
1%e ov tf acB hath ever youth enow : 
But those widiin and Clytennertn'a aelf 
Wodd fain bear all; glad U»ra tbor anis 



CLTmfmsnu. Laat nigkt, wfaan fint 
the fiery courier came. 
In sign that Troy is ta'ea and rand to 

earth, 
So wild a cry of joy my lips gave out, 
llkat I was diiddea — &«A Ae taieoa 

Jir«i« Are mia Av smZ (Ae Mcit <^ rrav r 
A very tMnum thau, wImm keori fotpc UpM 
At vrnndering rumoral — and with words 

likatiMBB 
Hey diowod me how I atnyed, mitlvd of 

hope. 
Yet<a«a«halirineIsettlteaaeiifloB, 
And, in (bastnuu they held for femkdne. 
Went heraUi thro' the eity, to and fro, 
Widi Toiee of loud pKM^aim, aomauneng 

joy; 

And is each fane th^ tit and quenched 

with wine 
"n^ spioy perf unea fading in the Sam*. 
All is fulfilled: I span your longer tale ■ — 
The kii« himself aaoo diaU teU me all. 

Remains to think what honor beat nrtay 

greet 
My lord, the majesty of Argoe, bone. 
What dior baama fairer on a wmnan's e^ea 
Than thia, wfaeteon dw flinp the portal 

widie. 
To hail her lord, heaT<a'«ludded, home 

from war? 
TioB to my husband, that he tarry not, 
But turn the ctty'e longing into joyi 
Yea, let him oome, and ooBoing may he Sad 
A wife no other than be lefthu', true 
And faithful ae a watch-dog to his home, 
BSa (oemen'a foe, in all her duties leal. 
Trusty to keep for ten long yeanuamamd 
The store whereon be set Ui masUr-Md. 
Beated4eep-dyad,bdoreyelooktoaae 
ni joy, ill fame, from other wight, in mel 
Haaud). 'T is fairiy said: thus apeaks a 

noble dame. 
Nor speaks amiaa, when truth infoims tim 

boast. iBxU CLrmof^tTRA.] 

CnoKCB. Bo haa Ae spoken — be it 

youTB toleam 
By dear interpreters her specaoue word. 
Turn to me, h«rald, — tdlmeif aaon 



AGAMEMNON 



»S 



Hw SMond wwB-kyved lord of Argw oonwBT 
Hath M a nBJWM M&ly iped vitb you T 
HsKALD. AIu — brisf boon unto mjr 
Meadaitwcn, 
To flAttW tium, f<n- troth, with f skebooda 
fikl 
Chorus. Speak joy, if tmtk ba joy, but 
truth, at wont — 
Too pkiiily, truth aod joy are here di- 
Tareed. 
Hmiuu). The hero and hii bai^ were 
raiiiaway 
Far from the Greciaii Beet ? t i« mith I wy . 
(^oxm. Whether in all maa'a sight 
from Dion borne. 
Or from tbe fleet by streaa of weatberlora ? 
Hmlub. Full on the mark thy diaft of 
qieechdoth li^t. 
And one short word hath tok) long woee 
angbt. 
CHOBim. Butny, what now of him each 
SMBTMksaithT 
What their forebodings, of his life or death T 
BlvaLD. Aak me no mom: the tnith is 
known to none, 
Bmra tbe earth-foatering, aU-fiurreying 
Sun, 
Chobub. Say, by what doom the fleet 
of Oreeee was driven? 
How nee, how sank the atorm, the wrath 
of Hewear 
HaBAiA. Nay, ill it were to mar witt 
aonow's tale 
The day (rf bUaeful news. Tbego^demand 
Thankegiviog sundered from eolicitude. 
If one as herald came with rueful faee 
To Bar, Tkt eurw ha» fatten, and the hott 
Omm down le dtaih; and on« videierand tet 

Thm eiti/'t kmrt, and out efmany homn 
MaMvarenttandtxmtteraUtoihath, 
Beneath the double teourge, that Anm tone*. 
The bloodj/ pair, Ihefire and tvordqf doom — 
If suoh aore iNvdm weighed upon my 

toBfi^ie, 
'T were fit to speak suoh worda aa gladden 

finch. 
But — coming as he comes who bringeth 

Of aafe return f kmu toil, and iasnea fiair, 
To men rejoicing in a weal leatotsd — 
Dan I to daah good worda wiOt il, Mtd aagr 



Sow the gadB* uiger Knot* tiie Qiaeks in 

For fire and aaa, diat erst hrid bitter fend, 
Now swore oomipiracy and pledged their 

faith. 
Wasting the Argives worn with toil and 

Nii^t and great horror of the dsing wave 
Came o'er ns, mid the bbnto tlist bfow 

from Thiace 
Cladted ship w^ ship, and aome with 

plunging prow 
Tbao' aeudding drifta of spn^ and iwring 

Monn 
Vanished, aa stnori by some iH itsfhari 

And when at length the sun rose bright, we 

Th' fgmn sea-deM flechad with flvwen 

of death, 
Corpaee ol Grecian men and ihaiitamd 

hulk. 
For us, indeed, sane god, was wall I deem. 
No human power, laid httid opm our hdm, 
Snatched asorprayed oa from the powcn 

of air, 
And brought our bark thro' aU, unharmed 



Nor grind our ked upon a rooky diore. 

So 'scaped we death that lutkR beneath tha 

aca, 
But, undn di^s white light, noBtraatful all 
Of ForiRnte'a maHa, we aat and Iwootted 

Shepherds forlorn of Qioughta that wan- 
dered wild, 
O'er this new woe; for amittoi was our 

host. 
And lost as aahce leattend fretn the i^re. 
Of whfHu if a^ dmw hie tifa-braath jet. 
Be well asBwod, he deem* of « as dMd, 
As we of him no athtt fat* forebode. 
ButHesrv«nsaTaaUI If Uenelaui Uve, 
He will not tarry, but will eonl)' come : 
Therefore if anywbsv (ba Ugh ■va'a (■? 
Descriee him upon earth, preenred by 

Zeus, 
Who wifli not )>ot to w^ Ua f>s» awiy. 



H 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Hop« atill then is that homeward he may 

we&d. 
Enou^ — thou hut the buth unto the 

eml. [Exit Hskau).! 

Chorus. Bay, from whom lipe the pnt- 

age feU7 
Who read the future all too well, 
i\iid uuned her, in her tmtal hour, 
Helen, the bride with war for down' 7 
*T waa one of the Invisible, 
Quiding hia tongue with innacient pow«r. 
On fleet, and host, and citadel, 
War, apnmg from her, and death did lour, 
When from the bride-bed'a fine-*pun veil 
She to the Zephyr apread her aail. 
Strong blew the breeae — the aurge cloaed 

o'er 
The cloven track of Keel And oar. 
But while ahe fled, there drove along. 
Fast in her wake, a mighty throng — 
Athirat for bk>pd, athirat for war, 
Forward in fell pursuit they sprung, 
llien le^>t on Simoia' bank ashore. 
The leafy ooppicea among — 
No rsngera, they, of wood and field, 
But huntamen of the aword and shield. 

Heaven's jealousy, that worka ita will, 

Sped thua on Troy its destined ill. 

Well named, at onoe, the Bride and Bane; 

And loud rang out the bridal strain; 

But they to whom that Bong befell 

Did turn anon to tears again; 

ZeuB tarries, but avenges atdll 

The husband's wrong, the household'a 

He, the hearth'a lord, brooks not to see 
Its outraged ho^tality. 

Even now, and in far oth« tone, 
Troy cbanta hra dii^ of mighty moan. 
Wot upon Pari*, woe and katel 
if ho wooed Am counlrv't doom for matt — 
This ia the burden of the groan. 
Wherewith ahe wails disconsolate 
liie blood, so many of her own 
Have poured in vain, to fend her fate; 
Troy t thou haat fed and freod to roam 
A lion-cub within thy bomel 

A Buokliog oieature, newly Wen 
FiotQiBotiHr's tMt, still fully fain 



Of nursing oare; and oft oareMed, 
Within the anna, upon the bieaat, 
Bveo as an infant, has it lain ; 
Or f awns and lieke, by hungM piVMed, 
The hand that will aaauage its pain; 
In life's young dawn, a weD^ved guest, 
A fondling for the cbiMrwi'a {day, 
A joy unto the old and gray. 

But waxing time and growth betn^ 
The blood-thint of the licm^raoe. 
And, for the house's fostering eut, 
Unbidden all, it revda tiktn, 
And bloody recompense repays — 
Rent flesh of kine, its talons tare: 
A mighty beast, that alays, and dayi, 
And noars with blood the household faiT) 
A God-sent peel invincible, 
A minister of fat« and hell. 

Even BO to Dion'a city oame by etealtli 
A apirit as of windleaaseaa and aides, 
A gentle phantom-fonn of joy and weahb, 
With krve's acrft arrows apeeding frcmitk 

eyee — 
Love's rose, whose thorn doth pieroe Out 

soul in subtle wise. 

Ah, wdl-B-dayl the bitt«r bridal-bed, 
Wboi the fair mischief lay by Paris' sidel 
What curse oti palace and on people aped 
With her, the Fury aent on Priam's pride, 
By angered Zeusl what tears ot many a 
widowed bride! 

Long, long ago to mortals this was told, 
How a w es t aeourity and bliatful atate 
Have curses for their children — so men 

hold — 
And for the man of ail-too prosperous fate 
Springs from a bitter seed some woe il^ 



Akme, slone, I deem far otherwise; 

Not bliai nor vealth it is, but impioui 

dead. 
From which that after-growth of ill dotb 

risel 
Woe aprinp from wrong, the plant ia likt 

theaeed — 
While Ri^t, in Honor's house, doth its 

own likeneaa breed. 



.Ck^ti^^lc 



AGAMEMNON 



«s 



Bonw put impiety, aome gti^ old oiime, 
Brasdi tbe young onne, that mtntona in 

Birty or Ute, wbra hopi th' ftppoiated 

And out ot light bringH power at dirkneaa 
■tin, 

' ',■ foe, unseen, invinoiblfl; 



& pride amuned, Uutt broodi upon the ntoe 
And home in whidi dark Ati holds her 

Sin'i ohild and Woe'a, that weais tie par- 

enta' faoe; 
While Ri^t in amoky oriba ahinea dear aa 

And dedci with weal bia life, who walJca 
the righteous wsy. 

From gDded haUa, that hande polluted 

Iaia^ 
Ri^t tuiM away with {»oud averted tyta, 
And of ihe wealth, men stamp amiae with 

P«»ao,. 
Heedleaa, to poorer, hoUer t«mp)aa biea. 
And to Fate'a goal guides all, in ite ap- 
pointed' wise. 

Hail to thee, chief of Atreua' raoe, 
Beturning proud from Troy subduedl 
How shall I greetthy oonquering faoe? 
How nor a fula(»ne praiae obtrude, 
for atiat themeed of gratitude? 
?or mntal men who fall to ill 
Take little heed of opea truth, 
But seek unto ita swnblanee still: 
^le ihow of weejMng and of rutii 
Tothe fortom wfll all taea pay. 
But, of the grief tb«r eyee display, 
Nou^t to the heart doth pieroe ita way. 
And, with the }oyoua, thqr beguile 
Ttair lipa unto a (eipiid soiile, 
And foroe a joy, unfdt the while; 
But he who aa a ahepberd wise 
Doth know bia flock, can ne'er m 
Truth in the fabduwd of hia ^ee. 
Who YtSt beneath a kindly guise 
A lukewarm lore in deed. 
And thou, our leadw — when of yore 
Thou badeat Greece go f ortii to war 
fat Heho's sake — I dare avow 
TW then I held thee not as now^ 



That to my vision thou didst aeem 

Dyed in the hues of dieeiteem. 

I held thee for apHotill, 

And reckless, of tliy jxopa will, 

Endowing otbva doomed to die 

With rain and foroed audaoity I 

Now f rmn my heart, ungrudginily, 

To thoee that wrought, this word be said— 

WM faU the tabor vkimaptd — 

Let time and aearch, O king, declare 

What men within thy city'i bound 

Were loyal to the kingdom's can, 

And who wwe faithlees found. 

[Bnisr AoAMSMNON in a dutriot, sooom- 

panied by CueANnRA. Ht tpeakt 

without dttemdinff.] 
AaAUHHON. Firat, aa is meet, a king'a 
All-hail be said 
To Argoe, and the gods tibat guard tin 

land — 
Gods who with me arailed to QMed us hom^ 
With me availed to wring from Priam's 

The due of justice. In the court (rf hearm 
The goda in oonolave sat and judged the 

cauae. 
Not bmn a pleader'a tongue, and at the 

dose, 
Unanimous into the um of doom 
Thia sentence gave, On Ilion and lur man. 
Death: and where hope drew nigh to par- 
No hand there waa to caat a rota therein. 
And still the amcdce <rf faUen Dion 
Rises in ei^t of all men, and the flame 
Of Ati's heeaton^ ia tiring yet. 
And where the towers in duaty aahea aink, 
Riae the rich fumea of pomp and wealth 

oonsumed. 
For thia must all men pay unto the goda 
"nie meed of mindful hearta and gnttitude: 
For by our haada the meehea of rerenge 
Closed on the pr^, and for one woman's 

aake 
Troy trodden by the Argive monster liea — 
The foal, the shidded band that leapt the 

wall. 
What time with autumn sank the Fldadea. 
Yea, o'a the fencing wall a lion qmng 
RavMiing, and hvped bis flll of bkxid of 



CtOoi^Ic 



CHIEF £URCH>EAN DKAMATISTS 



Such prdodt apt^ta to tba gods in bill, 
To you I turn, and to tbe hiddw Unng 
Whereof ye apalu but m>w: aad in that 

thou^tt 
I am B8 you, and wiuH ye aay, aqr I. 
For few are tlbey who hara auoh mbon 

Braoe, 
Aa to look up with loTB, Bod e&T7 not, 
WhoD Htaoda aDotbor on the height cf weul. 
Deep in hia baait, whom jeidMuy hath 

Her poiaoa hirkinK doth aihanoe hia load; 
Fat now beneath hiapraiMr wmb be obafea, 
And sighs withal to see another's weal. 

I apeak not idly, but from kno^riedge 

sure — 
Thara be who Twrnt an titter loyalty, 
That is but BB the ghost <rf McB^l^ dead, 
A ahftdow in tt gla«i, (rf f^dth gone t^. 
One only — he who went reluetant forth 
AoRMB tbe asBs with Rw — Od j aa m s — he 
Waa loyal unto me with streacth and will, 
A trusty traoe-horae bound unto my ear. 
1%us — be he yet beiuatk the light <rf day. 
Or dettd ; H wall I (ear — I apeak hii praiBBL 

IdWtly, wfaate'or be due to men or gods, 
With joint debat«, in pubUc counoil h^. 
We will daoide, and wanly eontriva 
That all which now b well m^ so abide: 
For that wfaieh h^dy needs the healer's 



Now , to my p^aoe and the shrinea of home, 
I will pass in, and met yon first and fair. 
Ye gods, who bade me Axth, Htd home 

And kog may TichRy tarry in my tsaint 

]finttr Ci,YnatitamiaA,fdUoaed bj/ matd«m 

bearing jwrple robu.l 

Clttuinbstxa. Old men of Argos, 

liegea of our realm. 
Shame sbaU not bid me duink kat ye 

should see 
Tbe tore I bear my lord. Bueh blnshing 

f^ar 
IXes at tbe last fnica hearts of human kind . 
From mine own aoul and from no alien lips, 



I know and wS reveal tbe life I bon^ 
Behmtant, thioagh Um lingsring Uvsiang 

yea". 
Hie wfade my lord beleaguered Bioa's tcU 

Fitat, that a wife sat simdeted front bw 

lord. 
In widowed Bohtmla, waa nttea woe — 
And woe, to hear how Rumor's many 



Ail boded evil — woe, whniha^ooanM 
And he who followed spake of iU on ill, 
Eeauag Lott, lost, oU last/ thro' hall and 

Had tUe my husband mat qp many wounfc 
As by a thousand channels Rumor told, 
No nstwoA e'er was fall of holes ae he. 
Had he been slain, ae oft as tsdinga oame 
That he was dead, he well might boast hia, 

now 
A second Gtryon of triple frame, 
With triple robe of eartii above him laid — 
For that below, no matter — triply dead. 
Dead by (me death for every form he btm. 
And thus disttau^t by news of wrath and 

wee, 
Oft for sdf Hslaughter had I slnng the noose, 
But others wroiched it from my ned 

Hence b^M it that Onstcs, thine and mine. 
The pledge and symbol of oar wedded 

troth. 
Standi not beside us now, as he dwuld 

stand. 
Nor marvel tbou at this : he dwelk with one 
Who guarda him loyally; 't is Phocis' king, 
Stro[£ius, who warned me srst, BtUank 

Am, gussa, 

ThvbrdmdaOjfjevfCffdt/atTTOif, 

WhiUhen»pep^ilae4tme>irbtdtnayerf 

"DoumvnAthteounea,ilotml"betUmkam 

loo, 
'TitlhtviortdftwartoMtakanUrhttt 
OnfaOtnpOKtr. 

For thy chiU's absenoe, thai, 
Such mine exonse, no wily afterHuni^t. 
For me, long sinoe the goehing fbont of 

tears 
Is wept away; no drop is left to shed. 
Dhn ars tba eyes that ersr wntdwd t9 

dawn. 



.CtOo^^Ic 



AGAMEMNON 



Weepmg, tfae hale-fira, piled for tfajF n- 

turn, 
Nii^t alter ni^unldaiUed. Klslqtt, 
E«eh Bouod — the tinjr humming of » gjttA 
Roused BH ocain, tfia, bom fitful diMDM 
Wberan I f alt thee sa^ten, sMT thM daki, 
Thiioe {<a each momaai ol mioft hour at 



AH this I bore, sad Boir, nlewed faomira^ 
I haO mjr lord aa watch-dog of a fold, 
Aaaanngstar^ioiM^ a rtonn-toaiBd ritip, 
A« ctdumn stout that) hokbtko roof aMt, 
As onljr child unto aaimberMvai, 
Ab land bdwld, past hope, b^ crews foriora, 
As simshiie fair whan toapest'a wrath ia 

part, 
Ae gushing Bpring to thirety wajfaier. 
So sweet it ia to 'aeai>e the press of paia. 
With such salute 1 bid my husband hailL 
Nor Heaven be wiotfa therewith] for long 

and hard 
1 bcwe that iie of old. 

Sweet Iwd, stop forth, 
St^ fron thjr oar, I pray — nay, not on 

oarth 
Plant the proud foot, O king, that trod 

downTrt^l 
Women! why tarry ye, whose tadc it ia 
To sfuuad your mooveh's paiUi wiUi tap- 

««try? 
Swift, swift, wiUi pu^le strew his passage 

fair. 
That justice lead him to a home, at last, 
He searoely looked to see. 

Foe what remaiBfl, 
Zeal onsabdiied by sleep shall nerve my 

To work ae right and aa the gada ooDuaaBd. 
AoumiNOtr. Dau^ter of Leda, watcher 
o'er Biy home, 
rhy greeting well befits mine abacnee long. 
For late and hardly has it reached its end. 
Know, that the praise which honor bids us 

Mast oome from others' lips, not from our 

own: 
See too that not in fashion feminine 
Thou make a warrior's pathway ddkata; 
Not unto me, as to some Eastern kvd, 
" tky^f to ai»th, make homags 



Strew mrt this pnrple Ibat riwll mdw each 

step 
An arrogance; such pomp beseems tiie gods. 
Hot me. A moitel man to set hii foot 
On tikeae hob dyes T I hold sudi prida in 

fear, 
And bid thee honor me as man, not god. 
Fear not — sudt EootelotiM *nd all gauds 

spart, 
Loud from the trump of Fame my name is 

Uown 
Beat gtft of Heaven it is, in Tory's hoar. 
To think thHecn with Mberaees: and 

thou — 
Bethink thse of the adage, CoU noMs Mail 
rOI peose^ death Aove erowMd a Ufa <rf 



T is said: I fain would fare n 

fear. 
CLTmmaemu. Nay, but unsay it — 

thwart not thou my will! 
AasmHNOir. Know, I have said, and 

will not mar n^ word. 
CLToaBoaxBJL. Was it fear made this 

nMehneas to Ute sods 7 
AiuKXHHON. If cause be cauas, 'tis 

mine for this reacdve. 
CLTnaaaBHTBA. WImI, think'st thou, 

in thy place had Priam done? 
AoumiHON. Be surely wotdd have 

walked on broidered rabea. 
Ci.Tm«iii»Tiu. Then fear not tiiou the 

voice of human blame. 
AauoKKoiT. Yet mi^ity is the murmur 

of acrowd. 

'BA. Shrink not from envy. 



AoAMBUNOX. War is not w 






GLTTHHNiBrBA. Yet hsppy victors well 

may yield therein. 
AouuuufOM. Dost nave for tiiomph in 

this peUy strife? 
CLTTHKHsanu. Yield; of thy grace 

permit me to prevsill 
AaAiniEKON. Then, if thou wilt, let 
some one stoop to loose 
Swiftly these sandsb, slaves beneath my 

foot; 
And stepping thus upon the sea's rich dye, 
I pray. Lit tunt MMRf the podi took down 
WithjtaUmt «tiw on mm — reluetant all, 



i8 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



To tntofit tbus Mid mv a thing of prioa, 
Wasting the wealth of gaimenta ailver- 

worth. 
Enough heretrf: and, for the stranger maid, 
Iieadh^ within, but gently: God on high 
LookB gracioUBly on him whom triumph's 

hour 
Has made not pitiless. None willingly 
Wear the slave's yoke — and she, the prise 

andflow«r 
Of all we won, oomea hither in my train, 
Qif t of the army to its chief and lord. 
— Now, since in this my will bowi down 

to thine, 
I will pass in on purples to my home. 
Clttkmn»tka. a Sea there is — and 

who shall stay its springsT 
And deep within its breast, a mighty st<n«. 
Precious as silver, <rf the purple dye, 
Whereby the dipped robe doth its tint re- 

P.iinii gli of such, O king, within thy halls 
Thereliea,Ast(we that cannot fail; but I — 
I would have tJadljrTOwed unto the gods 
Cost of a thousand gann«its tiodden thus 
(Had once the oracle auch gift required ) , 
Cootriving ranaam for thy life i»«aerved. 
For while tiie stock is firm the foliage 

Spreading a shade, what time the dog-star 

glows; 
And thou, returning to thine heartli and 

Art' as a genial warmth in winter houis. 
Or as a ooolnees, when the lord of heaven 
Mellows the juice within the bitter grape. 
Such boons and more doth bring into a 

The present footstep of it« proper lord. 
Zeus, Zeus, Fulfillment's lord! my vows 

fulfill, 
And whatsoe'er it be, work forth thy will I 
[Sxettnt ail hut CASgANDKA artd 
tlis Chobob.) 
Chobch. WhcMfnre forever on the 
wings of fear 
Hovers a vision drear 
Before my boding heartT a strain, 
Unbiddeo and unwelcome, thrills mine ear, 
Oracular of pain. 

Not as of old upon my bosom's throne 
KtaConfidsnoa; to spurn' ,\iii; 



Such fears, like dreams n 

disoera. 
Old, old and gray long sin 






ehM i 



Which saw the linkM cables moor 

The fleet, when erst it came to lUoo'i 

sandy shore; 
And now mine eyes and not another's see 
Their safe return. 
Vet ntme the leas in me 
The inner spirit sings a boding song, 
Self-prompted, sings the Furies' strain — 
And seeks, and seeks in vun. 
To hope and to be strongi 



Ahl tosomeendof Fate.unB 

Are theee wild throbbings of my heart and 

breast — 
Yea, of some doom they tell — 
Each pulse, a knell. 
Uef, lief I were, that aU 
To unfulfillment's hidden re^m might fall. 

Too far, too far our mortal spirits strive, 
Grasping at utter weal, unsatisfied — 
Till the fell curse, that dweUeth hard be- 

Thruat down the sundering wdl. Too fair 

they blow. 
The gales that waft our bark on Ftfftuns'i 

tide! 
Swiftjy we sail, the sooner all to drive 
Upon the hidden rock, t&e reef of woe. 

Tlien if the hand of caution warily 

Sling forth into the sea 

Part of the freight, lest all should sink be 

low. 
From the deep death it aavea the baik: 

Doom-laden thoi^h it be, once more mif 

rise 
His household, who is timely wise. 

How oft the famine-stricken field 

Is eaved by God's la^e gift, the new yetr*! 

yieldl 
But blood of man once spilled. 
Once at his feet shed forth, and daitoaing 



AGAMEMNOK 



B bad he apued the leeoh Asdephia, 

ddOed 
To bring mftn from the dead: the hand di- 

viae 
Did mite himadf with death — a warning 

and a sign. 

Ah mel if Fate, ordained of old, 

field not Qm wiS d goda oonatrained, om- 

trolled, 
Hdirfesi to OS-ward, and apart — 
Swifts than qieeoh my heart 
Had poured ita presage out! 
Now, fretting, obafiog b the dnrti of 

doubt, 
T IB hopeless to unfold 
Tnith, from fear's tan^^ed skein; and, 

yeanling to proclaim 
Its thoui^t, my soul is prophecy and dame. 

[Saunter CLT^nmsTBA.J 
CLmumnrRA. Get thee within thou 
too, Cassandra, gol 
For Zeus to tbee in gracious mercy grants 
To share UwQifinldings of the tuatral bowl, 
Bedde Hie altar of his guardianship. 
Slave among many slaves. What, haughty 

gmt 

Step from the oar; Alometta's son, 't is said, 
Waa sold perfbree and bore the yotce of old. 
Aye, hard it is, but, if such fate befall, 
'T ia a fair ohaaee to serve within a home 
Of anctent wealth and powei. An upstart 

lord, 
To whom wealUi's harvest came beyond 

his hope. 
Is as a lion to his slaves, in ^ 
Exweding fierce, immoderate in sw^r. 
Pass in: thou hearest what our ways will be. 
Clonus. Clear unto thee, O maid, is her 

oonuuandi 
But tbou — witW the toils of Fate tliau 



CLTraMmsTRA. I wot — unless like 
swallows she doth use 
SoBe strange barbarian tongue from ovot- 



Ujr inrdi must speak par 



Chobus. Obey: there is no genUer way 

than tfaisi 
Step from the ear's high seat and follow 

her. 
CLTTBumBBTEA. Truce to this bootlcai 

waiting here without I 
I will not stay: beside the central shrime 
The victims stand, prepared for knife and 

fire — 
Offwingi from hearts beyond all hope mads 

glad. 
Thou — if thou reckest au^t of my oom- 

'T were wril done soon: but if thy sense be 

shut 
From these my words, let thy barbarian 

hand 
F^ilfiU by gesture the default <rf speech. 
Chobcb. No native is she, thus to read 
thy words 
Unaided: like some wild thing of the wood, 
Nmr-tra^qwd, beholdl she shrinks and 
gUies on thee. 
CLTTBumRiU. "T is madness and the 
rule of mind distraught. 
Since she beheld her city sink in fire. 
And hithei comes, nor brooks the bit, untfl 
In foam and blood her wrath be champed 

aw^, 
Seeye t«her;unqueenly 'tis for me. 
Unheeded thus to csst away my words. 

[Bxil CLTTuinn'RA.) 
Chobub. Butwithmepitysitsinanger's 
plaoe. 
Poor maiden, come tbou from the eta; no 

way 
There is but this — take up thy servitude. 
Casbamdxa. Woe, woe, alasl Earth, 
Mother Earth! and thou 
Apollo, Apollo! 
Chobub. Peaoet shriek not to the bright 
prophetic god, 
Who will not brook the suppliance of woe. 
Cabbandb^. Woe, woe, alasl EarUi, 
Mother Earth! and thou 
ApoUo, ApoUot 
Chobus. Hark, with wild curse she calls 
anew on him, 
Who stands far ofi and loathes the voice of 

Cabbandba- ApoUo, Apidlol - 
God of all ways, butoidy Death's to me^ .- 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Oooe and sfua, O Ummi, Doatrvyar naoied, 
Tliou host deetioyed nie, tbou, 1117 love of 
nidi 
Cbobitb. Stw pom iwesagefHl erf her 
iroMtooonik 
Slave tiio' flbe be, inattiiet witii propbecf. 

Camambsa. Apollo, Apcdlot 
Quid of aU wa3^^ but only Death's to nte, 
O thou Apollo, thou Dwtroyec nanedl 
Wh*k WW bHt led me, to iriwt evil botM r 
CHOBua. Know'st tbou it Dot f The 
iM»na of Atraw' nco : 
Take these m; worda foi looth and aA no 

Cass&ndea. Home cursed ot Oodi 
Bear witnaiB unto me. 
Ye viaioned woee witiiiii — 
The Uood-otained handa of ttkotn that 

anito thaff tan*— 
Hie atraogling nooee, and, qiatterad o'er 
With faniun blood, the roeUng floorl 
Chokiw. HowUicoaalauth-liaaadqueab- 
ing on the track, 

o blood and desUi die 



CASBAmBA. Aht ean the {^uatly gnid- 

aace fail, 
Wbenby my prophet-aonl ia onwarda led ? 
Look! for their fleah the apeoter^liildren 

wail, 
Their aodden limba on wbidi their father 

fed! 
OaouiB. Long aiaee w« knew o( ttky 

prophetic fame, — 
But for thoae deeda we aeek no prophet'a 

tongue. 
CAaaAMDRA. GodI 't is another orime — 
Wone than the storied woe of olden time, 
Curelen, aUKtrred, th&t one is plotting 

here — 
k ihw^n'E deat^, for Uioae that sbouM b« 

Alaal and far aw^, in foeign land. 
He that Aonld hi^ doth standi 
Chobus. I knew th' old talaa, the dty 
ringa withal — 
But notr thy apeeoh is daric, bayond my 



CAsaAMDRA. O wretch, O 
Thou for thy wedded lord 
The cleanaing whtb haat pound — 
A tmatdMKMia weleoawl 



felll 



How tha sequel toDf 
Too aoon 't will come, too aoon, for now, 

eren now. 
She amitee him, blow on blow I 
Caoacs. Riddlaa beyond my red* — I 

Thro' the dim filroa that screen the proph- 
ecy. 
CAauMSBA. Oodl a new aigbt! a oat, • 
snare of heU, 
Set by her hand — benetfasnaremoMbBI 
A wedded wife, aiM slays her lord. 
Helped by another haadl 

Ye powets, wboee bate 
Of Atreus' home no blood can satiate. 
Raise the wild cry above tite aaorifioe wh- 
homdt 
Chosob. Why biddest tbou aonie fiend, 
I know not whom, 
9uiek o'er the house T Thine is no cheeriufi 

word. 
Baofc to my heart in froaen feu I faal 
My wanning life-blood run — 
The blood that rcHuid the wounding steel 
Bbba alow, as sinks life's parting sun — 
Swift, swkt and sure, erane woe eame* 
preeaingonl 
CASBAironA. Aw^, away — keep htm 

The monarch of the herd, the pasture's 

isido. 
Far from his m^e I In tieaoh'roua wrath. 
Muffling his swarthy horns, with aeeret 

scathe 
She goree hie feneeleea aidel 
Horkl in the brimming bath, 
The heavy plash — the dying cry — 
Hark — in the laver — hark, be falls by 

treachery! 
Chokds, I read amin dark saying* auch 

as thine, 
Yet something wama me that they tdl of iB. 
O dark prophetic speech, 
ni tidii^ doat thou teach 
Bvo', to uMHtala hers bdowt 
Evor some tale of awe and woe 
Thro' all thy windings maiufold 
Do we umiddle and unfoUl 
Cabbandra. Ah, well-a-d^I the oup af 

agony, 

~ hMtt, foHM with a < 

for me> 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



AGAMEMNON 



Ah, lord, ah, leader, Uiou hast led me 

hen — 
Was 't but to die with thee whoee doom is 
near? 
Chobub. Diatnuight thou art, divinely 

And waileet for thyself a tuneless lay, 
As piteous as the ceasdess tale 
WlMrewitfa the brown mdodioua bird 
Doth ever Itysl Itys! wail, 
Deep-bowered in sorrow, all its Uttle life- 
time's day! 
Cassandra. Ah, for thy fate, O Bhrill- 
voic« nightingale I 
Some solace for thy woes did Heaven 

aScwd, 
Clothed tlwe with soft brown i^umee, and 

life apart from wail — 
But for my death is edged the double- 
bitiog Hword t 
Chorob. What pangs are tiieee, what 
fniitleae pain, 
Sent on thee from on highf 
Thou chanteet terror's frantic strain, 
Yet in shrill measured melody. 
How thus unerring canst thou sweep along 
The prophet's path of boding song? 
Cassandra. Woe, Paris, woe on theel 
thy bridal joy 
Was death and fire upon Uiy race and 

Troyl 
And woe for thee, Scamander's flood I 
Beside thy banks, river fair, 
I grew in tender nursing core 
From childhood unto maidenhood t 
Now not by thine, but by Cocytus' stream 
And Acheron's banks shall ring my boding 

CHoans. Too plain is all, too plain 1 
A diild might read aright thy fateful strain. 
Deep in my heart their piercing fang 
Tnror and sorrow set, the while I heard 
That piteous, low, tender word, 
Yet to mine ear and heart a crushii^ 

pang. 
Cassandra. Woe for my city, woe for 

Hion'a f aU I 
Father, how oft with sanguine stain 
Streamed on thine altar-stone the blood of 

cattle, slain 
Hiat Heaven might guard our wall I 
But an was shed in vain. 



Low lie the shattered towers whereas they 
feU, 

And I — ah burai^ heart! — shall soon 
lie low as well. 
Chorus. Of sorrow is thy song, of sor- 
row still 1 

Alas, what power of ill 

Sits heavy on thy heart and bids thee toll 

In tears of perfect mono thy deadly taleT 

Some woe — I know not what — must 
close thy piteous wail. 
Cassandra. List! for no more the pres- 
age of my soul, 

Bride-like, shall peer from its secluding 

But as the morning wind blows clear thb 

More bright shall blow the wind of proph- 
ecy. 
And as against the low bright line of dawn 
Heaves high and higher yet the rolling 

So in the clearing skiee of prescience 
Dawns on my soul a further, deadlier woe, 
And I will speak, but in dark speech no 

Bear witness, ye, and follow at my side — 
I scent the trail of blood, shed long ago. 
Within this house a choir ^idingly 
Chants in harsh unison the chant of ill; 
Yea, and they drink, for more enharctened 

joy. 

Man's blood for wine, and revel in the 

halls, 
Departing never, Furiee of the home. 
They sit within, they chant the primal 

Each spitting hatred on that crime of old, 
The brother's couch, the love incestuous 
That brought forth hatred to the ravisher. 
Say, is my speech or wild and erring now. 
Or doth its arrow cleave the mark, indeed? 
They called me once. The propheUsa of list, 
Tht wandering hag, the pett of every door — 
Attest ye now, She trunng in very tooth 
The house's cuTte, the aloriad infamj/. 
Chorus. Yet how should oath — how 
loyally soe'er 
I swear it — aught aviul thee? In good 

My wonder meets thy claim: I stand 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



' That tbou, R nnuden bom beyond the sou, 
Doet aa a native know and tell aright 
Tales of a oity of an alien tongue. 

CABeAtntRA. That is my power — a 

bocHi Apollo gave. 
Chobus. God though he were, yearning 

for mortal maid 7 
Cabbandba. Aye! what seemed shame 

of old ia shaniB oo more. 
Chobtib. Such finer aenae suits not with 

slavery. 
CABBAifDRA. He strovB to win me, pant- 
ing for my love. 
Chorus. Came ye by compact unto 

bridal joys T 
Cassamdra. Nay — for I piloted troth, 

then foiled the god. 
Chorus. Wert thou already dowered 

with prescience 7 
Casbandea. Yea — prophetess to Troy 

of aU her doom. 
Chords. How left thee, then, Apollo'a 

wraUi unscathed? 
Casuhdra. I, false to him, seemed 

prophet falee to aU. 
Cbobob. Not BO — to us at least thy 

words seem sooth. 
Cassandra. Woe for me, woel Again 
the agony — 
Dread pain that aees the future all too well 
With ghastly preludes whirls and racks my 

aoul. 
Behold ye — yonder on the palace roof 
The specter-diildren sitting — look, such 

things 
As dreams are made on, pbantotne as of 

babea, 
Horrible ehadowa, that a kinsman's band 
Hath marked with murder, and their anna 

are full — 
A rueful burden ^ see, they hold them up, 
The entrails upon which their father fedl 

For this, for this, I say there plots revenge 
A coward lion, couching in the lair — 
Guarding the gate against my master's 

foot — 
My maat«r^-mine — I bear the alave'a 

yoke now. 
And he, the lord of ahips, who trod down 

Troy, 
Knows not Uie fawning treachery of tongue 



Of Uits thing false and dog-like — how 

her speech 
Gloiea and sleeks her purpose, till she win 
By ill fate's favor the deeirM chance. 
Moving like AU to a secret end. 

aweleaa aoull the woman slays her lord — 
Woman T what loathsome monstor of the 

Werefit oomparison? The double anake — 
Or Scylla, where she dwells, the seaman's 

Girt round about with rocksT aome hag of 
heU, 

Raving a tniceleBs curse upon her kin? 

Hark — even now ahe criee eiultingly 

The vengeful cry that tella of battle 
turned — 

How fain, forsooth, to greet her chief re- 
atoredl 

Nay, then, believe me not: what akilla be- 
lief 

Or disbelief 7 Fate worka ita will — and 

Wilt see and s^.in ruth. Her tale uxu Irvt. 
Cborub. Ah — 'tis Thyeatea' feast on 
kindred fleah — 

1 gueaa her meaning and with horror thrill. 
Hearing no shadow'd hint of th' o'er-true 

tale, 



Cassandra. 'Tis Agamemnon's doom 

tbou shalt behold. 
Choritb. Peace, hapleaa woman, to thj 

boding words! 
Cassandra. Far from my speech etands 

he who aaina and aavea. 
Chobcb. Aye — were auch doom at 

hand — which God forbid! 
Gasbandra. Thou prayest idly — tJbeae 

move awift to slay. 
Chorus. What man preparea a deed of 

such deapite? 
Cabbandba. Fool! thus to read amisa 

mine oracles. 
Gborus. Deviser and device are dark to 

me. 
Cassandra. DarkI all too well I speak 

the Grecian tongue. 
Chorus. Aye — but in thine, as in 

Apollo'a strains, 



AGAMEMNON 



»3 



Fftmfliar is the tongue, but dark the 
thought. 
Cabbansba. Ah, ah, the firel it waxes. 

Woe, woe tot me, Apollo of the dawn I 

Lo, how the woman-thing, the Uoneea 
Couched witJi the wolf — her noble mate 

afar — 
Will alajr me, dave forlorn I Yea, like some 

fflie druge the cup of wrath, that slays her 

With double death — his reoompense for 

Aye, 't is for me, the prey he bare from 

Troy, 
That she hath sworn his death, and edged 

thest«el! 
Ye wandf, ye wreaths that ding around 

my neck. 
Ye showed me prophetess yet scorned ot 

all — 
I stamp you into death, or e'er I die — 
Down, to deetructioni 

Thus I stand revenged — 
Go, crown some otiier with a prophet's woe. 
Look! it is he, it ie Apollo's self 
Rending from me the prophet-robe he gave. 
Godt while I wore it yet, thou saw'at me 

mocl^ 
There at my home by each malicious 

mouth — 
To all and each, an undivided scorn. 
The name alike and fate of witch and 

Woe, poverty, and famine — all I bore; 
And at this last the god hath brought me 

Into death's toils, and what his love had 

His bate unmakes me now: and I shall 

stand 
Not now before the altar of my home. 
But me a slaughter-house and block of 

blood 
Shall see hewn down, a reeking sacrifice. 
Yet shall the gods have heed of me who die. 
For by tb«r will shall .one requite my 

Re, to avenge his father's blood outpoured, 
Shall smite and slay with matricidal hand. 



Aye, he shall come — tho' far away he roam, 
A banished wanderer in a stranger's tand — 
To crown his kindred's edifice of ill, 
Called home to vengeance by his father's 

fall: 
Thus have the high gods sworn, and shall 

fulfiU. 
And now why mourn I, tarrying on earth. 
Since first mine Dion has found its fate 
And I beheld, and thoee who won the wall 
Pass to such issue hj the gods ordain T 
I too will pass and like them dare to die! 

[rurru and looka upon Oie palace door.] 
Portal of Hades, thus I bid thee hail ! 
Grant me one boon — a swift and mortal 

stroke. 
That all unwrung by pain, with ebbing 

blood 
Shed forth in quiet death, I close mine eyes. 
Chorus. Maid of mysterious woes, 

mysterious lore, ' 
Long was thy prophecy: but if aright 
Thou readest all thy fate, how, thus un- 

Doat thou approach the altar of thy doom, 
As fronts the knife some victim, heaven- 
controlled? 

Oassanska. Friends, there is no avoid- 
ance in delay. 

Chobus. Yet who delays the longest, 
his the gain. 

CAssANDnA. The day is come — flight 
were smtdl gain to me! 

Chobus. O brave uiduranoe of a soul 
resolved I 

Cassandra. That were ill praise, for 
those of happier doom. 

Cbosus. An fame is happy, even famous 
death. 

Cassandra. Ah sire, ah, brethren, fam- 
ous once were ye I 
[Skt movea to enter the houte, Men 
tforla back.] 

Cnonns. What fear is this that scares 
thee from the house? 

Cassandra. Paht 

Chorus. What is this cry? some daik 
despair of soul T 

Cassandra. Pah! the house fumee with 
stench and spilth of blood. 

Chorus. HowT 't is thesm^ of house- 
hold o&eriags. 



!»4 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



CAWAMnaA. 'T is rank u ohamel'fiaent 

from open graves. 
Chorus. Thou canst not mean thia 

Been tad Syrian uard? 
CAsaANDRA. Nay, let me pasB within to 
cry aloud 
The mooarch's fate aod mine — enough of 

life. 
Ah, friends I 

Bear to me witness, since I fall in death, 
That not as birds that ahun the bush and 

scream 
I moan in idle terror. This attest 
When for my death's revenge another dies, 
A woman for a woman, and a man 
Falls, for a man ill-wedded to his cune. 
Grant me this boon — the last bdore I die. 
Chobub. Brave to the laatl I mourn thy 

doom foreseen. 
Casbandka. Once more one utterance, 
but not of wail, 
Though for my death — and then I speak 



Sun! thou whose beam I shall mit see again. 
To thee I cry, Let those whom vengeanoe 

To slay their kindred's slayers, quit witbal 
The datth ofme,theslave, the f enoelees prey . 

Ah, state of mortal man! in time of weal, 

A line, a shadowl and if ill fate fall. 

One wet sponge-sweep wipes all our trace 

And this I deem leea piteous, of the twain. 
[Exit into the ■palace.] 
Cbokcs. Too true it isl our mortal state 
With bUsB is never satiate, 
And none, before the palace high 
And stately of proeperity. 
Cries to us with a voice of fear, 
Atoayl 'titillto enter here I 

Lol this our lord hath trodden down. 
By grace of Heaven, old Priam's town. 
And praised as god he stands once more 
On Argoe' shore t 

Yet now — if blood shed long ago 
Cries out that other blood shall flow — 
His life-blood, his, to pay again 
The stem requital of the slain — 
Peace to that braggart's vaunting vain. 



Who, having heard the chieftain's tale. 
Yet bouta of bliss untouched by balel 

(A loud eryfrom vitAut.! 
VoicB OF Aqaubmnon. O I am sped — 

a de^, a mortal blow. 
Chobub. Listen, listenlwhoisscreaming 

as in mortal agaonyf 
Void OF AaAKsuMON. O! 01' again, 

another, another blow I 
Chorus. The bloody act is over — I 
have heard the monarch's cry — 
Let us swiftly take some counael, lest we 
too be doomed to die. 
Onx or TBS Chords. 'T is best, I judge, 
aloud for aid to call, 
"Hoi loyal ArgivesI to the palace, all[" 
Another. Better, I deem, ourselves to 
bear the aid, 
And drag the deed to light, while drips the 
blade. 
Another. Such will is mine, and what 
thou eay'st I say: 
Swiftly to act! the time brooks no del^^. 
Another. Aye, for 't is plain, thia pro- 
lude of their song 
Foretells its close in tyramiy and wrong. 
Amotheb. Behold, we tarry — but thy 
name. Delay, 
They spurn, and press with Bleeptees hand 
to slay. 
Amn^EB. I know not what 't were 
well to counsel now — 
Who willa to act, 't is his to counsel how. 
Another. Thy doubt is mine', for when 
a man is slain, 
I have no words to bring his life agun. 
Another. What? e'en for life's sake, 
bow us to obey 
These house-defilers and theur tyrant sway ? 
AtromBR. Unmanly doomi 't were bet- 
ter tar to die ^ 
Death is a gentler lord than tyranny. 
Another. Think well — must cry or 
sign of woe or pain 
Yin our conclusion that the chief is slain T 
Another. Such talk befits us when the 

Conjecture dwells afar from certainty. 
Lbadbb 07 thb CRORna. I read one 

will from many a diverse word. 
To know aright, how stands it with oui 

lordl 



.CtOo^^Ic 



AGAMEMNON 



[The scene opent, diidoaing Clt- 
TmcNsanu, wAo comet forward. 
The body qf Aoaiuunoti liev, 
mvffied in a long robe, within a 
tOver-tided toner; the corpse of 
CABSAiniKA ia laid betide him.] 
CiiTTinimBrBA. Ho, ye who beard me 
speak BO long and oft 

The gloiing word that led me to my will — 

Hear how I shrink not to unsay it all! 

How else should one who willeth to requite 

Evil tor evil to an enemy 

Disguised as friend, weave the mesh 
straitly round him, 

Not to be overleaped, a net of doom? 

This is the sum and issue of old strife. 

Of me deep-pondered and at length ful- 
fiUed. 

All is avowed, and as I smote I stand. 

With foot set firm upon a finished thing! 

I turn not to denial: thus I wrought 

So that he could nor flee nor ward hia doom. 

Even as the trammel hems the scaly shoal, 

I trapped him with inextricable toils. 

The ill abundance of a baffling robe; 

That smote him, oaoe, agtun — and at each 

He cried aloud, then as in death relaxed 
Elacfa limb and sank to earth; and as he lay, 
Once more I smote him, with the last third 

Sacred to Hades, savior of the dead. 
And thus be fell, and as be passed away. 
Spirit with body chafed; each dying breath 
Flung from bis breast swift bubbling jets of 

gore, 
And the dark sprinkling of the rain of 

blood 
Pdl upon me; and I was fain to feel 
That dew — not sweet«r is the rain of 

To oondand, when the green sheath teems 
with grain. 



Elders of Argos — 



e the thing stends 



I bid you to rejoice, if such your will: 
Rejoice or not, I vaunt and praise the deed. 
And well I ween, if seemly it could be, 
T were not ill done to pour libations here, 
Justly — aye, more than justly — on his 



Who filled bis borne with curses as with 



And thus returned to drain the cup be filled. 
Chobqb. I marvel at thy tongue's 



To vaunt thus loudly o'er a hudaand slain. 
CLTTmHaaTBA. Ye bold me aa a wo- 
man, weak of will, 

And strive to sway me: but my heart is 
stout. 

Nor fears to apeak itfl uttermost to you. 

Albeit ye know its menage. Pruse or 
blame, 

Even as ye list, — I reck not of your mytda. 

Lol at my feet liee Agamenmon slain. 

My husband once — and him tbie hand of 

A right contriver! fashioned for bis death. 
Behold the deed! 

Chobcb. Woman, what deadly birtii. 
What venomed essence of the earth 
Or dark distilment of the wave, 
To thee such passion gave. 
Nerving thine hand 

To set upon thy brow this burning crown. 
The curaee of thy land? 
Our kir^j bj/ thee cut off, hewn down ! 
Oo forth — they cry — accurakdandforlom, 
To hale and eoom I 

Ci.TTBMNi»rRA. O ye just men, who 
speak my sentence now. 
The city's hate, the ban of all my realm! 
Ye had no voice of old to launch aucb doom 
On him, my husband, when be held as light 
My daughter's life as that of sheep or goat, 
One victim from the thronging fleecy fold! 
Yea, slew in sacrifice his child and mine. 
The well-loved issue of my travail -pangs. 
To lull and lay the gales that blew from 

Thrace. 
That deed of his, I say, that stain and 

Had rightly been atoned by banishment; 
But ye, who then were dumb, are stem to 

judge 
This deed tA mine that doth affront your 

Storm out your threats, yet knowing this 

for sooth. 
That 1 am ready, if your hand prevail 
As mine now dot^, to bow b^ieath your 

■way: 



ElilizedbvGoOQlc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



If God ay axy, it ahall be jrovin to leant 
By chAstisemeat a late humility. 

Chokub. Bold is thy craft, and proud 
Thy confidence, thy vaunting loud; 
Thy wnil, that chose a muid'reea' fate. 
Is all with blood elate — 
Maddened to know 
The blood not yet avenged, the d&mnid 

Crimaon upon thy brow. 

But Fate prepares for thee thy lot — 

Smitten as thou didst smite, without a 

To meet thine endl 
CLTTmonnTBA. Hear then the sanction 

of the oath I swear — 
By the great vengeance for my murdered 

child, 
By \tt, by the Fury unto whom 
iW man lies sacrificed by hand of mine, 
I do not look to tread the hall of Fear, 
While in this hearth and home of mine 

there burns 
The light of love — £giethus — as of old 
Loyal, a stalwart shield of confidence — 
As true to me as this slain man was false. 
Wronging his wife with paramours at Troy, 
Fresh from the kiss of each Chryaeia there! 
Behold him dead — behold his captive 

priie, 
Seerees and harlot — comfort of his bed, 
True prophetess, true paramour — I wot 
The aea-bencb was not closer to the fleeh, 
Full oft, of every rower, than was ^e. 
See, ill they did, and iU requites them now. 
His death ye know: she aa a dying awan 
Sang her last dirge, and hee, as erst she 

Close to his side, and to my couch has left 
K sweet new taste of joys that know no 

tear. 
Chords. Ah, woe and well-ar^layl I 

would that Fate — 
Kot bearing agony too great, 
Nor stretching me too long on couch of 

pain — 
Would bid mine eyelids keep 
The momingleas and unawakening sleepi 
For life is weary, now my lord is slain, 
The gracious among kings 1 
paid fate of old he bore and mai^ grievous 



And for a woman's sake, on Ilian land — 
Now is his life hewn down, afid by • 
woman's hand. 

O Helen, O infatuate soul, 

Who bad'st the tides of battle roll, 

O'erwhelming thousands, life on life, 

'Neath Ilion's waUl 

And now lies dead the lord of all. 

The bloBsom of thy storied sin 

Bears blood's inexpiable stain, 

O thou that erst, these halls within, 

Wert unto all a raUk at strife, 

A husband's bane I 

ChTnanftaiBA. Peace! pray not thoa 
for death as though 
Thine heart was whdmed beneath this woe, 
Nor turn thy wraUi aside to ban 
The name of Helen, nor recall 
How she, one bane of many a man, 
Sent down to death the Danoon lords, 
To sleep at Troy the sleep of sworda, , 
And wrought the woe that shattered all. 

Chosus. Fiend of the rocel that swoop- 
eetfell 
Upon Uie double stock of Tantalus, 
Lording it o'er me by a woman's will, 
Stem, manful, and imperious — 
A bitter sway to mel 
Thy very form I see. 
Like some grim raven, perched upon th« 

Exulting o'er the crime, aloud, in tuneleae 
etrainl 

CLTTBumsTRA. Right was that word 
— thou nameflt well 
The brooding race-fiend, triply felll 
From him it is that murder's thirst, 
Blood-li^iping, inwardly is nursed — 
Ere time the ancient sear con sain, 
New blood comee welling forth again. 

Chorus. Grim is his wrath and heavy on 

That fiend of whom thy voice has cried, 
Alaa, an omened cry of woe unsatisfied. 
An all-devouring doom I 

Ah, woe, oh, Zeusl from Zeus all things 

befall — 
Zeus the high cause and finisher of alll — 
Lord of our mortal state, by him are willed 
AU thinp, by him fulfilladl 



GooqIc 



AGAMEMNON 



Yet ah, m^r Idng, tny Idng no morel 
What words to Bay, what, tean to pour 
Can tell niy love for thee? 
The q)ider-w«ib of treachery 
She wove and wound, thy life around, 
And lot I see thee tie, 
And thro' a coward, impious wound 
Pant forth thy life and diet 
A death of aluune — ah, woe on woel 
\ treach'rouB hand, a cleaving blowl 
Ci.TmiifBSTRA. My guilt thou harpest, 






I bid thee reckon me no more 
Aa Agamemnon's spouse. 
The old Avenger, stem of mood 
For Atieua and his feast of blood. 
Hath struck the lord of Atreus' house, 
And in the semblance of his wife 
The king hath slain. — 
Yea, for the murdered children's life, 
A chieftain's in requital ta'en. 
Cbobub. Thou guiltless of this murder, 

thou! 
Who dares Rich tho\^ht avow? 
Yet it may be, wroth for the parent's deed, 
Tbe fiend hath holpen thee to slay the son. 
Dark Area, god of death, is pressing on 
Thro' streams of blood by kindred shed, 
E^ucting the acoompt for children dead, 
Var ck>tted blood, for flcob on which their 

aire did feed. 

Vet, ah, my king, my king no morel 
What words to say, what tears to pour 
Can tell my love for tbee? 
The spider-web of treachery 
She wove and wound, thy life around. 
And lol I see thee lie, 
And thro' a coward, impious wound 
Pant forth thy life and die! 
A death of shame — ah, woe on woel 
A treach'rous hand, a cleaving blowl 
CLTTBMNxaTBA. I deMQ uot that the 
death he died 
Had overmuch of shame: 
For this was he who did provide 
Foul wrong unto his house and name: 
His daughter, bloeaom of my womb, 
He gave unto a deadly doom, 
Iphigaiia, child of tearsi 
And as he wrought, even so he fares. 
Neo- be hia vaunt too loud in hall; 



For by the sword his sin he wrou^t, 
And by the aword himself is brou^t 
Among tbe dead to dwell. 

Chobub. Ah, whither ehall I fly?. 
For all in ruin sinks the kingly hall; 
Nor swift device nor shift of thought have I, 
To 'scape ita fall. 

A little while the gentler rain-dropH fail; 
I stand distraught — a ghastly interval, 
Till on the roof-tree rings the bursting hail 
Of blood and doom. Even now Fate whets 

the steel 
On whetstones new and deadlier than of (ddt 
'The ateel that smites, in Justice' hold. 
Another death to deal. 
O Eartht that I had lain at rest 
And lapped forever in thy breast, 
Ere I had seen my chieftain fall 
Within the laver's silver wall. 
Low-lying on dishonored bier I 
And who shall give him sepulcher. 
And who the wail of sorrow pour? 
Woman, 't is thine no morel 
A gracdess gift unto his ahade 
Such tribute, by his murd'rees paidi 
Strive not thus wrongly to atone 
The impious deed thy hand hath done. 
Ah who above the god-like chief 
Shall weep the tears of loyal grief? 
Who speak above his lowly grave 
The last sad praises of the brave ? 

Clttxumibtra. Peace! for such taak il 
none of thine. 
By me he fell, by me he died. 
And now his burial rites be mine) 
Yet from theee halls no mourners' train 
Shall celebrate his obsequiee; 
Only by Acheron's rolling tide 
His child shall spring unto his side, 
And in a daughter's loving wise 
Sh^l clasp and kiss him once again! 

Chobtts. Lol ain by ran and sorrow 
dogg'd by sorrow — 
And who the end can know? 
The slayer of to-day shall die to-morrow — 
The wage of wrong is woe. 
While Time shall be, while Zeus in heaven 

Hia law is fixed and stem; 
On him that wrought shall v 

outpoured — 
The tides of doom return 



Google 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



The ohildreD of the cune abide within 

These halls of high estate — 

And none can wrench from off the home of 

The r-linging grasp of Fftte. 
CLtTBUNiarBA. Now walks thy word 
aright, to tell 
This ancient truth of oracle; 
But I with vows of sootb will pray 
To him, the power that holdeUk sway 
O'er all the race of Pleiatheiiee — 
Tho' dark the deed and deep the fptHl, 
With UlU Uul biood, my handi hove aptll, 
/ pray thee lii thine anger eeate I 
I pray thee -poet from u« otuoy 
To umte rtsw race in other land*. 
There, if lAcu wiii, to wrong and ilay 
The Utiee of mm, by kindred hande. 

For me 't ia all sufficient meed, 
Tho' little we^th or power were won, 
So I can say, 'T u jta^ and done. 
The bloody hut and murderoue, 
The inborn fretaj/ qf our house. 
It ended, by my deed I 

[Enier JEaiffrBVe.] 
MaienBva. Dawn of the day of rightful 

vengeance, hail I 
I dare at length aver that gods above 
Have care of men and heed of earthly 

wrongs. 
I, I who stand and thus exult to see 
This man lie wound in robes the Furies wove, 
SOain in requital of his father's craft. 
Take ye the trutit, that Atmio, this man's 

The lord and monarch of this land of old, 
Hdd with my sire Thyestes deep dispute. 
Brother with brother, for the prise of swayi 
And drave him from his heme to banishmott. 
Thereafter, the lorn exile homeward stole 
And clung a suppliant to the hearth divine, 
And for himself won this immunity — 
Not with his own blood to defile the land 
That gave him birth. But Atreus, godless 

sire 
Of him who here Uee dead, this welcome 

planned — 
With seal that was not love he feigned to 

hold 
In loyal joy a day of festal cheer, 



And bade my father to his board, and Mt 
Before him fleah that was bis children once. 
First, sitting at the upper board alone. 
He hid the fingers and the feet, but gave 
The reet — and readily Thyestes took 
What to his ignorance iko semblance wore 
Of human flesh, and ate : behold what cutbb 
That eating brought upon our race and 

For when he knew what all unhallowed 

He thuB had wrought, with horror's bitter 

Back-starting, spewing forth the fragments 

foul, 
OnPelope' house a deadly curse be spake — 
A» darkly at I *pum Ihi* damrAd food. 
So periak oU the race of Pleitthenes I 
Thus by that curse fell he whom here ye 

And I — irtio elaeT — this murdw move 

and planned; 
For me, an infant yet in swaddling bands. 
Of the three children youngest, Atreus sent 
To banishment by my sad father's side: 
But Justice brought me home once more, 

grown now 
To manhood's years; and stranger tho' I 

My right bond reached unto the chieftain's 

life, 
Plotting and planning all that malice bade. 
And death iteelt were honor now to me. 
Beholding him in Justice' ambush ta'en. 
Chobub. £gisthus, for this insolence ol 

That vaunts itself in evil, take my soom. 
Of thine own will, thou sayeet, thou hast 

slain 
The chieftain, by thine own unaided plot 
Devised the piteous death : I rede thee well. 
Think not thy head shall 'scape, when ri^i 

prevails, 
The people's ban, the stonea of death and 

foiaTHCB. This word from thee, this 
word from one who rowa 
Low at the oare beneath, what time we rul^ 
Weof the upper tier? Thou 'It know anon, 
"T ia bitter to be taught again in age. 
By one so young, submission at the word 
But iron of the chain and hungn's ttaioes 



AGAMEMNON 



39 



Can tmnuter unto an o'enwolo pride 
HarvelouB well, aye, even in the old. 
Hart eyea, and seeat not thisT Peace — 

lack not thus 
Againat the pricks, unto thy proper pain! 
CaoBua. Thau womanieh man, waiting 

till war did cease, 
Home-watcher and defiler of. the couch. 
And arch-deviaer of the chieftain's doom! 
£oiBTHUs. Bold worda again! but they 

ahall end in tears. 
The very converse, thine, of Orpheus' 

tongue: 
He roused and led in ecstasy of joy 
All thinga that heard his voice melodious; 
But thou aa with the futile cry of curs 
Witt draw men wrathfully upon thee. 

Peace! 
Or strong oubjeotion soon shall tame thy 

tongue. 
Choiiits. Aye, thou art one to hold an 

Argive down — 
Thou, skilled to plan the murder of the 

But not with thine own hand to smite the 
blow! 

MawTBua. That fraudfut force was 
woman's very part, 
Not mine, whom deep suspicion from of old 
Would have debarred. Now by his treas- 
ure's aid 
My purpose holda to rule the citisens. 
But whoeo will not bear my guiding hand. 
Him for his corn-fed mettle I will drive 
Not as a traoe-horae, light-c^arisoned. 
But to the shafts w'rtit heaviest harness 

Famine, tho grim mate of the dungeon dark, 
Shall look on him and shall behold him tame. 
Chorcb. Thou load soul, was Aen thy 
strength too eli^t 
To deal in murder, while a woman's hand. 
Staining and shaming Argoe and its gods. 
Availed to slay him ? Ho, if anywhere 
The light of life smit« on Orestes' eyes, 
Let him, returning by some guardian fate, 
Hew down with force her paramour and her! 
£aigTHua. How thy word and act shdl 
iasue, thou shalt shortly understand. 
GHDBna. Up to action, O my comrades! 
f(» the fight is honl at hand. 



Swift, your right hands to the sword hilt! 

bare the weapon as for strife — 
Moimsva. Lo! I too am standing ready, 

hand 00 hilt for death or life. 
CaoBUB. 'T was thy word and we accept 

it: onward to ^e chance of war! 
Clttbun>stba. Nay, enough, enough, 

my champion! we will smite and 

slay no more. 
Already have we reaped enough the har- 
vest-field of guilt: 
Enough of wrong and murder, let no other 

blood be spilt. 
Peace, old men I and pass away unto the 

homes by Fate decreed. 
Lest ill valor meet our vengeance — 't was 

a ueceesary deed. 
But enough of toils and troubles — be the 

Ere thy tabn, Avenger, deal another 

deadly blow. 
'T is a woman's word of warning, and let 
who wiU list thereto. 
Mamraui. But that these should loose 
and lavish reckless blossoms of the 
tongue, 
And in basard of their fortune cast upon 

me words of wrong, 
And forget the law of subjects, and revile 
their ruler's word — 
Chobub. RulerTbut 'tis not for Argivea, 

thus to own a daatard lord I 
MaiBTBva. I will follow to chastise thee 

in my coming days of sway. 
Chorus. Not if Fortune guide Oreetee 

safely on his homeward way. 
.^aiBTHDB. Ah, well I know how exiles 

feed on hopes of their return. 
Cborub. Fare and batten on pollution 

of the right, while 't is thy turn. 
MaiirrBva. Thou shalt pay, be well 
assured, heavy quittance for thy 

Cbobus. Crow and strut, with her to 
watch thee, like a cock, his mate 

Clttiimitbbtha. Heed not thou too 

highly of them — let the cur-pack 

growl and yell: 

I and thou will rule the palace and itiQ 

order all things well. (£x«unl.] 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



CEDIPUS THE KING 

By SOPHOCLES 
TVwubatJiMttEm^ukfrutiySIS RICHARD CLAVESHQVSB JEBB 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



CHARACTERS 

CEdifub, Kinn <^ Thtbea 
Priest or Zeds 
Creon, brother of locasta 
Teirebias, Ok blind prophet 

loCASTA. 

FiBar Mgbsenqbb, a akepkerd from Corinth 
A Shepherd, formerly in tlte service of Ia^ius 
Second MKaeBNCBR, from the house 
Chorttb or Tbeban Elders 

A train of supplia^s (old men, youths, and 
children). The children Antioonb and Ib- 
USNB, daughters of (Edipqs and Iocasta 

Scaini: Before the Royal Palaca at Thebt 



ciilizedbvGoOQic 



CEDIPUS THE KING 



(&>iPDB. My (Mdi«n, lat««t-bom to 
Cadmua who was of old, why are ye aet 
brfoie me thus with wreathed brandtes of 
wpidianto, while the city leeks with in- 
wnw, ringa with prayers for health and 
cries of woe? I deemed it unmeet, my chil' 
dren, to heu theae things at the mouth of 
otiietB, and have come hither myself, I, 
CEdipus renowoed of all. 

Tdl me, then, thou vener^e man — 
Booe it ia thy natural part to speak for 
theae — in what mood are ye placed here, 
with what dread or what deeireT Be sure 
that I would gladly give aU aid; hard of 
beart were I, did I not pity such aupidiantfl 
as these. 

Pkeest or Zara. Nay, (Edipus, ruler of 
my land, thou seeat of what yean we are 
who beoirt thy altars, — some, nestlings 
. jtiQ too tender for far flights, — some, 
bowed with age, priests, as I of Zeus, — 
and these, the chosen youth; while the rest 
of the folk ait with wreathed branches in 
the muket-placee, and before the two 
Bhrines of Pallas, and where Ismenus gives 

For tiie oity, as thou thyself seest, is now 
too sorely vexed, and can no more lift her 
bead from beneath the angry waves of 
death; a blight is on her in the fruitful blos- 
■ nms of the land, in the herds among the 
pastures, in the buren pangs of women; 
and witiuJ the flaming god, the malign 
^ague, hath swooped on us, and ravages 
dte town; by whom the house of Cadmus is 
made wast«, but dark Hades rich in groans 
and tews. 

It is not as deeming thee ranked with 
gods that I and these children are suppli- 
ants at thy hearth, but as deeming thee 
first <rf men, both in life's common chances, 
and when mortals have to do with more 
than man: seeing that thou earnest to the 
town of Cisdmus, and didst quit us of the 
tftr fjifct ^fft rnndered toUiehardsongBteeas; 



and this, though thou kneweet notJiing 
from us that could avul thee, nor hadst 
been schooled; no, by a god's aid, 't is said 
and believed, didst Uiou uplift our life. 

And now, (Edipus, king glorious in aU 
eyes, we beseech Uiee, all, we suppliants, to 
find for us some succor, whether by the 
whisper of a god thou knjowest it, or haply 
as in the power of man; for I see that, whoi 
men have been. proved in deeds past, th« 
issues of their counsels, too, most often 
have effect. 

On, best of mortals, again uplift our 
State! On, guard thy fame, — since now 
this land calls thee savior for thy formn 
seal; and never be it our memory of thy 
reign that we were first restored and after- 
ward cast down: nay, lift up this State in 
such wise that it fall no morel 

With good omen didst thou give us that 
past happiness; now also show thyself the 
same. For if thou art to rule this land, evoi 
as iJiou art now its lord, 't is better to be 
lord of men than of a waste: unce neither 
walled town nor ship ia anything, if it ia. 
void and no men dwell with thee therein. 

(EniPUB. Ob my piteous children, known, 
well known to me are the desires wherewith 
ye have come: w^ wot I that ye suffer all; 
yet, sufferers as ye are, there is not one of 
you wboee suffering is as mine. Your 
pain comes on each one of you for himsdf 
alone, and for no other; but my soul mourns 
at once for the city, and for myself, and for 

So that ye rouse me not, truly, as one 
sunk in sleep: no, be sure that I have wept 
full many tears, gone many ways in wan- 
derings of thought. And the sole remedy 
which, weU pondering, I could find, this I 
have put into act. I have sent the son of 
Menceceua, Creon, mine own wife's brother, 
to the PyUiian house of Phcebus, to learn 
by what deed or word I might ddiver this 
town. And already, when the hvaeofdaytia 



34 



CHIEF t:uropean dramatists 



raclmned, it trouUes m« what he doth; for 
he tarries gtrangeljr, beyond thefittioft apace. 
But when he cornea, then aball I be no true 
man if I do not all that the god shows. 

Priebt. Nay, in sesflon hast thou 
■poken; at this moment these sign to me 
Uiat Creon draws near. 

(Edipdb. O king Apt^o, may he come to 
UB in the brightness of saving fortune, even 
as hia face is bright! 

Prisst. Nay, to all seeming, he brings 
comfort; else would he not be coming 
crowned thus tJiickly with berry-laden bay. 

(EniPiiB. We shall know soon: he is at 
range to hear. — Prinoe, my fc-inaman, son 
of MtticeceuB, what news baat thou brought 
us from the godT 

[EnUr Cbbon.] 

Cbbon. Oood news: I tell tbee that even 
troubles hard to bear, — if haply Uiey find 
the right iamie, — will end in perfect peace. 

dbiPUB. But what is the oradeT So far, 
thy words make me ndther bold nor yet 

Cbxon. If thou wouldest hear while 
these are ni^, I am ready to speak; or dse 
to go within. 

(Editdb. Speak before all: the sorrow 
which I bear is for these more than for mine 
own life. 

Ckbon. With thy leave, I will tell what 
I heard from the god. Phcebus our lord 
bids us plainly to drive out a defiling thing, 
which (he auth] haUi been harbored in this 
land, and not to harbor it, so that it cannot 
be healed. 

(EniFus. By what rite shall we cleanse 
usT What is the maoner of the misfortune? 

Cbbon. By baaiehing a man, or by 
Uood^ied in quittance of Uoodahed, since 
it is that blood whidii brin^ the tempest on 
our city. 

(EniPUB. And who is the man whose fate 
he thus reveals? 

Cbboit. I^Iub, king, was lord of our land 
before thou wast pilot of this State. 

Cfbipus. I know it well — by hearsay, 
for I saw him never. 

CimoN. He was slain; and the god ikow 
bids UB plainly to wreak vengeance on his 
murderers — vboaosrrtr they be. 



(Edipub. And where are tiiey upon the 
earth? Where shall the dim track of this 
old crime be found? 

Ckxon. In this land, — said the god. 
What is sou^t tot can be caught; only 
that which is not watched escapes. 

Qktipce. And was it in the house, or in 
the fidd, or on strange soil that Lalua met 
this bloody end? 

Cbbon. T was on a visit to DdjAi, u 
he said, that he had left our land; and he 
came home no more, af t«r he had once set 
forth. 

(Edipub. And was there none to tell? 
Was there no comrade of his journey who 
saw the deed, from whom tidings mi^it 
have been gained, and used? 

Crbon. All perished, save one who fled 
in fear, and could tell for certain but oaa 
thing of all that he saw. 

(XbiPTTs. And what was that? One thing 
might show the clue to many, could we get - 
but a small bepnning for hope. 

Creon. He said that robbers met and 
fell on them, not in one man's might, but 
witii full many hands. 

(Edipcb. How, then, unless there was 
aome trafficking in bribes from here, should 
the robber have dared thus far? 

Cbbok. Such things were surmised; but, 
Lalua once slain, amid our troubles no 
avenger arose. 

(EoiPOB. But, when royalty had falloi 
thus, what trouble in your path caa have 
hindered a full search? 

Ckeok. The riddling Sphinx had made 
US let dark things go, and was inviting ua 
to Uiink of what lay at our doors. 

\EtU Cbxom.]- 

dbipuB. Nay, I will start afresh, and 
once more make dark things plain. Rigfat 
worthily hath Phcebus, and worthily hast 
thou, bestowed this care on the cause oS 
the dead; and so, as is meet, ye shall find 
me too leagued with you in seekingvengs- 
anoe for this Iwid, and for the god be- 
sides. On behalf of no far-off friend, no, 
but in mine own cause, shall I dispel tliis 
taint. For whoever was the slayer of Ijdus 
might wish to take vei^eance on me also 
with a hand ss fierce. Tberefoie, in dtang 
ri^t to Lalua, I awe mjidf . 



.CtOo^^Ic 



CEDIPUS THE KING 



35 



CotM, haste je, 1117 childTen, rise from 
the altar-stq», and lift the«e nipidiftnt 
bou^; ftad let some other summon hither 
the folk of Cadmus, warned that I mean to 
lean nou^t untried; for our health (with 
the god's hdp) shall be made cotain — or 
our ruin. 

Faiasr. i/lj children, let ua riae; we 
came at first to seek what this man prom- 
iaea ot himself. And may Phoebus, who 
sent these oracles, oome to us thvewith, 
OUT savior and delivcrei' from the pest. 

Chobds. O sweetly speaking message of 
Zeus, in what spirit hast thou come from 
golden Pytho unto ^orious lliebea? I am 
w the rack, terror shakes my soul, O thou 
Delian healer to whom wild criee riee, in 
holy fear of thee, what thing thou wilt work 
for me, perchance unknown before, per- 
chance renewed with the revolving years: 
tell me, tfaou immortal Voice, txvn of 
QfddmHope! 

First, call I on thee, daughter ol Zeus, 
divine Athena, and on thy sister, guardian 
of our land, Art«mis, who site on her throne 
of fame, above the circle of our Agora, and 
onI%(^us thefar-daiter: O shine forth on 
me, my ttireefold hdp against deathi If 
ever aforetime, in arrest of ruin hurrying 
on ti» city, ye drove a fiery pest beyond 
our bcwdwa, come now alsol 

Woe is me, countless are the sorrows that 
I bear; a {dague is on all our host, and 
lliought can find no we^xm for defense. 
The fruits of the glorious earth grow not; 
by no birth of children da women surmount 
the pangs in which they shriek; and life on 
life mayeet thou see aped, like bird on 
nimble wing, aye, swifter than resistless 
fire, to the shore <k the western god. 

By such deaths, past numbering, the city 
parisbee: unpitied, her children lie on the 
ground, qireading pestilence, with none to 
mourn: and meanwhile young wives, and 
gray-haired mothers with them, uplift a 
wail at the steps of the altars, some here, 
some there, entreating for their weary woes. 
The prayer to the Healer rings clear, and, 
Ueot therewith, the voice of lamentation: 
f« these things, golden daught«r of Zeus, 
nod us the bright face of comfort. 

And grant that the fierce god of death. 



who now with no brasen shields, yet amid 
criea as of battie, wraps me in the flame el 
his onset, may turn his back in speedy 
flight from our land, home by a fair wind 
to the great deep of Amphitriti, or to those 
waters in which none find haven, even to 
the Thracian wave; for if ni^t leave aught 
undone, day follows to accomplish this. O 
thou who wieldest the powers of the fire- 
fraught lightning, O Zeus our father, slay 
him beneath thy thunderfooltl 

Lycean King, fain were I that thy shafts 
also, from thy bent bow's string of woven 
gdd, should go abroad in their might, our 
champions in the face of the foe; yea, and 
the flashing firee of Artemis wherewith she 
glances through the Lycian hills. And I 
call him whose locks are bound with gold, 
who is named with the name of this land, 
ruddy Bacchus to whom Bacchante cry, 
the comrade of the Menads, to draw near 
with the blsae of his blithe torch, our ally 
against the god unhonored among gods. 

(EoiFtrs. Thou prayest: and m answer 
to thy prayer, — if thou wilt give a loyal 
wdcome to my words and minister to thine 
own disease, — thou mayest hope to find 
succor and relief from woes. These words 
will I speak publicly, as one who has been 
a stranger to this report, a stranger to the 
deed; for I should not be far on the track, 
if I were tracing it alone, without a due. 
But as it is, — since it was only after the 
time of the deed that I was numbered a 
Theban among Thdians, — to you, the 
Cadmeans all, I do thus proclaim. 

Whosoever of you knows by whom Lalus 
Bon of Lsbdacus was slain, I bid him to 
declare all to me. And if he is afrud, I 
tell him to remove the danger of the charge 
from his path by denouncing himself; for 
he shall suffer nothing else unlovely, but 
only leave the land, unhurt. Or if any one 
knows an alien, from another land, as the 
assassin, let him not keep silence; for I will 
pay his guerdon, and my thanks shall rest 
with him besides. 

But it ye keep silence — if any one, 
through fear, shall seek to screen friend or 
self from my behest — hear ye what I thrai 
shall do. I charge you that no one of this 
land, whereof I hcjd the smpiie and the 



.CjOC^'.^Ic 



36 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



ttiFone, give shelter or speak wcod unto that 
murdeier, whoooerer be be, — make him 
partner of his pn^er or tAcrifice or serve 
him with the luatrol rite; but that all baa 
him their homes, knowing that Una is our 
defiling thing, as the oracle of the Pythian 
god hath newly shown me. I then am on 
thiswisetheally of tbegodandof the slain. 
And I pray stdemoly that the slay^, whoso 
. he be, whether his hidden guilt is lonely or 
hath partners, evilly, as he is evO, may wear 
out bis unblest life. And for myself I pray 
that if, with my privity, he should become 
an inmate of my house, I may suffer the 
same things which even now I called down 
upon others. And on you I lay it to make 
an these words good, for my sake, and for 
the sake of the god, and for our land's thus 
blasted with barrenness by angry heaven. 

For even if the matter had not been 
niged on us by a god, it was not meet that 
ye should leave the guilt thus unpurged, 
when one so noble, and he your king, had 
perished; rather were ye bound to search it 
out. And now, since 't ia I who hold the 
powers which once he held, who poseees his 
bed and the wife who bare seed to him; 
and since, bad his hope of issue not been 
frustrate, children born of one mother 
would have made ties betwixt him and me 
— but, as it was, fate swooped upon his 
head; by reason of tbeae things will I up- 
hold this cause, even as the cause of mine 
own sire, and will leave nought untried in 
seeking to find him whoee hand shed that 
blood, for the honor of the son of Labdacus 
and of Polydorus and elder Godmua and 
'Agenor who was of old. 

And for those who obey me not, I pray 
that the gods Bend them neith« harvest 
of the earth nor fruit of the womb, but that 
tiiey be wasted by their lot that now is, or 
by one yet more dire. But for all you, the 
loyal folk of Cadmus to whom these things 
seem good, may Justice, our ally, and all 
the gods be with you graciously forever. 

Chords. As thou hast put me on my 
oath, on my oath, O long, I will speak. I 
am not the slayer, nor can I point to him 
who slew. As for the question, it was for 
FhcebuB, who sent it, to tell us this thing — 
irtio can have wrought the deed. 



(Edipus. Justly said; but no man on the 
earth can force the gods to what they wSl 
not. 

Chobcs. I would fun say what seems to 
me next beet after this. 

CGdipds. If there is yet a third oourse, 
spare not to show it. 

Chords. I know that our lord Teiresias 
is the seer most like to our lord Phoebus, 
from whom, king, a searcher of these 
things might learn them most clearly. 

CEoiFtJs. Not even this have I left out 
of my caree. On the hint of Creon, I have 
twice sent a man to bring him; and this 
long while I marvel why he is not hesv. 

Chorus. Indeed (his skill apart) the 
rumors are but faint and old. 

(Editds. What rumors are they? I lode 
to every story. 

Chorus. Certain wayfams were said to 
have killed him. 

(Edipub. I, too, have heard it, but noiM 
sees him who saw it. 

Chorus. Nay, if he knows what fear is, 
he will not stay when he hears thy cuimi, 
so dire as they are. 

■CEnipuB. When a man shrinks not from 
a deed, neither is he scared by a word. 

Chorus. But there is one to convict 
him. For here they bring at last the god- 
like prophet, in whom alone of men doth 
live the truth. 

[Enter Teirebiab, ltd by a boy.] 

(BniPUB. Teireaias, whoee soul grasps aD 
things, the lore that may be told and the 
unspeakable, the secrets of heaven and the 
low things of earth, — thou feelest, thou^ 
thou canst not see, what a plague dotli 
haunt our State, — from which, great 
prophet, we find in thee our protector and 
only savior. Now, Fhcebus — if indeed 
thou knowest it not from the mGsseugas — 
sent answer to our question that the only 
riddance from this peet which could eome 
was if we should learn aright the slayers 
of Lalus, and slay them, or send them into 
exile from our land. Do thou, then, grudge 
neither voice of birds nor any other way of 
seer-lore that thou hast, but rescue thysdf 
and the State, rescue me, reocue all that 
is defiled by the dead. For we are in th> 



CEDIPUS THE KING 



37 



hand; And man's noblaat tjmfc u to help 
othen by hu beet means and powers, 

TnRBOiAa. Alas, how dreadful to have 
madomwheieitprofitanotLbewiael Aye, 
I knew this well, but let it slip out of mind; 
dse would I never have come here. 

(&iipua. What now? How sod thou hast 
eomeini 

TwuBiAB. Let me go home; most easily 
wilt thou bear thine own burden to the 
end, and I mine, if thou wilt consent. 

(Editdb. Thy words are strange, nor 
kindly to this State which nurtured thee, 
when thou withttoldeet this rc^>onse. 

TnacsiAB. Nay, I aee that Uiou, on thy 
part, openeot not thy lips in season: there- 
fwe I speak not, that neither m^ I have 
thymiabq). 

<Ek>ipue. For the bve td the gods, turn 
not away, if thou host knowledge: all we 
supplionle implore thee on our knees. 

TWBKSiAS. Aye, for ye are all without 
knowledge; but never will I reveal my 
griefs — that I say not tiiine. 

Okiipue. How sayest thou? Thou know- 
est the secret, and wilt not tdl it, but ut 
minded to betray us and to detrtroy the 
State? 

Tkbhsas. I will pain nnther myself 
nor thee. Why vainly ask theee thuies? 
Thou wilt not leam them from me. 

<EbiPT7B. What, basest of the base, — 
tor thou wouldeat anger a very stone, — 
wilt thou never speak out? Can nothing 
touch thee? Wilt thou never make an end? 

TxiSBBiAa. Thou blameat my temper, 
but secet not that to which thou thjrself art 
wedded: no, thou findeet fault with me. 

(Eoifna. And who would not be angry 
to hear the words with which thou now dost 
gli^t this city? 

TKBX&ua. The future will come of it- 
s^, though I shroud it in silraice. 

CBdipits. Then, seeing that it must come, 
thou on thy part ahouldst tell me thereof. 

TaiassiAs. I.will speak no further; rage, 
then, if thou wilt, with the fiercest wrath 
thy heart doth know. 

(&>ipua. Aye, verily, I will not spare — 
B wroth I am — to speak all my thought. 
Know that thou aeemest to me e'en to have 
hdped in plotting the deed, and to have 



done it, short of sl^nng with thy haoda. 
Hadst thou eyesight, I would have said 
tiiat Ute doing, also, of this thing was thine 

TinKSiAB. In sooth? — I charge thee 
I that thou ^ide by the decree of thine own 
mouth, and from this day speak neiUier to 
these nor to me: tkou art the accursed de- 
filer of this land. 

CEdifub. So braaen with thy blustering 
taunt? And wherein dost thou trust to 
eecape thy due? 

TsiBCBua. I have escaped: in my truHi 
is my strength. 

(Eoaoa. Who taught thee this? It waa 
not, at least, thine art. 

TninnsiAB. Thou: for thou didst spur 
me into speech against my will. 

(Bniprs. What speech? Speak again 
that I may leam it better. 

TxiKBBiAS. Didst thou not take my 
sense before? Or art thou tempting me in 
talk? 

CEdipub. No, I took it not so that I can 
call it known: — speak again. 

TsiBxeus. I say that thou ut the slayer 
of the man whose slayer thou seekeet. 

CEniPtrB. Now thou shalt rue that thou 
hast twice said words so dire. 

Teisebub. Wouldst thou have me sa; 
more, that thou mayeet be more wroth? 

(Edipub. What thou wilt; it will be said 
in viun. 

TBmnsiAB. I say that thou hast been 
living in ungueesed shame with thy nearest 
kin, and seest not to what woe thou hast 

CEditdb. Dost thou indeed think that 
thou sholt always speak thus without 
smvtingT 

TxiRBSUB. Yee, if there is any strengUt 

CEniPDS. Nay, there is, — for all save 
thee; for thee that strength is not, since 
thou art maimed in ear, and in wit, and in 

TsntnsiAB. Aye, and thou art a poor 
wretch to utter taunts which every man 
here will soon hurl at thee. 

(Enipos. Night, endless night bath thee 
in her keeping, so that thou oanat never 
hurt me, or any man who aem the aun. 



38 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Tbirkbias. No, thy doom is not to fall 
by me; Apollo is enough, whose cue it is to 
work that out. 

(Edipds. Are theee Creon'a devioei, or 
thine? 

TiiiRE^us. Nay, Creon ia no {dague to 
thee; thou art thine own. 

CEdipitb. O wealth, and empire, and skill 
surpaffiing skill in life's keen rivalriee, how 
great is the envy that oleavea to you, if for 
the sake, yea, of this power whidi the city 
hath put into my hands, a gift unsought, 
Creon the trusty, Creon mine old friend, 
hath crept on me by stealth, yearning to 
thrust me out of it, and hath suborned such 
a scheming ju^er as this, a tricky quack, 
who hath eyee only for his gains, but in his 
art is blindl 

Come, now, tell me, where hast thou 
proved thyself a seer? Why, when the 
Watcher was here who wove dark song, 
didst thou say nothing that could free this 
folk? Yet the riddle, at least, was not for 
the first comer to read; there was need of a 
seer's skill; and none such thou wast found 
to have, either by help of birds, or as known 
from any god: no, I came, I, (Edipus the 
ignorant, and made her mute, when I had 
seised the answer by my wit, untaught of 
birds. And it is I whom thou art trying tc 
oust, thinking to stand dose to Creon'e 
throne. Methinks thou and the plotter of 
these things will me your seal to purge the 
land. Nay, didst thou not seem to be an 
old man, thou shouldst have learned to thy 
coat how bold thou art. 

Chobus. To our thinking, both this 
man's words and thine, CEldipua, have been 
said in anger. Not for such words is our 
need, but to seek how we shall beat dis- 
charge the mandates of the god. 

Teibesub. King though thou art, the 
right of reply, at least, must be deemed the 
same for both; of that I too am lord. Not 
to thee do I live servant, but to Loxias; 
. and BO I shall not stand enrolled under 
Creon for my patron. And I tell thee- 
since thou hast taunted me even with 
blindness — that thou hast sight, yet s 
not in what misery thou art, nor where 
thou dwellest, nor with whom. Doet thou 
know of what atook thou artf And thou 



hast been an unwitting foe to thine own 
kin, in the shades, and on the earth above; 
and the double lash of thy mother's and 
thy father's curse shall one day drive thee 
from this land in dreadful haste, with dark- 
nees then on the eyee that now see true. 

And what place shall not be haibor to 
thy shriek, what of all Citlueron shall not 
ring with it soon, when thou hast learnt the 
meaning of the nuptials in which, within 
that house, thou didst find a fatal haven, 
after a voyage so fair7 And a throng of 
other ills thou gueasest not, which shall 
make thee level with thy true adf and witb 
thine own brood. 

Therefore heap thy scorns on Creon and 
on my message : for no one among men shall 
ever be crushed more miserably than Uiou. 

(EniPUB. Are these taunts to be indeed 
borne from Atmf — Hence, ruin take theel 
Hence, this instant! Backl — awayl — 
avaunt thee from theee doorat 

Teirbsiab. I had never come, not I, 
hadet thou not colled me. 

(Edifdb. I knew not that thou wast 
about to speak folly, or it bad been long 
ere I had sent for thee to my house. 

TEraxsuB. Such am I, — as thou think- 
est, a fod; but for the parents who begat 
thee, sane. 

(EbipTTB. What paiuitaT Bt^ . . . and 
who of men is my aire? 

TxiBxeiAB. Ttus Axy shall show thy 
birth and shall bring thy ruin. 

(Edipus. What riddles, what dark words 
thou always speakesti 

Teikbsias. Nay, art not thou iDOBt 
skilled to unravel dark speech? 

(Edipus. Make t^t my reproach in 
which thou shalt find me great. 

TmiiEsiAs. Yet 't was just that fcKtune 
that undid thee. 

(Xk>ipus. Nay, if I delivered this town, J 

TxiHcsiAB. Then I will go: so do thoa, 
boy, take me hence. 

CEbiFOB. Aye, let him take thee: while 
here, thou art a hindrance, thou, a tioubSa: 
when thou hast vanished, thou wilt not vex 
me more. 

TxiREsiAB. I will go when I have done 
mine errand, fearless <rf tl^ frown: for tbou 



.CtOoi^Ic 



CEDIPUS THE KING 



ctnit oeva destroy me. And I tell thee — 
the man of whom tbou hast this long while 
been in queat, uttering threato, and pro- 
nJiimiTig a aewch into the murder of Lalua 
— that man is here, — in seeming, an alien 
njoumer, but anon he ihall be found a 
native Theban, and aball not be f^ad of hia 
fortune. A blind man, he who now hath 
li^t, a beggar, who now is rich, he shall 
meke hia way to a strange land, feeling the 
ground before him with his staff. And he 
jhall be found at onoe brother and father 
of the children with whom he conaorte; bob 
and hudiand of the woman who bore him; 
faeir to his father's bed, shedder of his 
father's blood. 

So go tbou in and think on that; and if 

thou find that I hare been at fault, say 

thenceforth that I have no wit in prophecy. 

[T»RBBua it Ud out t^ th« boy. 

(EktiPDS enterg tAe potoce.] 

CHOHua. Who is he of whom the divine 

Toiee from the Delphian rock hath spoken, 

as having wrought with red hands horrors 

that no tongue can t^7 

It is time that he ply in flight a foot 
stronger than the feet of storm-swift 
steeds: for the son of Zeua is springing on 
him, all armed with fiery lightnings, and 
with him come the dread, unerring Fates. 
Yea, newlj given frmn snowy Parnassus, 
the meaaage hath flashed forth to make all 
Man^ for the unknown man. Into the 
wild wood's covert, among cavee and rocks 
he is roaming, fierce as a bull, wretched and 
forlorn on his joyleea path, still seeking to 
pat itom him the doom spoken at Earth's 
oentral shrine: but that doom ever lives, 
ever flits around him. 

Dreadly, in sooth, dreadly doth the wise 
augur move me, who ^qnvve not, nor am 
able to deny. How to speak, I know not; 
I am fluttered with fordmdinga; neither in 
the present have I clear vision, nor of the 
future. Never in past days, nor in these, 
have I heard how the house of Labdacus 
or the son of Folybus had, either against 
other, any grief that I could bring as proof 
in mrtaillng the public fame of (Edipus, and 
seeking to avenge the line of Labdacus for 
the undiscovered murder. 
Nay, ZauB indeed and Apollo are keuk of 



tbou^t, andlmow the things of earth; but 
that mortal seer wins knowledge above 
mine, of this there can be no sure teat; 
though man may surpass man in lore. Vet, 
until I see the word made good, never will I 
atsent when men blame (Edipus. Before 
all eyes, the winged maiden came against 
him of old, and he was seen to be wise; he 
bore the test, in welcome service to our 
State; never, therefore, by the verdict <£ 
my heart shall he be adjudged guiKy of 
crime. 

{EnUr CiUEOH.] 

Cbeon. Fellow citiiena, having learned 
that (EdipuH the king lays dire charges 
against me, I am here, indignant. If, in the 
present troubles, he thinks that he haa suf- 
fered from me, by word or deed, au^t that 
tends to harm, in truth I crave not my full 
tom of yeara, when I must bear such blame 
as this. The wrong of this rumor touches 
me not in one point alone, but has the 
largest scope, if I am to be called a traitor 
in the city, a traitor, too, by thee and by 
my frieni^. 

Chobob. Nay, but thia taunt came under 
stress, perchance, of angN', rather than 
from the purpoee of the heart. 

Crsdn. And the saying waa uttered, 
that my counsels won the seer to utter his 
falsehoods? 

CHOHns. Such things were said — I 
know not with what meaning. 

Cbbon. And was thia charge laid against 
me with steady eyes and steady mind? 

Chobcs. I know not; I see not what ray 
masters do: but here ccmee our lord forth 
from the house. 

[Enier (Edipob.] 

(Edipus. Sirrah, how cameot thou here? 
East thou a front so bold that thou haat 
come to my house, who art the proved 
assassin of its master, — the palpable rob- 
ber of my crown? (3ome, teU me, in the 
name of the gods, was it cowardice or folly 
that thou sawest in me, that thou didst i 

plot to do this thing? Didat thou think 
that I would not note this deed of thine | 

creeputg on me by stealth, or, awue, would 
not wa^ it off? Mow ii not thine attempt 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



focJish, — to seek, without ftAcrwers or 
frundB, a throne, — a priie which f (Jlowen 
and wealth muBt win? 

Cbeok. Mftric me now, — in uiflwer to 
thy words, hear a fair rv^Ay, aiid then judge 
for thyself on knowledge- 

(EniPUB. Thou art apt in speech, but I 
have a poor wit for thy lewona, since I 
have found thee mj malignant foe. 

Ckbon. Now first hear how I will ez- 
[4ain tJiis very thing — 

CEoiPUB. Explain me not one thing — 
that thou art not false. 

Cezon. If thou deemest that stubborn- 
ness without sense is a good gift, thou art 

(Edifcb. If thou deonest that tbou canst 
wrong a kinsman and escape the penalty, 
thou art not sane. 

Crbon. Justly said, I grant thee: but 
tdl me what is the wrong Uiat thou s^est 
thou hast suffered from me. 

(Edipub. Didst thou advise, or didst 
Qxm not, that I should send for that 
reverend BeerT 

Crzok. And now I am Btiit of the same 

GkiiTUB. How long is it, thai, since 
Chxon. Since Lalus . . .T I takenotthy 

(&>iFnB. — was swept from men's sight 
by a deadly violencef 

Cbxom. The count of years would run 
far into the past. 

(Edipub. Wbb this seer, then, of the 
craft in those dajre? 

Chson. Yea, skilled ss now, and in equal 

(Edipus. Made he, then, any mention of 
me at that time? 

Crkon. Never, certainly, when I was 
within hearing. 

(Edipub. But hdd ye not a search touch- 
ing ihe murder? 

Cbhon. Due search we hdd, of course — 
and learned nothing. 

(EniPOB. And bow was it that this sage 
did not tell hia story tAmf 

Crxon. I know not; where I lack light, 
t is my wont to be Bitent. 

(Edipub. Thus much, at least, thou 



knowcst, and oouldst dedara widi li^ 

Cbion. What is that? If I know it, I 
will not deny. 

(Bdipdb. That, if he had not conferred 
with t^ee, he would never have named my 
slaying of lalus. 

Chbom . If BO he speaks, thou best know- 
eet; but I claim to learn from thee aa mudk 
as thou hast now from me. 

(£k>iFCB. Learn thy fill: I shall never be 
found guilty of the blood. 

Cbxon. Say, then — thou bast married 
my mster? 

(Edipdb. The question allows not cd 

Cbbon. And thou rulest the land as she 
doth, with like sway? 

(Empus. She obtains from me all her 
desire. 

Ckbok. And rank not I as a third pew 
of you twain? 

(Edipub. Aye, 'tie just therein that thou 
art seen a false friend. 

Caxos. Not BO, if thou wouldst reason 
with tiiine own hWt as I with mine. And 
first weigh this, — whether thou thinkeet 
that any one would choose to rule amid ter- 
rois ratbff than in unruffled peace, — 
granting that he is to have the same pow- 
ers. Now I, for one, have no_yeaming in 
my nature to be a king rather thao to do 
Idni^y deeds, no, nor hath any man irtx> 
knows how to keep a sober mind. For now 
I win all boons from thee without fear; but, 
were I ruler myself, I should be doing mui^ 



How, then, could royalty be a 
me to have than painlesB rule and influ- 
ence? Not yet am I bo misguided as to 
desire other honors then those which profit. 
Now, all wish me joy; now, every man has 
a grcieting for me; now, those who have a 
suit to thee crave speech with me, since 
therein is all their hope of success. Thea 
why should I resign these things, and take 
tiioee? No mind will become false, while it 
is wise. Nay, I am no lover of such policy, 
and, if another put it into deed, n^er could 
I hear to act with him. 

And, in proof of this, first, go to Pytho, 
and ask if I brought thee true word <^ ihm 



CEDIPUS THE KING 



onde; then next, if tboa find tiuA I hftve 
planned wight in concert with the sooth- 
nytr, t&ke &nd day me, by the sentence 
not of one mouth, but of twain — by mine 
own, no leee than thine. But make me not 
piil^ in a comer, on unproved ■urmise. 
It ia not right to adjudge bad men good at 
nuidDm,orgDodmenbad. I count it. a like 
thing for a man to cast oS a true friend aa 
to cast away the life in hie own boeom, 
wfaioh moat ite lovee. Nay, thou wilt learn 
tiieae things with sureneaa in time, for time 
alone shows a just man; but thou oouldjrt 
disoem a knave even in one day! 

Chords. WeU hath he spoken, O king, 
tat one who giveth heed not to fall: the 
quick in oouuael aie not sure. 

Qbipus. When the stealthy plotter is 
moving on me in quiek sort, I, too, must 
be quick with my tmuntei^ot. If I await 
him in repoae, his ends will have been 
gained, and mine miseed. 

Ckbon. Whatwouldst thou, thenT Cast 
me out of the landT 

(Ek>iPue. Not so: I deeure thy death — 
not thy banishment — that thou mayefit 
show forth what manner of thing ia envy. 

CBaoN. Thou speakest ae resolved not 
to yield or to believe? 

Cbkon. No, for I find tiiee not aane. 

Obtpua. Sane, at least, in mine own 
interest. 

Chxon. Nay, thou shouldst be bo in 



IB. Nay, thou art false. 

Cbbon. But if thou understandest 
nought? 

(Ek>iPOB. Yet must I rule. 

Ckxon. Not if thou rule iD. 

(Edipub. Hear him, O Thebegl 

Crbon. Thebee is for me also — not for 
thee alone. 

Chosus. Ceaee, princes; and in good 
time for you I see looaeta ooming yonder 
Irom the bouw, with irtutse hdp ye should 
eompoee your iveaeut feud. 

[Enttr locASTA.] 

locASFA. Misguided men, why have ye 

raised such foolish strife of tongues? Are 

ye not ashamed, while the land is thus rick, 

to stir up troubles of your own? Come, go 



Umu into the house, — and thou, Creon, 
to tixy home, — and forbear to m^ much 
of a petty grief . 

Cbbon. Kinswoman, CEdipus thy tonl 
daims to do dread things unto me, evm 
one or other of two ills, — to thnut me 
from the land of my fathers, or to day me 

(EniFDS. Yea; for I have caught him, 
lady, working evil, by ill arts, against my 
person. 

Crbok. Now may I see no good, but 
perish accursed, if I have done aught to 
thee of that wherewiUi thou chargeet met 

locABTA. Oh, for the gods' love, believe 
it, (Edipus — first, for the awful sake of 
tiiia oath unto thje gods, — then for my 
sake and for theirs who stand before thee? 

Chobub. Consent, rafleot, hearken, O 
my king, I pray theel 

(Enn-DB. What grace, then, wouldest 
thou have me grant thee? 

Cbobds. Respect him who aforetime 
was not focdish, and who now is strong in 
his oath. 

(EbtPUB. Now dost thou know what tbou 
craveat? 

Chobcb. Yea. 

(Enipua. Declare, then, what thoa 



Cbobdb. That thou shouldest never use 
KD unproved rumor to cast a dishonoring 
charge on the friend who has bound him- 
self with a curse. 

(EniFUB. Then be very sure that, wh«i 
thou seekest this, tat me thou art eeeking 
desteuotion, or exQe from this land. 

Chokus. No, by him who stands in the 
front of all the heavenly host; no, by the 
Sun I Unblest, unfriended, may I die by 
the uttcnuoet doom, if I have that thoughtl 
But my unh^jpy soul is worn by the with- 
ering of the land, and again by the thou^t 
thtit our old sorrows should be crowned by 
sorrows springing from you twain. 

(Edipttb. Then let him go, though I sm 
sordy doomed to death, or to be thrust 
dishonored from the land. Thy lips, not 
his, move my compassion by their [dainti 
but he, where'er he be, shall be hated. 

Crkok. Sullen in yieldmg art thou seen, 
even as vehement in the excesses <d thy 



43 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



wraUi; but such nafaina are jusUy sorest 
tot tbemsdves to bear. 

(Edifub. Then witt thou not leave me in 
peace, and get thee gone? 

Crsom. I will go my wi^; I have found 
thee UDdisceming, but in the sight of these 
I am just. [ExU.] 

Chortib. Lady, why dost thou .delay to 
taJEe yon man into the houseT 

loGASTA. I will do so, when I have learned 
irtiat hath chanced. 

Chorub. Blind suspicion, bred of talV, 
arose; and, on the other part, injustice 
wounds. 

locASTA. It was on both sidesT 

Chorus. Aye. 

loCAOTA. And niiat was the storyT 

Chobctb. Enough, methinks, enough — 
when our land is already vexed — that the 
matter should reet where it ceased. 

(Ediphb. Seest thou to what thou host 
come, for all thy honest purpose, in seeking 
to alack and blunt my seal? 

Chorits. King, I have said it not once 
alone — be sure that I should have been 
shown a ma^nan, bankrupt in sane coun- 
sel, if I put thee away — thee, who g&vest 
a true course to my beloved country when 
distraught by troubles — thee, who now 
also art like to prove our prospering guide. 

lociBii, In the name of the gods, tell 
me also, O king, on what account thou bast 
conceived this steadfast wrath. 

(E!dipus. That will I; for I honor thee, 
lady, above yonder men: ^ the cause is 
Creon, and the plots that he hath laid 
against me. 

locABTA. Speak on — if tbou canst tell 
clearly bow the feud began. 

(Edipub. He says that, I stand guilty of 
the blood of lalua. 

locAan'A. As on his own knowledge? Or 
on hearsay from another? 

(E!dipiib. Nay, he hath made a rascal 
eecr his mouthpiece; as for himself, he 
keeps his lips wholly pure. 

locASTA, Then absolve thyself of the 
things whereof thou speakest; hearken to 
me, and leant for thy comfort that nought 
of mortal birth is a sharer in the science 
of the seer. I wiU give thee pithy proof of 



An oracle came to I^ua <moe — I wffl 
not say from Phcsbus himself, but from hii 
ministers — that the doom should overtake 
him to die by the hand of his child, who 
should spring from him and me. 

Now LaIus, — as, at least, the nuaot 
eaith, — was munWed one day by fordgn 
robbers at a place where three highways 
meet. And the child's birth was not three 
days past, whwi Lalus pinned its ankles 
together, and had it thrown, by others' 
hands, on a trackless mountain. 

So, in ibai case, Apollo brou^t it not 
to pass that the babe should become the 
slayer of his sire, or that Lalus should die 
— the dread thing which he feared — by 
his child's hand. Thus did the messages at 
seer-craft map out the future. R^ard 
them, thou, not at all. Whatsoever iieed- 
ful things tbe god seeks, he tiitnaalf wiU 
easily bring to light. 

(Edipub. WhatreetlecBneeeof soul, lady, 
what tumult of tbe mind hath just come 
upon me since I heard thee speaki 

locAOTA. What smdety hath startled 
thee, that thou sayest this? 

CEniFCB. Methought I heard this from 
thee, — that Lalus was slain where thre« 
highways meet. 

locABTA. Yea, that was the story; not 
hath it ceased yet. 

(Edipub. And where is the place when 
this befell? 

locAsrA. The land is called ^ods; and 
branching roads lead to the same spot from 
Delphi and from Daulia. 

(Edipub. And iriiat is tbe time that hatii 
passed since these thin^ were? 

locASTA. The news was published to tbe 
town shortly brfore thou wast first seen in 
power over this land. 

^Edipub. O Zeus, what hast thou decreed 
to do unto me? 

locABTA. And wherefore, (Edipus, doth 
this thing weigh upon thy soul? 

(Enipua. Ask me not yet; but say what 
was tbe stature of Lalus, and bow ripe his 
manhood. 

locASTA. He was tall, — the silver just 
lightly strewn among his hair; and fais fono 
was not greatly unlike to thine. 

(EmFOs. Unhappy that I ami Mathinks 



CEDIPUS THE KING 



43 



I luTe been lajring myeelf even now under 
ft dnad curee, and knew it not. 

locABTA. How B&yeet thou? I tremble 
when I look (Ht thee, my king. 

(Enipue. Dread nuBgivings have I that 
the BMT can see. But thou wilt show better 
if thou wilt tell me one thing more. 

locAOTA. Indeed — though I tremble — 
I will answer all thou aakeet, when I hear it. 

QlDiFUB. Went he in small force, or with 
many umed foUowera, like a chieftain? 

locABTA. Five they were in bQ, — a her- 
ald one of them; and there was one carriage, 
iriiich bore Lalua. 

(EniFUB. Alas! 'T ia now dear indeed. 
— Who was be who gave you these tidings, 
ladyT 

locASrrA. A servant — the sole survivor 
who came borne. 

(EniPUB. Is he haply st hand in the house 

locAOTA. No, truly; so soon as he cs 
thence, and found thee reigning in 
itead of Lalus, be supplicated me, with 
hand lud on mine, that I would send him to 
the fields, to the pastures of the flocks, that 
he might be far from the sight of this town. 
And I sent him; he was worthy, for a ^ve, 
to win e'en a larger boon than that. 

<EniPTT8. Would, then, that he could 
return t« us without delay I 

I0CA8TA. It is ^aey: but wherefore doat 
tiiou enjoin this? 

(Enipus. I fear, lady, tiiat mine own lips 
have been unguarded; and therefore am I 
fain to behold him. 

locASTA. N^, he shaU come. But I, too, 
methinks, have a claim to learn what lies 
heavy on thy heart, my Idng. 

(Enipcs. Yea, and it shall not be kept 
from thee, now that my for(j>odiogs have 
advanced so far. Who, indeed, is more b 
me than thou, to whom I should speak ii 
passing through such a fortune as this? 

My father was Polybus of Corinth, - 
my mother, the Dorian Meropi; and I was 
held the first of all the folk in that town, 
until a chance befell me, worthy, indeed, 
of wonder, though not worthy of mine own 
heat concerning it. At a banquet, a man 
f uD of wine cast it at me in his cups that I 
was not the tnw son of my sire. And I, 



vexed, restrained myself for that day as 
beat I might; but on the nest I went to my 
mother and father, and questioned them; 
and tbey were wroth for the taunt with 
hi'm who had let that word fly. So on their 
part I had comfort; yet was this thing ever 
rankling in my heart; for it still crept 
abroad with strong rumor. And, unknown 
to mother or father, I went to Delphi; and 
Pbo^us sent me forth disappointed of that 
knowledge for which I came, but in his 
response set forth other things, full of sor- 
row and terror and woe; even that I was 
fated to defilemy mother's bed; and tiiat 
I should show unto men a brood whicb 
they could not endure to behold; and that 
I ^ould be the slayer of the sire who 

And I, when I had liatened to tfaiH, turned 
to flight from the land of Corinth, thence- 
forth wotting of its region by the stars 
alone, to some spot where I should never 
see fulfillment of the infamies foretold in 
mine evil doom. And on my wt^ I come 
to the regiona in which thou aayeet that 
this prince periahed. Now, lady, I will tell 
thee the truth. When in my journey I was 
near to those three roada, there met me a 
herald, and a man seated in a carriage 
drawn by coltfl, as thou hast deecribe<^ and 
he who was in front, and the old man him- 
self, were for thruatiug me rudely from the 
path. Then, in anger, I struck him who 
pushed me aside — the driver; and the old 
man, seeing it, watched the moment when 
I waa passing, and, from the carriage, 
brought hia goad with two t«eth down full 
upon my head. Yet waa he paid with in- 
terest; by one swift blow from the staff in 
thia hand he was rolled right out of the car- 
riage, on his back; and I slew every man of 

But if thia stranger had any tie of kin- 
ahip with Lalus, who is now more wretched 
thwi the man before thee? What mortal 
could prove more hated of heaven? Whom 
no stranger, no citizen, is allowed to receive 
in his house; whom it is unlawful that any 
one acoofit; whom all must repel from their 
homes! And this — thid cuibb — was laid 
on me by no mouth but mine ownt And I 
pdlute th« bed of the sliun man with the 



44 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



hands by which he poiahed. Say, am I 
Tile? Oh, am I not utt«rly unclean? — 
oeeiiig tiuA I must be baninbed, aad in hta- 
iehment aee not mine own peoi^e, nor set 
foot in mine own land, or dse be joined in 
wedlock to my mother, and day my aire, 
even Polybua, who begat and reared me. 

Then would not he speak aright of 
(EdipuB, who jiidged these things sent by 
ataae crud power above man? Forbid, for- 
t»d, ye pure and awful gods, that I should 
see tjiat dayl No, may I be swept tnia 
among men, ere I behold myself visited 
with the braod of such a doom! 

Caonns. To ua, indeed, these things, O 
long, are fraught with fear; yet have hope, 
un^ at least thou hast gained full knowl- 
edge from him who saw the deed. 

(Edifvs. Hope, in truth, nets with me 
thus far alone; I can await the man sum- 
moned from the pastures. 

loCASiA. And when he has appeared — 
wiiat wouldst thou have of him? 

(Edipttb. I will tell thee. If bis story be 
found to tally with thine, I, at least, shall 
stand clear of disaster. 

locASTA. And what of special note didst 
thou hear from me? 

(Edipub. Thou wast saying tiiat he 
spokeotlAluB as slain by rotors. If, then, 
he still speaks, as before, <rf several, I was 
.not the slayer: a solitary man oould not be 
held the same with that band. But if he 
names one lonely wayfarer, then bes^ond 
doubt this guilt leans to me. 

loCAffTA. Nay, be assured that thus, at 
least, the tale was first t<dd; he cannot re- 
voke that, for the city heard it, not I alone. 
But eveii if he should diverge somewhat 
from his former story, never, king, can he 
show that the murder of Lalus, at least, is 
truly square to prophecy ; of whom Lozias 
plainly said that he must die by the hand 
of my child. Howbeit that poor innocent 
never slew him, but perished first itself. 
So henceforth, for what touches divination, 
I would not took to my right hand or my 
left. 

(EniPUB. TIkto jodgeet wdl. But never- 
thdees send some one to (etch the peasant, 
and neglect not this matter. 

louHTA. I will send without dday. But 



1st us come into Uie house: nothing will I 
do save at thy good pleasure. 

[Examt CEdipub and Iocaota-I 

Cbokhb. May destiny still find me win- 
ning the praise of reverent purity in all 
words and deeds sanotitHied by those laws 
of range sublime, called into life through- 
out the hi^ dear heaven, whose father is 
Olympus alone; their parent was no race 
of mortal men, no, nor shall oblivion ever 
lay them to deep; the god is mighty in 
them, and he grows not old. 

Insolenoe breeds the tyrant; Insolence, 
once vainly surfeited on wealth that is not 
meet nor good for it, when it hath scsled 
the topmost ramparts, is hurled to a dire 
doom, wherein no service of the feet c«n 
serve. But I pray that the god never quell 
such rivalry aa benefits the State; the god 
will 1 ever hold for our protector. 

But if any man walka haughtily in deed 
or word, with no fear of Justice, no rever- 
ence for the images of gods, may an evil 
doom seise him for his iU-stBrred pride, if 
he will not win his vantage faiily, nor keep 
him from unholy deeds, but must lay pro- 
faning hands on sanctities. 

Where such things are, what mortal shall 
boast any more that he can ward the arrows 
of the gods from his life? Nay, if such deeds 
are in honor, wherefore shc^d we join in 
the saered danoeT 

No more will I go reverently to eartfa's 
central and inviolate shrine, no more to 
Abn's temple or Olympia, if theee oradee 
fit not the iMue, so that all men shall ptAnt 
at them witji the finger. Nay, king, — if 
thou art rightly called, — Zeus all-ruling, 
may it not eacs{)e thee and thine evco'- 
deathless power I 

The old prophecies concerning I^us are 
fading; already men are setting them at 
nought, and nowhere is Apollo glorified 
with honois; the worship of the gods ib 
perishing. 

[EiUer locAOTA.) 
locAOTA. Priuceeoftheland,thethou^t 
has come to me to vint the ahrinee of the 
gods, with this wreathed branch in my 
hands, and theee gifts of incense. For 
(Edipus exdtea his soul overmuch wftli all 



CtOo^^Ic 



CEDIPUS THE KING 



mftH Tfr of fdtumB, nor, like a man of sense, 
judges the new things by the old, but is 
st the will of the speaker, if he spesk 
terrora. 

Since, then, by counsel I can do no 
good, to thee, l^eeaa Apollo, for thou art 
nearest, I have oome, a suppliant with 
these symbole of prayer, that Uiou mayest 
find us some riddance from uncleanness. 
Fw now we are all afraid, seeing him 
a&i^ted, even as they who see fear in the 
hdmsman of their ship. 

[Enter Meuerifer.] 

MBB8ENCIBB. Might I learn from you, 
stiangen, where is the house of the king 
(EdipusT Or, better stUl, t«U me where he 
himsdf is — if ye know. 

CBOKue. This is his dwelling, and he 
ttinudf, stranger, is within; and this lady 
is the mother erf his children. 

MKBaHHOBR. Then may she be ever 
h^>pj' in a happy home, since she is his 
heaven-bleet queen. 

loCASTA. Hfq>pinea8 to thee also, atran- 
gerl T is the due of thy fair greeting. But 
say what thou hast come to seek or to tell. 

MassEiraBK. Good tidings, lady, for thy 
bause and for thy husband. 

locASTA. What are they? And from 
whom hast thou oomeT 

litBBSZNQKR. From Corinth : and at the 
message which I will speak anon thou wilt 
rejoioe — doubtless; yet haply grieve. 

locAOTA. And what is it? How hath it 
thus a double pot«iey? 

MzsHKNOEB. The people will make him 
king of the Isthmifui liud, as 't was said 
there. 

locABTA. How thmT Is the aged Poly- 
bus no more in power? 

Mbsbsnoxb. No, verily; for death holds 
fiim in the tomb. 

locxarA. How sayeet thou? Is Polybus 
dead, old man? 

MBsaxNOiiR. If I speak not the truth, t 
am content to die. 

locAmrA. O handmaid, away with all 
■peed, and tell this to thy master! O ye 
(Hades of the gods, where stand ye nowl 
This is the man whom (Edipus long feared 
■nd shunaed, lest he should slay him; and 



now this man hath died in the coune of 
destiny, not by his hand. 

[Enier (Edipub.J 

(Edipus. locasta, deanet wife, why bast 
thou summoned me forth from these doors? 

loCABTA. Hear this man, and judge, as 
thou listenest, to what the awfiU oracles 
of the gods have come. 

(Enipua. And he — who may he be, and 
what news hath be for me? 

locABTA. He ia from Corinth, to tell that 
thy fathw Polybus lives no longer, but 
bath perished. 

(EniPUB. How, stranger? Let me havo 
it from thine own mouth. 

MussCNoiK. If I must first make theae 
tidings plain, know indeed tiiat he is dead 
and gone. 

(Edifdb. By treachery, or by visit of 



MxasiMOKs. A light thing in the scale 
brings the aged to their rest. 

CEdipcs. Ah,hedied,itseems,ofBickneee? 

MnaaiiNGXB. Yea, and of the long yean 
that he had told. 

(Edifdb. Alas, alasl Why, indeed, my 
wife, ahould one look to the hearth of the 
Pythian seer, or to the birds that Hcream 
above our heads, on whose showing I was 
doomed to slay my sire? But he is dead, 
and hid already beneath the earth; and 
here am I, who have not put hand to spear. 
— Unless, perchanoe, he was killed by 
longing for me: thus, indeed, I should be 
the cause of his death. But the oracles at 
they stand, at least, Polybus hath ewapl 
with him to his rest in Hades: they are 
worth nought. 

locABTA. Nay, did I not Sf> f««tell to 
thee long since? 

CBdipub. Thou didst: but I was mided 
by my fear. 

loCABTA. Now no more lay aught of 
those thing) to heart, 

(EniFUB. But surely I must needs fear 
my mother's bed? 

locAOTA. Nay, what should mortal fear, 
for whom the decrees of Fortune are su- 
preme, and who hath dear foresight of 
nothing? 'T is beet to live at ruidom, as 
one may. But fear not thou touching we^ 



46 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



ktck with Uiy mother. Many men ere now 
Iwve so fared in dreams also: but be to 
whom these thinge are u naught bears his 
life most easily. 

(Edipub. All tbe«e bold words of thine 
would have been well, were not my mother 
living; but as it ie, aince she lives, I must 
needs fear — though thou sayeat well. 

locASTA. Howbeit thy fatiier's death is 
t great sign to cheer us. 

(Edipub. Great, I know; but my tear is 
of her who lives. 

Mebbenoeb. And who is the woman 
about whom yo fear? 

(Edipub. Meropi, old man, the consort 
of Polybus. 

MGsaENtXB. And what is it in her that 
moves your fear? 

(Edipub. A heaven-sent oracle of dread 
import, stranger. 

Mebbunoxs. lawful, or unlawful, for 
another to know? 

(Edipub. Lawful, surely, Loxiae once 
said Uiat I was doomed to espouse mine 
own mother, and to shed with mine own 
hands my father's blood. Wherefore my 
borne in C)oniith was long kept by me afar; 
with happy event, indeed, — yet still 't is 
Bweet to see the face of porente. 

Messenger. Was it indeed for fear of 
this that thou wast an exile from that dtyT 

(Edipub. And because I wished not, old 
man, to be the slayer of my sire. 

MEsaxNOEB. Then why have I not freed 
thee, king, from this fear, seeing that 1 
came with friendly purpose? 

(Edipus. Indeed thou shouldst have 
guerdon due from me. 

Mesbxnoer. Indeed 't wbs chiefly for 
this that I came — that, on thy return 
home, I might reap some good. 

(Edipub. Nay, I will never go near my 
parents. 

Mebbknobr. Ah my bod, 't is plain 
enough that thou knoweet not what thou 

(Edipub. How, old man? For the gods' 
love, tell me. 

MEBSiNaxR. If for these reasons thou 
shrinkest fr^m going home. 

(Edipus. Aye, I dread lest Phoebus 
prove himself true for me. 



MxaexNOBB. Thou dreadeat to be stained 
with guilt through thy parents? 

(Edipub. Even so, old man — this it is 
that ever affrights me. 

MBSBKHaER. Dost thou know, tlien, 
that thy fears are wht^y vain? 

(Edipub. How so, if I was born of those 
parents? 

Mbbbenokk. Because Polybus was notli- 
ing to thee in blood. 

(Edipub. What eayeet thou? Waa Poly- 
bus not my sire? 

Mbssenoer. No more than he who 
speaks to thee, but just so much. 

(Edipub. And how can my sire be levd 
with him who is as nought to me? 

MEfiSENOER. Nay, he begat thee not, 
any more than I. 

(EIdipub. Nay, wherefore, then, called 
be me his son? 

Mesbbnoer. Know that he had re- 
ceived thee as a gift from my hands of yore. 

(Edipub. And yet he loved me so d^ly, 
who came from another's hand? 

Mebsenoeb. Yea, his former childlesa- 
ness won him thereto. 

(Edipus. And thou — hadBt thou bought 
me or found roe by chance, when thou 
gaveet me to him? 

Messenoeb. Found thee in CSthmxHi's 
winding glens. 

(Edipub. And wherefore wast thou roam- 
ing in those regions? 

Messenoeb. I was there in charge of 
mounbiin flocks. 

(Edipub. What, thou wast a shepherd — 
a vagrant hireling? 

Mebsenobr. But thy preserver, my son, 
in that hour. 

(Edipub. And what pain was mine when 
thou didst take me in thine arms? 

Messenger. The ankles of thy feet 
might witness. 

(Edipub. Ah me, why dost thou speak 
of that old trouble? 

Mebbbnoer. I freed thee when thou 
hadst thine ankles pinned together. 

(Edipub. Aye, 't was a dread brand of 
shame that I took from my cradle. 

Messenoeb. Such, that from that for- 
tune thou wast called by the name which 
■till is thine. 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



(EDIPUS THE KING 



47 



(Edipub. Oh, for the godi' love — was 
the deed my mother's or father's? Speokl 

Mkbbbnoeb. I know not; he who gave 
tbee to me wots better of that than I. 

{EDiPua. Wliat, thou hadst me from 
anotherT Thou didfit not light on me thy- 

MG8BXNaER. No: another Bhepherd gave 
thee up to me. 

(Ei>u>CB. Who was he? Art thou in case 
to tdl clearly? 

MEssENaER. I think he was called one 
of the household of Lalus. 

(EniPUS. The king who ruled this coun- 
try long ago? 

Mbsbenoer. The eame: 'twas in lus 
■ervice that the man was a herd. 

(EniFUB. Is he still alive, that I might 
see him? 

MesBENOBR. Nay, ye folk of the coun- 
try should know beet. [Eat.] 

tEuiPDB. Is there any of you here pres 
«nt that knows the herd of whom he speaks 
— that hath seen him ^ the pastures or 
the town? Answer! The hour hath come 
that these things should be finally revealed. 

Chorus. MethinJcs he speaks of no other 
than the peasant whom thou wast already 
fain to see; but our lady locasta might best 
tdlthat. 

(Enipus. Lady, wott«st thou of him 
whom we lately summoned? Is it of him 
that this man speaks? 

locASTA. Why ask of whom he apoke? 
Regard it not . . . waste not a thougjit on 
what he said . . . 't were idle. 

(Ediphs. It must not be that, with such 
clues in my grasp, 1 should fail to bring my 
birth to light. 

locABTA. For the gods' soke, if thou hast 
any care for thine own life, forbear this 
search! My anguish is enough. 

(Edipcb. Be of good courage; though I 
be found the son of servile mother, — aye, 
a slave by three descents, — thou wilt not 
be proved base-bom, 

locAATA. Yet hear me, I implore thee: 
do not thus. 

(EniPDS. Imust not hear of not discover- 
ing the whole truth. 

locABTA. Yet I wish thee well — I ooun- 
td thee for the best. 



CEdipub. These best counsels, theo, vex - 
my patience. 

locABTA. Bl-fated one! Mayst thou 
never come to know who thou art! 

(Eoipus. Go, some one, fitch me the 
herdsman hither, — and leave yon woman 
to glory in her princely stock. 

locASTA, Alss, alas, miserable! — that 
word alone can 1 say unto thee, and no 
other word henceforth forever. 

[She nuhei into the paJace.] 

Chorus. Why hath the lady gone, 
(EdipuB, in a transport of wild grief? I 
misdoubt, a storm of Borrow will break 
forth from this silence. 

(Edipub. Break forth what will! Be my 
race never so lowly, I must crave to leam 
it. Yon woman, perchance, — for she is 
proud with more than a woman's pride — 
thinks shame of my base source. But I, 
who bold myself son of Fortune that givea 
good, will not be dishonored. She is- the 
mother from whom I apring; and the 
months, my kinsmen, have marked me 
sometimes lowly, sometimes great. Such 
being my lineage, never more can I prove 
false to it, or spare to search out the secret 
of my birth. 

Chorus. If I am a seer or wise of heart, 
Cithieron, thou shalt not fail — by yon 
heaven, thou sbalt not! — to know at to- 
morrow's full moon that (Edipus honors 
Uiee as native to him, as his nurse, and his 
mother, and that thou art celebrated in our 
dance and song, because thou art well- 
pleaaing to our prince. O Phcebus to whom 
we cry, may these things find favor in thy 
Bight! 

Who was it, my son, who of the race 
whose years are many that bore thee in 
wedlock with Pan, the mountain-roamii^ 
father? Or was it a bride 6f Loxias that 
bore thee? For dear to him are all the up- 
land pastures. Or perchance 't was Cyl- 
lene's lord, or the Bacchants' god, dweller 
on the hill-tops, that received tbee, a new- 
bom joy, from one of the Nymphs of Heli- 
con, with whom he most doth sport, 

(Edipus. holders, if 't is for me to guess, 
who have never met with him, I think 1 
see the herdsman of whom we have long 
been in quest; for in his venerable age he 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



^ 

t&l) ite with yon Btranger'B yean, and witluU 
I know thoae who bring him, metfainks, : 
servants of mine own. But perchanoe thou 
mayeat liave the advantage of me in knowl- 
edge, if thou hast seen the herdsman be- 

Cbohus. Aye, I know him, be sure; he 
was in the service of Lalus — trusty as any 
man, in his ahephord'e place. 

[The Herdtman is brought in.] 

CEdipus. I ask tiiee first, Corinthian 
stranger, is this he whom thou meanest? 

Mbssxhokb. This man whom thou be- 
holdest. 

(Esipce. Ho thou, old man — I would 
have thee took this way, and answer all 
that 1 ask thee. — Thou wast onoe in the 
service of Ijdus? 

HXBDBUAN. I was — a slave not bought, 
but reared in his house. 

(Edipub. Employed in what labor, or 
what way of lifeT 

Hbbdbuan. For the beet part of my life 
I tended flocks. 

CEi>ii>u8. And what the r^ons thaX 
thou didst chi^y haunt? 

HxsDSMAN. Sometimes it was Citharon, 
sometimes the neighboring ground. 

(EIdifub. Then wott«st thou of having 
noted yon man in these parts — 

Hbrdbuan. Doing what? . . .Whatman 
dost thou mean? . . . 

(Edipds. This man here — or of having 
ever met him bdore7 

Hbrdbiun. Not so that I could speak 
at once from mranory. 

Mbsbenobb. And no wonder, mastu". 
But I will bring dear reoollection to his 
ignorance. I am sure that he wdl wots of 
the time when we abode in the region of 
Cithceron, — he with two flocks, I, his 
comrade, with one, — three full half-years, 
from epring to Arcturus; and then for the 
winter I used to drive my flock to mine 
own fold, and he took his to the fold of 
I^duB. Did aught of this happen ss I tell, 
or did it not? 

Hekdbmam. Thou speakest the truth — 
though 't is long ago. 

McssiiKaiiR. Come, t«Il me now — wot- 
tcBt thou of havit^ given me a boy in those 
days, to be reared as mine own foster-son? 



HxBDBHAN. What now? Why dost thou 
ask the question? 

Hesbbmokr. Yonder man, my friend, is 
he who then was young. 

HxnnaiuK. Plague seise thee — be si- 
lent onoe for all I 

(Edipttb. Hal chide him not, old mam — 
thy words need chiding more than his. 

Hebdbiun, And wherein, most noble 
master, do I offend? 

(Edipvb. In not tdling of the boy con- 
oeming whom he asks. 

HaBDBMAK. He speaks without knowl- 
edge — he is busy to no purpose. 

(EniPUB. Thou wilt ikot speak with a 
good grace, but thou shalt on pain. 

HEm>BiuN. Nay, for the gods' love, 
misuse not an old mani 

(Edifub, Ho, some one — pinioa him 
this instantt 

Hkhdbmah. Alas, wherefore? what more 
wouldst thou learn? 

(EniPVB. Didst thou give this man the 
child of whom he oeke? 

Hxbdbman. I did, — and would I had 
perished that dayl 

(Edii>ub. Well, thou wilt come to that, 
unless thou tell the honest truth. 

HBm>BiiAN. Nay, much more am I loet, 
if I speak. 

(Edipus. The fellow is bent, methinks, 
on more delays . . . 

HEBnaiuN. No, nol — I said b^ore 
that I gave it to hlin. 

(E!dipub. Whence hadst tiiou got it? In 
thine own house, or from another? 

Hkhdbuak. Mine own it was not — I 
had received it from a man. 

(Edifub. From whom of the cititeui 
here? From what home? 

Herdbham. Forbear, for the gods' love, 
master, forbear to ask morel 

(Edifus. Thou art lost if I have to ques- 
tion thee again. 

BxBDsiuN. It was a child, then, of the 
house of Lalus. 

(EntFDB. A slave — or one bom of his 
own race? 

EEBDstfAN. Ah me — I am on the 
dreaded brink of speech. 

(Edipds. And I of hearing; yet must I 



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CEDIPUS THE KING 



Hebdsuah. Thou mutt know, then, 
Uuit 't waa said to be his own child — but 
thy ladjr within could best say how these 

(EoipTJS. How? She gave it to thee? 
Hkbdbkak. Yea, O Idng. 
(EniFtra. For what end? 
HzBDSMAM. That I ^Muld make away 
with it. 
(EniPUB. Her own child, the wretch? 
HanDBMAN. Aye, from fear of evil proph- 

(Edii>us. What were they? 

Hbbdsman. The tale ran that he must 
day his aire. 

(Edipub. Why, then, didst thou give 
him up to this old man? 

Hbrdbiun. Through pity, master, as 
deeming that he would bear him aw^ to 
another land, whence he himself came; 
but be saved him for the direst woe. For 
if thou art what this man saith, know that 
thou wast bom tc misery. 

[Exit HenUman.] 

CBniTca. Oh, ohi All brou^t to pass — 
■n truet Thou light, may I now look my 
last on thee — I who have been found ac- 
tuTsed in birth, accursed in wedlock, ac- 
curaed in the shedding of bloodi 

[He rutheM into the jtalaa.] 

Cborttb. Alas, ye generations of mea, 
how mere a shadow do I count your life! 
Where, where is the mortal who wins more 
of happiness than just the seeming, and, 
after the semblance, a falling away? Thine 
is a fate that warns me, — thine, thine, 
unhi4>py fEdipue — to call no earthly 
creature bleat. 

For he, O Zeus, sped his shaft with peer- 
lees skill, and won the prise of an alt- 
IKOsperous fortune; he slew the maiden 
with crooked talons who sang darkly; he 
aniee for our land as a tower against death. 
And from that time, (Edipus, thou hast 
been called our king, and hast been hon- 
ored supremely, bearing sway in great 
Thebee. 

But now whose story is more grievous in 
men's ears? Who is a more wretched cap- 
tive to fierce plagues and troubles, with all 
bis life reversed? 

Alas, ranowned (Edipus I The same boun- 



thereon thy nuptial couch. Oh, how can 
the soil wherein tiiy father sowed, un- 
h(4>py one, have suffered thee in silNice 
BO long? 

Time the all-oeeing hath found thee out 
in thy deapit«: he judgeth the monstroua 
marriage wherein begetter and begotten 
have long been one. 

Alas, thou child of Idlus, would, would 
that I bad never seen theel I wail as one 
who pours a dirge from his hpe; s6oth to 
q)eak, 't was thou that gaveet me new life, 
and through thee darkness hath fallen uptot 

[Enter Second Mtteenger from the hovee.) 

Sbcond Messenser. Ye who are ever 
most honored in this land, what deeds shall 
ye hear, what deeds behold, what burden 
of sorrow shall be yours, if, true to your 
race, ye still care (or Uie house tA labda- 
cust For I ween that not later nor PhasiB 
could wash this house clean, so many are 
the ills that it shrouds, or will soon bring to 
light, — ills wrought not unwittingly, but 
of purpose. And those griefs smart most 
which are seen to be of our own choice. 

Chobub. Indeed those which we knew 
before fall not short of claiming sore lam- 
entation: besides thran, iritat doat thou 
announce? 

Second Mxssenobb. This b the short- 
est tale to tell and to hear: our royal lady 
loeasta is dead. 

Chorob. Alas, hat^ess onel E^xim what 

Second Mesbenoir. By her own hand. 
The worst pain in what hath chanced ia 
not for you, for yours it is not to behold. 
Nevertheless, so far as mine own memory 
serves, ye shall learn that unhappy woman's 
fat«. 

When, frantic, she had passed within 
the vestibule, she rushed straight towards 
her nuptial couch, clutching her hair with 
the fingers of botn hands; oikee within the 
chamber, she dashed the doors tf^ether at 
her back; then called on the name of Lalus, 
long since a corpse, mindful of that son, 
begotten long ago, bv whom the sire wm 



so 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



slain, leaving the mother to breed accursed 
offq>riiig with his own. 

And she bewailed the wedlock wherein, 
wretched, flhe had borne a twofold brood, 
husband by husband, children by her child. 
And how thereafter she peiiahed, is mote 
than I know. For with a shriek (Edipus 
burst in, and suffered ua not to watch her 
woe unto the end; on him, aa he rushed 
around, our eyes weee set. To and fro he 
went, asking us t« give bim a sword, — 
firing where he diould find the wife who 
was DO wife, but a mother whose womb had 
borne alike himself and hie children. And, 
in bis freniy, a power above man was his 
guide; for 't was none of us mortals who 
were nigh. And with a dread shriek, aa 
though some one beckoned him on, he 
Sprang at the double doors, and from their 
sockets forced the bending bolts, and 
rushed into the room. 

There behdd we the woman haTiging by 
tbe neck in a twisted nooee of swinging 
cords. But he, when be saw her, with B 
dread, deep cry of misery, loosed the halter 
whereby she hung. And when tbe hapless 
woman was stretched upon tbe ground, 
then was the sequel dread to see. For he 
tore from her raiment the golden brooches 
wherewith she was decked, and lifted them, 
and smote full on his own eyeballs, utter- 
ing words like these: " No more shall ye 
b^told such horron as I was suffering and 
workingl long enough have ye looked on 
those whom ye ouglit never to have seen, 
failed in knowledge of those whom I 
yearned to know — henceforth ye shall be 
dark!" 

To such dire refrain, not once alone but 
oft struck he his eyes with lifted band; and 
at each blow the ensanguined eyeballs be- 
dewed his beard, nor sent forth sluggish 
drops nf gore, but all at once a dark shower 
of blood came down like hail. 

From the deeds of twain such ills have 
broken forth, not on one alone, but with 
mingled woe for man and wife. The old 
happinees of their ancestral fortune was 
aforetime happiness indeed; but to-day 
— lamentation, ruin, death, shame, all 
earthly ills that con be named — all, all 
are theiifi. 



Chorus. And bath tbe sufferer now ai^ 
respite from painT 

Second MxasKNOEEt, He cries for some 
one to unbar the gates and show to all tbe 
Cadmeane his father's slayer, his mother's 

— tbe unholy word must not pass my lipK 

— as purposing to cast himself out of the 
land, and abide no more, to make the house 
occuTBBd under his own curse. Howbeit he 
lacks strength, and one to guide his steps; 
for the anguish is more than man may bear. 
And he will show this to thee also; for lo, 
tbe bars of tbe gatee are withdrawn, and 
soon thou sbalt behold a sight which even 
he wbo abhors it must [nty. 

[Enter (EntFDS.l 

CBORre. O dread fate for men to see, O 
moat dreadful of all that have met mine 
eyes! Unhappy one, what madness faatli 
come on thee? Who is the unearthly foe 
that, with a bound of more than mortal 
range, hath made thine ill-starred life his 
prey? 

Alas, alas, thou hapless onel Nay, 1 can- 
not e'en look on thee, though there is mwdi 
that I would fain ask, fain team, much that 
draws my wistful gase, — with such ft 
shuddering dost thou fill met 

(Edipub. Woe is mel Alas, alas, wretched 
that I ami Whither, whith^ am I borne in 
my misery? How is my voice swept abroad 
on the wingi of tbe air? O my Fate, how 
far hast thou sprungl 

Chorus. To a dread place, dire in men's 
eaie, dire in their sight. 

(EniPUB. O thou horror of darkness that 
enfoldest me, visitant unspealuble, resist- 
less, sped by a wind too tairl 

Ay mel and once again, ay mel 

How is my soul pierced by the etab of 
these goads, and withal by the memory of 
sorrowsl 

Chorus. Yea, amid woes so many a 
twofold pain may well be thine to moum 
and to bear. 

CEoiPUB. Ah, friend, thou still art stead- 
fast in thy tendance of me, — thou atiU 
hast patience to care for the blind maul 
Ah me I Thy presence is not hid from me — 
no, dark though I am, yet know I &y ymoe 
fullwQlL 



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CEDIPUS THE KING 



5« 



CHaitDS. Maa of dread deed«, how 
eouldst thou in such wiae quench thy 
vision? What more thui humui power 
urged thee7 

(&>iFVS. Apollo, friends, Apollo was he 
tiiat brought these my woes to pass, ttiese 
my Bore, sore voee: but the hand that 
itnick the eyee was none save mine, 
wretched that I ami Why was I to see, 
«4ien sight could show me nothing sweet? 

Chorub. These things were even as thou 
nyest. 

(Edipos. Say, friends, what can I more 
bdwld, what can I love, what greeting can 
touch mine ear with joy? Haste, lead me 
from the land, friends, lead me hence, the 
utterly lost, the thrice accursed, yea, the 
menial most abhorred of heaven! 

Cborus. Wretched alike for thy fortune 
and for thy sense thereof, would that I had 
never so much as known theel 

(Gnipua. Perish the man, whoe'er he 
was, that freed me in the pastures from the 
cruel shackle on my feet, and saved me 
from death, and gave me back to life, — a 
thankless deed! HeuI I died then, to my 
friends and to mine own aoul I had not 
been so sore a grief. 

Choros. I also would have had it thus. 

OSniPUB. So had I not come to shed my 
father's blood, nor been called among men 
the spouse of her from whom I sprang: but 
now am I forsaken of the gods, son of a 
-defiled mother, successor to his bed who 
gave me mine own wretched being: and if 
there be yet a woe surpassing woee, it hath 
become the portion of CEklipus. 

Chorob. I know not how I can say that 
thou hast counseled well: for thou wert 
better dead than living and blbd. 

(EniPTTS. Show me not at large that these 
things are not beat done thus: give me 
counsel no more. For, had I sight, I know 
not vrith what eyes I could e'en have looked 
on my father, when I came to the place of 
the dead, aye, or on my miserable mother, 
since against both I have sinned such sins 
as strangling could not punish. But deem 
ye that the sight of children, bom as mine 
were bom, was lovely for me to look upon? 
No, no, not lovely to mine eyes forever! 
No, nor was this town with its towered 



walla, nor the sacred statues of the gods, 
since I, thrice wretched that I am, — I, 
noblest of the sons of Thebes, — have 
doomed myself to know these no more, by 
mine own command that all should thrust 
away the impious one, — even him wh<Mn 
gods have shown to be unholy — and of the 
race of LalusI 

After bearing such a stain upon me, was 
I to look with steady eyes on this folk? No, 
verily: no, were there yet a way to choke 
the fount of hearing, I had not spared to 
make a fast prison of this wretched frame, 
that BO I should have known nor sight nor 
sound: for 't is sweet that our thought 
should dwell beyond the sphere of griefs. 

Alas, Citbieron, why hadst thou a sbeltw 
for me? When I was given to thee, why 
didst thou not slay me straightway, that 
so 1 might never have revealed my source 
to men? Ah, Folybus, — ah, Corinth, and 
thou that wast called the ancient house of 
my fathers, how seeming-fair was I your 
nurseling, and what ills were festering 
beneath! For now I am found evil, and of 
evil birth. ye three roads, and thou 
secret glen, — thou coppice, and narrow 
way where three paths met — ye who 
drank from my hands that father's blood 
which was mine own, — remember ye, 
perchance, what deeds I vrrought for you 
to see, — and then, when I camo hithw, 
what fresh deeds I went on to do? 

O marriage-ritesi ye gave me birth, and 
when ye had brought me forth, again ye 
bore children t« your child, ye created ao 
incestuous kinship of fathers, brothers, 
sons, — brides, wives, mothers, — yea, all 
the foulest shame that is wrought among 
meni Nay, but 't is unmeet to name what 
'tis unmeet to do: — haste ye, for the 
gods' love, hide me somewhere beyond the 
land, or slay me, or cast me into the sea, 
where ye shall never behold me more! 
Approach, — deign to lay your hands on a 
wretched man; — hearken, fear not, — 
my [dague can rest on no mortal beside. 

Chobub. Nay, here is Creon, in meet 
season for thy requests, crave they act or 
counsel; for he alone is left to guard the 
land in thy stead. 

(Edutb. Ah me, bow indeed ehall I 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



wxoat him? What daim to ca«deiice con 
be shown on my part? For in the past I 
have been found wholly falK to hun. 
[EnUr Crcon.] 

Cbbon. I have not oome in mockery, 
(Bdipus. nor to reproach thee with any 
bygone fault. (To Uu aUendanlt.) But ye, 
if ye mpect the children of mtn no more, 
revere at teaat the all-nurtuiing flame of 
OUT lord the Sun, — spare to show thus 
nakedly a pollution aueh u this, — one 
riiich neither earth can welcome, nor the 
holy rain, nor the light. Nay, take him 
into the house aa quickly as ye may; for it 
beet accords with piety that kinsfolk alone 
should Me and hear a Idiunnan'e woes. 

(Eh>iPDB. For the gods' love — since thou 
hast done a gentle violence to my presage, 
who hast oome in a spirit so noble to me, 
a man moat vile — grant me a boon: — tor 
thy good I will speak, not for mine own. 

Cbeon. And what wish art thou so fain 
to have of me? 

(£difU8. Cast me out of this land with 
all speed, to a place where no mortal ahall 
be found to greet me more. 

Ciixoir. This would I have done, be thou 
mire, but that I craved first to learn all my 
duty from the god. 

(Enwfl. Nay, hia behest hath been set 
forth in full, — to let me perish, the parri- 
cide, the unhdy one, that I am. 

Creon'. Such was the purport; yet, see- 
ing to what a pass we have come, 't is bet- 
t«- to learn clearly what should be done. 

(Edifub. Will ye, then, seek a response 
on behalf of such a wretoh as I am? 

CsKON. Aye, for thou thyself wilt now 
surely put faith in the god. 

(Eoipus. Yea; and on thee lay I this 
chai^, to thee will I make this entreaty: 

— give to her who is within such burial as 
thou thyself wouldeet; for thou wilt meetly 
render the last rites to thine own. But for 
me — never let this city of my sire be con- 
demned to have me dwelling therein, while 
I live: no, suffer me to abide on the hills, 
where yonder is Cithieron, famed as mine, 

— which my mother and sire, while they 
lived, set for my appointed tomb, — that 
BO I may die by their decree who sought to 



slay me. Howbrit of thus much am I sore, 

— that neither aickneas nor aught doe can 
destooy me; for never had I been snatched 
from death, but in reserve for some strange 
doom. 

Nay, let my fate go whither it will: but 
as touching my children, — I pray thee, 
Creon, take no care on thee for my sons; 
they are men, bo that, be they where they 
may, th^ can never lack the means to live. 
But my two giris, poor hapless oikes, — 
who never knew my table spread apart, or 
lacked their father's preaenoe, but ev«r in 
all things shared my daily bread, — I pray 
thee, care for fA«m; and — if thou canst — 
suffer me to touch them with my hands, 
and to indulge my grief. Grant it, prince, 
grant it, thou noble heart I Ah, oould I but 
once touch them with my hands, I should 
think that they were with me, even as iriien 
I had sight. . . . 

[CbJeom'b aOendanU lead in tiu 
children AtmaoHB and JeXEKK.] 

Ha? ye gods, can it be my loved ones 
that I hear sobbing, — can Creon have 
taken pity on me and sent me my children 

— my dsriings? Am t right? 

Crbon. Yea: 't is of my contriving, for 
I knew thy joy in them 6t old, — the joy 
that now is thine. 

(EniPUB. Then blessed be thou, and, for 
guerdon of this errand, may heaven prove 
to thee a kinder guardian than it hath to 
me! My children, where are ye? Come 
hith», — hither to the hands of him whose 
mother was your own, the bands whose 
offices have wrought that your sire's onoe 
bright eyes should be such orbs aa these, 

— his, who seeing nought, knowing nou^t, 
became your father by her from whom he 
sprang! For you also do I weep — behold 
you I cannot — when I think of the bitter 
life in days to come which men will make 
you live. To what company of the dtisens 
will ye go, to what festival, from which ye 
shall not return home in tears, instead of 
sharing in the holiday? But when ye are 
now come to yean ripe for marriage, who 
^lall he be, who shall be the man, my 
daughters, that will hasard taking unto 
him such reproaches as must be baneful 
alike to my offspring and to yours? Fat 



CEDIPUS THE KING 



wbai miaery is waaling? Your edre slew 
his sire, he hsd seed of her who bare him, 
and begat you at the sources of his own 
btdngl Such are the taunts that will be 
cast at jrou; and who then will wed? The 
man lives not, no, it cannot be, my chil- 
drsD, but ye must wither in barren maiden- 
hood. - 

Ah, son of Menceceus, hear me — since 
thou art the only father left to them, for 
WB, their parents, are lost, both of us, — 
aQow them not to wander poor and unwed, 
who are thy kinswomen, nor abase them 
to the level of my woes. Nay, pity them, 
when thou seeet them at this tender age so 
utterly forlorn, save for thee. Signify thy 
promise, generous man, by the touch of 
thy handl To you, my children, I would 
have ^en much counsd, were yourminds 
mature; but now I would have this to be 
your prayer — that ye live where occasioiL 
mSen, and that the life which ip your por- 
tion may be happier than your sire's. 

Cbiion. Thy grief hath had large scope 
mough: nay, pass into the house. 

(Edipub. I must obey, though 't is in no 
wise sweet. 

Crboit. Yea: for it is in season that all 
thii^ are good. 

^>IPCB. Knoweet thou, then, on what 
cMiditiona I will go? 



S3 

e them; so shall 



Cbbon. Thou ahalt n, 
I know them when I hear. 

(ElniPCB. See that thou send me to dwdl 
beyond this land. 

Cb£ON. Thou askeet me for what the 
god must give. 

(Enipus. Nay, to the gods I have be- 
come most hateful. 

Cbeon. Then ahalt thou have thy wisb 

(Edipus. So thou oonseiiteetT 
CniiON. 'T is not my wont to speak idly 
what I do not mean. 
CEdipus. Then 't is time to lead mo 

Cbeon. Come, then, — but let thy chil- 
dren go. 

(Edifub. Nay, take not theoe from me! 

Creon, Crave not to be master in all 
things: for the mastery which thou didst 
win hath not followed thee through life. 

Chorus. Dwellers in our native Thebes, 
behold, this is (Edipus, who knew the famed 
riddle, and was a man moat mighty; on 
whose fortunes what citizen did not gase 
with envy? Behold into what a stormy sea 
of dread trouble he hath comet 

Therefore, while our eyes wait to see the 
destined final day, we must call no one 
happy who is of mortal race, until be baUt 
oroseed life's bordo*, free from pain. 



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MEDEA 

By EURIPIDES 
ThuulateJ inta Engluk vtrst iy GILBER T MURRA Y 



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CHARACTERS 

Medea, daughUr of Aietet, King <4 Cotcku 
Jason, chuf tff the Argonavie; nephtm of PeHat, 

King of lokot in Thenaly 
Ckson, rufer of CoritiUi 
iBoEVB, King of Alhera 
N^QBSE of Medea 

Two Children of Jaton and Medea 
Attendant on the ekUdren 
A Messenoze. 

Cbosus of Corinihian Women, witk tAetr Lkadbb 
Sotdiert and AttmdmUa 



Tk* BetMiMtaidinCorintk. TAepInvinit >*t odaduAm 
PyOloiomi vKU Arelum, Olympiad 87, j/tar 1 (b.c. 431), 
Bvphorion tnu firit, Sophocta iteond, EuripulM Ufrd, wUh 
Mtdta, PhaincUUt, Diet]/; and AtHanetltrt, a Satyr'jilttg- 



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MEDEA 



(TAeSem« rapKsenl* OitfrorU of Medka'b 
/uaae in CorwUh. A road to the right Uads 
toward the TO]/al eaatle, one on the Uft to Hie 
harbor. The Nvrse it discovered aloTie.] 

NuBSB. Would God no Ai^ e'er had 
winged the seas 
To Colchia through the blue Symplegadea: 
No shaft of riven pine in Pelion's glea 
Shaped that fint oar-blade in the hands of 

Valiant, who won, to save King Pelias' vow, 
The fleeco AU-goldenl Never then, 1 trow. 
Mine own princeea, her apirit wounded Bore 
With love of Jason, to the encaatled shore 
Had sailed of old lolcos: never wrought 
The daughters of King Pdias, knowing 

To spill their father's life: nor fled in fear. 
Hunted im that fierce sin, to Corinth here 
Witli Jason and her babes. This folk at 

Stood friend to her, and she in word and 
deed 

Served alway Jason. Surely this doth bind, 

Through all ill days, the hurts of human- 
kind. 

When man and woman in one music move. 
But now, the worid is angry, and true 

Sick aa with poison. Jason doth forsake 
My mistras and his own two-sans, to make 
His couch in a king's chamber. He must 

Wed with this Creon'a child, who now is 

And chief of Corinth. Wherefore sore be- 
trayed 

Hedes ealleth up the oath they made, 

They two, and wakee the claspM luuids 
again, 

The troth surpassing speech, and cries 

On God in heaven to mark the end, and 
Jason hath paid his debt. 



All fasting now 
And cold, her body yielded up to pain. 
Her days a waste of weeping, ehs hath lain, 
Since first she knew that he was f^se. Her 

eyes 
Are lifted not; and all her visage lies 
In the dust. If friends will speak, she hears 

no more 
Than some dead rock or wave that beats 

the shore: 
Only the white throat in a sudden shame 
May writhe, and all alone she moans the 

Of father, and land, and home, forsook that 

day 
For this man's sake, who casteth her away. 
Not to be quite shut out from home . . . 



Most tremble, lest she do T know not what. 
Her heart is no light thing, and useth not 
To brook much wrong. I know that woman, 

aye. 
And dread herl Will she creep alone to die 
Bleeding in t^t old room, where still is 

laid 
Lord Jason's bed? She hath for that a 

blade 
Made keen. Or (day the brid^room and 

the king, 
And win herself God knows what diie 

thing? 
'T is a tell spirit. Few, I ween, shall stir 
Her hate unscathed, or lightly humble her. 
Hal 'T is the children from their gamea 

again. 
Rested and gay; and all their mother's pain 
Forgotten! Young lives ever turn from 

gloom I 

[The ChUdren and their A 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Atthndant. Thou ancient treasure of 
my lady's room, 
What mak'st thou here before the gates 

And atway tunung on thy lips some moan 
Of old mischances? Will our mistress be 
Content, this long time to be left by thee? 
Nussx. Gray guard of Jason's children, 
a good thrall 
Hath his own grief, if any hurt befall 
His masters. Aye, it holds one's hearti . . . 



I have strayed out so deep in evil dreams, 
I longed to rest me here alone, and cry 
Medea's wrongs to this still Earth and SIq^. 

Attbniiant. How7 Are the tears yet 
running in her eyea? 

NuBfiE. 'T were good to be like theet . . , 



Herst 






Scarce wakened yet, not half its perils 
wrought. 
Attiindant. Mad spiriti ... if a man 
may speak his thought 
Of masters mad. — And nothing in her ears 
Hath sounded yet of her last cause for 
tearsi 
[He moves Umxtrdt tht hotae, but 
the Nwrte cheeka him.] 
Nunas. What cause, old man? . . . Nay, 

grudge me not one word. 
Attendant. 'T is nothing. Best forget 

what thou hast heard. 
NuBSB. Nay, housemate, by thy beardl 
Hold it not hid 
F^omme. . . , I will keep silence if thou bid. 
Attendant. I heard an old man talking, 
where he sate 
At draughts in the sun, beside the fountain 

gate, 
And never thought of me, Uiera standing 

still 
Beside him. And he said, 'Twas Creon's 

will. 
Bang lord of all this land, that she be 

sent, 
And with her her two sons, to banishment. 
Mayt>e 't is all false. For myself, I know 
No further, and I would it were not so. 
NuBSB. Jason will never bear it — his 

Bani^ied, — however hot his anger runs 
Against their motherl 



Attbndamt. Old love bumeth low 
When new love wakes, men say. H« is not 

Husband nor father here, nor any kin. 
NuBSE. But this is mini New waves 
breaking in 
To wreck us, ere we are righted from the old I 
Attendant. Well, hold thy peace. Our 
mistress will be told 
All in good time. Speak thou no word 
hereof. 
Norse. My bsbeet What think ye of 
your father's love? 
God curse him not, he is my master still : 
But, oh, to them that loved him, 't is an ill 
FVieod. . . - 
ArrENDANT. And what man on earth ia 
different? How? 
Hast thou lived all these years, and lesmed 

but now 
That every man more loveth his own head 
Than other men's? He dreameth of the bed 
Of this new bride, and thinks not of his 

NuBSE. Go:runinto the bouse, my little 

All will end happily! . . . Keep them ^mrt: 
Let not tiieir mother meet them while ho" 

heart 
Is darkened. Yest«r night I saw a Same 
Stand in her eye, as though she hated them, 
And would I know not what. For sure ba 

wrath 
Will never turn nor slumber, till she hatli . . . 
Go; and if some must suffer, may it be 
Not we who love her, but some enemyl 
Voice [wiAin], O shame and pain: O 



NuBSB. Ah, children, hark! She man 

again 
Her frozen heart, her sleeping wrath. 
In, quick! And never cross her path. 
Nor rouse that dark eye in ita pain; 



That fell aeo-spirit, and the dire 
Spring of a will untaught, unbowed. 
Quick, now I — Methinka this 

Hath in its heart some thunder-fire. 



6t 



Slow gstboing, that must flseh ere long. 
I know not how, for ill or well, 
It turns, this uncoDtroUsble 

TenqMotuous spirit, blind with wrong. 
Voice [mlhin]. Have I not Buffered? 
Dothitcfdl 

No tears? . . . Ha, ye beside the wall 

Unfathered children, God hate you 

As 1 am hated, and him, too, 
lliat gat you, and this house and allt 
NuHSK. For pity I What have they to do, 
Babes, with their father's nn? Why call 
Thy cuiae on these? ... Ah, children, all 

'ntese days my boeom bleeds for you. 

Rude are the wills of prinoea: yea, 
Frerailiug alway, seldom croeoed, 
On fitful winds their moods are t^waed; 

T is beet meo tread the equal way. 



Ajfe, not with ^ory but with peace 
May the long summers find me cr 
For gentlenees — her very sound 

Is magic, and her ussges 



All wholesome: but the fi^cely great 
Hath little music on bis road, 
And falleth, when the hand of God 
Shall move, most deep and desolate. 

[During tA« laat iDotxlt Ote Leader 
<if the Chorus hat entered. Other 
women foUcw her.] 
Lkadeb. I heard a voice and a moan, 
A voice of the eastern seas: 
Hath she found not yet her ease? 
Speak, O agM one. 
For I stood afar at the gate, 

And there came from within a cry, 
And wailing desolate. 

Ah, no more joy have I, 
For the griefs this bouse doth see, 
And the love it hath wrought in me. 
Ndbse. There is no house! Tia gone. 

The lord 
Seeketh a prouder bed: and she 
Wastes in her chamber, nor one word 
Will hear of care or charity. 
V0IC3C IvnOan]. O ZeuB, O Earth, 

Light, 
Will ttw fire not st^ my brain? 
What profiteth living? Oh, 
Shall I not lift the alow 



Yoke, and let Life go. 
As a beast out in the night, 
To lie, and be rid of pain? 
Chobdb — Some Women. (A.) " Zeus, 
O Earth, O Light": 
The cry of a bride foriom 
Heard ye, and wailing bom 
or loet ddight? 
(B.) Why weariest thou this d^. 
Wild heart, for the bed abborrid, 
Tbe txAd bed in the clay? 
Death cometh though no man pray, 
TT ngftrl andp d , unadorAd- 
Cfdl him not thou. 
(C.) If another's arms be now 
Where thine have been. 
On his head be the sin: 
Rend not thy browl 

(D.) All that thou suffereet, 
God seeth: Oh, not so sore 
Waste nor weep for the breast 
That was thhie of yore, 
VoTCK [tBilhin]. Virgin of Righteousneaii 
Virgin of hallowed Troth, 
Ye marked me when with an oath 
I bound him; mark no less 
That oath's end. Give me to see 
Him and his bride, who sought 
My grief when I wronged her not. 
Broken in misery, 
And all her house. . . . O God, 
My mother's home, and the dim 
Shore that I left for him, 
And the voice of my brother's blood. . . . 
NnsBK. Oh, wild words! Did ye hear 

To them that guard man's faith forsworn, 
Themis and Zeus? . . . This wratii new- 

Shall mtUie mad worldngg ere it die. 
Chorus — OtAsr Women. (A.) Would 

she but come to seek 
Our faces, that love ber well. 
And take to her heart the spdl 

Of words that speak? 
(B.) Alas for the heavy hate 
And anger that bumeth ever I 
Would it but now abate. 
Ah God, I love her yet. 
And surely my love's endeavtv 

Shall fail not here. 
(0.) Go: from that chamber drwr 



6a 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Forth to the day 
Lead her, and say. Oh, eay 
That we love her dear. 
(D.) Go, lest her band be hard 
Od the innoce&t: Ah, let bel 
For her grief movea hitherwaid. 
Like an angiy sea. 
NuRBK. That will I: though what words 



Know ye the eye« of the wild kine, 

The lion flash that Kuards their brood? 

So looks i^e now if any thrall 

Speak comfort, or draw near at all 
My mistrees in her evil mood. 

lTh£ Nvne goes irtto tiie hou^.] 

CaosuB — A Woman. Alas, the bold 
blithe bards of old 

lliat all for joy their music made, 
For feasts and dancing muiifold, 

That life might listen and be glad. 

But all the darkness and the wrong, 
Quick deaths and dim heart-aching 
things. 

Would no man ease them with a song 
Or music of a thousand strings? 

Then song had serveH us in our need. 

What profit, o'er the banquet's swdl 
Ihat lingering cry that none may heed? 
The feast bath fiUed them: aU is weUI 
Chorus — Olhert. I hesid a song, but it 
comes no more, 
Where the tears ran over; 
A keen cry but tired, tired: 
A w(»nan's cry for her heart's desired, 
For a traitor's kiss and a lost lover. 
But a prayer, methinks, yet risetb sore 
To God, to Ftuth, God's ancient daugh- 
ter— 
The Faith that over sundering seas 
Drew hw to Hellas, and the breeie 
Of midnight shivered, and the door 
Closed of the salt unsounded water. 

[Dunn; the Uut VMrds Medea hat 
eome out from the houte.] 
MaD]u. Wotften 6t Corinth, I am come 
toihow 



My face, lest ye despise me. For I kiMw 
Some beads stand high and fail not, even 

at night 
Alone — far less like this, in all men's si^t'- 
And we, who study not our wayfaring 
But ted and cry — Oh we are drifting 

And evill For what truth is in men's eyes, 
Which search do heart, but in a fla^ 

despise 
A strange face, shuddering bade from one 

that ne'er 
Hath wronged them? . . . Sure, far-CMnen 

anywhere, 
I know, must bow them and be gentle. 

Nay, 
A Greek himself men praise not, who alway 
Should seek his own will recking not. . . . 

ButI — 
This thing undreamed of, sudden from on 

hi^, 
Hath sapped my soul: I da»le where I 

The cup of all life shattered in my band. 
Longing to die — O friends! He, even be. 
Whom to know well was all the world to 

The man I loved, hatii proved moat evil. — 

Oh, 
Of all things upon earth that bleed and 

A herb most bruised is woman. We must 

pay 
Our store of gold, hoarded for that one day. 
To buy us some man's love; aikd lo, they 

A master of our fleahl Then otMnee the 
sting 

Of the whole shame. And then the jeop- 
ardy, 

For good or ill, what diaU that maatw be; 

Reject she cannot: and if he but stays 

His suit, 't is shame on all that woman's 
days. 

So thrown amid new laws, new fAvsea, why, 

'T is magic she must have, or prophet? — 

Home never taught her that — how best to 
guide 

Toward peace this thing that sleepeth at 
her side. 

And she who, laboring Itmg, shall find some 



ElilizedbvGoOQlc 



Whereby ber lord may b«ar vith her, nor 

fr*y 
ffis yoke too fiercdy, bleaoed ie the breath 
Hut woman drawel EUae, let her pray for 

Her lord, if be be wearied of the face 
Withindoora, gets him forth; some merrier 

place 
Vmi cue hifl heart: but she waits on, her 

ViaitHi enchaioM on a single aoul. 

And then, forsooth, 't is they that face the 

call 
Of WOT, while we ait aheltered, hid from 

aU 
Peril! — False mockingi Sooner would I 

stimd 
Three timea to face their battles, shield in 

Than bear one child. 

But peace! There cannot be 
Ever the same tale told of thee and me. 
Thou ha«t this city, and thy father's home, 
And joy of friends, and hope in days to 

But I, being citdesa, am cast aside 
By him that wedded me, a savage bride 
Won in for seae and left — no mother near, 
No brother, not one kinsman anywhere 
For harbor in this storm. Therefore of 

thee 
I aok one thing. If chance yet ope to me 
Some path, if evm now my hand can win 
Strength to requite this Jaaon for his ain, 
Betray me notl Oh, in all things but 

this, 
I know how full of fears a woman is. 
And faint at need, and shrinking from the 

liC^ 
Of battle: but once spoil her of her right 
In man's love, and there movee, I warn thee 

well. 
No bloodier spirit between heaven and hdl. 
LiaDKK. I will bfitray thee not. It is but 

"niou smite him. — And that weeping in 

the dust 
And stormy tears, bow should I blame 

them? . . . Stay: 
T is Creon, lord of Corinth, mokes hia way 
Hither, and bears, methinka, some word 

of weight. 



[EiUer Cbson, Ihe King, mlh armed Attm- 

danUjTom the right. 

Cbeon. Thou woman sullen-eyed and 

hot with hate 

Against tby lord, Medea, I here command 

That thou and thy two children from thU 



Go forth to banishment. Make no delay: 
Seeing ourselves, the King, are come ttdB 

day 
To see our charge fulfilled; nor shall again 
Look homeward ere we have led thy ohil> 

dren twain 
And thee beyond our realm's last boundary. 

MxDBA. Lost! Lost! 
Mine haters at the helm with siul flung free 
Pursuing; and for ua no beach nor shore 
In the endlees waters! . . . Yet, though 



I still will aak thee, for what crime, what 

Unlawful, wilt thou cost me out, O King? 
Cbkon. What crime? I fear the^ 

woman — little need 
To cloak my reasons — lest thou work 

some deed 
Of darkness on my child. And in that fear 
Reasons enough have part. Thou comest 

A wise-woman confessed, and full of lore 
In unknown ways of evil. Thou art sore 
In heart, being parted from thy lover's 

And more, thou hast made menace ... so 

the alarms 
But now have reached mine ear ... on 

bride and groom. 
And him who gave the bride, to work thy 

Of vengeance. W hich, ere yet it be too late, 
I sweep aside. I choose to earn tbine hate 
Of set will now, not palter with the mood 
Of mercy, and hereafter weep in blood. 
MiDBA. 'Tia not the first nor second 
time, O King, 
That fame hath hurt me, and come nigh to 

My ruin. . . . How can any man, whose 

eyes 
Are wholeaome, seek to rear his children 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Beyond men's wontT Much helploeeneeB 

inutfl 
Of comnwn life, tad in their townnnen's 

hearts 
Envy deep-aet ... so much their leaniing 

Come unto fools witii knowledge at new 

They deem it vanity, not knowledge. Aye, 
And men that erst for wisdom were held 

high. 
Feel thee a thorn to fnt them, privily 
Held higher tiuai they. So h^ it been 

A wise-woman I am; and for that sin 
To divers ill namea men would pen me in; 
K seed of strife; an eastern dreainer; one 
Of brand not thein; one hard to |^y 

Ah, I am not eo wondrous wiaet And now. 
To thee, I am terrible! What fearest thou? 
What dire deedT Do I tread so proud a 

path — 
Fear me not thou I — that I should brave 

the wrath 
Of princee? Thou : what bast thou ever done 
To wrong me? Granted thine own child to 

Whom thy soul chose. — Ah, Aim out of 

nor heart 
I hate; but thou, meseems, hast done thy 

part 
Not ill. And for thine houses' happiness 
I ludd no grudge. Go: marry, and God 

blen 
Your issues. Only suffer me to leet 
Somewhere witbin this had. Though sore 



I will be still, knowing mine own defeat. 
Crxon. Thy words be gentle: but I fear 

Lent even now there creep some wickedness 
Deep hid within thee. And for that the lees 
I trust thee nowth&n toe thesewords began. 
A woman quick of wrath, aye, or a man, 
Is easier watching than tbe cold and still. 
Up, straight, and find thy loadl Mock 

not my will 
With words. This doom is passed beyond 

recaU; 
Nor all thy oraf te shall hdp thee, being 

withid 



My manifest foe, to linger at my side. 

MxnBA (tuddenly Ovmmng hert^ down 
and dvminQ to Cbbon). Oh, by thy knees! 

By that new-wedded bride . . . 
Cbxok. 'T is waste of words. Thou 

shslt not weaken me. 
Mbdea. Wilt hunt me? Spurn me when 

I kneel to thee? 
Cbeon. 'T is mine own house that kneds 

to me, not thou. 
MnoEA. Home, my lost b«ne, how I 

desire tiiee now! 
Chbok. And I mine, and my child, be- 
yond all things. 
MzDBA. O Loves of man, what curse is 

on your wings! 
Cbeon. Blessing or ouiee, 'tis as Uieir 

chances flow. 
Medxa. Remember, Zeus, the cause ci 

all this woel 
Crbon. Oh, rid me of my pains! Up, 

get thee gone! 
MiiDEA. What would I with thy pains? 

Cbxon. Up: or, 'fore God, my soldiers 
here shall fling . . . 

MsoBA. Not that! Not thati ... I do 
but pray, King . . . 

Cbbon. Thou wilt not? I must face the 
harsher ta^? 

MzoEA. I accept mine exile. 'T is not 
that I ask. 

Cbbon. Why then eo wild? Why ding- 
ing to mine hand? 

MsnuA [rtrinjr). For one day only leave 
me in thy land 
At peace, to find some oounsd, ere the 

Of exile fall, some comfort for these twain. 
Mine innocents; since othras take no 

thought, 

It seems, to save the babes that they begot. 

Ahl Thou wilt [»ty them! Thou also art 

A father: thou hast somewhere still a heart 

That feels. ... I reck not of myself: 't is 

they 
That break me, fallen upon eo dire a day. 
Crbon. Mine is no tyrant's mood. Aye, 

many a time 
Ere this my tenderness hath marred tiia 

chime 
Of wisest oouDsels. And I know thit now 



CtOoi^Ic 



I do mere foUy. But m> be iti Thou 
Shalt have this grace . . . But this I wain 

thee clear, 
If once the morrow'B sunlight find thee here 
Within my borden, thee or child of thine, 
ThoudiestI . . . Of this judgment not aline 
Shall waver nor abate. So linger on. 
If tixiu needs must, till the next risen sun; 
No further. ... In one day there scarce 

llKMe perils wrought whose dread yet 
hauutetiime. 

]BxU Cbson with his auiCe.l 
Cbokub. O woman, woman of sorrow, 
Where wilt thou turn and fleeT 
What town ^lall be thine to-morrow, 

What land of all lands that be. 
What door of a strange man's home? 

Yea, God hath hunted thee, 
Medea, forth to the foam 
Of a trackless sea. 
Medka. Defeat on every aide; what 
dseT — But oh. 
Not here the end ie: think it notl 1 know 
For bride and groom one battle yet un- 
tried, 
4nd goodly pains for him that gave the 

DoBt dream I would have groveled to 
tliia man, 
Save that I won mine end, and shaped my 

For merry deeda? My lips had never 

deigned 
Bpfakword with him: my flesh been never 

With touching. . . . Fool, oh, trii^ fooll 

It lay 
So plain for him to kill my whole essay 
By exile swift: end, lo, be sets me free 
Tliis one long day: wheiein mine haters 

three 
Shall lie here dead, the father and the bride 
Andhusband — mine,notherBl Oh,Ihave 

tried 
So many thot^ts of murder to my turn, 
I know not irttich best likes me. Shall I 

bum 
llwit bouse with fire? Or stealing past 

unseen 
To Jason's bed — I have a blade made 



For that — stab, breast to breast, that 

wedded pair? 
Good, but for one thing. When I am taken 

And killed, they will laugh kjud who hate 

Nay, 
I love the old way beet, the simple wi^ 
Of poison, where we too are strong as men. 



What friend shall rise, with land inviolate 
And trusty doors, to shdter from their hate 
This flesh? . . . None anywherel ... A 

little more 
I needs must wait: and, if there ope some 

Of 'refuge, some strong tower to shidd me, 

good: 
In craft and darkness I will hunt thia blood- 
Elae, if mine hour be ootae and no hope 

nigh, 
Tlien sword in band, full-willed and sure to 

die, 
I yet will live to slay them. 1 will wend 
Man-like, their road of daring to the end. 
So help me She who of all Gods hath 

The best to me, of all my choem queen 
And helpmate, Hecato, who dwells apart. 
The flame of flame, in my fire's inmost 

For all their strength, they shall not stab 

my soul 
Andlau^tbereafter! Dark and full of dole 
Their bridal feast shall be, most dark the 

day 
They joined their bands, and hunted me 

Awake thee now, Medea! Whatso plot 
Thou hast, or cunning, strive and falter not. 
On to the peril-point I Now cmnce the 



Of daring. Shall they trample thee again? 
How? And with Eedlas laughing o'er thy 

fall 
While this thief's daughter weds, and weds 

Jason? ... A true king was thy father, yea, 
And bom of the ancient Sunl . ■ . Tbou 
know'at the way; 



GooqIc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



And God hath nuuie Ui6o woehvIi *-^TT >g** 

most vain 
Fbr help, but wondniUB in the patiie oT 

[Mkdxa goei into lite Aoute.) 
Chobus. Back strBams the wave on the 

ever-running river: 
life, life ie chAoged and the laws of it 

Man ehAll be the slave, tbe affrighted, the 
low-liver! 
Man hath foi^tten God. 
And woman, yea, woman, shall be terrible 
in story: 
The tales too, mMeemeth, shall be other 
than of yore. 
Ftor a fear there is tliat oometh out of 
Woman and a glory, 
And the hard bating voioes shall encom- 
pass her no morel 

The old bards shall cease, and their memory 
t^t lingers 
Of frail brides and faithless, shall be 
shriveled as with fire. 
Fbr they loved us not. Dor knew us: snd 
our lips were dumb, our fingen 
Could woke not the secret of the lyre, 
E3se, else, O God the Singer, 1 had sung 
amid their ragee 
A long tale of Man and his deeds for 
good and ill. 
But the old World Imoweth — 'tis the 
speech of all his ages — 
Man's wrong and ours: be knoweth and 

is still 
Cborob — Some Women. Forth from 
thy father's home 
Thou earnest, O heart of fire, 
Id the Dark Blue Rocks, to the pi wahjn g 

- To the seas of thy desire: 

Till the Dark Blue Bar was croMed; 

And, lo, by an alien river 
Standii^, thy kiver lost, 
Void-armed forever, 

Forth yet agiun, O lowest 

Of landless women, a ranger 

Of desolate ways, thou goest, 

From the walls of ttie 



Chobus — Others. And the great Okth 

wsjceth weak; 
And Ruth, as a thing outstriven, 
Is fled, fled, from the shores of the Qredc, 
Away on the winds of heaven. 

Dark is the house afar, 

Where an old king called thee daughter; 
All that was once thy star 
In stormy water, 

Dark: and, lo, in the nearer 

House that was tmont to love thee, 
Another, queenlier, dearer, 
Is thronM above thee. 

[Enler Jason from Ae rifht.] 
Jason. Oft have I seen, in otiier days 
than these, 
How a dark tempo' maketh maladies 
No friend con heal. 'T was easy to have 

Both land and home. It needed but to 

Unstrivingly the jAeemim of our lords. 
But thou, for mere delist in stonny words, 
Wilt lose alll . . . Now thy speech provokM 



Dark threats cast out against 
Of Corinth, count as veriest gain thy patb 
Of exile. I myself, when princely wrath 
Was hot against thee, strove with all good 

will 
To appease the wrath, and wished to keep 

theestm 
Beside me. But thy mouth would new stay 
From vanity, bla*)dieming night and day 
Our masters, llierefore Utou shalt fly Ute 

land. 
Yet, eves so, I will not hold my hand 
From succoring mine own people. Here 

To hdp thee, woman, pondering heedfuUy 
lily new state. For I would not have thee 

flung 
ProvisionleeB away — aye, and the young 
Children as well; nor ladcing aught that 



Ofo 



wiU 



abringtbec Manya l eMa r fll 

Goc«lc 



67 



QangB on the heela ot exile. . . . Aye, And 

Hkmi bate me, di«am not that my heart 

Or [asbion aught of angry will to thee. 
MxDEA. Evil, moBt evS] . . . since thou 
grenUetme 
Hut comfort, the worst weapon left me 

To Bmite a coward. . . . 'Hiou comeat to 

me, thou, 
Mineenemyl (XwnrngtotiteChomi.) Oh, 

aay, bow call ye this, 
To face, and emile, the comrade whom bia 

kiw 
Betrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None 

of tbeee: 
T is but of all man's inward sickneesee 
Tlie vilest, that he knoweth not of shame, 
Ntwpityl Yet I praise him that he came . . . 
To me it oholl bring comfort, once to clear 
Hy heart on thee, and thou shalt wince to 



Let thine own Greeks be witness, every one 
That Bailed on Argo — saved thee, sent 

alone 
To yoke with yokes the bulla of fiery breath. 
And son that Acre of the Lords of Death; 
And mine own ancient Serpent, who did 

Tbe Golden Fleece, the eyee that knew not 

And irKif i n g coils, h™ also did 1 smite 
Dead for t&y sake, and lifted up the light 
That bade thee live. Myself, unoounsel^. 
Stole forth from father and from home, and 

fled 
Where dark lolcoe under Pelion lies. 
With tbee — Ob, sin^e-hearted more than 

wisel 
I murdered Pelias, yea, in agony, 
By hia own daughters' hands, for sake of 

thee; 
I swept their house like War. — And hast 

thou then 
Accepted all — O evil yet againi — 
And cast me off and taken thee for bride 
Another? And with children at thy sidel 
One could forgive a childleaB man. But no: 



I have bcme thee children . . . 
Is sworn faith so low 

And weak a thing? t understand it not. 

Are t^e old gods dead? Are the old laws 
fo^ot, 

And new laws made? Since not my passion- 
ing, 

But thine own heart, doth ciy thee for a 

Forsworn. 

{She eaichet «t;Al of her oun hand 
tohich the hat thrown out to de- 
Poor, poor right hand of mine, whom he 
Did ding to, and theee kneee, so cravingly, 
Weareunclean, thou and I; we have caught 

the stain 
Of bad men's flesh . . . and dreamed our 
dreams in viun. 
Thou oomest to bdriend me? Give me. 

Thy counsel. T is not that I dream again 
For good from thee: but, questioned, thou 

wilt show 
The viler. Say: now whither shall I go? 
Back to my father? Him I did betray. 
And all bis land, when we two fled away. 
To those poor Peliad maids? For them 

'twere good 
To take me in, who spilled their father's 

blood 

Aye, ao my whole life stands! There were 

at home 
Who loved me well: to them I am beccme 
A curse. And the first friends who sheltered 

Whrau most I should have spared, to pleas- 
ure thee 

I have turned to foes. Oh, therefore hast 
thou laid 

My crown upon me, blest of many a maid 

In Hellas, ow I have won what idl did 

Thee, the world-wondered lover and the 

Who this day looks and sees me banished, 

tltfown 
Away with theee two babes, all, all, alone . . . 
Oh, merry mocking when the lamps are 

red: 



68- 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



In exile, and the woman who gave all 
To save him? " 

O great Qod, shall gold withal 
Bear thy dear mark, to lift the baae and 

And o'er man's living visage runs no sign 
To show the lie within, ere all too late? 
LiADEB. Dire and beyond all healing is 

the hate 
When hearts that loved are turned to 

enmity. 
Jason. In speech at least, meeeemetb, I 

must be 
Not evil; but, as some old pilot goes 
Furled to his sail's last edge, when daoget 

blows 
Too fieiy, run before the wind and swell, 
Woman, of thy loud atonns. — And thus 

It«ll 
My tale. Since thou wilt build so wondrous 

high 
Thy deeds ot eervioe in my jeopardy, 
To all my crew and quest I know but one 
Savior, of gods or mortals one alone. 
The Cyprian. Oh, thou hast both brain 

and wit, 
Yet underneath . . . nay, all the tde of it 
Were gracdesB teUing; bow sheer love, a fire 
Of poison-ahaftB, compelled thee with de- 

To save me. But enough. I will not score 
That count too close. 'Twas good help; 

and therefor 
I give thee thanks, howe'er the help was 

wrought. 
Howbeit, in my deliverance, thou hast got 
Far more than given. A good Greek land 

hath been 
Thy lasting home, not barbary. Thou host 

Our ordered life, and justice, and the long 
Still grasp of law not changing with the 

Man's pleasure. Then, all Eellaa for and 

near 
Hath learned thy wisdom, and in every ear 
Thy fame is. Had thy days run by unseen 
On that last edge of the world, where then 

had been 
The story of great MedeaT Thou and I . . . 
What worth to us were treasures heapM 

hi^' 



In rich kings' rooms; what worth a voice of 

gold 
More sweet than ever rang from Orpheus 

old, 
Unless our deeds have glivy? 

Speak 1 so, 
Touching the Quest I wrought, thyself did 

The challenge down. Next for thy caviling 
Of wrath at mine alliance with a king, 
Here thou shaJt see I both was wise, and free 
From touch of passion, and a friend to thee 
Most potent, and my children . . . Nay, be 

still 1 
When first I stood in Corinth, clogged 

with ill 
From many a desperate mischance, what 

bliss 
Could I that day have dreamed of, like to 

this, 
To wed with a king's daughter, I exiled 
And beggared? Not — what makes thy 

passion wild — 
From loathing of thy bed; not overfraught 
With love for this new bride; not that I 

To upbuild mine house with offspring : 't is 

enough. 
What thou hast borne: I moke no word 

thereof: 
But, first and greatest, that we all might 

dweU 
In a fair house and want not, knowing wdl 
That poor men have no friends, but far 

and near 
Shunning and silence. Next, I sought to 

Our sons in nurture worthy of my race. 
And, raising brethren to them, in one place 
Join both my houses, and be dl from now 
Prince-like and happy. What more need 

hast thou 
Of children? And for me, it serves my star 
To link in strength the children that now 

With those that shall be. 

Have I counseled ill? 
Not thine own self would say it, couldst 

thou still 
One hour thy jealous flesh. — 'T is ever sol 
Who lo<^ loT more in women? When the 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



Of love nms plain, why, all the world is 

fiur: 
But, once there fall some ill chance aay- 

To baulk that thirst, down in awift hate 

are trod 
Men's dearest aims and noblest. Would to 

God 
We mortals by some other seed could raise 
Our fruits, and no blind women block our 

Then had there been no curse to wreck 



Ij^dkh. Lord Jason, very subtly hast 
tbou twined 
Thy speech; but yet, though all athwart 

thy will 

I speak, this ia not well thou dost, but ill. 

Betraying her who loved thee and was true, 

MEDK&. Surety 1 have my thoughts, and 

not a few 

Have hdd me strange. To me it seemeth, 

A crafty tongue is given to evil men 

T is like to wreck, not help them. Their 

own brain 
Tempts them with lies to dare and dare 

again. 
Till ... no man bath enough of aubtiety. 
As thou — be not so seemiog-fair to me 
Nor deft of speech. One word will make 

theefaU. 
Wert thou not false, 't was thine to tell me 

all. 
And charge me help tby marriage path, as I 
Did love thee; not befool me with a lie. 
Jason. An ea^ task had that been! 

Aye, and thou 
A loving aid, who canst not, even now, 
StOl that loud heart that surges like the 

tide! 
Mkdea. That moved thee not. Thine 

old barbariBn bride, 
Hie dog out of the east who loved thee sore. 
She grew gray-haired, she served thy pride 

Jabon. Now understand for once! The 
giri to me 
Is nothing, in this w^ of sovereignty 
f bold. I do but seek to save, even yet, 
Tliee; and for brethren to our sons b^et 
Yoang kings, to prosper all our lives again. 



Medea. God shelter me from 
days of pain, 
And wealth that maketh wounds about iny 
heart. 
Jason. Wilt change that prayer, and 
choose a wiser part? 
Pray not to hold true sense for pain, nor 

Thyself unhappy, being too fortunate. 
MioiEA. Aye, mock me; thou bast where 
to lay thine head, 
But I go n^ed to mine exile. 

Jason. Tread 
Thine own path! Thou hast made it all 
to be. 
Mbdea. How? By seducing and forsak- 
ing thee? 
Jabon. By those vile curses on the royal 
halls 
Let loose. . , . 
Medxa. On thy house also, as chance 
falls, 
I am a living curse. 

Jason. Oh, peace! Enough 
Of theee vain wars: I will no more thereof. 
If thou wilt take from all that I possess 
Aid for these babes and thine own belplees- 

Of exile, speak thy bidding. Here I stand 
Full-willed to succor thee with stintless 

And send my signet to old friends that 

dweU 
On forogn shores, who will entreat thee 

well. 
Refuse, and thou ehalt do a deed most 

vain. 
But cast thy rage away, and thou shait 

gain 
Much, and lose little for thine anger's sake. 
Mbdea. I will not seek thy friends. I 

will not take 
Tby givings. Give them not. Fruits of a 

Unholy bring no blessing after them. 
Jasoh. Now God in heaven be witness, 

ail my heart 
Is willing, in all ways, to do its part 
For thee and for thy babes. But nothing 

good 
Con please thee. In sheer aavageneas of 

mood 



7© 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Thou drivest from thee every friend. 

Wherefore 

I warrant thee, thy puns ehall be the more. 

[He 9099 slowly awt\i.\ 

MsDXA. Go: thou &rt weary for the new 

delight 

Thou wooest, bo limg tarrying out of si^t 

Of ber sweot chamber. Go, fulfill thy pride, 

O bridegroomi For it may be, such a bride 

Shall wait thee, — yea, God heareth me in 

this — 
As thine own heart shall iioken ere it Idaa. 
CaosuB. Alas, the Love that falleth like 

a flood, 
Strong- winged and transitory: 
Why praise ye him? What beareth he of good 

To mas, or gloryT 
Yet Love there is that movea in gentieneoe, 
Heart-filling, sweetMt of all powers that 

bless. 
Loose not on me, O Holder of man's heart, 

Thy golden quiver, 
Nor steep in poison of deaiie the dart 
That heals not ever. 

The pent hate of the word that cavileth, 

The strife that hath no fill. 
Where once was fondness; and the mad 
heart's breath 

For strange love panting still: 
Cyprian, cast me not on these; but sift. 
Keen-eyed, of love the good and evil gift. 
Make Innocence my friend, God's fairest 
star, 

Yea, and abate not 
The rare sweet beat of boBcnns without war. 

That love, and hate not. 

Chobuh — OUurt. Home of my heart, 
land of my own, 

Cast me not, nay, for pity, 
Out on my ways, helplees, alone, 
Where the feet fail in the mire and stone, 

A woman without a city. 
Ah, not that! Bett«r the end: 

The green grave cover me rather, 
If a break must come in the days I know, 
And the skies be changed and the earth 

below; 
For the weariest road that man may wend 

Is forth from the home of hia father. 

Lo, we have seen: 't is not a song 



Bung, tua learned of another. 
For whom hast thou in thy dil««t wrong 
For oomfortT Never a city etrtmg 

To hide thee, never a bnrther. 
Ah, but the man — curaid be he, 

CursM beyond recover. 
Who openeth, shattering, seal by seal, 
A friend's clean heart, then turns his bed, 
Deaf unto love: never in me 
Friend shall he know nor lover. 

[While Mkoeau aaitingiknimaul. 
Mated upon her doorttep, Oitrt 
patteifrom the l^t atnudtrwUh 
foUowen. A» he cabAa tight sf 
Medxa, h» slops.] 
MoKOB. Have joy, Medea! 'T is the 
homdiest 
Wold that old friends can greet with, and 
the best. 
Mkdka {JooKnir up, airprvedfi. Oh, joy 
on tJiee, too, .£geus, gentle Ung 
Of Athenel — But whence eom'st thou 
journeying? 
^oEns. F^om Delphi now and the old 

encavemed stmr. . . . 
MinxA. Where Earth's heart eprala in 

song? What mad'st thou there? 
£geub. Prayed 'heaven for children — 

the same search alway. 
Minu. CbildrenT Ah Godt Art child- 
less to this day? 
iBoKus. So God hath willed. Chadless 

and deaolate. 
MxDHA. What word did Fhc^us speak, 

to change thy fate? 
£qbub. Riddles, too hard for mortal 

man to read. 
MsnxA. Which I may bear? 
MuKoa. Assuredly: they need 
A rarer wit. 
MnnsA. How said he? 
^oEus. Not to qiill 



Life's 






Mbdsa. Until? 
.^OEiiB. Until 
I tread the hearth-stone of my sireti of yote^ 
Mbdka. And what should bring thee 

here, by Creon's shore? 
Mfmva. Od» Pittheus know'st thou, 

high lord of Tn»en? 
Mmdka. Aye, Pdops' eon, a man most 

pureoi^n. 



i.,GooqIc 



£<aus. Him I would uk, touching 

Apollo's will. 
Mkdea. Much use in God's ways hath 

be, and much aldll. 
Mamxja. And, long yean back he was 
my battle-friend, 
The trueet e'er man had. 

Hbdxa. Well, may God send 
Good hap to thee, and grant all thy desire. 
M^vs. But thou . . .? Thy frame is 
wasted, and the fiie 
Dead in thine eyee. 

McDKA. iBgeiis, my hutliand is 
The falaeet man in the worid. 
Maxxja. What word is thisT 
Say deariy what thus malcea thy visage 
dim7 
Mbdka. He is false to me, who never 

injured him. 
.Sqbqb. What hath he done? Show all, 

that I may see. 
MiiDSA. Ta'eo him a wife; a wife, mt 
over me 
To rule his house I 

JEamuh. He hath not dared to do, 
Jason, a thing so BhametulT 

Medka. Aye, 'tis true: 
ilitd those he loved of yore have no place 

JEoEJiB. Some passion aweepeth him? 
Or is it thou 
He turns from? 

Mbdka. Passion, pasnon to betray 
His dearest! 

JBoKDa. Shame be his, so fallen away 
FVom honor! 

MXDBA. Passion to be near a throne, 
A king's heirl 

MaxvB. How, who gives the bride? 

Medba. Creon, who o'er all Corintli 

standeth chief. 
JEaxva. Woman, thou hast indeed much 

cauae for grief. 
MxDEA. 'Tis ruin. — And they have 

cast me out as well. 
^kiEns. Who? 'T is a new wrong this, 

and terrible. 
Hedba. Creon the king, from every 

land and shore. , . . 
^Gaxtrs. And Jason suffera him? Oh, 

't ia too sorel 



But, £geuB, by thy beard, oh, by thy 
knew, 
I pray thee, and I giv« me for thine own, 
Thy suppliant, pity me! Oh, pity one 
So misOTable. Thou never wilt stand there 
And see me cast out friendless to despoil. 
Give me a home in Athens ... by the fire 
Of thine own hearth! Oh, so may thy desire 
Of children be fulfilled of God, and thou 
Dieh^py! . . . Thou oaost know not jeren 

Thy pri» is woni I, I will make of thee 
Aduldlessmannomore. The seed shall be, 
I swear it, sown. Such magic herbs I know. 
^OBDS. Woman, indeed my heart goes 
forth to show 
This help to thee, first for religion's sake. 
Then for thy {mnmsed hope, to heal my 

Of childlessness. 'T is this hath made mine 

whole 
Life as a shadow, and starved out my soul. 
But thus it stands with me. Onoe moks 

To Attic earth, I, as in law I may. 

Will keep thee and befriend. But in tJus 

Und, 
Where Creon rules, I may not raise my 

To Bhelt«r thee. Move of thine own essay 
To seek my house, thero thou sbalt alway 

stay. 
Inviolate, never to be seised again. 
But come thyself from Crainth. I would 

Even in foreign eyes be alway just. 

MiDEA. 'Tis well. Give me an oaUi 
wherein to trust 
And all tjiat man could ask thou hast 
granted me. 
MoKUB. Dost trust me not? Or wtutt 

thing troubletfa theeT 
Mbdxa. I trust thee. But so many, far 
and near, 
Do hate me — all King Felias' house, and 

Creon. Onoe bound by oaths and sanctities 
Thou canst not yield me up for such as 

To drag (nun Athens. But a q>oken word, 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



No more, to bind thee, wimb do God hath 

, baud. . . . 
The embftseies, metbinka, would oome and 

go: 
They alt are frieodB to thee. ... Ah me, I 

Thou wilt not liat to mel So weak am I, 
And they f ull-fiUed with gold and majesty. 
MOEVS. Metbinks 't is a far foreeight, 
thii thine oath. 
Still, if thou BO wilt have it, nothing loath 
Am I to serve tbee. Mine own hand is so 
The stronger, if I have this {dea to ahow 
Thy perBecutora: and for thee withal 
The bond more Bure. — On what god eball 
IcallT 
Mkdba. Swear by the Earth thou tread- 
eat, by the Sun, 
Sireof my Bires, andall thegodaaaone. . . . 
Mamva. To do what thing' or not do7 

Make all plain. 
Media. Never thyoelf to cast me out 

Nor let another, whatooe'er his plea, 
Take me, while tbou yet livest and art free. 
Masva. Never: bo hear me, Earth, and 
the great etar 
Of daylight, and all other goda that arel 
Medea. 'Tia wdl: and if thou falter 

from thy vow . . . ? 
MaxvB. God's judgment on the godless 

break my browl 
Mbdea. GoI Go thy waya rejoicing. — 
All is bright 
And clear before me. Go: and ere the night 
Myself will follow, when the deed is done 
I purpose, and the end I thirst for won. 

[MoEJis and hU train depcai.] 
Chorus. Farewell: and Maia'a guiding 

Son 
Back lead thee t«i thy hearth and fire, 
£geua; and all the long deaire 
That wasteth thee, at last be wtm: 
Our eyes have seen thee aa thou art, 
A gentle and a righteous heart. 
Mbdxa. God, and God's Justice, and ye 
blinding Skies! 
At last the victory dawnethl Yea, mine 

eyea 
See, and my foot is on the mouotain'a brow. 
Mine enemieel Mine enemiea, oh, now 
Atonement Cometh t Hereat my wont hour 



faat 

Mine anchor, and eac^ie them at the last 
In Athens' wdKd hill. — But en the end 
'Tis meet I show thee all my oounael, 

Take it, no tale to make men laugh withall 
Straightway to Jaaon I will send some 
thrall 
To entreat him to my presence. Comes he 

Then with actft reaaona will I feed hia ear, 
How hii will now is my wiQ, how all things 
Are well, touching this marriage-bed of 

kings 
For which I am betrayed — all wise and 

Andpra6tablel Vet will I make one prayer. 
That my two children be no more ^iled 
But stay. . . . Oh, not that I would leave a 

child 
Here upon angry ahorea till those have 

laughed 
Who hate me: 't is that I will slay by craft 
The king's daughter. With gifts tbey shall 

be sent, 
Gif ta to the bride to spare their baniahment 
Fine robinga and a carcanet of gold. 
Which raiment let her once but take, and 

fokl 
About her, a foul death that girl (diall die 
And all who touch her in her agony. 
Such poison shaU they drink, my rohe and 

wreath! 
Howbeit, of that no more. I goash my 

teeth 
Thinking on what a path my feet must 

Thereafter, I shall lay those children 

dead — 
Mine, whom no hand shall Bt«al from me 

away! 
Then, leaving Jason childless, and the day 
Aa night above him, I will go my road 
To exile, flying, flying from the blood 
Of these my beet-beloved, and having 

wrought 
All horror, so but one thing reach me not. 
The laugh of them that hate us. 

Let it oome! 
What profits life to meT 1 have no home. 



So country now, nor shield from any wrong. 
Tliat w«s my evil hour, wheb down the 

long 
Halls of my father out I stole, my will 
Chuned by a Greek man'i voice, who still, 

oh, stm. 
If God yet live, shall all requited be. 
For never child of mine shall Jason see 
Hereafter living, never child t>eget 
FYom his new bride, who this day, dceolate 
Even as she made me desolate, shall die 
Shrieking amid my poisons. . . . Namee 

Among your folk? One light? One weak 

of hand? 
An eastern dreamer? — Nay, but with the 

Of strange suns burnt, my hate, by God 

A perilous thing, and passing sweet my 

For these it is that make life glorious. 
Lkaseb. Since thou hast bared thy fell 
intrait to us, 
I, loving thee, and helping in their need 
Han's laws, adjure thee, dream not of this 
deed! 
McDE*. lliere is no other way. — I par- 
don thee 
lliy littleness, who art not wronged like 

Leaoeb. Thou canst not IdU the fruit 

thy body borel 
Mbdba. Y«s: if the man I hate be pained 

the more. 
Lmaseb. And thou made miserable, 

most miserable? 
Mboea. Oh, let it comel All words of 
good'or ill 
Are wasted now. 

liSAe elapt her hand*: the Nvrte 
cornea out from the houae.] 
Ho, woman; get thee gone 
And lead lord Jason hither. . . . There is 



like thee, to work me these 1 
But speak no word of what my purpose is. 
As thou art faithful, thou, and bold to try 
All succors, and a woman even as II 

[The Nitru deparU-l 
Cbobvb. The bodb of £^«ohtheus, the 



EA n 

Whom high gods planted of yore 
In an old land of btnven upholden, 

A proud land untrodden of war: 
They are hungered, and, lo, their desire 

With wisdom is fed as with meat: 
In their skies is a shining of fire, 

A joy in the fall of their feet: 
And thither, with manifold dowers. 

From the North, from the hills, from tiia 

The Muses did gather their powers. 
That a child of the Nine should be bom; 

And Harmony, sown as the flowers, 
-Grew gold in the acres of com. 

And Cephisus, the fair-flowing river — 

The Cyprian dipjung her hand 
Hath drawn of his dew, and the shiver 

Of her touch is as joy in the land. 
For her breathing in fragrance is written. 

And in music her path as she goes. 
And the cloud of her hair, it is litten 

With stars of the wind-woven rose. 
So fareth Ae ever and ever. 

And forth of her Ixiaom is blown. 
As dews un the winds of the river, 

An hunger of passions unknown. 
Strong Loves of all godlike endeavor, 

Whom Wisdom shall throne on her 
throne. 

Chobttb — Some Women. But Cephisus 
the fair-flowing, 

Will he bear thee on his shore? 
Shall the land that succors all, succor 

Who art foul among thy kind. 
With the tears of children blind? 
DoBt thou see the red gash growing. 
Thine own burden dost thou see? 

Every side, every way, 
Lo, we kned to thee and pray: 
By thy knees, by thy soul, woman 

One at least thou canst not slay. 
Not thy childl 
Chorus — OCAerr Hast thou ice that 

thou shalt bind it 
To thy breast, and make thee dead 
To thy children, to thine own spirit's 

When the hand knows what it dares. 
When thine eyes look into theirs. 



CtOoi^Ic 



74 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Shalt thou keep by tears unblmded 
Thy dividing of the slain? 

These be deeds not for thee: 
These be thingH that cannot bel 
Thy babes — though thine hardi- 
hood be M, 
When they cling about thy knee, 
'TwmbeweU! 
[Enttr Jasom.] 
StBtOf. I answer to thy call. Though 
fuUof hate 
Thou be, I yet will not bo far abate 
My kindness for thee, nor refuse niine ear. 
Bay in what new desire thou hiAt called me 

Medea. Jason, I pray thee, for my 

words but tiow 
Spoken, forgave me. My bad moods. . . . 

Oh, thou 
At least wilt strive to bear with tbemi 

There be 
Many old deeds of love 'twixt me and thee. 
Lo, I have reasoned with myedf apart 
And chidden: "Why must I be mad, O 

heart 
Of mine: and raging against one whose 

Is wisdom: making me a thing abhorred 
To them that rule the land, and to mine own 
Husband, who doth but that which, being 

done, 
^11 help us all — to wed a queen, and get 
Young kings for brethren to my sons? And 

I rage alone, and cannot q[uit my rage — 

What aileUi me? — when Ood sends bar- 
borage 

So simpleT Have I not my childrenT Know 

I not we are but exHee, and must go 

Beggared and friendless else?" Thought 
upon thought 

Bo ^HWed me, till I knew mysdf full- 
fraught 

With bitteniGes of heart and blinded eyes. 

So now — I give thee thanks: and hold 
thee wise 

To have caught this anchor for our aid. 
The fool 

Was I; who should have been thy friend, 
thy tool; 

Gone wooing with thee, stood at thy bedside < 



Serving, and wdcomed duteously thi 

But, as we are, we are — I will not say 
Mere evil — women! Why must thou to> 

Turn strange, and make thee like some evil 

ChildiBh, to meet my ^Aildish passioningT 
See, I surrender: and confess tibat then 
I httd bad thoughts, but now have turned 

again 
And found my wisv mind. 

[She claps htr hanibi 
Ho, children I Run 
Quickly I Come hither, out into the sun, 
{The Children come from the houte, 
foOomed by tlieir Attendant.] 
And greet your father. Wdoome him with 

And throw quite, quite away, as mother 

does, 
Your anger against one so dear. Our peace 
Is made, and all the old bad war shall cease 
Forever. — Go, and take his hand. . . . 

[At the Children go to Jason, she 

tuddenly bvrgls into tears. The 

Children qitudcly return la her; 

ahe reeovera hernii, emUing amid 

her tear*.] 

I am full of hidden bbrrorsi . . . Shall it be 
A long time more, my children, that ye live 
To reach to me those dear, dear armsT . . . 

Forgive I 
I am so ready with my tears to-d&y, 
And full of diead. ... 1 sought to smoott 

away 
The bng strife with your father, and, lo, 

I have all drowned with teais this little 
browl [She mpe» the ehUd'e /ocej 
LxASER. O'er mine eyes too there steal- 
etb a pate tear: 
Let the evil rest, O Ood, let it rest herel 
Jason. Woman, indeed I pruss th« 
now, nor say 
111 irf thine other hour. 'T is nature's wi^, 
A woman needs must stir herself to wiathf 
When work of marriage by so strange a 

Crosseth her lord. Bat thou, thine hewt 
doth wend 



. Google 



Tlw h^qiJOT roul. Thou hast geen, ere 

quite the end, 
What choice miut needs be atronger: which 

Shows a wise-minded wonum. . . . And for 

you, 
Children; your father never has foreot 
Your needs. If God but help him, he hath 

wrought 
A Btrong deliverance for your weakneae. 

Ya, 
I think you, with youi brethren, yet one 

day 
Shall be the mightieet voioea in this land. 
Do you grow tall and strong. Your father's 

Guideth all else, and whateo power divine 
Bath alway helped him. . . . Ah, may it be 



How? 
Vt^nan, thy face is turned. Thy cheek is 

With pallor of strange tears, Dost not 

Mcept 
Okdiy and of good will my benisonsT 
Medka. 'Tia nothing. Thinking of 

tiieae littie onee. . . . 
Jabon. Take heart, then. I will guard 

them from all ill. 
Mn>EA. I do take heart. Thy word I 
never wiQ 
Hiatftut. Alas, a woman's boaom bears 
But woman's courage, a thing bom for 
tears. 
Jason. What aila theef — All too sore 

thou weepeet there. 
Hedxa. I was their mother! When I 
heard thy pnyer 
Of long life for them, there swept over me 
A honor, wondering how tbwe thin^ shall 
be. 
But for the matter of my need that thou 
Bhould speak with me, part I have sud, 

and now 
Win finish. — - Seeing it is the king's behest 
To cast me out from Corinth . . . aye, and 

best, 
hr best, for roe — I know it — not to 



Longer to trouble thee and those who swa^ 
The realm, being hdd to all their hquse a 

foe. . . . 
Behold, I spread my soils, and meekly go 
To exile. But our children. . . . Could this 

land 
Be still their home awhile: could thine own 

But guide their boyhood. . . . Seek the 

king, and pray 
His pity, that he bid thy children stayl 
jASOif. He is hard to move. Yet surely 

't were well done. 
Medea. Bid her — for thy sake, for a 

' daught«r'a boon. . . . 
Jason. Well thought! Her I can fashion 

to my mind. 
MxDSA. Surely, ^e is a woman like her 

kind 

Yet 1 will aid thee in Uiy labor; I 

Will send her gifts, the fairest gifts that lie 

In the hands of men, thii^ of the days oT 

old, 
Fine robings and a carcanet of g<dd. 
By the boys' hands. — Go, quit^, some 

handmaiden. 
And fetch the raiment. 

[A handmaid goei inio the AtniM.] 
Ah, her cup shall then 
Be filled indeed! what mora should woman 

Being wed with thee, the bravest of the 

And girt with raiment which of old tte 

Of all my house, the Sun, gave, steeped Id 

fire. 
To his own fiery race? 

[The handmaid hat relumed bear- 
tn0 the giflt-] 
Come, children, lift 
With heed theae caskets. Bear them as 

your gift 
To her, toeing bride and princess and oi 

Blessedl — I think ahe will not hold them 

light. 
Jason. Fond woman, why wilt empty 

thus thine hand 
Of treasure? Doth King Creon's caatic 

In stint of raiment, or in sUnt of ciddT 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Keep theee, and malce no gift. For if she - 

hold 
Jaaon of any worth at aU, I swear 
Ghattela like theee will not weigh more 

with hv. 
Medea. Ah, chide me noti 'T is written, 

gifts persuade 
The gods in heaven; and gold is stronger 

made 
Thau words innumerable to bend mi 

Fortune ie hen. Ood maketh great her 

days: 
Young and a orownU queen! Andbaoish- 

For those two babes. ... I would not gold 

But life's blood, ere that come. 

My children, go 
Forth into those rich halls, and, bowing 

low. 
Beseech yotu father's bride, whom I obey, 
Ye be not, of her mercy, cast away 
Esiled : and give the cadcct« — above all 
Mark thiet — to ikone but her, to hold 

withal 
And keep. . . . Qo quickl And let your 

mother know 
Soon the good tiding that she longs for. . . . 
Ool 

[She goes quickly into the htnite. 
Jabon and Ike Children with 
lAetr AUendarU depart.] 
Cbobtis. Now I have no hope more of 

the children's living; 
No hope more. They are gone forth unto 
death. , 
The bride, she talceth the poison of their 
giving; 
She taketh the bounden gold and open- 
eth; 
And the crown, the crown, she lifteth about 

her brow, 
Where the light brown curls are clustering. 
No hope now I 

O sweet and cloudy gleam of the garments 

golden! 
The robe, it hath clasped ber breast and 

the crown her head. 
Then, then, she decketb the bride, as a 

bride, of olden 



Story, that gaeth pale to the kiss of the 

For the ring hath rfoeed, and the port^ 

of death is there; 
And she fiieth not, but perisheth unaware. 
Chorcs — Some Women. O bridegroom, 
bridegroom of the kiss so cold, 
Art thou wed with prinoes, art thou girt 
with gold. 
Who know'st not, suing 
For thy child's undoing, 
And, on h^ Uiou lovest, for a doom on. 

told? 
How art thou fallen from thy place of oldl 
Chokus ^ CMAsrt. O Mother, motJier, 
what hast lAou to reap, 
When the harvest cometh, between wake 
and sleep? 
For a heart unslaken, 
For a troth forsaken, 
Lo, babee that call thee fVom a bloody deep: 
And thy love returns not. Get thee forth 
and weep! 

[EjUer the AtUndant toiih the tmo Children; 

Medea ermies out from the houie.] 

Attendant. Mistress, these childrm 

from their baniahment 

Are spared. The royal bride hath mildly 

bent 
Her hand to accept thy gifts, and all is now 
Peace for the children. — Ha, why standest 

Confounded, when good fortune draweth 

MzDSA. Ah, God! 

Attendant. This chimes not with the 

news I bear. 
Medxa. O God, have mercyl 
Attendant. Is some word of wrath 
Here hidden that I knew not of? And hath 
My hope to give thee joy so cheated mef 
Medea. Thou givest what thou givest: 

I blame not thee. 
ATrENDAMT. Thy brows are all o'ercast: 

thine eyes are filled. . . . 
Mbdba. For bitter need, cAd man! Tha 
gods have willed, 
And mine own evil mind, that this should 

AiTSNDANT. Take heart! Tlqr aaoa oop 
day will bring thee home. 



.CtOoqIc 



Hkdka. HomeT ... I have others to 

aecd home. Woe's mel 
AiTKNDAin'. Bepatient. Manyamother 
before thee 
Bath parted from her children. We poor 

Of men must needs endure what fortune 
brings. 
MKnBA. I will endure. — Go thou with- 
in, and lay 
AH ready that my aoaa may need to-day. 
[The AUindant goet into the Aou*e.1 
children, children mine: and you have 

A land and home, where, leaving me dis- 
crowned 
And desolate, forever you will stay, 
Motherless childrent And I go my way 
To other lands, an exile, ere you bring 
Your fruits home, ere I see you prospering 
Or know your brides, or deck the bridal bed, 
All flowers, and lift your torches overhead. 
Oh, cursM be mine own hard heartl 
'TwasaU 
In vain, then, that I reared you up, so tall 
And fair; in vain I bore you, and was torn 
With those long pitiless pains, when you 

Ah, wondrous hopes my poor heart had in 

you, 
Howyou wouldteodmeinnuneage, and do 
The shroud about me with your own dear 

When I lay cold, blessed in all the lands 
'Aat knew us. And that gentle thought is 

deadl 
Vou go, and I live on, to eat the bread 
Of long years, to myself most full of pain. 
And never your dear eyes, never again, 
Shsil see your mother, far away being 

thrown 
To other sh^Ks of life. . , . My babes, my 

Why gaie ye oo? — What is it that ye see ? 
And lau^ with that last Iaught«r7 . . . 

Woe is me, 
What shall I do? 

Women, my strength is gone, 
Gooe like a dream, since once I looked upon 
Tlioae shining faces. ... I can do it not. 
Qood-bye to all the thoughts that burned 

so hot 



Aforetimel I will take and hide them its, 
Far, fhun men's eyes. Why should I seek 

awar 
So blind: by these bahee' wounds to sting 

again 
Their father's heart, and win myself a pain 
Twice deeper? Never, nevert I forget 
Henceforward all I labored for. 

And yet, 
What is it with meT Would I be a thing 
Mocked at, and leave mine enemies to sting 
UnsmittenT It must be. O coward heart. 
Ever to harbor such soft wordsl — Depart 
Out of my sight, ye twain. 

[The ChUdren go tnj 
And they whose eyes 
Shall hold it sin to share my sacrifice, 
On their heads be itl My hand shall , 

swerve not now. 

Ah, Ah, thou Wrath within met Do nbt 

thou, 
Do not. . . . Down, down, thou tortured 

thing, and spare 
My childreul They will dwell with us, tin, 

Far off, and give thee peace. 

Too late, too late! 
By all Hell's living agonies of hate. 
They shall not take my httje ones idive 
To make their mock with! Howsoe'er I 

The thing is doomed; it shall not escape now 
From being. Aye, the crown is on the brow. 
And the robe girt, and in the robe that high 
Queen dying. 

I know all. Yet . . . seeing that I 
Must go so long a journey, and these twaia 
A longer yet and darker, I would fain 
Speak with them, ere I go. 

[A handmaid brinft Uu ChilAvn 

Come, children; stand 
A little from me. There. Reach out your 

Your right hand — so — to mother: and 
good-bye I 

[/She haa kept Ihem hUherto at arm't- 
letif/th: but 01 the Umrh of their 
hand*, her ruolulion break* 
doim, and the gaUten them pa» 
aianatdji into her armti 



..CiOo<-i\c 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Oh, Hurling handl Oh, darling mouth, and 
And royal mien, and bright brave faces 

Mayyou be blesakl, but not here! What 

here 
Was youre, your father stole. ... Ah God, 

the glow 
Of cheek on cheek, the tender touch; aod 

oh, 
Sweet scent of childhood. . . . Go! Got . . . 

Am I blind? . . . 
Mine eyes can see not, when I look to 

find 
Their places. I am broken by the wings 
Of evil. . . . Yea, I know to what bad 

things 
I go, but louder than all thought doth cry 
Anger, which maketh man's worst misery. 
tSAe foUaws At CkUdren inlo the 

Chobits. My thoughts have roamed a 
cloudy land. 
And heard a fierier music fall 
Ulan woman's heart should stir withal: 
And yet some Muee majestical, 
Unknown, hath hold of woman's hand. 
Seeking for Wisdom — not in all; 
A feeble seed, a scattered band, 
Thou yet shslt find in lonely places, 
Kot dead amongst us, nor our faces 
Turned alway from the Muaes' call. 

And thus my thought would qieak: that 

she 
Who ne'er hath borne a child nor known 
Is nearer to felicity: 
Unlit she goeth and alone. 
With little understanding what 
A child's touch means of joy or woe, 
And many toils she beareth not. 

But they within whose garden fair 
lliat gentle jdant hath blown, they go 
Deep-written all their days with care — 
To rear the children, to make fast 
Their hold, to win them wealth; and 

Much darkness, if the seed at last 
Bear fruit in good or evil menl 
And one thing at the end of all 
Abideth, that which all men dread: ■ 



The wealth is won, the limbs are bred 
To manhood, and the heart withal 
Honest: and, lo, where Fortune smiled. 
Some change, and irtiat hath fallen? Ha^! 
'T is death slow winging to the da^ 
And in his arms what was thy t^ild. 

What therefore doth it bring of gain 
To man, whose cup stood full before. 
That God should send this one thing mofe 
Of hunger and of dread, a door 
Set wide to every wind of pain? 

[MlDEA eoirua mil aloMfroin Oie 

M11DK&. Friends, this long hour I wait 
on Fortune's eyes, 
And strain my senses in a hot surmise 
What passeth on that hill. — Ha! even now 
There comes ... 't is one of Jason's men. 

His wild-perturb&d breath doth warrant 
The tidings of some strange csJamity. 
[Enter Metaen^.] 
Mbbszngkb. O dire and ghastly deedl 
Get thee away, 
Medeal Myl Nor let behind thee sUy 
One chariot's wing, one keel that sweqis 

MxDEA. And what hath chanced, to 
cause such flights as these? 

MB8BKNQKR. The maiden prinoess lietb 
— and her sire. 
The king — both murdered by thy poiaon- 

Mkdka. Most happy tiding! Which thy 

Henceforth among my friends and well- 
wishers. 
MBBSENOza. What say'st thou? Wom- 
an, is thy mind within 

Clear, and not raving? Thou art found in 

Most bloody wrought against the king's 

highhesd, 
And laugheet at the tale, and hast no dreadT 
Medea. I have words also that oould 

answer wdl 
Thy word. But take thine ease, good friend, 

and tell. 
How died they? Hath it been a very foul 



DMth, pritheeT Tlut were oomfort to my 

Mebbinger. When thy two children, 

hand m hand entwmed, 
Cune with their father, aad passed on to 

find 
The Dew-made bridal rooms, oh, we were 

Slad, 
We thralls, who ever loved thee well, and 

had 
Grief in thy grief. And straight there 

passed a word 
nom ear to ear, that thou and thy false 

lord 
Had poured peace oSeriug upon wrath 

iotegone. 
A right i^ welcome gave we them, and 

Kined the small hands, and one the shining 

Mysdf, for very joy, I followed where 
The women's rooms are. There our mis- 

trfSB . . . she 
Whom now we name so . . . thinldng not to 

Thy little pair, with glad and eager brow 
Sate waiting Jason. Then she saw, and 

Shrouded her eyes, and backward turned 
again, . 

Sick that thy children should ciane near 
her. Then 

Thy husband quick wmt forward, to en- 
treat 

The young maid'a fitful wrath. "Thou wilt 
not meet 

Love's coming with unldndncM? Nay, 

Thy suddenness, and turn thy face again, 
HcJding as friends all that to me are dear, 
Thine husband. And accept these robes 

they bear 
As gifta: and beg thy father to unmake 
His doom of exile on them — for my sake." 
When once she saw the raiment, she could 

stiU 
Her joy no more, but gave him all his will. 
And almost ere the father and the two 
cauldron Wtte gone from out the room, she 

drew 
He flowered garments forth, and sale her 



To her arraying: bound the golden crown 
Through h^ long curls, and in a mirror 

fair 
Arranged their separate clusters, smiling 

there 
At the dead self that faced her. Then 

aride 
She pushed her seat, and paced those cham- 
bers wide 
Alone, her white foot poising ddicately — 
So passing joyful in those gifts was shel — ' 
And many a time would pause, straight- 
limbed, and whed 
Her head to watch the long fold to her had 
Sweeping. And then came something 

strange. Her cheek 
Seemed pale, and back with crooked steps 

and weak 
Groping of arms she walked, and scarcely 

Her old seat, that she fell not to the 

grouikd. 
Among the handmaids was a woman old 
And gray, who deemed, I think, that Pan 

had hold 
Upon her, or some spirit, and raised a keen 
Awakening shout; till through her lipe was 

seen 
A whit« foam crawling, and her eyeballs 

back 
Twisted, and all her face daad pale for lack 
Of life: and while that old dame called, the 

cry 
Turned strangdy to its ontoaita, to die 
Sobbing. Oh, swiftly then one woman flew 
To seek her fatiier's rooms, one for the new 
Bridegroom, to tell the tale. And all the 

place 
Was loud with hurrying feet. 

So long a spaoe 
As a swift walker on a measured way 
Would pace a furiong's course in, there she 

lay 
BpeechlMs, with veiled lids. Tlien wide her 

eyes 
She oped, and wildly, as she strove to rise. 
Shrieked: for two dlvene waves upon her 

rolled 
Of stabbing death. The carcanet of gold 
That gripped her brow was molten in a 



dire 
And wondrous rive 



fin. 



.CtOo^^Ic 



So 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



And those fine robea, the gift thy children 

gave — 
God's mercy I — everywhere did lap and 

The ddicate flesh; till up she ajwaiig, and 

fled, 
A fiery pillar, shaking locks and head 
This way and that, seeking to caat the 

Somewhere away. But like a thing nailed 

The bumiag gold held fast the anadein. 
And through her locks, the more she scat- 
tered them. 
Came fit« the fiercer, till to earth she fell 
A thing — save to her sire — scarce name- 
able, 
And strove no more. That cheek of roysl 

Where WM it — or the place where eyea 

had been? 
Only from crown and temples came faint 

blood 
Shot through with fire. The very flesh, it 

Out from the bones, as from a wounded 

The gum starts, where those gnawing poi- 

Bit in the dark — a ghastly sight! And 

The dead we duist not. We had seen too 

But that poor father, knowing not, had 

Swift t« his daughter's room, and there the 

dead 
Lay at his feet. He knelt, and groaning 

Folded her in bis arms, and kissed her: 

"Oh, 
Unhappy child, what thing unnatural hatfa 
So hideously undone thee? Or what wrath 
Of gods, to make this old gray sepulcher 
Childless of thee? Would God but lay me 

To die with thee, my daught«r1" So he 

But after, when he stayed from tears, and 

tried 
To uplift his <Ad bent frame, lo, in the folds 
Of those fine robce it held, as ivy hdds 



A ghastly struggle camel Again, again. 
Up on his knee be writhed; but that dead 

breast 
Clung still to hie: till, wild, like one poa- 

He dragged himself half free; and, lo, the 

Flesh ported; and he laid him down to 

No more with death, but periah; for the 

Had risen above his aoul. And there they 

sleep, 
At last, the old proud Father and the brid^ 
Even as his tears had craved it, side by 

For thee — Oh, no word morel Thysdf 

will know 
How beet to baffle yengeanoe. . . .Long ago 
1 looked upon man's days, and found a 

gray 
Shadow, And this thing mot« I surely say, 
That those of all men who are counted wise. 
Strong wits, devisers of great policies, 
Do pay the bitterest toll. Since life begaa, 
HatJi there in God's eye stood one happy 

Fair days roll on, and bear more gifts or less 
Of fortune, but to no man happineaa. 

[Exit JIf nsen^er.) 

Chobob — Some Women. Wrath upon 

wrath, meeeems, this day shall fall 

From Godon Joaonl He hatJi earned it aU- 

Chords — Other Women. O miaerable 

maiden, all my heart 

Is torn for Uiee, so sudden to depart 

From thy king's ehambeia and the li^t 

To daikneas, all for sake of Jason's lovel 
Medea. Women, my mind ia clear. I go 
to slay 
My children with all speed, and then, away 
From hence; not wait yet longn till they 

Beneath another and an angrier hand 
To die. Yea, howsoe'er I shidd Utem, die 
They must. And, semng that they must, 

'tis I 
ShaU slay tlwm, 1 their mother, touched of 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



Bcaide. Oh, up, and get thine armor on, 
My hearti Why longer t»ry we to win 
Our cit>wn of due inevitable sin? 
Take up thy sword, poor right hand of 

Hiy Bword : then onward to the thin-drawn 

Where life turns agony. Let tbete be naught 
Of acrftnesB now: and 1(ecp thee from that 

tJunii^t, 
" Bean of thy fleeh," "thine own beIov6d." 

Now, 
For one brief day, forget thy children : thou 
Shalt weep horeafter. Though thou sl^ 

tb^, yet 
Sweet were th^. ... I am sore unfortu- 
nate. [Sft< goet irtlo tht lufuae.] 
Cbobdb — Some Women. Earth, our 
mother; and thou 
All-deer, arrowy crown 
Of Sunlight, manward now 

Look down, oh, look downl 
Lo(A upon one accurst, 
Ek yet in blood she twine 
Bed hands — blood that is thine! 
O Sun, ^ve her firstl 
She is Uiy daughter still. 

Of thine own golden line; 
Sftve herl Or shall man spill 
The life divine? 
Give peaoe, O Fire that dieat not! Send 
thyepeU 
To stay her yet, to lift her afar, afar ~ 
A torture-chaogM spirit, a voice of HeU 
Wrought <rf old wrongs and warl 
Chmhis — Others. AIbb for the mother's 

Wasted! Alas the dear 
life that was born in vain! 

Woman, what mak'st thou here 
Thou from beyond the Gate 

Where dim Symplegsdes 

Clash in the dark blue seas, 
The shores where death doth wait? 
Why haat thou taken on thee, 

To make us desolate, 
This«nger of misery 
And guilt of hate? 
For fierce are the mutings back of blood 

once shed 
Where love hath been : God's wratli upon 

them that kill. 



i£A 81 

And an anguished earth, and the wonder of 
the dead 
Haunting as music atiU. . . . 

[A cry u heard tmihin.] 
A Woman. HnrkI Did ye hear? Heard 

ye the children's cry? 
Amotbtr. O miserable woman! O ab- 
horred I 
A Cmui lioilhin]. What sbaU I doT 
What is it? Keep me fast 
From mother! 
Thb Othkb Chiu). I know ootbiDg. 
Brothert Oh, 
I think she means ta kill us. 

A Woman. Let me go! 
I will — Hdpt Hdpl — and save them at 
the last. 
A CHtu>. Yes, in God's name! Help 

quickly ere we die! 
The Other Chiid. She has almost 
caught me now. She has a sword. 
IManji <^ the -Mnnen are notn beot- 
ing at the barred door to gel in. 
Other % are etartding apori.) 
WouEN lai the door]. T^u stone, thou 
thing of ironi Wilt verily 
Spill with tfiine hand that life, Uie vintage 

stored 
Of thine own agony? 
The Other Women. A mother slew 

her babea in days of yore. 
One, only one, from dawn to eventide, 
Ino, god-roaddened, whom the Queen 
of Heaven 
Set frensied, flying to the dark: and 



Cast her for 8< 



V totl 



Forth from those rooms of murder 
imforgiven, 
Wild-footed from a white crag of the shore, 
And clasping still her children twain, she 
died. 

O Love of Woman, charged with sorrowaore. 

What hast thou wrought upon us? What 

beside 

Resteth to tremble for? 

[£nter hurriedly Jabon and Attendant*.] 

3teoM. Ye women by this doorwi^ diw 



tering 



.Goog[c 



Si 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



^wak, is the doer of the ghastly thing 
Yet here, or fled? What hopeth aha of 

fli^t? 
Shall the deep yawn to ehield her? Shall 

the height 
Send wings, and hide her in the vaulted 

Bky 
To work red murder on her lords, and 

% 

Unrecompensed? But let her gol My care 
Ib but to save my children, not for htr. 
Let them she wronged requite her aa they 

may; 
I care not. Tis my sons I must some 

way 
Save, ere the kinamen of the dead can 

From them the payment of their mothn's 
sin. 
Lbasir. Unhappy man, indeed thou 
knowest not 
What datlc plaoe thou art come tol Else, 

Ood wot, 
Jason, no word like thtse could fall from 
thee. 
Jabon. What is it? — Hal The woman 

would kill me? 
LxADEB. Thy sons are dead, slnin by 

their mother's hand. 
Jabon. How? Not the children, ... I 
scarce understand. . . . 
O God, thou hast bn^en me! 

Lbadeb. Think of thoae twain 
&8 things onoe fair, that ne er shall bloom 
again. 
Jason. Where did she murder them? In 

that old room? 
l3AnBS. Open, and thou shalt see thy 

children's doom. 
Jason. Ho, thralls! Unloose me yonder 
barsi Make more 
Of epeedl Wrench out the jointing of the 

And show my two-edged curse, the chil- 
dren dead; 
The woman. . . . Oh, this sword upon her 

head 

{WkUe the AUendanU are stiU btO- 
tering at Ott door, Medea a-p- 
peari on the roqf, sUmding on a 
chariot <4 viatQed dragoni, in 
uAtcA ore the chUdren't hodiet.] 



Medea. What make ye at my gate^ 
Why battM ye 
With braeen bars, seeking the dead and 

Who slew them? Feaoel . . . And thou, L 

Bu^t of mine 
Thou noedest, speak, though never touch 

of thine 
Shall scathe me more. Out of his firma- 

My fathers' father, the high Sun, hath sent 
This, that shall save me from mine enemies' 

rage 
Jason. Thou living hatel Thou wife in 

every age 
Abfaorr&l, Uood-red mother, who didst kill 
My Bonn, and make me as the dead: and 

still 
Canst take the sunshine to thine eyes, and 

The green earth, reeking from thy deed of 

bell; 
1 curse thee] Now, oh, now mjne eyee can 

see. 
That then were blinded, when from sav 

agwy 
Of eastern chambers, from a cruel land, 
To Greece and home I gathered in mine 

Thee, thou iticamate curse: one that be- 
trayed 

Her home, her father, her . . . Oh, God 
hath laid 

Thy sins on me! — I knew, I knew, there 
lay 

A brother murdered on thy hearth that da] 

When thy first footstep fell on Argo*! 
huU. . . . 

Argo, my own, my swift and beautiful! 
That was h^ first beginning. Then a 
wife 

I made htr in n^ house. She bore to life 

Children; and now for love, for chambering 

And men's arms, she bath murdered themi 
A thing 

Not one of all the maids of Greece, not 

Had dreamed of; whom I spumed, and for 

mine own 
Chose thee, a bride of hate to me and 

llgress, not woman, beast of wilder breatb 



Hum So^U Bhridcing o'er the Tuscan am. 
Gnoa^! No soom of mine can reach to 

thee, 
Such iron ia o'k" thine eyes. Out fpom my 

Thou erime-begetter, blind with children's 

blood! 
And let me weep alone the hitter tide 
That sneepeth Jason's days, no gentle 

To speak witii more, no child to look 

upon 
Whom oDoe I reared ... all, tdl forever 

Mkdka. An easy answer had I to this 

■well 
Of qieech, but Zeus our father knoweth 

well. 
An I for thee have wrought, and thou for 

So let it rest. This thing was not to be, 
That thou ahouldat live a merry life, my 

bed 
Forgotten and my heart unoomforted. 
Thou nor thy princess: nor the king that 



Thy marriage drive Medea from fais land, 
And suffer not. Call me what thing thou 

tdease, 
Tigrees or Stella from the Tuscan seas: 
My etawB have gripped thine heart, and all 

things shine. 
Jasok. Thou too hast grief. Thy pain is 

fierce as mine. 
Medea. I love the pain, so thou shnlt 

laugh no more. 
Jason. Ob, what a womb of sin my chil- 
dren borel 
Medea. Sons, did ye perish fpr your 

father's shame? 
Jason. How? It was not my hand that 

murdered them. 
Medea. 'T was thy false wooings, 't was 

thy trampling pride. 
Jabon. Thau hast said it! For thy lust 

of love they died. 
Medea. And love to women a sli^t 

thing should be? 
Jabok. To women pure! — All thy vile 

lifetotheet 
Medea. Tliink of thy toiment. They 

are dead, th^ aie deadi 



lEA 8] 

Jabom. No*, quick, great God; quick 

ouTBca round thy head! 
Medea. The gods know who began Ihii 

woik of woe. 
Jason, lliy heart and all its loathlinen 

they know. 
MxDBA. Loathe on. . . . But, oh, thy 

voice. It hurts me sore. 
Jabon. Aye, and thine me. Wouldst 

hear me then no more? 
Medea. How? Show me but the Wi^. 

'T is this I craw. 
Jabon. Give me the dead to weep, and 

make their grave. 
Mbdea. Nevecl Myself will lay thou 
mastill 
Green sepulcher, where Hera by the Hill 
Hath precinct holy, that no angry men 
May break their graves and cast them forth 

again 
To evil. So I lay on all this shore 
Of Corinth a hi^ feast forevermore 
And rite, to purge them yearly of the 

stain 
Of this poor blood. And I, to PaUas' plain 
I go, to dwell beside Pandion's son, 
£geus. — For thee, b«>hDld, death draw- 

ethon, 
Evil and lonely, like thine heart; the bande 
Of thine old Argo, rotting where she stands. 
Shall smite thine head in twain, and bitter 

be 
To the last end thy memories of me. 

[She ritei on the chariot and it 
alowl]/ bom« awaj/.] 
Jason, May They that hear the weeping 
child 
Blast thee, and They that walk in blood! 
Medea. Thy broken vows, thy friends 
beguiled 
Have shut for thee the ears of God. 
Jabon. Go, thou art wet with children'E 

Medea. Go thou, and lay thy bride to 

sleep. 
Jabon. Childless, I go, to weep and 

Medea. Not yetl Age cometh and loi% 

years. 
Jason. My sons, mine own! 
Medea. Not thme, but mina . ■ ■ 
itBtm. . . . Who slew theml 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Mkdea. Ym: to torture thee. 

Jason. Once let me Iobb their lips, once 

Mine arms and touch. , . . Ah, woelsmel 
Mkdea. Wouldst love them and eo- 
treatT But now 

They were as nothing. 
Jasom. At the last, 

O God, to touch that tender browl 

Medea. Thy words upon Uie wind are 

Jabon. Thou, ZeuB, wilt hear me. All is 

said 
For naught. E am but spiuned away 
And trampled by this tjgreaa, red 
With children's blood. Yet, come what 
may, 
So far as thou host granted, yea, 
So far aa yet my strength may atand, 



I weep upon theae dead, and any 
Their last farewell, and raise my hand 

To all the demons of the air 
In witness of thme things; how she 
Who slew them, will not suffer me 
To gather up my babes, nor bear 
To earth their bodies; whom, O stone 
Of women, would I ne'er had known 
Nor gotten, to be slain by thee! 

[He eatU kimadj upon Oie earOt] 
Cnonns. Great treasure halb hath Zeui 

From whence to man strange dooms be 

Past hope or fear. 
And the «nd men looked for cometh cot, 
And a path is there where no man thou^t 

So hath it fallen here. 



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THE FROGS 

By ARISTOPHANES 
1 vmi fyJOH/iT HOOKHAM FRBRB 



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CHARACTERS 

Bacchus 

Xanthias, aervatU of Bo'xkui 

HERCrLES 

Charon 

ifiAcua 

euripideb 

jEschtlcs 

Ploto 

Dead Man 

Proserpinh's SerwaU Maid 

Two Women Svtlera 

Muiea 

Clwrua of Votarua, and Frogt 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



THE FROGS 



lEiUer Bacchcs and XAHTHiAa.] 
Xantbub. MsBter, Hhall I begin with 
the usual jokea 
Ilutt the audience always laugh at? 

Bacchus. If you please; 
Any joke you please except "being over- 
burthen' d." 
— Don't use it yet — We've time enough 

Xanthias. Well, Bomething olae that's 

comical and clever? 
Bacchus. I forbid being "overprees'd 

and overburthen'd." 
Xanthias. Well, but the drollecrt joke 

otaU— ? 
Baccbus. Remember 
Here's one thing I protest against — 
Xanthias. What's that? 
Bacchus. Why, shifting ofi your load to 
the other shoulder, 
And fidgeting and complaining of the gripca. 
Xanthias. What then do you mean to 
say, that I must not say 
That I 'm ready U> befoul myself? 

Bacchus. By no means — 
Except when I take an emetic. 

Xanthias. What 'a tho use, then, 
Of my being burthen'd here with all these 

bundles. 
If I'm to be dqnived of the common jokes 
That Phrynichus, and Lycis, and Ameipsiaa 
Allow the servants always in their comediss, 
Without exception, when they carry bun- 
dles? 
Bacchus. Pray, leave them off — for 
those ingenious sallies 
Have such an effect upon my health and 

That I fed grown (Ad and dull when I get 

Xanthias. It's hard for me to suffer in 
my limbs. 
To be overtHuthen'd and ddjarr'd from 



Bacchus. Well, this is monstrous, quite, 
and insupportable! 

I servant! When your 



Is going afoot and has provided you 
With a beast to carry ye. 
Xanthias. WhatI do I carry nothini;? 
Bacchus. You're carried yourself. 
Xanthias. But I carry bundles, don't IT 
Bacchus. But the beast bears all the 

burdens that you carry. 
Xanthias. Not those that I carry my- 
self — 't is I that carry 'em, 
Bacchus. You're carried yoursdf, I t«l] 

ye. 
Xanthias. I can't explain it, 
But I feel it in my shouldetB plainly enough. 
Bacchus. Wdl, if the beast don't help 
you, take and try; 
Change places with the ass and cany him 
Xantsias {in a lone oj mtre diaffutt]. 
Oh, dear! I wish 1 had gone for a volunteer. 
And left you to yooradf. I wish I had. 
Bacchus. Dismount, you rascal I Here, 
we're at the bouse 
Where Hercules lives. — Hellol ther* 
who's within there? 

[EnUr Hercules,] 
Hebcuim. Who's there? (He hu 
bang'd at the door, whoever he is, 
With the kick of a centaur.) What's the 
matter, there? 
Bacchus latide], Hal XanthiasI 
Xanthiab. What? 
Bacchus [aside]. Did ye mind how he 

was frightcm'd? 
Xanthias. I suppose he was afraid you 

were going mad. 
Hbbcules [aside]. By Jovel I shall 
laugh outright; I'm ready to burst. 
I shall laugh, in spite of myself, upon my life. 
Bacchus. Come hither, friend. — What 
ails ye? Step this way; 
I want to speak to ye. 



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88 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Hercui-bb. But I can't help laughing, 
To see the lion'e skin with a saffron robe, 
And the club iiith the women's sandale — 

altogether — 
What's the meaning of it all? Have you 
been abroad? 
Bacchus. I've been abroad — in the 

Fleet — with Gleisthenes. 
HattcoLEa. You fought — ? 
Bacchus. Yes, that we did — we gain'd 
a victory; 
And we sunk the enemies' ships — thirteen 

HE1ICCI.BB. "So you woke at last aud 

found it was a dream?" 
Bacchus. But aboard the fleet, as I pur- 
sued my studies, 
I read the tragedy of Andromeda; 
And ^en such a vehement passion struck 

my heart, 
You can't imagine. 

Hkrculbs. a small one, I suppose, 
My little fellow — a moderate little ,pas- 

Bacchus. It's just as small 1.8 Molon is 
— that's all — 
Molon the wreetler, I mean — as small as 

HzHcuLES. Weil, what was it like? what 

kind of a thing? what was it? 
Bacchus. No, friend, you must not 
laugh; it's past a joke; 
It's quite a serious fedjng — quite dis- 
tressing; 
I suffer from it — 
HEncin,ES. Well, ejtplain. What was it? 
Bacchus. I can't declare it at once; but 
I 'Q explain it 
Theatrically and enigmatically: 
Were you ever seised with a sudden pas- 
sionate longing 
For a mess of porridge? 

HERCULCe. Often enough, if that's all. 
Bacchus. Shall I state the matter to 
you plainly at once: 
Or put it circumlocutorily? 
HjercuijBS. Not about the porridge. I 

understand your instance. 
Bacchus. Such is the passion that poe- 

Por poor Euripides, that's dud and 
gone; 



And it's all in vain people trying to per- 

From going sft«r him. 
HHHcuiiBs. What, to the shades belowT 
Bacchus. Yes, to the shades below, <» 
the shades beneath 'em. 
To the undermost shades of all. 1 'm quite 
determined. 
Hbrcitlbb. But what's your object? 
Bacchus. Why my c^ject is 
That I want a clever poet — "for the good, 
The gracious and the good, are dead and 

gone; 
The worthleas and the weak are left alive." 
Hebcui<es. Is not lopfaoa a good one? 

— He's alive sure? 
Bacchvs. If he's a good one, he's our 
only good one; 
But it 's aqueetion ; I 'm in doubt about him. 
Hkbcules. There 'h Sophocles; he 's 
older than Euripides — 
If you go so far for 'em, you'd best bring 

Bacchob. No; first I '11 toy what lophon 

Without hia father, Sophodee, to assist him. 

— Besides, Euripides is a clever rascal; 

A sharp, contriving rogue that will make a 

shift 
To desert and steal away with me; the other 
Is an easy-minded soul, and always was. 
HBECuua. Where 's Agathon? 
Bacchus. He's gone and left me too, 
Regretted by his friends; a worthy poet — 
Hercuuis. Gone! Where, poor soul? 
Bacchus. To the banquets of the blestt 
Hercules. But then you 'veXeaocles — 
Bacchus. YesI a pldgue upon himl 
Hercules. Pythangelus too — 
Xanthtab. But nobody thinks of me; 
Standing all this while with the bundles on 
my shoulder. 
HE«ctri.BB. But have not you oth» 
young ingenious youths 
That are fit to out- talk Euripides ten times 

ovm; 
To the amount of a tboustuid, at least, all 
writing tragedy — ? 
Bacchus. They're good for nothing — 
" Warblere of the Grove" — 

— "Little, foolish, fluttering things" — 

poor puny wretches. 



Google 



THE FROGS 



That dawdle and dangle about with the 

tragic muse; 
Incapable of any serious meaning — 

— There's not one hearty poet amongst 

them all 
That's fit to risk an adventurous valiant 

Hkbctileb. How — "hearty?" Whatdo 

you mean by "valiant phrases? " 
B&ccBua. I mean a . . . kind ... of a 

. . . doubtful, bold expression 
To talk about . . ."The vieuiless foot of 

Time" — 
And . . . "Jupita^a Seertt Chamber in the 

Skies" — 
And about ... a person's soul . . . not 

being perjured 
When . . . the tongue . . . forswears itself 

... in spite of the soul . 
Hbbcules. Do you like that kind of 

stuff? 
Bacchcs. I'm crazy after it. 
Hercvus. Why, sure, it's trash and 

rubbish — Don't you think bo? 
Bacchus. " Men's fancies ore their own 

— Let mime alone" — 
Hbbculeb. But, in fact, it seems to me 

quite bad — rank nonsoise. 
Bacchus. You 11 tell me next what I 

ought to like for supper. 
Xakthias. But nobody thinks of me 

here, with the bundles. 
Bacchus. — But now to the busineaa 

that I came upon — 
(With the apparel that you see — the some 

as yours) 
To obtain a direction from you to your 

(To apply to them — in case of anything — 
If anything should occur) the acquaint- 
That received you there - — (the time you 
went before 

— For the business about Cerberus) — if 

you'd give me 

Their nam» and their directtons, and com- 
municate 

Any information relative to the coimtry, 

The roods, — the streets, — the bridges, 
and the brothels, 

The wharfs, — the public walks, — Uie 
public houMS, 



Aitd lodgings, — free from bugs and fleas, 

if poeeible, 
If you know any such — 
Xantbus. But nobody thinks of me. 
Hebcuub. What a notion I You I WiU 

you risk it? Are you mad? 
Baochdb. I beseech you say no more — 
no more of that. 
But inform me briefly and plainly about 

my journey; 
The shortest road and the most convenient 

UxRCULEB. Well, — which shall I tell 

ye first, now? — Let me see now — 
There's a. good convenient road by the 

Rope and Noose; 
T^e Hanging Road. 
Bacchus. No; that's too cloae and sti- 
fling. 
Hercules. Then, there's on easy, fair, 

well-beaten track. 
As you go by the Pestle and Mortar — 
Bacchus. What, the Hemlock? 
Hercules. To be sure — 
Bacchus. That's much too cold — it 

will never do. 
They tdl me it strikes a chiU to the legs 

and feet. 
Herccles. Should you like a speedy, 

rapid, downhiU road? 
Bacchus. Indeed I should, for I'm a 

sorry traveler. 
Hercuub. Go to the Keromicus then. 
Bacchus. What then? 
Hercules. Get up to the very top o' 

the tower. 
Bacchus. What then? 
Hercules. Stand there and watch when 

the Race of the Torch begins; 
And mind when you hear the people cry 

"SlaH! atari!" 
Then start at once with 'em. 
Bacchcs. Me?. Start? Where from? 
Hercules. From tlie top of the tower 

to the bottom. 
Bacchus. No, not I. 
It's enough to dash my brains outi I'D 

Su^ a road upon any account. 
Hercules. Well, which way then? 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Eaccbtib. The vay you went yotuadf. 
Herculbb. But it's a long one, 
For first you cooie to a moQatrouB bottom- 
less lake. 
Bacchus. And what must I do to pasaT 
Hebculbs. You'U find a boat there; 
A little tiny boat, as big as that, 
And an old man that femes you over in it, 
KeceiTing twopence as the usual fee. 
Bacchcb. Ahl that same twopence gov- 
erns everything 
Whei«ver it goes. — 1 wonder how it man- 
To find its way there? 

HxBCULES. Theseus introduced it. 
— Next you'll meet aerpentB, snd wild 

beasts, and monsters, 
horrific to behold! 

Bacchub, Don't try to fright me; 
You'll not succeed, I promise you. — I'm 
^termined. 
Hkbculbs. Then there's an abyw of 
mire and floating filth, 
In which the damn'd lie wallowing and 

overwhelm 'd; 
The unjust, the crud, and the inhospit' 

able; 
And the barbarous bilking Cullies that 

withhold 
The price of intercourse with fraud and 

The incestuous, and the parricides, and the 
robbers; 

The perjurers, and assassins, and the 
wretches 

That willfully and |x«8umptuciusly tran- 
scribe 

Extracts and trash from Morsimus's plays. 
Bacchob. And, by Jove! Cinesias with 
his Pyrrhic dancers 

Ought to be there — they're vane, or 
quite as bad. 
HiBcuixB. But after this your sense will 
be saluted 

With a gentle breathing sound of flutes 

And a beautiful spreading light like ours on 

And myrtle glades and happy quires among. 
Of women and men wiUi r^id applause 
and mir^, 
Bacchdb. And who are all those folk*? 



Hebcui^b. The initiated. 
Xanthlab. I won't stand here like t 
mule in a procession 
Any longer, witli these packages and 
bundles. 
HERCuiiES. They'll tell you everything 
you want to know. 
For they're cetsblished close upon ihe 

By the comer of Pluto's bouae — bo fare 

you well; 
Farewell, my little fdlow. lExti.] 

Bacchus. I wish you better. 
[To Xantbias.] You, siirah, take your 

bundles up again. 
Xanthiab, What, before I put them 

down? 
Bacchus. Yeel now, this moment. 
Xantbias. Nahl don't insist; there's 
plenty o! people going 
As corpses with the convenience trf a car- 
riage; * 
They'd take it for a trifle gladly enough. 
Bacchus. But if we meet with nobody? 
Xantbua. Then I'll take 'em. 
Bacchus. Come, oome, that's fairly 
spoken, and in good time; 
For there they're carrying a corpse out to 
be buried. 

\A fwi«ral, wilh a eorpte on an 
open bier, croetet Ihe »lage.\ 
— Hellol you there — you Deadman — 

can't you bear? 
Would you take any bundles to hell with 
ye, my good fellow? 
Dbaduan. What are they7 
Bacchus. These. 
Deaouan. Then I must have two drach- 

Bacchus. I can't — you must take leas 

Deaoman. Bearers, move on. 

Baccbub. No, stop! we shall settle be- 
tween us — you 're so hasty. 

DEAnuAN. It's no use arguing; I mnst 
have two drachmas. 

Bacchub. Ninepcnoel 

Deaduan. I'd best be alive again at 
that rate. [Exit.] 

Baccbus. Fine airs the fellow gives him- 
self — arascal! 
I'll have him punish'd, 1 vow, for over- 
charging. 



THE FROGS 



Xanthiab. Beet give him a good beat- 
ing: give me the bundles, 
111 cany 'an. 
Baccthdb. You're a good, true-hearted 
fdlow; 
And a willing aervant. — Let's move on to 
the fen;. 

[Enttr Charon.] 
Charon. HoyI Bear a hand, tha« — 

Heave ashore. 
Baccbob. What's thu7 
Xanthias. The lake it is — the |4ace he 
told w of. 
fly Jove! and there's the boat — and here's 
old Charon. 
Bacchub. Well, Charon I — Welcome, 

Charon! — Welcome kindly I 
Charon. Who wants the ferryman? 
Anybody waiting 
To remove from the m»tow8 of lifeT A 

pasaage anybody? 
To Lethe'a wharf? — to Cerberus's Reach? 
To Tartarus? — to TRoaruB? — to Perdi- 
tion? 
Bacchus. Yea, I. 
CHARcm. Get in then. 
Bacchub. Tell me, where are you go- 
ii«? 
To Perdition really — ? 

Chabon. Yes, to oblige you, I will 
With ail my heart — Step in there. 

Baccbub. Have a carel 
Take care, good Charonl — Charon, have 

Come, Xanthiae, cornel 

Charon. 1 take no alaves aboard 
Except they've volunteer'd for the uaval 
victory. 
Xanthias. I could not — I was Buffer- 
ing with sore eyes. 
Charon. You must trudge away then, 
round by the end of the lake there. 
Xanthiab. And whereabouts shall I 

wait? 
Chabon. At the Stone of Repentance, 
By the Sh»i^ of Despond beyond the 

Tribulations; 
You understand me? 

Xanthias. Yea, I understand you; 
A lucky, promiaing direction, truly. 
Chabon (lo BAcaHns). Sit dovni at the 



oar — Come quick, if thero'a more 

[To Baochub ofKrin.) Hellol what's that 
you're doing? 

Bacchus. What you told me. 
I'm sitting at the oar. 

Charon. Sit (Acre, I tell you. 
You Patgute; that's your place. 

Bacchus. Well, so I do. 

Chabon. Now ply your hands and anna. 

Bacchus. Well, eo I do. 

Charon. You'd best leave oS your fool- 
ing. Take to the oar, 
And pull away. 

Bacchus. But how shall I oontrive? 
I've never served on board — I'm only a 



I'm quite unuBed to it — 

Charon. We ean manage it. 
As soon aa you begin you shall have some 

That will teach you to keep time. 

Bacchus. What music's that? 

Charon, A chorus of Frogs — uncom- 
mon musical Frogs. 

Bacchus. Well, give me the word and 
the time, 

Chason. Wbooh up, up; whoob up, 
up. 

[Enter Chona of Frogs.] 

Chosus. Brekeke-kesh, koasb, koasb. 
Shall the Choral Quiristers of the Marsh 
Be censured and rejected as hoarse and 
hareh; 

And their Chromatic esea^ 

Deprived of praise? 
No, let ua raise sfreeh 
Our obstreperous Brekdce-kesh; 
The customary oroak and cry 

Of the creatures 

At the theaters, 
In their yearly revelry, 
Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 

Bacchus. How I 'm maul'd. 
How I'mgall'd; 

Worn and manned to a mash — 
Tb««theygo1 "Koaak, koashl" — 

Progs. Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 

Bacchus. Oh, beahrew. 
All your crew; 
You don't conaider how I anutrt. 



.CtOoi^Ic 



99 CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 


FBooe. Now for b. oample of th« ArtI 




Brebeke-kesb, koaah, koaeh. 


To the pod to seek for sheltw; 


Bacchus. I wish you hang'd, with aU 


Meager, eager, leaping, lunging. 


my heart. 


From the sedgy wharfage plungiof 


— Have you nothing eke to eay? 


To the tranquU depth below. 


"BrAek4-keA, koath" aU dayl 


There we muster ell a-row; 


Fwwe. We've a ri^t, 


Where, secure from toil and trouUe, 


We've a right; 


With a tundul bubble-bubble, 


And we croaJc at ye for qnte. 


Our symphonious accents flow. 


We've a right, 


Brekek&-ke>ih, koash, koaah. 


We've a right; 


Bacchus. I forbid you to proceed. 


Day and night, 


FROoe. That would be severe indeed; 


Day and night; 


Arbitrary, bold, and rash — 


Night and day. 


Brekdce-kesh, koaah, koash. 


Still to creak uid oroalt away. 


Bacchub. I command you to desist — 


Phcebus and every Grace 


— Oh, my back, therel oh, my wristi 


Admire and approve of the croaking race; 


What a twist! 




What a sprain! 


That are gaigled and warbled in their 


PROOS. Once again — 


lyrical throats. 


We renew the tuneful strain. 


In reproof 


Brekeke-keeh, koash, koash. 


Of your scorn 


Bacchus. I disdain — (Hang the paint 


Mighty Pan 


All your nonsense, noise, and trash. 


Nods his horn; 


Oh, mybUsterl Oh, my sprain I 


Beating time 


Fhoob. Btekeke-keeh, koash, koaab. 


To the thyme 


Friends and Frogs, we must disjJ^ 


With hia hoof, 


All our powers of voice to-di^; 


With his hoof. 


Suffer not this stranger here. 


Persisting in our plaa, 


With fsfltidioUH foreign ear. 




To confound us and abash. 




Brekeke-keeb, koash, koaah. 


Kooaah, kooaah. 


BAccatia. Wedl, my ^lirit b not broke. 


Bacchus. Ob, the Frogs, consume and 


U it's only for the joke, 


rot 'em, 


I'll outdo you with a croak. 


I've a blister on my bottom. 


Here it goes — " Koash, koash." 


Hold your tongues, you tuneful creatures. 


Fhoqb. Now for a glorious croaking 


Froos. Cease with your profane en- 


crash. 


treaties 




All in vain forever striving: 


Bacchus. I '11 disperse you with a splash 


Silence ia sgainflt our natures. 


Fhoob. Brekeke-keeh, koash, koaah. 


With the vernal heat reviving, 


BACCBua. I'U subdue 


Our aquatic crew repair 




Fn}m their periodic sleep, 


— Have amongst you there, slap-daah. 


In the dark and chilly deep, 




To tine cheerful upper air; 


We defy j-our oar and you. 


Then we frolic here and there 


Cbabok. Hoidl We're ashore jum- 


All amidst the meadows fair; 


shift your oar. Get out. 


Shady plants of asphodel, 


~ Now pay for your fare. 


Are the lodges where we dwell; 


Bacchus. There — there it ia — the 


Chauntiug in the leafy bowers 


twopence. 


All the Uvelong summer hours, 


Bacchus. Ho, XanthiasI Xwthias, I 


Till the sudden gusty ehowen 


Bayl Where's Xanthias? 



CtOoi^Ic 



THE FROGS 



93 



Xanthias. A-hoyI 
Bacchus. Come here. 
Xantbiab. I'm ^ad to see you, maBter. 
BACcmiB. What's that before ue there? 
Xaittbi/lS. The mue and darkaeee. 
Bacobus. Do you see the villains tmd 
the perjurers 
That he told us of? 
Xanthias. Yea, plain enough, don't 

Bacchus. Ah I now I see tbem, indeed, 
quit« plain — and now too- 
Well, what shall we do next? 

Xanthias. We'd best move forward; 
For here's the place that Hercules there 

infoim'd ua 
Was haunted by those monsters 
Bacchus. Oh, confound himi 
He vapor'd and talk'd at random to deter 

fYom venturing. He 'a amaringjy eoncrited 
And jealous of other people, is Hnoules; 
He reckon'd I should rival hun, and, in fact 
(Since I've come here so far), I should 

rather like 
To meet with an adventure in some shape. 
Xantbiab. By Jovel and I think I hear 

a kind of a noise. 
Bacchus. Where? Where? 
Xanthus. There, just behind ua. 
BaccBub. Go behind, then. 
Xamthiab. Therel — it'sbeforeusnow. 

— There! 
Bacchttb. Go before, then. 
Xaitibias. Ahl now I see it — a mon- 
strous beast indeed! 
Bacchus. What kind? 
Xantbiab. A dreadful kind — all kinds 
at once. 
It changes and transforms itself about 
To a mule and an ox, — and now to a 

beautiful creature; 
Awomanl 
Bacchus. Where? Where is she? Let 

Xanthias. But now she's turned to a 

mastiff all of a sudden. 
Bacchus. It's the Weird hagi the 

Vampire 1 
Xantbiab. Like mough. 
' She's all of a blase of fire about the mouth. 
Bacckcs. Has she got the brasen foot? 



Xanthias. Yes, tiiere it is — 
By Jove! — and the cloven hoof to the 

other leg, 
Distinct enough — that's she! 

Bacchus. But what shall I do? 

Xavislab. And I, too? 

Baccbus. Save me. Priest, protect and ' 

That we may drink and be jolly together 
hereafter, 
Xahthiab. We're ruin'd, Master Her- 

BAccons. Don't call me so, I beg: 
Don't mraition my name, good friend, upon 
any account. 
Xanthias. Well, Bacchus, tbeni 
Bacchus. That's worse, fen tbousand 

Xanthias. Come, master, move along 

— Come, Dome this way. 
Baccbus. What's happened? 
Xantbiab. Why we're prosperous and 
victorious; 
The storm of fear and dangOT has subsided. 
And (as the actor said the other day) 
"Has only left a gentle qiudm behind." 
The Vampire's vanish'd. 
Bacchus. Has she? Upon your oath? 
Xanthias. By Jovel she has. 
Bacchus. No, swear again. 
Xantbiab. By Jovel 
Bacchus. Is she, by Jupiter? 
XiUra&lAS. By Jupiterl 
Baccbus, Oh, dear; what a fri^t I was 
in with the very sight of her: 
It tum'd me sick and pale — but see, tlie 

priest here I 
He has color'd up quite with the same alarm. 
— What has brought me to this pass? — 

It must be Jupiter 
With hia "ChtmAer in the Skut," and the 
"Foot ofTivte." 
Xantbiab. Hello, you! 
Bacchus. What? 

Xanthias, Why, did you not hear? 
Bacchus, Why, what? 
Xanthias, The sound of a flute. 
Baccbus. Indeedl And there's a smtO 
too; 
A pretty mystical ceremonious smell 
Of torches. We'll watoh here, and keqt 
quite quiet. 



.CtOo^^Ic 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



[EjUer Chorus of VoUtrit*.] 
Chorub. lacchual lacchuat Hoi 
lacchiut lacchus! Hoi 
Xanthias. There, Master, there they 
Are, the initiftted; 
All sportiiig about aa he told us ve should 

find 'em. 
They're singing in praise of Bacchus like 

Baccbub. Indeed, and so thc^ are; but 
we'll keep quiet 

Till we make them out a hltle moredistinotly . 
Cborub, Mighty Bacchus I Hdy Power! 

Hither at the woated hour 
Come away, 
Come Kway, 
With the wanton bcdiday, 

Where the revd uproar leads 

To the mystic holy meads. 
Where the frolic votaries fly. 
With a tipsy shout and cry; 
Flourishing the Thyrsus hi^. 
Flinging forth, alert and airy, 
To the Bsered old vagary, 
l^e tumultuous dance and song, 
Sacred from the vulgar throng; 
Mystic orgies, that are known 
To the votaries alone — 
To the mystic chorus solely — - 
Secret — unreveal'd — and holy. 
Xahtbias. Oh glorious virgin, daughter 
of thegoddmsl 

What a scent of roasted griskin reach'd my 

Baccbub, Keep quiet — and watch for 
a chance of a piece of the hsslets. 

C^OBDB. Raise the fiery torches highl 
BaochuB is approaching nigh. 
Like the planet of the morn, 
Breaking with the hoary dawn. 

On the dark solomnity — 
There they flash upon the sight; 
All the plain is blajeing bright, 
Flush'd and overflown with light: 
Age has cast his years away, 
\nd the cares of many a day, 
^porting to the lively lay — - 
Mighty Bacchus! march and lead 
(Torch in hand toward the mead) 
Thy devDt«d humble Chorus, 
"Jighty Bacchus — move before us I 



Keep ulence — keep peace — and let aU 

the profane 
From our holy solemnity duly refrain; 
Whose souls unenlightwied by taste, are 

obscure; 
WhoM poetical notions an dark and 

impure; 
Whose theatrical conscience 
Ib sullied by nonsense; 
Who never were train'd by the mighty 

CratinuB 
In mystical orgies poetic and vinous; 
Who driigbt in buffooning and jests out (A 

season; 
Who promote the designs of oppression and 

breason; 
Who foster sedition, and strife, and debate ; 
All traitors, in short, t« the stage and the 

state; 
Who surrender a fort, or in private, export 
To places and harbors of hostile resort. 
Clandestine consignments of cables and 

In the way that Thorycion grew to be rich 
From a BCoundrdly dirty collector tl 

tribute; 
All Buch we reject and severely prohibit: 
All statesmen retrenching the fees and the 

salaries 
Of theatrical harda, in revenge fw the rail- 
leries, 
And jeatfl, and lampoons, of this bcdy 

solemnity, 
Profanely pursuing their personal enmity. 
For having been flouted, and scoff'd, uid 



We warn them twice. 

We warn and admonish — we warn thet) 

To oonform to the law, 

To fetire and withdraw; 

While the Chorus again with the formal sal 

(Fixt and assign'd to the festive day) 

Move to the measure and march aw^. 

March! morchl lead forth, 

Lead forth manfully, 

March in order all; 

Btisding, hustling, justling, 
As it may befall; 



. Google 



THE FROGS 



Flockuv, Bhouting, IftiighinK, 


And there within the shades. 


Mocking, flouting, quaffing. 


I spy some lovely maids; 


One and aU; 


With whom we romp'd and revel'd. 


AU have had a bellv-fuU 


Dismantled and dishevel'd; 


Of breakfaat brave and plentiful; 


With their bosoms open. 


Therefore 


With whom we might be ooping. 


Evermore 


Xantbiab. Well, I was alwayi hearty. 


With yoMi voices and your bodies 


Disposed to mirth and ease, 


Serve the goddess, 


1 'm ready to join the party. 


And raise 


Bacchus. And I will, if you please. 


Songs of praiae; 


ITo (A« Chonu.] Prithee, my good fellown, 


She shall save the country still, 


Would you please to tell us 


And save it against the traitor's irill; 


Which ia Huto's door. 


So die sayB. 


I'm an utter stranger, 


Now let us raise, in a different strain, 


Never here before. 


The pnuae of the goddess the giver of grain ; 


Chobus. Friend, you're nut of danger. 




. You need not seek it far; 


With other behavior, 


There it stands before ye. 




Before ye, where you are. 


gmver. 


Bacchus. Take up your bundles. 




Xanthias. 


Condescend to mark and blees, 


XaiiTBias. Hang all bundles; 


With benevolent regard, 


A bundle has no aid, and these have none. 


Both the Chorus and the Bard; 


Chorus. Now we go to dance and sing 


Grant them for the pceeent day 


In the consecrated shades; 


Many things to sing and say. 


Round the secret holy ring. 


Follies intermix'd with sense; 


With the matrons and the maids. 


FoUy, but without offense. 


Thither 1 must haste to bring 


Grant them with the present play 


The mysterious early light; 


To bear the priae <rf verae away. 


Which must witness every rite 


Now call again, and with a diffenint 


Of the joyous happy night. 




Let us hasten — let ua fly — 




Where the lovely meadows he; 


The florid, active Bacchus, bright and gay, 


Where the living waters flow; 


To journey forth and join us on the way. 


V^-here the roses bloom and blow. 


Bacchus, attendl the customaiy patron 


— Heirs of Immortality, 


Of every hvely lay; 




Go forth without delay 


Easy, sorrowlesB, secure; 


Thy wonted annual way, 


Since our earthly course is run. 


To meet the ceremonious holy matron: 


We behold a brighter sun. 


Her grave procession gracing. 


Holy lives — a holy vow — 


Thine airy footat«pB tracing 


Such rewards await them now. 




Bacchus. Well, how must I knock at 




the door now? Can't ye tell me7 


Behold thy faithful quire 


How do the native inhabitants knock at 


In pitiful attire; 


dooreT 


All overworn and ragged, 


Xantbias. Pah; don't stand fooling 


This jerkin old and jagged, 


there; but smite it smartly. 


Theee buskins torn and buret. 


With the very spirit and air of Hercules. 


Thoi^ sufferers in the fray. 


Bacchus. Hellol 


May serve us at the worst 


Macvs. Who's there? 







cmizedbvGoOQlc 



96 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Mactib. Thou brutal, abominable, de- 
testable, 

Vile, villainoua, infamous, nefaiious scoun- 
drdl 

— How durst thou, viUaui as thou wert, to 

Our natdbdog, Cerberus, whom I kept and 

tended 
Huiryiug him off, half-strangled in your 

grasp? 

— But now, be sure we have you safe and 

fast. 
Miscreant and villun ! — Thee, the Stygian 

cliffs, 
With stern adaroantine durance, and the 

Of inaccesHible Acheron, red with gore. 
Environ and bdeaguer; and the watch. 
And swift pursuit of the hideous hounds of 

hell; 
\nd the horrible Hydra, with her hundred 

Whose furious ravening fanga shall rend 

and tear thee; 
Wrenching thy vitids forth, with the heart 

and midriff; 
While inexpressible Tarteaian monatflrs. 
And grim Tithrasian Gorgons toss and 

scatter 
With clattering claws, thine intertwined 

intestines. 
To them, with instant summons, I repair. 
Moving in hasty march with st^M of speed. 
Xanthias. Hello, youl What's the 

matter there — ? 
Bacchus. Oh dear, 
I've had an accident. 

Xanthias. Fohl pohl jump upl 
Cornel you ridiculous simpleton! don't lie 



Xanthiab. Was there ever in heaven or 

earth such a coward? 
Bacchus. Me? 
A coward I Did not I show my { 



And call for a sponge and water in 

moment? 
Would a coward have done that? 
Xaktbiab. What else would he do/ 



Bacchos. He'd have lain there stinking 
like a nasty coward; 
But I jump'd up at once, lilte a lusty 

wrestler, 
And look'd idxiut, and wiped mysdf, 
withal. 
Xanthias. Moat manfully done! 
' Bacchus. By Jove, and I think it was; 
But tell me, wem't you frighten'd with 

that speech? 
— Such horrible erpresBions! 

Xanthias. No, not I; 
I took no notice — 

Bacchus, Well, I'U teU you what. 
Since you 're such a valiant-spirited kind of 
fellow. 



Now you're in tjiis courageous t«mper of ' 

mind; 
And I'U go take my turn and carry the 

bundles. 
Xanthias. Well — give us hold — I 

must humor you, forsooth; 
Make haste, and now behold the Xanthian 

Hercules, 
And mind if I don't display more heart 

and spirit. 
Bacchus. Indeed,, and you look the 

character, completely, 
Like that faemio Mditensian hangdog — 
Come, now for my bundles. I must mind 

my bundles. 

[Enter Pbosebpinx's Servant Maid viho tin- 

mediatdy addreuei Xanthiab.1 
Servant Maid. Dear Hercules. Well. 

you're come at last. Come in. 
For the goddess, as soon bb she heard of it, 

set to work 
Baking peck loaves and frying stacks of 

pancakes. 
And [t^jtiring messes of furmety; there's an 

Besides, she has roasted whole, with a 

relishing stuffing. 
If you'll only just step in this way. 

Xanthias. I thank you, 
I'm equally obliged. 

Servant Maid, No, no, by Jupiterl 
We must not let you off, indeed. There% 
wildfoiri 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



THE FROGS 



W 



And oweetmeate for the desaert, and the 

beet of wine; 
Only walk in. 
Xastbiab. I thank you. You'll excuse 

Sertant Maiu. No, no, we can't excuse 
you, indeed we can't; 
There are dancing and Hinpng girk beeides, 
Xamtbus. What! dancers? 
SXEVANT Maid. Yes, that there are; 
the sweetest, cbarmingeat things 
TbtA you ever saw — and there's the cook 

this moment 
la dishing up the dinner. 

Xanthias. Go before then, 
And tell the giils — thoae singing giris you 

mentioned — 
To prepare for my approach in person 
presently. 
[To Baccbvo.] You, sirrahl follow be- 
hind me with the bundles. 
Bacchus. Hello, youl what, do you take 
the thing in earnest. 
Because, for a joke, I drest you up like 

Hercules? 
Come, don't stand fooling, Xanthias. 

You'll provoke me. 
There, carry the bundles, sirrah, when I 
bid you. 
Xamthias. Why, sure? Do you mean to 
take the things away 
That you gave me yoursdf of your own 
accord this instant? 
Baccbus. t never mean a thing; I do it 
at once. 
Let go of the lion's skin directly, I tell you. 
Xahtbiab. To you, just Gods, I make 
my last appeal. 
Bear witness I 
Bacchcs. Whatl the gods? — do you 
think they mind you? 
How could you take it in your head, I 

wonder; 
Such a foolish fancy for a fellow like you, 
\ mortal and a slave, to pass for Hercules? 
Xanthias. There. Take them. — There 
— you may have them — but, 
jAeaeeGod, 
You may come to want my help some time 
or other. 
CHORtra. Dexterous and wily wito, 
find their own advantage ever; 



For the wind where'er it sits, 

Leaves a berth secure and dever 
To the ready navigator; 
That foresees and knows the nature. 
Of the wind and weather's drift; 
And betimes can turn and shift 
To the sheltered easy side; 
'T is a practice proved and tried. 
Not to wear a formal face; 
Fixt in attitude and place, 
Like an image on its base; 
'T is the custom of the seas, 
Which, as all the world agrees, 
Justifies Theramenes. 

Bacchus. How ridiculous and strange; 

What a monstrous proposition. 
That I should condescend to ch^ige 

My dress, my name, and my condition, 
To follow Xanthias, and behave 
like a mortal and a slave; 
To be set to wat^ih the door 
While he wallow'd with his whore. 
Tumbling on a purple bed; 

While I waitMl with submission, 
To receive a broken head; 

Or be kick'd upon suspicion 
Of impertinence and peeping 
At the joys that he was reaping. 
[Enter two Women, Sutlers or Keepers (4 on 
ea/inff-Aouse.] 

Fiiwr Woman. What, Platanal Goody 
Platanal therel that's he, 
The fellow that robs and cheats poor 

victualers; 
That came to our house and eat those nine- 
teen loaves. 

SECONn WouAN. Ay, sure enough thatV 
he, the very man. 

Xanthias. There's mischief in the nini 
for somebody! 

PiBOT Woman. — And a dosen and a 
half of cutlets and fried chops. 
At a penny halfpenny apiece — 

Xanthias. There are pains and penalties 
Impending — 

FiR9t Woman. — And all the gariic: such 
a quantity 
As he swallowed — 

Bacchus. Woman, you're beside your 
self; 
You talk you know not vrtiat — 

. GooqIc 



98 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Second Woiun. No, nol you reckoned 

I should not know you again with them 

there busldna. 

FiBsr Woiun. — Good lack! and there 

waa alt t^t fish beeidee. 

Indeed — with the pickle, and all — and 

the good green cheeae 
That he gorged at once, with the rind, and 

the niah-ibBskete; 
And then, when I called for payment, he 

looked fierce, 
And stared at me in the face, and grinned, 
and roared — 
Xahtbiab. JuBt like him I That's the 

way wherever he goee. 
FtBBT Woman. — And snatched hia 

Bword out, and behaved like mad. 
Xahthus. Poor soulsl you suffered 

aadlyl 
FiBST Woman. Ycb, indeed; 
And then we both ran off witJi the fright 

and terror, 
And scrambled into the loft beneath the 

roof; 
And he took up two rugs and stole them oS. 
Xanthus. Just like him again — but 
Bomethiiig must be done. 
Go call me Cleon, he's my advocate. 
Skcond Woman. And Hyperbolue, if 
you meet him send him here. 
He's mine; and we'll demoli^ him, I war- 
rant. 
FiKsr Woman. How I diould like to 
strike thoee ugly teeth out 
With s good big stone, you ravenous greedy 

villain I 
You gormandising villain I that I should — 
Yes, that i should; your wicked u^y fangs 
That have eaten up my substance, and 
devoured me. 
Bacchcb. And I could toss you into the 
public pit 
With the malefactors' carcasses; that I 

could, 
With pleasure and satisfaction; that I 

First Woman. And I should like to rip 
that gullet out 
With a reaping hook that swallowed all my 

And liver and lights — but I '11 fetch Cleon 



And he ahall summon him. He shall settle 

And have it out of him this very day. 

[Exeunt Pirtl and Second Wtmian.] 
Bacchus. I love poor Xanthias dearly, 
tliatldo; 
I wish I might be hanged else. 
Xamthiab. Yes, I know — 
I know your meaning — No; no more of 

that, 
I won't act Hercules — 

Bacchus. Now pray don't aay m>, 
My little Xanthias. 

'XuriBtAa. How should I be Hercules? 
A mortal and a dave, a fellow like mef — 
Bacchus. I know you're angry, and 
you've a right to be angry; 
And if you beat me for it I 'd not complaio; 
But if ever I strip you again, frtxn this time 

forward, 
I wish I may be utterly confounded, 
With my wife, my children, and my family, 
And the blear-eyed Archedemua into the 
bargain. 
Xanthias. I agree then, on that oath, 

and those conditions. 
Chorus. Now that you revive and 

flourish 
In your old attire agwn. 
You must rouse ofmh and nourish 

Thoughts of an heroic Btrain; 
That exalt and raise the figure. 
And assume a fire and vigor; 
And an attitude and air 
Suited to the garb you wear; 
With a brow severely bent. 
Lake the god you represent. 
But beware. 

If j^u blunder, or betray 
Any weakness any way; 
Weakness of the heart or brain. 
We shall see you once again 
Trudging in the former track. 
With the bundles at your back. 
Xanthias. Friends, 1 thank you for 
your care; 
Your advice was good and fair; 
Corresponding in its tone 
With reflections of my own. 
— Though I dearly comprehoid 
All the upshot and the end 

Jc 



THE FROGS 



99 



(Tluit if any good oomea of it, 
Alky [deaBure any profit — 
He, my master, will recede 
From the temu that were agreed), 
You ahall see me, notwithatanding, 
Stem, intrepid, and commanding. 
Now's the time; for there's a. noiael 
Now for figure, loak, and voice! 

lEnUr Macvb.] 
JEmjub. Arrest me there that fellow that 
stole the dog. 
Tltoel — Pinion him! — Quick! 

Bacchdb. There 'i somebody in a scrape. 
Xanthus. Keep off, and be hanged. 
£acub. CHi, bo! do you mean to fight 
foritr 
Here! Pardokas, and Skeblias, and the net 

of ye, 
Moke up to the rogue, and eetde him. 
Come, be quick. 
Bac)Chijb. Well, is not this quite mon- 
strous and outrageous. 
To steal the dog, and then to make an 

In justification of it. 

Xamthias. Quite outrageous! 

£acub. An aggravated case! 

Xanthiab. Well, now — by Jupiter, 
M^ I die; but I never saw this place 

Nor ever stole the amount of a farthing 

from you: 
Nor a hair of your d<^e tail — But you 

shall see now, 
I'll settle all this business nobly and fairly. 
— This slave of mine -^ you may take and 

torture him; 
And if you make out anything against me, 
You may take and put me to death for 

aught I care. 
Micva. But which way would you 

please to have him tortured? 
Xanthtas. In your own way— with . . . 

the lash — with . . . knots and screws, 
With . . . the common usual customary 

tortune. 
With the rack — with . . . the water-tor- 
ture — anyway — 
With fire and vinegar — all sorts of ways. 
There's only one thing I should warn you 



that you're saying 
Bacchus 



I must not have him treated like a child, 
To be whipp'd with fennel, or with lettuce 
leaves. 
£acus. That's fair — and if so be . . . 
he's maim'd or crippled 
In any respect — the valy diall be paid you. 
XAhTBiAS, Oh no! — by no means! not 
to me! — by no means! 
You must not mention it! — Take him to 
the torture. 
Macvb. It had better be here, and under 
your own eye. 
Come you — put down your bundles and 

make ready. 
And mind — let me hear do lies! 

Baccbtis. I'll tell you what; 
I'd advise people not to torture me; 
I give you notice — 1 'm a deity. 
80 mind now — you'll have nobody to 

blame 

But your own self — 

.£acub. What's 

there? 
Baccbus. Why that 

That fellow there's a slave. 
JIacps., Do ye hear? 
Xantbiab. I hear him — 
A reason the more to give him a good beat- 

ins; 
If he's iounortal he need never mind it. 
Baccbus, Wl^ should not you be beat 
as well as I then. 
If you're immortal, as you say you are? 
Xantbiab. Agreed — and him, the first 
that you see flinching. 
Or seeming to mind it at all, you may set 

him down 
For an impostor and no real deity, 
^ACtrs. Ah, you'reawortby gentleman, 
I'll be bound for't; 
You're all for the truth and the proof. 
Come — Strip there both o' ye. 
Xanthiab. But bow can ye put us to 
the question fairly. 
Upon equal terms? 

Macvb. Oh, easily enough, 
Conveniently enough — a lash apiece, 
Each in your turn; you can have 'em one 

Xanthiab. That's right. Now mind if 
ye see me flinch or swerve. 



Ck^t^^lc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



JEacub. I've struck. 

Xaktbias. Not you I 

MACva. Why it seems as if I bad not. 
I'll >init« Uua other fellow. 

Bacchus. When will you do it? 
Oh dear! Companions of my youthful 

Xamtbias [U> Macvb]. Did ye hear? he 

made an outcry. 
Macvb. What was that? 
Baochus. a favorite passage from 

' Archilochus. 
Xaktbias. O Jupiter] that on the Idean 

JEacub. Well, after all my pains, I'm 

quite at a loss 
To discover which is the true, real deity. 
By the Holy Goddess — I'm completely 

puxiled; 
I must take you before Proserpine and 

Pluto, 
Being gods themselves they're^ likeliest to 

Bacchus. Why, that's a lucky thought. 
I only widi 
It had happen'd to occur before you beat 

Chorus. Muse, attend our solemn sum- 

And survey the asseiubled commons, 

Congr^^ted as they sit. 

An enormous mass of wit, 

— Full of genius, taat«, and fire, 

Jealous pride, and critic ire — 

Cleophon among the rest 

(Like the swallow from her nest, 

A familiar foreign bird). 

Chatters loud and will be heard, 

(With the accent and the grace 

Which he brought with him from Thraoe); 

But we fear the tuneful strain 

Will be tum'd to grief and pain; 

He must sing a dirge perforce 

When his trial takes its course; 

We shall hear him moan and wail, 

Like the plaintive nightingale. 

It behoves the sacred Chorus, and of right 

to them belongs. 
To suggest the best advice in their addresses 

and their songs, 
In performance of our office, we present 

with all humility 



A proposal for removing groundless fears 

and disability. 
First that all that ^mn inveigled into 

Phrynichus's treason. 
Should be Buffer'd and received by rules a 

evidence and reason 
To clear their conduct — Secondly, that 

none of our Athenian race. 
Should live suspected and subjected to loss 

of franchise and disgrace, 
Feeling it a grievous scandal when a sinf^e 

naval fight 
Renders foreigners and slaves pari^kets of 

the city's right: 

— Not that we condemn the measure; we 

conceived it wisely done. 
As a just and timely measure, and the first 
and only one; 

— But your kinsmen and your comrades, 

those with whom you fought andbore 
Danger, hardship, and fatigue, or with their 

fathers long before, 
Strugfijiug on the land and ocean, laboring 

with the ^>ear and oar 

— These we think, as they profess repent- 

ance for tbeir paq^ behavior, . 
M^t, by your exalted wisdoms, be re- 
ceived to grace and favor. 
Better it would be, believe us, casting oB 

revenge and pride. 
To receive as friends and kinsmen all that 

combat on our side 
Into full and equal franchise: on the otbw 

hand we fear. 
If your hearts are fill'd with fancies, 

haughty, captious, and severe; 
While the diock of instant danger threatens 

shipwreck to the state, 
Such resolves will be lamented and re- 
pented of too lat«. 
If the Muse foresees at all 
What in future wiU befall 
Dirty Oleigenes the small — 
He, the sovereign of the bath, 
Will not long escape from scath; 
But must perish by and by. 
With his potssh and his lye; 
With his realm and dynasty. 
His terraqueous scouring ball. 
And his washes, one and all; 
Therefore he can never cease 
To declaim sgiuQst a peace. 

.CtOoqIc 



THE FROGS 



Often times have we reflected on a similar 

abuse, 
la the cboioe of men for office, and of coins 

for common use; 
For yma old and standard pieces, valued, 

and approved,- and tried. 
Hot among the Grecian nations, and in all 

the world beside; 
Recognised in every redm for trusty stamp 

and pure assay, 
Are rejected and atnndon'd for the trasb 

of jestwday; 
For a vile, adulterate issue, drossy, counter- 
feit, and base. 
Which the traffic of the city passes current 

in their pUoel 
And the men that stood for office, noted for 

acknowledged worth, 
And for manly deeds of honor, and for 

honorable birth; 
Train'd in exercise and art, in sacred dances 

snd in song. 
All are ousted and supplanted by a base 

ignoble throng; 
Paltry stamp and vulgar mettle raise them 

to command and place, 
Bruen counterfeit pretenders, scoundrels 

□f a scoundrel race; 
Whom the state in former ages scarce would 

have allow' d to stand, 
At the aacrifice of outcasts, as the scape- 
goats of the land. 

— Hme it is — and long has been, re- 

nouudog all your follies past. 
To r«cur to sterling merit and intrinHie 

worth at last. 
~ If we rise, we rise with honor; if we fall, 

it must be sol 

— But titers was an ancient saying, which 

we all have heard snd know. 
That the wise, in dangerous cases, have 

esteem'd it safe and good 
To receive a alight chastisement from a 
wand of Tioble wood, 
.£4cus. ByJupiter;buthe'8 a gentleman, 
That master of youra. 

Xanthiab. AgentlemanI Tobesureheis; 
Why, he does nothing else but wench and 

£acus. Hie never striking you when you 

Outfacing hid) and oontradicting himi — 



Xahthiab. It mi^t have been worse for 
' him if be had. 

Mactsb. Well, that's well spoken, like a 
true-bred slave. 
It's just the sort of language I delight in. 
Xantqiab. You love excuses? 
Macvb. Yes; but I prefer 
Cursing my master quietly in private. 
XANmiAB. Mischief you're fond off 
JE\cxia. Very fond indeed. 
Xantbias. What think ye of muttering 
as you leave the room 
After s beating? 
^Acue. Why, that's pleasant too, 
Xan'thiab. By Jove, is it! But listening 
at the door 
To hear their secrets? 
£AcrB. Oh, there's nothing Uke it. 
Xavihiab. And then the reporting them 

in the neighborhood. 
iUcUB. llist'B beyond everything. — 

That's quite ecstatic. 
Xanthias. Well, give me your hand. 
And, thete, take mine — andbussme. 
And there again — and now for Jupiter's 

sake! — 
(For he's the patron of our eufis snd beat- 

ings) 
Do tell me what's that noise of people 

quarreling 
And abusing one another tbete within? 
Macvb. .^echylus and Euripides, only! 
Xanthiab. Heh? — ? — f 
Macvb. Why, there's a desperate busi- 
ness has broke out 
Among these here dead people; — quite a 
tumult. 
Xanthiab. As how? 
iEActJB, First, there's a custom we have 
establish 'd 
In favor of professors of the arts. 
When any one, the first in his own line, 
Comes down amongst us here, he stands 

entitled 
To privilege and precedence, with a seat 
At Pluto's royal board. 
Xanthiab. I understand you. 
£Acrs. So he maintains it, till there 
comes a better 
Of the same sort, and then resigns it up. 
Xanthias. But why should Jlschylus 
be disturb'd at this? 



■.CTOOt-^lc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



£AcnB. He hdd the seat for tragedy, as 
the master 
In that profeeaion. 
XAjfTHua. Well, and who's Uiere now? 
Macvb. He kept it UU Euripidn ap- 

But he collected audienoes about him. 
And flouriah'd, and exhibited, and ha- 
rangued 
Before the thieres, and hous^reakers, and 

Cut-pursee, cheats, aud vagabonds, and 

villaias, 
lliat make the mass erf population here; 
And they — being quite transported, and 

delighted 
With his equivocations and evasions. 
His subtletiee and niceties and quibbles — 
In abort — they raised an uproar, and de- 
clared him 
Arcbpoet, by a general acclamation. 
And he with this grew proud and confident. 
And laid a claim to the seat where fschy- 
lussat. 
Xanthus. And did not he get pelted for 

his pains? 
J&ACva. Why, no — The mob call'd out, 
and it was carried. 
To have a public trial of skill between them. 
Xanthias. You mean the mob of scoun- 
drels that you mention'd? 
^!acu8. Scoundrels indeed! Ay, scoun- 
drels without number. 
Xanthias. But ^Ischylus must have 

had good friends and hearty? 
Macvb. Yes; but good men are scarce 

both here and elsewhere. 
Xanthias. Well, what has Pluto settled 

to be done? 
£agu6. To have an examination and a 
trial 
In public. 
Xanthias. But bow comes it? — Soi^ko- 
cles? — 
Why does he not put forth his claim 
amongst them? 
Macvb. No, nol — He's not the kind of 
man — not hel 
I tell ye; the first moment that he came. 
He went up to jEschylua and aiduted him 
And kiss'd his cheek and took his hand 
quite kindly: 



And ^Isch^uB edged a little frraa hia seat 
To give him room; so now the story goes, 
(At least I had it from Cleitknudes) 
He means to attend there as a stander-by, 
Proposing to talce up the conqueror; 
If £Bcbyliu gets the better, weJI and good, 
He gives up his pretensions — but if not, 
He'll stand a trial, he says, against Eurip- 
ides. 
Xanthiab. There'U be strange doings. 
^Acus. That there will — and shortly 
— Here — in this {Jace — strange things, 

I promise you; 
A kind of thing that no man oould have 

thought of; 
Why, you'll see poetry wei^'d out and 

measured. 
Xanthias, What, will they bring their 

tragedies to the steel-yards? 
Macjjs. Yes, will they — with their 

rules and compaflses 
They 'llmeasure,and«xainine, and compare. 
And bring their plummets, and thtax lines 

and levels. 
To take the bearings — for Euripides 
Says that he'll make a survey, wMd by 

Xanthiab. iGaohylus takes the thing to 

heart, I doubt. 
^Iacus. He b«it his brows and pored 

upon the ground; I saw him. 
Xanthias. Well, but who decides the 

business? 
.^ACUB. Why, there the difficulty lies — ' 

for judges, 
True learned judges, are grown scarce, and 

.^Bohylus 
Objected to the Athenians absolutely. 
Xanthias. Considering them as rogues 

and villains mostly. 
Macvs. As being ignorant and onpty 

generally; 
And in their judgment of the stage partio- 

In fine, they've fix'd upon that master of 

Ab having had some practice in the busi- 

But we must wait within — for when our 

maaterB 
Are warm and eager, stripes and blows 

ensue. [ExU MacvbJ 



iiizedbv Google 



THE FROGS 



Chortib. The full-moutli'd mBster of the 
tragio quire, 
We shall behold him foam with rage and 

— Confronting in the liat 

Hu eager, ehrewd, sharp-tooth'd uitago- 

Hicd will hia Tiaiul orbs be wildly whirl'd 
And huge invectives will be hurl'd 

Superb and supercilioua, 

Atrocious, atrabilious, 
With furious gesture and with lipe of foam, 
And lion crest unconacioua of the comb; 
Erect with rage — his brow's impending 

gloom 
O'erahadowing his dark eje»' terrific blue. 

lie oppouemt, dexterous and wary, 

Will fend and parry: 
While masHca of conglomerated phraae, 

^lonnouB, ponderous, and pedantic, 

With indignation frantic, 

Aitd atrength and farce ^gaotic, 
Are de^lerately sped 
At his devoted head — 
Then in different style 
The touchstone and the file. 
And BubtletiM of art 
In turn will play their part; 
Analysis and nile. 
And every modem tool; 
With critic scratch and scribble, 
And nice invidious nibble; 
Contending for the important choice, 
A vast expenditure of human voieel 

[BnUr EcsiFiDBB, and ^Ibchtlub.) 
EiTBiFiDBB. Don't gfre me your advice, 
I claim the seat 
As bring a better and auperior artiat. 
Bacchus. What, ^Ischylus, don't you 

tpeak? you hear his language. 
EtntiPiDES. He's mustering up a grand 
commanding visage 
— A silent attitude — the common trick 
lliat he begins with in his tragedies. 
Baccbus. Come, have a core, my friend 

— You'll toy too much. 
EuBipinsB. I Icnow the man of old — 
I've scrutinized 
And shown him long ago for what he is, 
A rude unbridled tongue, a h&ughty spirit; 
Proud, arrogant, and insolently pompous; 



Rough, downish, boistotnui, and overbear- 
ing. 
JEecaxwK. Say'st thou me so? Thou 
baatard of the earth, 
With thy patch'd robes and rags of sentj- 

Raked from the streets and stitch'd and 

tack'd fa^etherl 
Thou mumping, whining, beggarly hj'PO' 

critel 
But you shall pay for it, 

Bacchus. There now, ^schylua. 
You grow too wann. Restrain your indil 

JE^cwTLve. Yee; but I'll seiie that 
sturdy beggar first. 
And search and strip him bare of his pre- 



B&CCHUB. Quick! Quick! A sacrifice to 
the winds — Make ready; 

The storm of rage ia gathering. Bring a 
victim. 
ilscHTLDB. — A wretch that has cor- 
rupted everything; 

Our music with his melodiee from Crete; 

Our morals with incestuous tragedies. 
Baccbub. Dear, worthy ^Gschylua, con- 
tain yourself. 

And as for you, Euripidee, move off 

This inBtant, if you're wise; I give you 
warning. 

Or else, with one of his big thumping 
phrases, 

You'U get your brains dash'd out, and all 
your notions 

And sentiments and matt«r mash'd to 

— And thee, most noble j£schyluB, I be- 

With mild demeanor calm and affable 
To hear and answer. — For it iU beeeema 
Qlustrious bards to scold hke market- 
women. 
But you roar out and bellow like a fur- 

EuBiMDBS. I'm up to it, — I'm «- 

solved, and here I stand 
Ready and steady — take what course you 

will; 
Let him be first to apeak, or else let me. 
I '11 match my plots and charscterB against 



104 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



My sentiments Emd laiiguage, and nhat 

Ayl and my music too, my Meleager, 
My Mo]uB and my Telephus amd all. 
Bacchcb. Well, ^lachyluB, — determine. 

What aay you? 
.^BCHTLus. I wish the place of trial had 
been elsewhere, 
I stand at disadvantage here. 
Bacchub. As how? 

MacBiixjB. Because my poems live on 
earth above, 
And his died with him, and descended here, 
And are at hand as ready witnesses; 
But you decide the matter: I submit. 
Bacchtts. Come — let them bring me 
fire and frankincense. 
That I may offer vows and make oblations 
For an ingenious critical condueion 
To this same elegant and clever trial — 
And you too, — sing me a hymn there. — 
To the Muses. , 

Chobus. To the Heavenly Nine we pe- 

Ye, that on earth or in air are forever 

kindly protecting the vsgaiiea of 

learned ambition, 
And at your esse from ^wve our sense and 

folly directii^ (or poetical contests 

inspecting, 
Deign to behold for a while as a scene of 

amusing attention, all the struggles 

of style and invention), 
Aid, and assist, and attend, and afford to 

the furious authors your refined and 

enlighten 'd suggestions; 
Grant them ability — force and agility, 

quick recollections, and address in 

their answers and questions, 
Pithy replies, with a word to the wise, and 

pulling and hauling, with inordinate 

uproar and bawling, 
Driving and drawing, like carpentets saw- 
ing, their dramas asunder: 
With suspended sense and wonder, 
All are waiting and attending 
On the conflict now depending! 
Bacchtts. Come, say your prayers, you 

two before the trial. 
^BCHYLpB, O Ceres, nourisher of my 

sou], maintain me 
A worthy follower of thy mysteries. 



Bacchus. There, you there, make your 

offering. 
EuRiPiPRe. Well, I will-, 
But I direct myself to other deities. 
Bacchus. H^, what? Vour own? Some 

Euripides. Most assuredly I 

Bacchus. Well! Pray away, then — to , 

your own new deities. , 

EuRiPiDEB. Thou foodful Air, the nurse 

of all my notions; 
And ye, the organic powers of sense and 

And keen refined olfactory discernment. 
Assist my preeent search for faults and 

Chobus. Here beside you, here are we. 
Eager eH to hear and see 
This abstruse and mighty battle 
Of profound and learned prattle. 
— But, as it appears to me. 
Thus the course of it will be; 
He, the junior and appellant. 
Will advance as the assailant. 
Aiming shrewd satyric darts 
At his rival's noble parts; 
And with sallies sharp and keen 
Try to wound him in the sgdeen, 
While the veteran rends and raises 
Rifted, rough, uprooted phrases, 
Wielded like a threshing staff 
Scattering the dust and chaff. 
Bacchus. Come, now begin, dispute 
away, but first I give you notice 
That every phrase in your discourse must 

be refined, avoiding 

Vulgar absurd comparisons, and awkwanj 

silly joking. 

Euripides. At the first outset, T forbeai 

to state my own pretensions; 

Hereafter 1 shall mention tliem, when his 

have been refuted; 
After I shall have fairiy shown, how he 

befool'd and cheated 
The rustic audience that he found, which 

Phrynichus bequeathed him. 
He planted fintt upon the stage a figure 

veil'd and muffled. 
An Achilles or a Niobe, that never show'd 

their faces ; 
But kept a tragic attitude, without a word 



.CjOC^'.^Ic 



THE FROGS 



>oS 



Bacchus. No more they did: 't is very 

EtmiPOES. — In the meanwhile the 
ChoniB 

Stnmg on ten strophes right-ui-end, but 

they remain'd in silence. 

Bacchus. I liked that silence well 

enough, as well, perhaps, or better 

Than those new talking characters — 

EuBiPiDEB. That's from your want of 

judgment, 

Jdieve me. 

Bacchttb. Why, perhaps it is; but what 

was his intention? 
EuHiPiDBS. Why, mere conceit and inso- 
lence; to keep the people waiting 
Till Niobe should deign to speak, to drive 
his drama forward. 
Bacchus. O what a rascal. Now I see 
the tricks he used to play me, 

— What makes you writhe and winch 

about? — 
EuBtPTOES. Because he feeb my cen- 
sures. 

— Hien having dragg'd and drawl'd along, 

half-way to the conclusion, 
He foisted in a dosen words of noisy bois- 
terous accent, 
WitJi lofty plumes and shaggy brows, mere 

bugbears of the language. 
That no man ever heard before. — 
£sch;lus. Alas! alasl 
Baccbtts. Have done there! 
EcBiPioEB. He never used a simple 

word. 
Bacchus. Don't grind your teeth so 

strangely. 
EuBiPiDEs. But "Bulwarks and Sea- 
manders" and "Hippogrifs and 
Gorgons." 
"On bumish'd shields emboss'd in brass;" 

bloody remorHeleaa phrases 
Which nobody could understand. 

Bacchus. Well, I confees, for my part, 
I used to keep awake at night, with guesses 

and conjectures 
To think what kind of foreign bird be 
meant by griffin-horses. 
iEscHTTjUS. Afigureontheheadsof ships; 
you goose, you must have seen them. 
Bacchus. Well, from the likeness. I 
declare, I took it for Enuds. 



EuBiPiDES. Sol Figures from the heads 

of ships ate 6t for tragic diction. 
jEacHrLfs. Well then — thou paltry 
wretch, explain. What were your 
own devices? 
EoBiPiDBS. Not stories about flying- 
stags, like yours, and griffin-horses; 
Nor terms nor images derived from tap- 
estry Persian hangings. 
When I received the Muse from you I 

found her puff'd and pomper'd 
With pompous sentences and terma, a 

cumbrous huge virago. 
My fitst attention was applied to make her 

look genteelly; 
And bring her to a slighter shape by dint 

of lighter diet: 
I fed her with plain household phmae, and 

cool familiar salad, 
With water-gruel episode, with sentimental 

jelly. 
With moral mincemeat; till at leni^th I 

brought her into comi>BBB,' 
Cephisophon, who was my cook, contrived 

to make them relish. 
I kept my plots distinct and dear, and, to. 

prevHit confusion. 

My leading characters rehearsed their 

pedigrees for prologues. 

MiBcwnAja. 'Twaswell,atleaBt,tliatyou 

forbore to quote your own extraction. 

EuMPiDES. From the fitst opening of 

the scene, all persons were in action; 

The master spoke, the slave replied, the 

women, young and old ones, 
All had their equal share of talk — 
i£scBTi.ce. Come, then, stand forth and 
tell us. 
What forfeit less than death is due for such 
an innovation? 
EiifUPiDEB. I did it upon principle, from 

democratic motives. 
Bacchus, Take care, my friend — upon 
that ground your footing is but 
ticklish. 
Euripides. I taught these youths to 

speechify. 

^CBtLus. 1 say so too. — Moreover 

I say that — for the public good — you 

ought to have been hang'd first. 

EmupiDES. The rules and forms of 

rhetoric, — the laws of composition. 






CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



To prate — to state — &Dd in debate to 

meet a question fairly; 
At a dead lift to turn and shift — to make 

a nice distinction. 
JBacBn.vB. 1 grant it all — I make it all 

— my ground of accuaation. 
EuBiPiDBB. The whole in cases aad oon- 

cemB occuniog and lecutring 
At every turn and every day domeetic and 

familiar, 
So that the audience, one and all, from 

parsonal experience, 
Wrae competent to judge the piece, and 

form a fair opinion 
Whether my scenes and sentiments agreed 

with truth and nature. 
I never took them by surpriae to storm 

their understandings. 
With Memnons and Tydidee's and idle 

rattle-trappings 
Of battle-steeds and clattering shields to 

scaie them from their senses; 
But for a test (perhaps the best) our pupils 

and adherenta 
May be distinguish'd instantly by person 

and behavior; 
His are Phormiaius the rough, Meganetes 

the ^oom)'. 
Hobgoblin-headed, trumpet-mouth'd, grim 

visaged, u^y-bearded; 
But mine are Cleitophon the smooth, — 

Theromenes the geotle. 
Bacchus. Theramenee — a clever hand, 

a universal genius. 
I never found him at a loss in all the turns 

of party 
To change his watchword at a word or at 

a moment's warning. 
EmupmBS. Thus it was that I began, 
With a nicer, neater plan; 
Teaching men to look about, 
Both within doors and without; 
To direct their own afTairs, 
And their house and household wares; 
Marking everything amiss — 
"Where is that? and — What is this?" 
"This is broken — that is gone," 
'T is the modem style and tone. 
Bacchcb. Yes, by Jove — and at their 

homes 
' Nowadays each master oomee. 
Of a sudden bolting in 



With an uproar and a din; 
Rating all the servants round, 
"If it's lost, it must be found. 
Why was all the garlic wasted? 
There, that honey has been tasted: 
And these olives pilfer'd here. 
Where's the pot we bought last year? 
What's become of all the fish? 
Which of you has broke the dish?" 
Thus it is, but heretofore, 
The moment that they craae'd the door. 
They sat them down to dose and snore. 
Chobos. "Noble Achilles! you see the 

The shame and affront, and an enemy 
nigh!" 
Oh I bethink thee, mighty master, 

Think betimes of your reply; 
Yet beware, lest anger force 
Your hasty chariot from the courae; 
Grievous charges have been heard, 
With many a sharp and bitter word. 
Notwithstanding, mighty chief, 
Let Prudence fold her cautious leei 
In your anger's swelling sail; 
By degrees you may prevail. 
But beware of your behavior 
Till the wind is in your favor: 
Now for your answer, illustrious architect, 

Founder of lofty theatrical lays! 
Patron in chief of our tra^cal trumperies! 

Open the floodgate of figure and phrase! 

iEscHTLus. My spirit is kindled with 
anger and shajne, 
To so base a competitor forced fo rejdy. 
But I needs must retort, or the wretch wiK 

report 
That he left me refuted and foil'd in debate; 
Tell me then. What are the principal merita 
Entitling a poet to praise and renown? 

EuBiPiDES. Thaimprovement of morals, 
the progress of mind. 
When a poet, by skill and invention. 
Can render bis audience virtuous and wise. 

JEocBTUja. But if you, by neglect or 



Have done the reveree, and from brave 

honest spirits 
Depraved, and have left them degraded 

and base, 
Tell me, what punishment ou^t you to 

suffer? 



GooqIc 



THE FROGS 



107 



Baccbub. Death, to be suiel — Take 

£BCBrj.V6. Obeerve then, and mark, 
what our citizem were, 
When first from my care they were trusted 

Not Booimdrel inf oniKire, or paltry buffoons, 
Evading the servicw due to the state; 
But with hearta all on fiie, for adventure 

DistinguiBbed fot hardineas, stature, and 

sbvngth, 
Bieathing forth nothing but lancee and 

darts, 
Amis, and equipment, and battle airay, 
Bucklere, and shields, and habergeons, and 

hauberks, 
HelmetB, and plumee, and heroic attire. 
Bacchus. There he goee, hanunering on 

with hie hdmets. 
Hell be the death of me one of tLeae days. 
, EuBiPiDEB. But how did you manage to 

make 'em so manly, 
What was the method, the means that you 

tookf 
Bacchus. Speak, £acfaylus, speak, and 

behave yourself better, 
And don't in your rage stand so silent and 

XiKBjt,VB. A drama, brimful with hero- 

ieal spirit. 
EoRmDis. What did you call it? 
£ecHTi.us. "The Chiefii against 
Thebea," 
That inspired each epectator with martial 

ambition, 

Courage, and ardor, and i:n>wesB, and pride. 

Bacchus. But you did very wrong to 

encourage the Thebans. 

Indeed, you deeerve to be punish'd, you do. 

For tlie Tbebans are grown to be d^tal 

sotdieiB, 
You've done us a mischief by that very 

.£bchti>U8. The fault was your own, if 
you took other courses; 
The lesson I taught was directed to you; 
Tlien I gave you the i^orious theme of ' ' the 



The delist of the city, Uie pride tA the 
stage. 
Bacchus. I rejoioed, I confess, when the 
tidings were carried 
To old King Darius, so long dead and 

And the ohonu in concert kept wringing 

their hands. 
Weeping and wailing, and crying, Alasl 
jEscHn.us. Such is the duty, the task 

of a poet. 
Fulfilling in honor his office and bust. 
Look to traditional history — look 
To antiquity, primitive, early, remoto; 
See there, what a bleesing illustrious poets 
Conferred on mankind, in the centuries 

Orpheus instructed mankind in religion, 
Redaim'd them from bloodshed and bar. 

baroue rites; 
MuBieus deliver'd the doctrine of medicine, 
And warnings prophetic for ages to come: 
Next came old Heeiod, teaching us hus- 
bandry, 
Ploughing, and sowing, and rural affaire. 
Rural economy, rural astronomy. 
Homely morality, labor, and thrift: 
Homer himself, our adorable Homer, 
What was his title to praise and renown? 
What, but the worth of the leasona he 

taught us. 
Discipline, arms, and equipment of war? 
Bacchus. Yes, but Pantacles was never 

the wiser; 
For in the proccsaion he ought to have led. 
When his helmet was tied, he kept puziling, 

and tried 
To fasten the crest on the crown of his head. 
.£scHTi.UB. But other brave warriors 

and noble commanders 
Were train'd in his lessons to valor and 

skill; 
Such was the noble beroical Lamachus; 
Othras besides were instructed by him; 
And I, from his fragmenta ordaining a 

banquet, 
Fumish'd and deck'd with majeetical 

phrase. 
Brought forward the models of ancient 

achievement, 
Teucer, Patroclus, and chiefs of antiquity; 
Raising and rousing Athenian hearts, 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



When the rignal of onset was blown in tbeir 

With a Bimilar ardor to dare and to do; 
But I never altow'd of your lewd Stheno- 

Ot filthy, det«fitable Fhsdrea — not I — 
Indeed, I ahould doubt if my drama 

throughout 
Exhibit an instaooe of woman in love. 

EuBiPiDXs. No, you were too stem for 
t on amoTOUB turn, 

For VenuB and Cupid too stem and too 

iGBCttTLTTB. May they leave me at net, 

and with peace in my breaet, 

And infeet and puraue your kindred and you, 

With the very Bame blow that deepatch'd 

you below. 

Baccbits. That was well enough said; 

with the life that he led, 

He himself in the end got a wound from a 

Euripides. But what, after all, is the 

horrible mischief ? 
My poor Sthenoboeas, what harm have 

they doneV 
MacRTLva. The example is followed, the 

practice has gain'd, 
And womm of family, fortune, and worth, 
Bewilder'd with shame in a paaaionatA 

fury, 
Have poison'd themeelves for BeDerophon's 

si^. 
EuRipmEs. But at least you '11 allow that 

I never invented it, 
Fhffidra'B affair was a matter of fact. 
•SacHTLTia. A fact, with a vei^eancel 

but horrible facte 
Should be buried in silence, not bruited 

abroad, 
Nor brought forth on the stage, nor em- 

blazon'd in poetry. 
Children and boy a have a teacher assign' d 

The bard is a master for manhood and 

Bound to instruct them in virtue and 

truth. 
Beholden and bound. 

Edriftobb. But is virtue a sound? 
Can any mysterious virtue be found 
In bombastical, huge, hyperbolical phrase? 



JEecvTiAX. Tliou dirty, calamitoua 

wreteh, recollect 
That exalted ideas of fancy require 
To be clothed in a suitable vesture trf 

phrase; 
And that heroes and gods may be faiiiy 

supposed 
IDiscoursing in words of a mightier import. 
More lofty by far than the children of man; 
Ae the pomp of apparel assign'd to their 

Frodu<«d on the stage and presentfid to 

view, 
Surpassee in dignity, splendor, and luster 
Our popular garb and domestic attire, 
A practice which nature and reason allow. 
But which you disannull'd and rejected. 
EuRipross. As how7 
£scBTi<ua. When you brought forth 
your kings, in a villainous fashion, 
In patches and rags, as a claim for com- 
passion. 
EuBiPiDEB, And this is a grave misde- 
meanor, forsooth I 
^SCBTLUB. It has taught an example of 
sordid untruth; 
For the rich of the city, that ought to equip. 
And to serve with, a ship, are appealing to 

pity, 
Pretending distms — with an overworn 

Baccbub. By Jove, so they do; with a 
waistcoat brand new, 
Worn closdy within, warm and new for the 



all. 

Buying the best at the fishmonger's stall. 
MeCBTLVA. He has taught every soul to 

Bophisticate truth; 
And debauch'd all the bodicB and minds of 

the youth; 
Leaving them morbid, and pallid, and spare ; 
And the places of exercise vacant and 

bare: — 
The disorder has spread to the fleet and 

the crew; 
The service is ruin'd, and niin'd by yoa — 
With prate and deviate in a mutinous state; 
Whereas, in my day, 't was a different w^; 
Nothing they said, nor knew nothing to s^', 



THE FROGS 



109 



Bat to call for thtai porridge, aod cry, 
" Pull away." 
Baochdb. Yes — yes, they linew this. 

How to f ... in the teeth 

Of the rower beneath; 

And befoul theii own comrades. 

And pillage ashore; 

But now they forget the command of the 
oar: — 

Prating and splashing, 

Dncusfling and daahing, 

They aUer here and there, 

With their eyee in the air, 

HHber and thither. 

Nobody knows whither. 
^iBCHTLiTe. Can the reiwobate mark in 
the course he has run, 

One crime unattempted, a miachief un- 
done? 

With his horrible passions, of sialerB and 
brothers. 

And sons-in-law, tempted by villainous 
mothers, 

And temples dafiled with a bastardly birth, 

And women, divested of honor or worth, 

lliat talk about life "as a death upon 

And sophistical frauds iuid rhetorical 

TiH now the whole state is infested with 

tribes 
Of Bcrivenera and scribblers, and rascally 

All practice of masculine vigor and pride. 
Our wrestling and luiming, are all laid aside. 
And we see that the city can hardly pro- 

Fw the Feast of the Founder, a raoer of 

To carry the torch and accomplish a comae. 

Bacchttb. Well, I laugh'd till I cried 
The last fesUval tide. 
At the fellow that ran, — 
T wss a heavy fat man, 
And he panted and hobbled, 
And stumbled and. wabbled, 
And the pottery people about the gate. 
Seeing him hurried, and tired, and late. 
Stood to receive him in open rank. 
Helping him on with a hearty spank 
Over the shoulder and over Uie flank. 
The flank, .tiie loin, the back, the shoulders, 



With shouts of applause from all beholders; 
White he ran on with a filthy fright, 
Puffing his link to keep it alight. 

Chorob. Ere the prize is lost and won 
Mighty doings will be done. 
Now then — (though to judge aright 
Is difficult, when force and migjit 
Are opposed with ready slight. 
When the Champion that is cast 
Tumbles uppermost at last) 
— ' Since you meet in equal match. 
Argue, contradict and scratch. 
Scuffle, and abuse and bit«, 
Tear and fight. 

With all your wits and all your might. 
— Fear not for a want of sense 
Or judgment in your audienoe, 
That detect has been removed; 
They're prodigiously improved. 
Disciplined, alert and smart, 
Drill'd and exercised in art: 
Each has got a little book, 
In the which they read and look, 
Doing all their best endeavor 
To be critical and clever; 
Thus their own ingenious natures. 

Aided and improved by learning, 
Will provide you with spectators 

Shrewd, attentive, and discerning. 

EoaiPiDBB. Proceed — Continuel 
Baccbos. Yes, you must continue, 
fschylus, I command you to continue. 
And you, keep a look-out and mark his 
blunders. 
MecBTiMB. "From his sepulchral mound 
I call my father 
"To listen and hear" — 

Euripides, l^kere's a tautologyl 
"To listen and hear" — 
Bacchus. Why, don't you see, you 
ruffian! 
It's a dead man he's calling to — Three 

We call to 'em, but they can't be made to 

iSscHTLns. And you: your prologues, 

of what kind were they? 
EusiFiDEB. I'll show ye; and if you'll 

point out a tautology, 
Or a single word clapped in to botch a 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Ttiat'a all I — I 'U give you leave to spit 



B^in then with these same fine-spoken 
prologues. 
EDRIPIDE8. "(EdipUB waa at first a 

happy man." . , . 
MacBTLva. Not he, by Jovel — but 
bom to miaery; 
Predicted and predestined by an oracle 
Before hia birth to murder his own father! 

— Could be have been " at fint a happy 

EuBiPiDES. . . . " But aft«rwanlB became 

a wretched mortal." 
^BCBTLDS. By no meanal he continued 

to be wretched, 

— Bom wretched, and exposed as soon as 

Upon a potsherd in a winter's night; 
Brought up a foundling with disabled feet; 
Then martied — a young man to an aged 

That proved to be bis motho' — where- 
upon 
He tore hia eyas out. 

Bacx;hub. To complete his happiness, 
He ought to have served at sea with 
Eraainidee, 

Therel —that's enough — now oome to 
music, can't ye? 
EuRipmfiB. I mean it; I shall now pro- 
ceed to ezpoee him 
Aa a bad composer, awkward, uninventive, 
Repeating the same strain perpetually. — 
Chobds. I stand in wonder and perplext 
Ta think of what will follow next. 
Will he dare to criticize 
The noble bard, that did devise 
Our oldest, boldest harmonies. 
Whose mighty music we revere? 
Much I marvel, much I fear. — 

EuBiPOES. Mighty fine music, truly! 
I '11 give ye a sample; 
It 's every inch cut out to the same pattern. 
Bacchus. I'll mark — I've piok'd these 

pebbles up for counters, 
EnRipmEB. Noble Achilles! Forth to 
therascuel 
Forth to the rescue with ready support I 



Hasten and go, 

There is b»voc and woe, 

Hasty defeat, 

And a bloody retreat, 

Confusion and rout, 

And the terrible shout 

Of! 



Tribulation and woe I 
Baccbts. Whob hob there! we've had 

woes enough, I reckon; 
Therefore I'll go to wash aw^ my woe 
In a warm bath. 

EcBiPioBB. No, do pray wait an instant, 
And let me give you first another strain, 
Transferr'd to the stage from music to IJie 

lyre. 
Baccbits. Proceed then — only give ua 

no more woes. 
EtnuFiDBS. The supremacy scepter and 

haughty command 
Of the Grecian land — with a fiatto-flatUi 

flatto-tbrat — 
And the ravenous sphinx, with her horrible 

brood, 
Thirsting for blood — with a flatto-fiatto- 

flatto-thrst, 
And armies equipt for a vengeful assault. 
For Paria's fault — with a fiatto-flatto- 

flatto-thrat. 
Bacchus. What herb ia that aameflatto- 

thrat? Some simple, 
1 guess, you met with in the field of 

Marathon; 

— But such a tune as tbisi You must have 

From fellows hauUng buckets at the well. 
jGbchtlub. Such were the stnuna I 
purified and brought 
To just perfection — taught by Phryniehus, 
Not copying him, but culling other flowers 
From those fair meadoVa which the Muses 

— But be filches and begs, adapts and bor- 

Snatches of tunes from minstrds in >h* 
street. 

Strumpets and vagabonda — the lullabys 

Of nurses and old women — jigs and bal- 
lads— 

I 'U give ye a proof — Bring me a lyre brae, 
somebody. 

What signifies a lyre? the caatapeta 



THE FROGS 



WiQ suit liim better — firing the castanets, 
With Euripides's Muse to snap her fingers 
Id cadence to her master's compaeitions. 

B&ccHus. This Muse, I talce it, is a 
Lesbian Muae. 

Skbti-vb. Gentle halcyons, ye that 

Your snowy plume, 
^wrting on the HUmmer wave ; 

Ye bx) that around the room. 
On the rafters of the roof 
Strain aloft your airy woof; 
Ye spidera, spiders ever spinning, 
Never ending, still beginning — 
Where the dolphin loves to follow. 
Watering in the surge's hollow, 
Dear to Neptune and Apollo; 
By the seamen understood 
Oioinous of harm or good; 
hi capricious, eager sallies, 
Chasmg, racing round the galleys. 
JEacoTLOB. Well now. Do you see this? 
Baccbob. I see it — 
£bchti.cb. Such is your music. I shall 
. now proceed 
To ^ve a specimen of your monodies — 
dreary shades of night 1 
What phantoms of affright 
Have scared my troubled sense 
With saucer eyes immense; 
And huge horrific pawe 
With bloody claws! 
Ye maidens haste, and bring 
Prom the fur spring 
Ahucket of freshwater; whose clear stream 
May purify me from this dreadful dream: 
But ohi my dream is out! 
Ye maidens search about! 
mighty powers of mercy, can it be; 

That Gtyke, Glyke, she 
(My friend and civil neighbor heretofore). 
Has lobb'd my henroost of its feather'd 
store? 
With the dawn I was beginning, 
Spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning, 
Unconscious of the meditat«d crime; 
Meaning to sell by yam at market-time. 
Now tears alone are left me, 
My neighbor hath bereft me, 
Of an — of all — of al! — all but a tear! 
Snoe he, my faithful trusty chantideer 
la flown — isflownl — la gone — isgoitel 



— But, O ye nymphs of altered Ida, bring 
Torches Md bows, with arrows on the 

And search around 

All the suspected ground: 
And thou, fair huntress of the sky; 
Deign to attend, descending from on high — 

— While Hecate, with her tremendous 

Even from the topmost garret to the porch 
Explores the premises with search eact, 
To find the thief and ascertain the fact — 

Bacx;bcb, Come, no more songs! 

£scHTi,TTs. I've hod enough of 'em; 
For my part, I shall bring him to the 

balance. 
As a true test of our poetic merit. 
To prove the weight of our respective 

Bacchus. Well then, so }x it — if it 
must be so. 
That I 'm to stand here like a cheesemonger 
Retailing poetry with a pair of srales. 

Chorob. Curious eager wits pursue 
Strange devices quaint and new, 
Like the scene you witneaa here, 
Unaccountable and queer; 
I myself, if merely told it, 
If I did not here behold it. 
Should have deem'd it uttor tolly, 
Crazineaa and nonsense wholly. 

lEnUr Pluto.) 
Bacchob. Move up; stand close to th» 

balance! 
EoBipiOBS. Here are we — 
Baccbus. Take hold now, and each of 
you repeat a verse, 
And don't leave go before I call to yoiil 
EuRiPiDEB. We're ready. 
Bacchus. Now, then, each repeat a 

EcuproBB. "I wish that Argo with ha 

JEecBYiAiB. "O Btreams of Spercfaius, 

and ye pastured plains." 
Bacchob. Let go! — See now — this 

scale outweighs that other 
Very considerably — 
EmupiDRB. How did it happen? 
Bacchus. He slipp'd a river in, like the 

wool-jobberB, 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



To moiaten his meter — but your line waa 

light, 
A thing wiUi wings — ready to fly away. 
EuRIpmss. Ijet liiTTi try once again then, 

and take hold. 
Bacchtb. Take hold once more. 
EnmpiDEB. We're ready. 
BACCH0B. Now repeat. 
Euripides. "Speech ie the temple and 

altai of persuaaion." 
JEbcbtl-vb. "Death ia a God that loves 

no Bacrifioe." 
Bacx^hus. Let go! — See there againi 

This scale sinlcs down; 
No wonder that it ahould, with Death put 

The heaviest of all calamities. 
EuRipiDBS. But I put in persuasion 
finely eicpreaa'd 
In the best tennB. 

Bacchus, Perhaps so; but persuasion 
Is soft and light and silly — Think of some- 
thing 
That's heavy and huge, to outweigh him, 
something solid. 
Euripides. Let's see — Where have I 

got it? Something solid? ' 
Bacchus. "Achilleshas thrown twice — 
Twice a deuce ace!" 
Come now, one trial more; ttiia is the last. 
Euripides. "He graap'd a mighty mace 

of maasy weight." 
JIscHTLua. "Cars upon cars, and 

corpses heap'd pell mell," 
Baccbub. He has nick'd you ag^n — 
KuRiPiDBB. Why SO? What has be done? 
Baccbub. He has heap'd ye up cars and 
corpses, such a load 
As twenty Egyptian laborers could not 
carry — 
jEbchylus. Come, no more single lines 
~ let him bring all, 
His wife, his children, his Cephisophon, 
His books and everything, himself tt 

I'll counterpoise them with a couple of 

Bacchus. Well, they're both friends of 
mine — I shan't decide 
To get myself ill-will from either party; 
One of them seema extraordinary clever. 
And the other suits my taste puticularly. 



Plcto. Won't you decide then, and oon- 

clude the business? 
Bacchus. Suppose then I decide; what 

then? 
Plcto. Then take him 
Away with you, whichever you prefer. 
As a present for your pains in coming down 

Baccbub, Heaven bless ye — Well — 
let 's see now — Can't ye advise me? 
This is the case — I'm come in search of 
a poet — 
Pluto. With what deeign? 
Bacchus. With this design; to see 
llie City again restored to peace and 

Eidiibitlng tragedies in a proper style. 

— Therefore wliichever gives the beat 

advice 
On public matters I shall take him with me. 

— First then of Alcibiades, what think ye? 
The City is in hard labor with the queetion. 

Euripides. What are her sentiments 

towards him? 
Bacchus. What? 
" She loves and she deteste and longs to 

have him." 
But tell me, both of you, your own opin- 

EuRipiDES. I hate the man, that in his 
country's service 
Is slow, but ready and quick to work b^ 

Unserviceable except to serve himself. 
Baccbub. Well said, by Jove! — Now 

you — Give us a sentenoe. 
jEbcbtlcs. 'T is rash and idle policy to 
foster 
A lion's wlielp within the city waUa, 
But when he's rear'd and grown you must 
indulge him. 
Bacchus. By Jove then I 'm quite pu»- 
zled; one of them 
Has answer'd clearly, and the other sen- 
sibly: 
But give us both of ye one more opinion; 

— What means are left of safety (or the 

state? 
Euripides. To tack Cineeias like a pair 

of wings 
To Cleocritus' shoulders, and dispatch them 
From a preiupice to sail aoroas the itnin 



c^ 



THE FROGS 



"3 



Bacchus. It seems a joke; but there's 
some sense in it. * 

' EnBipiDBS Then being both equipp'd 

with little cruets 
Thejr might coAperate in & nav&l action, 
Br sprinkling vinegar in the enemies' eyes. 
— Bat I can tell you and wiH. 
Bacchcb. Speak, and explain then — 
EcBipmBS. If we mistrust where present 
trust is placed, 
I'ruttiiig in what was heretofore mis- 
trusted^ 
BiccHua. Howl What? I'm at a lose — 
Speak it again 
Not quite so learnedly — more plainly and 
simidy. 
EuBipiDBa If we withdraw the confi- 
dence we placed 
la these our present statesmen, and trans- 

fwit 
To those whom we mietruated heretofore, 
This seems I think our fairest chance for 

If with our present counselors we fail, 
Tlten with tbeir opposifea we might suc- 
ceed. 

Biccnns, That's capitally said, my 
Palamedenl 
My politician! Was it all your own? 
Vour own invention? 

EuBiptDEs. AU except the cruets; 
Tliat was a notjon of Cephisophon's, 

Bacchus. Now you — what say you? 

^SCBTLUB. Infonn me about the city — 
Hlut kind of persons has she placed in 

office? 
Does she promote the worthiest? 

Bacchus. No, not she, 
She can't abide 'em. 

£bchtlds. Rogues then she prefers? 

Bacchttb. Not altogether, she makas use 

Pnforce as it were. 

lEKfnw&. Then who can hope to save 
A state BO wayward and perverae, that 

No sort of habit fitted for her wear? 
Drugget or superfine, nothing will suit her! 
Bacchus. Do think a tittle how she can 

be saved. 
Akbtlus. Not here; when I return 
tlteie, I shall speak. 



Bacchus. Mo, do pray send some good 

advice before you. 
£bchtlu8. When they regard their 
lands as enemy's ground, 
Their enemy's possessions as their own. 
Their aeamCD and the fleet their only safe- 
guard, 
Their sole resource hardship and poverty, 
And res<Jute endurance in distress — 
BACCEtUB. That's well, — but juries eat 
up everything, 
And we shall lose our supper if we stay. 
Pluto. Decide then — 
Bacchus. You'll decide for your own 

1 11 make a choice according to my fancy. 

EuRiPHiBS. Remember, then, your oatji 

to your poor friend; 

And, as you swore and promised, rescue me. 

Bacchus. "It was my tongue that 

swore" — I fix on .Eechylus. 
EuBIFinES. O wretch [ what have you 

done? 
Bacchus. Me? Done? What should I? 
Voted for .Xschylus to be sure — ■ Why not? 
Euripides. And art«r such a villainous 
act, you dare 
To view me face to face — Art not 
ashamed? 
Bacchus. Why shame, in point of fact- 
is nothing real: 
Shame is the apprehension of a vision 
Reflected from the surface of opinion — 
— The opinion of the public — they must 
judge, 
EuMPiDse. cruel! — Will you aban- 
don me to death? 
Bacchus. Why perhaps death is life, and 
life is death, 
And victuals and drink an illusion of the 

For what is Death but an eternal sleep? 
And does not Life consist in sleeping and 
eating? 
P1.UT0. Now, Bacchus, you'll come here 

with us within. 
Bacchus. What for? 
Ploto, To be received and entertain'd 
With a feast before you go. 

Bacchus. That's well imagined, 
With all my heart — I've not the least 
objection. 



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Chorus. Happy ia the maa pooeeaiiiig 
The superior holy blessing 
Of » judgment and a taate 
Accurate, refined and chaste; 
As it plainly doth appear 
In the scene pieeented here; 
^Vhere the noble worthy Bard 
Itf eeti with a deserved reward, 
SuSer'd to depart in peace 
Freely with a full release, 
To reviait once again 
His kindred and his countrymen — 



You I 

That to sit with Socrates, 
In a dream of learned ease; 
Quibbling, oounter-quibbling, prating. 
Argufying and debating 
With the metaphysic sect. 
Daily Binking in neglect, < 

Growing careless, incorrect, 
While the practice and the rules 
Of the true poetic Schools 
Are renounced or alighted wholly, 
la a madness and a folly. 
Plttto. Go forth with food wishes and 

hearty good-will, 
And salute the good people on Fallas's 

hill; 
Let tiiem hear and admire father .Xschylus 

still 
In hie office of old which again he must fill : 

— You must guide and direct them, 
Instruct and correct them. 

With a leeson in verse. 

For you'll find them much wone; 

Greater fools than before, and their folly 

And more numerous far than the block- 
heads (rf yore — 

— And give Cleophon this, 
And bid him not miss. 
But be sure to attend 

To the summons I send: 
To Nicomachus too, 
And the test of the crow 



That devue and invent 

New taxes and tribute. 
Are summonses sent. 

Which you'll mind t« distribute. 
Bid them come to their graves, 
Ori like runaway slaves. 
If tbey linger and fail. 
We shall drag them to jail; 
Down here in the dark 
With a brand and a mark. 

^IscBYLUS. I shall do as you aajr; 
But the while I'm away. 
Let the seat that 1 held 
Be by Sophocles fill'd, 
Aa deservedly reckon 'd 
My pupil and second ] 

In learning and merit | 

And tragical spirit — j 

And take special care; 
Keep that reprobate thwe 
Far aloof from the Cliaii; 
Let him never sit in it 
An hour or a minute, 
By chance or design 
To profane what was mine. 

ft.DTo. Bring forward the torcheel — 

The Chorus shall wait 

And attend on the Poet in triumph andstatt 

With ft thundering chant of majestical tout 

To wish him farewell, with a tune of hie 

Chorus. Now may the powers of the 
earth give a safe and speetj^ de- 
parture 

To the Baid at his second birth, with a 
prosperous happy revival; 

And may the city, fatigued with wan and 
long revolution. 

At length be brought to return to just and 
wise resolutions; 

Long in peace to remain — Let reetiesa 
Cleophon hasten 

Far from amongst us here — since ware 
are his only diversion, 

Tbraoe his native land will afford him wars 
in abundance. 



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THE CAPTIVES 

(CAPTIVI) 

I.V PLAUTUS 

TntuUUd in thttri^Mwuttribi EDWARD H SUGDBN 



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CHARACTERS 

EsoABiLCS, a porcMtto 

Heoio, an old gentleman 

Fhilocrateb, an EUan Knighi, ) 

™ , „ . ttheprUona 

Ttndakds, ton of Hegio J 

AiuBropHOKTBa, a prisoner 

Philopolehcb, a young man, ton of Hegio 

Stalaouus, a skwe 

Overseen of skates 

A boy 



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THE CAPTIVES 



[The Scene repreaente Ae htmae 0/ Hboio in 
Mtalia. Before Ihe henue are teen standing in 
Aaine the two priaonera, Philochatbs and 

TTKDABnS.1 

Pboloqub. You &11 can see two prisoD- 

eiB standing here, 
StADding in bonds; they stand, they do not 

sit; 
Inthiayou'U witness that Ispeoktlie truth. 
Old Hegio, who lives here, is this one's 

fatba; 
But how he's come to be his father's slave 
My prologue shtdl inform you, if you'U 

Hu) old man had two sons; the one of whom 
Was stolen by a slave when four years old. 
He ran away to Elia and there sold him 
To this one's father. 

—Do you see? —That's rightl 
Yon fdlow in the gallery says he does n't? 
let him come nearer, then! What, there's 

If there's no room to sit, there's room to 

walk! 
You'd like to send me begging, would you, 

^y, don't suppose I'll crack my lungs for 

You gentremen of means and noble rank 
Aeceive the reet; I hate to be in debt. 
That run-o-way, as I've already said, 
When in his Hight he'd stolen from his home 
His master's son, sold him to this man's 

Who, having bought him, gave him to his 

To be his valet; for the two lade were 
Much of an age. Now he's his father's slave 
Id his own home, nor does his father know 

it; 
See how the gods play ball with us poor 

Kow tiien, I 've told you how he lost one son. 
^w .Stolians and the Elians being at war, 
Hii'olJt«r son, a not uncommon thing 



In war, was taken prisoner; and a doctor 
At Elis, called Menarchus, bought him 

His father then began to buy up Elians, 
To see if he could find one to eschange 
Against his son, — the one that is a pria- 

The other, who 's at home, he doea n't know 
Now, only yesterday he heard a rumor 
How that an Elian knight of highest rank 
And noblest family was taken prisoner; 
He spared no cash if he might save his son; 
And so, to get him home more readily. 
He bought these two from the commisaion- 

ers. 
But they between themselves have laid a 

So that the slave may get his lord sent 

Thus they've exchanged their clothing and 

Be'a called Fhilocrates, he Tyndiuus, 
And either plays the other's part to^y. 
The slave to-day will work tha dever 

And get his master set at Uberty. 

By the same act he'll save his brother too. 

And get him brought back free to home Mid 

Though all unwitting : oft we do more good 
In ignorance than by our beat-laid plans. 
Well, ignorantly, in their own deceit, 
They 've so arranged and worked their little 

That be shall still remain his father's slave. 
For now, not knowing it, he serves his 

father. 
What things of naught are men, when ona 

reflects on 'tl 
This story's ours to act, and yours to see. 
But let me give you one brief word of wam- 

ing: 
It's well worth while to listen to this fiAj. 
It's not been treated in « haokneyed fa«h- 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Nor like the reet of pUyn; here you'll not 

find 
VeraeB that Etre too nasty to be quoted. 
Here is uo perjured pimp, or ettity girl. 
Or brac^ut captain. — Pray, don't be afraid 
Because I nud a war was going on 
Between the £toUane and the Elians; 
The battles won't take place upon the ataf^. 
We 're dreeaed for comedy ; you can't expect 
That we should act a tragedy all at ooce. 
If anybody 'a itching for a fi^ht, 
JuBt let him start a quarrel; if he gets 
An opposite that's stronger, i dare bet 
He'll quickly see more fighting than he 

And never long to see a fight again. 
I'moS. Farewell, ye most judicious judgM 
At home, most valiant fighters in the fieldl 
[ExU Prologv».\ 

[finter Ergabilus /rom the town.] 
EBQAaiLTTB. Grace is the name the boys 

have given me. 
Because I'm always found before the meat! 
The wits, I know, say it's ridiculous; 
But so don't I! For at the banquet-table 
Your gamester throws the dice and asks for 

I^race. 
Then is j/nice there or not? Of eourseaheisi 
But, more of course, we paraaitee are thne, 
Though no one ever asks or summons us! 
Like mice we live on other people's food; 
In holidays, when folks go out of town, 
Our teeth enjoy a holiday m well. 
Aa, when it's warm, the snails lie in their 

And, failing dew, liveon their native juices; 

So parasites lie bid in misery 

All through the holidays, Uving on their 

Whilst those they feed on jaunt it in the 

counttj-. 
During the holidays, we parasites 
Are greyhounds; when they're oTcr, we are 



Bred out of " Odious" by "Prince of Bores." 
Now here, unless your parasite can stand 
Hard fisticuffs, and has no stroDg objection 
To have the crockery broken on his pate, 
He'd bett«r go and take a porter's billet 
At the Trigeminal gate; which lot, J fear, 
Is not at ^ unlikely to be mine. 



My patron has been captured by the foe — 
The ^tolians and the Elians are at war, 
(This is jEtolia); Philopolemus, 
The son of Hegio here, whose house this is, 
In Elis lies a prisoner; so this house 
A house of lamentation is to me; 
As of t as I behold it, I must weep. 
Now for his son's sake, he's begun a trade, 
Dishonorable, hateful to himself; 
He'sbuyingprisoners, if perchance he m&y 
Find any to exchange against his son. 
O how 1 pray that he may gain his wiahl 
Till he's recovered, I am past recovery. 
The other youths are selfish, hopeleady. 
And only he keeps up the ancient style. 
I've never flattered him without reword; 
And the good father takes after his son! 
Now I'll go see him. Ha! the door is opea- 

ing, 
Whence I have often oome, just drunk wiUi 

gorging. 
ISnltr from the houxe Heoio and on 

0<'er*eer.] 
Hboio. Attend to me; thoee prisonera 

that I bought 
A day ago from the Commissioners 
Out c^ the spoil, put lighter fetters on them; 
Take oR these heavier ones with which 

they're bound, 
And let them walk indoors or out at will; 
But watch them with the utmost careful- 

For when a free man 's taken prisoner. 
He's just like a wild bird; if once he gets 
A chance of running off, it's quite enough; 
You need n't hope to catch your man agaia. 
Overbbhr. Why, all of us would rather 
far be free 
Than slaves. 

Hboio. Why not take steps, then, to be 

free? 
OvERaiTER. Shall 1 give ieg-b<alt I've 

naught else to givel 
Hbgio: I fancy that in that cose you 

would ratchU! 
OvsBBEEit, I '11 be like that wild bird you 

spoke about. 
Hxaio. All right; then I will dap you in 

Enough of this; do what I said, and go. 

[Exit Onerseer into Oie hovael 



THE CAPTIVES 



119 



I'll to my brother's, to mj other captivee, 
To see how they've behaved thetnaelves 

last night, 
And then I'U come back home again 
straightway. 

EaoAaiLiTB londet. It grieves me that 

the poor old man should ply 

This gaoler's trade ta save his hapless son. 

But if perchance the son can be brought 

back, 
The fathermay turn hangman: what care IT 

Hboio. Who speaks theref 

Eboasilub. One who Buffers in your grief. 
I'm growing daily thinner, older, weako'! 
See, I'm all skin and bones, as lean as leant 
All that I eat at home does me no good; 
Only a bite at a friend'e agrees with me. 

Heoio Ergasilus! hail I 

EaaABiLOs. Heav'nbleeayou, H^iol 

Heoio. Don't weep! 

£RaAen.0a. Not weep for himT What, 
not bewail 
That excellent young man? 

Hsoio. I always knew 
You and my son to be the beet of friends. 

EaOABiLnB. Alaal we don't appreciate 
OUT blessings 
Till we have loot the gifts we once enjoyed. 
Now that your son is in the foeman'a hands, 
I realize how much he was to me! 

HEflio. Ah, if a stranger feels his loss ao 

What must I feelT He was my only joy. 
Eroasilus. a stranger? I a stranger? 
Hegio, 
Never say that nor cherish such a thought! 
Your only joy he was, but oh! to me 
Far dearer than a thousand only joys. 
Heoio. You're right to msJce your 
friend's distress your own; 
But come, cheer upl 

Eboasilub. Alas! it pains me here, 
That DOW the feaster's army is discharged. 
Heoio. And can't you meantime find 
another general 
To call to arms this army that 's discharged? 
EaoAStLDS. No fear! since Philopolemus 
was taken. 
Who filled that poet, they all refuse to act. 
Hegio. And it's no wonder they refuse 
to act. 
You need so many men of divets races 



To work for you; first, those of Bakerton; 
And sBYwal tribes inhabit Bakerton; 
Then men of Breadport and of Biscuitville, 
Of Thrushborough and Ortolania, 
And all the various soldiers of the sea. 
Eboasilub. How oft the noblest talente 
lie concealed! 

what a splendid general you would make. 
Though now you're serving as a private 

merely. 
Heoio. Be of good cheer; in a few dajv, I 

1 shall receive my dear son home again. 
I've got a youthful Elian prisoner, 
Whom I am hoping to exchange for him. 
One of the highest rank and greatest wealth. 

Eboasilub. May Heaven grant it I 

Hiqio. Where 've you been invited 
To dine to-day? 

Eroasilus. Why, nowhere that I know 
of. 
Why do you ask? 

Heoio. Because it is my birthday; 
And so, I pray you, come and dine with me. 

Erqasilub. Weil said indeed! 

Heoio. That is if you're content 
With frugal fare. 

Eboasilub. Wdl, if it's not too frugal; 
I get enough of that, you know, at home. 

Heoio. Well, name your figure! 

Eroabilub. Done! unlees I get 
A better offer, and on such conditions 
As better suit my partners and myself. 
As I am selling you my whole estate, 
It'soniyfair that I should make my terms. 

Heoio. I tear that this estate you 're seU- 
ingme 
Has got a bottomless abyss within'tl 
But if you come, come early. 

Eroabilub. Now, if you like! 

Heoio. Go hunt a bare; you've onlj 
caught a weasel. 
The path my guest must tread is full of 
stones. 

E^OABILUS. You won't dissuade me, 
Hegio; don't think it! 
I'U get my teeth well shod before I come. 

Hegio. My table's really coarse. 

£RaABii.us. Do you eat brambles? 

Heoio. My dinner's from the soil. 

Erqabilub. So is good pork. 

Heoio. Plenty of oabbagel 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



110 

Eboabilcb. Pood for invalids] 
What more? 
Hxaio. Be there ia time. 
Eroabilub. I'll not forget. 

[ExU Ergabilus lo ihe marMr 
place.] 
Heoio. Now I'll go in and look up my 
accounta, 
To Bee what I have lying at my banker's; 
TbeD to my brother's, as 1 eaid just now. 

[Exit Hbqio into the fumte.] 
'Enter Overteere, Philocrates and Ttn- 
DABUB, each in ike othtr'i doMei, and 
other tiwet.] 
OyvBBKKR. Since Heaven has willed it 
should be ao, 
/hat you must drink this cup of woe, 
Why, bear it with a patient mind, 
And so your pain you '11 lighter find. 
At home, I dare say, you were free; 
Now that your lot ia slavery. 
Just take it as a thing of coutae. 
Instead of making matters worse; 
- Behave yourselves and don't be queasy 
About your lord's commands; 't is easy. 
Prisonebs. Oh, oh I 
OvBBaKBR. No need for howls and cries! 
I see your sorrow in your eyes. 
Be brave in your advereities. 
Ttndasus. But we're ashamed to wear 

these chains. 
OvEBflDER. My lord would siiSer far 
worse pains. 
Should be leave you to range at large out of 

his custody. 
Or set you at liberty whom he bought yes- 

TTNDARns. Oh, he need n't fear that 
he'll loee his gains; 
Should he release us, we know what's our 
duty, sir. 
Overseer. Yea, you'll run off; I know 

thai. You're a beauty, sirl 
Ttndabcb. Run off ? run off where? 
OvEBSEER. To the land of your birth. 
TrNnABoa. Nay, truly, it never would 
answer 
To imitat« runaway slaves. 

OvERflEER. Well, by Jttvet 
I'd advise you, if you get a chance, air. 
Ttkdarus. One thing I beg of you. 



What's your petition, sir? 
Tynd&bits. Give us a chance of exchang- 
ing a word, 
Where th^'s no fear that we'll be over- 
heard. 
OvBBSEKB. Grantedl Go, leave them. 
We'll take our position there. 
See that your talk does n't last too Icmgl 
TTNDARoa. Oh, that's my intention. 

So, now, come alongl 
Overseer. Go, leave them alone, 
Tyndabob. We ever shall own 
We'reinyour debt for the kindness you've 

shown to us; 
You have the power, and you've proved 
yourself bounteous. 
Philocrates. Gome away farther, aa 
far as we can from them; 
We must contrive to conreal our fine plan 

from them, 
Never disclose any trace trf our trickery. 
Else we shall find all our dodgea a mockwy. 
Once they get wind of it. 
There 11 be an end d it; 
For if you are my master brave. 
And I pretend to be your slave. 
Then we must watch with greatest care; 
Of eavesdroppers we must beware. 
With caution and skill keep your a^iBes aU 

waking; 
There's no time to sleep; it's a big uuder- 

TiNDAKUB. So I'm to be masterT 
Phii<ocratbb. Yes, that is- the notion. 
TrNnAftCB. And so for your head (I 
would pray you remark it). 
You wtmt roe to carry my own head to 
market I 
Philocrates. I know. 
Tyndabub. Well, when you've gained 
your wish, remember my devotion. 
This is the way that you'll find most men 
treating you; 

Until they have 
The boon they crave. 
They're kind as can be; but success makes 

the knave I 
When they have got it, they set to woik 

cheating you. 
Now I have told you the treatment you owe 

tome. 
You I regard as a father, you kooiv, to ma. 



THE CAPTIVES 



Fhilocrates. Nay, let lu Bay, — 
coDventions Bball hinder us, — 
Next to my own, you're my father, dear 
TyiularuB. 
Ttndards. That will do I 
Philockateb. Now then, I warn you 
always to remember this; 
1 no longer am your master but your slave; 

don't be remies. 
Since kind Heav'n has shown us plainly 

that the way ounelves to save 
Is for me, who was your mast«r, now to 

turn into your slave. 
Where before I gave you orders, now 1 beg 

of you in prayer. 
By the (Ganges in our fortune, by my 

father's kindly care. 
By the common fetters fastened on us by 

the enemy, 
Think q! who you were and are, and pay n 

more respect to me 
Than I used to pay to you, when you were 
'slave and I was free. 
Ttndarub. Well, I know that I am you 

and you are me! 
PHiLOdUTsa. Yea, stick to that! 
, Then I hope that by your ahrewdneas we 
shall gain what we are at. 

[Enter Hbgio from hit k/mae.] 
Heqio [addrestiTig some one in»ide\. I'll 

be back again directly when I've 

looked into the cose: 
Where are thoee whom I directed at the 

door to take their place? 
Philocbatbs. by Pcjlux! you've been 

careful that we shouldn 't be to seek ; 
Thus by bonds and guards surrounded we 

have had no chance to aneak! 
HcfflO. Howsoever careful, none can be 

as careful as he ought; 
When he thinks he's been moat careful, oft 

your careful man is caught. 
IXm't you think that I've just cause to keep 

a careful watch on you, 
Wlien I've had to pay so la^e a sum of 

money for the two? 
Fhilocrates. Truly we've no right to 

blame you, that you watch and 

guard us thus; 
And if we should get a chance and runaway, 

you can't blame im. 



HxQio. Just like you, my son is held in 
slavery by your countrymen. 

Philocrates. Was he token prisoncrT 

Heoio. Yea. 

Philocbateb. Weweren'ttheonlycow- 
ards then. 

Heqio. Come aside here; there is some- 
thing I would ask of you alone; 
And I hope you'U not deceive me. 

Philocrates. Everything I know 111 

If in aught I'm ignorant, III tell you so, 
upon my life. 
[Heoio and Philocbates go aside; 
Ttndabtts ilandtTig wkert he can 
hear their coruvraatifm.] 
TnntABUs [aside]. Now the old man's 
at the barber's; see my master whets 
his knife! 



Win he shave him close or only cut his hair? 

Wdl, goodness knows! 
But if he has any sense, he'll crop the old 

man properly I 
Heoio. Come now, tdl me, would you 

rather be a slave or get set freeT 
Philocrates. What I want is that 

which brings me most of good and 

least of ill. 
Though I must confess my slavery was n't 

very terrible; 
Little difference was made between me and 

my master's son. 
TrNDAHUS [aside]. Bravo ! I 'd not 

give a cent for Thalee, the Mils' 

For, compared with this man's cunning, he 

is but a trifiing knave. 
Mark bow cleverly he talks, as if he'd al- 
ways been a slave! 
Heoio. Tell me to what family Philo- 
crates belongs? 
Philocbateb. The Goldings; 
That's a family most wealthy both in hon- 
ors and in holdings. 
Hegio. Is your master there respected? 
Fhilocrates. Highly, by our foremost 

Heoio. If his influence amongst them is 
as great as you n 
Are hii riches fat? 



. Google 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



PmLocRATsa. I Euees an! Pat m aneti 

one might say. 
Heqio. Is his (stJier living? 
Philochatbs. Well, he uut, sir, when we 
came away; 
Whether he still lives or not, you'll have to 

go to hell U> Bee. 
Ttmdabus [atidel. Saved agaiol for now 

he's adding* to hia lies philoeophyl 
Hboio. What'a hia name, I pray^ 
Pbii/>crates. ThenaaurocTceeonicochry- 

Heoio. I auppose a sort of nickaaroe 

given to show now rich he is. 
Phuocbateb. Nay, by PoUuxl it waa 
given him for bis avarice and greed. 
■Truth to tell you, Theodoromedea ia bis 
name indeed. 
Hbqio. What iathia? His father's grasp- 
ing? 
Philocrates. Graaping? Ay, moat cov- 
etous! 
Just to show you, when he sanrificea to his 

Genius, 
All the vessels that he uses are of Samian 

crockery. 
Lest the Genius should sl«al them! There's 
his character, you see. 
Hkoio. Come with me then. 
Now I'll ask the other what I want to 

[To Ttndarus.I Now, Fbilocretea, your 

slave has act«d aa a man aluHild 

do, 
For from him I've learnt your birth; the 

whole he has confeaaed to me. 
If you will admit the aame, it shall to your 

advantage be; 
For your slave hae told me all. 

TTNDABne. It was his duty so to do. 
All ie true that he's confessed; although I 

must admit to you, 
'T was my wish to hide from you my birth, 

and wealth, and family; 
But now, Hegio, that I've lost my father- 
land and liberty, 
Naturally he should stand in awe of you 

much more than me, 
Since by force of arms our fortunes stand on 

an equality. 
I remembK- when he dunt not speak a word 

to do me ill; 



He may strike me now; ao fortune plays 

with mortals aa she will. 
I, onoe free, am made a slave and brought 

from high to low degree, 
And instead of giving orders must obey aub- 

miaaivdy. 
But if I should have a master, such as / was 

when at home, 
I've no fear that his conunands will prove 

unjust or burdensome. 
Begio, wUl you bear from me a word of 

warning? 
Heoio. Yes, say oa 
Tyndaros. Once I waa as tree and h^py 

as your own beloved son. 
But the force of hostile arma has robbed 

him of his freedom, too; 
He's a slave amorgat our people, just as I 

am here with you. 
Certainly thN« is a God who watches ua 

where'er we be; 
He will tivat your son exactly aa He finds 

that you treat me. ' 

Virtue sure will be rewarded, vice will e'er 

bring sorrow on — - 
I've a father misses me, as much as you 

your absent son. 
Haoto. Yes,Iknow. Doyouadinit,then. 

what your slave confessed to me? 
TvNDARCrs. I admit, sir, that my father 

is a man of property, 
AndthatI'mof noble birth. Butlbeseech 

you, Hegio, 
Do not let my ample richee cause your avar- 
ice tofirow. 
Lest my father think it better, though I am 

hia only son, 
That I should continue serving you and 

keep your livery on, 
Rather than come home a be^ar to my in- 
finite disgrace. 
Heoio. Thanks to Heav'n and my fota- 

fathets, I've been wealthy all my 

Nor is wealth, in my opinion, always usdul 

to obtain — 
Many a man I've known degraded to a 

beaat by too much gain; 
There are times when loss is better far than 

gain, in every way. 
Goldl I hate it! Oh, how many pec^e has it 

ledaatxayl 



THE CAPTIVES 



133 



Mow, attend to me, and I my purpose 
plainly will d^daie: 

Tliere in Elia, with your people, is nqr son s 
prisoDer. 

If you'll bring him back to too, you shall 
not pay'a single cent: 

111 rdeoae you &iid your slave too; other- 
wise I'll not relent. 
Ttmdarus. That's the noblest, kindest 
offerl All the world can't find your 

But ia he in slavery to a priv&te man or t 
the State? 
Hboio. To MenarchuB, a physician. 
TxNDABua. Ahl my clientl all is plain; 
Everything will be as easy aa the faUing of 
the rain. 
Hsoio. Bring himhomeassoonasmay be. 
Tyndahub. Certainly; but, H^io — 
Hkqio. What's your wish? For 111 do 

aught in reason. 
Ttndabub. Listen; you shall know. 
I don't ask that I should be sent back unU 

your son has come. 
Name the price you 'tl take for yondw slave, 

to let me send him home. 
That he may redeem your son. 
Heoiu. Nay, some one else I should pre- 
fer, 
Whom I'll send when tnxix m made to go 

and meet your father there. 

He can take your father any message that 

you like to send. 

Ttndarus. It'snousetosendastranger; 

all your toil in smoke would end. 

Send my slave, he'll do the business just as 

soon as he gets there; 
You won't hit on anybody you can send 

who's trustier, 
Or more faithful; he's a man who does his 

work with all his heart. 
Boldly truft your son to him; and he will 

truly play his part. 
Don't you fearl at my own peril I'll make 

trial of his truth; 
For he knows my kindness to him; I can 
safely trust the youth. 
Hxaio. Well, I'll send him at your risk, 

if you consent. 
TrNDAKP* Oh, I agree. 
Hesio. Let him start as soon as may be. 
Ttmdabub. That will suit me p^ectly. 



Hkqio. Well, -then, if he does n't come 
back here you 'II pay me fifty pounda; 
Are you willing? 
TtNDABUB. Certainly. 
Hboio. Then go and loose him from his 

And the 6ther too. 
Ttndabub. May Heaven ever treat you 
graciously! 
Since you've shown me so much kindneai, 

and from fettera set me free. 

Ah, my neck's more comfortable, now I've 

cast that iron ruffl 

Hsoio. Gifts when given to good people 

win their Krstitudel Enough! 

Now, if you are going to send him, teach 

and tell him what to say. 
When he gets home to your fatbei'. Shall I 
call him? 
TrNDAROB. Do BO, pray I 

[Heoio crawM the doge to Fhilo- 
CKATEB and addreatet him.] 
Hzoio. Heav'n bless this project to my 
eon and me. 
And you as welll I, your new lord, desire 
That you should give your true and faithful 

service 
To your old master. I have lent you to him, 
And set a price of fifty pounds upon you. 
He says he wants to send you to his father 
That he may ransom my dear son and make 
An interchange between us of our sons. 
PmiocKATEB. Well, I'm prepared to 
serve either one or t' other; 
I 'm like a wheel, just twist me as you pleasel 
I '11 turn this way or that, as you command. 
Hboio. I'll see that you don't lose by 
your compliance; 
Bince you are acting as a good slave should. 

Now, here's your man. 

Ttndarub. I thank you, sir, ' 
For giving me this opportunity 
Of sending h't n to bring my father word 
About my welfare and my purposes; 
All which he'll tell my father as I bid him. 
Now, TyndaruB, we've come to an agree- 
That you should go to Elis to my father; 
And should you not come back, I 've under- 

To pay the sum of fifty pounds for you. 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



PsH-ocBATva. Afaira^teementlforyouT 
father looks 
For me or (or some other i 
To coroe from henoe to him. 

TTNSABns. Then, piay attend, 

And I will tell you what to tell my father. 

Philocratbb. I have always tried to 

aarve you hitherto, Fhilocrates, 

Aa you wished me, to the utmost of my 

poor abilities. 
That I '11 ever seek and aim at, heart and 
soul and strength alway. 
Ttndarttb, That bright: you know your 
duty. Listen now to what I say. 
first of all, convey a greeting to my parents 

dear from me, 
And t« other relatives and frienda, if any 

you should see. 
Say I'm well, and held in bondage by this 

worthy gentleman, 
Who has shown and ever ahowa me all the 
honor that he can. 
Philocrates. Oh, you need n't tdl me 

that, it's rooted in my memory. 
TTNDAAns. If 1 did n't see my keeper, I 
should think that I wae free. 
Tell my father of the bargain I have made 

with Hegio, 
For the ransom Of his son. 
Philocbateb. Don't stay to tell me that. 

Ttndarus, He must purchase and re- 
store him, then we both shall be set 

PHiiocRATBa, Good I 

Hboio. Bid him be quick, for your sake 

and for mine in like degree. 
Philocbatcs. Youdon't long toseeyour 

Bon more ardently than he does his! 
Hboio. Why, each loves his own. 
Philocbateb, Wdl, have you any other 

meaaages? 
Ttndabub, Yes; don't heeitate to say 

I'm well and happy, Tyndarus; 
That no shade of disagreement ever sep- 

That you've never once deceived me nor 
opposed your master's will. 

And have stuck to me like wax in spite of all 
this flood of ill. 

By my side you 've stood and hdped me in 
m.v sore adversities, ' 



True and faithful to me em. When my 

father hears of this, 
TyndaruB, and knows your noble conduct 

towards himself and me, 
He will never be so mean as to refuse to set 

you free; 
When I'm back III spare no effort that it 

may be bTOUj2;ht about. 
To your toil, and skill, and courage, and 

your wisdom, there's no doubt 
That I owe my chance of getting to my 

father's home again: 
For 't was you confessed my birth and 

riches to this best of men; 
So you set your master free from fett^s.by 

your ready wit. 
Philocbateb. Yes, I did, sir, as you say; 

I'm glad that you remember it. 
But indeed, you've well deserved it at my 

hands, Philocrates; 
For if I should try to utter all your many 

kindnesses. 
Night would fall before I'd finished; you 

have done as much for me 
As if you had been my slave. 

Hboio. Oood heavens, what nobility 
Shines in both their dispositions! I can 

scarce refrain from tears 
When I see their true affection, and the way 

the slave reveres 
And commends his master. 
Ttkdabus. Truly be has not commended 

Even a hundredth part aa much as he him- 
self deserves to be. 
Heoio. Well,asyou'vebehavedaonobly, 
now you have a splendid chance 
Here to crown your services by doubly 
faithful vigilanoe, 
Pbilocrateb. As I wish the thing ao- 
complished, so I shall do all I know; 
To assure you of it, I call Jove to witneas, 

That I never will betray Philocrates, I'U 
take my oath I 
Hboio. Honest fellowl 
Philocrates. I will treat him as mysdf, 

upou my troth! 
Ttndabus. From these loving protesta- 
tions, mind you never never swerve. 
And if I 've said less about you than youi 
faithful deeds deserve. 



.CtOo^^Ic 



THE CAPTIVES 



But remember you are going with a price 

upon your head; 
And that both my life and honor I have 

staked on your return; 
Wboi you've left my eight, I pray you, 
doa't forget what you have sworn, 
Or when you have left me here in slBvery 

instead (^ you, 
Think that you are free, and so n^lect what 

you are pledged to do, 
And forget your solemn promise to redeem 

this good man's son. 
Fifty pounds, remember, is the jxice that 

we've agreed upon. . 
Faithful to youi faithful master, do not let 

your faith be bought; 
And I'm well assured my father will do 

everything he ought. 
Keep me as your friend forever, and this 

good cjd man as well. 
Take my hand in yours, I pray you, swear 

on oath unbreakable, 
That you'll always be as faithful as I've 

ever been to you. 
Mind, you're now my master, aye pro- 
tector, and my father too! 
I commit to you my hopes and happiness. 

Philocrati». O that'll do! 
Are you satisfied if I can carry this commis- 
sion through? 
Ttndabuo. Yes. 

PmuxiaATEa. Then I'll return insucb a 
manner as shall please you both. 
Ib that all, sir? 

Bsoio. Come back quickly. 
PHiLOCBATBe. So I will, upon my troth. 
Heoio. Come along then to my banker's; 
I'll provide you for the way. 
Also I will get a passport from the prtetor. 
Ttmdarus. Passport, eh? 
Hcoio. Yes, to get him through the 
army so that they may let him go. 
Step ioaide. 

TTNDARCa. A pleasant jouraeyl 
Philocbatxs. Fare-you-welll 
Hboio. By Pollux, though, 
What a blesKing that I. bou^t these men 

from the Commissioners! 

So, please Heav'n, I've saved my son from 

bondage to thoee f oreignws. 



Dear! How long I hesitated whether I 

should buy or nott 
Please to take him in, good slaves, and do 

not let him leave the spot, 
When there is no keeper with him; I shall 
soon be home again. 

[Exeunt Ttndarub and atove* mto 
the himie.\ 
Now I 'It run down to my brother's and in> 

speot my other men. 
I'll inquire if any of them ia acquainted 

with this youth. 
[To Philockatcs.] Come along and 111 
despatch you. That must be done 
first, in sooth. 
[Exetml Heoio and Pqilocratib , 
to tiie market-plaet^ 

[BrUer FiBOASiLua relmninQ }rom tht 

nwrtei-piace.l 
Ebiusilub. Wretched he who seelra his 
dinner, and with trouble gets a haul; 

Wretcheder who seeks with trouble, and 
can't find a meal at all; 

Wretcbedeet who dies for food, and can't 
get any anyway. 

If I could, I 'd like to scratch the eyes out erf 
this cursed day! 

For it's filled all men with meon&ees to- 
wards me. Oh, I never saw 

Day BO hungry; why, it's stuffed with fam- 
ine in its greedy maw. 

Never day pursued its purpose ia so vacu- 
ous a way; 

For my gullet and my stomach have to keep 
a holiday. 

Out upon the parasite's profession: it's all 
gone to pot! 

For us impecunious wits the gilded youth 
don't care a jot. 

They no longer wont us Spartans, owners 
of a single chair. 

Sons of Smacked-Foce, whose whole stock- 
in-trade is words, whose board is bare. 

Those that they invite are fellows who can 
ask them back in turn. 

Then they cater for themselves and us poor 
parasites they spurn; 

You wUl see them shopping in the market 
with as little ahaioe 

As when, sitting on the bench, the <nili«ifi 
sentence they proclaim. 



..CtOoi^Ic 



196 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



For us wite they don't care twopence; keep 

entirely to their Bot. 
When. I went ]uat now to market, there a 

group of them I met; 
"Hiull" Bays I; "where shall we go," saye 

I, "to lunch?" They all were mum, 
"Who speaks first? Who volunteers?" says 

I. And atill the chape were dumb. 
Not a smile! "Where shall we dine together? 

Answer." Not a wordi 
l^en I flashed a jest upon them from my 

very choicest hoard. 
One that meant a month of dinners in the 

old days, I declare. 
No one smiled; and then I saw the whole 

waa a got-up aSair, 
Why, they would n't even do as much as 

any angry cur; 
If they a>uld n't smile, they might at least 

have shown their teeth, I swearl 
Well, 1 left the rascals when I saw that they 

were making game; 
Went to others; and to others; and b> others 

— atiU the samel 
They had formed a ring together, just like 

those who deal in oil 
I' the Velabrum. So I left them when I saw 

they mocked my toil. 
in the Forum vainly prowling other para- 
sites I saw. 
I've resolved that I must try to get my 

rights by Roman law. 
As they 've formed a plot to rob us of our 

life and victuals too, 
I shall summon them and fine them, as a 

magistrate would do. 
They shall give me ten good dinnets, at a 

time wh^i fiMd is deait 
So 111 do; now to the harbor; there 1 may 

to dinner BtB&; 
If that fails me, I '11 return and try this old 

man's wretched cheo'. 

[EtU Eroabilus lo the harbor] 



Heqio. How pleasant it ia when you've 
managed affairs 
For the good of the public, as yesterday I 



And congratulates me on the way I dedded. 
To tell the plain truth, I am worried with 

standing. 
And weary with waiting; 
From the flood of their words I eould scarce 

get a landing, 
And even at the pnetor's it showed no 
abating. 
I aslced for a passport; and when it had 

I gave it to l^darus; he set off home. 
When he had departed, for home off I 

started; 
Then went to my brother's, to question the 

others. 
Whether any among them Philoerates knew. 
Then one of them cries, "He's my friend, 
good and true." 
I told him I'd bought him; 
He begged he might see him; and so I have 
thought him. 
I bade them loose him from his chains. 
And came away. (To AiuaroPHOHTBS.) 
Pray follow me; 
Your earnest suit success obtains. 
Your dear old friend you soon shall see. 
[SMtait Heoio and Ammo- 
FHONTBB into the hoiue; Ttn- 
DAJtue immtdiatdy ruthea ouL] 
Ttndamis. Alasl the day has come on 
which I wish I never had been 

My hopes, resources, stratagems, have fled 

and left me all forlorn. 
On this sad day no hope remains of saving 

my poor life, t is clear;, 
No hdp or hope renuuns to me to di4v« 

away my anxious fear. 
No cloak I anywhere can find to cover up 

my crafty lies, 
No doak, I say, comes in my way to hide 

my tricks and rogueries. 
There is no pardon for my fibs, and no 

escape for my misdeeds; 
My cheek can't find the shelt«r, nor my 

craft the hiding-place it needs. 
All that I hid has come to light; my plana 

lie open to the day; 
The whole thing's out, and in this scrape I 

fail to see a single ray 
Of hope to shun the doom which I must 

suffer for my master's sake. 



THE CAPTIVES 



187 



Tlia Azistophontefl, irtio'a jiut oome, will 

Burely bring me to the stake; 
He knows me, and he ie the friend and Icins- 

man of Philocr&tee. 
SalvKtion could n't save me, if she would; 

thwe is no way but this, 
To plan some new and smarter trickeriea. 
Hangit,uAatr What shall I doT I am just 

dp a lofty tree, 
If I can't contrive some new and qui(« pre- 

poeterous foolery. 



Hkqio. .Where's the fellow gone whom 
we saw nuhing headlong from the 

Ttwdards [aside]. Now the day of 
doom has come; the foe's upon thee, 
Tyndarus! 

O, what story shall I tell them? What doiy 
and what confeea? 

My purpoBce are all at sea; O, ain't I in a 
pretty roees? 

O would that Heaven had blasted you be- 
fore you left your native land, 

Vou wretch, Ariatophontee, who have 
ruined all that I had planned. 

Hie game is up if I can't light on eome 
atrocious viUtunyl 
Heoio. Ah, there's your man; go speak 

TrKDAmrs lotufe]. What man ia wretoh- 

ederthan 17 
ABIBTOPBONTZ8. How is thls that you 

avoid my eyee and shun me, Tyn- 

Why, you might have never known me, 

fellow, that you treat me thus! 
I'm a slave as much as you, although in 

Elia I was free, 
Whilat you from your earliest boyhood wne 

enthralled in slavery. 
Hkcho. Well,by Jorel I'm notsurprised 

that he should shun you, when he 

That you call him Tyndarus, not, aa you 

should, Philocratee. 
TYXDAMva. Hegio, this man in Elia was 

considered raving mad. 
Take no note of anything he tells you either 

good or bad. 



Why, he once attacked hia father and hiB 

mother with a spear; 
And the epilepsy takes him in a form that's 

Don't go near him I 
Heaio. Keep your distance! 
Abibtophontes. Rascal! Did I rightly 

That you say I'm mad, and once attacked 

my father with a spear? 
And tbat I have got the sickness for which 
men are wont to spit? 

Heoio. Never mind! for many men be- 
sides yourself have Buff^«d it, 
And the spitting was a means of healing . 
them, and they were i^ad. 

AjusroFHONTiiB. What, do you believe 
the wretch? 

Hxaio. In what respect? 

AnisTOFHONTEB. That lorn madt 

TrNDARUB. Do you see him glaring at 
you? Better leave him I O bewarel 
Hegio, the fit is on him; hell be raving 
Boont Take care! 

Heoio. Well, I thought he was a mad- 
man when he called you Tyndarus. 

Tttjdaeus. Why, he eometimes does n't 
know his own name. Oh, he's often 

Hbgio. But he said you were his conuade. 

TrNnAHDS. Ah, no doubt! precisely so! 

And AlcnueoD, and Orestes, and Lycurgus, 

don't you know. 
Are my comrades quite as much as he is ! 

Abibtofhontbb. Oh, you gallows bird, 
Dare you slander me? What, don't I know 
you? 
Hiaio. Come, don't be absurd. 
You don't know him, for you called him 

Tyndarus: that's very clear. 
You don't know the man you see; you name 
the man who is n't here. 
Akibtofhomtes. Nay, he says he ia the 

man he is n't, not the man he is. 

TTNDAKCe. yesl Doubtlees you know 

bett«r whether I 'm Philocratee 

Than Philocratee himself does! 

AmsTOPHONTBS. You'd prove truth it- 

As it strikes me. But, I pray you, look at met 
TmDARUB. Aa you desire! 
Abistophomteb. Are n't you Tyndarus? 



138 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Tthdabcs. I'm not. 

ARiffTOPHONms. You Bay you ore Hkilo- 

CTstea? 
TrNDABUB. Certainly. 
ARiSTOt^ONTEB. Do you believe himT 
Hnaio. Yes, &nd shall do, if I pleoae. 
For the other, who you say he is, went 

home from here to-di^ 
To the father of this captive. 
Aiu?roPHONTBa. Father? He's a slave, 
TiNDAaoB. And, prayl 
Are you not a slave, though you were free 

once, as I hope to be, 
mien I have restored good Eegia'a son to 
home and liberty? 
Abittophonths. What's that, gaol-bird? 
Do you tell me that you were a free- 
man bom? 
TTNDAaue. No! Philocrates, not Free- 
man, is my name. 
AsiBTOFHONTEB. Pray, mark his scorn! 
Hegio, I tell you, you're being mocked and 

swindled by this knave; 
Why, he never had a slave except himself; 

for he'» a slave. 
' TrHDABtrs. Ah, because you're poor 
yourself, and have no means of live- 
lihood. 
You'd wish everybody else to be like you. 

I know your mood; 
All poor men like you are spit«ful, envy 
those who 're better oS. 
ARiBTOPHOErrss. Hegio, don't believe 
this fellow; for he's doing nau^t 
but sooff; 
Sure I tun, he'll play some scurvy trick on 

you before he's done; 

I don't like this tale of hia about the ransom 

<rf your aon, 

TnfDARDS. You don't like it, I dare 

say; but I'll acoomplish it, you see! 

I'll restoro him to his father; he in turn re- 

That's why I've sent Tyndarus to see my 

Akibtofhontbs. Come, that's lamel 
Yov are Tyndarus yoursdf, the only slave 

who bears that namet 
TtNDABDS. Why reproach me with my 

bondage? I was captured in the fray. 
Abibtoprontbs. Oh, I can't restnin my 

fury I 



TrNDARDB. Don't you hear him? Rao 
away I 
He'll be hurting stones at us just now, if 
you don't have him bound. 
Amstopbohtes. Oh, damnation! 
TTNnuins. How he glarea at lul I hope 
your ropes are sound. 
See, bis body's covered over with bright 

spots of monstrous site! 
It 'a the black bile that afflicts him. 
Akistofhont&b. PoUux! if this old man's 

You will find black pitch affliiit you, when it 

biases round your breast. 
Tthdarub. Ah,he'Bwanderingnow,po(w 

fellow! by foul spirits he's posseesed! 
EvQio [to Ttndabus). What do you 

think? Would it be best to have him 

bound? 
Tyndabub. Yes, so I said. 
AsisTOPHONTES. Oh, perdition take itl 

Would I had a stone to smash his 

head, 
This whipped cur, who s^^ I'm mod! By 

Jove, sir, I will m^ce you smart! 
TiMDARUS. Hear him calling out for 

stones! 
ARisTOPHONTxa. Pray, might we have a 

word apart, Hegio? 
Hsaio. Yea, but keep your distonoe; 

there's no nee d to come so cloee! 
TVNDARns. If, by Pollux, you go any 

nearer, he'll bite off your noee. 
AsiBTOPHONTSS. Hegio, I beg and pray 

you, don't believe that I am mad, 
Or that I have epilepsy as this shamdeas 

fellow said. '' 
But if you're ainid of me, thCa have me 

bound; I won't soy no. 
If you 'II bind that rascal too. 

Tyndabub. O no, indeed, good Hi^o! 
Bind the man who wishes it! 
ABtSTOFRONTBB. Be quiet, you I The case 

stands thus; 
I shall prove Fhiloorates the false to be true 

Tyndarus. 
What are you winking for? 
Ttnsabub. I was n't. 
AusiroPHONTxa, He winks before your 

very face! 
Hiaio. What, if I approached this mad- 
man? 



ElilizedbvGoOQlc 



THE CAPTIVES 



139 



Ttndarus. It would be a wild-gooee 

Hell keep chattering, till you can't molce 

either bead or tail ofit. 
Had they disesed him for the part, you'd 

say 't woe A]ax in hu St. 
■ Hkoio. Never mind, I vUi approach 

TrNDASOB [cuide]. Thioga are looking 
vory blue. 
I'm between the knife and altar, and I don't 
know what to do. 
Hboio. I att«iid, Aristophontes, if you 

've anything to Bay. 
Ahistofhontbs. You shall hear that 
that is true which you've been 
thinking false to^ay. 
Pint I wish to clear myaelf of all HU8|»cion 

that I rave. 
Or that I am subject to disease — except 

that I'm a slave. 
Bo may He who's king of gods and man re- 
store me home agun: 
He's no more Pbilocratee than you or I. 

Hi<HO. But teU me then, 
Wfaoheis. 
ABieroPHONTEB. The same that I have 
told you from the very first. 
If you find it otherwise, I pny that I may 

be accursed, 
And may suffer forfeit of fatherland and 
freedom sweet. 
Hxoio. What say you f 
Tyndabub. That I'm your slave, and 



Wera you free? 
TrKnABira. 1 was. 
Abistophontbs. He wasn't. He's }ust 

lying worse and worse. 
Ttndabub. How do you know7 Per- 
haps it happened that you were my 
mother's nurae, 
TiuX you dare to speak ao boldly I 

Abiotopkontbb. Why, I saw you when 

a lad. 
TrNDARUB. Well, I see you when a man 
to-day! So we are quiie, by gad! 
Did I meddle with your business? Just let 
mine alone then, please. 
Hmoio. Was his father called Thensauro- 
crceaonicoohrysidesT 



AaiaTOFBOMTES. No, he was n't, and I 
never heard the name before to-day. 
Theodoromedee was hia master's father. 

TiKnARUs [atide]. Deuce to payl 
O be quiet, or go straight and hang yourself. 

my beating heart! 
You are dancing there, whilst I con hardly 
stand to play my part. 
Heoio. He in Etis was a slave then, il 
you are not telling lies. 
And is not Philoorates? 
AuBTOPHONTEB. You'll nevK find it 

otherwise. 
Heoio. 80 I've been chopped into 
fragments and dissected, goodness 

By the dodges of this scoundrel, who has 

led me by the noae. 
Are you sure there's no mistake though? 
ABiaroFHONTXs. Yes, I speak of what I 

Hxoio. Is it certain? 
ABiffrOFHOinxa. Certain? Nothing could 
be mora entirely m. 
Why, Philooratea has been my friend from 

when be was a boy; 
But where is he now? 
Heoio. Ah, that's what vexes me, but 
gives him joy. 
Tell me though, what sort of looking man is 
this PhUocratM? 
Abistophonteb. Thin i' the face, a sharp- 
ish nose, a fair complexion, coal- 
black eyes, 
Reddish, crisp, and curly hair. 
Heoio. Yea, that's the fellow to a T. 
TrNnABCB [aaide]. Curse upon it, every- 
thing has gone all wrong to-day with 

Woe unto those wretched rods that on my 
back to-day must diet 
Heoio. So I see that I've been cheated. 
TrNDABUs [Q«ide]. Come on, fetters, 
don't be ahyl 
Run to me and clasp mf legs and I'll take 
care of you, no fearl 
Heoio. Well, I 've been sufficiently bam- 
boozled by these villains here. 
T' other said he was a slave, while this pre- 
tended to be free; 
So I've gone and lost the kernel, and the 
husk is left to me. 



I30 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Yes, they've corked my nose moat finely! 

Don't I nuke a fooliah ahow7 
But tiiis fellow here shan't mock mel CoU- 

pbu8, Corax, Cordalio, 
Come out here and bring your thongs. 
[Enter Overuen^ 
OvKBSKBB. To bind up faggots? Here's 

agol 
Baaio. Come, bind yout heaviest 

shacklee on this wretch. 
Ttndasus. Why, what 'a the matter? 

what'a my crime? 
Hbgio. Yout crime! 
You've Bowed and acattered ill, now you 
shall reap it. 
TTNDABirs. Had n't. you better aay I 
harrowed too? ' 

For farmers always harrow firet, then sow. 
Heqio. How boldly does he flout me to 

my facel 
Ttmdarob. a hannkee, guOtlesa man, 
although a slave, 
Should boldly face his master, of alt men. 
^aio. Tie up his hands as tightiy as 

you can. 
Ttndarcb. You'd better cut them off; 
for I am 3roui8. 
But what'a the matter? Why are you so 
angry? 
Heoio. Because my plans, as far as in 
you lay. 
By your thrice-villfunoue and lying tricka 
You've torn asunder, mangled limb from 

And ruined all my hopes and purpoeee. 
Philocrates escaped me through your guile ; 
I thought he was the slave, and you the free; 
Forso you said, and interchanged your namee 
Between yourselves. 

Tyndarub, Yea, I admit idl that. 
'T is just as you have said, and cunningly 
He'sgot away by means of my smart work; 
But I beseech you, are you wroth at that? 

Heoio. You'vebrought the worst of tor- 
ments on yourself. 

Ttndabitb. If not for sin I perish, I don't 

But though I perish, and he breaks his 

And does n't come back here, my joy is 

this: 



My deed will be remembered when I 'm dead. 
How I redeemed my Iwd from slavery, 
And rescued him and saved him from his 

foes, 
To see once more his father and his home; 
And how I rather chose to risk my life, 
Than let my master perish in bis bonds. • 
HiKiio. "The only fame you'll get will be 

mheU. 
Ttndabdb. Nf^, he who dies for virtue 

does n't perish. 
Hboio. When I've expended at) my tor- 
ments on you, 
And given you up to death for your deceits. 
People may call it death or perishing 
Just as they lilce; so long as you are dead, 
I don't mmd if they say that you're alive. 
TvHnARue. By Polluxl if you do so, 

you'll repent, 
When he cornea back as I am eure he wilt. 
Abibtofhontes. O Heavens! I see it 

now I and undentand 
What it all means. My friend Philocratee 
Is free at home, and in his native land. 
I'm glad of thait; nothing could i^ease me 

more. 
But I am grieved I 've got Mm into trouble. 
Who stands here bound because of what I 

Hboio. Didlfotbidyou toapeakfalady 

tome? 
Ttndakus. You did, sir. 
Hioio. Then how durst you tell me lies? 
TiMDAKtis. Because to toll the truth 
would have done hurt 
To him I saved; he profits by my lie. 
Heoio. But you shall smart for itl 
Ttnpakub. O that's all light! 
I've saved my master and am glad of that. 
For I've been his companion from a boy; 
His father, my old master, gave me to him. 
D* you now Uiink this a crime?^ 
Heoio. A very vile one, 
TiraDARus. /say it's ri^t; I don't agree 
with you. 
Consider, if a slave had done as much 
For your own son, how grateful you would 

be! 
Would n't you give that slave his liberty? 
Would n't that slave stand highest in youi 

favor? 
Answer I 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



THE CAPTIVES 



Hzoio. Well, y«a. 

Ttndabdb. Then whj' be vnih with 

Hxaio. Becftuse jrou were more faithful 
to your maater 
Hi&n e'er to me. 

Tthdabub. What else oDuld you expectt 
Do you HUppcae that in one night and day 
You could so train a man juat taken captive, 
A fresh newcomer, as to serve you better 
Than him with whom he'd lived from ear- 
liest childhood? 
Hkoio. Then let him pay you for it. 
Take him off, 
And fit him with the heaviest, thickest 

Ilience to the quarries you shall go right 

And whilst the rest aie hewing dght stones 

Vou shall each day do half as much ag^-in ^ 
Or dse be nickiuuned the Six-hui>&«d- 

Abibtophontes. By goda and men, I 
pray you, Hegio, 
Do not deetroy him. 

Heoio. Ill take care of him! 
foi in the stocks all ni^t he shall be kept, 
And quarry stones all day from out the 

ground. 
O, I'll prolong his t^irments day by day. 

ARiOTOPHONTXe. Is this your purpose? 

Bxoio. Death is not so aura. 
Go take him to Hippolytus the smith; 
Tell him to rivet heavy fetters on him. 
Then cause him to be led out of the city 
To Cordalus, my freedman at the quarries, 
And tell htm that I wish him to be treated 
With greater harshness than the worst slave 

Ttndabttb. Why should I plead with 
you when you're reeolved? 
Ilie peril of my life is youia as well 
When I am dead I have no ill to fear; 
And if I live to an extreme old age. 
My time of suffering will be but short. 
Faiewelll though you deserve a different 

Atistapboiitai, as you've done to me, 
So may you prosper; for it is through you 
That this has come upon me. 
BsQio. Take him off. 



Tyndabub. But if Philooratee returns to 
you, 
Give me a chance of seeiDg him, I pray. 
Hbqio. Come, take bim from my si^t or 

I 'U destroy you I 
Ttndabdb. Nay, this is sheer assault 
and battetyl 
[ExeiaU Overaeert and TrNOABne 
to the quarriea.] 
Hbqio. There, he has gone to prison as 
he merits. 
I'll give my other prisoners an examine, 
That none of them may dare repeat his 

Had it not been for him, who laid it bare. 
The rascals would have led me in a string. 
Never again will I put trust in man. 
Once cheated is enough. Alast I hoped 
That I had saved my son from slavery. 
My hope has periahed.' One of my sons I 

kist, 
Stidea by a slave when be was four years 

old; 
Nor have I ever found the slave or him. 
nte elder's now a captive. What's my 

crime. 
That I beget my children but to lose UwmT 
Follow me, youl I'U take you where you 

Since no one pities me, 111 pity none. 
Abibtophontbs. Under good auapioes I 
left my chain; 
But I must take the auspices again. 

[ExewU Ahistopbonteb and Sm- 
oio to Heoio'b brotiitr't.] 
[Bnler Ebqabilub from the harbor.] 
EiiaABii.uB. Jove supreme, thou dost 
proMct me and increase my scanty 

y and magnific thou bestow- 



est n 






Botii thanks and gain, and sport and jest, 

festivity and holidays, 
Proccesions plenty, lots of drink and heaps 

of meat and endless pruse. 
Ne'er again I'll play the ^x^gfix, eveiy- 

thing I want I've got; 
I'm able now to bleea my friends, and send 

my enemies to pot. 
Witii such joylul ioyfiilneas this joyful ixj 

has loaded mel 



.CtOoi^Ic 



132 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



lliough it has n't been bequeathed me, I 've 

come into property! 
80 DOW I II run and find the old man Hegio. 

O what a store 
Of good I bring to him, as much as ever he 

could ask, and more. 
I am reeolved I'll do juat what the nlavee do 

i'U throw my cloak around my neck, that 

he may hear it first from me. 

For this good news I hope to get my boaid 

in perpetuity. 

[SnUr Heoio Jrtmi his brother's.] 

Heqio. How ead the regrets in my heart 

that are kindled, 
As I think over all that has happened to me. 

isn't it Hhomeful the way I've been 

swindled, 
And yet could n't see! 
As soon as it's known, how they'll laugh 

in the city I 
When I come to the market they'll show 

me no |Hty, 
But I'tiii.ffing gay, " Wily old man up a trael " 
But is this ^Ir^siluB coming? Bless met 
His cloak 'a o'er his shoulder. Why, what 

can it be? 
Eroabilub. Come, Ergasilus, act, and 

act vigorously! 
Hereby I denounce and threaten all who 

shall obstruct my way; 
Any man who dares to do so will have seen 

his life's last day. 

1 'will stand him on his head. 

Hbqio. 'Fore me the man b^ins to sparl 

EsOABiLas. I shall do it. Wherefore let 

all passers-by stand off afar; 

Let none dare to stand conversing in this 

street, till I've passed by; 
For my fist's my catapult, my arm is my 

artillery, 
And my shoulder is my ram; who meets my 

knee, to earth he goes. 
Folk will have to pick their teeth up, it 
with me they come to blows. 
Hiaio. What's he mean by all this 
threatening? I confess I'm puisled 
quite. 
Eboasilub. I'll take care they don't 
forget this day, this place, my 
Dkickle mi^t. 



He who stops me in my course, will find 
he's stopped his life as well. 
Heoio. What he's after with these 
threats and menaces, I cannot tell. 
Eroabilub. I proclaim it first, that none 
may suffer inadvertently; 
Stay at home, good people all, and then 
you won't get hurt by me. 
Hesio. Oh, depend on't, it's a dinner 
that has stirred his valorous bile. 
Woe to that poor wretch whose food has 
given him this lordly style! 
EBGAeiLUS. First, for those pig-breeding 
millers, with their fat and bran-fed 

Stinking so that one is hardly able to get 

past the bouse; 
If in any public place I cat«h their pigs 

outside their pen. 
With my fists I'll tuunmer out the bran 

from those same filthy — men) 
Hegio. Here's pot-valor with a venge- 
ance! He's as full as man co«i1d 

wishl 
Ebqabilus. Then tfaoee fishmongers, 

who ofTcc to the public stinking 

fish, 
Riding to the market on a jumping, jolting^ 

joggling cob. 
Whose foul smell drives to the Forum every 

loafer in the mob; 
With their fish bsskets I '11 deal them oa 

their face a few smart blows, 
Just to let them feel the nuisance that thef 

cause the pubUc nose. 
Hsoio. Liston to his proclamations' 

What a royal style they koept 
EsoARiLnB. Then the butchers, who 

arrange to steal the youngsters from 

the sheep, 
Undertake to kill a lamb, but send you 

home right tough old mutton; 
Nickname ancient ram as yearling, sw«et 

enough for any glutton; 
If in any public street or square that ram 

comes in my view, 
I will make them sorry persons — ancient 

ram and butcher, too! 
Hxaio. Bravo! he makes rules as if he 

were a mayor and corporation. 
Surely he 's been made the master <^ the 

market to our natioo. 



. Google 



THE CAPTIVES 



EBOAeiLUB. I'm no more a paraaite, but 

kinglier than a king of kingB. 
Buch a stock of belly-timber from the port 

my message brings. 
Let me haste to heap on H^io this good 

news of jollity, 
Cntainly there 'e no man living who 'b more 

fortunate than he. 
Hiaio. What's this newe of gladness 

which he gladly hastes on me to 

Ebgabilub. Ho! where are you? 
Who is there? Will some one open me this 
door? 

Hboio. Ahl the fellow's come to dinner. 

EBOAarLTTB. Open me the door, I say; 
Or 111 smash it into matchwood, if there's 
any more delay. 

Hxoio. I'll speak to him. ErgasilusI 

EBOABiLirB. Who calls my name so 
lustily? 

Hkqio. ftay, look my wayl 

EsOAfiiLUB. You bid me do what For- 
tune never did to me! 
Who is it? 

Hkqio. Why, just look at me. It's 

EB0A8n.ua. Ye godsl It's he. 
Hum best of men, in nick of time we have 
each other greeted. 

Heoio. You've got a dinner at the port; 
that makes you so conceited. 

Eboabildb. Qive me your hand. 

Hxaio. My hand? 

EBOAaiLUB. Your hand, I say, at oncel 

Hkqio. I give it. Therel 

£ROABn.us. Now rejoice! 

Hkoio. Rejoicel but why? 

£HOAsn.nB. 'T is my command. Begone 
duUcara! 

Hkqio. Nay, the sorrows of my house- 
hold hinder me from feeling joy. 

Eboasilub. Ah, but I will wash you 
clean from every speck that can 

Venture to rejoicel 
Hkoio. All right, though I've no reason 

to be glad. 
Grqabilttb. That's the way. Now or- 

Ekqio. What? 

EKIUB1I.DB. To have a mi^ty fin made. 



Hkqio. What, a mighty fire? 
Eroabilub. I said so; have it big 

enough. 
Hboio. What next? 
Do you think I '11 bum my house down at 
your asking? 
EsoABiLua. Dont be vexed! 
Have the pots and pans got ready. Is it to 

be done or not? 
Put the ham and bacon m the oven, have 

it pipiim hot. 
Send a man to buy the fish — 
Hkqio. His eyes are open, but he dreamsl 
EBOAaiLus. And another to buy pork, 

and lamb, and chickens — 
Hkoio. Well, it seems 
You could dine well, if you'd money. 
Eroaeilcb. — Perch and lampiey, if 
you please, 
I^ckled mackerel and sting-ray, then an 
eel and nioe soft cheese. 
Hkoio. Naming's easy, but for eating 
you won't find facilities 
At my house, Ergaailus. 
EsOABiLDB. Why, do you Utink I'm 
ordering this 
For myself? 
Hkqio. Don't bedeceived; for you'll eat 
neither much, nor little, 
If you've brought no appetite for just your 
ordinary victual. 
Eboasilcb. Nay, 111 make you «ager 
for a feast thou^ I should urge you 

Hkoio. Me? 

Ebqabilub. Yes, you. 

Hkqio. Then you shall be my lord. 

ERQAaii-irB. A Idnd one too, I woti 
Come, am I to make you happy? 

Hkoio. Well, I 'In not in love with woe. 

EROABtiiUB. Where's your hand? 

HKOiq. There, take it. 

Ersabilus. Heaven's your friend I 

Hkoio. But I don't mark it, though. 

Ebqabildb. You're not in the mantet, 
that's why you don't mark il: come 
now, bid 
That pure veaaelB be got ready for the 

offering, and a kid, 
Pat and flourishing, be brought. 

Hkoio. What for? 

Eboabilub. To nuke a aaciifioe. 

, .CtOoqIc 



134 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Heoio. Why, to whom? 

Ekoasilcs. To me, of coursel — I'm 
Jupit«r in hum&n guiae! 
Yea, to you I &m Salvation, Fortune, Light, 

Delight, and Joy. 
It's your business to placate my deity 
with tood, dear boy I 

Heoio. Hunger seema to be your trou- 
ble. 

Ebq^bilob. Well, my hunger isn't 
yours. 

Heqio. Aa you say; ao I can bear it. 

Eboabilus. Lifelong habit that en- 

Heqio. Jupiter and all the goda con- 
found you! 
Ehqabilub. Nothing of the sortt 
Thanks I merit for rejiorfing such good 

tidinga from the port. 
Now 1 11 get H meal to euit me I 

Hxaio. Idiot, go! you've come too late. 

Ebqasildb. If I'd come before I did, 

your woida would come with greater 

weight. 

Now receive the joyful newa I bring you. 

I have Been your sod 
Fhilopolemus in harbor safe; and hell be 

He was on a public Veasel; with him waa 

that Elian youth 
And your slave Stalagmua, he who ran 

away — it's naught but truth — 
He who stole your little boy when four 
yeara old so cruelly. 
Heoio. Curae you, cease your mocking! 
Eroasilub. So may holy Fulneaa smile 

Hegio, and make me ever worthy of her 

sacred name, 
Aa I saw him. * 

Hkoio. Saw my son? 

Eroasil^s. Your eon, my patron; they 
're the same. 

Hbgio. And the priaoner from Elis? 

Eroasilus. Oai, parbleul 

HsGio. And that vile thief. 
Him who stole my younger eon, Stalag- 

Eroabilus. Out, moneieur, par Crieffl 
Heqio. What, just now? 
Erqasilub. Par KiUieerankiel 
Heoio. Has he come? 



Eboasilub. Out, par Dundtel 

Heoio. Are you sure? 

Eroasilub. Par AuehtermuekHet 

Heoio. Certain? 

Eroasildb. Out, ^ar RvrkeudbriQhi! 

Heqio. Why by these barbarian cities 

do you. swear? 
EROAsn-u^s. Because they're rude, 
Aa you said your dinner waa. 
Heoio, That's just like your ingrsti- 

Eboabilus. Ah, I see you won't believe 

me though it's simple truth I say. 
But what countiyman waa this Stalagmua, 

when be went away? 
Heoio. A Sicilian. 
Eroasilus. Well, but he belongs to 

Colorado now; 
For he'a married to a eailar, and she 

squeezes him, I vow! 
Heoio, Toll me, is your story true7 
Eroascttb. It's really true — the very 

truth. 
Heoio. O good Heav'ns! if you're not 

mocking, I've indeed renewed raj 

youth. 
Eroasilub. What? Will you continue 

doubtJng when I've pledged my 

sacred troth? 
As a last reaource then, Hegio, if you cant 

believe my oath, 
Go and see. 
Heoio. Of course I will; go in, prepare 

the feast at once; 
Everything's at your disposal; you're my 

steward for the nonce. 
Ergabilub. If my oracle's a false one, 

with a cudgel comb my hide! 
Heoio. You shall have your board for- 
ever, if you've truly propheeied. 
Eroabilus. Who will pay? 
Heoio. My son and 1. 
Eboabilus. You promise that? 
Heoio. I do indeed. 
Eboasiltib. Then I promise you your 

son has really come in very deed. 
Heoio. Take the best of everything! 
ERQABiLnB, May no delay your path 

{Exil Heoio to the hevbor.] 
Eboabilttb. He has gone; and put hie 
kitchen aJ»olutoly in my handitl 



THE CAPTIVES 



135 



Heav'iisl how necks and trunks will be 
dissciverod at my steTD coznuiftDdBl 
YfhM ft ban will fall on bacon, and what 
harm on humble ham I 

what labor on the lard, and what calam- 

ity on lamb! 
Butebere and pork dealers, you shall find 

a deal to do to-dayl 
But to tell of all who deal in food would 

cause too long delay. 
Now, in virtue of my office, I'll give e 

tence on the lard, 
Help those gammona, hung though 

condemned — a fate for them too 

' [£zi( EROAsn:.CB into the houie.] 

[EnUr a boy from tA« house C(f Hooio.) 

Boy. May Jupiter and all the gods, 

Ergasilus, confound you quite, 

And all who Hsk you out to dine, and every 

other parasite. 
Deetfuction, ruin, dire distresB, have come 
upon our family. 

1 feared that, like a hungry wolf, he'd 

make a fierce attack on me. 
I cast an anxious look at him, he licked his 

lips and glared around; 
I shook with dread, by Hercules! he gnashed 

his teeth with fearsome sound. 
When he'd got in, be made a raid upon the 

meat-safe and the meats; 
He seised a knife — from three fat sows he 

cut away the dainty teats. 
Save those which held at least a peck, he 

shattered every pan and pot: 
Then issued orders to the cook to get the 

copper boiling hot. 
He broke the cupboard doore and searched 

the secrets of the storeroom's hoard. 
So kindly watch him if you can, good slaves, 

whilst I go seek my lord. 
I'll tell him to lay in fresh stores, if he 

wants any for himself, 
F(W as this fellow's carrying on, there'll 

soon be nothing on the shelf. 

[Exit boy to the harbor.] 
[£nicr firom the harbor Hbqio, Philopolx- 
ifos, PmLOCBATEe, and STALAamus.] 



For bringing you back to your father again; 
For proving my staunch and succeasful 

defender, 
When, robbed of my son, I was tortured 

with pain; 
For restoring my runaway slave to my 

hands; 
For Philocrates' honor; unsullied it stands. 
FaitoFOLBUUB. Grieved I have enoi^ 

already, I don't want to grow still 

thinner, 
And you 've told me all your sorrows at the 

harbor, pending dinner. 
Now to businese! 
PHtLocRATEs, Tell me, H^o, have I 

kept my promises, 
And restored your son to freedom? 

Heoio. Yea, you have, Philocrates. 
I can never, never thank you for the serV' 

icee you've done, 
As you merit for the way you 've dealt with 

me and with my son. 
PHiutPOiiZifus. Yes, you can, dear fa- 
ther, and the gods will give us both 



Worthily to recompense the source of my 

deliverance. 
And I'm sure, my dearest father, it will be 
a pleasing task« 
Heoio. Say no more. I have no tongue 

tiiat can deny you aught you ask. 
Philocrates. Then restore to me the 
^ve whom, as a pledge, I left be- 

He has always served me better than him- 
self, with heart and mind. 
To reward him for his kindness now shall 
be my earnest care. 
Hioaio. For your goodness he diall be 
restored to you; 't is only fair. 
That and aught beside you aiik for, you 

shall have. But don't, I pray. 
Be enraged with me because in wrath I 'vift 
punished him to-day. 
Philocrates. Ah, what have you done? 
Heoio. 1 sent him to the quarries bound 
with chains, 
Wlwn I found how I'd been cheated. 
Philocrates. Woe is me! he bears these 

Dear good fellow, far my sake, because h> 
gained me my release. 



136 



CHIEF EUROPFAN DRAMATISTS 



Hboio. And on that account you Bhall 
Dot pay for him a penny pioce. 
I wilt Bet him free for notiiing. 

Philochateb. Well, by Pollux! Hegio, 
That ig kind. But send and fetch hin 
quickly, will you? 
Hsaio. Be it bo. 
[To a dove.] Ho, where are you? Run and 
quiddy bid young Tyndarus 
turn. 

Now, go iu; for from this slave, thiB whip- 
ping-block, 1 fain would learn 
What has happened to my younger son, 

and if he's living still. 
Meanwhile you can take a bath, 
PmLOPoi^inTs. Come in, Philocrates. 
PHILOCRATBa. I will. 

{Exeunt Philopoubhub and Pm- 

LocRATXS into Uie houae.] 

Bxaio. Now stand forth, my worthy sir, 

my slave bo handsome, good, and 

wise! 

^ruutOHCB. What can you expect fr 

me, when such a man as you t 

lies? 

For I never w&B nor shall be fine or haud- 

eome, good or true; 

If you're building on my goodnesB, it will 

be the worse for you. 

Hboio. Well, it is n't hard for you to see 

which vay your interest lies; 

If you tell the truth, ^t will save you from 

the harshest penalties. 
Speak out, straight and true; although 
you've not done right and true, I 
guess. 
Stalaouttb. Ob, you need n't think I 
blush to hear you gay what I con- 

Heoio. I will make you blush, you vil- 
lain; for a bath of blood prepare! 

&rAL.AOUDS. That will be no novelty! 
you threaten one who's oft been 
there! 
But no more of that; just tell me what you 

want to ask of me. 
Perhaps you '11 get it. 

Heaio. You're too fluent; kindly speak 
with brevity. 

Stai^omub, Ah you please. 

Hbqio. Ah, from a boy he was a supple, 
flattering knave. 



But to businesBl Pray attend to me, and 

tell me what I crave. 
If you speak the trulii, you'll find your 
interest 't will best subserve. 
Stalaomub. Don't tell me! D' you 
think that I don't know full well 
what I deserve? 
Hboio. But you may escape a part if 

not the whole of your desert. 
SrAnAGicuB. Oh, it's tittle I'U escapel 
and much will ham»en to my hurt: 
For I ran away and stole your eon from 
you, and him I sold. 
Hsoio. Oh, to whom? 
STALAOUue. To Theodoromedea of the 
house of Gold 
For ten pounds. 
HBaio. GoodHeav'nsI Why, that's the 

father of Philoorates. 
STAnAOMCs. Ym, I know that quite aa 
well as you do — better, if you 
|dease. 
Hkoio. Jupiter in Heaven, save me, and 
preserve my darling son I 
On your soul, Philocrates, come out! I 
want you. Make haste, run! 
[Enler Philocratbb /rom the houae.] 
Philochateb. H^po, I am at your aerv- 

Hboio. This man says be sold my son 
To your father there in Elis for ten pounds. 
PHnx)CSATKs. When was this done? 
9TALAOUUS. Twenty years ago. 
Pbilocratbb. O, nonsense! H^po, he's 

telling lies. 
Stalaomub. Either you or I am lying; 

for when you were little boys, 
He was given you by your father to be 

trained ^ong with you, 
Pbilocrates. Well, then, tell me what 

hia name woe, if this tale of youis is 

Stalaqmub. Piegnium at first; in after 

time you called him Tyndarus. 
Philockateb. How is it that I don't 

know you? 
SrALAauua. Men are oft oblivious. 
And forget the names of those from whom 

they've nothing to expect. 
Pbilochatbs. Then this child you sold 

my father, if your Btory is comet, 



THE CAPTIVES 



«37 



WMbestowodonmeasTalet. Wbowoahe? 
Stai^qhub. My msster'a sol 
Hkoio. Is he living, fellow? 
STAL4BHU8. Nay, I got the money; then 

I 'd done. 

HsCHo. Whftt Bfty ytmt 

PBn.ocBATBa. That Tyndanu is your 

loHt aoni I give you joy! 

So at least this fellow's stataiiients make 

me think; for he's the boy 

Who received his education with myself all 

through our youth. 

Hkoio. Well, I'm fortunate and wretched 

all at once, if you speak truth; 

Wretched that I treated him so cruelly, 

if he's my son; 
Oh, Bias! I did both more and lees than 

what I should have done! 
How I'm vexed that I chastised him! 

Would that I could alter iti 
See, he comes! and in a fashion that is any- 
thing but fit. 
{Enter Ttndabus from Ihe guarriet.] 
TtMDjutua. Well, I've often seen in 
pictures all the torments of the 



But I'm certain that you could n't find a 

hell that's stuffed and crammed 
With such tortures as those quarries. There 

they've got a perfect cure 
For sH weariness; you simply drive it off by 

working more. 
When 1 got ^ere, just as wealthy fathers 

oft will give their boys 
StarliDgs, goslings, quills to play with in 

the place of other toys. 
So when I got there, a crovi wss given me as 

plaything pretty! 
Ab, my lord is at the dirar; and my old lord 

from EUis city 
Has returaed! 

Hbgio. O hail, my long lost bodI 
Ttndakus. What means this talk of 

"sons"? 
Oh, I see why you pretend to be my father; 

yea, for once 
Yoa have acted like a parent, for you've 

brought me to the Ii|^t. 
PmLOCRATEB. Hah, good Tyndarusl 
TniDABiia. All haill for you I'm in this 

prat^ plight. 



Pbilociutbb. Ahl but now you shall be 

free and wealthy; for you must be 

told, 
Hegio's your father. That slave stole you 

hence when four years old; 
And then sold you to my father for ten 

pounds, who gave you me, 
When we both were little fellows, that my 

vslet you might be. 
This man whom we brought from Elia haa 

most certain i^oofs supplied. 
TrNDAnns. What, am I his son? 
Philocrateb. You are; your brother too 

you'll find inside. 
Ttndabub. Then you have brought back 

with you his son who was a prisoner? 
Phiixktrates. Yea, and he ia in the house. 
Ttnoabub. You 've done right well and 

nobly, sir. 
PHUXxntATES. Now you have a father; 

here's the thief who stole you nheo 

TiNUABUS. Now that I'm grown up, 
he'll find that theft will bring him 
little joy. 

Philocrateb. He deserves your venge- 

Tyndarits. Oh, I'll have him paid for 
what he's done. 
Tell me though, are you my father really? 
Heoio. Yes, I am, my son. 
Ttkuarus. Now at length it dawiw 
upon me, and I seem, when I re- 
flect, 
Yee, I SEtem to call to mind and somewhat 

vaguely recollect, 
Aa if looking through a mist, my fatJier'a 
name was Hegio. 
Heoio. I am he! 

Philocrateb. Then strike the fetters off 
your son and let him go! 
And attach them to thia villain. 

Heoio. Certaudy, it shall be so. 
Let 'a go in, and let the smith be summoned 

to strike off your chains, 
And to put them on thia fellow. 
Stu^outs. R^t! For they're my 

only gains, 
EPII.O0DE. Gentlemen, this play's been 
written on the liikea of modesty; 
Here are found no wiles of women, no gay 
lov«ra' gallantly; 



138 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Here are no affiliatioiu, and do tricks for 

getting gold; 
No young lover buys his miatreeB whilat his 

father is cajoled. 
tt'a not oft«n nowadays that plajB are 

mittAu of this k^, I 



In which good folk are made better. Now 

then, if it be your mind. 
And we've pleased you and not bored you, 

kindly undertake uur cause, 
And to modesty award the prise with 

beartJe«t api^uae. 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



PHORMIO 

By TERENCE 

Tranilattd into Ettglish prose ^MORRIS H. MORGAN 



ciilizedbvGoOQic 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



CHARACTERS 

Datob, a *Iave 

Gbta, slave of Demipho 

Antifho, a young man, am of Demipho 

Fbxdria, a young man, ton of Chremat 

Demifho, an old man 

Phokuio, a ponmte 

Heoio, 

Chatutos, adnaen of DemijAo 

Ceito, 

DORIO, a daee-tTader 

Chrsues, on dd man, DemifiKo'i broAer 

SoFHBONA, on old nuTse 

Naubibtbata, a matron, wife of Chremea 

A Cantor 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



PHORMIO 



[Scknb: a street in Ather\s, leading on the 

riiihlUiUtenuirktt'^place,onthekfllolkeport. 

Al the back, Ute kou»u of Chksubs (l.), 

Dewpho (c), and Dohio (r.).] 

IBttter Davos, b.) 

Davos. My particular friend and coun- 
trymltn, Geta, came to see me yesterday. 
I had been owing him aome amall balance 
of cash on account a good while, and he 
asked me to get it together. I've got it 
tt^gether, and I 'm bringing it to him now. 
rbe fact is, I 'm told that his master's son 
'tas got married; it's for the girl, 1 suppose, 
*,hat he 'b ecr^ing this testimonial together. 
How unfair it ia that poor folks should al- 
icayB be adding something to rich people's 
pilesl Now here's Geta; — tJie poor fel- 
low 's been saving up out of his rations a 
pint at a time, and hardly that, cheating 
his own belly, and now my lady 'II spoil 
hiin of it all without ever thinking what a 
lot of work it took to get it. Then besides 
they'll strike him for another testimonial 
when she has a b^y; and then another too 
. when the baby has a biri,hday, and another 
when it gets initiated. The mother, of 
course, will walk off with it all, and the 
child will be only an excuse for the gift. 
But don't I ae^ Geta? 

[Enler Gbta, /rom Dbmipbo's.] 

Gbta [foofeinfl back]. If e'er a red-head 
aoksforme — 

Davob. Herel^eb. That'll do. 

Geta. Hal Why, Davos, you were the 
very man I wanted to meet. 

Davob [handing him the bag]. There you 
arel Take it; it's good money. You'll find 
the total cornea to what I owe you. 

Geta. Thank you. I'm obliged to you 
for not forgetting it. 

Davos. Particularly as things go now- 



adays. Why, it's come to auch a pass that 
you're expected to feel veiy much obliged 
when a man pays you a debt. But what 
makea you so glum? 

Gbta. Me7 Oh, you don't know what f> 
fright and what danger we are in! 

Davos. Why! what's the matter? 

Geta. You shall hear, — that is, pro- 
vided you can keep mum. 

Davos. Getout, will you, you simpleton. 
When you've seen that a man's to be 
trusted in a matter of money, are you afraid 
to trust him with words? Why, what 
should I gun by deceiving you there? 

Geta. Wen, then, listen. 

Davob. I'm at your service. 

Gbta. Davos, do you know our old 
gentleman's elder brother Chremes? 

Davos. Of course I do. 

Gbta. And his son Pluedria? 

Davob. As well as I know you. 

Getta. The two old fellows happened to 
start out at the same time, — Chremes on 
a trip to Leranos, and our governor to 
Cilicia to see an old friend. He had enticed 
the old man over by letters, promising him 
all but mountains of gold, 

Davos. Him, with already so much and 
to spare? 

Gbta. Never mind ; it is bis nature 
to. 

Davos. Oh, if only I had been a million- 

Geta. Well, when the two old gentlemen 
set out, they left me here with their sons 
as a sort of guardian. 

Davos. Geta, Geta! No soft job you 
had there. 

Geta. I've found that out — by experi- 
ence. I see now that my guardian angel 
was out of sorts with me when I was left 
behind. I started in by opposition; but, to 
moke a long story short, I found that being 
true to the old man was the ruination of 
my back. 



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144 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Davos. Just wh&t I was tbinloDg; it's 
folly, you know, kicking against the pricks. 

Get A. So I began to do everything they 
wanted, and to comply with all their 

wiahes. 

Davos. You understand bow to carry 
your pigs to the best market. 

Ggta. Out fellow did n't make any 
trouble at firet; but Fluedria there, — the 
first thing he did was to pick up a pretty 
little harp-lady, and he fell desperately in 
love with her. She belonged to the lowest 
sort of a slave-trader, wid we had n't a 
penny to give him, — the old gentlemen 
had looked out for that. ^ the only thing 
left for Phsdria to do was to feast his eyes 
on her, tag at her heels, take her down to 
the singing school, and see her home. My 
young master and I, having nothing to do, 
devoted ourselves to Pluedria, Now there 
was a barber's shop just across the street 
fiom the school she went to, and there we 
' pretty generally used to wait until it was 
time for her to go home. One day, as we 
were sitting there, a young fellow came up, 
all in a flood of tears. Surprise on our part, 

— we asked what was up. "1 never knew 
so well before," cried he, "what a wretched, 
crushing burden it is to be poor. I've just 
seen near here a poor girl bewailing her 
dead mother, who lay buried over oppoeite. 
She had n't with her a well-wiaher or friend 
or relative helping with the fiueral, except 
one lone woman. It was pitiable. The girl 
herself wEifi a beauty." In short, he stirred 
us all up, and Antipho cried out, "Shall we 
go and see her?" and somebody e]ao, "I 
move we do, — let's go, — show us the 
way. please." We start; we're there; we 
take a look. The girl waa a beauty, and 
you could put it all the more strongly be- 
cause she had n't any artificial fall^ to 
make her bo. Hair disheveled — feet bare 

— she all frowsy — weeping — meanly 
dressed; in fact, if she hadn't been the 
very essence of beauty, all this would have 
eclipaed her beauty. The youug fellow who 
was in love with the harp-lady only said, 
"She's very pretty"; but my young 
master — 

Davob. I know without being told; he 
fell in love with her. 



Gbta. Rather! See how it turns out. 
The very next day he went straight to the 
old woman; begged that he might have her. 
But she refused, and said he was n't doing 
the proper thing; "for the girl was an 
Athenian, a good girl of good stock. If he 
wanted to marry her, it could be done in 
the regular legal way; but if he meant 
anything else, no." My master didn't 
know what to do; on the one hand he 
longed to marry the girl, on the other he 
was afraid of his father, who was gone 
abroad. 

Davos. Would n't his father have given 
him leave when he came home? 
' Geta. What, he! give leave to many a 
girl without a dowry and of unknown 
family? Never in the world. 

Davos. Well, what happened in the end? 

Gbta. What happened? There's a para- 
Bite of the name of Phormio — a cheeky 
fellow ■ — blast himl 

Davob. Why, what'B he been up to? 

Gbta. He supplied the sdieme which I 
am going to deeoribe. "There's a law," 
says he, "that orphan girls must marry 
their next of )un, and by the same law the 
kinsmen are obliged to marry them. Now, 
I'll say that you're her kinsman, and I'll 
bring a suit against you. 1 '11 pretend that 
I was a friend of the girl's father. We shall 
come into court. Who her father was, and 
who ber mother, and how she is related to 
you, I'll make sJl that up. It will be good 
and easy for me, for you won't disprove 
any of the charges, and so ot course I shall 
win. Your father will come home; that 
means a lawsuit against me. But what do 
I care for that? The girl will be oun any- 
how. 

Davos. A jolly piece of cheek! 

Geta. Antipho agreed— 'twas done 
— off we went — got beaten — he married 

Davos. What are you Idling me? 

Gbta. Just what you hear, 

Davos. Oh, Geta, what will become of 
youT 

Geta. By the powers 1 don't know that; 
but one thing I do know, which is, that 
"bravely we'll bear the burden fortune 



Davos, I li]E« that; that's taking it like 
■ little man. , 

Gbta. I've do hope in anybody but 
uyndf. 

Datob. Good agwnl 

Gbta. I suppoBe I must go to somebody 
irtko will beg me off in this ntyle: "Do let 
him otF just this once; but if he is ever 
guilty agun, I won't aaj a word," — all 
but adding, "Killhim, for all me, when I've 
once got away." 

Davos. What about the harp-lady's 
cfa^>eron? How's he getting on? 

Gbta. So, BO. Pretty poorly. 

Davos. Has n't much to give, perhaps? 

GvTA. Nothing at all but unadulterated 

Davos. His father home yet of notT 

Gkta. Not yet. 

Davos. Well, bow long before you ex- 
Dect your own old manT 

Jbta. I don't know for sure, but I'm 
Md that a letter has come from him which 
has been taken to the custom-house; I'll 
pi after it. 

Davos. Can't do anything more for you, 
Gets, can I? 

Gbta. Only take care of yourself. [Exit 
Davos, b-I Hil boyi is nobody ever com- 
ing? [Ertltr a date] Take this, and give it 
to DOTcium. [Give* kim lite bag, and exit L.) 



ACT 11 

\Snier Amtipho and Pbxdria Jrom Ihe 
htmae of Cbrkheb.] 

Antipho. Ob, Phtedria, to think that it 
has come to this, that I should be afraid of 
my own father whenever I think of his 
coming home! He wishes nothing but my 
good. If I had n't been so thoughtless, I 
■hould be waiting for his coming with joy. 

Pbjbdhia. Why, what'e the matter? 

Antipho. Matter, you accomplice in my 
bold scheme? Oh, how I wish it had never 
occurred to Phormio to urge me to it, and 
that he had n't driven me, when I was in 
the heat of my passion, to take this Bt«p, 
which was the b«^nning of all my troubles! 
I should n't have got the girl, of course, 
and that would have made me wretched for 



MIO I4S 

some days; but etill, I should n't be sufTc-r- 
ing this everlasting anxiety all the time, — 

Phsoria. Yes, yes. 

ANTtPRO. Constantly expecting that he 
will soon be here to break up this marriage 
of mine. 

Phaobia. Other men are wretched be- 
cauBe they have n't got the object of their 
love, but you're unhappy because you've 
got too muiih of it. You're embarrassed 
with bliBs, Antipho. But I tell you that 
your position is one to be coveted and de- 
sired. Bless me, for \ha chance to be bo 
long with her I love I'm ready to pay down 
my life. Only just reckon up all that I'm 
suffering from privation and all that you 're 
enjoying in possession! To Bay nothing of 
your having got a well-bom lady without 
any expense, and of having the wife of your 
choice publicly acknowledged, and without 
anyscandall Here you are perfectly happy 
except for one thing, — a temper to bear it, 
all with equanimity. If you had to deal 
with a slave-trader like that one of mine, 
then you'd find outi But that's the way 
almost all of us are made; we're dissatisfiad 
with our own lot. 

Antipho. On the contrary, Ptuedria, it 
seems to me that you are the lucky man. 
You're still perfectly free to make up your 
mind to your liking, — to keep your sweet- 
heart or to give her up. But I, unluckily, 
have got into Buch a fix that I can neith« 
keep mine nor let her go either. But what's 
here? Is n't this Geta 1 see running up this 
way? It's the very man. Oh.dearme, I'm 
dreadfully frightened about the news he 
may be bringing! {They retire up.] 

{Enter Gbta, hastily from the port.] 

Get A. You 're done for, Geta, unless you 
find some'way out and mighty quick! Such 
troubles threat«n you all of a sudden and 
you're so unprepared. I don't see how to 
dodge them or how to get mysdf out of this 
fix. Our reckless doings can't possibly be 
concealed any kinger. 

Amtipbo (nMiis], Why in the world is the 
man come in such a fright? 

Geta. Besides, I've only a minute to 
think of it; master's dose by. 

Antipho [aeide]. What's this trouble? 



14^ 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Geta. Once he's hectrd of it, how shall I 
head oShJH fury? Talk? 'T would set him 
aiire. Silence? Merely egging him on. Oear 
myedf? Might as well wash a brick. Oh, 
dear mel I'm frightened on my own ac- 
count, and then I'm in torture when I 
think of Antipbo. He's tte man I'm Bony 
for, I'm afr^ for his sake now, and it's 
he that keeps me here. Why, if it were not 
for him, I should have seen to myaelf eas- 
ily enough, and got even with the old man 
for hia anger. I should iuat have iixit some 
traps together, and then taken to my 
heels straight out of here. 

Antipho [aHde]. Why, what's this he's 
plotting aliout running away or stealing? 

Gbta. But where shall I find Antipho? 
Which way shall I go to look for him? 

PosDRiA [aaide]. He's talking about 
you. 

Antipbo [aside]. I dread some great 
misfortune from this news. 

PoADRiA [(md«|. Oh, dear! 

Geta. I'll go on home. That's where he 
is generally. 

PofiDRu [aside]. Let'e call the fellow 

Antipho. Stop where you are! 

Gbta. Hal pretty peremptory, don't 
care who you arel 

Antifbo. Geta! 

Geta. It's the very man I wanted to 
find. 

Antipho. Out with your news, for 
mercy's sake; and, if you can, dispatch it 

Geta. I wilt. 

Antipho. Speak out. 

Gbta. Just now, down at the post — 

Antipho. My — 

Geta. You've hit it. 

Antipho. I'm a dead man! 

Phmdria, Whewl 

Antipho. What shall I do? 

Pbxdilia. What's this you say? 

Geta. That I saw his father, your uncle. 

Amtipho. Now how am I to find a way 
out of this sudden catastrophe, dear, dear 
me? Why, life isn't worth living, if it's 
my fate to be torn away from you, 
Phanium. 

Geta. WeU,ifthat'Bso,Aulipho, there's 



all the more need of being wide awake. 
Fortune favors the brave.- 

Antipho. I'm all abroad! 

Geta. But that's just where you must 
n't be now, Antipho; for your father wiB 
think you guilty if he sees you frightened. 

pHdOtiuA. That 'b true. 

Antipbo. I can't change my nature. 

Geta. Suppose you had to do eomething 
still harder, what then? 

Antipho. As I can't do this, I could do 

that still 1(HB. 

Geta. It'BnouBe,Ph«edria;it'sallaver. 
Why waste our time here for nothing? I'm 
off. 

Phadbia. And I too [ffoinff]. 

Antipho. For mercy's sakel Suppose I 
make believe? Will this do7 

{Strike* an alHtude.] 

Gbta. Silly! 

Antipho. But just look at my face. 
There! is that satisfactory? 

Geta. No. 

Antipho, How about this? 

Gbta. ftetty fair. 

Antipho. And this? 

Geta. That will do. Keep that, and look 
out that you answer him word for word, tit 
for tat, BO that he shan't rout you with 
harsh language while he's in a passion. 

Antipho. I understand. 

Gbta. Say you were forced into it, 
against j^ur will. 

PaEDRiA. By the law — by the court. 

Geta. Do you catoh on? But who'e 
that old man I see down the street? It'e 
the governor I 

Antipho. I can't face him. 

Gbta. Herel what ateyoudoing? Where 
are you going, Antipho? Wait, say. 

Antipho. I know myself and my own 
fault. I leave Phanium and my own life 
in your hands. [Rung off, r.J 

Pesdkia. What'sgoing tobedonenow, 
Geta? 

Geta, You'll get a wigging pretty soon, 
and I shall be strung up and whipped, if 
I'm not mistaken. But we ought to do 
ourselves, Phfedria, just what we were 
advising Antipho. 

Phsdbia. Noneof your "oughts." Juat 
give me your orders what I'm to do. 



GVTA. Do you remember what you a^d 
long agu when we 9tart«d in with thie 
affair, about protecting ounelves from 
trouble, — that the other aide's oaae was 
just, easy, aure to win, the beat in the 
woridT 

Ph^dbia. Yes, I remember. 

Geta. Wdl, now'B the time for that 
very pies, or, if possible, for a better and 
one more cunning etill. 

Pksdria. I'll do my best. 

OVTA. You go up to him first, and III 
stay here in ambush as a reserve force, in 
caae you fail. 

PaBDKiA. Very well. IGbta retires up.] 

[Enter Dehipho, l.| 

Dbwpho. What, what, what! Antipho's 
got married, has he, without my consent? 
Aa for my authority, — well, never mind 
authority, — but only think of his having 
no r^ard even for my displeasure! Not a 
bit sahamed, either. Oh, what a monstrous 
thing! Oh, Geta, Geta, you rare sdviaerl 

GsrA ItwWe]. In for it at lastl 

Demipho. Now what will they say to 
me? What excuse will they find? 1 wonder 
very much. 

■ Geta [atide]. Oh, I ahaJt find one; you 
need n't worry about that. 

Deuipbo. Is thu what he'll say: "I did 
• it against my will; the law forced me to it." 
Yes, yes; I admit it. 

Gbta. You old dear! 

Demifbo. But with his eyes open, with- 
out a word, to give up the case to the other 
aide! Did the law force him to that? 

PosDRiA [aeide]. Ah, that's a hard nuti 

Geta [aside]. I'll crack it, though; let 
me alone for that! 

Dbmipho. It's taken me so unawares, — 
it's BO past belief that I can't tell what to 
do. I 'm so much exaspo^ted that I can't 
compose my mind to think it over. Well, 
the fact is, when everything is most sue- 
ceuful with you, then's the time to reflect 
how to bear the brunt of trouble, — your 
son's bad conduct, your wife's death, your 
dat^hter'e illness; — these things happen 
to everybody, they can happen to you, so 
there should n't be anything surprising in 
thorn; but everything that surprises you 



MIO t4Y 

by ending well, you can set down as sc 
much clear gain. 

Gbta [aMe]. Ha, Phfedria! It's past 
belief how much more of a sage I am than 
my master. I have reflected on all tte' 
troubles that master's return will bring 
upon me, — grindii^ to do at the mill, 
floggings to get, fetters to wear, set to 
work on the farm. Not a single one of them 
will take me by surprise. But everything 
that surprises me by ending well, I shi^l 
set down as so much clear gain. But why 
don't you step up to him and address him 
politely to begin with? 

Dehifho. There's my nephew Pfaiedria, 
I see, coming to meet me. 

PfLBDMA. Row do you do, uncle? 

Demipho. How do you do? But where 'b 
Antipho'/ 

Ph*idria. You've got back safe, — 

DxuiPHO. Yee, yes; but answer my 
question. 

PoxDRiA. He's well — he's here; but 
has everything gone to your liking? 

Demipho. I wish it had, indeed. 

Ph«dria. Why, what's the matter? 

Demipho. What a question, PluedriaT 
This is a fine marriage that you've cooked 
up here while I was away! 

Posdria. Holloa! are you angiy with 
him Cor that? 

Geta [aside]. Fine acting! 

Dehipho. And should n't I be angry 
with him? Why, I 'm just aching to get a 
sight of him, so that he may find out once 
for all how he's turned his good-natured 
old father into a perfect savage! 

Pa^DRiA. But he has n't done anything 
to make you angry, uncle. 

Demipho. Now just look at that! Birds 
of a feather! They're all in it! When you 
know one, you know all. 

PHjfinRiA. It is n't so. 

Demipho. When A'a in trouble, B turns 
up to make excuses for him; and when 
it's B, then up comes A. They go part- 

Gbta [amde]. The old man's drawn a 
fine sketch of their proceedings without 
knowing it. 

Dehipho. If it wasn't ao, you would n't 
be taking bis part, Pliffidria. 



iaS 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Phadbia. Wen, uncle, if it is a fact that 
Antipho has done a wrong, regardless of 
his interests or reputation, I have nothing 
to si^ against his suffering as he has de- 
served. But if somebody took advantage 
of his own cunning ta lay a snare for our 
youthful innocence and has caught us in 
it, is it OUT fault or that of the judges? You 
know what a habit they have of robbing 
the rich from envy, and giving to the poor 
from pity. 
' uBTA \atide]. If I did n't know the case, 
I should believe that he WM telling the 
truth. 

Deiopho. Is there a judge alive who 
can possibly know your rights when 3>ou 
don't answer a word yourself, like that son 
of mine? 

PKOiDBU. He behaved like a young 
man of good breeding. When we got into 
court, he couldn't speak his piece; hia 
modesty etruck him quit« dumb then and 

GirTA {atide]. Bravo, youl but shall I not 
addieea the (Ad man at once? [Ooing for- 
vsard.] Good-day, msster. I 'm^ad you've 
got home safe. 

Demii>bo. Ha, ha! fine guardian, good- 
day, main stay of my house; it was in your 
charge that I left my son when I went 
away. 

Gbta. I've heard you blaming ua all for 
ever so long'when we did n't deserve it, and 
I least of anybody. Why, what would you 
have had me do in the matter? The laws 
don't allow a man who's a slave to plead, 
and he can't give evidence either. 

Demipbo. I waive all that, and I admit 
this, too, that the boy Was afraid and un- 
suspecting. I grant Uiat you are a slave. 
But no mattfir how near a relative she was, 
he need n't have married her; no, no. You 
should have given her a dowry, as the law 
directs, and let ber look out for another 
husband. On what account, then, did he 
prefer to bring home a pauper? 

GxTA. It was n't on account, — it was 
cash down that was wanted. 

DainpHO. He should hav« got it some- 
where or other. 

Gkta. Somewhere or other? Nothing 
easier to say I 



DuoPBO, Onint«rest, attiwworat, if on 
no other terms. 

Geta. Bless my soul! Pretty fine talkl 
As if anybody would have trusted him, 
with you olive I 

Dbmipho. No, no; it shan't be so; it 
can't be. Whati let her stay on as hia wife 
a «n^e day? This is no case for kindneas. 
But I want to have that man pointed out 
to me, or to be shown where he hves. 

Geta. You mean Phormio? 

Dkhifho. The woman's next friend. 

Gkta. 1 11 bring him here at once. 

Deuipho. Where's Antipho now? 

Geta. I'hit. 

Deufho. Go and look for him, Phs- 
dria, and bring him here. 

Pba3>bia. Ill make a bee line. 

\Exa to Donio'B.1 

Geta [aside]. YEs.toPamphila's. [ExitB..] 

Deuipho. As for me, I'U turn in home 
and pay my respects to my hous^iold gods, 
and then go on 'Change and call Home 
friends to stand by me in this aSair, ao 
that 1 shan't be unprepared in case (rf 
Phormio's coming. [Exit U> hU hmut.\ 



ACT III 
\Efder Phoruio atid Gvta, b.] 

Phoruio. And so you say he's gone off . 
in a fright at his father's return? 

Geta. Exactly. 

Phorkio. Phonium left all by henelf? 

Gbta. Just so. 

Phormio. And tlie old man boiling. 

Geta. Precisely. 

Phoruio. Then, Phormio, the whole 
responsibility rests on you; you mixed this 
meas, and now you've got to eat it nil 
yourself. Brace upl 

Geta. For mercy's sake, Phormiol 

Phormio. Supposing he asks — 

GsTA. You 're our only hope! 

Phormio. See here, what U he retorta — 

Geta. You drove the boy to it. 

Phormio. There, that'll do, I fancy. 

Gbta. Come to the rescue! 

Phormio, Trot out your old man, for 
I've got my plans all maraholed in my 
head. 



Gbu. What are you going to doT 
Phobmio. What, indeed, except let 
Phuuum Bt&y here, dear Aiittpho of this 
chaige, and turn the whole current of the 
old man's wrath on to myself? 

GvrA. Oh, you brave, kind mani but 
what I'm often afraid of, Phormio, is that 
aU this oourage may land you in the stocks 

PBoaioo. Oh, no, not at all; I've tried 
it; I knowwhere toaetmy feet. Howmany 
Wllawa do you think I've beat«n to deaUi 
Itefore to-dayT Yet come, did you ever 
bear of anybody brii^ing a suit against me 
tot assault and battery? 

GvTA. How does it come about? 

Paoiutio. It's because we never set 
baps for the hawks and kites tliat really 
hurt us; it's only for birds that don't hurt 
that traps are set. Tlme'a something to be 
made out of them, but on others it's only 
time thrown away. Other people have their 
dangers, from one source or another, — 
people something can be got out of; but 
everj4x>dy knows that I've got nothing to 
loae. But perhaps you'll say that they'll 
ooavicA me and take me home to hold me 
Ifaere. Oh, do; they don't want to keep a 
rftvenous fellow Uke me; they don't want 
to do good for evil, and that 's where they 're 
wise, I think. 

Gbta. Well, he can't ever thank you as 
much as you deserve. 

Pbobuio. Not quit« ao. Nobody ever 
can thank his patron as much as he de- 
servee. Think of it! You come scot free to 
his dmner, all perfumed and shining from 
the bath, with a heart free from core, when 
he 's drowned with worry and eaten up with 
expenses. While everything's done to your 
liking, he's snarling. You can laugh, drink 
your wine before him, take the higher seat; 
and then a puxzling banquet's spread. 

GrTA. What's that? 

Phobmio. That's when you're puszled 
what to help yourself to first. Now, when 
70U come to reckon up how nice all this is 
and how much it costs, are n't you obliged 
to think your host a god incarnate right 
before your eyes? 

Geta. Here's the old man; mind what 
you're about; Qk fint onset is alw^s the 



fiercest. If you stand tJiat, you may after- 
wards make play as you like. 

[Enter Demipho and hit admien, r.] 

Deiiifho. Did you ever hear of a more 
insulting piece of injustice done to anybody 
than this to me? Stand by me, I beg <rf 
you. 

Geta [oMde]. He's in a passion. 

PaOBino [to Geta aside]. Mind your 
cue now; I 'm going to touch him up pretty 
quick. [Aloud, to Geta.] Great heavens! 
Does Demipho actually deny that Pha- 
nium's related to him? Whati Demipho 
says this girl's no relation? 

Geta. He says not. 

pHORino. And that he doesn't know 
who her father was? 

Geta. pe says not. 

DEBflPBO. I fancy this is the very man I 
was talking about. Follow me. 

Phohuio. Because the poor thing is left 
in poverty, her father is disowned and she 
heraelf is abandoned. Only see what avarice 

Geta. You 11 hear what you won't like 
if you insinuate anything wrong about my 
master, 

DxuiPBo. Oh, what impudence! Why, 
he's come to take the initiative by accusing 
mel 

Phoruio. I've no rnason at all to be 
angry with the young fellow for not know- 
ing her father; of course he was a man 
pretty well along, poor, working for his 
Uving, generally keeping in the country, 
where my father let htm have a farm to 
cultivate. The old fellow used often to t«U 
me how this kinsman of his neglect«d him. 
But what a fine man be wasi the beet / ever 
saw in all my life. 

Gsta. I hope you 11 evw see yoursell 
such as you describe him. 

Pborico. You be hanged! No; if I 
had n't esteemed him as I did, I should 
never have got into a quarrel with your 
people, all on account of this girl that your 
master's slighting now in this ungentle- 
manlike way. 

Gbta. Will you persist in slandering my 
msster behind his back, you dirty dogT 

Fhoruio. Serves him right. 



ISO 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Gbta. Still more of it, you jail-bird? 

DcuiFHO. Geta — 

Geta. You extortioner, you law-sharkt 

Dehifho. Geta! 

Phobido [aaide]. Amwer him. 

GiiTA. Whom have we here? Obi 

Dehifho. Hold your tongue! 

Gbta. Why, he's been insulting you all 
dfty long behind your back, — - insults that 
don't fit you and do fit him. 

DxMiPBO. Avaattherel HoldoniYoung 
man [to Pborwio], to be^ with, I wEut to 
ask you this, with your kiod permission, if 
you will be good enough to answer n 
Explain to me who this friend of yours y 
you're talking about, and how he said that 
I was related to him. 

Phormio. There you are, fishing; a 
you did n't know. 

Druifho. Did n't know? 

Phobuio. Yes. 

Dbuipho. I say I don't; but you, who 
say I do, just jog my memory. 

PHOBma. What, man! not know your 
own cousin? 

Deuipho. You're killing me. Tell me 
his name. 

Phohhio. His name; of course. 

DBHiPno. Why don't you speak? 

Pbosmio [atide]. By the powers, I'm a 
gonerl I've forgotten the name. 

Dewpbo. What's that you say? 

Phorhio [agide to Geta|. Geta, just 
prompt me if you recollect the name that 
was given at the time. I^Eaud.l No,Iwon't 
tell you. You're here to pump me, as if 
you did n't know it yourself. 

Deufko. What! Pumping you? 

Geta [aside to Pkohmio]. Stilpo. 

Phoruio. And then again, what do I 
care? It 's Stilpo. 

Dewipho. Whom did you say? 

PHOBino. Stilpo, I t«]l you; you knew 

Deuipbo. I didn't know him either, 
and I pever had a relative of such a name. 

Peoruio. So, so? Don't you feel atiashed 
before these gentlemen? Yet if he had left 
a property worth ten tslenta — 

Deuipho. Oh confound yout 

Phorhio. You'd be the very firnt with 
a tip-top memory to trace your anoeatry 



all the way from grandfather and great- 
grandfather. 

Deuipho. Very Ukely, as you aay. Wdl. 
when I came forward I should have stated 
how she was related to me. Naw, you do 
the same. Come, bow is she related? 

Gbta. Bravo, master, well donel and 
you, sir, look out for yourself. 

Phoruio. My duty was to explain it to 
the court, and I did so with perfect clear- 
neea. If it was n't true, why did n't your 
son disprove it on the spot? 

Deuipbo. You talk to me about my 
son? Why, I can't find words to dea4vib* 
his stupidity. 

Phoruio. WeU, then, you who are so 
wise, go to the magistrates and make tbem 
tty the same case all over again for you. 
For you talk as though you were sole lord 
paramount in theee parts and the only man 
alive entitled to a second trial of the same 
case. 

Deuipho, Though I have been unjusUy 
treated, still, rather than go to law or have 
to listen to you — here, just as if she really 
were related, take theee five ducats, the 
dowry that the law directs, and carry her 

Phorhio. Hal hal ha! you sweety! 

Deuipbo. What's the matter? "There's 
nothing wrong in my demand, is there? 
Am I not to get the benefit of what is the 
law of the land? 

Phorhio. Does the law direct you, I 'd 
like to know, to pay her and send her of 
like a courtesan? Or was it to prevmt i 
freebom lady from doing anytiiing to dis- 
grace herself through poverty that the law 
directs to give her to her nearest Irimmmn 
to live with him? And that's just what 
you're preventing. 

Deuipbo. Yes, to her nearest kinsman. 
But how do we come in, or on what 
grounds? 

Phoruio. Oh, dear!- "don't open a cast 
that's dosed," as the saying goes. 

Demifbo. Don't open it? On the oon- 
trary, I'll never rest until I've seen it 
through. 

Phoruio. Silly of you. 

Deuipho. You just let me alone. 

Phoruio. In short, Demipho, I 've notb- 



ing to do with you. It was your son that 
lort the suit, not you; tor your time for 
manying was gone long ago. 

Dguipho. You can take him aa saying 
all tiiat 1 say now; if he does n't I'll shut 
him and hia wife out of my houae. 

Geta [aride]. He'e in a passion. 

Phobmio. You'd better do the eacne 
thing with yourself, 

DxioPHO. So you're ready to take a 
stand against me in everything, are you, 
you ill-staTTed wretch? 

PaoBwo [aside to Geta]. He's afraid of 
UB, though he tries hard to conceal it. 

GvTA [aside to PhormioI. Your first 
moves are well made. 

PsoRkao [aloud\. Why not put up with 
what you must put up with? That will be 
in keeping with your reputation, and we 
ahall be friends. 

DxmPHO. Whatl I seek your friend- 
ship, or wish to see or hear of you? 

Pbokuio. If you make it up with her, 
youH have somebody to cheer your old 
age; think of your time of life. 

DiHIPBO. Keep her to cheer yourself. 

Phobmio. Do moderate your angry pas- 

DxuiFBO. See here [enough said. If you 
don't hurry and take th&t woman away, 
I '11 throw her out of doors. That 's my last 
word, Phormio. 

PsoBMio. And if you lay a finger on her 
in any way unbefitting a lady, 111 bring 
a imaahing suit against you. That's my 
last word, Demipho. [AgitU to Geta.) 
Herel if you need me for anything, you'll 
find me at home. 

GxTA, All rightl [Exit Pbobmio, b.] 

Dkwipho. What worry and trouble my 
aon doea give me by involving himself and 
me in this marriage! And he does n't come 
to let me see him either, so that at least I 
mi^t know what he has to aay about the 
matter, or what he thinks. Off with youl 
see whether he has got home yet. 

Geta. Yea. [Exit to houte of Dbuifbo.] 

Deuifro [to hit aduitera]. You see in 
what a state things are. Now what am I 
to do? Tell me, Hegio. 

HxQio. I? 1 ntove Cratinus doee, if you 
plettse. 



■MIO i5» 

DxtaPBO. Well, speak, Cratinus. 

Cbatinifs. Do you mean me? 

Demipbo, Yee sir. 

Cratdhts. I should like to have you act 
for the interests of your house. Now this is 
the way it seems to me; it's all right and 
proper that what your son has done in 
your abeence should be put back entirely 
as it was, and you will cairy that point. 
That's what I say, 

Dbmipbo. Now, H^'o, it's your turn 
to speak. 

Heuio. I believe that he has spoken 
advisedly; but this is the way of it; many 
men of many minds, many birds of many 
kinds; each man has his own point of view. 
Now it does n't seem t« me that what tho 
Uw has done can be undone; and it's dis- 
creditable to try it. 

Deuipho. Well, Crito? 

CniTO. I vote we take time to think It 
over; it's important. 

Heoio. We can't do anything more for 
you, can we? 

DxuiPHO. You have done finely. 
[Exeunt aduiaeri r.] I'm much more be- 
wildered than before. 

[Enler Geta, from Deidpho's Aoum.] 

Geta. They say he has n't oome in. 

Deuipbo. 1 must wait for my brother. 
I'll follow the advice which he gives me in 
the matter. Ill go down to the port to find 
out when he's to come home. [Exit L.] 

Geta. And I'll go look for Antipho, so 
that he nuQT know bow things are. But, 
halloal I see him oomii^ in the nick of 



[Enter Antipbo, b.J 
Antipho. Well, Antipho, you and your 
panic have much to answer for. The idea 
of your having made off and left your very 
life in other people's keeping! Did you 
suppose that others would attend to your 
buBioess better than you would yourself? 
No, no; however it was about the rest, you 
certainly ought to have taken care of that 
girl of yours at home, to prevent her from 
getting into trouble from her trust in you. 
All she has and all she hopes for, poor thing. 
hinge on you alone now. 



>S3 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Geta. And leaUy, muter, we too hare 
been finding fault with you bdtind yaai 
back for leaving us. 

Antipro. You're the very man I ' 
lookini; for. 

GvTA. But for an that we have n't Failed 
you a bit. 

Antipbo. For heaven's sake, tell 
how my fate and fortunea atand. My 
father has n't got wind of anything? 

Gbta. Not yet, 

AMTipao. Any prospect Tot the future? 

Gbta. I don't know. 

Antipho. Oh, dear I 

GvTA. But Phedria has never ceased his 
cfiorts for you. 

An-upbo. That's nothing new in him 

GvTA. Then Phormio, too, has shown 
the man of energy in this as in everything 
dse. 

Antipho.. Why, what has he done? 

Gbta. He's bluffed the angry old man 
with his talk. 

Antipho. Oh, bravo, Phormiot 

Geta. And I did what I could -myself. 

Aktipbo. My dear Geta, I'm much 
obliged to you all. 

Geta. The opening moves were made 
as I have described; all'a quiet up to the 
present time, and your father ia going to 
wait until your uncle comes home. 

Amtipho. Why for him? 

GvTA. He said he wanted to act in this 
case according to his advice. 

Amtipho. Oh, Geta, how I do dread to 
see my uncle come home safe and sound! 
For life and death, I find, depend on his 
ain^e voice. 

GcTA. Here comes Phedria. 

Antipho. Where, pray? 

Gkta. There, coming out from hk pl«y- 
ground. 



Phadria. Do listen (o me, Dorio, for 
IHty's sake! 

DoBio. No, I won't. 

PsanBiA. Just a minute. 

DoBio. Why won't you let me alone? 

Prsdsia. But listen to what I have to 
say. 



DoKio. No; I'm tired of hearing tbs 
same thing a thousand times. 

Phjedbia. But now I'm going to aay 
something which you will like to hear. 

DoBio. Speak out then. I'm liatening. 

PoSDBiA. Can't I prevail on you to 
w(«t juat theae three days? Why, where 
are you going now? 

EkiBio. I wondered whether you had 
anything new to bring forward. 

Antipho [amde]. Oh, dearl I'm afraid 
this slave-trader may be — 

Gkta [atide]- Hoist with his own petar? 
I'm afr^ bo, too. 

Pbmdbia. You don't brieve me 3ret, eh? 

DoBio. You're a mind readerl 

PaxniuA. But if I give you my word? 

DoBio. Stuff! 

pRxnsiA. You'll have reason to call 
your kindness a fine inveatmmt. 

Dotuo. Words, words. 

pBAnaiA. Believe me, you'll be ^ad 
you did it. It's true, by heaveni 

DoBio. Moonshine I 

Fejedria. Just try the expvimeat; it'a 
not for long. 

DoRio. Always singing the aame <rfd 
song! 

Phadria. I'll can you my kinsman, — 
father, — friend — 

Dorio. Nonsense! 

Phadria. To think of your being so 
hard and unbending that neither pity nor 
[payers can soften you! 

Dorio. And to think of your being so 
unreasonable and impudent, Phndria, m 
to lead me on with gilded promisee, and so 
get my slave girl for nothingi 

Antipho [atide]. What a pity! 

Phadria. Oh, dear mel he's got the 
better of me. 

Guta [osuIb]. How they both do live up 
to their own characters. 

Phxdria. Think of oil this trouble hap- 
pening to me at the very time whes An- 
tipho is fun of another worry of his own. 

Antipho [earning fonear^ Why, Pha- 
dria, what is sll thia? 

Phsdbia. Oh, Antipho, you luckiest of 

Aktipho. I? 

PasnuiA. Yes; for the giri you love w 



inyoUTOwnkeeping, and you've never had 
oceuion to stnigi^e with such a difficulty 

Antifho, In my own keeping? Not 
quite bo; I'm "holding a wolf by tiieears," 
as the. old Baying is. 

DoBio. That'siusthowlfeelabouthim. 

Ahtipho. Hallo^l Act up to your rAle of 
dave-traderl Has he been doing anything? 

Phodria. He? B«en behAVing like a 
baibarian; he's sold my Pamphila. 

AjrnpHo. What! sold h«'7 

GxTA. You don't say sol sold her? 

Peadbia. Yes, he's sold bw. 

DoBio. What an outrage, t4> sell a girl 
bought with my own money! 

PHxntRiA. And I can't prevail on him 
to wait for me and to put off keeping his 
I»omiae to the man for only three days, 
whSt I am getting the money promised me 
by my friemia. If I don't pi^ it by that 
tune, you need n't wait for me an hour 

DoBio. Still (tinning it into me? 

Amtifho. It's no long time he asks- for. 
Come, consent. He'll return the kindness 
with a hundred per cent interest. 

DoRio. Fine talk! 

AmiPHO. Will you let Pamphila be cor- 
ned away from this town, and can you bear 
to see such a pair of lovers torn asunder? 

DoBio. Of course I can't any more than 
you. 

Gr'a. Heavm send you what you de- 

DoRio. I have been putting up for some 
months against my will with your promis- 
ing and not performing and your whimper- 
ing; but now I've got the oppoaite of all 
this. I have found a man who pays and 
does n't cry about it. Make way for your 
betters. 

Amtipho. But, by heaven, if I remember 
rightly, there was a day set on which you 
were to pay him? 

PoanBiA. There was. 

DoRio. I don't deny it, do I? 

Amtipbo. Has it come yet? 

DoRia. No, but to-day has oome in 
ahead of it. 

Antipbd. Ai« n't you ashamed to be 
such a fraud? 



■MIO >S3 

DoBio. Not a bit (tf it ia for my gain. 

Gbta. Oh, you dunghill! 

Pbmdkia. Look here, Dorio, is this the 
right way to behave? 

DoBio. It'Bmyway;if you like me, take 
me as you find me. 

Amtipho. And you cheat him like this? 

DoBio. On the contrary, Antipho, it's 
he who is cheating me: for he knew all 
along that I was the sort of man I am; but 
I supposed that he was difFerent. He'a 
taken me in, but to him I am exactly what 
I was before. But never mind; this is what 
I'll do, A soldier man has ^Htjmised to pay 
me the money to-morrow morning; now, 
Phsdria, if you bring it to me before he 
does, I 'U follow my r^ular rule, that he is 
the better man who is first to come down 
with the cash. Good-bye. [Exit, a.] 

Pkaobia. What shall I do? Where am 1 
to find the money for bim in such a. hurry, 
when I've less than nothing myself, poor 
fdlow? It was promised to me, if I could 
only have begged these three days out of 

Antipho. Shall we let bim be made so 
unhappy, Geta, after he has just helped 
me, as you tell me, in such a friendly way? 
Why not try to return his IrinHnw now 
when it's needed? 

Geta. Iknowof course it's only the fair 
thing to do. 

Antipro. Come, then, you are the only 
man yibo can save him. 

GvTA. What can I do? 

Antipbo. Find the money. 

GsTA. Iwaiitto;butwheref Tellmethat. 

Antipho. My father's here. 

GsTA. I know he is, but what of it? 

ANnPHo. Oh, a word to the wise is quite 
enou(^. 

Gdta. That's it, hey? 

An^^pbo. That's it. 

GfiTA. And a fine suggestion, too, by 
cracky! Get out, won't you? Isn't it 
triumph enough if I get off from your mar- 
riage with a whole skin without your telling 
me, when I'm in the stocks ah^dy, to try 
to get hanged for his sake? 

Antipho. There's truth in what he says. 

Phadbia. What, Geta, am I a mere 
stranger to all of you? 

GooqIc 



>54 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Gbta. I mippoee not; but is n't it enough 
that the old nun ia ao veiy ancry with ua 
all now, without our prodding him still 
more, so eis to leave us no chance to ciy oS7 

Phaedria. And Bhall another man cany 
her off to foreign parts before my very 
eyes? Ah mel Well, then, you two, talk 
to me and look your fill on me while you 
may, Antipho, and while I'm here. 

Antipho. What do you mean? What 
are you going to do7 Out with it. 

Ph.bi>ria. Wherever in the world she's 
carried, I'm resolved to follow, or to die 
in the attempt. 

Oeta. Heaven bleaa your efforts; go 
slow, though. 

Ahtifbo. Do see whether you can help 
him in any way. 

Gkta. Any way? But what way? 

Antipho. Try to think of something, for 
mercy's sake. Doo't let him do anything, 
great or small, Geta, that shall make na 
sorry when it's too late. 

Oeta. 1 am trying. [A pauae.] WeU, 
he's all right, I think; but really I'm afraid 
there'll bu trouble. 

Amtipho. Never fear; we'Uahareitwith 
you, good or bad. 

Geta. Tetl me; how much money do 
you need? 

pB.eDRiA. Only thirty ducats. 

Qbta. Tliirty? Whewl She's pretty 
dear, Fhiedria. 

Pbadria. No, not at all; she's cheap. 

Gbta. WeU, well. I'llaeethatit'sfound, 
and give it to you. 

Pkmdbia. Oh, you are a trumpi 

GffTA. Take yourself off. 

PaxDRiA. I need it at once. 

Gbta. You ahall have it at once; but I 
need Phormio to help me in this buuness. 

AtnrPHa He's all ready; lay on bim 
boldly any load you like; he'll carry it off. 
He's a (rioid indeed to a friend. 

Geta. Let's hurry to him then. 

Antipho. You don't need any help from 
me, do you? 

Gbta. No. You go home snd comfort 
that poor girl, for I know she 's in there now 
half dead with fright. What! waiting? 

ANTipm). There's nothing I shaU bo ao 
^ad to do. [Exit U> Dbuipbo's.I 



pKsniuA. How are you going to man- 
age this affair? 

Gbta. I'll tell youontheway; only take 
yourself out ctf this. [Eiteiint, r.] 



[Bnler Dbuip&o and Chbembs, l.] 

Dbuipho. Well, Chremes, did you bring 
your dau^ter with you, what you went to 
Lemnos for? 

CmtRHKa. No. 

Deuipho. Why not? 

Chreueb. Why, when her mother saw 
that I kept staying and staying on in 
Athens, and the girl was grown up and 
could n't be nei^ted any longer, she set 
out, they told me, bag and ba^age, to 
come and find me. 

Deuipho. Then why, I want to know, 
did you stay there so long when you heard 
that? 

Chbeubb. 'Gad, I was kept there by 

Dkuifho. How soT What illness? 

Chremes. What ilhieaa? Old age is ill- 
ness enough in itself. But the skipper who 
brought them told me that they reached 
here safe and sound. 

Deuipho. Have you heard what has 
happened to my son in my absence, 
Chremes? 

Chreueb. That's just what m^es me 
so undecided in my plans. For if I offer her 
in marriage to any outsider, I must tell tba 
whole story of how and by whom I came to 
be her father. As for you, I knew that you 
were as loyal to me hb I am to myself. But 
if a Btranger seeks alliance with me, he will 
hold his tongue just so long as we are dose , 
friends witb one another; but if he breaka 
with me, then he will know more than be 
ought to know. And I 'm afraid my wife 
may get an inkling of all this. If she does, 
the only thing left for me to do ia to give 
myself a shake and leave the house; for 
I'm all I've got in the world. 

Dekifho. Iknow that ia so; that's what 
makes me so annoua, and I shall never 
weary of making every effort to perform 
my promise for you. 



GooqIc 



[Enter Gbta, b.1 
□eta [atide]. A shrewder fellow than 
Pbonnio 1 never saw in my bom days. I 
WBnt to tell him thst money was wanted 
and how it was to be got, I had hardly 
told him half the story when he understood 
it all, — began to laugh, oongratulated me, 
asked where the old man waa. Then he 
thanked heaven that now he had a chance 
to show that he was as much of a friend to 
Fhsdiia as to Antipho. I told the fellow 
to wait on 'Change, and said that I would 
bring the old man there. Halloa I here he is. 
Who's that on the other side? Oh my I 
Piuedria'a father's come home. Lubber 
that I am, what was I afraid ofT Wa£ it 
because I've got two to trick instead of 
one? It's handier, 1 think, to have two 
abinp to your bow. I'll try to get the 
money from the man I meant originally. 
If he gives it, all right; if nothing can be 
done with him, then I'll attack this new- 

[Ejiier Antipho, unobserved, r.] 

Amtipho [aside]. I'm expecting Geta 
back every minute. Why, there's my uncle 
standing with my father. Dear mel how 
I do fear what father may be driven to by 
hia comingi 

GrTA. I'll go up. Why I our good friend 
Chremeel How do you do? 

Chrbuxs. How do you do, Geta? 

Gbta. I'm ddighted to see you back 
safe. 

Chrbubs. Dare say. 

Gbta. How goes it? Do you find many 
Burprises here, as usual when a man comee 

bOEQB? 

Chrbubb. a good many. 

Geta. To be sure. Have you heard 
wbat's happened to Antipho? 

Chbbuxs. The whole story. 

Gbta [to Dbuipbo.] You told him, then? 
What an outrageous thing, Chremes, to be 
taken in in this way. 

Chrbhxb. Just what I was telling him, 

Gbta. But on Uiinktng it all over care- 
fully, by the powers I bdieve I've found a 
way out of it. 

. What. Geta? 



^MiO 155 

- Dbmipho. What'e your way out? 

Gbta. When I left you I happened to 
meet Fhormio. 

Chrkubb. Who's Fhormio? 

Dbuipbo. The man who was her — 

Chreubs. I see, 

Geta, I thought I had better God out 
his real feeling, so J buttonholed the fd- 
low. "Phormio," says I, "why not try to 
settle these matters that are between us 
with good feeling, rather than with bad? 
My master is a gentleman, and he is shy 
of lawsuits. But, by the powers, all his 
friends have just been advising hun with 
one voice to turn the girt out of doors!" 

Antifho [aside]. Now what can he be 
starting on, or how will he end this blessed 
day? 

Gbta. "But, you'll aay, won't the law 
punish hitn if he turns her out? He's 
looked into that already, and I tell you, 
you'll haye to sweat for it, if you b^^ on 
a man like him. He's that etoquentl But 
come, Buppoee be is beaten; at the worst 
it's only money that's at stake, and not 
his life." When I saw that the fellow was 
shaken by this talk, "Here we are by our- 
selves," says I; "come now, say what you 
want in cash for yourself to release my 
master from this lawsuit, ebe to make 
herself scarce, and you to give no trouble." 

Amtifbo [atide]. Can he be in his sober 
Henses? 

Gbta. "The fact is, I am certain that if 
you name anything Uiat's at all fair au'I 
reasonable, tliere won't be three words 
between you. He's such a kind-hearted 

Dbuipho. Who gave you ordras to say 
that? 

Chbehbb. No, na;he couldn't have bet- 
ter brought about just what we want. 

Antipho [aeide]. I'madeadmant 

Dbuipbo. Go on and finish, 

Geta. At firet the fellow waa wild. 

Chremeh, Tell us what he asked. 

Gbta. Oh, a great deal too much. 

Chhbmbb, How muob? Speak. 

Geta. If you'd ofler a great talent — 

Deuipho, a great big D, you meant 
What! has the fellow no shame? 

Geta. Just what I said to him, "Look 



156 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



here," said I; "suppoae he vrae mBrryii^ 
off ut only d&ughter of hia own; he has n't 
gained much by not having one himwlf if 
eomebody else's tume up for him to por- 
tbQ." Well, to be brirf, and omitting all 
his aiUy talk, this was finally his last word: 
"From the very first," says he, "I have 
wanted to marry my old friend's daughter 
mysdf, as was proper; for I saw how dis- 
agreeable it would be for her, a poor girl, 
married only to b« a rich man's slave. But, 
to tell you the honest truth, I needed a 
wife who should bring me a little something 
to pay off what I owe; yee, and even after 
all that's passed, if Demipho is willing to 
give as much as I am getting with the giri 
to whom I am engaged, there's nobody in 
the world whom I ahoidd like better for a 

Antif&o [aad*]. I can't make out 
whether he's acting from stupidity or mis- 
chief, frotn design or off his guard. 

Dbupbo. But suppose be owes body 
andaoulT 

Gbta. "My farm," said he, "is mort- 
gaged for ten ducats." 

Deuipho. WeII,weU;lethimmarryher. 
I'll pay it. 

Oeta. "Then my house (or another 
ten." 

Deuipho. Whewl it's too much! 

CnuawEs. Don't make a row. You can 
get those ten of me. 

Gbta. "Then there's a lady's maid to 
be bought for my wife; then I need a little 
mc»e funutun, and Bome cosh to spend on 
the wedding. Putdown ten more for this," 

DxHiPBO. Then let him bring hundreds 
and hundreds of lawsuits against me. I 
won't give him a penny. WhatI that dirty 
fellow to get the laugh on nfe again? 

CHRSifKB. Pr^ be quiet. I'll pay it 
myself. All you've got to do ia to- make 
your son marry the girl we wish. 

Antipho [airide]. Oh, dear mel you've 
been the death of me, Geta, with your 
tricks. 

CHBXins. She is turned out for my sake, 
and so it's fair for me to be the loser. 

Gkta. "Let me know as soon as you 
<«n," saya he, "if th^ are going to give 



her to me, so that I may get rid of this other 
girl, and not be kept in doubt; for her 
people have agreed to pay me the dowry 
down at once." 

Chheiob. Let him have the money at 
once, break the engagement with thrai, 
and marry h&. 

DxuiPBo. Yee, and mc^ hod hick go 
with her. 

Chrxmxs. Fortunately, I have juat 
brou^t the money with me now, the renta 
from my wife's estatca in Lenmoe. I'll 
take it out of that, and tell my wife that 
you needed it. 

[BxeuiU Dehipbo and C^ronna to 
Crbuocs's.] 

Antipho [coming farwanJl. Getal 

GvrA. Halloal 

AuTiPffo. What have you doneT 

QmVA. Cleaned the old gentlemen out (rf 
their cash. 

Antipho. Is that all? 

GiTA. By the powers, I don't know; it 
was all I was told to do. 

Aktipho. What, you roguel I aak you 
one thing, and you answer another? 

Gbta. Why, what are you talking about? 

Antipho. What am I talking about? 
Here I am actually reduced to the rope, and 
it's aU your doing? May all the gods and 
goddeesee up above and down below make 
the worat sort of an example of you I Well, 
weU; if you want to succeed in a thing, 
leave it to this fellow, who can bring you 
out of smooth sailing straight on to a rockl 
Why, what could have been worse than to 
lay your finger on this sore and to mention 
my wife? Here's my father mode to hope 
that he can cast her off. Come now, what 
follows? Suppose Phormio gets the dowry 
and has to marry her, what then? 

Gkta. But he won't marry ha-. 

Antipho, Oh, no! But when they ask 
the money back, th«t of oduim he'U prefer 
to go to jail for my sake. 

Gbta. There ia n't any story in the 
world, Anti^o, that can't be spdled in the 
telling. Now you're leaving out all the 
good side and tdling only the bad. Now, 
then, bear the other side. Suppose now be 
geta the money '. he will have to marry her, 
as you say; I admit that; — but tjiey U 



pro him a little time Anyhow to get ready 
for the wedding, to himI out the iuvita- 
tiona, and to offer sacrifice. Meanwhile 
Fhsdiia'e friends will give him the money 
which they have promiBed, and Fhonnio 
will pay back the dowry out of that. 

Antifho. (te what ground? What can 
beeay? 

GvTA. What a questioni "Since my en 
Basement I've had so many bad omeng. 
A Btrange black dog trotted straight into 
my front hall; a snake fell down from the 
roof through the rain hole; a hen has 
crowed; the clairvoyant forbade it, the 
•oothaayer won't let me, Beeidee, to take 
up anything new before the winter seta in," 
— that 'a the strongest reason in the world. 
That's the way it will be. 

Antipho. I only hope it may. 

(^TA. May? It shall. Look to me [or 
that. Thne's your father coming out. Qo 
tdl Ruediia that we've got the mon^. 

[ExU Antifho, b.) 



Demipbo. Do be quiet, I s^. I'll take 
MiB he doesn't play me any triok. I'll 
nev«r let the money go from me heltor- 
•kelter without having witnesses. I 'U have 
it understood to whom I am giving it and 
»rtiy 1 give it. 

Geta [atide]. How cautious he is, where 
be has n't any call to be. 

OipmiraH . That's just what you ought 
to do; but make haste, while 1^'s still in 
ttie mood for'it. If that other girl is more 
pressing, perhaps hell leave us in the lurch. 

Geta [atide]. You've hit the very point. 

Demipbo [toGDT a]. Take me to him, then. 

GsTA. I'm ready. 

Chrxuxs. When you have attended to 
that, go over to my wife's to get her to call 
on the girl before she goes away. Let her 
tell the girl, to prevent her from being 
angry, that we are marrying her to Ffaor- 
mio, and that he is a better match for her, 
because she knows him better; and that we 
have done our duty, too, and given her as 
lai^ a dowry as he asked for. 

I>EUtPBo. What the plague does that 
matter to you^ 



MIO 157 

Chbbheb. a good deal, Demipbo. It's 
not enough for you to do your duty if the 
world doesn't aiqirove of what you've 
done. I want this to take [dace of her own 
free will, so that she shan't be saying that 
we drove her out. 

Deuipho. Well, I can bring all that 
about myself. 

Chbbubs. But a woman 'a the beet hand 
to deal (rith a woman. 

DsMiPHO. I'll ask hei, then. 

[Exeunt Deupho and Ovta, B.J 

Chbxhes. I wonder now where I can 
find those women? 



SoPHRONA. What shall I do? Where am 
I to find a friend in my distress? Whom 
shall I consult? When get help? I'm 
afraid my mistreee may come to gnef from 
following my advice; the young man's 
father takes all this ta hard, I hear. 

Chshueb [amde]. Why, who's this old 
woman that's come out of my brother's 
house so excited? 

SoPBRoNA. It was our poverty tfart 
drove me to it, though I knew sueh a mar- 
riage was a shaky thing, to provide that at 
least she might be sure of a living in the 

Cbbdmbb [aside]. Upon my word, unless 
my mind's going or my eyesight 's bad, 
that's my own dau|^ter's nurse that I see 
there. 

80PHBONA. And we can't track out — 

Cbrxmes [aside]. What shall I do7 

SoPHOOMA. Her father — 

Cbbbues [aside]. Shall I go and speak 
to her, or stay where I am until 1 know 
better what she is saying? 

SoPHBOKA. If only I oould find him, 
there's nothing I should be afraid of. 

Chsemss. It's the very woman. Ill 
•peak to her. 

SoPHAONA. Who's this talking here? 

Chrkuks. Sophrona! 

SoPHSONA. Calling me by name, too. 

Chbzmes. Look at me. 

SoPHBONA. Oh, good gradousl can this 
beStilpo? 

CHKEifEa. No I 



GooqIc 



'S8 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



SoraBONA. What? No? 

Chrbhbs. Come over here & little, away 
from that door, Sophrona, {Jeaae, and don't 
call me by that name Euiy iDore> 

SoFBKOKA. Why not? for mercy's sake, 
are n't you the man you always said you 

Chbeues. HushI 

SoFHBOHA. What IB there in this door 
that you 're afraid of? 

CBBztaEs. I've got a sava^ wife cagad 
up in there. As for that name, it waa a 
wrong one which I took in those days, so 
that you should n't let the truth leak out 
without meaning to, and my wife find it 
out some way< or other. 

SoPHRONA. Law me, that's just why we 
poor women have never been able to find 



I. But teU me, what have you 
to do with the peo|de whose house you just 
came out from? Where are the ladies? 

SoPHROKA. Ob, dear mel 

Chbxuks. Hey? What's the matter? 
Are n't they alive? 

SoPHRONA. Your daughter is; but ber 
mother, poor thing, died of grief. 

Chrehxs. Too bad! 

SoPHBONA. And so I, being only a lone 
lorn old woman, whom nobody knew, did 
my beet and got the girl married to the 
young gentleman who lives in here. 

Chrbubs. To Antipho? 

SopBBONA. Certainly; the very man. 

CHRGifBe. What! has he got two wives? 

BoPHRONA. For yaty'B sake, no; she's 
the only one he has. 

Chrsueb. What about the other who is 
called his relative? 

SoPHRONA. Why, it's she, of course. 

Ckrbmes. What's that you say? 

SoFHRONA. It was a put-up job, — the 
only way by which her lover might get her 
without a dowry. 

Cbreueb. Heaven help uat how often 
things do turn out by haphazard which 
you'dscarcely dare to wish for! Here I've 
come home and found my daughter married 
to the very man I wanted and just as I 
wanted it! The very thing that we were 
both trying with oil our might to bring 
about, he has taken the greatest trouble to 



do all by himself ffiUiout any trouble of 

SoPHROKA. Well now, just see what's to 
be done next. The young man's father has 
arrived, and they say that he is bitteriy 
opposed to it. 

Chrbmeb. There's no danger at all. 
But, by heaven and earth, don't let any- 
t>ody find out that she is my daugbtw. 

SoPHBONA. Nobody shall from me. 

Chrembs. Follow me; you shall hearts 
rest inside. [Exmail to DniiPHo's.] 



ACT V 
[Enler Dbupbo and Geta, r.] 

DxuiPHO. It's all our own fault that 
peoi^e find it pays them to be rogues; it's 
because we are too amdous to be i»lled 
kind and generous. "Enough is as good as 
a feast," says the proverb. Wasn't it 
enough to be injured by him that we must 
actually go and throw him a sop in the 
way of money, to give him aomething to 
live on until he can work up some other 
outrage? 

Gkta. Perfectly true. 

Deuipho. Nowadays people who makb 
right wrong get rewarded. 

Gbta. True enough. 

Deuipho. Bo it proves that we've made . 
a stupid mess of it with himt 

GsTA. Well, if only we get out of it by 
his marrying her — 

Deidpho. Why, is there any question 
about that? 

Geta, I swear, I don't know but that he 
may change his mind, considering the kind 
of fellow he is. 

Deuipho. Bless me! What! Changs 
his mind? 

Geta. I don't know about it. I'm only 
saying "supposii^." 

Demipho. That'swhatl'lldo, irtiatmy 
brother advised: I'll bring his wife hero to 
talk with that girl. Geta, you go ahead 
and tell her that Nausistrata is coming. 

[Exit to CHREUEa'S.] 

Geta. Phedria's money is found and 
^'s quiet with the lawsuit. We've looked 
out that the bride shan't be sent off for titB 



tveoent. Now, what next? What's to be 
doneT Stiddng in the ume rut atill? Rob- 
bing Peter to pay Paul, Geta? You've put 
off the evU day for now, but there's a crop 
of whippings growing if you don't look out 
ahead. I'll go home and tell Phanium that 
■he mustn't be afraid of Phormio or of 
Nautistrata's talk. [ExU to Dbhipho's.I 



DuapBO. Come,tb«n,NauBistratB,with 
your usual good nature miake her feel kindly 
towards us, so that she may do of her own 
accord what must be done. 

NiOBWTKATA. I will. 

DnuPBO, You '11 be aiding me now with 
youi good offioes, just as you helped me a 
while ago with your purse. 

Naubtbtrata. You're quite welcome; 
and upon my word, it 's my husband's fault 
that I can do lees than I migbt well do. 

Demipho. Why, how is that? 

Nausibtrata. Because he takes wretched 
care of my father's honest savings; he used 
reguhiriy to get two silver talents from 
tiiaae estates. How much better one man 
is than another! 

DiiUFHO. Two talents, do you ssy7 

NAnsiBTOATA. Yes, two talents, and 
whcm prices were much lower than now. 

Dewipbo. Whew I 

NAnsiCTRATA. Whatdoyouthinkofthat7 

DzioPHO. Oh, of oourse — 

Nacsistbata. I wish I'd been bom a 
man. I'd soon show you — 

DxiupHO. Oh yes, I 'm sure. 

Nadbwtrata. The way ■=- 

DimPHO. Pray, do save yourself up for 
her, lest she may wear you out; she's 
young, you know. 

Hausutrata. Ill do as you tell me. 
But there 'a my husband coming out of your 
bouse. 

[Enier Chrxwks.] 

Chbbiou. Hal Demipho, has the money 
been paid him yet? 

Dkmitho. I saw to it at once. 

Chkbubs. I wish it had n't been. 
lAtid^.] Oh, deul there's my wife. I bad 
ahnoit said too much. 



MIO 159 

DnoFBO. What makes you wish it 
had n't, Chremes? 

CHREUBe, No matter now. 

Dbuipbo. What have you been about? 
Have you told her why we are bringing 
Nauaistrata? 

C&BBMBe. I've attended to it. 

Dkmipho. Well, what does she say? 

CHRBun. She's not to be taken away. 

DsMtPBO. Why is n't she? 

Chrbues. Because they 're heart to 

Deuipho. What's that to us? 

Cbsxios. a good deal. Besides I have 
found out that she really is related to us. 

DxMiPBO. What? You're raving. 

Cbbxmmo. You'll find it's so. I'm not 
speaking at random. I 've recollected. 

Dxuipso. Are you in your right mind? 

Nacsistrata. Oh, for mercy's sakel 
take care not to hurt a relative. 

Demipbo. She is n't one. 

CoKiatEa. Don't say that. Her father 
went by anotho^ name; that's how you 
made a mistake. 

Dhuifho. Did n't she know who her 
father was? 

Chremss. Oh, yes. 

DsMiPRO. What made her call him 
something dse? 

Chrxucb. Won't you ever stop insieting, 
and take in what I mean? 

Demipho. But if you don't tdl me any- 

CBBUtES [ande to DxiUFHa]. You'll 

Nadbibtrata. I wondei what it all is. 

DsuiPBo. By heaven, I'm sure I don't 
know. 

Chrrhxs. Do you want to know the 
truth? Then, so help me God, there is n't 
a man in the world nearer of kin to her 
than you and I. 

DiuapHO. Great heavens! Let's go 
straight to her. If it's so, I want us all to 
know it alike — or if it is n't so. 

CsRiMES. Oh, dear! 

Dbmipbo. What's the matter? 

Chrrubs. To think of your trusting me 
•o litUel 

Demipbo. You want me to believe it, 
ttienT You want me to oonsider it settiedT 



i6o 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



VeiT w«U, have it ao. But then, whkt'a to 
be done with the other pil, our friend'i 
daughter? 

Chrkioib. Oh, that's oil right. 

DxmPHO. Shall we drop bar, then? 

Chbeubb. Why not? 

DxioFHO. And this one is to stay? 

Cbbkmss. Yes. 

DsupHo. Youcango,then,NauBiatrata. 

NATTBiBTaATA. Good gTacioua, I think it 
IB better for all concerned that she should 
itay, than to have it as you first intended; 
for she seemed to me a wy lady-like thing 
when I saw bxr. 

[Exit Nausibtbata to Chbeueb's.] 

Dewipho. Now, what is the meaning of 
this buaiueea? 

CHaEHBs. Has she shut the door yet7 

Dbiupho. Yes. 

CHEDima. O Lord! heaven does smile 
on us! I've found my daughter mairied 
to your son! 

Deuipeo. Bless mel how oan that be? 

Chbbueb. This plaoe is n't safe eDot^ 
to tell the story in. 

DiiMiPHO. Well, come indoors, th«n. 

Chbemeb. Look here, I don't want our 
sons to get an inkling of this. 

[Exeunt to Dzmipho'b.1 

[Enter Antipho, r.1 

Antipho. However things are going 
with me, I'm glad that my cousin has suc- 
ceeded in getting what he wants. What a 
nice thing it is to oonceive sueh desires that 
you can satisfy them by simple means 
when things go wrong! No sooner has he 
got themoney than he's freed from anxiety; 
but here I am, unable to get out of thme 
tioublee by any qieans whatever, but what 
I'm in terror if it's kept quiet, and dis- 
graced if it oomCs out. I should n't be com- 
ing home now if there was n't some hope 
of my having her. But where can I find 
GeU? 

[Enter Pborwio, r.1 

Fhosido. I've received the money and 
handed it over to the trader. I've taken 
away the girl and arranged that Fhsdria 
may have her for his own; she's been eman- 
cipated. Now there's only one thing left 



over for me to see to, and that is to get 
time from the old gentlemen to make a 
Bpree of it. I propose to take some days off. 

Amtipbo. Why, there's Phormio. Sayl 

PnoRiao. Say what? 

Amtifbo. What's Phffidrta going to do 
now? How does he propose to spend his 
honeymoon? 

Fhobioo. He'sgoing to takehistumat 
playing your part. 

Antxpho. What part is that? 

Phokuio. To run away from his father. 
And he requests you in return to pbqr hia 
and plead his cause for him. The fact is, be 
is going to my house for a little apree. I 
shall tell the old gcotiemen that I am 
going down to Sunium to the fair, to bujr 
that lady's maid that Geta talked about; 
then they won't think I'm squandering 
their money when they don't see me hera. 
But there's a noise at your front dow. 

Antipho, See who is coming out. 

Phoruio. It's Geta. 

[Enter Geta from Dbuipho's.) 

Geta. Oh Fortunel oh lAioky Fortunet 
With what blessings and how suddenly 
have you loaded my master Antipho wiUt 
your tdndnees to-day I 

ANTiFBo[aMde}. Why, what can he mean? 

Oeta. And unloaded all us friends of bis 
of fearl But here I am dilly-dallying in- 
stead of loading up my shoulder with my 
cloak and hunying off to find him, so thaX 
he may learn all that's happened. 

Antipbo [aside to Pboruio). You can't 
make out what he is talking about, con you? 

Phormio ItMUJe). Nor you either? 

Antipho [aaide]. Not a bit. 

Pboruio losidei- No more can I. 

Geta. I'll start and go to the slav^ 
trader's; they're there now. 

Aittipso. Halloa, Geta! 

Geta. There you arel Always the wayl 
Called back just when you have started 

r unning ! 

Antipho. Getal 

Geta. Keeping it up, begadi Well, you 
shan't ever beat me witji your insolence. 
Antipho. Wait, won't you? 
Gbta. Oh, go get yourself thrashedl 
Antipho. 'Huit'B just what wiQ h^ipon 



to you ia a minute if you don't atop, you 

QvTA. He must know me pretty w«ll — 
to threat«ii mo with » thrashing. Why,isit 
Ute man I am after or not? It is the very 
man. Up to him on the spot. 

AMTirao. What's the matter? 

Gbta. Oh you meet bleaseci man in all 
the woildl I tell you, Antipho, there's no 
deoyiDg tliat you're the only man whom 
hearen loves. 

Amtifho. I should like to be; but I 
should like to have you tell me why I'm 
to tbink so. 

GcTA. Is it cQough if I set you all drip- 
l»ng down with joy? 

Amtifho. You'll be the death of me. 

Phobmio. Awt^ with your pranisee 
and out with your news! 

QSTA. Whatl you here too; Phoimio? 

PnoHino. Yee, but why don't you go 
■baadr 

Gbta. Well, then, listen. After we had 
paid you the money on 'Change, we started 
stiaight home; then master sent me over 
to see your wife. 

Amtipho. What for? 

GsTA. I'll leave that out; it's notlung 
to do with the esse, Antipbo. Just as I was 
entering my lady's chamber, Mida, her 
■lave boy, nut up to me, caught me by the 
doak b^tiod and pulled me back. I looked 
round and asked Um what he was stopping 
me for. He said that there was no admis- 
sion to his mistress. "Sophrona has just 
brou^t in the old man's brother Chrones 
and he's in there now with the ladies," 
says he. When I heard that, I went up 
softly on tiptoe, stood still, hdd my breath 
and put my ear against the door; and I 
began to listen, trying to catch their talk 
io fashion. 

Phobuio. Bravo, Getal 

GiTA. Whereupon I heard a moat beau* 
tiful piece of business; so much so that by 
fsneky, I neariy shouted for joy. 

AmrpHo. What was it? 

Gbta. Wen, what do you think? 

Antipbo. I don't know. 

Qeta. But it'B most marvelousi Your 
uncle has proved to be your wife Fhani- 



LMIO i6i 

Antipho. What's that you ujl 

Gbta. Ha lived with her mothn at 
Tiwnnoa unhtJmownst. 

PaOHMia. You're dreaming! As if tU 
giri would n't know her own fatho"! 

Gxta. Oh well, depend upon it, Photmio, 
there's some reason for that; but do you 
think that I, outside of the door, oould 
understand everything that went on be- 
tween them inside? 

Antipho. Yes, and I have had an ink- 
ting of QiiB story, too. 

Gbta. Yes, and 111 give you something 
to make you believe still more. After a 
while your uncle came out here, and soon 
after that he went in again with your 
father. They both said that you ware 
allowed to keep her. Finally I was sent to 
look you up and bring you home. 

Antipbo. Why don't you drag me off 
then? What are you waiting for? 

Gbta. Ill do it mighty quick. 

Antipho. Good-bye, my dear Phonnio. 

pHOBiao. Good-bye, Antipbo. God 
bleas me, this is a gpqd thing. I 'm glad 
of it 

[Exeunt Antipbo and Qbta la 
Deuifbo'sJ 

Pborwo. What an une^tected pieoe of 
good luck for these boysl And now I have 
a fine chance to take the old gentlemen at, 
and to rid Phwiria of his worry about the 
money, so that he shan't have to beg it of 
any of his fellows. For this very same 
money, given already, shtdl be bis outright 
in spite of all their opposition. The facta 
have shown me how to force them to it. 
I must now put on a new air and change 
my exiBession. I'll withdraw into thia 
alley close by and show myself to theoa 
from these when tiiey come out. I shan't 
go to the fair as I pretended. 

[TTttAcfriiitM, bJ 
[£nler Dbiopho and CHBBiixa from 
Dbiopbo's.) 

Dbiopho. 1 am gtateful ■■'"i iJunkful 
to tlie gods, brother, and they deserve it, 
amce all this has turned out so wdl for ui 
to-day. 

Chbbiibb. Isn't she a thoron^ lady 
thou^ as I told youT 



l63 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Dkhipho. Throu^ &nd through. We 
must now find Fhoimio as soon aa possible 
snd get OUT thirtj duoats away from him 
before he ma]«e ducks and dtakes of them. 

Phobido [coming fonoardi. 111 just see 
whether Demi^dio is at home, 30 as to — 

DmopHO. Afa, we were just eoing to 
tee you, Phonnio. 

Fhobmio. Oq t^ same old errand, per- 
haps? 

DxiOPBO. Yes, to be sure. 

pBOBUio. I auppoeed so. But what 
made you think it neceeeary to comeT 

DBHn>HO. Oh pooh I 

Phosmio. Did jrou think I would n't do 
what I had once undertaken? See here, 
however poor I may be, there's one thing 
I've always hetai particular about, and 
that is to keep my word. And so I come to 
tell you this, Demipho, that I 'm all ready. 
Give me my wife whenever you wish. I 
have put off sU my other businees, and 
IH>operiy enough, too, when I saw how very 
bent you were upon it. 

DEiaPHO. But Quomes here has per- 
suaded me not to give her to you. " Why, 
what will Mrs. Orundy say," says he, "if 
you do that? Awhile ago, when you oould 
have done it decently, you did n't release 
iter. To turn her out now, divoreed, is 
outrage." In fact, his argumenta were 
pretty much the same that you uiged 
against me yourself awhile ago face 
face. 

Phobmio. You 're mninng game of me 
in a pretty high and mighty way. 

DamFBO. How 'a that? 

Phorhio. How 'a that? Why, because I 
thaia 't be able to marry that other girl 
now. For how could I have the face to go 
back to the woman after slighting her? 

Chbbubs. (aiids (o Dhmifbo.) " B 
sides I see that Antipho does n't wont to 
let her leave him " — say that. 

DuMiPHO. Beeidee I see that my 1 
does n't at all want to let the woman 
leave him. So come over to the bonk, 
please, and have that money transTeiTed 
to me again, Phormio. 

PHoamo. Whatl after I have already 
paid it round acaong my different credi- 
toar 



Dehitho. What's to be done theo? 

Pbormio. it you will give me the lady 
as you promised, I will marry her; but if 
you really want her to stay with you, 
Demipho, why the dowry must stay with 
me. It is n't fair that I should be the loaer 
through the means of you two; for it waa 
out of regard for you titat I broke off with 
the other lady wita was to bring me just aa 
large a dowry. 

Dewpho. You be hanged with your 
high-toned talk, you vagabondl Do you 
suppose that we don't know you and your 
doings? 

Fborhio You're mulring me angiy. 

DxMtPHO; So you'd marry her, would 
you. if wB gave her to you? 

I^oiucio. Try it on. 

I>EiapHO. Yes, eo that my mat mi^t 
live with her in your house; that was your 

Phormio. What ate you talking about, 
I«ay? 

DsuiPBO. Come, hand over my money. 

pHtWMio. Not much; you hand over 
my wife. 

DunPHO. Walk Btrai^t into court then. 

Fbobwo. Look here, if you are goinx to 
keep on being troubleeome — 

Deidpho. What are you going to do 
about it? 

Pbobmio. I? Poliaps ygu two think 
that I'm the protector of undowried 
women only; but I'm in the habit of pro- 
tecting dowried ones too. 

Chbxkbs. What's that to us? 
. Phoruio. Oh, nothing. But I knew i> 
woman round here whose husband mar- 

Chbbuks. Ha! 

Dewpbo. What's the matter? 

Phobmio. Another wife at Lenmos — 

Chbsubs. I'm done fori 

Phobido. By whom he had a daughter; 
is briugiiig her up, too, on the sly. 

Chbeiob. I'm as good as buried. 

Phobmio. I'm just going to tell her all 
about it. 

Chbhuxb. For heaven's sake, don't) 

Phobmio. Oh, you were the man, wn« 
you? 

DiuiPHo. Whatgamebe'stnaldagofual 



Chrxmss. We let you off scot free. 

Pboruio. Oh, bosh] 

Chsbmeb. Well, what would you have? 
We let you off with the auxiey that you've 
got. 

Pbobwo. Oh, yesi Why the deuce ore 
you Tiak'ng game ol me nith your ailly, 
rhj liiiiih shilly-ahallyiDg? "I won't, I will, 
and I will, I won't," — one after the other; 
"take it — give it back" — aay a thing 
and unsay it; make a bargain one minute 
and break it off the next. 

Chrknks [aside]. How or where did he 
«ver come to find this out? 

E)eiiipho [aiide]. I don't know; but I'm 
'SUie I did n't tell anybody. 

CHBXHKa [oMide.] A p^ect miracle, as 
I hope to live! 

PnOBiaa (oaufe]. I've put a spoke in his 
wheel. 

DiuiPHO. See here, is this laacal going 
to rob us of all this money and laugh in our 
TOTy facesT By heaven, I'll die the death 
finti [Atide to Chbeuhb.] Make ready to 
be bold and have your wit« about you. 
You see your little peccadillo has got out 
and you can't hide it from your wife any 
longer. The earnest way to get it forgiven, 
Chremes, is for us to tell her ourselves 
what she is sure to hear from others. And 
tb«k we shaU be able to revenge ourselves 
at our ease upon this dirty fellow. 

Phorhio [amde]. My goodneasl I'm i 
a fix if I don't look out for myself. Tbey 
are «n»irinfl at me with the air of prite- 
fighters. 

Cbbxmks [atide]. But I'm afraid we 
can't make her forgive me. 

DmiFHO [tuide]. Courage, ChremesI 
1 11 bring you back into her good graces, 
on tiie strength of this, that the woman by 
whom you had this child is out of the way. 

PHoaiao. That's the way you deal with 
me, is it? A cunning attack enoughl It's 
not for his good that you 've stirred me up, 
Z>emipbo, by heaven! Ahal when you've 
been carrying on abroad after your own 
sweet will without any segard for yonder 
aoble lady, but on the contrary, insulting 
her in this strange fsshion, would you come 
now with i^ayeiB to wash away your sin? 
Why, III set her so afin agaiuat you with 



.MIO 163 

this story that you shan't put her out 
though you actually dissolve away in 
tears. 

DnoPHo. Was ever a man so impudent! 
Why does n't the government transport 
the knave t« some desert island? 

Chbxubb. I'm reduced to sudi a state 
that I don't know what to do with him. 

DxiuPHO. I do, then. Let's go to law. 

Phorwo. To law? To htr, if you don't 

Chbbkbb. Follow him up; hold on to 
him while I call the slaved out. 

DsiaPBO. I can't all by myself; run and 
help me. 

Phobido. Here's one .suit for assault 
and batt«ry against you I 

OuMiFHO. Go to law, thent 

Pbormio. And another for you, Chremes. 

Chrxhbb. Hurry bim off I 

PaoaMio. That'e it, hey? Why, then, I , 
must use my voice — Nausistrata! Come 
out here I 

Chbhubb. Stop his dirty moutli; just 
see how strong he is. 

PaoRMio. I say, Nauaistratal 

Dkupho. Hold your tongue, won't you? 

Pbobmio. Hold my tongue? 

Dbuii^o. If he does n't oome along, hit 
him in the belly with your fists. 

Phobuio. Gouge out an eye if you like; 
but I shall Boon have a fine revenge. 



[ErUtr NAOSISTRAT4 /rom Chbsios'b.] 

Nausibtkata. Who's calling me? Why, 
husband, what's this disturbance about, 
for mercy's sake? 

Phormio. Halloal what's struck you so 
dumb now? 

Nausistrata. WhoistbisfellowT Won't 
you answer me? 

Phobwo. He answer you! When by 
heaven he does n't know who he is himself 1 

Chrxmeb. Don't believe anything the 
fellow says. 

Phorhio. Go and touch him; if he's not 
cold all over, you may murder me. 

Cbreubs. It's nothing at all. 

Nadsibtrata. Well, then, what is he 
talking about? 

Phoiuiio. You shall bo(hi find out — just 
li>l«D. 



■64 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



I. Are you gomg to believe him? 

Naubibtbata. For mercy'B sake, what 
should I believe irbea he has n't said any- 
thingT 

Phobioo. The poor metoh ia raving 
mad with fear. 

Nausibtbata. Upon my word, it's oot 
for nothing that you are so frightened. 

Chbemsb. I frightened? 

PHOKiao. All right, then. Aa you're 
afmid of nothing, and as what 1 say is 
nothing, just tell her younelf . 

DuopHO. What! tell it for you, you 
acoundielf 

PnoBino. Oho youl you've done findy 
for your brother, of oourael 

Nacsistrata. Won't you tell me, hus- 
batidf 

Chbkmbs. But — 

NACBieraATA. But what? 

Chbuibs. There 'b no need of telling. 

Phobioo. Not for you of oourae, but 
she ought to know. In Lemnos — 

NAueiaTBATA. Ah! what's that yousay? 

Chbxhes. Won't you hold your tougueT 

Phobhio. Behind your back — 

Chbzmiib. Oh dear me! 

PnoBino. He married another wife. 

Nausutbata. God fotbid, my dear nun! 

Phobuo. It 'a true. 

Nadsuttbata Alas! I'm undone! 

Phobmio. Andbyherfae'salreodyhadone 
daughter, too, without your dreaming of it. 

Chrbicbs. What shall I do? 

NAnaiBTBATA. Oh. heavens! what a 
wicked, shameful thing 1 

Phormio. Do? You're done fori 

Naubibtbata. Woe there ever anything 
more infamous! When it comes to their 
trives, they're old enough, forsooth I 
Demipfao, I ap{>eal to you, for I am aick of 
talking to thia creature. This was the mean- 
ing, was it, of all those oonstant tripe and 
Iwig stays at Lemnoa? This wss the low 
prioes that reduced oui rents there? 

DxMiPEO. For my part, Nausistrata, I 
don't say that he doee n't deserve to be 
blamed in this matter, but it is a fault that 
may be pardoned. 

Phobhio. Mightaswell talk totbedead. 

DBiQFBO. The fact ie, it was not that 
he did n't care for you or that be disliked 



you. His affair witb this woman waa about 
' fifteen years ago, once wbea he had drunk 
too much, pwH that was how thif gj^ ^^iiyt 
to be bom; he never went near the woman 
afterwards; she is dead and out of tlie wi^; 
that was the only stumbling-block l^t. 
And so I beg of you that you will bear tlus 
patiently, as you act in other things. 

Nausibtbata. Patiently — why should 
I? I certainly do want to have an end of it 
all, I'm so wretched; but how could I 
expect that? Can I count on his sinning lees 
as he grows older? He was an old man even 
then, if it's old age that makee men virtu- 
ous. Do my own looks or my years make 
me more attractive now than I was Umi, 
Demipho? Come, what can you offer to 
make me expect or trust that this won't 
happen sgain? 

Pbobuio. All who desire to attend the 
funeral of Chremee,oow'B the time! That's 
the way I II give it to 'emi Now come <xi, 
whoever wants to stir up Phormio! I'll 
ruin him aa completely as I have Cluemes. 

Demipho. Dtm't be so angry; calm your- 
self , Nausistrata. 

Phobkio. Yes, yee, let him back into your 
good graces; he 's been punished enou^ 
to satisfy me. And she's got something to 
din into bis eats just as long as be lives. 

Naubistbata. I deaored it, then, I supi 
poee. Why ^ould I, at this lata day, 
Demipho, reheaise what a wife I've beoi 
to him? 

Dkupho. I know it all aa well bb jtou do. 

Naubibtbata. Do you think I've de- 
served this troatment? 

Dkiupho. Never in the worid. But 
what's done cannot be undone by re- 
proaches. Do forgive him. He bep par- 
don, — he owns up, — he oCen to atone. 
What more can you want? 

Phobwo [andet. Beolly aow,bcfon ihe 
pardons bim I must look out for mysBlf 
and Phedria. [AUnid.] See here, NfuiaiB- 
trata, just listen to me before yon annrar 
him off-hand. 

NAUBi8TRATA.,What is it? 

Fhobmio. I got thirty ducats out of hioi 
by a trick, and gave them to your son. He 
bought hiB mistreoB with tbsm from bar 



.Goog[c 



CaRUiae. H<QrI what's that you sayT 

MAtrBUTRATA. Doyouthinlcit'sMvery 
bad for a young fellow like your son to have 
one mistraBB, when here you are yourself 
with two wiveef Have you no senae of 
ahame? How con you have the face to 
scold him for itT Answer me that. 

DuupHo. He shall do everything you 
wish. 

Nausistrata. Well, to let you know my 
decision, I neither pardon him nor promise 
anything nor make any answer at all, be- 
fore aeeing my son. I leave the whole thing 
to hia judgment. 1 11 do whatever he tells 

Phobido. You are a wise woman, 
Nausistrata. 

Naubistbata. Does that satisfy ymiT 

Dkiutho. Certainly. 

Chruos [aiide]. Upon my word, I get 
out of it pretty finely, and better than I 



Nausistrata [Io FBOBiao). Please t 
« your naiuB. 



PRORMia. Fhormio, a friend of your 
bouse, by heaven, and particularly of your 
sonPht^ria. 

Naosibtrata. Well, Phormio, after this 
111 do and say for you whatever you like 
as wtH OS I can, upon my word I will. 

Phobuio. That's very kind of you. 

Naubibtrata. I'm sure you have de- 
served it. 

Pboruio. Do you want to begjn by giv- 
ing me a pleasure to-day, Nausistrata, and 
to make your husband's eyee ache at the 
same time? 

Naobibtrata. Yes. 

PaoBMio. Then invite me to dinner. 

Naubibtrata. Certainly, I invite you. 

Deufbo. Let us go in, then. 

Naubibtrata. Well, but where is Phe- 
dria, who ia to decide between us? 

Pbormio. I'll bring him here. 

Camtob. Farewell, and give us your 
applause. 

[Bxtimt, Phoruio, r., the othert to 
Chbuw'b.) 



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THE STAR OF SEVILLE 

(LA ESTRELLA DE SEVILLA) 

By LOPE DE VEGA 

ThimUltd in ^rut iy PHtUf M. HA YDEN 



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CHARACTERS 

Ema Sakcho thb Bou> 

Don Arias, confidant of tke King 

DoH Pedro db Guzman, 1 

Farpan db RrvBRA, ) 

Don Gonulo db Ulloa, the Cid of Cordosa 

Fbbnah Pbrbz de Medina, Captotn 

Don Sakcho Ortie, ) 

icounciton 
BUBTOB Tabeaa, ) 

Inioo Osobio 

Don Manow. 

PzDBO DE Caub, Oovemor of the Prison of Triana 

Claiundo, OraciosQ, aenrant to Don Sancho 

Stslla, the Star of SeviUe 

Tbodoba, eervant 

Matilde, Blme 

AttendatOa, Servantt, Mttneiaat, Peoph 



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THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



1 I. ^n 



tin the ptdaee.] 



[ffnfer the Kikq, Don Asiab, Don Pedro 

DB Guzman, and Fabfan dk Rivera] 

Km o. My welcome in Seville iuui greatly 
plensed me, and I peroeive I em indeed the 
sovereigD mosftrch in Caatjle; my reign 
(fttes from this day, matx this day Seville 
icceives me and doee me honor; for it is 
clear and evident, and an accepted law, 
that no man could be king in Caatille who 
did not reign in Seville. I shall not be con- 
tent if I do not reward the mmuficence of 
my reception, and the splendor of my en- 
trance. My court eh»ll have its seat within 
theee walla, and marvel not that the Caa- 
tilian court should make its seat in Seville, 
for I shall reign in Castile, while I reign in 
Seville. 

Don Pedbo. We, the chief alcaldea of 
Uie cit;, kiss your feet in gratitude, for we 
receive your favors in her name. Jurors 
and cotmcilmen gladly ofFer you their 
wealth and loyalty, and the council is in 
bccord, provided only that the chartered 
rigfats of this your dty do not suffer. 

KiKO. I am much pleased — 

DonPbdbo. Grant us your band to kise. 

Kino. — that in receiving me you have 
bome yourselves like the men you are, and 
I believe that with your support I shall 
make myself long of Gibraltar, which sleeps 
in fancied security upon the Columns, 
and if fortune favors me I shall make my- 
self remembered. 

Farfak. With loyalty the people of 
Seville will serve Your Hi^mees in this 
lofty enterprise, olTering their livee as one. 

Abiab. His Majesty feels it so, and is well 
irieased with you and your desire. 

Kino. Men of Seville, I believe you and 
ao declare. Go with God. 

[£ztwnJ the aieaUet.] 



Abiab. My lord, how like you Seville? 

Kino. Much; for to-day I am truly 
king. 

Abias. She will deserve your favor. Sire, 
and win it more from day to day. 

Kino. Surely; for so rich and fair a dty, 
as I live longer in it, will be admired at 
leisure. 

Ariab. The beauty and the grandeur trf 
its streeta — I know not if Augustus saw 
the like in Rome, or had such wealth. 

Kma. And her ladies, divinely fair, why 
do you not mention themT How can you 
limit or describe their attributes and radi- 
ance? Tell me, why are you not aflame in 
the light of such g^oriesT 

Abias. Dofia Leonor de Ribera seemed 
heaven itself, for in her countenance shone 
the light of ibe springtime sun. 

Kino. She is too pale. A sun with rays 
of ice is little worth, for it chills instead ot 
warming. I want a burning sun, not frees- 
ing. 

Arias. The one who threw you rodee is 
Dofia Mencia Coronel. 

KiKO. A handsome dame, but I saw 
others lovelier. 

Abias. The two lively damsels at the 
next window were Dofia Ana and Dofi» 
Beatris M«sia, sisters through whom day 
gains fresh splendors. 

Kino. Ana is but a vulgar name for one, 
and Beatris for the other, lonely like the 
phmnix, because imequaled. 

Arias. Does good fortune or ill attend 
even upon a name? 

Kino. In love — and do not wonder at 
it — names unusual, and indicating qual- 
ity and breeding, are a, magnet to a man. 

Arias. The pale, aubum-haired. . . . 

Kino. Tell me not.her name. The pale 
lady with aubmm haii will be mattile and 
bronze, and your descriptions weary me as 
you continue. One I saw there full of grace, 
whom you have Wt unmentioned; for you 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



hkve noted only the blonde, and not the 
nven-hured. Who is she i^ on lier bnl- 
cony drew my attention, uul to whom I 
doSed my hat? Who is she whose two eyes 
flash Ug}itiung like Jove's thunder-bolts, 
and sent their deadly rays into my heart, 
unknowing of their power? One who, 
though dark, outebooe the sun? Tn trases 
at tiiffixt she ecltpeed the orb of day; her 
beauty obscured its rays. 

Ariab. I have it. Sire. 

Kmo. Choose the loveliest of them alt, 
for that is she. 

Arias. They call her the Star of Seville. 

KiMQ. If she is fairer than the sun, why 
slight her thus? But Seville does itot esteem 
her, seeing her daily. Sun she shall be 
called, sinoe she is a sun that revives and 
kindles. 

Abua. Her name i* Doll a Stella Tabera, 
and Seville, in homage, calls her its star. 

Knro. And it might call her its sun. 

AaiAB. Her brother hopes to marry her 
in Seville, as well he may. 

King. Her tn^ther's name? 

Abias, Buetos Tabers, and he is coun- 
cilor in Seville, in saying which I bear trib- 
ute to his quality. 

Koro. And is he married? 

Abias. He is not married, for in the 
SevHlian firmament he is the sun, if Stella 
is his nster, and Star and Sun are in con- 
junction. 

KiHo. My guiding star brou^t me to 
Seville, and I find great joy in it, if it is se 
Mlliant as I hope. All wUl go well with me, 
under such a star. What means, Don 
Arias, will you find, for me to see her and 
to speak with her? 

Akiab. You shall find bee a friendly star, 
in spite of the Sun. Heap honors upon her 
brother, for the most ri^ honor yields to 
honors. Favor him, for favors can ovor- 
come and conquer the impossible. If you 
pve to him, and he receives, he binds him- 
sdf , and sees himself obliged to requite 
what you have given; for he graves in 
bronie who accepts favors. 

Kino. Let him be summoned, and take 
measur«e likewise that the following night 
I may see Stella in her house. O vision that 
infianiea my inmost soul. [Exit Asm.] 



lEnter Don Gomxalo, mi mramtng.] 

GoHEALo. I Usi your highness' feet. 

KiNa. Rise, Gonsalo. On this day of 
joy, why do you oome so sad? 

Gonsalo. My father is no more. 

KiNa. I have lost a valiant captain. 

GoNEAUi. And the frontier remains 
without defender. 

KnfO. Yes, a heroic commander has de- 
parted. Grieving I listen to you. 

GoHEAi/), Sire, the frontier of Archidooa 
has suffered a great loss, and amce there 
can be found no equal to his valor, and 
since I have inherited the honored name of 
tlie great general, I implore your majesty 
not to pennit another to receive the post 
now vacant. 

Kino. There is sufficient proof that his 
vslor hves sgain in you. lAmeot youi 
father's death, and while you aie in mourn- 
ing and in sorrow, reet in my court. 

GoNEALO. Femao Feres de Medina 
comes with the same request, and thinks 
his services may claim the baton, for in fact 
he has been ten years captain, and with his 
sword has stained with n^y hue the peariy 
walls of Granada. Hence my diligenee. 

Kino. I will consider it; for if I must 
make this decision, I wish to weigh the 
matt^. 

[£nter Fxunam Pebbz dx Medina.] 

Fbknan. I fear, O king, that I arrive too 
late. I kiss your feet, and then . . . 

Knto. You may present your homage, 
Feman Peres, with a tranquil mind. The 
office is still in my hands, and such a poet 
will not be given without consulting first 
yourself and othws of high credit in the 
kingdom who being bulwarks in them- 
selves will be advisers concerning Arohi* 
dona. Go, and rest. 

Gonsalo. This memorial I leave with 
you, my lord. 

l^KNAN. And I leave mine, which is the 
crystal mirror of my valor, in which m; 
nature can be seen, pure, accomplished, 

GoNCALO. Mine is crystal too, and shown 
the cleameas of my daim. 

{Extant FsBNAM md GoHuio.) 



THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



■73 



[Enler Arias and Bcaroe.) 

Abias- Heie, my lord, is Bustoe Tabers. 

BimtM. Perturbed you see me st youi 
feet, my lord, f or ao it is natural for the 
tsomU to be eonfused in presence of bis 
king; I am for this reason and by the com- 
mon lot perturbed, but twice pertuibed, 
because this UDdreamt-«rf f avc» hatfa further 
*(itsted me. 

KiNQ. Rise. 

Bnsios. Nay, this is my jdaoe. If kings 
thould be adored like saints upon an altar, 
my {daoe is here. 

Kaia. You are a gallant gentleman. 

BusTOB. Of that I have shown proof in 
Spain. But, Sire, I crave but such advanc«- 
ateat as is due me. 

Kino. Then cannot I advance youT 

BuaroB. The laws of Gkxl and man give 
power to kings, but forbid the vassal to be 
pnsumptuous; tar he, my lord, must keep 
his wishes within bounds. So I, seeing this 
Isw transgressed, limit my ambition to my 
tairful aspirations. 

Kroo. What man ever did not desire to 
braome greaterT 

Bnnoe. If I were greater, I should be 
covered rkow; but if I am Tsbera, Tabera 
must stand uncovered, 

KiNQ lands lo AiuAs]. A strange phi- 
keophy of honor! 

AaiAB la*ide lo Kiwa]. A caprice novel 
ud unexampled. 

EiNO. I do not deeira, Tabera, upon my 
life, that you sUnd covered before I have 
advanced you, and given you a proof of my 
Rffection. And thus it is my will that you 
cease to be Tabera, and become Gteneral of 
Archidona, for your heroism shall be the 
defense of that frontier. 

Bqbtos. But, Sire, in what war have I 
evw served youT 

EiNa. !Even in the occupations of peace, 
Bustos, I see you so capable of defending 
my lands, that I give you prderenoe over 
these, whose memorials show such aervioes. 
Sen in my [xeeence read and decide: the 
™'Ml''ln*'«« are three — yourself and these 
two; see irtiat ootnpetitorB you have. 

Bu«ro0 [rwaibii : " Most noble King, Don 
Ocnsalo de Ulloa sntraata yotir majesty to 



grant him the post of captain general of the 
frontier of Archidona, inasmuch ae my 
father died in battle, after serving you 
more than fourteen years, rendering not- 
able services to God in behalf of your crown. 
I implore justice, etc." If Don Gonsalo has 
inherited the valor of his father, I name 
him for the place. 

Kino. Rmd the other memorial. 

Buaros [readt]: "Most noble king, Fer- 
nsD Feres de Medina has been a soldier 
twenty yean in the aervioe of your father, 
and desires to serve you with his arm and 
sword, on Spanish or on foreign soil. Ten 
years he has been captain in the plaia of 
Granada, and three years a prisoner, in 
close confinement, for which reasons, and 
by his sword, in which he places all his 
claim, he by this memorial asks the baton 
of general of the fields of Archidona." 

Km a. Recite your claims. 

Bcenoe. I have no service to relate to 
second a request, or justify a favor. I could 
recall the noble exploits of my ancestors, 
the banners captured, \he castles con- 
quered; but, Sire, they had their reward, 
and I cannot reap the glory for their serv- 
ices. Justice, to deserve the name, must 
be well ordered, for it is a sacred boon 
divine, suspended by a hair. Justice re- 
quires that this post be given to one of 
these two men, for if you give it me, you do 
injustice. Hera in Seville, my lord. I have 
no claim upon you, for in the wars I was 
a soldier, in peace, a oooneilor. In truth 
Feraan Peres de Medina merits the honor, 
for his age is woiiJiy of the frontier post; 
Don Gonsalo is young, and a nobleman of 
Cordova; him you can make a captain. 

KiNa. Then it shall be as you desire. 

BuSTOH. I desire only what is right ^d 
in accord with justice, to give to those who 
serve their due reward. 

KlHo. Enou^. You put me to ahame 
with your good counsels. 

BuBTOB. They are mirrora of truth, and 
so in them you see your true self. 

Kino. You are a noble gentleman, and I 
desire your attendance in my chamber and 
in my palace, for I wish to have you uear 
me. Are you married? 

BuBTOs. My lord, I am the i^teetot of 



174 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



ft Biater, and wiU not Duury, until I have 
givia her a husband. 

Koto. I will giv« bet a better one, 
BuBtoe. Her name? 

BusToa. Dcdla StaUa. 

Kino. To a star, if die be fair, I know 
not what hurttand to give, except the sun. 

BuBTOs. I wish only a man, Siie, for 
Stella. She ia not a heavenly star. 

Kino. I will unite her to one who is 
worthy of her. 

BiTffTOB. In her name I thank you. Sire. 

Kino. 1 will give her, BustoB, a husband 
suited to her rank. Inform your sister that 
her marriage ia in my care, and that I shall 
dower her. 

BuBTOs. Now, Sire, I pray you tell me 
on what bumneas you have called me; for 
your summons agitated me. 

King. You are right, Tabera, I sum- 
moned you for an affair of Seville, and 
wished to talk with you first before discuss- 
ing it. But peace and leisure are before us 
and we will treat it later. From to-day 
attend me in my chamber and my palace. 

00 with God. 

BnSTOB. I kiss your feet. 

Kwo. I embrace you, noble councilor. 

BuBTOs [aside]. Ekich favor passes my 
understanding, and I am filled with mi>- 
giving. To love me and to honor me with- 
out knowing me seems rather to attack my 
hoikor than to favor me. [Exil.] 

KiMO. The man is kerai of mind; as wise 
as he is honorable. 

AsiAB. I have no patience with these 
men of honor. How many. Sire, have been 
so, until occasion meets themi Yee, all are 
occasionally wise, but not all, my lord, on 
all occasions. To^y the breath of slander 
reaches him who denounced another yes- 
terday; and the law which he invoked 
is invoked anon on him. If he puts his 
honor in the balance, you can put in the 
other your favors and yom* gifts, your 
[Maisea and your privity. 

KiKQ. In secret I intend to see this 
woman in her house. For she is a sun, and 
has inflamed me, although she seems a star. 
Let Spain say what it will, a blinded king, 

1 foUow the Star of Seville. 

[ExaurU the Kraa OTid Aaua.] 



h Tabeha's hotue.) 



Sancho. Angd of heaven, when wiU 
you be mine, when will you free from this 
restraint the passion that I feel for youT 
Like a sun you rise, diqiensing radiance 
from coral lips formed for love : — when will 
you turn the pale dew that drops &om my 
eyes to pearls that may deck the peaoefid 
joys of our souls? 

9tkix&. If time kept pace with my de- 
siree, its giant stridee should outstrip the 
sun ; Seville should ceM)rat« my sweet sub- 
mission, and your happy love should cease 
to envy the teikder turtle dove, which, 
softly oooing, makes its neat amid a thou- 
sand favoring branches. 

SANceo. Ah, how gratdully my heart 
receives theaeaighingsl My soul yesxns fo7 
the noblest gifts of fame, to lay them at 
your feet. 

SrSLLA, I aak only for life, to join it to 

Sancho. Oh, sweet Stella, dothed in 
love and light! 

SteliiA. Aht Can life endure such love? 

Samcho. Oh charms divine, lodestar to 
my daxiled eyesi 

Clabimdo {to Mattldi]. Why should 
not we, like our masters, utter a few sweet 
sighs, soft as finest cambricT 

Sancbo. Be quiet, knave! 

Ci.ABiNi>o. We're dumb. {I'd Mathjie.I 
Ahl Sleek fillyl Despair of my esist- 

MATiLnE. Oh, low-bom suitorl Your 
poetics smack of the currycomb. 
CiuiBiNDO. Oh, my love I 
Matiuie. Oh, happy mani 
Clahindo. What leper ever heaved Budt 

Sancho. What does your brother sayT 

Steu^. That when the papers are made 

out and signed, the marriage may proceed; 

and that there shall be but a few daya' 

delay, while he makes the airangementa. 

Sakcbo. He'll bring my love to desper- 
ation; delay is torment for it. Would w« 
might wed to-day, letrt forttme chaoga 
before to-morrow! 

GooqIc 



THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



'75 



Stklla. If delfty continuee, speak to my 
brotber. 

Sahcho. Speak I will, for I shall die if 
this pereiste. 

Ci-ABunx). Bustoe Tabera oomee. 

[ErUer Bunoe.l 

Bu0Toe. Sancho, 1117 friendl 

Stella. Heaveusl What is this? 

Sancbo. Such aadneesT You? 

BcBTOs. Eladneee and joy are cause of 
my dismay. Stella, leave us alone. 

Stklla. Godhelpmel Delay ban turned 
against me. [Exit.] 

BuBToe. Sancho Ortis de laa Roelas, . . . 

Sakcro. Do you no longer call me 
bitttberT 

BuffTos. A steed beyond control sweeps 
me on unspuired. Know that the king sent 
for me; God is icy witness that I know not 
wl^, for though I aaked htm, yet he told 
me not. Unasked, be was about to make 
me general of Archidooa, and indeed, bad 
I not resisted, would have given me the 
n>y(d commission. Finally he made me . , . 

Sancho. Proceed, tor all ot this is joy. 
Tell me your sadness, explain your grief. 

Bdstob. He attached me to his suite. 

Sancbo. And he did well. 

Bcbtos. We come now to the pain. 

Sancho laiide], I foresee sorrow here 

BusTOB. He told me not to seek a matdi 
for St^la; that should be bis care; and be 
preferred that he should dower her, not I, 
and give to her a husband of his choosing. 

Sancho. You said that you were sad 
and joyful too, but I alone am sad; for you 
attahi to honors, and I reap only pains. 
Leave with me your grief, and keep your 
joy, for in the king's suite, and with a bril- 
liant marriage for your sister, it is natm^ 
for you to be merry. But you break the 
law of friendship, for you should have told 
the king your sister was already promised. 

BusToa. It was all so Htrange, snd my 
bead so troubled, that I did not find the 
chance to say it. 

Sancho. Being so, shall my marriage 
not take jdace? 

Buvroe. I will return and inform the 
kinc that the agreements and the wiitinga 



are all made, and the contract will then 
stand, for bis authority will not disregard 
your just claim. 

Sancho. But if the lung should turn the 
law, who can constrain bim if guided by 
self-interest or plessureT 

Bcbtos. I will spe^ to him, and you as 
well; for then, in my confusion, I did not 
tell bim of our agreement. 

Sancho. Would that my griefs might 
kill met I said indeed that fortune stands 
not a moment steadfast, and that sorrow 
and weeping cast their shadow on our joys- 
And if the king should wish to do us wrong? 

Bunve. Sancho Ortii, the king's t^ 
king. Be silent and have patience. [Exit,] 

Sancho. In such a [di^t, who can have 
patience, and forbear? Oh, tyrant, come 
to thwart my happy marriage, applauded 
though you be in Seville, may your people 
drive you from your kingdom of Castilel 
Well do you deserve the name of Sancbo 
the Bold by the acta I learn of now, if you 
win the name by tyranny! But Qod will 
break your [dans - — may He drive you 
from your kingdom of Castilel I'll leave 
Seville, and go to Gibraltar, to seek death 
in the battle-front. 

Clasindo. Metbinks we'll find it nearer 
than Gibraltar! 

Sancbo. Loving Stella the fair, why is 
my love bo ill-starred? But my star is im- 
favorable, and ber influence works my 
unhappineesi 

Clabindo. A shooting star, mayhap. 

Sancbo. May you be bsinished from 
your kingdom of Castile! [Ex«mt.] 



[Enter the Kino, Don Ariab, and Suite.] 

Kino. Announce that I am here. 

Arias. They are informed, and Don 
Bustos Tabera is already at the door to 
greet you. Sire. 

[Enter BuOTOB.) 

Buffros. What an honor, and what con- 
de»censi(»i! Your highness in my house! 

KiNQ. I was strolling in disguise to see 
tits diy, and they told me as we passtJ, 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



this wu your bouae; and I would see it, [or 
Uiey uy it IB most beautiful. 

BosTOB. It is the house of a simple 
(■quire. 

King. Let ue go in. 
■ Bttbtob. Sire, 't is fit for my humble 
station, but not for you; for so great a lord 
it is too nDsll. And it will not be well re- 
ceived in Seville, when they know you came 
to visit me. 

KiMQ. I come not for your house, 
Tabera, but for you. 

BuBTOB. My lord, you do me great 
honor. But if you oome for me, it is not 
meet that I obey you; for it would be un- 
courtly, that the king should come to the 
vasaal, and the vassal permit it and con- 
sent to it. I am your servant and your 
vassal, and it is fitting that I come to you 
in t^ palace, if you wish to honor me. For 
favors may become affronts, when open to 
suspicion. 

KiNQ. Suspicion? OfwhatT 

BusToe. It will be said, though it be 
false, you came to my house to see my sis- 
tec; end her good name, however well 
established, might eome in question; for 
honor is a crystal clear — a breath may 
tarnish it. 

Kino. Since I am here, I wish to speak 
with you of matters of importance. Let us 
go in. 

BusToe. It shall be upon the way, with 
your permission. My house is not in order. 

Kino [aiide to AriabI. He makes great 
opposition. 

Arias [aaiik to the Kma], Take him 
away, and I will stay behind and speak to 
her for you. 

Kino. Speak low, that he may not hear 
you. The fool puts all his honorin his ears. 

Akias. The weight will break them. 

Kino [to Buaros]. So be it; I would not 
see your house against youi will. 

Bdstob. Sire, at Stella's marriage you 
shall see it suitaJily adorned. 

Ahiab. Bring up the coach. 

KiKO. Bustos, you'll ride upon the step. 

BuOToa. Ill go on foot, with your per- 



Abias. The carriage waits. 

King. Drive to the palace. 

Bvnoa latide]- Great favors these! Hie 
king does me much honor: please God it 
be for good. [Exeunt. Mantl AkiasJ 

[Enter Sieu^a and Matildb.J 

Stxlui. What do you say, Matilde? 

Matiujk. It was the king, my lady. 

Arias. It was he, and it is not the fiist 
time a king was guided by a star. He came 
to your house to do homage to your charms; 
for if he is king of Castile, you are the 
queen of beauty. The King Don Sancho, 
whom for liis unconquered prowess, the 
public, and the Moore who tremble at his 
name, have called The Bold, saw at a bal~ 
oony your divine beauty, which rivals Au- 
rora in her palace, when, hailed by drowsy 
birds mid rosee and lilies, and weeping at 
the wakening, she scatteis garlands of 
pearls. He ordered me to i^er you the 
riches of Castile, though riches be but 
little for such charms. Accept bis will, for 
if you do accept it, and reward it, you shall 
be the Sun of Sev^e, where you have been 
the Star. He will give you towns and cities, 
whereof you shall be Duchess, and he will 
wed you to a Duke, whereby you will crown 
the ^ary of your ancestors, and bring honor 
to the name of Tabns. What say you? 

Stblla. What do I say? See! 

[She tvnui her back.} 

Arias. Hold! Wait! 

Stella. To such ignoble message, my 
back gives a. reply. [Exit) 

Arias. A noble pair! I marvel at them 
both. The austerity of Rome survives in 
them in Seville. It seems impoenble for 
the king to outwit and conquer them, but 
strength and pereistence level mountains 
and split rocks. I'll speak to this servant, 
for gifts are gates to favor with the Portias 
and Lucrecias. Are you the servant of the 
house? 

Matilde. Servant I am, by force. 

Arias. By force? 

Matitde. I am a slave. 

Arias. A slave I 

Matilde. Deprived of blessed liberty, 
and subject both to prison and to death. 

Arias. Ill have the Idng nlsMS you, 



.CtOoi^Ic 



THE STAR OP SEVILLE 



aitd give you with your freedom, a thousaad 
ducato rent, if you irill do his will. 

Matildk. For liberty and gold, there is 
no crime that I'll not undertake. Wh&t ia 
there I c&n doT I '11 do it if J con. 

Abias. You '11 give the Idiig admittance 
to the house to-night. 

Matiij>e. He ahall find the doora all 
open, if you but keep your promise. 

AitiA8. Before he enters, I will give you 
a letter from the king, in his own hand and 
signed by him, 

MATiLnE. Then I'll put him in Stella's 
yery bed to-night. 

Arias. What time does Bustos come? 

Matilde. Each night he's out till dawn. 
He has a lady, and this distraction often 
costs men dear. 

Arias. What time do you think the king 
should oome? 

Matiuje. Let him come at eleven, for 
then she will be in bed. 

Ablas. Take this emerald as pledge of 
the favors that await you. [Extunt.] 

[ScKNE IV. A room in the palace.] 

Hinltr lihoo Osobio, Bcbtob Tabera, and 
Don Manuel, with golden kei/».] 

Mamiikl. I congratulate your lordship 
on the key, and the dignity it represents. 
May you win the honors you desire. 

Btjstos. Would I mii^t repay his maj- 
esty the honor that he does me, undeserved. 

Inioo. 'T ia not be3^nd your merit. 
Be as8uc«d, the king makes no mistake. 

Btjstob. The key he's given me admits 
me to his paradise; although thus elevated 
I fear a fall to earth; for he has granted me 
abruptly all these honors and I foresee that 
be who gives thus hastily may change as 
suddenly. 

[Enter Arias.] 

Arias. You may r«tire, gentlemen. The 
Idng intends to write. 

Manifel. Let's go and seek amusement 
for the night. [Exeunt.] 



her. 

Abias. You are to give her a document. 

Kma. Prepare it. Arias. I shall not heei- 
tate to sign, for my love impels it. 

Abias. In faith, the little slave is useful. 

Kma. "T is the sun in heaven she pro- 
cures for me, in the Star of Seville. 

[Exeunt Kmo and Abus.] 



[Scene I. Sfreel b^ore Tabera'b AouasJ 
[£nler the KiNO, Don Abus, and Matiij».) 

Matiuib. Alone; it will be safer, for all 
are now at rest. 

King. And Stella? 

Matiuik. She is sleeping, and the room 
is dark. 

Kino. Although my prontise might suf- 
fice, here, woman, is the paper, with your 
libuty therein. 1 will give another slave to 
Bustoe. 

Abias. Andthemoneyandall is included 
in it. 

MATiLnE. I kiss your feet. 

Arias. All alike, my lord, yield to their 
irLt«icet. 

Kino. What joy divine to be a kingt 

Abias. Who can resist it? 

Kino. To be more secret. III go up 

Abias. You risk yourself alone, my lord? 

King. Now, tell me: although I risk 
myself, and though it be not safe — is not 
the king at hand? Begone. 

Arias. Where shall I wait? 

King. Not in the street; some nook 
where 1 can find you. 

Abias. I'll enter in Saint Marie's. 

lExU.] 

King. What time will Bustos come? 

Matiuie. He always comes when the 
birds salute the dawn. And till he comes, 
the door is open. 

Kino. My love impels me to this high 
adventure. 

Matilde. Follow me, your highness; 
the passage is in darkness. [Exevnti 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



BcBTOB. Here is my houae. 

Iftioo. Farewell. 

BnBTOB. It is early for me. 

ManceI'. You need not go fartber. 

BusTOB. 'T ig well. 

iRioo. We two have a certain visit still 
to make. 

Bosroa. Did Feliciana fJease your fan- 
cy? 

Manuel. To-morrow at the palace, my 
good friend, we will speak of her, for she is 
a figure worthy of all praise. [ExettrU.] 

BuBTOB. I 'm eariy home to bed. The 
bouM is dark. No page is at the door. Hol 
Lujan, Oaorio, Juan, Andreal They're all 
asleep. Justioe! Ine«! The maids are 
sleeping too. Matildel The slaro also has 
surrendered. Sleep ia the god and master 
of her senses. [Exit Btrvroe.) 

(ScBNX II. A room in the houae] 

[EnUr Matiuw and Iht King.] 

Matildb. I think that was my master 

calling. I am lost. 

KiSQ. Did you not say be came at dawn? 

Matildb. Woe is me I 



BuBTOS. Matilde! 

MA'nu>^. O God! I cannot face him. 
Kino [atide lo MATiutii]. Have no fear. 
[£zi< Mahldk.) 
BuBTOB. Who's there? 

Bcnoe. A man, at this hour? And in 
my house? His namel 

Kino. Stand back. 

BoBToa. You lack in courtesy, and if 
you pass, it shall be by the point of this 
■word; for although this house is sacred, 
I'Q profane it. 

Kino. Lower your sword. 

BusTOS. What! Lower it, when my 
sister's room is thus profaned? Tell me 
your name, or I will kill you here. 

King. I am a person of importance. Let 



BnaioB. This house is mine, and I omd- 
mand in it. 

Koto. liSt me pass; observe, I am a man 
of rank, and though I have come to your 
house, my intent is not to attack your 
honor, but to increase it. 

BiTBTOe. Is honor thus increasedf 

Kma. Your honor is in my care. 

Busroe. A better defender is this sword 
And if you seek my honor, why do you 
oome diaguiaedT Do you eonceal youraeU 
to honor nte? Do you hide yourself to do 
me service? Let your fear convince you 
how true it is that no one who gives honor 
need bring shame with it. Draw, or by 
Heaven, I'll kill you! 

King. Rash provocation 1 

BusTOS. I'll kill you here and now, or 
you'd kill me. 

King. Ill tdl bim who I am. Hold! I 
am the kii^. 

BuBTOB. You lie! The king, seeking my 
shame, alone, disguised, and unattended? 
It cannot be, . and you insult your king, 
since you accuse him of a fault that is the 
depth of baseness. What? The king out- 
rage bis vassal? This angers me still more. 
For this I'll kill you, in spite of all resist 
ance. Offending me, lay not such chargea 
against His Majesty, for well you know the 
laws of God and man condemn to just 
obastisement him who fancies or suspectw 
unworthy conduct in his king. 

King. What strange penistencel Man, 
I say I am the Idng. 

BvsTOB. Still leas do I believe it, for the 
name of king is here, but not the deeds. 
The king is he who seeks my honor, and 
you seek my dishonor. 

King (luiiie). He is both fool and boor. 
What shall I do? 

BtnrroB [aside]. It is the king, disguiaed. 
There is no doubt. I'll let him pass, and 
later learn if he has wronged me. My soul 
is roused to anger and to fury, for honor is 
a thing that he who gives may also tal» 
away. — Pass, whoever you may be, and 
next time do not defame the king, nor c^ 
yourself the king, wretch, when you have 
to blush for your acts. Know that the king 
my master, the dread of MiicA, is most 
Christian and most holy, and you insult 



THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



179 



U) name. He him eatruated to me the key 
to hk house, Emd could not come without 
ft key to mine, when he hu given me hia. 
And do not offend the law ; remember that 
he ia an honorable man. This I say to you, 
and I fipare you because you feigned to bo 
the king. Marvel not to eee me loyal, 
thou^ ofFended, Cor 't ii a vasaal's obliga- 
tion to reqiect the name. Thus will he 
ham to be ruler of the honor of hifl vasaals, 
and cease to wrong than against God's law 

Kofo. I can no more; I 'choke with 
ihame and anger. Fooll You let me go 
tiecauae I feigned to be the long? Then let 
me tell you that because I said so, I'U go 
Mit thus from here. [He tlratm.] For if I 
■na to freedom because I called mys^ the 
king, and you respect the name, I'U act the 
king, and you'll reepeet his deeds. [They 
fifhL] Die, villuu, for here the name of king 
gives power to me; the king will kill you. 

Buaros. My honor rulee me more than 
any Idng. 

[Enler itrvanU wilh %U«.] 

Skbvant. What's this? 

KiMG. I'llmakeeecapebeforel'mrecog' 
nixed. I leave this offended ruffian, but I 
will have revenge. [Exit.] 

Skbvant. Your enemy has fled. 

BdSTOB. Follow himi Chaatise him! . . . 
No, let him go, we'll give the enemy a 
bridge of silver. Give a light to Matilde, 
wad do you withdraw. 

[The]/ give htr one and exeunt.] 

BnsToe [aside]. She has betrayed me, for 
she hangs her head in shame. I will obtain 
the b^ith with a cunning lie. — Close the 
door. I am ^MHit to kill you. The king has 
told me aU. 

Matilde. If he has not kept the secret, 
how can I in my unhappy state do so, my 
tontr AU the king has told you is the truth. 

BcBToe loeide]. Now I shall learn the 
damage to my honor. — 80 then you gave 
the Iring admittance? 

Mxnum. He promised me my freedom, 
and for that I brought him to this place, as 
you have seen. 

Bcaroe. And does Stella know aught of 
thisT 



Matiliw. I think bM wrath would have 
consumed me, had she heard my plot. 

BuffroB. That is certain, for if her light 
were dimmed, she'd be no star. 

Mathjib. Her radiance suffers neithet 
shadow nor eclipse, and her light is clear 
and bright as of the sun. The king but 
reached her room, and entered, giving me 
this paper, and 3rou behind him. 

Bufrros. Wbat7 The king gave you this 
paper? 

MATiuta. With a thousand ducats rent, 
and liberty. 

BuBTOs. A noble gift, at the expense of 
myhonorl WeU doee he'honor and advance 
mel Come with me. 

Matilde. Where do you take me? 

BuffTos. You are going where the king 
may see you, for thus I fulfill the law and 
obligation that reata upon me. 

Matiu>ii. Ah, unhappy slavel 

BiTSTOS. Though the king sought to 
eclipse her, the fame shall not be lost in 
Spain of tite Star of SeviUe. 

[Exeunt BuBToa and Matiu>b.] 

[SdNK in. A Oreet leadirig to the palace.] 
[Enter the Kins and Arias.] 

KiKO. And that is what befell me. 

Abias. You would go in alone. 

Kino. He was so mad and bold as to 
iiisultme;forIknowherec(%iuEedme. He 
drew upon me with equivocal words and 
though I contained myself a time, the 
natural resentment born in eveiy man 
broke down the dignity my rank demands 
I attacked him, but they came with lights 
who would have told the truth that they 
imagined, had I not turned my bock fearing 
to be recognised. And so I come; you see. 
Arias, what befell me with Bustos Tabera. 

A^las. Let him pay for hia offense with 
death; behead him, let the rising sun shine 
on his just punishment, for in the bounda- 
ries of Spain there is no law but your desire. 

KiNQ. To ejiecutA him publicly. Arias, 
is error great. 

Abias. You wiU have sufficient pretext; 
for he ia councilor of SeviUe, and the wiaeflt 
and most prudoit, Site, still commits some 
crime, a piey to power and ambition. 



.CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Knia. He ia oo circumspect and prudent, 
that be has no guOt. 

Ahub. Then have bim killed in leerat, 
Sire. 

Kma. That ought be done, but to whom 
can I entrust the secret? 

Aaue. To me. 

Kma. I do not wish to endanger 3rou. 

Akus. Then I will find you & man, 
courageous and valiant soldier, and dis- 
tinguiahed nobleman as well, bdore whom 
the Moor has trembled in the strong fort- 
ress of Gibraltar, where he haa been many 
timw victoriouB captain, and was never 
conquered. To-day in Seville tbey give 
him first rank among the brave and gallant, 
for he is the glory of the soldier's trade. 

KiNQ. What is bis name? 

Ahia8. Sancho Ortii de las Roelas, called 
besides the Cid of Andalusia. 

Kino. Summon him to me at once, for 
dawn approaches. 

Arias. Come to bed. 

KiNQ. What b«d can t«npt him who is 
offended, and in loveT Call the man at 
once. 

Abub. What form is that, that hangs 
upon the palace, swinging in the wind? 

Kino. A form, you sayT What can it be? 

Arias. There must be reason for it. 

KlKO. See what it is. 

Abiab. The little slave, with ber paper 
in her bands. 

Kino. What cruelty! 

Abias. And what a crimel 

KiMQ. I 'U kill the brother and the sister, 
too, if Seville shows sedition. 

Arias. Have her cut down at once, and 
secretly give her a decent burial. Such bold 
effrontery! Tabera must die. 

[ExeitTU tJte Kisa and Ahiab.) 

[SCXNE IV. A room in Tabera'b hoiue.] 

[Enter Bobtos and 9txli.a.) 

Stella. What do I hear? 

Bnaroe. Close the door. 

Stelia. Hardly does the sleepy sun, 

shod with sapphires, leave the palace of 

Aurora, and you rouse me from my bed, 

alone, trouUed, and affiictedT You are 

a|ptat«d and perturbed! T«n an, hav« 



you seen some fault, in which I am cod- 

BuBToe. You can tdl me if there has 
been such. 

Stella. 17 What do you say? Are yoa 
mad? . Tell me, have you lost your mind? 
I, a fault? Nay, you have committed one 
in saying so, for only to question is a crime 
i^ainst ma. Do you not know me? Know 
you not who I am? In my mouth have you 
ever heard Words not in keeping with the 
honor with which I guard my tongue? And 
if you have seen nothing that can twtify 
against me, what fault can I have done? 

Bimos. 1 do not speak without occasion. 

Stblla. Without occasion? 

Bttstos. Alas! Stellat ... for this nigbt 
and in ttiis house . . . 

&rBU.A. Speak, for if 1 should be guilty, 
I offer myself at once for puniehmeat. 
What ha^qtened in this house this ni^tT 

BuBTOB. This ni^t w;aB the epicycle of 
the sun, for this ni^t my Stella's star 
declined. 

SmUiA. No astrotogica in dealing with 
questions of honor! Speak i^inly, and 
leave the sun in its five sones, for thou^ 
my name be Stdla, the sun does not oon- 
trol me. 

Bmroa. When the discordant tones of 
the hdi of Cuevas sounding in toe sky 
marked the . middle of the ni^t, I entered 
the house, and fnund in it, and near your 
very room, the king alone and in disguise. 

SrvLLA. What say you? 

Busroe. I speak th« truth. Ask yourself, 
Stdla, why the king could have come to 
my house alone at such an hour, if he came 
not for Stella. Matilde was with him: I 
heard her step, for then my honor waa alert 
andkeen. Idrew,and8aid;"Who'BthereT" 
"A man," ha answered. I advanced upon 
him, and he retreating, said he was the long. 
And although I recognised him at once, I 
pretended not to know him, for Heaven 
willed to give me torment. He attacked me 
like an angry and offended monarch, for a 
king who attacks in anger fails not in valor. 
Pages came with lights, and then he turned 
his back lent he be seen, and was not recog- 
niied by any. I questioned the idave, and 
she, without need of torture, oonfeased the 



THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



i8t 



truth. The kii^ gave her her freedom, 
signed in s p&per that he wrote, chief nit- 
neee in the case, in which his guilt stood 
clear. J took her from the' bouseat oi 
lest her infected breath sow dishonor within 
these walls. I seiied her at the door, and 
placing her upon my shoulders, made my 
way to the palace, and for her crime 1 
hanged her from the railing; for I'd have 
tbe king know that if he is a Tarquin, I will 
be a Brutus. Now you know aU, Stella. 
Our honor is in danger, I am foroed to 
leave you, and must give you a huaband. 
Bancho Ortiz it shall be, for in his care 
you will be dehvered from the designs of the 
king, tmd I can go my way in peace. 

Stklla. Oh, BustoB, give me your hand 
for the service you have done roe. 

BnsToa. It must be to-day, and till I see 
you wed to him, keep silence, tor my honor 
ia at stake. 

BrttUJL. joy, my lovel Thou art mine 
at last, uid ahalt not escape again. And yet, 
who knows the end from the beginning, if 
between the cup and the lip the sage feared 
danger? [Bxeuta drSLLA and Buaros.] 

[SCKNB V. A room in the potoce.) 

[Enter Ariab, and Oie Kinq, vnlA two 
papers.] 

Arias. Sanchos Ortiz de las Roeks is 
waiting in the antechamber. 

Kino. All of love is trickery, and pity 
takes hold upon me. In this paper I have 
sealed his name and fate, and in this I say 
that I command his death: in this fashion 
the killer will be safeguarded. Have him 
come in. Then draw the bolt and do you 
remain without. 

Amab. Without? 

KiNQ. Yes; for I wish him to see that I 
alone am in the secret. Thus my desire 
oonceives the vengeance more asmWl. 

Abiab. I'U call him. [Exit.] 

Kino. I feav this is no glorious or lofty 
token of my love. 

[BnUr Sancho OitTiz,] 

Samcbo. I kiss your feet. 

KiNQ. Rise, I would not humble you, rise. 

Sancbo. My lord. 



KtNa [atide]. A noble youth. 

Sancho. My lord, it is not strange that 
I should be confused, being no courtier, nor 
yet orator. 

Kino. Why, tell me: What see you in 
me? 

Sancho. Majesty and valor; and in fine 
I see in you God's image, since the king is 
his embodiment; and I believe in you, as 
I do in Him. I submit myself here, great 
Idng, to your imperial will. 

Kino. What is your state? 

Sancho. Never so honored as I am to- 
day. 

Kino. I applaud your wisdom and your 
seal. Now, since you will be amdous, and 
eager to learn why I have suromoned you, 
I'll tell you, and will see if I have in you 
as wsll a valiant soldier. My interest de- 
mands the killing of a man, in secret, and 
this task I mean to trust to yoti, for I pre- 
fer you to all others in the city. 

Sancho. Is he guilty? 

KiNQ. He is. 

Sancko. Then, why a secret mutdw fdr 
a culi^it? You may, in justice, pubUcljr 
eSect bis death, without killing him in se- 
cret; for thus you do accuse yourself, accus- 
it^ him, since men will think you cause his 
death unjustly. If this poor man has but 
a slight offense, my lord, I ask you par- 
don him. 

ElNO. Sancho Ortii, you are not here as 
advocate for him, but executioner. And 
since I order it, hidhig the hand that strikes, 
it must be that it interests my honor to 
kill him thus. Does he who has attacked 
my person merit death? 

Sancho. By fire. 

Kino, And if his crime was that? 

Sancho. My lord, I would demand his 
death at once, and if 't is so, then I will give 
it, though he were my brother, and hesi- 

KiNQ. Give me your hand upon it. 
Sancho. And with it my soul and faith. 
Kino. You can kill him, taking hun un- 

Sancho. My lord, I am Roela and a 
soldier, would you make me a traitor? I, 
kill by treachery I Face to face I'll kill him, 
where Seville may see, in street or market' 



i8a 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



[dace. For none can excuse him who kills 
and does not fight; and he nho dies by 
treachery fares bett^ than the one who kills. 
Be who lives thus proulaims his perfidy to 
all he meets. 

Kola. Killhimasyoulike. Youbearthis 
paper signed by me, ^ gusj'antee, in which 
it states that 1 have pardoned any crime 
you do. Read. [He gUiee him a paper.] 

Sancho. It reads thus [reaik] : 
" "Sancho OtUx, At onoe tor me and in 
my name give death to him this papra 
indicates. 1 act through you, and il you 
be disturbed, I promise you herd^y that I 
shall free you. "/ the Kins." 

I am amaied Your Majesty should think 
someanlyof me. I, a promise! a paper! My 
loyalty trusts more in you than it. If your 
words have efTect to move the hills, and 
cany out whate'er they say, give me your 
promise. Sire, and then I need no paper. 
Destroy it, for without it death is better 
sought than with it, since to some degree 
the paper casts discredit on your word. [He 
Itart it.] Without a paper, Sire, we 11 
pledge ourselves, and promise, I to avenge 
you, you to protect me. If so it be, we need 
no documents which are an obstacle. 1 go 
at once to e:n«ute your will, and only ask 
you, as reward, the woman whom I choose. 

Kino. Be she a duchess of Castile, I give 
her to you. 

Samcho, May you r^ain the Moorish 
throne 1 May your glorious possessions 
reach the sea, and even to the pole I 

Kmp. Your excellent service, Sancho, 
shall be reworded. In this paper is the name 
of the man who is to die. [Owei him the 
paper.] And when you open it, be not dis- 
mayed. I have heard it said in Seville, he 
is btave, 

Sancho. That we shall see hereafter. 

KtNO. We two alone this secret know. I 
need not say, be prudent, act, and keep 
your counsel. lExU.] 

[EiUeT Clarindo.] 

Clarutoo. I have sought you, my lord, 
bearing good news. I ask a guerdon for 
your dearest wish fulfilled. 

-Sancho. You come in good spirits. 



Clakindd. Does your heart not divine 
the guerdon? IGiset him a paper.] 

Sakcbo. From whom is this? 

Clakindo. From Stella, who was fairer 
and lovelier than the .sun. She ordered me 
to give you this paper and ask a guerdon. 

Sakcho. For what? 

CLABmno. For the marriage, which v 
to take place at onoe. 

Sancho. What do you say? This joy 
will kill me. Whatl Stella will be mine? 
The glorious radiance of Aurora is for me? 
And I may hope that the sun's golden rays 
will bathe in floods of light our former 
griefs? [Read»:\ 

"My huaband: The happy day so long 
desired has arrived. My brother seeks 
you, to crown my life, and to reward you. 
If you accord, seek him at once and lose 
00 time. " Your SuUa." 

Oh, fairest moidt What height may I 
not reach with such a star! Advise my 
steward of the happy bond which I as- 
sume. Let him bring forth at once the liv- 
eries reserved for this event, and let my eer- 
Tonts and pages put on their hats adorned 
with finest plumes. And if you claim a 
guerdon, take this hyacinth. I would give 
even the sun, if it were mounted in a ring. 

Clahindo. May you outlive the very 
stones, and cling like ivy to your bride! 
Nay, since T love you so, may you live 
longer than a fool! [Exit.] 

Sancho. I will seek Bustos, for I am 
tormented with hope and eagemeas. But 
with this marriage and my joy, I had for> 
got the king. It was not right. The paper 
is unssaled; I'll see who is it must be killed. 
[Rtada:] 

"Sancho, he whom you must Idll is 
Bustoe Tabera." 

Heaven help met Is this his will? After 
joy, disaster! All this life is but a gome of 
cE^ce, the cards ill shufQed and leading to 
reverse and ruin, for it 's all in gains and 
losses, like a game of cords. I won at first, 
but now my luck has changed, and turned 
the card to give me death. Did I read 
aright? But I should not have read it, if 
the paper said not so. I'll look again. 
[Btads.] "Sancho, he whom yon must kill 
is BustoB Tabera." I am undone. Whfti 



THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



183 



■hall I do7 For I have given my prmniM to 
tbe king, and I shall lose his Bister. . . . 
Soncho Ortii, it must not be; Buatoa shjUl 
livel — But it ii not ri^t that my deoire 
constraiD my honor. Buatoa sball diel 
Buatoa muat diel — But hold, fierce handl 
BustoB muit live, shall live! — But I can- 
not obey my honor, it I jrield to love. — 
But who can reaist the force of love? — 
T is better that I die or go avay, bo that I 
Brave the king, and he may live. — But 
I must do the king's will. [Readt] " San- 
cho, he whom you must kill is Bustos Ta- 
bera." — Bat if the king kills him because 
of Stella, and seeks to honor her? If for 
Stella he kills himi Then he shall not die 
because of her. I will offend him and de- 
fend her. — But I am a gentleman, and 
must not do that which I will, but what I 
ought. — What is my duty? To obey the 
law that takes precedence. — But there is 
no law that forces me to this — But yes, 
there is, for though the king be wrong, he is 
accountable to God. My mod love must 
give way, for though it oost me cruel grief, 
to obey the king is right: Bustos must die, 
shall diel None may rightly say: Bustos 
must live, shall live! Fotgive me, beloved 
Stella, but O the sacrifice, to renounce you 
and beoo'me your enemy. What shall I do? 
Can I do otherwise? 

[EfOer BusTOB Tabera.) 

BuBTOs. Brother, T am blessed by fate 
in finding you 

Sancro [atide]. And I am cursed by 
fate in meeting you, for you seek me to 
give me life, but I seek you to kill you. 

Btnnos. Brother, the hour has come for 
your desired marriage. 

Samcho laade]. The hour of aH my 
grief, I'd better say. O Qodl Was ever 
man in such despair? That I should have 
to kill the man I most have loved I to re- 
nounce his sistert to lose all that I hold 

B^moa. By eontroct you are thready 
wed to Stella. 

Sancho. I meant to marry her, but now 
it may not be, although you grant it. 

Bttbtos. Do you know me, and address 
RiQ thus? 



Sanobo. Because I know you, I speak 
thus, Tabera. - 

Bustos. If you know me to be Tabera, 
how dare you use such words? 

Sancho. i speak because I know you. 

Bucrros. You btow my birth, my bkx>d, 
and valor; and virtue, which is honor, for 
without it honor never was: and I am ag' 
grieved, Sancho. 

Samcbo. But less than I. 

BiTBToe. How BO? 

Samcho. To have to speak with you. 

Bunos. If you cast reflection on my 
honor or my faith, you basely lie, and here 
I do maintain it.. [He drawi.] 

Sakcro. What have you to maintain, 
villain? [Atide.] Forgive me, love; the 
king's excess has made me mod, and none 
may resist me now. IThev fishti 

Bnnos. You've killed me; stay your 

Sancbo. Ahl I am beside myself and 
wounded yoa unknowing. But now I beg 
you, brother, unoe I have regained my 
sense, to Idtl me. Sheathe your sword 
within my breast, and open passage for my 
soul. 

Bustos. Brother, I leave my Stella in 
youT care. Farewell. [He Jim.] 

Sancho. cruel sword! bloody, sav- 
agemurderl Sincethouhast taken half my 
life, complete thy work, that my soul ma; 
eq>iato ttaa other wound. 
[Enier two aicaUei, Pedro and Fabfan.] 

PuDKO. What's this? Hold your hand. 

Sancho. Why stay me if I've killed one 
dear to me? 

Fabpak. what confusion! 

Peobo. What is this? 

Sancho. I have killed my brother. I am 
a Cain in Seville, since in cruel vengeance I 
killed an innocent Abel. You see him; kill 
me here, for since he dies through me I seek 
to die ttuough him. 

[Enter Arias.] 

Arias. What's this? 

Sakcho. a cruel violence, for such is the 
effect in man of promises fulfilled, and 
purest loyalty. Tell the king my master 
Uiat Sevillians keep their promises by acts. 



t84 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



u you see here; aod for them they offend 
the atoiB, and Imow no brother. 

Pbdro. Has he killed Bustos TaberaT 

Arias. tihaX a rash deedl 

Samchd. Seiw me, take me priscner, for 
it is right that be who kills should die. See 
what a cruel deed love made me under- 
take, for it haa forced me to kill him, and 
has forced me to die. Now through him I 
come to ask the death he owee to me. 

PxDRO. Take him a priaonet to Triana, 
for the city is in confusion. 

Sancho. O Buatos. Tabera, my friend! 

Pabfak. The man has lost his mind. 

Sancbo. Gentlemen, let me bear away 
the. cold form, bathed in its noble blood, 
for so I shall support him, and will give 
him for a space t^ life that I have taken. 

Pkdro. He's mad. 

Sancbo. If I have violated friendship, I 
have kept t^ law, and that, air, is to be 
king; and that, sir, is not to be king. Un- 
derstand me, or understand me not, for 
I 'il be silent. I killed him, there is no deny- 
ing, but I will not answer why; let another 
tell the reason, for I confess I killed him. 
[They lake him and exeunt.] 

(Scmflt VI. A room in Tabera's Aouw.] 
\Bnter Sncu^ and TsoDORA.] 

Stbli^. I know not if I dressed me well, 
for I did drees in haste. Give me the mir- 
ror, Teodora. 

TxoDORA. You have but to regard 
within yourself, my lady, for there is no 
glass that tells such truths, nor shows the 
image of such beauty. 

Stclla. My face is flushed, my oolor 

Teodora. Your blood, my lady, has 
mounted to your cheek, 'twixt fear and 
modesty, to celebrate your joy. 

SfTEhhA. It seems to me already that I 
see my husband come, his face all wreathed 
in smiles, with soft caress to take my hand; 
— I seem to hear him utter a thousand 
tender words, and that my soul on hear- 
ing leaps into my eyes, and takes possession 
of them. happy dayl O my guiding start 

Teodora. I hear a knock. [Dropt imr- 
iw.] The envious mirror fell. ■ [SA« ptdc* il 



up.) The glass within the frame of one 
light made a thousand. 

Stblla. Did it breakT 

Teodora. Yee, my lady. 

SteijLa. 'T is well, for I await the mir- 
ror, Teodora, in which my eyes will see 
another self, and since I shall have such a 
mirror, let this one break, for I would not 
have this serve as mirror when he comes. 
{Enter Clabindo in gaia drew\ 

Clabtndo. This dress announces Joy 
and happiness, for my plumes already pro- 
claim the wedding. I gave the paper to my 
master, and he gave this ring for guerdon. 

Steu-a. Then I will change this guerdon 
for you. Give it me, and take this diamond. 

CiuUUNDO. The stone is split in two; it 
is for melancholy; they say that hyacinths 
have this comi^aint, idthough they loee it. 
It's split in two. 

STEIX.A. What matter that 't is broken! 
The very jeweb feel my joy and happiness. 
O happy day! O my gutding atari 

Tbodora. I hear people in the court- 
yard. 

C1.AIUND0. I think I hear t^ guests 
upon the stairs. 

9rBLi^. Hjw can I bear my. joy? . . . 
But what is this? 

[Emer ikt turn akaidw unlA Tabera's hody\ 

Pedro. Disaster and sorrow are the lot 
of man; for life is a. sea of tears. Don 
Bustos Tabera is dead. 

Stella. hostile fate! 

Pedro. One consolation still remains to 
you, which is that the murderer, Sancbo 
Ortii de las Roelae, is a prisoner, and that 
he will suffer the penalty to-morrow with- 
out fail. 

Stella. Leave me, cruel men, for in 
your words you bear the torments of hell. 
My brother dead, and killed by Sancho 
Ortiz! Can one pronounce these words, or 
listen to them, and not die? I must be 
stone, for I am still alive. O fat«ful doyl 
O my guiding start But if you have hu- 
man pity, kill me. 

PxnRo. Her grief dements her, and w«n 
may. 

foELLA. Unhappy is my starl M7 



THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



•i85 



broUwr is dead, and Sanoho Ortit killed 
him, aad broke time hearts in one! Leave 
me, for I'm lost indeed. [Slarti to go.] 

PxDBo. She's deoperato. 

Fabtan. Unhappy maid! 

Pedko. Follow her. 

CiAHiNSO. My lady . . . 

SrBUiA. Leave me, wretch, henchman 
<rf that murderarl Now, since all is ended, 
I 'II end my life as wdl. Unhappy day! 
O my guiding start [Exeunt.] 



[ScBNE I. A room ii 



PSDRO. He confesBea that he killed him,-' 
but be will not confcBS why. 

EiNa. Does he oat say what impelled 

Farfan. He only answen "I do not 
know." 

Abiab. Qieat mystery I 

Kcta. Does he say whether there waa 
provocation? 

Pedro. In no wiao, my lord. 

Arias. What obstinate temerityl 

Fartan. He says be killed him, but he 
knows not if 't was right. He only con- 
fesses that he killed him, because he awore 
to feill him. 

Abias. He must have given provocation. 

PiDHO. He says not so. 

EiNo. Go back and speak to him for me, 
and say that I demand bis plea. Tell him 
I am hia friend, but I will be his enemy in 
rigorous punishment. Let him declare on 
what provocation he killed Bustoa Tabera, 
and give in summary phrase the reason for 
the crime, rather than meet death in ob- 
stinacy. Let him aay who ordered him, or 
on i^ose account he killed him, or what 
incitement moved him to this act; that on 
this condition I will show him mercy, else 
be must prepan to die. 

Pkdbo. T is that he most desires; hia 
grief has made him mad: after a deed so 
odious, so barbarous and cruel, he is bereft 



Knta. Does he complain of any man? 

Fabtak. No, Siie. He takes comisel 
only ef his giief. 

Kma. Rare and noble courage. 

Fabtan. He is silent on the crimes of 
others, and blamee himself alone. 

KiNQ. Never in the world were two such 
men; as I perceive their valor, it astounds 
me more and more. Tell him from me to 
name who caused the death or urged bim 
to it; and warn him that he should declare 
it, though 't were the king. If he do not 
confess at once, to-morrow on the scaffold 
he shall serve as warning to Seville. 

AsiAS. I go. 

[ExeiaU alealdtt and AwAS.] 
[Enter Dok Manuel.) 

MANimii. DoOa Stella begs permianon 
to kiss your hand. 

King. Who prevents her? 

Manuel. The citisens, my lord. 

Kino. She measures her act with reason. 
Give me a chaur, and let her enter now. 

Manuel. I'll go for her. [Sxit.] 

Kino. She will come radiant with 
beauty, like the star that appears in heaven 
after a storm. 
[BTiter Don Manuel, Stella, and people.] 

Manuel. She is here, beautiful as the 
sun, but a sun whose summer radiance has 
turned oold as stone. 

SrELiiA. Don Sanoho, most Chhstian 
and illustrious monarch of Castile, famous 
for your exploits, celebrated for virtue: an 
unhappy star, her bright rays veiled in 
mourning, in dark clouds gathered by 
weeping, oomee to implore justice; not, 
however, that you administer it, but that 
you leave my vengeance in my hands. I 
would not dry my eyes, for drowned in 
toan, my grief commands respect. I loved 
my brother Tabera, whose concerns are 
now of heaven, where he treads the starry 
streets of paradise. As a brother he pro- 
tected me, and I obeyed him as a father, 
and respected his commands. I lived in 
happiness with him, and sheltered from the 
sun, though its beams but rarely assailed 
my window. Seville envied oiu mutual 
affection, and all believed we were twin 



186 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



stATO reduced to one. A cruel hunter bends 
bis bow upon my brother, and ends our 
happineflB. I have loat my brother, I have 
lost my husband, I am left alone. And you 
do not haaten to your royal duty, from 
which none haa releaand youl Justice, 
Sire! Give me the murderer, fulfill the law 
in this; let me pass judgment on him. 

KiNQ. Be comforted, and dry your eyes, 
else will my palace bunt in flame, for stars 
are tears of the sun, as each of its rays is 
top&E. Let Aurora gather her riches in 
them, if the new-bom sun gives her the 
time, and let heaven treasure them, for 
't is not right that they be squandered 
here. Take this ring, it irill open the castle 
of Triana for you. Let them deliver him 
to you, and be hi him the cruel tigress of 
Hircanian oiiffs; — although the storks in 
flight urge us to pity and to weak compas- 
sion, for it is true, surprising though it be, 
that birds and beasts confound man's 
savagery. 

9rEUA. In this case. Sire, severity 'a a 
virtue, tor if in me were silver and gold, 
I'd tear them from my head, and cover 
my face with u|d>i>eflSi though 't were by 
butnii^ coals. If one Tabera 's dead, an- 
other lives, and if Tsbera's shame is in my 
face, my hands shall tear my flesh till it 
strike terror to the hardest heart. 

[Exeunt aU but the Einq.] 

KiNQ. If they deliver Sancfao Ortis to 
her, I believe she'll slay him with her own 
hands. Can God permit such cruelty to be 
in form so fair and wonderful! Bee what 
a deed mad passion doth commit: I did 
incite Sancho Ortii, and now I give him up, 
for love treads under foot the royal purple 
and promulgatcfl his decrees at his own 
\Sxit.] 



{Scene II. A prison.] 
[Enter Sancho, Clahindo, and 



SxNCBO. Have you not made some verses 
on my fate, Clarindo? 

Clarinik). Who would write verses, my 
lord, when poetry is so ill paid? At the 
festival in the market-place, many asked 
verses from me, and later seeiiig me in the 



streets, would say to me, as if I were a 
tailor, or repairer, "la not the compliment 
finished?" and urged me ta more haste 
than for a mended doublet. And had I not 
been hungry, I'd have excelled Anaxagoraa 
in silence, and would have made a jest of 
Greek and Latin genius. 

[Enter the alaalda and Arias.) 

Pedbo. Enter. 

CiiARiNDO. I believe these men have 
come, my lord, to inform you of your sen- 

Sancho [to fmindaiu]. Then quickly 
b^in a song. Now is death welcome, and 
I wish by singing to give evidence of my 
content. Besides, I'd show them my forti- 
tude, and that death itself has no power to 

Ci^ABiNDO. Admiraijle courage! What 
better could a drunken Teuton do, his soul 
steeped in oldest wineT 
Musicians [sing]. 

Since my unhappy fata 
Consists in living. 
So long as death delays, 
It stays my dying. 
CiABiNDO. An excellent enigma that 
they singt 
Sancbo. a timely sentiment. 

MUSICIAKS. 

There'B naught in life like death 
For one who lives a-dyinf . 

Pbdro. Is this a time for music, sir? 

Sancho. Why, what better ent^lain- 
ment in their misery can prisoners have? 

Fartan. Can one be entertained by 
music when death threatens him hourly, 
and when he momentarily awaito the sen- 
tence of his harsh judgment? 

Sancbo, I am a swan, and sing before 
Idle. 

Fabtan. The time baa come. 

Sancho. I kiss your hands and feet, for 
the news you give me. O blessed day of my 
desire! 

pEnno. Sanoho Ortis de las Roelas, do 
you confess you killed Bustos TaberaT 

Sancho. Yes, I declare it here aloud. 
Seek barbarous punistunente, invent new 
tortures, that shall make Spain forget 
Phalaris and Mazentius. 



Google 



THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



.8, 



Fastan. Then did you kill him un- 
provoked? 

Sancho. I killed him; that I do confess. 
The cause, since I have kept it secret, if 
there be any man who knows it, let him telJ ; 
for I know not why he died, I Only know I 
killed him without knowing. 

FsDRO. It seems a treachery to kill him 
without cause. 

Sajicho. He certainty gave cause, since 
he is dead. 

Pkdbo. To whom? 

Samcho. To him who brought me where 
I am, to this extremity. 

PlDKO. Who is it? 

Sancho. I cannottell.beoauae he charged 
me secrecy. And if I acted like a king, I 
will keep silence like one, &nd to put me to 
death, you need but Imow tbiLt I have 
kilted him, without demanding why. 

Arias. SeSor Sancho Ortii, I come to 
jnHi in the kite's name, to ask that you 
confess, at his request, who caused this 
mad disorder. If you did it for friends, for 
women, or for reUtivee, or for some man 
in ptmer, some grandee of tiiia i^m, and 
if you have from him some paper, safe-- 
guard, or agreement, written or signed by 
his hsind, show it at once, and thereby do 
your duty. 

Sancho. If I do so, my lord, T dhaJI not 
do my duty. Say to His Majesty, my friend, 
that I fulfill my promise, and if he is Don 
Sancho the Bold I bear the same name. 
Tell him that I may have had a paper, but 
be insults me when he asks for papers, hav- 
ing seen them torn. I killed Bustoe Tabera, 
and though I might free myself now, I will 
not, because I know I break a promise. I 
keep my promise like a king, and T have 
done that I did promise, and he should do 
the same who also promises. Let him now 
act whose obligation is to speak, for I ful- 
filled my obligation in action. 

Abiab. If you can justify yourself by a 
word, 't is madness to refuse it, 

Samcho. I am who I am, and being who 
I am, I avenge myself by my silence, and 
I defy one who keeps silence. And who 
is who he is, let him act as who he is, and 
so we shall both act as b^ts us, 

AaiAB. I'll say that to His Majesty. 



FliDBO. Sancho Ortis, you have done a 
thing most ill advised, and you have acted 

Faxfan. You have offended the munici- 
pality of Seville, and exposed your life to her 
severity, your neck to her just vengeance. 
[Exeioii the altaidet and Abias.) 

C1.AJUND0. Is it possible that you ac- 
cept such insults? 

Sancho. I consent that men should 
punish me, and Heaven confound me: and 
already, Clarindo, it begins. Do you not 
hear a confused clamor? The air 's afiame 
with thunderbolts and lightning: one sweeps 
upon me like a serpent, describing swift 
curves of fire. 

CnABiNDO. I think that he has lost his 
wits. I '11 follow his humor. 

Sakcbo. How I bum I 

Clarindo. How I broil 1 

Sancho. Did the bolt strike you too? 

CLARiNno. Do you not see me in aahee,? 

Sancho. God save usi 

Clarindo. Yes, my lord, I am the ashes 
of a fagot. 

Sancho. We are now in the other world. 

Clarinso. In hell, I think, 

Sancho. In hell, Clarindo? Why say 

CnARiNDO, Because I see in yonder cas- 
tle, my lord, a thousand lying tailors, 

Sancho. You rightly aay wa 'ra there; 
for Pride is burning upon yon tower formed 
of the arrogant and haughty; there I see 
Ambition drinking a river of fire. 

CnABiNno. And farther on there is a 
legion of cabmen. 

Sancbo. If coaches pass through here, 
they'll wreck the place. But if this is hell, 
why do we see no lawyers? 

Clarindo. They won't receive them, 
lest they bring lawsuits here. 

Sancho. If there are no lawsuits here, 
hril's not so bad. 

CnARiNDO, Aha! There is the tyrant 
Honor, bearing a crowd of fools, who suf- 
fer for honor. 

Sancho. I'll join them. — Honor, an 
honorable fool comes to be your servant, 
for not violating your laws. — Friend, you 
have done badly, for true honor consists 
to-day in having none. Dost seek me 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



yonder, and for a thousand centuriea I've 
been dead! Seek wealth, my friend, for 
wealth is honor. What did you do? —I 
sought to keep a promise. — You make me 
laugh. Do you keep promisee? You seem 
a sim[deton, for not to keep a promise is a 
noble act these days. — 1 promised to kill 
a man, and raging kilted him, though he 
was my friend. — Bad I 

Clabindo. At least not goodl 

Sancbo. At least not good. Put him in 
y>rison, and condemn him for a fool. — 
Honor, I lost hie sister, and now I suffer in 
that I did fi^t him. — No matter. 

CLARiNno. God help mel If I let him 
continue further, he will be mad entirely. 
I will invent a trick. [He ghotdM.] 

Sancho. Who calls? Who calls? 

Clabindo. It is the dog Cerberus who 
calls, the porter of this palace. Do you not 
know me? 

Sancho. Methinks I do. 

Clariitoo. And who are you? 

Sancho. A man of honor, 

CLARinno. What! In here! Bq^ne. 

Sancho. What say you? 

Clarindo. Go out at once; this place is 
not for men of honor. Seize him, and take 
him bound to the other world, to the prison 
of Seville, on the wind, but bandage his 
eyes, that he may fly without fear. — Now 
hia eyes are covered. — Now let the lame 
devil on his shoulders take him there at a 
leap, —At a leap? I am content. — Go, 
and take aleo his companion by the hand, 
[Oivti him a whirl, and rtUanet kim.] — 
Now you are in the world, my friend, God 
be with you, as with me. 

Sancho. God, said he? 

Clabinuo, Yes, my lord, for this devil, 
before he was one, was a baptiied Chris- 
tian, and is a Gallego of Caldefrancos. 

Sancho, It seema to me that I am wak- 
ing from a trance. God help me! OStellal 
How wretched la my fate without youl 
But since I caused your grief, I deserve my 
punishment. 



Stblla. Deliver me the prisoner at once. 
Govehnob. Here is the prisoner, my 



tady, and as the king commands me, I d» 
liver him to your hands. Sefior Sancha 
Ortii, His Majesty commands us to deliver 
you to this lady. 

Stella. Sir, come with me. 

Sancho. I welcome your compassion, 
if it is to kill me, for I desire death. 

Stella. Give me your hand and come. 

Clarinoo. Does it not seem enchant- 
ment? 

Stella. Let no one follow us, [Exeunt.] 

CLARtNno. 'T is well. In faith, we're 
travelii^ well, from hell to Seville, and 
from SeviUe to hell! Please God this Star 
reveal herself as Venusl [Exit.] 

(Scene III Outside the prUon.] 



Stella. Now I have placed you at 
liberty. Go with God, Sancho OrUc, and 
remember that I have been merciful and 
compassionate. Go with God! Go. Youar« 
free, Whydoyoulinger? Whylookyouso? 
Why hesitate? He who delays is wasting 
'time. Go, for a horse awaita you on which 
you can escape; the servant has money fol 
the journey, 

Sancho. Madame, I kiss your feet. 

Stella. Go, for there is no time b) lose 

Sancho. With heavy heart I go. May 
I not know who has liberated me, that 1 
may give thanks for such mercy? 

Stella, A woman; I wish you well, for 
I give you liberty, having it in my discrS' 
tion. Go with God. 

Sakcho. I will not pass from here, ex- 
cept you tell me who you are, or let me see 
your face. 

Steu.a. 1 cannot now. 

Sancho. I wish to repay you for my life, 
and freedom: I must know to whom I owe 
such obligation, acknowledging this debt. 

Stella. I am a woman of noble birth, . 
and moreover, the one who lovee you best, 
and whom you love least. Go with God. 

Sancho. I will not go if you do not un- 

Stella. That you may go, I am . . . 
(t/nooMraJ 
Sancho. Stella, star of my Boull 



.CjO.c^^^Ic 



THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



>«9 



SiKiLA. AitArIuti,thatguideflyou, the 
omen of your life. Go, for thug does love 
o'ereome the force of etemness, for aa I love 
you, so &m I to you a favoring Star. 

Sancho. You! reeplendent and f&ir, in 
praaeace of your mortal enemy! You! 
Such pity for mel Treat me more cruelly, 
for here pity is cruelty, for pity is punish- 
ment. E&ve me put to death, seek not so 
generously to do me harm with good, when 
good is to my harm. Give liberty to one 
who killed your brother! It is not right 
that I should live, since he met death 
through me. And it is right that one who 
thus lost a friend should lose you too. In 
freedom now I thus deliver myself to death, 
for if I were a prisoner, how should I ask 
for death? 

Stella. My love is finer and stronger, 
and so I give you life. 

Sancho. Then I will go to death, since 
't is your will to free me, for if you act aa 
who you are, I have to act my part. 

BncLLA. Why do you dieT 

Sakcho. To avenge you. 

Seblla. For what 7 

Sancho. For my treachery. 

Stblla. 'T is cruelty. 

Sakcho. 'T ta justice. 

Btella. There is no plaintiff. 

Sancbo. I(Ove is plaintiff. 

SrxLLA. 'T IB to offend me. 

SanchO' 'T is to love you. 

Stella. How do you prove it? 

Sancho. By dying. 

Stella. Nay, you insult me. 

Sancho. By living. 

Stella. Hear me. 

Sancbo. There is nothing to be said. 

Stella. Where are you going? 

Sancho. I go to die, since by my life I 
(rffend you. 

Stella. Go, and leave me. 

Sancho. It is not well. 

SrSLiut. Live, and take your freedom. 

Sancho. It is not right. 

Stella. Why do you die? 

Sancbo. It is my pleasure. 

Stella. 'T is cruelty. 

Sancho. 'T is honor, too. 

Stella. Who accuses you? 

Sahcho. Your ^^i ^^|li p 



Stella. I have none. 
Sancho. I sm-unmoved. 
Stella. Are you in your senses? 
Sancho. I am in my honor, and I offend 

ydu by living. 

Stella. Then, madman, go and die, for 
I will also die. [Exeunt on opposite mdw.) 

[Scene IV. A room in the palace] 
[Enter the Kma and Abias.] 

KiNQ. And so he'll not confess that I 
commanded him to kill? 

Arias. I ne'er saw bronn more firm. 
His whole intent is to deny. He said at 
last that he has fulfilled his obligation, and 
that it is right that he to whom he owed 
the obligation now keep his word. 

Kino. He hopes to force me by his 
silence. 

Abias. Indeed he has constrained you. 

Kino. He has fulfilled his promise, and I 
am sore perplexed not to be able to keep the 
word I gave him in a moment ol anger. 

Arias. You cannot evade a promise 
given, for if 9a ordinary man must keep it, 
in a king's mouth It becomes law, uid all 
must bow before the low. 

Kino. 'T is true, when the law is inter- 
preted by natural right. 

Abias. It is an obligation. The vassal 
does not question the Uw of the king; the 
vassal can only execute the law, blindly and 
unquestioning; and it is for the king to take 
thought. In this instance you did give it 
in a paper, and since he executed it without 
the paper, you ore bound to fulfill to him 
the law you made in ordering him to kill 
Bustos Tat)era; for had it not been by your 
command, he had not killed him. 

Kino. Then must 'I say that I ordered 
his death, and used such cruelty to one who 
never offended me? What will the council 
of Seville say of me, Arias, when it sees I 
was the cause? And what will be said in 
Caatille when Don Alonso there already 
calls me tyrant, and the Roman pontiff 
attacks me with bis censure? Perchance he 
will take up my nephew's claims, and his 
support assures them. I fail in my desires 
likewise, I see, if I let Sancbo die, and thaf 
i« baseness. WbatshaUIdo? 

.CuX 



190 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



AsiAB. YourHighDeMmay mthflatteiy 
win the slcaldee, and afdc them that by 
exile Sancho Ortii pay far hia crime and 
grievous fault, Buppreesing greater rigore; 
thus do you intercede for him. You may 
make him general on some frontier, and BO 
you reward him with a laurel crown. 

Kino. You aay well; but if DoOa Stella, to 
whom I gave my ring, has already wreaked 
vengeance on him, what shall we do then? 

Anus. All shall be put in order. I will 
go in your name and seiie her person al- 
leging your order, and will bring her alone 
and secretly to the palace. Here you may 
win her to your design; and to persuade 
her, you may many her to some grandee 
of tiie court, for her virtue and her rank de- 
serve a noble husband. 

Kma. How I repent my weakness, 
Ariasl The aage well says that he alone is 
wise who is upon occasion prudent, as on 
ocoBsion stem. Go now and take Stella, 
since by her capture you free me from my 
perplexity. And to placate her I will many 
her to a Duk» of Castile, and could I give 
my throne, would put her in my place, for 
nicfa a brother and sister merit immortal 
glory, 

AsiAB. The people of this city dim the 

glory of Rome. [Snt Arias.] 

[Enter Ihe Governor of the prieon.] 

Governor. I kiss Your Highness' feet. 

KiNQ. Pedro de Caus, what occasion 
brings you to my feet? 

Governor. Sire, this ring, engraved 
with your arms, is it not Your Majesty's? 

Kino. Yes, this is pardon and safeguard 
for any crime you may have done. 

Governor. O mighty king, there came 
with it to Triana a woman closely veiled, 
saying that Your Highness ordered San- 
cho OrtJK be delivered her. I referred your 
mandate to the guards, together with tbe 
ring, and all were of opinion that he be 
delivered. I rdeased him, but shortly 
Bancho Ortii, like a madman, with loud 
cries, begs that the castle gate be opened. 
"I will not do the king's command," be 
said, "and wish to die, for it is right that he 
who kills shoulri die." I refused admit- 
tance, but he shouted so I was obliged to 



open. He entered, and in joy he waits lot 
death. 

Kttra. I never saw such noble or such 
Christian folk as in this city. Bronae, 
marble, statues, may be silent. 

Govirnob. The woman says, my lord, 
she gave him freedom, and he would not 
accept it, when he knew she was the sister 
of BustoB Tabera, whom he put to death. 

Kino. What you say now astounds me 
all the more, their magnanimity passes 
nature. She when she should be most vin- 
dictive, forgiveB, and frees him; and he to 
reward her generous soul, returned to die. 
If their deeds go further, they will be im- 
mortatiied in records of eternity. Do you, 
Pedro de Caus, bring me Don Sancho in 
my carriage to the palace, with stricteet 
secrecy, avoiding noise or guards. 

Governor, I go to do your bidding. 

IEtU.] 
[Enier a eervant.] 

Servant. The two t^ef alcaJdee deeire 
to see Your Majesty. 

Kino. Tell tiiem to enter, with their 
wands of office. [Exit aerBant.] Now if I 
can I'll keep my word to Sandio Ortii 
without revealing my deed of cruelty. 

[Enter the rticaidet-l 

Pedro. Sire, the guilt is proved; the caw 
requires sentence. 

KiKQ. Pronounce it. I only beg you, 
aince you are the guardians of the state, to 
consider justice, and clemency oft favon 
it. Sancho Ortii is counciltH' of Seville, and 
if he who is dead was also coundlar, the one 
claims mercy, if the other calls for venge- 

Fabtan. Sire, we are alcaldes of Seville, 
and her confidence and honor repose on us 
to-day. These staves represent your im- 
perial authority, and if they fail to honor 
your divine right, they offend your per- 
son. Held upright, they look to God, and 
if they are bent or lowered, they look to 
man, and deflecting, they loae their heav- 
enly function. 

Kino. I ask not that you defieot them, 
but that equity be done in justice. 

Pbdro. Sire, tbe eouroe <rf our Mitbority 



THE STAR OF SEVILLE 



»9» 



is Your Majeoty. On your aommaiu] de- 
pend our hopM. Spare his life; you may 
pardon him, since kbiga are accountable to 
none. God creat«B kings, and God trans- 
fen the crown of Bovereignty from Saul to 
E>avid. 

KiNQ. Go in, and weigh the sentence 
that you give for penalty, and let Sancho 
Ortis go to execution as the laws require. 
[Atide.] You, Pedro de Gunnan, liat«Q to 
a word apart. 

Pedbo. What is Your Highness' will7 

Kino. By putting Sancho to deatli, my 
dear Don Pedro, you do not reetore life to 
the dead. May we not avoid the extreme 
pen^ty, and exile him to Gibraltar, or 
Granada, where in my tervioe he may find 
a voluntary death? What say you? 

PwiBO. That I am Don Pedro de Gu»- 
man, and I am at your feet. Youn is my 
life, and my poneesiona and my aword. 

Kino. Embrace me, Don Pedro de 
Gusman. I did expect no less from a 
noble heart. Go with God; send Farfan 
de Rivera to me. \Atide.] Flattery levels 
mountains. 

Farfan, You see me at your feet. 

KtNO. Farfan de Rivera, it grieved me 
that Sancho Ortii should die, but now it is 
proposed that death be changed to exile, 
and it will be longer, since it will be for life, 
I need your opinion to decide a matter of 
so great importance. 

Farfan. Your Highness may command 
Farfan de Rivera without reserve, for my 
loyalty has no reserve in serving you. 

Kino. In truth you are Rivera, in whom 
the flowers of virtue spring, to adorn and 
attend you. Go with God. [Extunt ed- 
cvldei.] Well have I h^xired. Now, Sancho 
Ortit csc&pM death, and my promise is 
saved without becomingknown. Iwillhave 
him go as general to some frontier, whereby 
I exile and reward him. 

IROnltr tdcaidei.] 

Pedro. Now the aentence is signed, and 
it remains only to submit it to Your Ma- 
jorty. 

Kino. Such noble lords as you will have 
made it, I doubt not, as I desired. 

Farfan. Our boast is loyalty. 



KiNQ [read« MsMnteactl: "Our finding 
and decision is that he be publicly be- 
headed," Is this the sentence that you 
bring me signed? Thus, traitors, do you 
keep your promise to your king? Zoundsl 

Farfan. When this wand is laid aside, 
the lowest of your subjects, as you see, will 
keep his promise with his life or arms. But 
with it in hand, let none commit offense in 
act or words, for human empire, for earth 

Pedro. Give us your orders as subjecte, 
but as chief alcaldes, ask not unjust tilings, 
tor then we bear our wands; as vassale 
we're without them. And the Council of 
Seville is what it is. 

Kino. Enough; 'tis well, for all of you 
put me to shame, 

[Enier Arias and Stella.) 

Arias, Stella is now here. 

Kino, Don Arias, what shall I do? What 
is your counsel in such great confusion? 
[Enter lAe Governor, Sancho Ortie, and 
Clarindo.I 

Govrrnor. Sancho Ortis is before you, 

Sancbo, Great king, why do you not 
end my sufferings with death, my misfor- 
tunes with your condemnation? I killed 
BustoB Tabera, kill me; he who kills must 
die. Showmercy.Sire.byexecutingjustice. 

Kino. Waitl Who ordered you to kill 
him? 

Sancbo. A paper. 

KiNQ, From whom? 

Sancbo, Couldthepaperspeak, 'twould 
t«ll; that is clear and evident; but papers 
torn give but confused reply. 1 only know 
I killed the man I most did love, because 
I promised. But here at your feet St«lla 
awaits my death in atonement, and still is 
her vengeance incomplete. 

Kino. Stella, I have determined your 
marriage with a noble of my house, young, 
gallant, a prince of Castile, and lord of 
Salva. And in return for this, we ask his 
pardon, which may not justly be refused. 

Stella, Bire, if I am married, let Sancho 
Ortix go free. I renounce my vei^eance. 

Sakcbo, And so you give me pardon, 
because His Highness marriee you? 



193 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



BrsLLA. Yes, for that I pardon you. 

Sancho. And are you thus av^iged for 
my offenaeT 

StzujA. And satisfied. 

Sancho. Then that your hopes may. be 
fulfilled, I ooDsent to live, although I 
wished to die. 

Kino. Go with God. 

Fabfak. Look what you do, my lord, 
for this i* to offend Serille, and he must die. 

Kino {to AbiasI. What shall I do? 
Tlieee people anger and dismay me. 

Arias. Speak. 

Kino. Men of Seville, put me to death, 
for I was cause of this murder. I ordered 
him to kill, and this mfficefl to discharge him. 

Sancbo. My honor awaited only this 
avowal, for the king ordered me to kill him, 
and I had not committed an act bo cruel, 
had the king not ordered it. 

KiKo. J declare that this ia true. 

Fastan. Then is Seville oontent, for 
^ce you ordered he be put to death, no 
doubt be gave you cause. 

Kino. The nobility of Seville leaves me 
in wonder. 

Bancho. I will depart to exile, when Your 
Majesty fulfills another promise that you 
gave me. 

Kino. I'll keep it. 

Sancho. I said that you should give to 
me for wife the woman I should ask. 

Kino. So it was. 

Sancbo. I ask for Stella. 

Stklla. Sancho Ortii, I am promised. 

Sakcho. Promised? 

Stxlla. Yes. 

Samcho. Woe is me. 



KufQ. Stella, this was my promise; I am 
king and must fulfill it. What do you say? 

Stella. Your will be done. I am his. 

Bancho. I am hers. 

Kino. And now, what lacks? 

Sancbo. Harmony. 

Stella. Which we shall never find in life 
together. 

Sancho. I s^ ttie same, and tberefors 
I release you from your word. 

Stella. And I release your word; for 
always to see the murderer of my brother 
at my bed and board, would give me too 
much pain. 

Sancho, And me too much, to be for- 
ever with the sister of him I killed unjustly, 
loving him like my soul. 

Steli^. Then we are free? 

Sancho. Yes, 

Stxlla. So thw farewell. 

Sancho. Farewell. 

Kino. Wait. 

Stella. Sire, I oannot take for husband 
a man who lulled my brother, though I love 
him and adore him. [Exit.] 

Sancbo. And I, Sire, because I love her, 
it is not just that I should marry her. 

Kino. What nobilityl 

Arias. What constancy! 

Clariniw. Madness it seems to me. 

Kino. I marvel at these people. 

Pedro. Such are the people of Seville. 

Kino. I intend to give her a husband, 
and such as she deserves. 

Clasindo, And now Lope consecrates 
to you this tragedy, giving eternal fame to 
the Star of Seville, whose marvdous his- 
tory is writ on taUeta of bronse. 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



LIFE IS A DREAM 

(LA VIDA ES SUESO) 

By CALDERON 

J^amUUtd U tlu erieimU nuttrt h DENIS FLOREtfCE MAC-CAETff! 



ciilizedbvGoOQic 



CHARACTERS 

Basilius, King o/ Ps^and^ 
SiaiSHDND, Ms son 
AaiOLFo, Thike (4 Mrucotri/ 
Clotaldo, a'nobUman 
EeniELLA, a prtfuett 
RosAinu, a Im^ 
CiARiN, her servant 
SdidUrs, Ovarda, Mwictana, Attendants, Ladies, SenanlM 



n> Seme it in Uu Courl of Poland, in a JmtrMt at 
aoHM dManoe, and in Out Oftn fitU. 



ciilizedbvGoOQic 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



ACT I 

[ScBNX I. Alonemdeaerasgyiruraniain, 

ai the otktr a lower, the lower part of lokieh 

tervea ai the prieon qf SigitmuTid. The door 
facing lite apeetaiort i» htdf open. The action 

commeneet ai niiih(faU.\ 

[RosAQBA in man's attire appean on Uw 
neky heights and detcendi to the plain. 
She itfoUtnaed by CuuuN.] 
RosAUBA. Wild hippoKiiiT swift Bpeediog, 

Thou that doBt ran, the wbgAd winds ex- 
ceeding, 

Bolt which no flash iUumeB, 

Fish without scales, bird without shifting 
plumes, 

And brute awhile bereft 

Of natural instinct, why to this wild cleft, 

This labyrinth of oaked rocks, dost sweep 

Unreined, uncurbed, to plunge thee down 
the st«ep? 

Stay in this mountain wold. 

And let the beasta their Phaeton behold. 

For I, without a guide, 

Save what the laws of destiny decide. 

Benighted, desperate, blind, 

Take any path whatever that doth wind 

Down this rough mountain to its base. 

Whose wrinkled brow in heaven frowns in 
the sun's bright face. 

Ah, Poland! in ill mood 

Hast diou received a stranger, since in 
blood 

The name thou writest on thy sands 

Of her who hardly here fares hardly at thy 

My fate may well say so: — 

But where shall one poor wretch find pity 

in her woe? 
C1.ABIN. Say two, if you please; 
Don't leave me out when making plaints 

like these. 
For if we are the two 
Who left our native country with the vien* 



Of seeking strange adventures, if we be 
The two who, nuidly and in misery. 
Have got so far as this, and if wo still 
Are the same two who tumbled down this 

hill, 
Does it not plainly to a wrong amount. 
To put me in the pain and not in the ac- 
count? 
RoBAURA, I do not wish to impart, 
Clarin, to thee, Uie sorrows of my heart; 
Mourning for thee would spoil tl:e consols' 

Of making for thysdf thy lamentation; 
For there is such a pleasure in comjdain- 

ing, 
That a philosopher I 've heard maintaining 
One ought to seek a sorrow and be vain of it, 
In order to be privileged to complain of it. 

CtARiN. That same philosopher 
Was an old drunken fool, unless I err: 
Oh, that I could a thousand thumps pro- 

sent him. 
In order for complaining to content l)iml 
But what, my lady, say, 
Are we to do, on foot, alone, our way 
Lost in the shades of night? 
For see, the sun descends another sphere to 

light. 
RosAURA. 80 Strange a misadventure 

who has seen? 
But if my sight deceives me not, between 
These rugged rocks, half-lit by the moon's 

ray 
And the declining day. 
It seems, or is it fancy? that I see 
A human dwelling? 

Clabin. So it seems to me, 
Unless my wish the longed-for lodging 

mocks. 
RoBAURA. A rustic litUe palace 'mid the 

Uplifts its lowly roof. 

Scarce seen by the far sun that shines aloof 

Of such a rude device 

Is the whole structun of this edifice. 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



That lying at the feet 
Of these gigantic crags that rise to greet 
The sun'e firat beams of gold, 
It seenu a rock that down the mountain 
rolled. 
Clabin. Let us approach more near. 
For long enough we've looked at it from 

Then better we shall see 

If those who dwell therein will generously 

A welcome give us, 

HoSADBA. See an open door . 
(Funereal mouth 'twere best the name it 

From which as from a womb 

The night is bom, engendered in its gloom, 

[The tound of chain* is heanl vnihin.] 

Clabim. Heavens! what is this I hear? 

BoBAimA. Half ice, half fire, I stand 

transfixed with fear. 
Clarik. a sound of chains, is it not? 
Some galley-slave his sentence here hath 

got; 
My fear may well suggest it so may be. 
SioisuOND [in the tower]. Alas! Ah, 

wretched me! Ah, wretched mel 
RoSACRA. Oh what a mournful wailt 
Again my pains, again my fears prevail. 
Clarin. Again with fear I die. 
RoBAUKA, Claris! 
CuiBiN. My lady I 
RoBAORA. Let UH turn and fly 
The risks of this enchanted tower. 

Clarin. For one, 
I scarce have strength to stand, much lues 
^ to run. 

^^ RosAURA. Is not that dimmer there 
f afar — 

That dying exhalation — that pale star — 
A tiny taper, which, with trembling blase 
Flickering 'twixt struggling flames and 

dying rays. 
With ineffectual spark 
Makes the dark dweUing place appear 

more dark? 
Ves, for its distant light, 
Reflected dimly, brings before my sight 
A dungeon's awful gloom, 
9ay rather of a living corse, a living tomb; 
And to increase my terror and surprise, 
Dressed in the skins of beasts a man there 
liai: 



A piteous sight. 

Chained, and his sole Mmpanion this poor 
light. 

Since then we cannot fly, 

Let us attentive to his words draw ni^ 

Whatever they may be. 

[Tht doors of the tou>er open wide, 
and BiOiSMUND ia diacovtred tn 
ehaint and dad in tht tkina of 
beasts. The light in the towtr 



SiQisiiuND. AlasI Ah, wretched m 
Ah, wretched me! 
Heaven, here lying all forlorn, 
I desire from thee to know. 
Since thou thus dost treat me so. 
Why have I provoked thy scorn 
By the crime of being born? — 
Though for being bom I feel 
Heaven with me must harshly deal. 
Since man's greatest crime on earth 
Is the fatal fact of birth — 
Sin supreme without appeal. 
This slone I ponder o'er, 
My strange mystery to pierce through; 
Leaving wholly out of view 
Germs my hapless birthday bore. 
How have I offended more. 
That the more you punish mef 
Must not other creatures be 
Bom? If bom, what privil^e 
Con they over me allege 
Of which I should not be free? 
Birds are bom, the bird that sin^. 
Richly robed by Nature's dower. 
Scarcely floats — a feathered flower, 
Or a bunch of blooms with wiags — 
When to heaven's high halls it springs, 
Cuts the blue air fast and free. 
And no longer bound will be 
By the nest's secure control: — 
And with so much more of soul, 
Must I have lees liberty? 
Beasts are bom, the beast whose skin 
Dappled o'er with beauteous spots. 
As when the great pencil dots 
Heaven with stars, doth scarce begin 
From its impulses within — 
Nature's stem necessity. 
To be schooled in cruelty, — 
Monster, waging ruthless war: - 
And with instincts bettar br 



.CtOoqIc 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



197 



Must I have lees liberty? M 

Fiah are bom, the spawn that breeds 

Where the ooc y aeaweeda float, 

Scarce perceivee itself a boat, 

Scaled and plated for its needs, 

When from wave to wave it speeds, 

Measuring all the mighty sea, 

Testing its profundity 

To its depths so dark and chill: — 

And with so much freer will, 

Must I have leas hberty? 

Streams ate bom, a ooiled-up snake 

When its path the streamlet finds, 

Scarca a silver serpent winds 

'Mong the flowers it must forsake. 

But a song of ptaise doth wake, 

Mournful though its music be. 

To the plain that courteously 

Opea a path through which it flies: — 

And with life that never dies. 

Must t have less liberty? 

When I think of this I start, 

ftna-like in wild unrest 

I would pluck from out my breast 

Bit by bit my burning heart: — 

For what law can so depart 

From all right, as to deny 

One lone Rtan that liberty — 

That sweet gift which God bestows 

On the crystal stream that flows, ' 

Birds and fish that float or fly? 

RosAUBA. Pear and deepest sympathy 
Do I feel at every word. 

SiaisucND. Who my sad lament has 
beard? 
What! Qotaldo! 

Clarin [ande to hU mUtret»\. Say 't is 
he. 

RoBAOHA. No, 't is but a wretch (ah, 
me I) 
Who in these dark caves and cold 
Hears the tale your tips unfold. 

SiaiBUUND. Then you'll die for listen- 
That you may not know I know 
That you know the tale I told. [Seitet her.] 
Yea, you'll die for loitering near: 
In these strong arms gaunt and grim 
I will tear you limb from Umb. 

CXabin. lamdeaf and could n't hear: — 
No! 

RosATTRA. If human heart you bear. 



'T is enough that I prostrate me. 
At thy feet, to liberate me I 
SiaisucND. Strange thy voice can so 
unbend me, 
Strange thy sight can so suspend me. 
And respect so penetrate me I 
Who art thou? For though I see 
Little from this lonely room, 
This, my cradle and my tomb. 
Being all the world to me. 
And if birthday it could be, 
Since my birthday I have known 
But this desert wild and lone. 
Where throughout my life's sad oourse 
I have lived, a breathing corse, 
I have moved, a, skeleton; 
And though I address or see 
Never but one man ^lone. 
Who my sorrows all hath known, 
And through whom have come to me 
Notions of earth, sky, and sea; 
And though harrowing thee again. 
Since thou 'It call me in this den, 
Monster fit for bestial feasts, 
I'm a man among wild beasts. 
And a wild beast amount men. 
But though round me has been wrought 
All this woe, from beasts I've learned 
Polity, the same discerned 
Heeding what the birds had taught, 
And have measured in my thought 
The fair orbits of the spheres; 
You alone, 'midst doubts and fears, 
Wake my wonder and surprise — 
Give amasement to my eyes. 
Admiration to my ears. 
Every time your face I see 
You produce a new amaie: 
After the most steadfast gase, 
I again would gaier be. 
1 believe some hydropsy 
Must aSect my sight, I think 
Death must hover on the brink 
Of those wells of light, your eyes, 
For I look with fresb surprise. 
And though death result, I drink. 
Let me see and die: fo^ve me; 
For t do not know, in faith. 
If to see you gives me death. 
What to see you not would give me; 
Something worse than death would grieve 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Anger, rage, oonoding care, 
Death, but double death it were, 
Death with tenfold terrora rife, 
Since what gives the wretehed life, 
Gives the happy death, desp&irl 

RosAURA. Thee to see wakee nicb dis- 
may. 
Thee to heat I bo admire, 
That I 'm powerleea to inquire. 
That I know not what to aay^ 
Only this, that I to-day, 
Guided by a wiser will, 
Have here come to cure my iU, 
Here ootiaoled my grief to see, 
If a wretch oonaoled can be 
Seeing one more wretched still. 
Of a sage, who roamed dejected. 
Poor, and wretched, it is eaid, 
That one day, hia wanta being fed 
By the herbs which be collected, 
"la there one" (he thus reflected) 
"Poorer than I am to-day?" 
Turning round him to survey, 
He his answer got, detecting 
A still poorer aage collecting 
Even the leaves he threw away. 
Thus complaining to exeees, 
Mourning fate, my life I ledr 
And when thoughtlessly I said 
To myself, "Does earth pocoeso 
One more steeped in wretchedness?" 
I in thee the answer find. 
Since revolving in my mind, 
I perceive that all my pains 
To become thy joyful gains 
Thou hast gathered and entwined. 
And if haply some slight solace 
By theee pains may be imparted. 
Hear attentively the story 
Of my life's supreme disasters. 
I am 

Clotaldo [wilhin]. Warden of this 

Who, or sleeping or faint-hearted. 
Give an entrance to two persons 
Who herein have bunt a passage . . . 
RoBACRA. New confusion now I suffer. 
' is Clotaldo, who here 



Are not yet my miseries ended? 
Clot AUK) [wifAtni. Hasten hither, quick! 
be activel 



And bdore tiiey can defend thun, 
Kill them on the spot, or oapturel 

[Voice* within.] Treasonl 

ChASm. Wattihguards of this toww, 
Who politely let us pass here. 
Since you have tbe choice of killing 
Or of capturing, choose the latter. 

[Bnttr Clotaldo and Soldien; A« wiA 
a piitcl, and oU unth their Jaca oov- 
erri.l 

Clotaldo [aside to the Soldiert]. Keep 
your faces all well covered. 
For it is a vital matter 
That we should be known by no one. 
While I question these two strag^eta. 
Cluuun. Are there masqueraders heref 
Clotaldo. Ye who in your ignorant 
rashness 
Have passed through the bounds and 

Of this interdicted valley, 
'Gainst the edict of the King, 
Who has publicly commanded 
None should dare descry the -wonder 
That among these rooks is guarded, 
Yield at once your arms and lives. 
Or this pistol, this cold aspic 
Formed of st«el, the penetrating 
Poison of two balls will scatter. 
The report and fire of which 
Will the air astound and startle. 

SiQisiniND. Ere you wound tiiem, en 
you hurt them, 
Will my life, O tyrant master. 
Be the miserable victim 
Of these wretched chains that clasp me; 
Since in them, I vow to God, 
I will tear myself to fragments 
With my hands, and with my teeth. 
In these rocks here, in these caverns. 
Ere I yield to their misfortunee. 
Or lament their sad disaster. 

Clotaldo. If you know that your mis- 
fortunes, 
Sigismund, are unexampled, 
Since before being bom you died 
By Heaven's mystical enactment; 
If you know theee fetters are 
Of your furies oft so rampant 
But the bridle that detains them. 
But the circle that oontzaets them. 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



199 



[To the SMien.] Why theee idle boastflf 

. The door 
Of this mtnow prisoB faateti; 
Leave him there secured. 

SiQiBHtTND. Ah, heavens. 
It is wise of you to snatch me 
Thus from freedom I aiiice my rage- 
'Gainst you had beoome Titanic, 
Since to break the gla88 and crystal 
Gold-gates of the sun, my anKer 
On the firm-fixed rocks' foundations 
^ould have mountains piled of matiile. 
CuiTAuw. 'T is that you should not 00 
pile them 
TbaX perhaps these ills have happened. 

[Some of the, ScidUn lead Siais- 
HDNO into Mt prieon, the doon 
of wkich are doted upon him.] 
RoBADRA. Since I now have seen how 

Can offend thee, I vera hardened 
Sure in folly not here humbly 
At thy feet for life to ask thee; 
Then to me extend thy pity, 
Since it were a special harshiMea 
If humility and pride. 
Both alike were disregarded. 
rjChtxm. If Humility aod Pride 
n%)ae two figures who have acted 
Tdany and many a, thousand times 
In' the avioe eacramentalea, 
Do not move you, I, who am neither 
Proud nor humble, but a sandwich 
Partly mixed of both, entreat you 
To extend to us your pardo^J 

Ci.oTALno. Hoi 

SoutucBS. My lord? 

Ci-OTALDO. Disarm the two. 
And their eyes securely bandage. 
So that they may not be able 
To see whither they are carried. 

RoBAURA. This is, sir, my sword; to thee 
Only would I wish to hand it, 
Since in fine of all the others 
Thou art chief, and 1 could hardly 
Yield it unto one less noble. 

C1.AIUN. Mine I'll give the greatest 
rascal 
Of yourtroop: [loaSoldier] so take it, you. 

RosArKA. And if I must die, to thank 
thee 
For thy pity, I would leave thee 



Iliis as pledge, which has its value 
From the owner who onoe wore it; 
That thou guard it well, I charge thee. 
For although I do not know 
What strange secret it may carry. 
This I know, that some great myttery 
Lies within thia golden scabbard, 
Sinoe relying but on it 
I to Poland here have traveled 
To revenge a wrong. 

Clotauxi laaide]. Just heavens) 
What is thia? Still graver, darker. 
Grow my doubts and my oonfusion. 
My anxieties and my anguish. — 
Speak, who gave you this? 

RoBAUKA. A woman. 

Clotaux). And her name? 

R08AUSA. To that my answer 
Must be silence. 

OI1OTA1.DO. But from what 
Do you now infer, or fancy. 
That this sword involves a seoet? 

RosACHA. She who gave it said: "De- 
part hence 
Into Poland, and by study, 
Stratagem, and skill so manage 
That this sword may be inspected 
By the nobles and the magnates 
Of that land, for you, I know. 
Will by one of them be guarded," — 
But his name, lest he was dead, 
Was not then to me imparted. 

CuiTALtM laeide]. BIws me. Heaven! 
what's this I hear? 
For so strangely has this happened. 
That I cannot yet det«rmine 
If 't is real or imagined. 
This is the same sword that I 
Left with beauteous ViolantA, 
As a pledge unto its wearer. 
Who might seek me out thereafttt, 
As a son that I would love him. 
And protect him as a father. 
What is to be done (ah, me I) 
In confusion so entangled. 
If he who for safety bore it 
Bears it now but to dispatch him. 
Since condemned to death he eometb 
To my feet? How strange a marvel I 
What a lamentable fortunel 
How unstable! how unhappyl 
This must be my son — the tokens 

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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



All declare it, superadded 
To the flutter of the heart, 
That to aee him loudly rappeth 
At the breast, aod not being able 
With He throbs to buret ita chamber, 
Doee aa one in prison, who, 
Hearing tumult in the alley, 
Strives to look from out the window; 
Thus, not knowing what here passes 
Save the noise, the heart uprusheth 
To the eyes the cause to examine — 
They the windows of the heart, 
Out through which in tears it glances. 
What is to be done? (O HeavensI) 
What is to be done? To drag him 
Now before the King were death; 
But to hide him from my master. 
That I cannot do, acoording 
To my duty as a vassal. 
Thus my loyalty and self-love 
Upon either side attack me; 
Each would win. But wherefore doubt? 
Is not loyalty a grander, 
Nobler thing than life, than honor? 
Then let loyalty live, no matter 
That he die; brides, he told me, 
If I well recall his language, 
That he came to revoige a wrong. 
But a wronged man is a laiar, — 
No, he cannot be my son, 
Not the son of noble fathers. 
But if some great chance, which no one 
Can be free from, should have happened, 
SintM the delicate sense of honor 
Is a thing so fine, so fragile, 
"That the slightest touch may break it. 
Or the faintest breath may tarnish. 
What could he do more, do more, 
He whose cheek the blue blood mantles. 
But at many risks to have come here 
It again to reestablish? 
Yes, he is my son, my blood, 
Since he shows himself so manly. 
And thus then betwixt two doubte 
A mid course sJone is granted: 
'T is to seek the King, and tell him 
Who he is, let what will happen. 
A desire to save my honor 
May appease my royal master; 
Should he spare his life, I then 
Will assist him in demanding 
His revenge; but if the King 



Should, persisting in hie anger, 
Give him death, then he will die 
Without knowing I'm his father. — 
Come, then, came then with me, strangers. 
[To RosAURA and Clarih.1 Do not fear in 

your disasters 
That you will not have companions 
In misfortune; for so balanced 
Are the gains of life or death. 
That 1 know not which are larger. 

[Exevnl.] 

[ScBNB II. A HaU in the Royal Paiaee.] 

[Enler al ont side AsTOUTo and Soldiers, 

and at the other the Infanta Ebthslla 

and her Ladiet. MUilary music and 

taltiUt wUhm.] 

AsTOLFO. Struck ^t once with admira- 

At thy starry eyes outshining, 

Mingle many a salutation. 

Drums and trumpet-notes combining, 

Founts and birds in alt«mation; 

Wondering here to see thee pass. 

Music in grand chorus gathers 

All her notes from grove and grass; 

Here are trumpets formed of feathers, 

There are birds that breathe in brass. 

All salute thee, fair Sefiora, 

Ordnance as their Queen proclaim thee, 

Beauteous birds as their Aurora, 

As their Pallas trumpets name thee, 

And the sweet flowers as their Flora; 

For Aurora sure thou art. 

Bright as day that conquers night — 

Thine is Flora's peaceful part. 

Thou art Pallaa in thy might, 

And as Queen thou rul'st my heart. 

Esn^BGU^. If the human voice obeying 
Should with human action pair. 
Then you have said ill in saying 
All these flattering words and fair. 
Since in truth they are gainsaying 
This parade of victory, 
'Gainst which 1 my standard rear, 
Since they say, it seems to me, 
Not the flatteries that I hear, 
But the rigors that I see. 
Thin If, too, what B. base invention 
From a wild beast's treachery sprung, — 
Fraudful mother of d' 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



Ib to flatter with the tongue, 
And to kill with the intention. 
AsTOLFo. Ill informed you must have 

Fair Eatrdla, thus to throw 
Doubt on my reapectful mien: 
Let your ear attentive lean 
While the cause I ethve show. 
King EustorgiuB the Pair, 
Third so called, died, leaving two 
DaughteiB, and Basiliiu heir; 
Of his aiatora I and you 
Are the children — I forbear 
To recall a single scene 
Save what's needful. Clorilene, 
Your good mother and my aunt, 
Who is now a habitant 
Of a sphere of sunnier sheen, . 
Waa the elder, of whom you 
Are the daughter; Recisunda, 
Whom God guard a thousand yeftiB, 
Her fair sister (Rosamunda 
Were she called if names were true) 
Wed in Muscovy, of whom 
I was bom. 'T is needful now 
The commencement to resume. 
King Basilius, who doth bow 
'Neath the weight of years, the doom 
Age imposes, more inclined 
To the studies of the mind 
Than to women, wifeless, lone, 
Without sons, to fill his throne 
I and you our way would find. 
You, the elder's diild, averred, 
That the crown you stood mare nigh: 
I, maintaining that you err^. 
Held, though bom of the younger, I, 
Being a man, should be preferred. 
Thus our mutual pretension 
To our uncle we related, 
Who replied that he would 
Here, and on this day he stated. 
What might settle the dissension. 
With this end, from Muscovy 
I set out, and with that view, 
I to-day fair Poland see. 
And not making war on you, 
Wait till war you make on me. 
Would to love — that God so wis 
That the crowd may be a sure 
Astrologue to read the skies. 
And this feotive truce secure 



Both to you and me the priie, 
Making you a Queen, but Queen 
By my will, our uncle leaving 
You the throne we'll share between — 
And my love & realm receiving 
Dearer than a King's demesne. 

EmtxLLA. Well, I must be generous too, 
Por a gallantry so fine; 
This imperial realm you view, 
If I wish it to be mine 
'T is to give it unto you. 
Though if I the truth confessed, 
I must fear your love may fail — 
Flattering words are words at beet. 
For perhaps a truer tale 
Tells that portrait on your breast. 

AaroLFO. On that point complete con- 
tent 
Will I give your mind, not here. 
For each sounding instrument 

[Drums are heard.] 
Tells us that the King is near. 
With his Court and ^uiiament. 
[Enter the Kino Basiuob, wUh kit reiinut.] 

EsTRELLA. Learned Euclid . . . 

AsTOLFo. Thales wise . . . 

EsTRELLA. The vast Zodiac . . . 

AsTOLFA. The star spaces . . . 

EsmsLLA. Who dost soar to . . . 

AsTOUO. Who dost rise . . . 

Ebtrblla. The sun's orbit . . . - 

AsTOLPo. The stars' places . . . 

EsTBELLA. To describe . . . 

AsTOLFo. To map the skies . . i 

EerHEi.iA. Let me humbly interlac- 
ing .. . 

AsioLFO. Let me lovingly embrac- 
ing .. . 

EsnuLi-A. Be the tendril of thy tree. 

AsTOLFO. Bend respectfully my knee. 

Basiucs. Children, that dear word die- ' 
placing 
Colder names, my arms here bless; 
And be sure, since you assented 
To my plan, my love's excess 
Will leave neither discontented. 
Or give either more or less. 
And though I from being old 
Slowly may the facts unfold. 
Hear in silence my narration, 
Keep reserved your admiration. 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Till the wondrous t&le is told. 

You already know — I pray you 

Be attentive, dearest childi«Q, 

Great, illuatrioiu Court of Poluid, 

F&ithful vaaaolB, friends and kinnnen, 

You already know — my atudiea 

Htive throughout the vrhole world given me 

The high title of " the learndd," 

Since 'gainst time and time's oblivion 

The rich peocilH of Ttmanthee, 

The bright marblee of Lyaippiu, 

Universally proclaim me 

Through earth's bounds the gt«at Baailiua. 

You already know the sciences 

That I feel my mind moat given to 

Are the subtle mathematics, 

By whose means my clear prevision 

Takes from rumor its dow office, 

Takes from time its jurisdiction 

Of, each day, new facts disclosing; 

Since in algebraic symbols 

When the fate of future ages 

On my tablets I see written, 

I anticipate time in telling 

What my science hath predicted. 

All those circles of pure snow, 

All those canopies of crystal, 

Which the sun with rays illumines. 

Which the moon cuts in its circles. 

All those oi4» of twinkling diamond. 

All those crystal globes that glisten, 

All that azure field of stars 

Where the zodiac signs are pictured. 

Are the study of my life, 

Are the boolm where heaven has written 

Upon dtamond-dott«d paper, 

Upon leaves by sapphires tinted. 

With light luminous lines of gold. 

In clear characters distinctly 

All the events of human life. 

Whether adverse or benignant. 

These so rapidly I read 

That 1 follow with the quickness 

Of my thoughts the swiftest movements 

Of their orbits and their circles. 

Would to heaven, that ere my mind 

To those mystic books addicted 

Was the comment of their maigins 

And of all their leaves the index. 

Would to heaven, I say, my life 

Had been offered the first victim 

Of its anger, that my death-stroke 



Had in this way have been given me. 
Since the unhappy find even merit 
Is the fatal knife that kills them. 
And his own self-murderer 
Is the man whom knowledge injureel — 
I may say so, but my story 
So will say with more distinctness. 
And to win your admiration 
Once again I pray you listen. — 
ICIorilene, my wife, a son 
I Bore me, so by fate afflicted 
That on his unhappy birthday 
All Heaven's prodigiee assisted. 
Nay, ere yet to life's sweet light 
Gave him forth her womb, that living 
Sepulchre (for death and life 
Have like ending and beginning), 
Many a time his mother saw 
In her dreams' delirious dimness 
From her side a monster break, 
Paahioned like a man, but sprinkled' 
With her blood, who gave her death, 
By that human viper bitten. 
Round his birthday came at hist. 
All its auguries fulfilling 
(For the presages of Svil 
Seldom fail or even linger) : 
Came with such a horoscope. 
That the sun rushed blood-red tinted 
ilnto a terrific combat 
[With the dark moon that resisted; 
™rih its mighty lists outspread 
As with lessening lights diminished 
Stiove the twin-lamps of the sky. 
'T is of all the sun's eclipses 
The most dreadful that it sufTered \ 
Sinoe the hour its bloody visage 
Wept the awful death of Christ. 
For o'erwhelmed in glowing cinders 
The great orb appeared to suffer 
Nature's final paroxysm. 
Gloom the glowing noontide darkened, 
Earthquake shook the mightiest buildhigfl. 
Stones the angry clouds rained down, 
And with blood ran red the rivers. 
In this freniy of the sun, 
In it s madness and delirium, 
^igismund was bom, thus early 
Giving proofs of his condition. 
Since his birth his mother slew. 
Just as it these words had IdUed her, 
" I am a man, since good i^th 9wii 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



I icpay here Inm the tx^niiig," - - 
I, applying to my studies. 
Saw in them as 't were forewrittok 
This, that Sigismund would be 
The most cruel o( all princ«e, 
Of all men the moat audacious, I 
Of all mooarche the moet wic ked; | 
That his kingdom through hie'^Mjia 
Would be broken and partitioned, 
The academy of the vices. 
And the high school of sedition; 
Aqd that he himself, borne onward 
By his crimes' wild course resistless. 
Would even place his feet on me; 
For I saw myself down-stricken, 
Lying on the ground before him 
(To say this what shame it gives me!) 
While his feet on my white hairs 
Ab a carpet were imprinted. 
Who discredits threatened ill, - 
^Sge cially an ill pravisioned 
TBy one's study, when self-love 
Makes it his peculiar business? — 
Thus then crediting the fates 
Which far off my science witnessed, 
All these fatal auguries 
Seen though dimly in the distance, 
I resolved tii chain the monster 
That unhappily life was given to. 
To find out it yet the stais 
Owned the wise man's weird dominion. 
It was publicly proclaimed 
That the sad ill-omened infant 
Was stillbom. I then a tower 
Caused by forethought to be builded 
faid the rocks of these wild mountains 
Where the sunlight scarce can gild it. 
Its glad entrance being barred 
By these rude shafts obeliscal. 
All the laws of which you know. 
All the edicts that prohibit 
Any one on pain of death 
That secluded part to visit 
Of the mountain, were occasi 
By this cause, so long well hidden, 
ffhere still lives Prince Sigismund, 
Miserable, poor, in prison. 
Him alone Clotaldo sees. 
Only tends to and speaks with him; 
He the sciences has taught him, 
He the Catholic religion 
Has imparted to him, being 



Of his miseries the sole witness. 
Here there are three things: the first 
I rate highest, since my wishes 
Are, O Poland, thee to save 
From the oppreasion, the affliction 
Of a tyrant King, because 
Of his country and his kingdom 
He were do benignant father 
Who to such a risk could give it. 
Secondly, tte thought occurs 
That to take from mine own issue 
The plain right that every law 
Human and divine bath given him 
Is not Christian charity; 
For by no law am I bidden 
To prevent another proving. 
Say, a tyrant, or a villain. 
To be one myself: supposing 
E^ven my son should be so guilty. 
That he should not crimes commit 
I myself should first commit them, i 
Then the third and last point is. 
That perhaps I erred in giving | 
Too implicit a belief I 

To the facts foreseen so dimly; I 
For although his inclination li 

Well might find its precipices, M 

He might possibly escape them: 
For the fat« the moat fastidious, ' 
For the impulse the most powerful, 
Even the planets most malicious 
Only make free will incline. 
But can force not human wishes. 
And thus 'twixt these different causes 
Vacillating and unfix6d, 
I a remedy have thought of 
Which will with new wonder fill you. 
I to-morrow morning purpose. 
Without letting it be hinted 
That he is my son, and therefore 
Your true King, at once to fix him 
As King Sigismund (for the name 
Still he bears that first was given him) 
'Neath my canopy, on my throne. 
And in fine in my position, 
There to govern and command you. 
Where in dutiful submisaon 
You will swear to him allegiance. 
My resources thus are triple. 
As the causes of disquiet 
Were which I revealed this instant. 
The first is; that he being prudent, 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Careful, cautious, tuid benignant. 
Falsifying the wild actions 
That of him had been predicted, 
You '11 enjoy your natiiral prince. 
He who haa bo long been living 
Holding court amid these mountains. 
With the wild beasts for his circle. 
Then my next resource is this : 
If he, daring, wild, and wicked. 
Proudly runs with loosenod rein 
O'er the broad plain of the vicious, 
I will have fulfilled the duty 
Of my natural love and pity ; 
Then his r^hteous deposition 
Will but prove my royal firmnees, 
Chastisement and not revenge 
Leading him once more to prison. 
My third couree is this: the Prince 
Being what my words have pictured. 
From the love I owe you, vassals, 
I will give you other princes 
Worthier of the crown and scepter; 
Namely, my two sisters' children. 
Who their separ<>t« pretensions 
Having happily commingled 
By the holy bonds of marriage, 
WiU then fill their fit position. 
/ This is what a king eommands you, 
/ This is what a father bids you. 
This is what a sage entreats you, 
This is what an old man wishes ; 
And as Seneca, the Spaniard, 
Says, a king for all his riches 
Is but slave of his Repubhc, 
This is what a slave petitions. 

AsTOLFO. If on me devolves the answer, 
As being in this weighty business 
The most interested party, 
I, erf all, express the opinion: — 
Let Prince Sigierouad appear; 
He's thy son, that's all-sufficient. 

All. Give to us our natural prince. 
We proclaim him king this instantl 

BAStuns. Vassals, from my heart I 
thank you 
For this deference to my wishes: — 
Go, conduct to their apartments 
These two columns of my kingdom. 
On to-morrow you shall see him. 

All. Uve, long live great King BaaiUusI 

[ExeiirU all, aeeompanying Ebthblla 

and Abtolto; tiu King remaim.] 



[EnUr CLOTALno, Rosauba, and Clarim.] 

Clotalim), May I speak to you, SireT 

Basilius. Clotaldo, 
You are always welcome with me. 

ClotaijDO. Although coming to your feet 
Shows how freely I'm admitted, 
Still, Your Majesty, this once, 
Fate as mournful as malicious 
Takes from privilege its due right. 
And from custom its permission. 

Basilius. What has happenedT 

Clotaldo. a misfortune, 
Sire, which has my heart afflicted 
At the moment when all joy 
Should have overflown and filled it. 

Basilidb. Pray proceed. 

Clotaldo. This handsome youth hen. 
Inadvertently, or driven 
By his daring, pierced the tower, 
And the Prince discovered in it. 
Nay 

Basiuits. Clotaldo, be not troubled 
At this act, which if committed 
At another time had grieved me. 
But the secret so long hidden 
Having myself told, his knowledge 
Of the fact but matters little. 
See me presently, for I 
Much must speak upon this business. 
And for me you much must do 
For a part will be committed 
To you in the strangest drama 
That perhaps the world e'er witnessed. 
As for these, that you may know 
That I mean not your remissness 
To chastise, I grant their pardon. [BzU.] 

Clotaijw, Myriad years to my lord be 
given! 
[Aiide.] Heaven has sent a happier fate; 
Since I need not now admit it, 
I '11 not say he is my son. — 
Strangers who have wandered hitiier, 
You are free. 

RoaAOKA. I give your feet 
A thousand kiseee. , 

Olarin. I say misses. 
For a letter more or lees 
'Twixt two friends is not considered. 

RosAUiiA. You have given me life, my lord, 
And since by your act I'm living, 
I et«mally wiU own me 
As your slave. 



., GooqIc 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



Clotaldo. The life I've given 
la not really your true life. 
For a muk by birth uplifted 
If he Buffers an affront 
Actually no longer liveth; 
And supposiDK you have come here 
For revenge as you have hinted, 
I have not then given you life. 
Since you have not brought it with you. 
For DO life disgraced is life. — 
[imde.] (This I say to arouse hiaapirit.) 

Rosahba.. I confess I have it not, 
Though by you it has been pven me; 
But revenge being wreaked, my honor 
I will leave ao pure and limpid, 
AU ite perils overoome, 
That my life may then with fitness 
Seem to be a gift of yours. 

Clotaldo. Take this burnished sword 
which hither 
You brought with you; for I know. 
To revenge you, 't is sufficient. 
In your enemy's blood bathed red; 
For a aword that once was girded 
Round me (I say this the while 
That to me it was committed). 
Win know how to right you. 

RoBAURA. Thus 
In your name once more I gird it, 
And on it my vengeance swear. 
Though the enemy who afflicts me 
WeK more powerful. 

Clotaldo. Is he bo? 

RoBAURA. Yes; so pownful, I am bio- 

Saying who he is, not doubtmg 
Even for greater things your wisdom 
And calm prudence, but through fear 
Lest against me your priied pity 
Might be turned. 

Clotaldo. 'T will rather be, 
By declaring it more kindled; 
Otherwise you bar the passage 
'Gainst your foe of my assistance. '- 
[Atide,] (Wouldthat Ibut Imewhisnamel) 

RoBADBA. Not to think I set so little 
Value on such confidence, 
Know my enemy and my victim 
Is no lees than Prince Astolfo, 
Duke of Muacovy, 

Clotaux) [atide.] Resistance 
Badly can my grief supply 



jS) 



Siooe 't is heavier than I figured. 
Let us sift the matter deeper. — 
If a Muscovite by birth, liien 
He who is your natural lord 
Could not 'gainst you have committed 
Any wrong; reseek your country. 
And abandon the wild impulse 
That has driven you here. 

RosAURA. I know, 
Though a prince, he has committed 
'Gainst me a great wrong. 

Clotaldo. He could not, 
Even although your face was stricken 
Byhisangryhand. [Agide.] (Oh,heavenal) 

RoBAURA. Mine's a wrong more deep 
and bitter. 

Clotaldo. Tell it, then; it cannot be 
Worse than what my fancy pictures. 

Rosattka. twill tell it; tboughlknownot. 
With the respect your presence gives mc. 
With the affection you awaken, 
With the esteem your worth elicits. 
How with bold face hero to tell you 
That this outer dress is aimply 
An enigma, since it is not 
What it seems. And from this hint, ttien. 
If I'm not what I appear. 
And Astolfo with tins princeBs 
Comce to wed, judge how by him 
I was wronged: I've said sufficient. 

[ExeuTit Rosattka mid Clasih.) 

Clotaldo. Listenlbearmelwaitloh, stay! 
What a labyrinthine thicket 
Is all this, where reaaon gives 
Not a throad whereby to issue7 
My own honor here is wronged, 
Powerful is my foe's position, 
I a vassal, she a woman; 
Heaven reveal some way in pity, < 
Though 1 doubt it has the power; 
When in such confused abyaaee, 
Heaven is all one fearful presage. 
And the world itself a riddle. [Exti.] 

\ ACT II 
[Scene I. A HaU in Ou Royal PiUace.] 

[Enter Basiliub and Clotaldo] 
Clotaldo. Everything has been effected 
As you ordered. 

Basiuhs. How all happened 
Let me know, my good Clotaldo. 



r 
j 200 



i 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Clotaldo. It was done. Sire, in this 
manner. 
With the tranquiliiing draft. 
Which was made, as you commanded, 
Of confectione duly mixed 
With some herbs, whose juice extracted 
Has a Htrange tyrannic power, 
Has some secret force imparted. 
Which all human sense and speech 
Roba, deiwivee, and count«ractetb, 
And as 't were a hving corpse 
Leaves the man whose lips have quaffed 

So asleep that all his senses, 

All his powers are overmastered. . . . 

— No need have we to discuss 
That this fact can realiy happen. 
Since, my lord, experience gives us 
Many a clear and proved example; 
Certain 't is that Nature's secrets 
May by medicine be extracted, 
And that not an animal, 

Not a stone, or herb that's i^anted, 

But some specif quality 

Doth possess: for U the malice 

Of man's heart, a thousand poisons 

That give death, hath power to examine, 

Is it then so great a wonder 

That, their venom being abstracted, 

If, as death by some is given, 

Sleep by others is imparted? 

Putting, then, aside the doubt 

That 't is possible this should happen, 

A thing proved beyond all question 

Both by reason and examine . . . 

— With the sleeping draft, in fine. 
Made of opium superadded 

To the poppy and the henbane, 

I to Sigismund's apartment — 

Cell, in fact — went down, and with him 

Spoke awhile upon the grammar 

(K the sciences, those first studies 

Which mute Nature's gentle maeteis, 

Bilent skies and hills, had taught him; 

In which school divine and ample, 

The bird's song, the wild beast's roar. 

Were a lesson and a language. 

Then to raise his spirit more 

To the high design you planned here, 

I discoursed on, as my theme, 

I The swift flight, the stare undassled 

I Of a pride-plumied eaf^ bold. 



Which with back-averted talons, 
Scorning the tame fields of air, 
Seeks the sphere of fire, and passes 
Through its flame a flash of feathers, 
Of a comet's hair untangled. 
1 1 extolled its soaring flight, 
I Saying, "Thou at last art master 
lot thy house, thou'rt king of birds, 
Jit is right thou should'st surpass them." 
He who needed nothing more 
Than to touch upon the matter 
Of high royalty, with a bearing 
As became him, boldly answered; 
For in truth his princely blood 
Moves, excites, inflames his ardor 
To attempt great thin^: he said, 
"In the restless realm of atoms 
Given to birds, that even one 
Should swear feaJty as a vasaall 
I, reflecting upon this, 
Am consoled by my d' 
For, at least, if I obey, 
I obey through force: untrammeled, 
Free to act, I ne'er will own 
Any man on earth my master." — 
This, his usual theme of grief. 
Having roused him nigh to madneas, 
I occasion took to proffer 
The drugged draft: he drank, but hardly 
Had the liquor from the vessel 
Psased into his breast, when fastest 
Sleep his senses seised, a sweat. 
Cold as ioe, the life-blood hardened 
In his veins, his limbs grew stifii. 
So that, knew I not 't was acted, 
Death was there, feigned death, his life 
1 could doubt not had departed. 
Then those, to whose core you trust 
This experiment, in a carriage 
Brought him here, where all things fitting 
The high majesty and the grandeur 
Of his person are provided. 
In the bed of your state chamber 
They have placed him, where the stupor 
Having spent its force and vanished, 
'They, as 't were yourself, my lord. 
Him will serve as you commanded : 
And if my obedient service 
Seems to merit some slight loqiees, 
I would ask but this alone 
(My presumption you will pardon). 
That you tell me, with what object 



..CtOoi^Ic 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



S07 



Have you, in this eecret nuumer, 
To TOUT palace brought him here? 

Babiuuh. Good Clotaldo, what you ask tne 
Ib so just, to you alone 
I would give full Batififactian. 
SigiBmuud, my aon, the hard 
Influence of bia hostile pl&net 
(As you know) doth threat a thouaand 
Dreadful tragedies and disasters; 
I desire to test if Heaven 
(An impossible thing to happen) 
Could have lied -^ if having given us 
Proofs unnumbered, countless samples 
Of his evil disposition, 
He ffii^t prove more mild, more guarded 
At the least, and self-subdued 
By his i»itdence and true valor 
Change his character; for 't is man 
That alone controls the [danets. 
This it is I wish to t«st, 
Having brought him to this palace, 
Where he'll learn he is my son, 
And display his natural talents. 
If be nobly hath subdued him, 
He will reign; but if bis manners 
Show him tyrannous and cruel, 
Then his chains once more shall clasp him. 
But for this experiment, 
Now you [m>bably will ask me 
Of what moment was't to bring him 
Thus asleep and in this manner? 
And I wish to satisfy you. 
Giving all your doubts an answer. 
If to-day he learns that he 
Is my son, and some hours after 
Finds himself once more restored 
To his misery and his shackles, 
Certain 't is that from his t«mper 
Blank deapair may end in madiiCflB — 
But once knowing who he is, 
Cod be be consoled thereafter? 
Yes, and thus I wish to leave 
One door open, one free passage, 
By declaring all he saw 
Was a dream. With tliis advantage 
We attain two ends. The first 
Is to put beyond all cavil 
bis condition, for on waking 
He will show his thoughts, his fancies: 
To console him is the second; 
Since, although obeyed and flattered. 
He beholds himself awhile. 



And then back in prison shackled 
Finds him, he will think he dreamed. 
And he rightly so may fancy. 
For, Clotaldo, in this world 
All who live but dream they act here. 

Clotaldo. Reasons fail me not to show 
That the experiment may not answer; 
But there is no remedy now, 
For a sign from the apartment 
Tells me that he hath awoken 
And even hitherward advances. 

Babilics. It is best that I retire; 
But do you, BO loi^ his master. 
Near him stand; the wild confusions 
That his waking sense may darken 
Dissipate by simple truth. 

CliOTALDO. Then your license you have 
'granted 
That I may declare it? 

Babiuus. Yes; 
For it possibly may happen 
That admonished of his danger 
He may conquer his worst passions. [Exit.] 
[Enter Clarin.] 

Clarin [tuide]. Four good blows aie all 

To come here, inflicted smartly 
By a red-robed halberdier. 
With a beard to match his jacket. 
At that price I see the show, 
For no window's half bo handy 
As that which, without entreating 
Tickets of the ticket-master, 
A man carries with himself; 
Since for all the feasts and galas 
Cool effrontery is the window 
Whence at ease he gases at them. 

Clotaldo [laide]. This is Clarin, 
Heavens I of her, 
Yes, I say, of her the valet, 
She, who dealing iu misfortunes, 
Has my pain to Poland carried; — 
Any news, friend Clarin? 

Clakih, NewB? 
Yea, sir, since your great compassion 
la disposed Rosaura'e outrage 
To revenge, she has changed her habit, 
And resumed her proper dress. 

Clotaluo. 'T is quite right, Icflt pOBsibla 
scandal 
Might arise. 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



208 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Clarin. More news: her name 
Having changed and iriaely bartered 
For your niece's name, she now 
So in honor hat advanced her, 
That among Estrella's ladies 
She here with her in the palace 

CixiTu-no. 'T is right that I once more 
Should her honor reSstablish. 

CiARiN. News; that anxiously she 
wail«th 
For that very thing to happen, 
When you may have time tJ) try it. 

Clotaldo. Most discreetly has she 

Soon the time will come, believe me, 
Happily to end this matter. 
Clabin. Neira, too; that she's welt re- 
galed, 
Feasted like a queen, and flattetBd 
On the strength of being your niece. 
And the last news, and the saddest. 
Is that I who here came with her 
Am with hunger almost famished. 
None remember me, or thizJc 
I am Clarin, clarion rather, 
And that if that clarion sounded, 
All the Court would know what passes. 
For there are two things, to wit, 
A brass clarion and a lackey, 
That are bad at keeping secrets; 
And it so may chance, if haply 
I am forced to break my silence, 
They of me may sing this passage: 
'^Never, when the day is near, 
Does clarion sound more clear." 
Clotaldo. Your complaint is too well- 
founded; 
I will get you satisfaction, 
Meanwhile you may wait on me, 
Clarin. See, sir, Sigismund advances. 
[Mueic and song. Sioibvvhd 
enters, lost in aTnazement. Serv- 
onb minuter to him, present- 
ing costly robet. Clotaldo and 
Clarin,] 
SioiBinrND. Help me. Heaven, what's 
Uuelseel 
Help me, Heaven, what's this I view' 
Things I scarce beUeve are true, 
But, if true, which fright not me. 
I in palaces of state? 



I 'neath silks and cloth of gold? 
I, around me, to behold 

Rich-robed servante watch and wait? 

I so soft a bed to press 

While sweet sleep my senses bowed? 

I to wake in such a crowd, 

Who assist me even to dress? 

'T were deceit to say I dream, 

Wakii^ I recall my lot, 

I am Sigismimd, am I not? 

Heaven make plain what dark doth seemf 

Tell me, what has phantasy — 

Wild, misleading, dream-adept — 

So effected while I slept. 

That I still the phantoms see? 

But let that be as it may, 

Why perplex myself and brood? 

Bett«r tast« the present good. 

Come what will some other ^y. 

FiRfvr Servant [aside Ui the Second 
Servant, and to ClarinI. What a 
sadness doth oppress himf 

Srcond Servant. Who in such-like case 
would be 
Less surprised and sad than he? 

C1.ARIN. 1 for one. 

8ecx>no Skbvant [foiAeFiMfJ. You had 
best address him. 

First Servant {Ui SiaiBUUNn], May 
they sing again? 

SioiBUUND. No, no; 
I don't care to hear them tiing. 

Second Sehvant. I conceived the song 
might bring 
To your thought some ease. 

SioiBHUND. Not so; ^ 

Voices that but charm the ear 
Cannot soothe my sorrow's pain; 
'T is the soldier's martial strain 
That alone I love to hear. 

Clotaldo. May Your Highness, mighty 

Deign to let me kiss your hand, 
I would first of all tlus land 
My profound respect evince. 
SiaiBMUND \agide]. 'T is my jaOerl bow 

Change hia harshness and neglect 
To this language of respect? 
What can have occurred to me? 
Clotaldo. The new stat« in which I find 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



Muit create a vague surprise, 

DoubtB unnumbered must arise 

To bewilder and to blind you; 

I would make your prospect fair, 

Through the maee a path would show, 

Hius, my lord, 't is right you know 

That you are the prince and heir 

Of this Polish realm: if late 

You lay hidden and concealed 

'T was that we were forced to yield 

To the stem decrees of fate, 

Which strange ills, I know not how. 

Threatened on this land to bring 

Should the laurel of a king 

Ever crown thy princely brow. 

Still relying on the power 

Of your will the stats to bind, 

For a man of resolute mind 

Can them bind how dark they lower; 

To this palace from your cell 

In your lifelong turret keep 

They have borne you while dull sleep 

Held your spirit in its spell. 

Soon to see you and embrace 

Gomes the King, your father, here — 

jHp will make the icst all clear. 

jC( StaiBBiuND. Why, thou traitor vile and 

IB* base, 

What need I to know the rest, 
Since it is enough to know 
Who I am my power (o show, 
And the pride that fills my breast? 
Why this treason brought to light 
Hast thou to thy country done. 
As to bide from the King's son, 
'Gainst all reason and all right, 
This bis rank? , 

Clotauki. Oh, destiny! 

Siaisinmn. Thou the traitor's part hast 

'Gainst the law; the King betrayed. 
And done cruel wrong to me; 
'Hius for each distinct offense 
Have the law, the King, and I 
Thee condemned this day to die 
By my hands. 

Seconh Servant, Prince . . . 

SiolsmrND. No pretence 
Shalt undo the debt I owe you. 
Catiff, hencel By Heaven! I say, 
If you dare to stop my way 
From the window I wilt ttirow you. 



Second Sehvant. Hy, Qotaldol 
Clotaldo. Woe to thee, 
In thy pride so powerful seeming. 
Without knowing thou art dreaming! 

[ExiL] 
Second Servant. Think . . . 
SiaieuuND. Away! don't trouble me. 
Second Sebvant. He could not tba 

King deny. 
SiaiBHUND. Bade to do a wrongful thing 
He should have refused the King; 
And, besides, his i^nce was I. 
Second Servant. 'T was not his oBaii 
totry 
If the act was wrong or right. 
SiGisuuND. You're indifTetent, black or 
white. 
Since so pertly you reply. 
CiAKiN. What the I^ince says is quite 

What you do is wrong, I say. 

Skcond Servlnt. Who gave you thia 
Ucense, pray? 

Clabin. No one gave; I took it. 

SiaiaucND. Who 
Art thou, speak? 

C1.AIUN. A meddling fellow, 
Prating, prying, fond of scrapes. 
General of all jackanapes, 
And most merry when most mellow. 

SiQiSHCND. You alone in this new aphne 
Have amused me. 

C1.ABIN. Hat's quite true, ur, 
For I am the great amuser 
Of all Sigismunds who are here. 

[Enter Abtoi-TO.] 
Abtouo, Thousand times be blest ths 

Prince, that gives thee to our sight, 
Sun of Poland, whose glad light 
Makes this whole horiion gay. 
As when from the roey fountains 
Of the dawn the stream-rays run. 
Since thou issuest like the sun 
From the bosom of the mountains! 
And though late do not defer 
With thy sovereign light to shine; 
Round thy brow the laurel twine — 
Deathless crown, 
SioisuoND. God guard thee, sir, 
Abtolvo. In not knowing me I o'erlook 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



'Gunet thy taunta, thou vain and bold. 
But aJthough the truth thou'st heard, 
And now know'st thy name and race. 
And dost see thee in this place, 
Where to all thou &rt preferred, 
Yet be wanted, and on thee take 
Ways m(»« mild and more beseeming, 
For perhaps thou art but dreaming, 
Whui it seema that thou 'rt awake. [Exit.] 

SioiBtnjND. Ib thie, then, a. phantom 
scene? — 
Do I wake in seeming show? — 
No, I dream not, since I know 
What 1 am and what I've been. 
And altiiough tbou should 'st repent thee, 
Remedy is now too late. 
Who I am I know, and fate, 
Howsoe'cr thou ebould'et lament thee, 
'Cannot take from me my right 
Of bebg bom this kingdom's heir. 
ff I saw myself erewhile 
Prisoned, bound, kept out of sight, 
'T was that never on my mind 
Dawned the truth; but now I know 
Who I am — a mingled show . 
Of the man and beast combined. 

\Ent«r RosAiTKA, in female attire.] 

RosAURA [aside]. To wait upon Eatrella 
I come here, 
And leet I meet Astolfo tremble with much 

Clotaldo'a wishee are 

The Duke should know me not, and from 

Ree me, if see he must. 

My honor is at stake, he says; my trust 

Is in Clotaldo's truth. 

He will protect my honor and my youth. 
Clakim [to SiaisiiuND]. Of all this palace 
here can boast, 

All that you yet have seen, say which has 
pleased you moatT 
SioTSVUMi). Nothing surprised me, noth- 
ing scared, 

Becausb for everything I was prepared; 

But if I felt for au^t, or more or less 

Of admiration, 't was the lovelineea 

Of woman; I have read 

Bomewhere in books on which my spirit fed, 

litat which caused God the greatest care to 
plan. 



Because in him a little world he tanpiai. 



her; 
She who in beauty from her birth 
Surpasses man as heaven nupasseth earth; 
Nay, more, the one I see. 

RoBAUBA [aaide]. The Prince is htre; I 
must this instant flee. 

SiaiaMUND. Hear, womani stay; 
Nor wed the western with the orient ray, 
Flying with rapid tread; 
For joined the orient rose and western red. 
The light and the cold gloom, 
The day will sink untimely to its tomb. 
But who is this I see? 

RosATjRA [oBvie]. I doubt and yet be- 
lieve that it is he. 

Sic3i8MOND|(Mtdej. This beauty Ihave seen 
Some other time. 

RoBAURA [aside). This proud, majeetio 

This form I once saw bound 
Within a narrow cell. 
SioismiND [ande]. My life I hav* 

lAUmd.] Woman, the sweetest name 
That man can breathe, or flattering lan- 
guage frame. 
Who art thou? for before 
I see thee, I believe and I adore; 
Faith makes my love sublime. 
Persuading me we've met some other time. 
Fair woman, speak; my wiD must be 

RoBATiiu. In bright Estrelht'a train a 

haplees maid. — 
[Aeide.] He muFt not know my name. 
SioiSHUND. The sun, say rather, of that 

star whose flame. 
However bright its blaze 
Is but the pale reflection of thy rays. 
In the fair land of flowers. 
The realm of sweets that lies in odorous 

bowers, 
The goddess rose I have seen 
By right divine of beauty reign as queen. 
I have seen where br^htest shine 
Gems, the aMembled glories of the mine, 
The brilliant throng elect the diamond kins 
For the superior splendor it doth flinc. 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



213 



Amid the haUs of li^t, 

Where the unresting atar-crowda meet tX 

1 have seen fair Hesper rise 

And take tlw foremost i^ace of all the tHatx. 

And in that higher lone 

Wbere the sun calls the planets round his 

Uirone, 
I have seen, wiUi sovereign sway, 
That be presides the oracle of the day. 
How, thm, 'mid flowers of earth or stars of 

'Mid stones or suns, if that which is most 

The preference gains, canst thou 
Before a lener beauty bend and bow, 
When thine own chums compose 
Something more bright than sun, stone, 
star, or roeeT 

[Enter Clotaux).] 
Ci>OTAiiOO Ituide], To calm Prince Sigi»- 
mund devolves on me. 
Because 't was I who reared him: — What 
do I see? 
RosACRA. Thy favor, sir, I prise; 
To thee the silence of my speech repliee; 
For when the reason's dull, the mind de- 
He best doth speak who keeps his iilence 
best. 
Biaiamnm. You must not leave me. Stay: 
What! would you rob my senses of the ray 
Your beauteous presence gave? 

RoeAusA. That license, from your High- 

BioiSHnND. TIk vicdent efforts that you 

Show that you do not ask the leave you take. 
RosAURA. I hope to take it, if it is not 

SiaiBUUNn. You rouse my courtesy to 
rage, by Heaven! — 
In me resistance, as it were, distils 
A cruel poison that my patience kills. 

RosATTBA. Then though that poison may 
be strong. 
The source of tmy, violence, and wrong, 
Potent thy patience to subdue, 
It dare not the respect to me that's due. 

SiaiBHirxD. As if to show I may, 
Vou take the tenor of voui charms away- 



For I am but t«o prone 

To attempt the impossible; I to^y have 

thrown 
Out of this window one who said, like you, 
I dare not do the thing I said I would do. 
Now just to show I can, 
I may throw out your honor, as the man. 
Clotaldo \aevh]. More obstinate doth 
he grow; 
What course to take, Heavenal I do not 

When wild desire, nay, crime. 
Perils my honor for the second time. 

RoBAURA. Not vainly, as 1 see, 
This hapless land was warned thy tyranny 
In fearful scandals would eventuate. 
In wrath and wrong, in treachery, rage and 

hate. 
But who in truth could claim 
Au^t from a man who is but a man in 

name. 
Audacious, cruel, cold. 
Inhuman, proud, tyrannical and bold, 
'Mong beasts a wild beast bomT — 
Siotsiiom). It was to save me from suit 
words of scorn 
So courteously I spoke, 
Thinking to bind you by a gentler yoke; 
But if I am in au^t what you have said, 
Then, as God Uves, I will be all you dread. 
Ho, there! hete leave us. See to it at your 

cost, 
The door be locked; let no one in. 

[Exeunt Clarin aTid the attendant».) 
RoaADRA. I'mlostl 
Consider . . . 

SiQiBUtmn. I'm a despot, and 't is vain 
You strive to move me, or my will restrain. 
Clotaldo [aaide]. Oh, what a momenti 
what an agony I 
I will g6 forth and stop him though I die. 
[He adBaruxe.} 
My lord, consider, stay . . . 
SioiBMUND. A second time you dare to 
cross my way, 
Old dotard: do you hold 
My rage in such slight awe you are so 

bold? 
What brought you hither? Speakl 
Clotaum. The accents of this Toioe, 
however weak. 
To tell Tou to restnin 

GooqIc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Your passioius, if as King you wish to 

reign, — 
Not to be cruel, though you .deem 
Youraelf the lord of all, for all nmy be a 

SiotSOTTHD. You but provoke my rage 
By tbeee old Bawa, the unwelcome light of 

age. 
In killing you, at least I'll see 
If 't is a dream or truth. 

[At he u about to draw hit danger 
ClotauK) detaim ii, tmd liirotM 
hitrudf on kia knea.] 
CiiOTAUw. Sole hope for me 
To save my life is thus to humbly kneel. 
SioisucND. Take your audacious hand 

from oB my steel. 
Clotaloo. Till some kind aid be sent. 
Till some one come who may your rage 

prevent, 
I will not loose my hold. 
RoSAUBA. Oh, Heaven! 
SiomiiuND. I say, 
Loose it, old dotard, grim and gaunt and 

gray, 
Orby another death [Tkey s(ru0^.| 

I'll crush you in my arms while you have 
breath. 
RosAUBA. Quickl quickl they slay 
Qotaldo, helpl oh, help? {Exit.] 

[AaroLTo enUrt at this moment, and Qua- 
TMDO falls al hit feet ; he glands bo- 

baeen Uiem.] 

AaroLFO. This strange affray, 
What can it mean, magnanimous Prince? 

would you 
So bright e. blade imbrue 
In blood that age already doth congeal? 
Back to its eheath return the shining steel. 

SlOiSMTTKD. Yes, when it is batbed red 
In bis base blood. 

Abtolfo. This threatened life hath fled 
For sanctuary to my feet; 
I must protect it in that poor ntrost. 

SiaiBHUND. Protect your own life, then, 
for in this way. 
Striking at it, I will the grudge repay 
I owe you for the past. 

A8TOU«. I thus defend 
Hy life; but majesty will not offend. 
(AsTOLTo drawe Mm twerd and then fight.] 



Babiudb. Swords Waahing herel — 

EeTREUA [atute], Astolfo is engaged: — 
Oh, pain severe! 

Bastuub. What caused this quarrd? 
Speak, say why? 

Abtolto. T is nothing now, my lord, 
since thou art by. 

BioisuuND. Tie mudi, althou^ thou 
now art by, my lord. 
I wished to kin this old man with my swonL 

Babiuob. Did you not then ree^>ect 
These snow-white hairs? 

Clotaldo. My lord will leooUeot 
They scarce desNT^ it, being mine. 

SraisuuND. Who dares 
To ask of me do I respect white hairs? 
Your own some day 
My feet may tram^e in the public way. 
For I have not as yet revenged my wrong. 
Your treatment so unjust and my sad state 
BO long. [Exit] 

Basiudb. But ere that dawn doth break. 
You must return to sleep, where when you 

wake 
All that hatb happened here will seran — 
As is the glory of the worid ~~- a dtcam. 

[Exeunt Oie King, Clotaldo, attd 
AUendantt.] 

Abtolfo. Ah, how raiely fate doth lie 
When it some misfortune threatens! 
Dubious when 't is good that 's promised, 
When 't is evil, ah, too certain! — 
What a good astrologer 
Would he be, whose art foretelleth 
Only crud things; for, doubtleoe. 
They would turn out true forevwl 
This in Sigismund and me 
Is exemplified, Estrella, 
Since between our separate fortunee 
Such a diSerence is preeeoted. 
In his ease had been foreseen 
Murders, miseries, and excesses. 
And in all they turned out true. 
Since all happened as expected. 
But in mine, here seeing, lady, 
Rays BO rare and so resplendent 
That the sun is but th^ shadow. 



CtOoqIc 



LIFB IS A DREAM 



115 



And even herven a faint reeembl&nce, • 
Wben fate i^omued me good fortune, 
Trophies, praiaM, and all blessingB, 
It epoke ill and it spoke well; 
For it was of both opprenive, 
When it held out hopes o( favor, 
3ut Hiwtaln alone effected. 
EOTU1U.A. Oh, I doubt not these fine 
speeches 
Are quite true, although intended 
Doubtless for that other lady, 
She whose portrait was suspended 
From your neck, when first, Astolfo, 
At this Court here you addressed me. 
This being so, 't is she alone 
Who these compAimeats deserveth. 
Go and pay them to heiself, 
For like bills that are protested 
In the counting-house of love. 
Are those flatteries and finesses 
Which to other longs and ladies 
Hare been previously presented. 

[Enter RosaueaJ 

RosAUBA [dMde]. Well, thank Ood, my 



Have attained their lowest level. 
Since by her who sees this sight 
Nothing worse can be expected. 
ABTOLro. Then that portrait from my 

Shall be taken, that thy perfect 
Beauty there may reign instead. 
For where bright Eatrella enters 
Shadow cannot be, or star 
Where the sun; I go to fetch it. — 
^Aaidt.] Pardon, beautiful Rosaura, 
This offense; the absent nev«-, 
Man or woman, as this shows, 
Faith or plighted vows remember. [ExU.] 
[RoBAU'itA eomei fonoard.] 
RosAUKA [atide]. Not a single word I 

Being afraid they might observe me. 

EsTBBLLA. Ob, Astreat 

RoaauRA. My good lady I 

EsTBiiLi^. Nothing eould have pleased 
me better 
Hian your timely coming here. 
I have something confidential 
To entnut you with. 



RoBAiTRA. You honor 
Far too macb my humble service. 
EsTRKLLA. Brief ai is the time, As- 

I have known you, you already 
Of my heart possess the keys. 
'T is for this and your own merits 
That I venture to entrust you 
With what oft I have attempted 
From myself to hide, 

RoBATTKA. Your slave! 

Ebtkxlla. Then concisely to express it- 
Know, Astolfo, my first cousin 
('T is enough that word U> mention. 
For some things may best be said 
When not spoken but suggested). 
Soon expects to wed with me. 
If my fate so far relenteUi, 
As that by one sin^e bliss 
All past sorrows may be lessened. 
I was troubled, the first day 
That we met, to see suspended 
From his nedc a lady's portrait. 
On the point I urged him gently. 
He so court«ouB and polite 
Went immediately to get it, 
And will bring it here. From him 
I shoidd feel quite disconcerted 
To receive it. You here stay, 
And ntquest 1'''" to present it 
Unto you. I say no more. 
You are beautiful and clever. 
You must know too what is love. IBxU.] 

R08AUKA. Would I knew it not! O helf . 

Now, kind Heaven! for who could !3e 

So prudential, so collected. 

As to know hon ttest to act 

In BO painful a. dilemma? 

Is there in the world a being. 

Is there one a more inclement 

Heaven has marked with more misfol* 

Has 'mid more of sorrow centered? — 
What, bewildered, shall I do, 
When 't is vain to be expected 
That my reason can console me, 
Or ooDsoling be my helper? 
lYom my earliest mirfortune 
Everything that I 've attempted 
Has been but one misery more — 
Each the other's sad sucoenor, 



3l6 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



All inheritora of themselves. 

Thus, the Phoenix they resemble. 

One ie front the other bom, 

New life apringa where old life endeth, 

And the Toung are warmly cradled 

By the SEhes of the elder. 

Once a wise mail called them cowanla, 

Seeing that misf ortunea never 

Have been seen to oome alone. 

But I call them brave, intrepid, 

Who go Btroight unto their end, 

And ne'er turn their baclm in terror: — 

By the nian who brings them with him 

Everything may be attempted, 

Since he need on no oocasion 

Have the fear of being deserted. 

I may say so, since at all times, 

Whatsoever life presented, 

I, without them, never saw me, 

Nor will they grow weary ever. 

Till they aee me in death's arms, 

Wounded by fate's final weapon. 

Woe is mel but what to-day 

Shall I do in this emergenee? — 

If I tell my name, Clotaldo, 

Unto whom I am indebted 

For my very life and honor. 

May be with me much offended; 

Since he aaid my reparation 

Must in silence be expected. 

If 1 tell not to Astolfo 

Who I am, and he detects me 

How can I dissemble then? 

For although a feigned resemblance 

Eyes and voice and (ongue might try. 

Ah, the truthful heart would tremble, 

And expose the lie. But wherefore 

Study what to do? 'T is certain 

That however I may study, 

Think beforehand how to nerve me, 

When at last the occasion comes. 

Then akine what grief auggeateth 

I wiU do, for no one holda 

In hia power the heart's distresses. 

And thus what to say or do 

As my soul cannot determine. 

Grief must only reach tonlay 

Ite last limit, pain be ended, 

And at last an exit make 

From the doubts that so perplex me 

How to a«t: but until then 

Help me. Heaven, oh, deifcn to help mel 



[EnUr AaroLPo, wilA the portnil.] 

AaroLro. Here then is the portrait. 
Princess: 
But, good God! 

RosAimA. Your Highness trembler; 
What has startled, what surprised youf 

AsTOLFO. Thee, Rosaura, to see present 

RoaAimA. I Roeaura? Oh, Your High- 
la deceived by aome resemblance 
Doubtlen to some other lady;, 
I 'm Aatrea, one who merits 
Not the glory of producing 
An emotion ao exceesive. 

AsroLro. Ah, Roeaura, thou mayvt 
fogn, 
But the soul bears no deception. 
And thou^ seeing thee as Astres, 
As Roeaura it muat serve thee. 

RoSAUBA. I, not knowing what Yoni 
HighnwB 
Speaks of, am of course prevented 
F^m replying aught but this, 
That EstreUa {the bright Hesper 
Of this sphere) was pleased to order 
That I here should wait expectant 
For that portrait, which to me 
She desires you give at present: 
For aome reason she [Hefers 
It through me should be [vesented — 
So EstreUa — say, my star — 
Wishes — so a fate relentless 
WiDa — in thin^ that bring roe loss — . 
So EstreUa now expecteth. 

AsTOLFO. Though auch efforta you at 

StiD how badly you dissemble. 
My Rosaura! Tell the eyes 
In their music to keep better 
Concert with the voice, because 
Any instrument whatever 
Would be out of tune that sought 
To combine and blend together 
The true feelings of the heart 
With the false words speech expresses 

RosATTBA. I wait only, as I said, 
For the portrait. 

AsTOLFo. Since you're bent then 
To Ute end to keep this tone, 
I adopt it, and dissMiible. 
Tell the Priucesa, then, Aatre», 



.Ck^ti^^lc 



UFE IS A DREAM 



117 



That I so est«em her mefloage, 
"nut to wad to her a copy 
Smoob to me ao slight a preae&t. 
How ao highly it is v&lu«d 
By myself, I think it better 
To present the original, 
And you easily may present it, 
Since, in point of fact, you bring it 
With you in your own sweet person. 

RosADKA. When it has been undertaken 
By a man, bold, brave, determined. 
To obtain a certain object. 
Though he get pertiaps a better, 
Still not bringing back the first 
He returns deepised: I beg, then. 
That Your Highness give the portrait; 
I, without it, dare not venture. 

Abtolfo. How, then, if I do not give it 
Will you get it? 

RoBAnRA. I will get it 
Thus, ungrateful. [Sktattemplatoanatehil.] 

A0TOLPO. 'T is in vain. 

RosAURA. It must ne'er be seen, no. 

In another woman's hands. 
Abtolfo. Thau art dreadful. 
RosAtiBA. Thou deceptive. 
Abtolvo. Oh, ttkouf^, Rosaura mine. 
RosAUHA. Thinel Thou liest, base de- 
serter. [BolkUntiH^fortheportraiti 

[Bnier Estrella,) 
EstBBLLA. Princel Astreal What is 

thisf 
AsTOLFO [atide]. Heavensl Eatrellal 
RosAtJHA [and«]. Love befriend me; 
Give me wit enough my portrait 
To regain: — ITo Estbxlla.] If thou 

wodd'st learn then 
What the matter ie, my lady, 
I wiU tell thee. 
Abtolpo [ande to HoaAUiu]. Would 'st 

o'erwhelm me? 
RoBAUBA. You commanded me to wait 
here 
For the Prince, and, reprwenting 
You, to get from him & portrait. 
1 remained alone, eicpecting. 
And, aa often by one thought 
Is some other thought suggeeted. 
Seeing that you spoke of portraits, 
I, reminded thus, remembered 



That I had one ^ myaelf 

In my sleeve; I wished to inspect it. 

For a person quite alone 

Even by trifles is diverted. 

From my hand I-Iet it fall 

On the ground; the Prince, who entered 

Witti the other lady's portrait. 

Raised up mine, but so r^iellious 

Was he to what you had asked him 

That, instead of his preaenting 

One, he wished to keep the other. 

Since he mine will not svurcnder 

To my prayers and my entreaties: 

Angry at this ill-timed jeeting 

I endeavored to regain it. 

That which in his hand is held there 

Is my portrait, if you see it; 

You can judge of the resemblance. 

Esmsu^. Duke, at oace, give up the 
portrait. [She lakei it from hit hand.] 

AflTOLFO. Princess ... 

EsTBXiAJk. Well, the tints were blended 
By no cruel hand, methinks. 

RosAUHA. Is it like me? 

BsTBXLLA. like! 'T is perfect. 

RoaAUBA. Now demand from him the 
other. 

Ebtbella. Take your own, and Wve 
our preeence. 

RoBAUKA [tuide] . I have got my portrait 
back; 
Come what oiay I am contented. [Exit.] 

Ebtbxu^. Give me now the other por- 
trait; 
For — although perhaps I never 
May again address or see you — 
I deeire not, no, to let it 
In your hfln<^ remain, if only 
For my folly in requesting 
You to give it. 

Aotolto latide]. How escape 
From this singular dilemma? — 
Though I wish, most beauteous Princeas, 
To obey thee and to serve thee. 
Still I cannot give the portrait 
Thou dost ask for, since . . . 

EsmsuiA. A wretched 
And false-hearted lover art thou. 
Now I wish it not preaented, 
So to give thee no pretext 
For reminding me that ever 
I had asked it at thy hands. [fixif J 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



AsTOLFO. Hearmelliatent waitlremem- 
berl — 
God, what hast thou done, BosaunT 
Why, or wher^ore, on what errand, 
To destroy thyself and me 
Host thou Poland rashly entmedT [EtU.] 



[SiQisuDND, aialthe commencemtnt, dolhed 
in skina, chained, and lying on ike 
ground; Clutaldo, two ServajUa, and 
ClabinJ 

CijOTAldo. Leave him here on the 
ground, 
' Where his day, — ita pride beii^ o'er, — 
Finds its end too. 

A Sbbvant. As before 
With the chain hia feet ore bound. 

CiiARiN. Never from that sleep pro- 
Wake, O Sigismund, or riae, 
To behold with wonderiog eyes 
All thy ^oriouB life o'erthrown. 
Like a shadow that hath Sown, 
UJo a bright brief flame that dies! 
fCuyiAij>o. One who can bo wisely make 
/ Such reflections on this case 
I Should have ample time and apace, 
I Even for the Solon's sake, 
I To discuss it; [to the ServatU] him you'll 
I take 

VTo this cell here, and keep bound. 
^^ IPointino to on adjoinirxg room] 

Clasih. But why me? 
Ci<OTAU>o. Because 't is found 
Safe, when clarions secrets know, 
Clarions to lock up, that so 
They may not have power to sound. 

(Xarin. Did I, since you treat me thus, 
Try to kill my father? No. 
Did I from the window throw 
That unlucky Icarus? 
Is my drink somniferous? 
Do I dream? Then why be pent? 
Clotauk). 'T is a clarion's punishment. 
CL.ABIN. Then a horn of low degree, 
Yea, a cornet I will be, 
A safe, silent instrument. 

[They take him away, and Clo- 
TAU>o remouu oloncj 



[Enter Basiuub, diefpattdi 

Babiudb. Hark, Clotaldol 

Clotaldo. My lord here? 
Thus disguised, Your Majesty? 

Babiudb. Foolish curiosity 
Leads me in this lowly gear 
To find out, ah, mel with fear, 
How the Budden change be bcn^. 

Clotaldo. There behold him as before 
In his miserable state. 

Basiuus. Wretched Prince! unhappy 
fate! 
Birth by baneful stars watched o'er! — 
Go and wake him cautiously, 
Now that strength and force Ue chained 
By the opiat« he hath drained. 

Clotaldo. Muttering something rest- 
lessly, 
See be lies. 

Babilicb. Let's listen; he 
May some few clear words repeat. 

SlOIBUUNO. [Speaking in hit tUep.] 

Perfect Prince is he whose heat 
Smites the tyrant where he stands, 
Yes, Clotaldo dies by my bands, 
Yes, my sire shall kiss my feet. 

Clotauh). Death he threatens in his 
rage. 

Basiuus. Outrage vile he doth intend. 

Clotaldo. He my life has sworn to end. 

BAfiiLins. He ha>B vowed to insult my 
age. 

SioiauuND [sUUdeeping]. Onthemighty 
world's great stage, 
'Mid the admiring nations' cheer, 
Valor mine, that has no peer, 
Enter thou: the elave so shunned 
Now shall reign Prince Sigiamund, 
And bis sire his wrath shall fear. — 

[He oiDOiM.l 
But, ah me! Where am I? OhI — 

Babiliub. Me I must not let him see. 
[To Clotaldo.] Listening I close by will be, 
What you have to do you know. 

[He reUreai 

SioiSHUNii. Can it possibly be so? 
Is the truth not what it seemed? 
Am I chained and unredeemed? 
Art not thou my lifelong tomb. 
Dark old tower? Yes! What a doom! 
Godl what wondrous things I've dreamed! 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



319 



Clotuiw. Now in this delusive play 
Must my special part be taken: — 
Is it not full time to waken? 

Siaismnn). Yes, k> waken well it may. 

Clotauk). Wilt thou sleep the livelong 
day? — 
Since we gasing from below 
Saw the eagle sailing slow, 
Soaring through the aiure sphere, 
All the time thou waited here, 
Didat thou never waken? 

SiaiBMOND. No, 
Not even now am I awake. 
Since such thoughts my memory Gil, 
That it seems I'm dreaming still: 
Not is this a great mistake; 
Since if dreams could phant^inia make 
Things of actual substance seen, 
I things seen may phantoms deem. 
Thus a double harvest Teaping, 
I can see when I am sleeping, 
And when waking I can dream. 

ClotauX). What you may have dreamed 
of, Bay. 

SiaiBKUND. If I thought it only seemed, 
I wonld tdl not what I dreamed. 
But what I behold, I may. 
I awoke, and lol I lay 
(Cruel and delusive thing!) 
In a bed whoee covering, 
Bright with blooms from rosy boweiS, 
Seemed a tapestry of flowers 
Woven by the hand of Spring. 
Then a crowd of nobles came, 
Who addressed me by the name 
Of their prince, presenting me 
Gems and robes, on bended knee. 
Calm soon left me, and my frame 
Tlirilled with joy to bear thee tell 
Of the fate that me befell, 
For thou^ now in this dark den, 
I was Prince of Poland then. 

Clotaldo. Doubtless you repaid me 
weU? 

Sioiau UND. No, not well : for, colling thee 
Traitor vile, in furious strife 
Twice I strove to take tby life. 

CliOTALDO. But why all this rage 'gainst 

SiaiBUDNn. I was master, and would be 
Well revenged on foe and friend. 
Love one woman could defend . . . 



That, at least, for truth I deem. 
All else ended like a dieam, 
That alone can never end. 

E[Tlu King wiihdraus.) 
OTALDO [aaidei. From his place the 
King hath gone, 
bed by his pathetic words: — 
[Aloud.] Speaking of the king of birds 
Soaring to ascend his throne. 
Thou didst fancy one thine own; 
But in dreams, however bright, 
Thou shouldst still have kept in si^t 
How for years I tended thee. 
For 't were well, whoe'er we be, 

it. [Eint.] 



Eve n in dreams 

SioisuDKo. That is true: 

This wild rage, this fierce condition 
Of the mind, this proud ambition, 
Should we ever dntam again; 
And we'll do so, since 't is plain. 
In this world's uncertain gleam. 
That to live is but to dream: 
Man dreams what he is, and wakes 
Only when upon him breaks 
Death's mysterious morning beam. 
The king dreams he is a king, 
And in this delusive way 
Lives and rules with sovereign sway; 
All the cheers that round bim ring. 
Bom of ail, on air take wing. 
And in asbes (mournful fate!) 
Death disaolvee his pride and state: 
Who would wish a crown t« take, 
Seeing that be must awake 
In the dream beyond death's gate? 
And the rich man dreams of gold. 
Gilding cores it scarce conceals. 
And the poor man dreams he feels 
Want and misery and cold. 
Dreams he too who rank would hold, 
Dreams who bears toil's rough-ribbed 

Dreams who wrong for wrong demands, 
And in fine, tbrau^out the earth. 
All men dream, whate'er their birth. 
And yet no one understands. 
'T is a dream that I in sadness 
Here am bound, the scorn of fate; 
'T wss a dream that onoe a state 
I enjoyed of light and gladness. 
What is life? 'T is but a madnaaa. 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Vfh&t is life? A thing that seems, 
A mirage that falsely gleama, 
Phantom joy, delusive leet, 
Since is life a dream at best, 
And even dreams theroeelvee are dieama. 
[Eat.] 

ACT III 
[ScBNis I. WUhin the Tower] 
Clabin. In a strange enchanted tower, 
I, for what I know, am prisoned; 
How would ignorance be punished, 
If for knowledge they would kill me? 
What a thing to die of hunger. 
For a man who loves good hvingl 
I compassionate myself; 
All will say; "I well believe it"; 
And it well may be b^eved, 
Because silence is a virtue 
looompatible with my name 
Clarin, which of course forbids it. 
In this place my sole uompanions, 
It may safely be predicted, 
Are the spiders and Uie mice: 
What a pleasant nest of linnetel — 
Owing to this last night's dream. 
My poor head I feel quite diziy 
From a thousand clarionets, 
Shawms, and seraphinee and cymbals, 
Crucifixes and processions, 
Flagellants who so well whipped them, 
Tliat as up and down they went, 
Some even fainted as they witnessed 
How the blood ran down the others. 
I, if I the truth may whisper, 
^mply fainted from not eating, 
For I see me in this prison 
All day wondering how this Poland 
Such a Hungary look exhibits, 
All night reading in the Faati 
By some half-starved poet written. 
In the calendar of saints. 
If a new one is admitted, 
Then St. Secret be my patron, 
For I fast upon his vigil; 
Though it must be owned I suffer 
Justly for tbe fault committed, 
E^ce a servant to be silent 
Is a sacrilege moet sinful. 

\A Mmnd of drums and tnmnpeU, 



(Soldier* and Clabin.) 

FiHST SoLDmR ItoOAin]. He is beie 
within this tower. 
Dash the door from off its hinges; 
Ent«rall. 

Clabin. Good God! 't is certain 
That 't is me they seek so briskly. 
Since they say that I am here. 
What can they require? 

FiBST SoLniEB [toifMt^. Go in there. 
[StMral StMUn enter.] 

SccoND Solhhbr. Here he is. 

Clabin. He's not. 

All the Soldixbs. Great lordl 

Clabin [otidA- Are the fellows mad or 
tipoy? 

FiBffr SoLoiBi^ Thou art our own 
Prince, and we 
Will not have, and won't admit of, 
Any but our natural Prince; 
We no foreign Prince here wish for. 
Let us kneel and kiss thy feet. 

The SoLniERS, Live, long live our beat 
of Princes! 

Clabin [ostde]. 'Gadl the affair grows 
rather serious. 
Is it usual in this kingdom 
To take some one out each day. 
Make him Prince, and then remit him 
To this tower? It must be so. 
Since each day that sight I witness. 
I must therefore play my part, 

SoutiBRS. Thy feet give ust 

Clabin. I can't give them. 
As I want them for myself. 
For a piinoe to be a cripple 
Would be rather a defect. 

Sbcons Boldixb. We have all con' 
veyed our wishes 
To your father; we have told him 
You alone shall be our Prince her^, 
Not the Duke. 

Clabin. And were you guilty 
'Gainst my sire, of disrespect? 

First Soldibr. 'T was the loyalty of 
our spirit. 

Clarin. If 't was loyalty, I forgive you. 

Second Soldier. Come, regain Uiy 
lost dominion. 
Long live Siffsmundt 

.GooqIc 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



AiiL. live the PrittM. 

Clasin [ondel. Say they Bigisinuud? 
Good. Admitted. 
Sigiamund must be the name 
Given to all pretended princee. 

[£nfer SiQiHKUKD.] 

SiaisuuND. Who haa named here Sigis- 
mund? 

Clarin (ondel. Ah, I'm but an addled 
prince, then! 

FiBST SoutixB. Who is Sigismund? 

SionucND. Who? I. 

Bbcond Soldier [to Ci,abin], How, 
then, didat thou, bold sjid fiilly, 
Due to make thee 8i|^Bmund7 

CiiAiuN. I a SigismundT Thou fib- 
beat; 
It was you youieelTee that thus 
Sigismundiied me and princed me : 
All the aOImeM and the boldiiess 
Have been by yoiireelves committed. 

FiBOT SoLDizB. Great and brave Prince 
Si^smund 
(For thy bearing doth convince ua 
Thou art he, although on faith 
We proclaim thee as our prince here). 
King Baailiufl, thy father, 
Fearful of the Heavens fulfilling 
A iHediction, which declared 
He would we hiniMlf submitted 
At thy victor feet, attempts 
To deprive thee of thy birthri^t. 
And to give it to Astolfo, 
Muscovy's duke. For this his misaives 
Summoned all his court: the people 
Understanding, by some instinct, 
That they had a natural king. 
Did not wish a foreign princeling 
To rule o'er them. And 't ia thus. 
That the fate for thee {H^dicted 
Treating with a uoble scorn, 
They have eau^t thee where imprisoned 
Thou dost live, that issuing forth. 
By their powerful anns assisted, 
FVom this tnwer, thy croi^ and scepter 
Thou shouldst thus re^tain, and quit them 
Of a stranger and a tyrant. 
Forth! then; for among these clifis here. 
There is now a numerous aimy. 
Formed of soldiers and banditti, 
That invoke tiiee: freedom waits thee; 



To the thousand voices listen. 

[Voieet within.] Long, long Uve Prince 

Sigismundl 
SiaiBMUNS. Once again, O Heavenl 

wouldst wish me 
Once again to dream of greatness 
Which may vanish in an instant? 
Once again to see the glories. 
That a royal throne encircle. 
Die in darkness and in gloom, 
Like a flame the winds extinguish? 
Once again by sod experience 
To be taught the dangerous limits 
Human power may overleap, 
At its birth and while it liveth? 
No, it roust not, must not be; — 
See me now once more submitted 
To my fate: and since I know 
Life is but a dream, a vision, 
Henoe, ye phantoms, that smime 
To my darkened sense the figure 
And the voice of life — although 
Neither voice nor form is in them. 
I no longer now desire 
A feigned majesty, a fictitious 
And fantastic pomp — Elusions 
Which the slif^test breath that ripples 
The calm ether can destroy. 
Even as in the early spring-time. 
When the flowering almond tree 
Unadvisedly exhibits 
All its fleeting blooro of Sowers, 
The first blast their freshness withers. 
And the ornament and grace 
Of its rosy locks disfigures. 
Now I know ye — know ye tdl, 
And I know the same false dimmer 
Cheats the eyes of all who sleep. 
Me false shows no more bewilder; 
Disabused, I now know well 
Life is but a dream — a vision. 
Sbcons Soldier. If tbou thinkeet we 

deceive thee, 
Turn thine eyes to those proud cliSs 

See the crowds that wait there, willing, 
Eager to obey thee. 
SiQiBuuim. Yet 
Just as clearly and distinctly, 
I have seen another time 
The same things that now I witneae. 
And 't was but a dream. 



.CtOo^^Ic 



taa 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Sbcokd Soldies. At all times 
Great events, my lord, bring with them 
Their own omena; and thy dream 
But the actual fact prefigured. 

Siai8MTJin>. Vou sa^ well, it was an 

But supposing the bright vision 
E!ven were true, since life ia short. 
Le t ua dream, my bouI. a Jittle, 
^ce again, remembering, now 
With all forethought and prevision 
That we must once more awake 
At tte bett er time not djstaat; 
That being known, the undeceiving. 
When it comes, will be less bitter; 
For it takee the sting from evil 
To anticipate its visit. 
And with this conviction, too. 
Even ita certainty admitting. 
That all power being only lent 
Must return unto the Giver, 
Let us boldly then dare all, — 
For the loydty you exhibit. 
Thanks, my lieges. See in me 
One who tHII this land deliver 
From a stranger's alien yoke. 
Sound to arms; you soon shall witneaa 
What my valor can effect. 
'Gainst my father I have lifted 
Hostile arms, to see if Heaven 
Has of me the truth predicted. 
At my feet I am to see him . . . 
[Aside.] But if I, from dreams delivered, 
Wake ere then, and nothing happens, 
Silence now were more befitting. 

All. LofLg live Sigismund, our king! 

[Enter Clotaldo.) 

Clotaldo. Ha! what tumult, heaveosl 
has risen? 

SioisuuND. Well, Clotaldo. 

Clotaum). Sire . , , [AndeJ On me 
Will his wrath now fall. 

Clarin [(Wide). He'll fling him 
Headlong down the steep, I 'II bet. [Bxa\ 

Clotaldo. At your royal feet sub- 
mitted 
I know how to die. 

SiaisuuM). My father, 
Rise, I pray, from that position, 
3ince to you, my guide and poleatar, 
Vre my future acte committed; 



All my post life owes you much 
For your careful supervision. 
Come, embrace me. 

Clotaldo. What do you sayT 

SiGiBUTWD. That I dream, and that my 
wtshee 
Are to do what 's right, since we 
Even in dreams should do what's fitting. 

Clotaldo. Then, my Prince, if you 
adopt 
Acting rightly as your symbol, 
You will pardon me for asldng. 
So to act, that you permit me. 
No advice and no assistance 
Can I give against my king. 
Better that my lord should kill me 
At his feet here. 

SiorsuuND. Ob, ungratefull 
Villain! wretch! [AsideJ But, Heavenal 

't is fitter 
I restrain myself, not knowing 
But all this may be a vision. — 
The fidelity I envy 
Must be honored and admitted. 
Go and serve your lord, the Idng. 
Where the battle rages thickest 
We shall meet. — To arms, my friendsl 

Clotaldo. Thanks, most generous ai 
princea. [ExU\ 

SiQiBMUND. Fortune, we go forth to 
reign; 
Wake me not if this is vision, 
liot me sleep not if 't is true. 
But which ever of them is it, 
To act right is what importa me. 
" ": is true, because it is so; 
If 't is not, that when I waken 
Friends may welcome and forgive me. 

[Extutit oU, drums htoHng^ 

[ScENB II. HaU in lU Royal Palaeei 

[Enter Basiuus and AeroLro.l 
Babilius. Who can expect, Astolfo, to 

restrain 
An untamed st«ed that wildly turns to 

flee? 

Who con the current of a stream detain, 
That swollen with pride sweeps down to 

seek the sea7 
Who can prevent from tumbling to the 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



»»3 



Some mi^ty peak the lightniiig'B flash 

Mtsfree? 
Vet each were eaaier in its separate way, 
Than the rude mob's inaenaate tuge to 

stay. 
Tha several bands that throng each green 

This truth produm by their disparted 

cries; 
AiUAfo here the echoing notes repeat, 
While there 't is Syjitmamd that rends the 

The place where late the land was glad to 

greet 
The choice we made, a seoond venture 

And soon will be, as Horror o'er it leans, 
The fatal theater of tragic scenes. 

Abtolfo. My lord, let all this joy sus- 
pended be. 
These plaudits cease, and to another day 
Defer the rapture thou hast promised me; 
For if this Poland (which I hope to sway) 
Resists to-day my right of sovereignty, 
'T is that by merit I should win my way. 
Give me a steed; to stem this wild revolt 
My pride shall be the flash tiiat bears the 
bolt. I£xi(.] 

Babiuub. Sli^t help there is for what ia 
fiited by fate, 
And much of danger to foresee the blow; 
If it must fall, defense is then too late. 
And he who most forestalls doth most fore- 
know. 
Hard lawl Stem rulel Dire faot to con- 
template! 
That be who thinks to fly doth nearer go. 
Thus by the very means that I employed, 
My country and myself I have destroyed. 
\ETUtT EentELL&J 
Ebtrzlla. If , mighty lord, thypresence, 
which it braves. 
The tumult of the crowd cannot defeat - 
The frensy of the multitude that ravee 
In hostile bands through every square and 

Thou 'It see thy kingdom swim in crimson 

A purple sea of blood shall round it beat; 
For even already in its dismal doom 
All is disaster, tragedy, and gloom. 



Such is thy kingdom's ruin, so severe 
The hard and bloody tr^ fate hath sent, 
Daied is the eye, and terrified the ear; 
Dark grows the sun, and every wind is 

Each stone a mournful obelisk doth rear. 

And every flower erects a monument; 

A grave seems every house, whence life is 

gone, — 
Each soldier is a living skeleton. 
[Bnltr CLOTALno.) 
CLOTALno. Thanks be to God, I i«acfa 

thy feet alive. 
Babiuefb. What news of Si|pamund, 

Qotaldo, sayT 
Clotauk). The crowd, whom frensy 
and blind impulse drive, 
Into the tower resistless burst their way. 
Released the Prince, who seeing thus revive 
The honor he had tasted for one day. 
Looked brave, declaring, in a haughty tone. 
The truth at last that Eeaven must now 
make known. 
Babiuttb. Give me a horsel In person 
forth I 'U ride 
To check the pride of this ungrateful eon. 
Where Science erred let now the svrord 

decide; 
By my own valor shall my throne be wont 
[6x0.1 
EsTHELLA. Let me the glory of the fight 

A twinkling star beside that royal sun — 
Bellona matched with Mars: for I would 

To scale even heaven to rival Pallas there. 
[BxU, and th«j/ totmd to arm».] 

[ErUer Rosaitka, mho ddtdna Clotaldo.] 
RoBAtniA. Though the trumpets from afaf 
Echo in thy valorous breast, 
Bear me, list to my request. 
For I know that all ia war. 
Well thou knoweet that I came 
Poor to Poland, sad, dejeeted; 
And that graciously protected. 
Thou thy pity let me claim. 
It was thy command, ah, met 
I should Uve here thus disguised, 
Striving, as thy words advised 
(Hiding all my jealomy), 



I., Google 



334 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



To ftvoid Artolfo'a eight; 
But he SBiW me, and though aeeing, 
With Estiella, he — fslae being! — 
ConTeree holds this veiy night 
In a garden bower. The key 
I have taken, and will show 
Where, by entering, with a blow 
Thou canat end my misery. 
Thus, then, dariog, bold, and strong, 
Thou my honor wilt restore; 
Strike, and hedtate no more, 
Let his death revenge my wrong. 

Clotauio. It is true, my inclination 
Since thou first wert seen by me, 
Was to strive and do for thee 
(Be thy tears my att«Htation) 
AH my life could do to serve thee. 
What I first was forced to prees. 
Was that thou Aould 'et change thy 

Lest if chancing to observe tbee 

Masquerading like a page. 

By appearanoee so strong 

Led aatray, the Duke might wrong 

By a thought thy aex and age. 

Meanwhile various projects held me 

In suspense, oft pondering o'er 

How thy honor to restore; 

Though (thy honor so compelled me) 

I Astolfo's life should take — 

Wild design that soon took wing — 

Yot, as he was not my king, 

It no t«rroT could awake. 

I his death was seeking, when 

Sigiamund with vengeful aim 

Sought for mine; Aetolfo came. 

And despising what moat men 

Wotild a desperate peril deem. 

Stood in my defense; his bearing, 

Nigh to rashness in its daring. 

Showed a valor most extreme. 

How then, think, could I, whose breath 

Is his gift, in murderous strife. 

For his giving me my life, 

Strive in turn to give him deathT 

And thus, grateful, yet aggrieved, 

By two opposite feelings driven. 

Seeing it to thee have given. 

And from him have it received. 

Doubting this, and that believing. 

Half revenging, half forgiving. 

If to thee I'm drawn by giving, 



I to him am by receiving; 
Thus bewildered and beset, 
Vainly seeks my love a way. 
Since I have a debt to pay, 
Where I must exact a debt. 

RoBADBA. It is settled, I believe, 
As all men of spirit know, 
That 't is glorious to bestow. 
But a meanness to receive. 
Well, admitting this to be, 
Then thy thanks should not be lua, 
Even supposing that he is 
One who gave thy life to thee; 
As the gift of life was thine. 
And from him the taking came, 
In his esse the act was shame. 
And a glorious act in mine. 
Thus by him thou art aggrieved. 
And by me even complimented, 
Since to me thou hast preeentod 
What from him thou hast received: 
Then all hesitation leaving. 
Thou to guard my fame shouldst fly, 
Since my honor is as high 
As is giving to receiving. 

Cldtaldo. Thou0 it seen 

In a noble heart to give, 
Still an equal fire may live 
In the heart of tbe receiver. 
Heartlessness is something hateful, 
I would boast a liberal nanw; 
Thus I put my highest claim 
In the fact of being grateful. 
Then to me that title leave, — 
Gentle birth breeds gentleness; 
For the honor is no less 
To bestow than to receive. 
RoBAtiRA. I received my life from 
thee, 
But for thee I now were dead; 
Still it was thyself that said 
No insulted life could be 
Galled a life: on that I stand; 
Nought have I received from thee. 
For the life no life could be 
That was given me by thy hand. 
But if thou wouldst first be just 
Ere being generous in this way 
(As I heard thyself once say). 
Thou wilt give me life I trust. 
Which thou hast not yet; and thus 

;lc 



tIFE IS A DREAM 



aaS 



Giving will enhance tbee more, 
For if libend before, 
'Hiou wilt then be generous. 
CuiTALDo. Conquered by thy ai^- 

Libei&l I fint will be. 
I, Roeaura, will to thee 
All my property preeent; 
In a convent live; by me 
Has the plan been weighed some time, 
For escaping from ft crime 
Thou wilt there find sanctuary; 
For BO many ills present them 
Through the land on every side, 
That being nobly bom, my pride 
Is to stove and not augment them. 
By the choice that I have made, 
Loyal to the hmd I'll be, 
I am liberal with thee, 
And Astolfo's debt is paid; 
Choose then, nay, let hotur, rather, 
Choose for tlkee, and for us two. 
For, by Eeaveni I could not do 
More for thee were I thy father! — 

RoSAURA. Were that supposition true, 
I might strive and bear this blow; 
But not being my father, no. 

Clotauw. What then dost thou mean 
todo7 

RosAUBA. Kill the Dulce, 

Clotaluo. a gentle dame, 
Who no father's name doth know. 
Can she so much valor show? 

Rosauba. Yes. 

Ci>OTAux>. What'drivM thee on? 

RoOADitA. My fame. 

Clotau>o. Thinlc that in the Duke 
thou 'It see . . . 

RosAUKA. Honor all my wrath doth 

Clotaldo. Soon thy Icii^ — Estrella's 

RoOAOHA. No, by Heaven! it must not 

be. 
Clotaldo. It is madness. 
RoeAuaA. Yes, I see it. 
CLOTALno. Conquer it. 
RoSAURA. I can't o'erthrow it. 
Clotauk). It will cost thee . . . 
RoBAUBA. Yee, I know it. 
CLOTALno. Life and honor. 
RosAURA. Well, so be it. 



Clotaiao. What wouldst haveT 
ROSAOKA. My death. 
Clotau>o. Take caret 
It is spite. 
RosAOBA. 'T is honor's cure. 
Clotauk). 'T is wild fire. 
RosAURA. That will endure. 
Clotaldo. It is frensy. 
RoBAVRA. Rage, despair. 
Clotaldo. Can there then be nothing 

This blind rage to let pass by? 
RosAUSA. No. 
Clotaldo. And who will help thee? 

ROSAUHA. I. 

Clotau>o. Is there then no remedy? 

RoBAURA. None. 

Clotaldo. Tliink of other means 

whereby . . . 
RosATiRA. Other means would seal my 

fate. lExUi 

Clotaldo. If 'tis so, then, daughter, 

For together we shall die. [ExiL] 

[Scmni m. The Open Plain.] 

[Enter Sioibucnd, dolked in skiiu: Soldien 
marching. Clarin. Drums are heard.] 
SioiBMUND. If Rome could see me im 
this day 

Amid the triumphs of Ha early sway, 

Oh, with what strange del^t 

It would have seen so singular a sight, 

Its mighty armies led 

By one who was a savage wild beast bred. 

Whose courage soars so high. 

That even an easy conquest seems tiie 
sky! 

But let ue lower our flight. 

My spirit; 't is not thus we should invite 

This doubtful dream to stay. 

Lest when I wake and it has past away, 

I learn to my sad coet, 

A moment given, 't was in a moment lost; 

Determined not to abuse it. 

The lees will be my sorrow should I lose it. 
[A trumpet lowtde.] 
Clarin. Upon a rapid eteed, " 

(Excuse my painting it; I can't indeed 

Resist the inspiration), 

Whidi leeiiu a moving maM of all oeation, 



936 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Ita body being the earth, 
The file the soul that in ita heart hath birth. 
Its foam the sea, ita panting breath the air, 
Ghaoe confused at which I stand and stare, 
Since in ita aoul, foam, body, breath, to 

It ie a monater made of fire, earth, air, and 

Its color, dapple gray, 

Speckled ita akin, and flecked, as well it 

By the impatient spur its flank that dyee, 
For lo! it doth not run, the meteor flies; 
As borne upon the wind, 
A beauteous woman seeks thee. 

SiaieuuNs. I'm struck blindl 

Clabin. Good God, it is Rosaura, oh, 
the pain I [Retirta.] 

SiaiBMUND. Heaven has restored her to 
my eight again. 
IBnter Robatiba, in a light corselet, vrith 
mord and dago^.] 

ROBAORA. Ndtile-hearted Sigismundl 
Thou whose hidden light heroic 
ISBuee from its night of shadows 
To the great deeds of its morning; 
And as heaven's sublimeet planet 
From the white arraa of Aurora 
Back restores their beauteous color 
To the wild flowera and the roeee, 
And upon the aeaa and mountains. 
When endiademed glory. 
Scatters light, diffuses splendor, 
Braids their foam, their hair makes golden; 
Thus thou dawnest on the world 
Bright auspicious sun of Poland, 
Who will help a hapless woman, 
She who at thy feet doth throw her, 
Help her, since she is unhappy, 
And a woman; two good motives 
Quite enough to move a man 
Who of valor so doth boast him, 
Though even one would be sufficient, 
Though even one would be all potent. 
Thou hast seen me thrice already, 
Thrice thou hast not truly known me, 
For each time by different dresses 
Was I strangely metamorphosed. 
First I seemed to thee a man. 
When within thy sad and somber 
Cell thou sawMt me, when thy life 



Wiled from me mine own misfortunes. 

As a woman nert thou sawest me, 

Where the splendors of thy throne-rcom 

Vanished like a fleeting vision, 

Vain, phantasmal and abortive. 

The third time is now, when being 

Something monstrous and abnormal, 

In a woman's drees thou see'st me 

With a warrior's arms adornfid. 

And to pity and compassion 

That thou may'st be moved more stron^y, 

Ijsten to the sad succession 

Of my tragical mirfortunes. 

In the Court of Muscovy 

I WS8 bom of a noble mother, 

Who indeed must have been fair . 

Since unhappineas was her portion. 

Fond and too persuading eyes 

Fixed on her, a traitor lover. 

Whom, not knowing, I don't name, 

Though mine own worth hath informed me 

What was his: for being his image, 

I sometimes regret that fortune 

Made me not a pagan born. 

That I might, in my wild folly, 

Think he must have been some god, 

Such as he was, who in golden 

Shower wooed Danae, or as swan 

Leda loved, as bull, Europa. 

When I thought to lengthen out, 

Citing theee perfidious stories, 

My discourse, I find already 

That I have succinctly told thee 

How my mother, being persuaded 

By the flatteries of love's homage, 

Was as fair as any fair, 

And unfortunatA as all are. 

That ridiculous excuse 

Of a plighted husband's pnmiiae 

So misled her, that even yet 

The remembrance bringB her sorrow. 

For that traitor, that iEneas 

Flying from his Troy, forgot there. 

Or left after him his sword. 

By this sheath its blade is covered. 

But it shall be naked drawn 

Ere this history is over. 

From this loosely fastened knot 

Which binds nothing, which ties nothing, 

Call it marriage, call it crime, 

Namee its nature cannot alter, 

1 was bom, a perfect imaie. 



...Google 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



A tnie copy of my mother, 
In her IoWline«H, ab, not 
In her miaeries and misfortmiea. 
Therefore there ie little need 
To aay how the haplees daughter, 
Heireas of such scant good luck, 
Had her own peculiar portion. 
All that I will say to ^ee 
Of myself is, that the robber 
Of the trophies of my fame. 
Of the Bweet spoils of my honor, 
Is Astolfo . . . Ahl to name him 
Stirs and louaee up the choler 
Of the heart, a fitting effort 
When an enemy's name is spoken, — 
Yes, Aatolfo was that traitor. 
Who, forgetful of his promise 
(For when love has passed away, 
Even its memory is forgotten), 
Came to Poland, hither called. 
From so sweet so proud a conquest, 
To be married to Estrella, 
Of my setting sun the torch-light. 
Who'll believe that when one star 
Oft unites two happy lovers. 
Now one star, Estrella, comes 
Two to tear from one another? 
I offended, I deceived. 
Sad remained, remained astonished. 
Mad, half dead, remained myself; 
That's to say, in so much torment. 
That my heart was like a Babel 
Of confusion, hell, and horror: 
I resolving to be mute 
(For there ane some pains and sorrows 
That by feelings are expressed, 
Better than when words are spoken), 
I by aOence spoke my pain. 
Till one day being with my mother 
Vialante, sbe.^oh. Heavens!) 
Bmst their prison; like a torrent 
Forth they rushed from out my breast. 
Streaming wildly o'er each other. 
No embarrassment it gave me 
I To relate them, for the knowing 

I That the person we confide to 
A like weakness must acknowledge 
I Gives as 't were to our confusion 
I A sweet soothing and a solace, 

I For at times a bad example 
Has its use. In fine, my sorrows 
She with pity heard, relating 



Even her own grief to console me: 
When he has himself been guilty 
With what ease the judge condonethi 
Knowing from her own experience 
That 't was idle, to slow-moving 
Leisure, to swift-fleeting time. 
To intrust one's injured honor. 
She could not advise me better. 
As the cure of my misfortunes. 
Than to follow and compel him 
By prodigious acts of boldness 
To repay my honor's debt: 
And that such attempt might cost me 
Lees, my fortune wished that I 
Should a man's strange dress put on mi 
She took down an ancient sword. 
Which is this I bear: the moment 
Now draws nigh I must unsheath it, 
Since to her I gave that promise, 
When confiding in its marks. 
Thus she said, "Depart to Poland, 
And BO manage that this steel 
Shall be seen by the chief nobles 
Of that land, for I have hope 
That there may be one among them 
Who may prove to thee a friend. 
An adviser and consoler." 
Well, in Poland I arrived; 
It is useless to inform thcie 
What thou knowest already, how 
A wild steed resistless bore me 
To thy cavemed tower, wherein 
Thou with wonder didst behold me. 
Let us pass, too, how Clotaldo 
Passionately my cause supported, 
How he asked my life of the King, 
Who to him that boon accorded; 
How discovering who I am 
He persuaded me my proper 
Dr^ to assume, and on Elstrella 
To attend as maid of honor. 
So to thwart Astolfo's love 
And prevent the marriage contract. 
Let us, toe, pass by, that here 
Thou didst once again behold me 
In a woman's drees, my form 
Waking thus a twofold wonder, 
And approach the time, Clotaldo 
Being convinced it was important 
That should wed and reign together 
Fair Estrella and Astolfo, 
'Gainst my honor, me advised 



«i8 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



To for^o my rightful project. 
But, vali&nt Sigiamund, 
Seeing that the moment cometh 
For thy vengeaace, Bince Heaven wifihee 
Thee to-d»y to burat the portaU 
Of thy narrow rustic cell, 
Where so long immured, thy body 
Waa to feeiing a wild be^st, 
Was to BuEFeranoe what the rock is. 
And that 'gainst thy sire and country 
Thou hast gallantly revolted, 
And ta'en arms, I oome to oaaiat thee, 
Intermingling the bright ooraelet 
Of Minerva with the trappings 
Of Diana, thus enrobing 
Silken stuff and shining steel 
In a rare but rich adornment. 
On, then, on, undaunted champion I 
To us both it is important 
To prevent and bring to nought 
This en^tgement and betrothal; 
First to me, that be, my husband, 
Should not falsely wed another, 
Then to thee, that their two staffs 
Being united, their jointed foroee 
Should with overwhelming power 
Leave our doubtful victory hopeless. 
Woman, I oome here to urge thee 
To repair my injured honor, 
And as man I come to rouse thee 
Grown and scepter to recover. 
Woman I would wake thy pity 
Since here at thy feet 1 throw me. 
And as man, my sword and person 
In thy service I devote thee. 
But remember, if to-day 
As a woman thou should'at court me, 
I, aa man, will give thee death 
In the laudable upholding, 
Of my honor, since 1 am 
In this strife of love, this contest. 
Woman my complaints to tell thee. 
And a man to guard my honor. 
SioiBunND [aaid«]. Heavens I if it is true 

Memory then suspend thy office, 
For 't is vain to hope remembrance 
Could retain so many objects. 
Help me, QodI or teach me how 
All these numerous doubts to conquer. 
Or to cease to think of anyl — 
Whoe'er tded auob painful iMtiblems? 



If 't was but a dream, my grandeur. 

How then is it, at this moment. 

That this woman can refer me 

To some facts that are notoriousT 

Then 't was truth, and not a dream; 

But if it was truth (another 

And no leas confusion), how 

Can my life be called in proper 

Speech a dream? So like to dreams 

Are then all the world's chief gloriee. 

That the true are oft rejected 

As the false, the false too often 

Are mistaken for the true? 

Is there then 'twixt one and the other 

Such slight difference, that a question 

May arise at any moment 

Which is true or which is fake? 

Are the original and the oopy 

So alike, that which ia which 

Oft the doubtful mind must ponder? 

If 't is so, and if must vanish, 

As the shades of luf^t at morning, 

AH of majesty and power, 

All of grandeur and of glory. 

Let us learn at least to turn 

To our profit the brief moment 

That -is given ua, since our joy 

Laateth while our dream lasts only. 

In my power Rosaura stands. 

Thou, my heart, her charms adoreth. 

Let ua seize then the occasion; 

Let love trample in its boldneea 

All the laws on which relying 

She here at my feet haa thrown ber. 

'T ia a dream; and since 't is so, 

Let us dream of joys, the sorrows 

Will come soon enough hereafter. 

But with mine own words just spoken, 

Let me now confute myself 1 , 

If it is a dream that mocks me, 

Who for human vanitiee 

Would for^o celestial glory? 

What past bliss is not a dream? 

Who has had his happy fortunes 

Who hath said not to himself 

As his memory ran o'er them, 

"All I saw, beyond a doubt 

Was a dream." If this exposeth 

My delusion, if I know 

That desire is but the glowing 

Of a flame that turns to ashes 

At the softest wind Uiat Uoweth; 



UFE IS A DREAM 



339 



Lef ue aeek then the «t«nial, 
lite true fam« that ne'er repoeeth, 
Wime the blias is not a dream, 
Nor the crown a fleeting gloiy, 
Without honor is Roeaura. 
But it is a prince's province 
To pvc honor, not to take it: 
nien, by Heaveni it is her honor 
That for her I must win back. 
Era this kingdom 1 oan conquer. 
Let us fly then this temptation. 
'Tie too etrong: [To the Soldurt.] To 

amul March onwardi , 
For to-day I ipuat give battJe, 
Ek« descending ni|^t, the golden 
Sunbeams of expiring day 
Buriea in tbe dwk green ocean. 

RoflAUKA. Doat thou thus, my lord, 
withdraw theeT 
vrhatl without a word being spoken? 
Does my pain deserve no pity? 
Does my grief so UtUe move thee? 
Can it be, my lord, thou wilt not 
Deign to hear, to look upon me? 
Dost thou even avert thy face? 

SioiBMUND. Ah, Roeaura, 't is thy 

llutt requites this harshness now, 
If my pity I would show thee. 
Yee, my voice doee not respond, 
T is my honor that reepondeth; 
True I speak not, for I wish 
That my actions should epeak for me; 
Tbee I do not look on, no, 
For, aUsI it is of moment. 
That he must cot see thy beauty 
Who is pledged to see thy honor. 

[ExU, Jolioued bit the Soldttrt.] 

RoflAtriiA. What enigmas, O ye skies! 
After many a si^ and tear, 
Thus in doubt to leave me here 
With equivocal replies I 

Claun. Madam, is it visiting hour? 

ROSAQKA. Wdcome, Oarin, where have 
you been? 

Clabin. Only four stout walls between 
In an old enchanted tower; 
Death was on the cards for me. 
But amid tbe sodden strife 
Ere the last trump came, my life 
Won tbe triek and I got free. 
I ne'er hoped to souitd again. 



RoflAUBA. Why? 

CiiAsiH. Because alone I know 
Who you are: and this being so. 
Learn, Clotaldo is . . . This strain 
Puts me out. 12>runM are heard.] 

RoBAtnu. What can it be? 

Clasin. From the citadel at hand, 
Leagured round, an armed band 
Aa to certain victory 
Sallies forth with flags unfurled. 

ROBAOKA. 'Gainst Prince Sigismuodl 
and I, 
Coward that I am, not by 
To surprise and awe the world, 
When with so much cruelty 
Each on eaoh the two hosts springl [ExU.] 

Voamt OF SOME. Live, long live our vic- 
tor KingI 

VoiCKfl or OTHiBB, Live, long Uve our 
libertyl 

CLAHCf. Live, long live the two, I aayt 
Me it matters not a pin. 
Which doth lose or which doth win, 
If I can keep out of the wayl — v 
80 aside here I will go, 
Acting like a prudent hero, 
Even aa the Emperar Nero 
Took things coolly long ago. 
Or if care I cannot shun, 
Let it 'bout mine owuself be; 
Yee, here hidden I con see 
All the fi ghting and the fun; 
What a cosy place I spy 
Mid the rocks there! so secure. 
Death can't find me out I 'm sure, 
Then a fig for death I sayt 

[Conceal him»e(f, drum* beat and 
the toiatd oi armt ia heard.] 



Basilius. Hapless king! disastrous 

Outraged fatherl guilty soni 
Clotaldo. See thy vanquished forces 

In a panic o'er the [dain! 
Abtolto. And the rebel conqueror''' 

Proud, d^&nt. 

Babiuds. 'T is decreed 
Those ore loyal who succeec^ 



83° 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



RebdB those who lose the daj. 
Let U8 then, Clotaldo, flee, 
Since, the victory he hath won, 
From ft proud and cruel son. 

[Shott are fired viUhin, and Ci.abin 
falU vxnmded from ku hiding- 

Clabin. Heaven protect mel 

Abttolfo. Who can be 
This last victim of the Sght, 
Who Btruek down in the retreat. 
Falls here bleeding at our feetT 

Clabin. I am an unlucky wight. 
Who to shun Death's fearful face 
Found the thing I would forget: 
Flying from him, him I've met. 
For there is no secret place 
Hid from death; and therefore I 
This conclusion hold as clear. 
He 'scapes best who goes more near. 
He dies first who first doth fly. 
Then return, return and be 
tn the bloody conflict lost; 
Where the battle rages most. 
There is more security 
Than in hills how desolate. 
Since no safety can there be 
'Gainst the force of destiny. 
And the inclemency of fate; 
Therefore 't is in vain thou flyest 
From the death thou draw'st more ni^, 
Ob, take heed for thou must die 
^ it is God's will thou dieati [FaOtin&in.] 
lus. Oh, take heed for thou must 



If it is God's will thou dieati— 
With what eloquence, O Heaven! ^ 
Does this body that here Itetb, > '^ 

Through the red mouth of a wound V 
To profoundest thoughts entice us ^ 
From our ignorance and our errorl V*" 
The red current as it gUdeth s" ■ 

la a bloody tongue that teachee < 
All man's diligence is idle, ^"^ 

When against a greater power, '^. 
And a higher cause it striveth. 
Thus with me, 'gainst strife and murder \ 
When I thought I had provided, I 

t but brought upoi>. my country Jy 

All the ills ! would have hinderod. * 

Clotaldo. Though, my lord, fat«know- 

\ eth well 

-A 



Every path, and qidokly findeth 
Whom it seeks; yet still it strikes me 
'T is not Christian-like to say 
'Gainst its rage that nought suffices. 
That is wrong, a prudent man 
Even o'er fate victorious rises; 
And if thou art not preserved 
From the ills that have surprised tlwe, 
From worse ills thyself preserve. 

AaroLTO. Sire, Clotaldo doth address 
thee 
As a cautious, |M-udeot man. 
Whose eqierience time hath ripened. 
I as a bold youth would speak: 
Yonder, having lost its rider, 
I behold a noble steed 
Wandering reinless and unbridled, 
Mount and fly with him while I 
Guard the open path behind tliee. 

Basiliqb. If it is God's wilt I die, 
Or if Death tor me here lieth 
As in ambush, face to face 
I will meet it and defy it. 



A SoLDiEK. 'Mid the thickets of ths 
mountain, 
'Neath these dark boughs so united. 
The King hides. 

SiatSMUXD. Pursue him then, 
Leave no single shrub unrifled. 
Nothing must eecape your search, 
Not a plant, and not a pine tree, 

Clotaum). Fly, my lordl 

Basiuus. And wherefore fly? 

AsTOLFO. Come! 

Basiuus. Astolfo, I'm decided. 

OioTAum. What to do? 

Basiudb. To try, Clotaldo, 
One sole remedy that survivetb. 
[To SiaisuuTTD.) If 't is me thou'rt seek- 
ing, Prince, 
At thy feet behold me lying. [Kntttiag.\ 
Let thy carpet be these baits 
Which the snows of age have whitoied. 
Tread upon my neck, and trample 
On my crown; in base defilement 
Treat me with all disrespect; 
Let thy deadliest vengeance strike me 
Through my honor; as thy slave 
Make me serve thee, and in spite of 



LIFE IS A DREAM 



asi 



AH prec&utioDfl let fate be, 

Let Heaven keep the word it piloted. 
SicnSMuNi). Princee of the Court of Po- 
Und, 

Who such numerous aurprises > 

H&ve BatoaiBhed Been, attend, 

For it ia your prince invites ye. 

That which heaven has once determined, 

Tlkat which God's eternal finger 

Has upon the aiure tablets 

Of the sky sublimely written, 

Those transparent ^eets of sag^hire 

Superscribed with golden ciphers 

Ne'er deceive, and never lie; 

The deceiver and the liar 

Is he who to use them badly 

In a wrongful sense defines them. 

Hius, my father, who is iH«sent, 

To protect him from the wildness 

Of my nature, made of me 

A fierce brute, a human wild beast; 

80 that ], who from my birth, 

From the noble blood that tricklee 
I Through my veins, my generous natura, 

And my liberal condition, 

Might have iMx>ved a dqcile child, 

And so grew, it was sufficient 

By BO strange an education. 

By BO wild a course of living. 

To have made my manners wild; — 

What a metliod to refine themi 

If to any man 't was said, 

"It is fated that some wild beaat 

Will de«troy you," would it be 

Wise to weJk a sleeping tiger 

As the remedy of the ill? 

If 't were said, " This sword here hidden 
- In its aheath, which thou dost wear. 

Is ti>e one foredoomed to kill thee," 

Vain [vecautiou it would be 

To pKBNve the threatened victim. 

Bare to point it at his breast. 

If 't were said, " These waves that ripi^e 

Calmly here for thee will build 
1 Foam-white sepulcbers of silver," 
I Wrong it were to trust the sea 
' When its haughty breast is lifted 
1 Into mountain heights of snow, 

ilnto hills of culling crystal. 
Well, this very thing has happened 
Unto him, who feared a wild beast, 
And awoke turn while he alept; 



Or who drew a sharp sword hidden 

Naked forth, or dared the sea 

When 't was roused by raging whirlwinds 

And though my fierce nature (bear me) 

Was as 't were the sleeping tiger, 

A sheathed sword my innate rage, 

And my wrath a quiet ripi^. 

Fate should not be forced by means ,-■ 

So unjust and so vindictive, 

For they but excite it more; 

And thus he who would be victor 

O'er his fortune, must succeed 

By wise prudence and self-strictneea. 

Not before an evil cometh 

Can it rightly be resisted 

Even by him who hath foreeeen it. 

For although (the fact's admitted) 

By an humble resignation 

It is possible to diminish 

Its efFects, it first must happen. 

And by no means can be lundered. 

Let it serve as an example - - - 

This strange sight, this most surprising 

Spectade, this fear, this horror, 

This great prodigy; for none higher 

E'er was worked than this we see. 

After years of vain contriving, 

Prostrate at my feet a father. 

And a mi^ty Idng submitted. 

This the sentence of high Heaven 

Which he did his beat to hinder 

He could not prevent. Can I, - 

Who in valor and in science. 

Who in years am so inferior, 

It avertr [To Oui King] My lord, tor^vt 

Rise, sir, let me clasp tliy hand; 

For since Heaven has now apprised thee 

That thy mode of counteracting 

Its decree was wrong, a willing 

Sacrifice to thy revenge 

Let my prostrate neck be ^ven. 

Basiltdb. Son, this noble act of thine 
In my heart of hearts leviveth 
All my love, thou'rt there reborn. 
Thou art Prinoe; the bay that bindetb 
Beroes' brows, Uie palm, be thine, 
Let the crown thine own deeds give thee. 

All. Long live Sigismund out King! 

SiaiBMimn. Though my sword must 
wait a little 
Ere great victories it oan gain. 



33' 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



I to-day will win the hi^iest. 
The moet glorious, a'et myaelf. — 
Give, AatoUo, give your plig^tod 
Hand here to Rosaura, since 
It ie due and I require it. 

Abtolfo. Iliough 't is true I owe the 
debt, 
Still 't is needful to ooneider 
That she knows not who she is; 
It were infamous, & stigma 
On my name to wed a woman . . . 

Clotaldo. Stay, Astolfo, do not finish; 
For Roeaura is as noble 
As yourself. My sword will right her 
In the fidd a^inst the world; 
She's my daughter, that's sufficient. 

AsTOLFFO. What do you say? 

Clotaioo. Until I saw her 
To a noble spouse united, 
. I her birth would not reveal. 
It were now a long recital, 
But the sum is, she 'b my child. 

Abtolfo. That being so, the word I've 
[diphted 
I will keep. 

SiaiSHiTNn. And that Estiella 
May not now be left afflicted. 
Seeing she has lost a prince 
Of such valor and distinction, 
I propose from mine own hand 
As a husband one to give her, 
Who, if he does not exceed 
Him in worth, perhaps may rival 
Give to me thy hand. 

EsTRELLA. 1 gain 
By an honor so distinguished. 

SiQiBiinrNn. To Clotaldo, who so truly 



Served my father, I can give lii'tti 
But these open arms wherein 
He will find whate'er he wishes. 

A Sou>iEB. If thou honorest those who 
aerve thee. 
Thus, to me the first beginner 
Of the tumult through the land. 
Who from out the tower, thy prison. 
Drew thee forth, what wilt thou give? 

SioisuuND. Just that tower: and that 

Never from it until death, 
I will have you guarded strictly; 
For the traitor is not needed 
Once the treason is committed. 
Basiliub. So much wisdom makes one 

wonder. 
Astolfo. What a- change in his condi- 
tion! 
RosAUKA. How diacreetl how calml how 

prudenti 
SiaiBHUND. Why this wonder, these sur- 

If my teacher was a dream. 
And amid my new aspirings 
I am fearful I may woke. 
And once more a prisoner find me 
In my cell? But should I not. 
Even to dream it is sufficient: 
For I thus have come to know 
That at last oil human blieees 
Pass and vanish as a dream, 
And the time that may be given me 
I henceforth would turn to gain: 
Asking for our faults forgiveness. 
Since to generous, noble hearts 
It is natural to forgive them. 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



THE CID 

By PIERRE CORNEILLE 
rranilaUd into English blank vtru by FLORENCE KENDRiCK COOPER 



ciilizedbv Google 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



THE CID 



■ ACT I 
[Bnlar Candm and Elvike.) 
CHwtNx. Tell me, Elrin, ts this ft true 
report? 
In naught doet thou disguise vaj father'B 

Elvire. My heart thrillg with delist 
when I recall them. 
Your lov« for Roderick vies with his es- 
teem; 
Unlees I read enam his imnoat soul, 
He viU coDtmand that you return his love. 
CmufeNK. Repeat, I pray, a second time 
the cause 
Why thou dost think that be approves my 

choice; 
What hope he gives me, let me learn anew; 
Such welcome news I could forever hear, 
Thou canst not with too sure a promise 

pledge 
The sunlight of his sanction to our love. 
What utterance gave be on the secret plot 
lliat Roderick and Sancho made with theeT 
Hast thou not made too clear the differ- 

Wbich draw me to my chosen Roderick's 
side? 
Blvibb. No, an indiSerent heart I pic- 
tured yours, 

That kindles not, nor blights, the hope of 
either. 

And, not too stern, nor yet too soft, but 

your father's wish in dioosing you a hus- 

ThiB filial spirit charmed him, sa his lips 
And every feature quick assurance gave. 
And since your b«ul demands bis very 

Repeated o'er and o'er — why, here they 

ore: 
" Wiaely she waits my choice; tb^ both an 

worthy, 
Of Doble blood, of ffuthful, valiant soul. 



Tbeir youthful faces speak the unbroken 

line 
Of shining virtues handed proudly down. 
In Roderick's glance no slightest trace I see 
Of aught but courage high and stainleea 

Cradled amid war's trophies was this son, 
3d many warriors has his house produced. 
A marvelous tale of valor and emprise. 
His father's glorious acts have long been 

told; 
And the seamed brow that tells the flight of 

years 
Speaks clearer still hie mighty deeds inarms. 
"The son will prove fully worthy of the sire; 
'T would please me should he win my 

daughter's love." 
Than to the council-chamber did he baste. 
Whose pressing hour an interruption made; 
But from his hurried words I think 't is 

He leans not atroi^y to the suit of either. 
The king must choose a tutor for his son. 
And this high service to your father gives; 
The choice is certain, and his valor rare 
Admits no fear of question or dispute; 
His unmatched gifta ne'er meet a rival 

Whether in royal court or honor's field. 
And since your Roderick has his father's 

To press the mamage.at the council's close. 
Your heart may well assure you of his plea. 
And in a tender hope will rest content. 
ChiuInii. My troubled heart in hope 
finds little ease. 
But, burdened with sad doubt, aslcs cei^ 

Fate in a moment can reverse her will; 
Even this happiness may mean a sorrow. 
Elvirs. Nay, happily that fear shall be 

dispelled. 
CnndiNB. Away! — to wait the issue, 
what it be. 

lExewU CmutNE and Elvibe..; 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



[Bnter the Infanta, Lkohoba, md Page.] 
Intanta. Page, quickly tell Chimine 

she stays too long 
Before her prombed comiogi my afTection 
ComplaiuH that ahe neglects the heart that 

love« her. [Exit Page.] 

Leonoha. Madam, some longing burns 

within your soul, 
For at each meeting anxiously you seek 
The daily progress of her lover's suit. 
Inpamta. Rave I not reasonT Her young 

heart ia pierced 
By darts myself did level at her breast. 
Her lover Roderick was my bver first, 
And *t is to me she owes hig paaaion deep; 
Thue having forged these lovers' lasting 

chains, 
I yearn to see the end of all their pains. 
Iaonora. Madam, their dear delight in 

mutual love 
Finds, as 1 read your heart, no echo there. 
But SOTTow wei^ your spirit at their 

bopefl. 
Can your great soul feel grief at others' joy? 
Why should your love for them react in 

And cause you sufiering in their hour of 

rapture? 
But, pardon, madam, 1 am overbold. 
Intanta. Concealment deepens sorrow, 

therefore hear 
What struggles my too-loving heart has 

borne; 
Listen what fierce assault my courage 

The tyrant Love spares oeither tii^ nor 

This cavalier whose heart I 'i 

Lbonora. You love himi 
Inpamta. Feel my bounding pulset 

Mark what its conqueror's name alone can 
do; 

It knows its master. 
Leonoha. Madam, pardon me, 

1 would not fail in gentle courtesy. 

And rudely censure you for this affection. 

But for a royal princess so to stoop 

As to admit a simple cavalier 

Within her heart — what would your 
father say? 



e given away 



What all Castile? Youra is the bkwd of 

Have you remembered that? 

Intanta, So well, alast 
That I would ope these veins era I would 

False to the sacred trust of rank and name. 
In noble souls, 't is true, wortii, worth alone 
Should kindle love's bright fires; and did 1 

To justify my passion, many a one 
Aa high-born as myself could give me cause. 
But honor heeds not Love's excuses fond, 
And sense, surprised, makes not my cour- 

The daughter of a Idng must mate with 

kings; 
No other hand than kin^y suea for mine. 
To save my heart from well-nigh fatal 

stroke, 
With mine own hand I turned the steel 

away. 
I drewthebond that binds him to ChimJine, 
And tuned their notes to love to still my 

No longer wonder that my harassed soul, 
With restless haste, will urge thur nupti^ 

on. 
Love lives on hope, and dies whui hope is 

dead— 
A flame that needs perpetual renewal. 
My heart has suffered much; but if this tie 
Be ooDsummated with no long delay, 
My hope is dead,my wounded spirit healed. 
But till that hour I'm rent with varying 

Pftngs; 
I will to lose, yet suffer in my loss; 
The love I would resign I still would kmp; 
And thus the court that to Chimdne he paya 
Excites the secret pain I cannot hide. 
Love moves my aighe for one whose n^ I 

My mind divided feels a double pr ig; 
My will U strong; my heart is all aflcune. 
I dare not hope from their united lives 
More than a mingled sense of joy and pain. 
Honor and Love war on this fatal Seld; 
Neither can wholly conquer, neither yield. 
Leonora. Madam, I blame hot, but 1 
pity you, 
And have no word to utter, save that I 
Sigh with your agbs and suffer in your grief. 



But mate jnmr royal burt, unstuned and 

■trong, 
Cu front an 31 BO tempting and m sharp, 
And bear it down, your noble spirit soon 
Will know again its aweet wrenity. 
Time ia the friend of Virtue; with its aid 
Vou will forget; and Heaven, whose God is 

jUHt, 

Will not forsake jou in this trying hour. 
Impanta. My surest hope is hope's own 
swift defeat. 

[Enter Page.] 
Paqk. Chimine await« Your Hi^meas 

at your wish. 
Intanta [to Leonora], Go, entertain her 

in the gallery. 
IiBONOKA. Here, brooding o'er your sor- 
row, will you BtayT 
Infanta. No, I but wish to hide my grief 
from her, 
And to aanune a joy I scarce can fecJ; 
I follow soon. 
Intamta [alone]. Just Heaven, whence I 
must hope alone for aid, 
Put to this bitter suffering an end; 
Grant me repose; in bonor's path be guide; 
In others' bliss my own I fain would seek. 
Three hearte are waiting for this marriage 

Ob, hasten it, or strengthen my weak soull 
The tie that makes these happy lovera one 
Will break my fetters and my anguish end. 
But I am lingering; I will seek Cblmene; 
Her gentle presence will assuage my pain. 
lExU Infanta.] 
[Sttier the Count otmj DiAoue.] 
Count. At last you win the prise; the 
royal hand 
Uplifte you to a plaoe where I should atand. 
You are to trun the young prince of Cas- 
tile. 
DiAaTTE. His justice and his gratitude 
Uie king 
Has bleoded in this honor to my house. 
Count. Kings, howsoever great they 

And, like us all, they ofttimes strangely err; 
All courtiers may, in this, a warning see 
That present service meebt but poor re- 



CID 339 

Diioui. No longer let us speak upon a 
theme 
So chafing to your spirit; kindness may 
Have turned the balance quite as much as 

But to a king whose power is absolute 
'T is due to take, nor question, what he 

wills. 
An added honor I would ask of you — 
The union of our houses and our names. 
You have a daughter, 1 an only son. 
Their marriage would forever nudce us one 
In mon than friendship's bonds; this favor 

gmnt. 
Count. To such alliance does this youth 

presume? 
Will the new splendor of your office serve 
To puS his mind with swelling vanity? 
Use your new dignity, direct the prince. 
Instruct him how a province should be 

So all his subjects tremble 'neath his laws. 
And love and terror make his throne secure ; 
To civic duties add a soldier's life — 
To laugh at hardship, ply the trade of Mars 
Undaunted and uneqiialed; pass long days 
And nights on horseback; to sleep fully 

To force a stron^old, and, the battle won. 
To owe the glory to himself alone. 
Instruct him by exEunple; his young eyes 
Must in yourself his perfect patt«ni see. 

DilauK. Your envious soul speaks in 
your sneering words; 
But, for example, he need only turn 
The pages of my life; therein ha'll read. 
Through a long story of heroic acts. 
How to subdue the nations, storm a fort. 
Command an army, and to make a name 
Whose wide renown shall rest on mighty 
deeds. 

Count. Living examples are the only 

Not from a book a prince his lesson learns. 
Your boasted years a single day of mine 
Equals not only, but surpasses oft. 
Valiant you have been; I am valiant nowt 
On my strong arm this kingdom rests se- 
cure; 
When my sword flashes, Aragon retreats, 
Granada trembles; by my name of mi^t 
Castile is girdled round as by a wall. 



a^ 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Without me you would ptm 'nesth other 

l&WB, 

And soon you'd have your enemiee your 

kings. 
Each day, each flying hour, exalte my fame, 
Addfl victory unto victory, praise to praiae. 
Under the {{uardiug shadow of my arm 
The prince should prove his mettle on the 

field, 
Should learn by eeeing conquest how to 

conquer. 
In hia young princeh04xl he should early win 
The Joftiest heights of courage; he should 

DitarB. I knowl you serve the king, 

your master, well; 
'Neath my command I've often watched 

you fight; 
And mnce the stiffening cunenta of old agQ 
Have chilled my powers, your jMowees 

nobly shows — 
Noniore;wfaat I have been, you are to-day. 
T is true, however, that when choice is due. 
Our monarch aeee a difference 'twixt us still. 
Count. Nayl ynu have stolen what was 

mine by right 1 
DifcoiTE. To win an honor is the proof of 

Count. He is most worthy who can use 

DifeoHB. To be refused it is poor proof 

of worth. 
ConiJT. You've used a courtier's wiles, 

and won by trick! 
Diiaux. My fame has been my only par- 

CoiTNT. Admit the king but honors your 

Dltaui;. My yean the king but meas- 
ures by my deeds. 
CotJNT. If deeds are years, I 'm elder far 

than youl 
DidGUB. Who not obtained this honor 

not deserved it. 
CoDNT. 1 not deserved it? IT 
DifeauE. Yea, youl 
Count. Old man, 
Thine insolence shall have its due reward. 
[Givet him a bUne.] 
DifeGUB \drairini/ hit stBord], Quick, run 
me throughl — the first of all my race 
To wear a flush of shame upon my brow. 



CotJMT. What dost thou hope thine im- 
potence c&n do? 
DdsouB. O God! my worn-out strength 

at need forsakes me. 
Count. Thy sword is mine, but thou 
wouldat be too vain 
If I should take thia trophy of thy fall. 
Adieu I Go read the prince, in spite of 

For hia instruction, thy life's history. 

This chastisement of insolent discourse 

Will prove, methinks, no slij^t embellish- 
ment. [Exit Count.] 
DitQCK. R«ge and despair! age, my 
worst enemy! 

Must my great life end with a foul disgrace? 

Shall laurels gained with slowly whitening 
locks, 

In years of warlike toils, fade in a day? 

And does the arm all Spain has wondered 
■ at, 

Whose might has often saved the king hia 
throne, 

And kept the rod of empire in his grasp, 

Betray me now, and leave me unavenged? 

O sad remembrance of my vanished gloryl 

O years of life undone in one short hour! 

This new-won height is fatal to my fortune, 

A precipice from which my honor falls. 

Must the Count's triumph add the final 
pang 

To death dishonorablOr to life disgraced? 

The office, Count, is thine; thine the high 
place 

Of tutor to my prince, for thine own hand. 

With envious insult, the king's choice rc- 

And leaves me here with hope and honor 

gone. 
And thou, brave instrument of my extdoits, 
But uselcBB ornament of feeble age, 
Once terror of my enemies, but now 
A bauble, not a man's defense at need — 
My sword! — go, quit thy now dishonored 

Pass, to avenge me, into worthier handal 
[Enter RoDERICK-I 

DitouE. Hast thou a brave heart, Rod- 
erick? 
Roderick. Any man 
Except my father soon would prove it bo. 



34> 



DikanE. O pleasing cholerl wrath that 
sooUhb my hurti 
My own blood speaks in this resentment 

And in thy heat my youth oomes back to 

My son, my scion, come, repair my wrong; 
Avenge me instantly! 

Roderick. For what? for what? 

DdioiTB. For an affront bo cruel, so un- 

'T is fatal to the honor of our house. 

A bkiwl across my cheekl his life had paid, 

Save that my nerveless arm betrayed my 

wfl). 
This sword, which I again can never wield, 
I pass to thee for vengeance to the death. 
A^Dst this arrc^ance thy courage set; 
Only in blood such stains are cleansed, and 

Must kin or die. This man, mine enemy, 
Whwn thou must meet, is worthy of thy 

Begrimed with blood and dust, I've seen 

him hold 
An army terror-etricken at his will. 
And break a hundred squadrons by his 

And, to say all, more than a leader brave, 
More than a warrior great, he is ^ he is — 

RoDBRtCK. In mercy speak! 

DiliauB. Thefatherof Chim^nel 

RooRRicK. Ghim6nel 

Dikauv. Nay, answer not; I know thy 

But who can live disgraced deserves not 

life. 
Is the offender dear, wome the offense. 
'Hiou know'st my wrong; its quittance lies 

with thee; 
I say no more; avenge thyself and mel 
Remember who thy father is — and wast 
Weighed down with Fate's misfortunes 

heaped on me, 
I go to mourn them. Do thou fly to v^ige- 

ancel [ExU DifeauE.] 

Roderick. Myheart'eo'erwhelmedwith 

A mortal stroke that mocks my tender 

Makes me avenger of a quarrel just, 
And wretched victim of an unjust blow. 



Though oruahed in spirit, still my pride 

must cope 
With that which slays my hope. 
So near to love's fruition to be told — 

O God, the strange, atrange paini — 
My father has received an insuit bold, 

The offender is the father of Chimftne. 

'Mid conflicts wild I stand. 
I lift my arm to strike my father's foe, 
But Love with mighty impulse urges " No!" 

Pride fires my heart, affection stays my 
hand; 
I must be deaf to Passion's c^ls, or face 
A life of deep disgrace. 
What«*er I do, fierce anguish follows me — 

God, the strange, strange pain! 
Can an sJFTront so base unpunished be? 

But can I fight the father of Chimtae? 

To which allegiance give? — 
To tender tyranny or noble bond? — 
A tarnished name or loss of pleasures foud? 

Unworthy or unhappy must I live. 
[To hit tword.] Thou dear, stem hope of 

souls high-bom and bold 
And fired with love untold. 
But enemy of my new dreams of bliss, 

Sword, cause of all my pain. 
Was 't given me to Use for this, for this? — 

To save my honor, but to lose Chimtoe? 

T must seek death's dread boume. 
To weigh my duty and my love is vain. 
If I avenge his death, her hate I gain. 

If I no vengeance take, I win her scom; 
Unfaithful must I prove to hope roost 

Or for that hope unmeet. 
What heals my honor's wounds augments 
mygri^, 
And causes keener pain; 
Be strong, my soull Since death's my sole 

1 '11 die, nor lose the love of my Chimtee. 

What, die without redress? 
Seek death — so fatal to my future fame? 
Endure that Spain sh^ heap on me the 
shame 

Of one who failed in honor's sorest stress? 
All for a love whose hope my freniied heart 



34» 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Already sees depart? 

I'n list DO longer to tbe subtle fdea 

Which but renews my pain; 
Come, wm of mine, my ohoioe turns now 
to thee, 
Since naught, alaal can give me back 
Chimtae. 

Yea, love my will mieled. 
My father — life and name to him I owe — 
Whether of grief or from a mortal blow 

I die,my blood all pure and true I'll shed. 
Too long I 'vB dallied with a purpose weak; 
Now vengeance swift I seek. 
The flush of shame mounts hotly to my 

That I can deem it pain 
To save my father's house. Ihastee'ennow 
To seek ^- woe's me! — the father of 
Chimiae. [Exit Rodbbick.] 



ACT II 
lEiUer Arias and the Count.] 
CocNT. I grant you that my somewhat 
hasty blood 
Took fire too soon, and carried me too far; 
But — what ia done, is done: the blow was 
struck. 
Abiab. To the king's will let your i»x)ud 
spirit yield. 
This moves him deeply, and his anger 

roused 
Will make you suffer penalty extreme. 
No just defense can you before him plead; 
The deed was gross, the aged victim great; 
1 rule that serves 'twixt man 



Will meet the high demand exacted here. 
CoiJNT. The king can use my life to suit 

Abiab. You add tbe fault of anger to 
your deed. 
The king still loves you well; appease bis 

You know his wish; you will not disobey? 
Count. To disobey — a little — were 

Should it preserve the fame I most do prise. 
But were it such, forsooth, my valiant 



More than suffices for o'erlooking it. 
Arias. For deeds howe'er illustrious and 
high, 
A king can ne'er beoome a subject's d^tor. 
Better than any other you should know 
Who serves his king well does his simple 

duty; 
This haughty confidence will cost you dear. 
Count. I will believe you when I pay 

the price. 
Abiab. You should respect your mon- 
arch's sovereign will. 
Count. I con outlive a single day's dis- 
pleasure. 
Let the whole state be armed to hurl me 

If I be made to suffer, Spain will falll 
Arias. What! you, foivooth, defy the 

power supreme t 
Count. Why should I fear a soepteied 
hand whose grasp 
Is weaker than my own? He knows my 

use; 
My head, in falling, will shake oS hir 

Abiab. X^et reason rule your action; be 

Count. I wish no further counsel: all is 
said. 

Arias. What message to your king shall 
I report ? 

Count. That I shall ne'er consent to 
my disgrace. 

Arias. Remember that you brave a ty- 
rant's power. 

ConNT, The die is cost and longer speech 

Abias. Adieu, then, since I cannot 
change your will. 
£'en on 3'our laureled head the bolt may 
etrikel 
Count. I wait it without fear. 
Arias. 'T will cast you down. 
Count. Then old Di^e will be well 
satisfied. {EiM ARIA8.] 

Who fears not death need surely not fear 

threats. 
My proud resolve yields not to weak dis- 
grace; 
Though I be stripped of fortune, rank, and 

Myself alone can rob me of my honor. 



[Bnter Rodbxick.] 
RoDCRicK. Grant me & word, Count. 
CoDKT. Speak. 

RoDiRicK. Dost know Diigue? 
Count. Yea. 

RODEBicK. Listen, then, and let ua 
eoftly apeak. 
Doat alao kotm that hia now feeble arm 
Wa> once Spain's chiefeat honor, valor, 
glory? 
CoDNT. Perhapel 

RoDKBicx. This fire enkindled in my 
eyea 
Blarka the same blood as his; dost thou 
know thatf 
Count. What matters that to me? 
Roderick. I 'II teach you. Count, 
\t some four paces hence, what matters it. 
Count. Preeumptuoiu youth! 
RoDEBicK. Spe^ quietly, I pray. 
Uy years are few, but. Count, in high-born 

ValM: and youth full oft united are. 
Count. And thou wouldst stand 'gainst 
met thou vain, untried. 
Impudent upstart? Cease thy boyish brag! 
Roderick. The tamper of my at«el will 
not demand 
A second proof; the first will be enough. 
Count. Know'st thou to whom thou 

apeakeet? 
Roderick. I know well! 
Another than I am would hear with dread 
The mention of thy name: thy crowns of 

Muat mean to me, 'twould seem, the stroke 

of doom. 
But bold I meet thine all-victorioue arm; 
Where courage leads, there force wilt aye 

be found. 
A father's honor is a triple shield; 
InvinciblB thou art not, though unoon- 

quered. 
Count. Thy fearless words a fearless 

heart reveal. 
I 've watched thy growing powers from day 

lo thee the future glory of Castile 

I hare believed to see, and proud of heart, 

Was laying in thine own my daughter's 



cm S43 

I know thy love, and charmed am I to learn 
That duty is a dearer mistress still. 
Nor soft emotions weaken warlike seal. 
Thy manly worth responds to my esteem; 
And wiflhing for my son a noble knight, 
I did not err when I made ohoioe of thee. 
But pity stirs within me at thy words; 
Such boldness ill befits thy youthful form; 
Let not thy maiden efFort be thy last; 
I cannot fif^t a combat so unequal; 
A victory won withdut a peril braved 
la but inglorious triumph, and for me 
Such contest is not fitting. None would 

Thou couldst withstand an instant, and 

regret 
At thy young, foolish death would e'er be 

Roderick. ^ Thy pity more insults mo 
than t£y scorn; 
Thou fear'st my arm, but dar'st attack my 
honor. 
Count. Withdraw from herel 
Roderick. Let ua to deeds, not wordsl 
Count. Art tired of life? 
RODERICK. Doat thou, then, fear to die? 
Count. Come on I Thou'rt right. I'll 
help thee do thy dutyl 
'T is a base son survivea a father's fame! 
[Exeunt Count and Rod ewck.] 



Infanta. Nay, do not weepi allay thy 

grief, Chiminel 
This sorrow should disclose thy spirit's 

strength. 
Aft«r this transient storm a calm will fall. 
And happiness, deferred and clouded now, 
Will brighter seem in contrast. Do not 

weep I 
CHiifliNx. My heart, worn out with 

trouble, has no hope. 
A stonn BO sudden and so terrible. 
To my poor bark brings direful threat of 

Ere I set sail upon my smiling sea, 
I perish in the harbor. I was loved 
By him I fondly loved; our sires approved; 
But even while I told my charming story 
At that same moment was the quarrel on. 
Whose sad recital changed my tale to woe. 



Goc«lc 



"44 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



O cuTBod &mbitiont wrath's insuiityt 
Pride, to my dearest wishes pitiless, 
Whose tyraiin; the noblest nature rules! 
In slBha and tears a heavy price I pay. 
Intanta. llky feaiB o'eroome thee; 't is 

a hasty word; 
The quarrel of a moment dies as soon. 
The king already seeks to nutke a peace; 
And I, as well thou knowest, to dry thy 

tears 
And heal thy grief would try the impos- 

Cmiiikm. No reconciliation can avail. 
Such wounds are mortal and defy all art 
Of king or princess, of conunaad or plead- 
ing. 
And though an outward show of peaoe be 

The firee of hate, oompreofed wiUun the 

heart. 
Bum fiercer, and will break at last in 

Intahta. When Love has bound Chi- 
m&ne and Roderick 
In sacred marriage, hatred will depart; 
Their fathers will forget, and happiness 
Will silence discord in sweet harmony. 
Camfeim. I wish for such on end, but 
dare not hope. 
'T is a matched oombat between two i»oud 

Neither will yield; I know them; I must 

The post I mourn, the future fri^tens me. 
Intanta. What fearest thouT an old 

man's feebleness? 
CHiiitNii. Brave sires make braver sons; 

Roderick is bold. 
Intamta. He is too young. 
ChihAhb. Such men are bom high- 
hearted! 
Intanta. Thou shouldst not fear his 
boldness overmuch ; 
He cannot wound thee, whom he loves so 

weU; 
A word from thy sweet Upe will check his 

CHDftNE. How shall I speak itT If he 
do not yield, 
'T is but an added burden to my heart; 
And if he do, what will men say of him — 

His father's son, to see his father's fall, 



Nor lift an arm of vengeance? In this strait 
I stand confused, nor know what I would 

His too weak love, or his too stem refusal. 
Intanta. In thy hi|^ soul, Chimdne, no 
thought can live 
Unworthy of thee; love but more ezaltA 
But if, until this trouble be o'erpast, 
I itiake a prisoner of this gallant youUi, 
Picventing thus the dread results you feur. 
Would it offend thy proud and loving heart? 
CsivftNE. Ah! ma/ium, then my caree 
are quieted. 

lEtOer the Page] 
Intanta. Page, summon Roderick 

hithtf; I would see him. 
Paob. He and the Count de Gormas — 
CHiutNB. Heavot, oh, help mel 
Infanta. What? SpeakI 
Paoe. Together they have left the pal- 

CsiMkNX. Alone? 

Paon. Yes, and Vbey muttered angrily. 

CHiKtNX. They've come to blowsl All 

words are useless now; 
Madam, forgive this haste — my heart 

will break! 

lExewtt CHiKkNB and Page.] 
Intanta. Alas! that such inquietude is 

I weep her griefs, but Roderick still en- 
thrals; 
My peace is gone; my dying flame revives. 
The fate that parts Chimine from him she 

Renews alike my sorrow and my hope. 
Their separation, cruel though it be, 
Excites a secret ecstasy in me. 

LiONORA. Surely, the noble virtue of 
your soul 
Yields not so soon to passion's baser thrall. 

Intanta. Nay, do not name it thus, 
since in my heart. 
Strong and triumphant, it controls my wOl 
Respect my love, for it is dear to me; 
My nobler pride forbids it — yet I hope. 
Bl-guarded 'gainst a madness BobewUd'ring, 
My heart flies to a love Chimtee has lost. 

Leonoka. And thus your high resolve 
all-powertees fails? 
And Reason lays hw wonted soeptar down? 

Goc«lc 



INTANTA. Ahl Itoaaon haa a baieh sad 
rude effect. 
When such sweet poisoa has inflamed Uie 

Hie patient loves his painful malady, 
Nor wilibgly accepts a healing draught. 
LsoNORA. Be not b^uiled by Love's 
seductions soft; 
That Roderick is beneath you, all well 

Intanta. Too well mymU must know it, 

but my heart 
Hears subtle words which Love, the flat- 

erer, speaks. 
If from this combat Roderick victor comes, 
And this great warrier falls beneath hia blow, 
What other plea need Love, the pleader, 

use? 
Who oould withstand that oonqueror'B con- 
queror I 
My fancy sets oo bounds to his exploits; 
Wbole kinKdoms soon would fall beneath 

his laws; 
i see him on Granada's ancient throne; 
The subject Moore with trembling do his 

will; 
Proud Aragon acknowledges him king. 
And Portugal receives him, while the seas 
Bear bis high destiny to other lands. 
In Afric's blood his laurels shall be dyed, 
And all that e'er was said of greatest chief, 
I hear of Roderick, this victory won; 
Then in hia love my highest glory lies. 
Lbonoba. Nay, madam, 't is your fancy 

makes you dream 
Of oonquoata whoae b^inning may not 

chance. 
Infanta. The count has done the deed 

— Roderick enraged — 
Tbay have gone forth to combat — needs 

there more? 
Lkonoka. E'en should they fig^t — 

since you will have it so — 
n'ill Roderick prove the knight you picture 

him? 
Infanta. Nay, I am weak; my foolish 

mind runs wild; 
Love spreads ita snares for victims such as I. 
Cotat b> my chamber; there console my 

grief. 
Nor leave me till this troubled hour is o'er. 
lEseunt Infanta and Lsonooa.] 



[EtUer Ae Kino, ARua, and Sancho.) 
KiHQ. Pray, is this haughty count bereft 
,ot sense? 
Dares be believe his crime can be o'er- 
looked? 
Arias. To him I have conveyed your 
strong desire; 
Nothing I gained from long and eameet 
pleas. 
King. Just Heaven! A subject have I in 
my realm 
So rash that he will disr^iard my wish? 
My oldest, foremost courtier he affronts. 
Then aims his boundless insolence at mel 
The law, in my own oourt, he would decree*. 
Leader and warrior, great howe'er he be, 
I'll school his haughty soul with leeson 

hard. 
Were he the god of battles, valor's self, 
Obedience to his sovereign he shall pay. 
Although hie act tike chastisement deserved, 
It was my will to show him leniency. 
Since he abuses mercy, from this hour 
He is a prisoner, all resiatance vain. 
Sancho. Pray, sire, a brief delay may 
calm his mind. 
Freeh from the quarrel he was first ap- 
proached, 
Boiling with passion. Sire, a soul like his, 
80 hasty and so bold, belies itself 
In its first impulse; soon he'll know his 

fault. 
But cannot yet admit he was the offender. 
Kino. Be silent, Sancho, and be warned 
henceforth. 
He who defends the guilty shares the gmlt. 
Sancho, Yea, aire, I will obey, but gnmt 
me grace 
To say one further word in his defense. 
KsfO. What can you say for such a reck- 
less man? 
SaAcho, Concessions do not suit a lofty 

Accustomed to great deeds; it can eoacoive 
Of no submission without loss of honor. 
He cannot bend his pride to make amends; 
Too humble is the part you'd have him 

play; 

He would obey you were he lees a man. 
Command his arm, DouriBbed 'mid war'i 



>46 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



To right thia wnmg upon the field of honor. 
Th« boldest champion who his stod will 

He will accept and make atonement swift. 
KtNO. You fail in due respect, but youUi 

And in your ardor I your fault excuse. 
A king, whom prudence ever should inform, 
Is guardian of his subjects' life and death. 
O'er mine I watch with caie, and jealously, 
like a great head, I guard my membov 

well. 
Your reason, then, no raaaon is for me; 
You speak, a soldier; I must act, a king. 
Moreover, let the count think what he will, 
Obedience to his king ennobles him. 
' He hEis affronted me; he rudely stained 
The honor of my son's appointed guide. 
To strike a blow at him — 't is nothing lew 
Than to attack with blows the power su- 



Ten hostile ycssels, with their colon up; 

They've dared approach cloar b> tiie riv- 
er's mouth. 
Abiab. The Moora have learned, per- 
force, to know you well; 

Conquered so oft, what courage can they 
feel 

To risk themselves against their conqueror? 
Kma. They'll never see, without a jeal- 
ous rage. 

My ecept«r rule o'er Andalusia. 

That lovely land, by them too long pos- 

Alwayswitb envious eye they closdy watch. 
That was t^ only cause why Castile's 

throne 
In old Seville I placed, now years ago; 
I would be near, and ready at demand. 
To overthrow uprising or attack. 
Arias. They know, at coat of mAny a 

mighty chief. 
That triumph, sire, your presence only 

Naught can you have to fear. 

KiNQ. Nor to neglect; 
For confidence is duiger's sure ally. 
Well do you know with what an eaay sweep 
4 rising tide may float them to our walls. 
T is but a rumor; let no panic rise, 



Nor oauselees fears be spread by fslsr 

Stir not the city in the hours of night; 
But doubly fortify the walls and haiboi*. 
Enough, till more is known. 
[Enter Alonbo.] 
Ai.oinH>. The count is dead! 
Di^ue has tak«n vengeance by his toni 
Kino. Sotm as the affront I kamsd, I 
feared revei^. 
Would that I might have t^urned that fatal 
wrathl 
Alonbo. Chimfaie aiqifoaohee, bathed 
in bitter tears. 
And at your feet would she for justice plead. 
Kino. Compassion moves my soul at her 
mishaps; 
But the count's deed, methinks, has weQ 

deserved 
This chastisement of his audadty. 
And yet, however just m^ be tus doom, 
I lose with pain a warrior strong and true. 
After long servioe rendered to our Bt«te, 
His blood poured out for us a thousand 



[Enter Ditain and CsncfeNX.] 
CHDcfeNs. Justice, sire, justice! 
Diftanx. Ah, sire, let me speak! 
CendiNB. Behold me, at your feet! 
DitouK. t clasp your knees! 
Cmutim. 'Tie juatioe I demand! 
Difeoux. Hear my defense 1 
CBitiiHK. Punish the insolence of thii 

bold youth! 
He has struck down your kingdom's chief 

support I 
My father he has slain! 
DiiocB. To avenge his own! 
CHiuiiNE. A subject's blood demands his 

monarch's justice I 
DdCoux. A vengeance just demands no 

punishment. 
Euro. Rise, and in calmness let us hear 

Chimdne, my deepest sympathy is stirred; 
A grief not leas than yours affects my heart. 
iroDiioui.l You will speak after, nor dia- 
turfo bw plaint 



.CjOC^'.^Ic 



THE CID 



247 



CbuInx. Myfatber, aire, is drad; mine 

eyes have seen 

Great drops of blood roll from hia noble side; 

That blood that oft your walls has fortified; 

That blood that many times your fights has 

That blood which, shed, still holds an angry 

heat 
To be outpoured for other lives th&n youn. 
What in war's deadliest carnage ne'er was 

spiUed, 
The hand of Roderick sheds upon your soil. 
BreatiilesB and pale, I reached the fatal 

I found him lifelem, sir« — forgive my 

Id Uiis sad tale words mock my trembling 

lips; 

My sighs will utter .what I cannot speak. 

KtHO. Take courage, child; thy long 

henceforth shall be 

Thy father, in the place of him that's lost. 

ChiuInii. Such honor, sire, I ask not in 

I said I found bim lifeless: open wound 
And blood outpoured, aitd mixed with hor- 
rid dust. 
Showed me my duty, drove me here in 

haste; 
That dreadful gaping mouth speaks with 

my voice, 
And must be heard by the most just of 

kings. 
O sire, let not such license reign unchecked 
Beneath your sovereign sway, before your 

eyes; 
So the most noble may, without restraint. 
Suffer the blows of beardless insolence, 
And a young braggart triumph o'er their 

glory, 
BattM in their blood and mock their mem- 
ory. 
This valiant warrior, slain, if unavenged, 
Will surety cool the ardor of your kn^ts. 
O sire, grant vengeance for my father's 

death! 
Your throne demands it more than my poor 

His rank was high, his death will cost you 

Pa? death with death, and blood with 
blood avenge. 



A Victim, not for me, but for your crown, 
Your person, and Your Majesty, I b% — 
A victJm that will show to all the state . 
The madness of a deed so arrogant. 

Kind. What say'et, DiSgue? 

Diiauii, Worthy of envy he 
Who, losing life's best gift, can part with 

life I 
For age's weakness bringi to noble souls 
A mournful fate before its closing scene. 
I, whose proud 'scutcheon is graved o'er 

with deeds, 
I, whom a victor laurels oft have crowned. 
To-day, because too loi^ with life I've 

Affronted, prostrate lie and powerless. 
What neither siege nor fight nor ambuscade, 
Nor all your foea, nor all my envious friends, 
Nor Aragon could do, nor proud Granada, 
The count, your subject, jealous of your 

choice. 
Bold in the power which youth has over 

age. 
Has done within your court, beneath your 

Thus, sire, these locks, 'neath war's rou^ 

harness blanched. 
This blood, so gladly lav^ed in your cause, 
This am, the lifelong terror of your foes, 
To a dishonored grave would have de- 
scended, 
Had not my son proved worthy of his sire. 
An honor to his country and his king. 
He took his father's sword, he slew the 

count, 
He gave me back my honor cleansed from 

If to show courage and resentment deep. 
If to avenge a blow, claim punishment. 
On me alone should fall your anger's stroke. 
When the arm erra, the head must bear 

the blame. 
Whether this be a crime of which we speak. 
His was the hand, but mine, sire, was the 

wiU. 
Chimtoe names him her father's murderer; 
The deed was mine; 1 longed to take his 

place. 
Spare for your throne the arm of youth and 

might. 
But slay the chief whom Time o'ermaaters 



S4S 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



If an old soldier's blood will expiate 
And satisfy Qiicitae, 't is hers to shed; 
Ftue from repining at such atem dooree, 
I'll glory in an honorable death. 
KiHO. Of deep and serious import is this 
deed, 
And in full council must be gravely met. 
Lead the count's daughter home; and you, 

Shall be held prisoner by your word of 

Let Rodericic be brought ; I must do justice. 
CHmiNB. 'T is justice, Bire, a murderer 

should die. 
King. Allay your grief, my child, and 

t^e repose. 
CHiukNB. When silence tuges thought, 

then ai^uish grows. [Bxeunt omnet.] 



ACT III 
[Enter RonBsicE and Elyirb.] 

Eltire. Roderick, what haat thou done? 
why cam'st thou here? 

RoDEBiCK. I follow my Bad fate's un- 
happy courae. 

Eltirb. Whence hast thou this audacity. 

To places filled with mourning by thy deed? 
Com 'at here to brave the dead count's very 

shade? 
Hast thou not killed him7 

Roderick. To my shame he lived; 
My father's houae demanded that he die. 
Elyire. But why seek shelter 'neath 

thy victim's root? 
Wbat murderer ever sought retreat so 

strange? 
Roderick. I come to yield myself up to 

my judge. 
No more look on me with astonished eye; 
I seek my death m penance for a death. 
My love's my judge, my judge Chimine 

Sharper than death the knowledge of her 

hate; 
lliat I deaerve, and I have come to ask 
The sentence of her lipe, her hand's death 

blow. 
Elvtrk. Nay, rather flee her sight, her 

passion's force. 



Remove thy presence from her freeh de- 
spair. 
Flee! shun the promptings of her anguish 

Which will but rouse to fury every feeling. 
Roderick. This dearest object of my 

heart's desire 
Cannot too sorely chide me in her wrath; 
That is a punishment I well deserve. 
In seeking for a death from hand of hers 
1 shun a hundred others worae to face. 
Elvire. Chimine is at the palace, 

drowned in tears, 
And will return escorted from the king. 
Flee, Roderick, flee! pray add not to my 

What would be said if here thou shouldst 

be seen! 
Wouldst thou that slander, adding to her 

woe, 
Charge that she hide her father's murderer? 
She'll soon return! Hark! hark! she comes, 

she's here! 
Hide thyself, then, for her sake; Roderick, 

hidel [Exit Roderick.] 

[Enter Sancho and CbiuIinb.] 
S&NCHo. True, madam, blood alone pays 
debts like this; 
Your wrath is righteous, and your tean are 

I would not try with weak and foolish words 
To calm your anger or console your grief. 
But if to serve you I am capable, 
My Bword is at your service to command; 
My love is youra to avenge your fathet 'e 

death; 
If you 1 serve, my arm will outmatoh ilia. 

Cbiu^ne. O wietehed that I am! 

Sancho. Accept my sword! 

CHIufeNE. It would offend the king, who 
pledges justice. 

Sancho, The march of Justice often i> 
so slow 
That crime escapes the tardy loiterer. 
Her oft uncertain course costs teara and 

Suffer a knight to avenge you with his 

The way is sure, the punishment is swift. 
Chim^ne. It is the last rcaort. If oomeit 
nuat* 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



And Btall my soitowb mov« your Boul to 

pity, 
Yon shftll be free to Hvenge my iniury. 
Sancho. To that one h&ppinees my soul 

And hoping this, I leave you, well content. 
[EtU Sakcho,] 
ChdiAne. At last, in freedom from a. 
forced restraint, 
I can pour out to thee my poignant woe, 
Can give an utterance to my mournful aighs, 
And let my soul tell all its many griefB, 
My father's dead, Elvire; the maiden tbrusl 
Of Roderick's sword has cut his lif^-thread 

Weep, weep, my eyes, dissolve yourselves 

One half my heart the other half entombs; 
And for this mortal stroke, my heart that 

Must vengeance take for that wbich is no 

Elvibb. Rest, madam, rest. 
CniMfeNE. Nay, mock me not with 
words! 
In misery like mine to speak of restl 
Whence-ever shall my agony be soothed 
Unlees I hate the hand that caused my 

grief? 
What respite can I hope from torment aye, 
When love and bate both seek the criminal? 
EtiVDtB. You still can love the one who 

killed your father? 
Cbui^ne. Love is a word too weak for 
what I feel; 
1 do adore him, spite of my resentment; 
My lover and my enemy are one. 
StUI, notwithstanding all my hatred fierce. 
Against my father Roderick contends; 
My filial love resists his sweet assault. 
And struggles, feeble now, and now trium- 

Itt this rude war of anger and of love. 
My heart is rent, but stronger grows my 

soul; 
I feel Love'f power, but duty's deeper 

Forbid that I should change or hesitate; 
I balance not, nor swerve, when honor leads. 
To me is Roderick dear; J weep his fate; 
My heart pleads in his favor, yet, alasl 
J am my father's daughter; be is dead. 



CID 949 

Elvibb. Shall you pursue it further? 
CHiuiiMii. Cruel thought! 
And cruel path which I am forced to tread! 
I seek his life, yet fear my end to gain; 
My death will follow his, yet be must die. 
Elvisb. Nay, madam, quit so terrible a 
task, 
Nor on yourself impose a law so stem. 
CBiufeNX. My father dead — nay, 
snatched from my embrace! 
Shall his dear blood unheard for vengeance 

cry? 
Shall my weak heart, snared by seducing 

With woman's teals alone pay honor's 

debt? 
Shall guileful love betray my filial duty. 
And in a shameful silence still its voiceT 
ELvmk. Believe me, madam, there ia 

For cooler counsels toward a loving heart, 
Against a lover dear. You 're made appeal 
Untfl the king himself; [H>ees not too far 
Persistence in this purpose strange and sad. 
CHodiNE. My word is pledged to ven* 
geance; it must fait. 
Love would beguile us with sweet subtle- 

To noble souls excuses shameful seem. 
Elvtrz. If you love Roderick, he can 

not offend you. 
CniiffeNE. 'T is true! 
Eltihb. Then, after all, what will you 

do? 
CHiidiNx. I will avenge my father, end 

I'll follow him, destroy him, then 111 — 



[Enter Rohbrick.) 
Roderick. Nay, madam, you shall find 
an easier way; 
My life is in your hand; your honor's sure. 
CHiirtNE. Elvire, where are we? Who 
is this I see? 
Is Roderick in my house? — b^ore my 
eyes? 
RoDBRicK. I oBer you my life; taste, 
when you will, 
The sweetness of my death and your re- 

i. Ob, woet 



. Google 



as* 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



RoDCHicK. Pny, hear met 
CHiidiMx. Nay, I die! 
RoDKSicx. A momentl 
ChuiIioi. Go; let me die! 
RoDKHiCK. I would but speak a word. 
You shall reply with sword-thruBt at my 

CasvksK. What! with a blade stained 

with my father's blood? 
Roderick. Cbimtoel 
ChimAnb. Remove that object ftvm 
miiieeyesl 
Its si^t recalls thy crime and suea tot 
death! 
Roderick, Nay, gaie upon it; 't will 
excite still more 
Thy hatred and thy wrath ; 't wiA haste my 
doom, 
CmutKii. 'T is tinged with my own 

blood. 
RoDSBiCK. Pluiige it in minel 
Wash in my Teins what it has brought 

from thine. 
CamtNB, Oh, cruel steel, which in one 
awful day 
A father's and a daughter's life can take, 
I cannot Uve and eee iti Take it hence! 
Hum did'st me hear, and yet thou strik'st 
me dead! 
RoDKBiCK. I do thy will, but cherish 
still the wish 
Of ending by thy hand my wretched life. 
Not even love of thee works in my soul 
Craven repentance for a righteous deed. 
The fatal end of wrath too swift and hot 
Brought shame upon my father's honored 

head. 
The insult ol a blow what heart can bear? 
The affront was mine, I sought its author 

And swift avenged the honor of my sire. 
Were it again to do, agun 't were done! 
But even 'gainst the inevitable deed. 
My love long struggled for sui^emacy. 
Judge how it ruled my heart, when I could 

pause, 
In such an hour of rage, and hesitate 
Between my house, my father, and — my 

Compelled to wound thy heart or stand 

dis^'aced. 
Myself I did accuse of haste undue, 



too alive to feel affront. 
Thy beauty might have turned the balance 

stiU, 
But for the thought that pressed itself at 

last — 
A man di^raeed had naught to offer thee, 
And vainly would thy heart's voice plead 

If nobleoeBB were suok in infamy. 
To yield to love, to hearken to its ciy, 
Proved me unworthy of thy tendemeee. 
With sighs I tell thee o'er and o'er again. 
And with my latest breath I still would say, 
With cruel hand I 've hurt thee, but naught 

Could blot my shame and leave me worthy 

Now, honor and my father satisfied, 
To thee I oome, to pay my final debt; 
To offer thee my life, I seek thee here. 
That duty done, this only resta to do. 
Thou need'st not tell me that thy father 

slain 
Arms thee against me — see, thy victim 

here! 
Shrink not from offering up the blood of 

Who shed thy father's nor can mourn the 

deed. 
ChiuIne. Ahl Roderick, strangely does 
my changeful heart 
Defend thee who hast saved thy father's 

fame. 
If my distracted mind has crud seemed, 
'T is not with blame for thee, but in despair. 
The ardor of a high, unbroken spirit 
That cannot brook an insult, w^l I knoi<r. 
It was thy duty taught thee, but, alas! 
In doing thine, thou t^acheat me mine own. 
The very terror of thy deed compels; 
For, as thy father's name thou hast re- 
Mine also calls upon his child for vengeance 
But, ohi my love for thee drivee me to mad- 

nesat 
My father's loss by other hand had left 
The solace of thy preeence and thy love^ 
A oonaolation sweet in misery. 
I still had felt in grief thy sympathy. 
And loved the hand that wiped my tean 

away. 
But now, in losing him thee too I lose; 



This vietoiT a'er my love his fame demands, 
And duty, with the face of an assaaein, 
Drina me to mtk tby ruin and mine own. 
For in my heart no more than in thine own 
Must courage yield to luring dreams of 

love. 
My Btrength must equal thine. In thine 

offense 
Thou haat but proved thy worth. By thine 

own death 
Alone oan I be worthy of thy love. 

RoDKBiCK. Defer no longer what thy 



It claims my bead; I offer it to thee; 

M^ce me the victim of thy just revenge. 

I welcome the decree; I hail the stroke; 

Hw tedious course of Justice to await 

Betarda thy glory, as my punishment. 

T is welcome fate to die by thy dear hand. 
CanifeNi. No, not thine executioner am 
I; 

T is not for me to take thine offered life; 

'T is thine to make defense 'gainst my at- 
tack. 

Some other hand than mine must woric my 
will; 

Challenge I must, but punish nevw, neml 
Roderick. However love constnuns 
thee for my sake, 

Thy spirit must be equal U> mine own, 

Thyatdf haat aaid; then wouldst thou bor- 

To avenge a father's death? Nay, my 

Ghim^ne, 
The soul of vengeance fails. No hand but 

Could slay thy father; thine must punish 

CHmfeNii, O cruelty, to stand upon this 

Thou didst not need my aid, I need not 

thinel 
I follow thine example, and my spirit 
Will never share with thee my glory's task. 
My father's fame and I shall nothing owe 
To love of thine, or to thy late despair. 
RoDKBiCK. 'T is thou that standest on a 

point of honor. 
Shall I ne'er win this mercy at thy handf 
In thy dead father's name, for our love's 

sake, 

e or in pity, slay me beret 



cm 351 

Thy wretched lover keener pun will know 
To Uve and feel thy hat« than meet thv 
blow. 

OHiidiNii. Leave me, I hate thee not. 

RonsRicK. 'T is my desert. 

CBiukm. I cannot. 

RoDBBiCK. When my deed is fully 



Dost thou not fear the cruet, stinging word" 
Of censure and of malice? Silence them; 
Save thine own fame by sending me to 
death, 
CBniksB, My fame will shine the 
brighter for thy life. 
The voice of blackest slander will lift up 
My honor to the heavens, and mourn my 

griefs, 
Knowing 1 love thee and yet seek thy life. 
Qo, vex no longer my poor, troubled soul 
By sight of what I love and what I lose. 
Hide thy departure in the shade of night; 
For calumny may touch me, art thou seen ; 
The sole occasion for a slanderous word 
Is, that I suffer thee within my house. 
See that thou guard my virtue, and with- 
draw. 
RonxBicK. Oh, let me diet 
CHiMfcNB. Depart. 
RoDBRicx. What wilt thou do? 
CnnikNii. The fires of wrath bum with 
the flames of love. 
My father's death 'demands my utmost 

seal: 
'T is duty drives me with its cruel goad. 
And my dear wish is — nothing to achieve. 
Roderick. miracle of love! 
Chiu^kx. O weight of woel 
RoDBKicK. We pay our filial debt in 

suffering 1 
CHmfeNE. Roderick, who would have 

thought — 
RoDEHicc. Or could have dreamed — 
CmvfcNii. That joy so near so soon our 

grasp would miss? 
RoDBRicK. Or storm so swift, already 
dose to port. 
Should shatter the dear bark of all our 
hope? 
CHmiNB. Oh, mortal griefsl 
RoiasiCK, Regreta that eount for naught! 



ojjlc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



CbimInx. Pray, leave me now; I eaitnot 

longer hear. 
RoDEKiCK. Adieul I go to drag a dying 
lite, 
Till it is ended at thine own command. 
CHndiNB. If my dire [at« e'w bring that 
hour to me, 
Thy breath and mine together will depart. 
AdieuT and let no eye have sight of thee. 
[Exit RooERicK.1 
Eltibe. Madam, whatever ills kind 

Heaven may e«id — 
CHiwkNB. Trouble me not; (H^y, leave 
me with my grief. 
I long for night's dark dlenoe, and for teara. 
[ExeuTit Elvire and ChiuIsne.] 

[EfUer DitoQE.t 

DdiocE. Never a perfect happiness is 

Our best achievements have their bitter 

In each event, whate'er its promise be, 
Care troubles still the currents of our peace. 
In my rejoicing o'er my honor saved. 
An anxious fear now seizes on my soul. 
The count whose hand affronted me is dead, 
But now I seek in vain my avenger's face. 
Hither and yon I strive, with labor vain. 
To roam the city, broken as I am; 
The remnant of my strength which age has 

left 
Consumes itself in fruitless hours of search. 
Each moment, in each place. I hear his 

I see his form — a shadow of the night. 
I would embrace him — lo, he is not 

therel — 
Tit] love, deceived, suspicious grows and 

No marics of hasty flight do I discern. 
And that strong troop of friends who served 

the count 
Affr^t« me sjid suggests a thousand ills. 
If Roderick lives, he breathes a dungeon's 

Just Heaven I do I deceive myself ^ain? 
Or do I see at last my hope, my eon? 
'Tis hel 1 doubt no more; my vows are 

heard, 
My fears dispelled, my anxious longing 



[ETiler RonEBiCK.) 
DtkovB. At last, my Roderick, Hcttven 

restores thee mineL 
RonxRicx. Alasl 

DilOTJE. Mar not my new delight with 
sighs. 
Let me find words to praise thee as I would; 
My valor sees in thee no cause to blush, 
But marks a kindred sixrit; live in thee 
The heroes of thy race, bold and renowned. 
Thine ancestors are they, my son thou art., 
Thine earliest sword-thrust equals all of 

Thine untaught youth, inspired by ardor 

great. 
By this one effort, touches my renown. 
Prop of my age, and crown of all my for- 

On these white hairs lay thy redeeming 

Come, kiss this cheek whtt« stjll thou canst 

behold 
The mark of thataSront thou hast avenged. 
RonERicx. The honor is your doe; I 

could no less, 
Your blood in mine, your care my school ol 

arms. 
Most ha[v>y am I that my maiden blow 
Did not di^race the author of my life. 
But in your satisfaction do not shun 
To grant me, also, what my soul demands 
Your words too long have silenced my de- 



r with < 



' painful 



Which bursts a 

thought. 

No mean regret for serving thee I feel; 
But canst thou render back the price it 

coetT 



And with the stroke I cast away my sJIl 
No more, no more; I owed you life itself; 
That which I owed I've paid; your cause 

DiiBQUE. Nay, glory in the fruit of vic- 
tory; 
I gave thee life, hfe's joy 1 owe to thee. 
By all that honor means to men like me, 
Far more than life I owe thee in return. 
But spurn this weakness from thy waHike 



"53 



Love ia a pleuure sunimoBed whta thou 

wilt; 
Thy soul's ouB rightful maater is thine 

Roderick. What 's this you teach me? 
DifcouB. That which thou shouldst 

RoDKBiCK. My outeaged hooor tunu 
upon myadf. 

And now thou dar'st to counsel tfeachet? — 

Tieaaon to her I lovel Baseneea is one, 

Whether in craven knight or lover false. 

Wrong not with breath of doubt my faith- 
fulness! 

To thee, to her, I would be wholly true. 

Bonds such as mine conoot be broken thus; 

A promise lives, though hope be dead for 
aye. 

I cannot leave, nor can I win, Chimtee; 

In death I find my solace and my pain. 
DifeocB. This is no time for thee to 
prate of death. 

Thy country and thy prince demand thine 

Tbs fleet, whose ooming has aroused our 

Plots to surprise and pillage all our towns. 
Hie Moors invade, the night's advancing 

tide 
All silently may float them to our walls. 
The court is shaken, and the people tremble; 
Terror and tears are seen on everj- side; 
'T is my good fortune, in this hour of need, 
To find five hundred followers, ready armed 
To avenge my quarrel, knowing my affront. 
Their zeal thou hast prevented,' now their 

hands 
They shall dip deep in blood of Moorish 

chiefs. 
Go, lead their line; assume thy rightful 

place. 
Thia valiant band calls thee to be their 

head; 
E^xmt the assault of these old enemies; 
If die thou wilt, seek there a noble death 
In service of thy king and war's emprise. 
Tiet the kiog owe his safety to thy toss. 
Nay, but retuni, far rather, crowned with 

bays, 
Tfiyfamenotnarrowed to avengeful deed, 
But broadened to a kingdom's strong de- 



Win silence from Chimdne, grace fnun the 

kmg. 
And if thou still wouldst gain her maiden 

Know that to conquering hero it will yield. 
I waste thy time in words. Come, follow 

Forth to the fight, and let thy sovereign see 
Wbat in the count he'a lost he's gained in 
thee. 

[Exeunt thtauB and RodbsickJ 



[Enter ChiuIne and ELvntE.] 
CmiikNE. Is this no false report? — art 

sure, Elvire? 
Elvibb. Should I repeat how all do 
sound hie praise. 
And bear to heaven the fame of his exploits, 
And wonder at his youth, you'd scarce be- 

The Moors before him met a quick disgrace; 
The attack woa ewift, but swifter sUlI the 

flight. 
After three hours of combat we had won 
Two captive Icings and victory secure; 
Naught could reaiat the young chief's oiuet 

CHmftNK. And Roderick's arm this 

miracle has wrought? 
Elvire. Of his great prowess are two 

kings the priie, 
Conquered and captured by his band alone. 
CnrutNE. How knoweet thou the truth 

of this strange news? 
Elvire. The people do extol him t« the 

Call him their liberator and their angel. 
The author and the guardian of their 

CHiufeifB. The king, what thinks he of 

these mighty deeds? 
Elvire. Not yet has Roderick braved 
the royal eye; 
B ut the two captjve kings, in fetten bound, 
Still wearing crowns, Didgue with )C^ 

presents, 
Entreating of the king, as recompense. 
That he will see the conqueror' and forgive. 
Chuc^ne. Is Roderiok wounded? 



>54 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



ELTDti. I've heard naught of it. 
You loae your colorl pray take heart again. 
CHDifeNB. I'll take again my weak 

heart's failing wrath! 
Must I forget myKlf in thought of him I 
Bhall my lipe join in praises of hia deedsl 
While honor 'a mute, and duty, duU, con- 

aenta? 
Be still, my love, and let my anger ewelll 
What ore two conquered IdngiT My 

father's slain I 
This mourning gub, which speokB of my 

distress, 
le the first token of his woodrous mi^tl 
Others may call his deeds magnanimnua; 
Here, every abject teatifiee his crime. 
May all this somber pomp which wraps me 

This sweeping veil, these heavy depths of 

crape — 
Add force to my reeeotinent, fail it ever; 
Nor let my love my honor overcome. 
Should fond, alluring passion e'er prevail. 
Recall my duty to my wavering mind, 
And bid me fearlees meet this hero proud. 
Elvire. Calm yourself now; the Infonta 
is approaching. 
[Enter the Infanta and Lkonora.] 
Infanta. I come not vainly to console 
thy grief; 
Rather my tears to mingle with thine own. 
CHndtNis. Ah, madam, thou canst share 
the common joy; 
T is thine to taste this Heaven-sent happi- 

The right to weep is mine, and mine alone. 
He peril Roderick's wisdom could avert, 
The public safety by his valor won, 
Pennit to me alone, t«-day, a tear. 
Tba city he has saved, the tdng has 

His valorous arm brings woe to me alone. 
Inpanta. 'T is true, Chimiue, he has 

great marvels wrought. 
CbimAnii. This grievous news already 
reaches me; 
On every side I hear him loud proclaimed 
Noble in war, unfortunate in love. 
Infanta. Why shouldst thou suffer in 
this generous praise? 
But now this youthful Man delighted thee; 



He dwelt within thy heart, he owned thy 

sway; 
To tell his praises is to sound thine own. 
CbimInb. Others may boast his deedp; 

't is not for me; 
His praises are but torture to my soul; 
My anguish deepens with his rising fame; 
My loss is greater as he greater nows. 
Ah, cruel torture of a heart that lovesl 
My passion bums the brightw with his 

worth. 
While duty, etoni defender of my oourse. 
Would follow him to deatb in love's de> 

spite. 
Infanta. But yeaterday Uiy duty's 

proud demands 
Won from the court an admiration high, 
So worthy of thy filial love it seemed; 
Thy victory o'er thy passion was sublime; 
But now — wilt have a faithful friend's 

CHndlNii. Not to bear you would show 

me base indeed. 
Infanta. To-day thy duty wears a dif- 
ferent face; 

The chief support of a whole nation's life, 

A people's love and hope, is Roderick now. 

On hhn the Moors with hopeless terroi 
gase, 

Securely leans on him our loved Castile. 

T\m king himself can never now deny 

Thy father's spirit moving in the yotith; 

Hmu seek'st tiie public ruin in his death. 

Thy country was thy father's country fint. 

And ne'er canst thou to hostile huids be- 
tray it. 

Wilt thou pursue thy vengeance though its 

Enwrap the kingdom in a fatal woeT 
I plead not for thy lover; let thy heart 
Cling to its filial ties; send him away. 
And think no more of wedlock, but for us. 
Thy country and thy king, presnve hia 

life. 
CendiNE. The gift of mercy is not mine 

to grant; 
I cannot check the duty driving me; 
Though in my heart the voice of love may 

plead, 
Though prince and people praise him and 

Though all heroic souls encircle him — 









Mv c y preM-bougha hia Uurals Bhall o'er- 
epnad. 
iNTANTA. T ia noble not to falter, my 



Hfcugh to avenge a father stabe our heart; 
But 't ie a higher noblenesa to place 
The public good above all private wrong. 
Bdieve me, to exclude him from thjr aoul 
WHl be the bitt«net pang thou oanst be- 



yield to the act thy ( 



intry'a weal de- 



Nor doubt thy king's meet wiUing leni- 
ency. 
CBDifeNE. Whether he hear, I still must 

plead for justice. 
Infanta. Conidder well what course you 
now will take. 
Adieu! let solitude thy counsel aid. 
CHiidiNE. My father dead! — what 
choice remains for me? 

{Kxeimi omnmj 



KiNQ. Bold heir of an illtistriouB ances- 
try, 
Ever the hope and ^ory of CasUle, 
Son of a race of valor unexcelled, 
Wboee beet exploite thine own already 

For due reward my power is all too ne^ — 
What thou hast earned thy k'ng can never 

pay. 
Our land aet free from barbarous enemy. 
My scepter in my hand, by thine secured. 
The Moore despatched before the call to 

Had fully warned the people of attack — 
Deeds such as these a king must ever find 
Beyond the hope of suitable reward. 
But thy two royal captives, they, in sooth. 
In my own presence recogniie thy might. 
Their Cn> they name thee, sovereign, lord, 

and head. 
I well might envy thee this title proud. 
The highest in their land; but, no, I ctdl 
On all to know that thou the Cm shalt be. 
The Cm henceforth art thou. To that great 

May every foe succumbi — Granada yield. 
Ttdedo tremble, but on Imf^^g it. 



To all my s<J}ieote ever shall it show 
How great the debt to thee we proudly owe. 
RooKBicK. Nay, sire, your words too 
highly speak my praise. 
And moke me flush with shame before a 

king 
Whose generous honor is so imdeaerved. 
The blood within these veins, the air I 

breathe — 
All, all, to this great empire do I owe. 
Had these been tost, and death ^one been 

A subject's duty only hod I done. 
Kino. E'en duty done is not the whole 
of service; 

Its glory is b courage quick and high, 

Which, reckoning not with danger or do- 
feat, 

Pushes its way to triumph and renown. 

Suffer thy praiaee from a grat^ul sover- 
eign. 

And now relate the story of thy deeds. 
HonuHiCK. That in this sudden stress 

A troop of followers of my father's house 
Urged mb to be their leader, well you know. 
My troubled soul was painfully perplexed — 
I daied not lead the band without thy 



Kino. The state defended is thy full 



And thy too heated v 
Chimtoe, hereafter, has a cause forlorn; 
I hear her but to comfort her; say on. 
RonERicK. I take the lead, and, with 

defiant front, 
The Uttle column dowly makee advance; 
Five hundred at the starting, but ere long 
Three thousand was our number, strong 

and bold. 
The friichtened gathered courage at the 

si^t. 
A certain part I hurriedly conceal 
In veeeels lying at the river's mouth; 
The rest, whose numbers every hour in- 
creased. 
Impatient ifx the-fn^, with nu ranun. 



«S6 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS. 



Clo*e to tbe ground they crouched, aad, 

BtiU aa death, 
They pasted the ni^t, nor slept, nor 

' scarcely breathed. 
At my conunand, pretended, sire, from you, 
. l^e guard itself caaceaJs, and aids my plot. 
Just as tbe flow of tide comes rolling in, 
By starhght pale, lol thirty Moorish saila, 
Mounting the wave, sweep to the harbor's 

mouth. 
Hiey enter; all seems tranquil ; not a guard. 
No soldiers on the quay, none on the walla' 
Our ambush is complete, tind fearlessly. 
Not doubtii^ their attack a full surprise, 
They anchor, and debark; suBpecting 

naui^t. 
They rush into the embraoes of their foes. 
We Spring from every hiding-plaee, and 

A thousand cries of battle rise to heaven. 
Then from the ships poiu* fortli our armed 

But half have sprung to land when, tenor- 

struck, 
They see the fight is lost ere 't is begun. 
They came for pill^e; they encounter war. 
We press them on the water, on the land; 
Their blood, in rivers, flows upon our soil, 
While dire disorder hinders all resistance. 
But soon their leaders rally them with 

shouts, 
Thar panic is dispelled, their moks are 

forcned, 
Their terrow are forgotten in their fury. 
To die without a struggle were a shame. 
And bravely with their sabers they oppose. 
On sea, on land, on fleet, within the port. 
All was a field of cam^^, death its lord. 
Their blood and ouis in horrid mixture 

ran. 
Brave deeds were wrought which never 

will be known; 
The darkness was a veil, 'neath which each 

Foui^t as it weie alone; nor any knew 
How victory inclined. I praaed my men, 
Placed rcfinforcements here, changed orders 

Nor knew till dawn which side was oon- 

But day made dear our gain and their 
defeat. 



Thdr courage fails them, with the fear ol 

death; 
And when they see approach a fresh com- 

They seek their ships, out cables, and tMr 

Of terror and of anguish fill the air. 
They wait not to discover if their kings 
Arc dead or wounded: in a tumult wild, 
On the ebb-tide which bore them in at 

flood. 
They take their desperate flight and quit 

our ehoree. 
The kings and others, left without retreat 
Or hope of succor, make a valiant stand; 
They sell tbeir Uvea at cost of life in turn,' 
And fight till nearly every man is dead. 
I urge surrender, but they listen not, 
Till the last follower (alls, when yidd they 

niea the two longs demand to see the ohitf ; 
I tdl them who I am, they seek my grace; 
1 send them straightway to Your Majesty. 
So the fi^t ended, lacking combatants. 
'T was in this manner, sire, that for your 

[EiUer Alokbo.] 
Alonbo. Ghimbie approaches, site, to 

sue for justice. 

King. 'T is sorry itswsl a duty most un- 

• timely! 

Go, for I would not force thee on her sight; 

For sign of gratitude, I send thee hence; 

But first receive thy monarch's kind em- 

bmce. IBmbraeet him.] 

[Exit RoDKBicK.l 

DifeocB. Chim^ne would save him from 

her own puisuit. 
KiMO. 'T is said she loves him stilli 
I'U test her heart; 
Assume a mournful air — 

[Eni^ CBiMfeNE and Elpirx.) 
Kino. Chimine, your wishes with suc- 
cess are crowned; 
Our foes have fallen beneath Roderick's 

Give thanks to Heaven, which hath avenged 

you thus. 
(Astds to Di±QDii.I Mark how her coin 
at my words. 



DikGUX. But Bee, she bwoodb, a token, 
sire, HKwt mire, 
Of perfect love; thia grief the seovt tells 
Which rules her soul. No longer can you 

doubt 
Her pHsaion'B flame still bums with glow 
unquenched. 
CHmton. Tell me, is Roderick dead? 
Kino. Nay, nay, he lives. 
And atill hie love uuchaiiKed for thee re- 
Forget tlie anxious grief that moumB for 

CHmftNU. O sire, one swoons fn^n joy 
as well as grief; 
The soul surprised with happiness grows 

Too sudden gladnees every sense o'er- 
whelms. 
EiNQ. Thou canst not so deceive my 
watchful ^e; 
Thy grief, ChimSne, too manifest appeared. 
CHiidim. Add, then, this deeper pain 
to my distress; 
My swoon but told my disappointment 

My righteous wrath has brought me down 

His death would snatch him from my just 

revenge. 
!Rrom wounds received in battle should be 

die, 
What place remains for my unyielding 

will! 
And end so honorable mocks my turn. 
I wish him dead, but not with honor's 

Not in a blase of glory should he pass, 
But on a scaffold, shrouded in dispace. 
Grant him a murderer's, not a patriol's 



A tarnished 'scutcheon, should his breath 

His victory gives me pleasure unalloyed — 
The state gains stablenees, and I, I Rain 
A victim worthier still my father's house. 
No tong^ a rash youth, whose violence 
Coodenms itself; but great, chid among 



A warrior crowned with laurels, one irtioae 

fall 
Would vindicate my puipoee. But, alasl 
My hopes beyond my reason bear me on- 
What force is in my teats, which men 

despiseT 
The freedom of your empire is his own; 
Under your power, he works his widced 

will. 
He from my feebleness has naught to fear. 
O'er me, as o'er his enemies, be triumphs. 
To stifle Justice in his victwy 
Makes a new trophy for this conqueror. 
I serve his pomp when, trampling on the 

law. 
He, with his captives, hears me speak his 

praise, 
And from his oar of triumph bids me follow. 
Kmo. My child, your words are all too 

violent; 
The scales of justice must not swerve a ' 

Thy father was the aggressor; that thou 

know'st. 
Justice must see that mercy has ■ claim. 
Nay, be not swift to oppose thy monarch's 

Consult thy heart; there still thy Roderick 

Thy love, though hidden, is a mighty thing. 

And will apiHvve this favor from thy king. 

ChuiInx. Favor to him a cause of 

thanks frommel 
llie author of my woes, my bitter foel 
Is anger o'er a father slain, and wrath 
For the assassin, such a trifling thing 
That I, forsooth, must grateful be to him 
Who thinks to aid my cause by mocking it? 
Since tears call forth no justice from my 

king. 
Redress by arms I now, aire, will demand. 
By uma alone my happiness was wrecked. 
By arms alone my vengeance should be 

wrought. 
Of all you cavalieis I ask his bead; 
To him who brings it, I will give my hand. 
Confirm the combat, sire, by your decree; 
I wed the man who conquers Rodenck. 
King. That ancient custom I would not 

restore. 
The state was oft enfe^led 'neath its rule. 
Under the false pretence of rioting wrong. 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



The nobleet oft would fall, the base es- 
cape. 

A life whose import deepeoa to aax state 

Shall not be left to Fate's capricious whim; 

From that ordeal of amu is Roderick free. 

Whatever crime hia hasty wrath has 
wrought 

The flTing Moms have borne with them 
afar. 
DikauE. What, sire, for him alone re- 
verse the tawB 

^Tour coiui, so oft has honored by obswr- 

What will your people think, or envy say. 
If 'oeatb your arm, a coward, be retreat, 
Nor make redress upon the field of honor. 
Where men of spirit seek a worthy death? 
Such favors would but tarnish his renown. 
Nay, let him drain unto the sweetest drops 
The draught of triumph. Bnvely did he 

The bntfsjng count; he will be brave again. 

KiNOv Since you demand it, let it be; 

but know 

A thousand warriors will replace the slain 

By Roderick conquered; for the offered 

Will mikke an eager foe of every knight. 
To oppoee them all would be a grievous 

Once only shall he enter in the lists. 
Choose whom thou wilt, Chimftne, but 

choose with care; 
No more reproaches will thy sovereign bear. 
DiiauE. Let none be overlooked — not 

those who moat 
Do tremble at the prowess of his arm. 
The deeds of valor wrought by him to-day 
Will fright the boldest. Who would dare 

confront 
A warrior so audacious and so keen? 

Sancho. Declareanapenfieldllenterit. 
Rash thoui^h I be, I dare confront this 

Madam, this favor grant to my devotion; 

Your word's fulfillment shall I surely claim. 

Kino. Chimlne, do you accept this 

champion? 
CHiui:>n:. It is a promise, aire. 
Kino. To-morrow, then. 
DifecvE. Nay, sire, why should there 
longer be delay? 



Tbe brave are ever ready. Now'i Uw 

Kaia. He scajce has quit his batUe witii 

the Moors. 
Di^uB. While in your presence he took 

tn«athing space. 
Kino. Anhourortwooftospitelimpoee. 
And lest this combat seem to speak my 

will — 
lb show the deep reluctance that I fieel 
In suffering this bloody pass at arms — 
I and my court wiU straight withdraw us 

(To Arias.] You shall be judge between 
theae combatants; 

See that the laws of honor govern them. 

The combat aided, lead to me the victor. 

Whoe'er he be, the priw is still tbe same. 

With mine own hand Chimtne I would 
present. 

And for his guerdon she her faith shall 
plight. 
CniiffeNX. What, aire, impose on me a 

law so stfimf 
Kino. Thou murmureat, but thy change- 
ful, loving heart, 

If Roderick wins, will gladly take his part. 

Cease to complun of such a mild decree; 

The victor shall thy husband surely be. 
[Exwni omnet.] 



[Enter RODERICK, and ChimAne.) 
CBiutNE. What, Roderick! whence this 
boldness — to my faoef 
Gol — this will cost my honor. Leave me, 
pray. 
RoDEUCK. Madam, to death I go, but 
ere I die. 
To offer you a last fareweU I come. 
The love that keeps me vassal to your laws 
Even in death demands my homage still. 
CmuiNE. And wilt thou die? 
RoDBHicK. I nount the moment bleat 
That satisfies your hatrad with my life. 
CHiMltf<E. But wilt thou die? Sanoho is 
not the one 
To terrify tbat dauntless soul of thine! 
What rendera thee so weak, or him sa 



Sdon the combat, Rodoick talka of 

.deatbl 
He who nor feared my father nor the 

Ib going to fight one Soncho, and dcapainl 
Does oourage thtu deaert thee, valorous 

knight? 
RoDBHicK. I haato to puniahment, and 

not to combat. 
Sinoe you desire my death, what wish 

hare I 
To keep my lifeT My eoungefailsmenot; 
But my indifferent arm wiU not preserve 
What thou dost find displeasing. Not a 

Could I have struck against the fiery Moors 
For wrong of mine alone; 'twas for my 

king, 
His people, and his kingdom, that I foi^t. 
To poorly guard myself were treachery. 
Life is not yet so hateful to my heart 
That basely I can aacrifioe ita claims. 
The question now ia different. I alone 
Amin the balance. You demand my death; 
Your sentence I accept, although tbe hand 
You let inflict it should have been your 

He who shall wield your weapon in your 
stead 

Shall meet no ■word~thrust answering to 
hisBteel. 

I cannot strike the man that fights for you ; 

1 joy to think his blow ia from your hand. 

Bince 't is your honor that his arms main- 
tain, 

Unguarded shall I offer every point. 

Seeing in his your band which days me 

Cmiiiia. Let no blind folly lead thee to 
forget 
That glory ends with life. Iliough my just 

Impels me to a course which I abhor. 
And forces me to follow thee to death — 
E'en though a sense of honor would de- 

A nerveleaa arm, an undefended blow — 
Remember, all the splendor of thy deeds 
Will change to shame when deatli has con- 

' quered thee. 
Who will believe thou didst not raise thy 



Though I am dear, honor is dearer still, 
EUse I bad atill my father, and tbe hope 
That fatal blow has cost thee would m- 

Tbe hope of calling me thine own Chim6ne. 

Thou canst not hold so cheap thy high 
renown 

To weakly, unresisting yield it up. 

What stcange inconstancy can vdor showl 

Thou sbouldst have more or else thou 
shouJdst have lesel 

Is it to grieve me only thou art bold. 

And courage fails when courage I de- 
mand? 

Wilt thou my father's might so disallow 

That, oonquering him, thou 'It to a weaker 
yield? 

Go, do not will to die, o'eroome my will; 

If life no longer charms thee, honor pleads. 
HoDKRicK, The count is dead, the 
Moois dd'eated fly — 

Still other claims to glory need I prove? 

Henceforth, my fame can soom all self- 
defense. 

None would believe this heart of mine 
could quail. 

What can I not accomplish? Who wiU 
doubt 

That, honor gone, nau^t dear to me re- 
mains? 

No, doubt it if you will, this fatal fight 

Increases not nor lessens my renown. 

None e'er will dare my courege to im- 
pugn. 

Nor deem Uiat I did meet my conqueror. 

"He loved Ghim^ne" — 't is thus the 
court will say ^ 

''He would not live and her resentment 

To the stem hand of Fate that followed 

Her vengeful hand — he yielded up his 

breath. 
She sought hie life; to bis great soul it 

'T would be ignoble did he care to live. 
He lost his love to save his father's name; 
He loses life for his dear mistress' sake. 
Whate'er of hope his heart had cherished 



S6o 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



But brighter will ito growing splendor 

My willing death this honor high will win, 
No life but mine for thee redreaa could 

GetuiNB. Since life and honor feebly 
plead my cause, 
Nor stay thee from a death unwished by 



Save me from auch a fate aa will be mine 
If I, the prize, am won by him I hate. 
Need I say more? Go, plan a sure defense, 
Silence my wrath, my filial duty done. 
Then, if tHy heart atill beate for thy 

Chim^e, 
Ae conqueror, thou lovest not in vain. 
Adieul my cheek ia hot at thia arowal. 

[Exit Caaticm.] 
Roderick, What foe can daunt my 

valiant spirit nowT 
Come on, Navarre, Morocoo, and Caatilel 
Come, all the valor of our kingdom's 

might! 
In one great host unite to hurl me downl 
My arm alone will equal all your force, 
A^nst a hope so sweet, the flower of 



lEnler Infanta.] 
Ihtanta, Thou pride of birth, which 
turns my love to crime. 
Thy warning shall I list, or thy aweet 

My heart, whose soft constraint compels 

Against that tyrant sternT In worth alone 
Thou, Roderick, art mine equal; but thy 

blood, 
Though brave and pure, flows not from 

Unhappy lot, which rudely separates 
My duty and my love. Must loyalty 
To valor rare condemn to misery 
A loving soul? What anguish must I bear 
If ne'er I learn, despite my high resolve. 
Nor lover to embrace, nor love to qudll 



"Twixt love and pride my reason bids me 

chooae 
Though birth's high destiny demand a 

throne, 
Tliou, Roderick, art of kings the conqueror. 
And 'neath thy sway with honor shall I 

dwell. 
The glorious name of Gid that now is thine 
PointiS clearly to the realm where thou 

ahalt reign. 

Worthy is he, but 't is ChimSne he lovn. 
Her father's death so slightly breaks tbdr 

That, though her duty slays him, sbs 

No hope to my long grief his crime eaa 

Alas for me I ordains a wretched fate 
That love outlast the bittemeas of hate. 

[Bnter LEONoaA,] 
Ii^ANTA, Why oom'st thou, Leonorar 
Lbonoha. 'T ia to praise thee, 
That thou at last hast conquered all thy 

And hast repose. 
Ihtanta, Repoae? whence shall that 

To a heart burdened with a bopde» woe7 
Leonora. Love livee on hope; wiUtout 
it, flurely dies. 
No more can Roderick's image oharm your 

For whether in this combat he prevail. 
Or whether fall, he is her victim still. 
Your hope is dead, your wounded heart ia 
healed. 
IiTFANTA. That time — how distant 

BtiUt 
Lhonoka, Why mock 3'our8elf7 
Impanta. Say, rather, why forbid ata 
still to hope? 
I can invent a thousand happy shifts 
This combat's hard conditionB to evade. 
Love tortures me, but 'tis from love I 

learn 
To use a lover's skillful artifice. 

Lhonoka. The flame of love, enkindled 
in theu hearts. 
Survives a father slain. What, then, cui 
youT 



No deadly hate isapirea Chimine's pui^ 

She ctaima & combat, but she straight ac' 

The oombatant who oSeis firet hla sword. 
None does she chooee among the valiant 

kiugbts 
Wboee bold exploits match Roderick's own 

renown. 
A yoath whose steel has never yet been 

Suita her cause well— young Sancho is 

her choice. 
His highest merit is his imakiUed blade. 
Without a name, do fame has he to save; 
And this too easy choice full plainly ahowB 
This combat is but duty's weak pretence. 
To Roderick she givn & victim sure, 
Wboee harmkaa death her honor seems to 

Intanta. I nsd her plan, and still this 
reatlcfls heart 
Rivals Chim6ne, and lovee this conqueror. 
Unhappy that I ami what shall I do7 
Leonora. Recall the high conditions of 
your birth. 
Shall a king's daughter love her father's 
Bi^ject? 
Intanta. My love has changed ita 
object; listen, pray! 
It is no longer Roderick I love, 
A aimplb gentleman; not so, not sot 
I love the author of moat noble deeds, 
"nie valorous Gid, the conqueror of two 

But stiU my love I 'H oonquer; not in fear, 
But lest their sweet devotkm I betray. 
If tar my sake a crown he should receive, 
I would not take again the gift I gave. 
Bince to no doubtful combat he is gone, 
Another happy scheme must I employ. 
Do thou, the confidant of all my woea, 
H^ me to finish what I have begun. 

IBxmntt Intanta and I^nora.) 
[Enter CHmkNx, and Ei.vtȣ.l 
CHndNK. Elvira, I suffer — pity, pity 

I c&n but hope, yet everything I fear. 
A vow esoapee me I would fain withdraw; 
A swift repentance follows every wish. 
Tm rivals for my sake are now at tBoa; 



CID s6i 

Of dear sucoees my tears the prioe will pay. 
Though Fate may seem to grant my grettt 

I stQl must carry in my heart the pain 
Of father unavenged or lover dead. 

EliViiud. Nay, 't is of coneolation you 
must dream. 
Your lover or your vengeance ia assured. 
Whatever issue destiny decrees. 
Your honor and a hu^iand are your own. 

CRiiffeNB. WiaAl him I hate, or him 
I've wished fo slayl 
llie murderer of my father, or of Roderick? 
The victory of either gives to me 
A husband stained with blood that I adore. 
From this moat wretched choice my soul 

revolts. 
Far more than death I dread this quarrel'! 

Hence, vengeance, 1o>-e, disturbers of mj 

I can no longer pay your cruel prioe. 
Almighty author of my direful fate. 
Bring thou this combat to no certain close- 
Let there be neither oonqueror nor con- 
quered. 
Elvikb. Nay, wish not a result so prof- 
itless. 
If still you cherish Justice' stem demands. 
And still your deep resentment you would 

Unsatisfied, because your lover lives, 
This combat will but torture you anew. 
Far rather hope his valor may se^ire 
New bays foi him, and silence for yew 

plaints; 
That by the law of oombat, still revered. 
Your sighs be stifled and your heart con- 
soled. 
CmiiiNii. To him, though craiqueior, 
think'at thou I will yieldT 
Too strong my duty, and my lose too dear. 
No law of combat, nor the long's decree. 
Can force a daughter's oonsoienoe to be 

An easy victory he may win in fight, 
Chimtee will prove an adversary still. 
Elvirb. 'T were well if Heaven prerant 
your vengeance just, 
To punish pride so strange and impioual 
WbatI will you now Uis happiness reject 
(X sileooe with your honor raoondled? 



abx 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



What meuu such duty? Pmy, vbaX hope 

you forT 
Your lover slain, will't give your fatiier 

back? 
Doea one such aoirow not auffioe for you, — 
Huat you heap lou on loss, and grief on 

grief? 
T is a caprice c^ t^nper you indulge, 
Which of your promifled lord makee you 

The wntfa of Heaven will snatch him from 

your anna, 
And leave you as young Sanoho'e rightful 

bride. 
CsnrtiNi!. Elvire, the conflicts which my 

Boulenduree 
Pray deepen not by prophecy malign. 
Would Heaven ordain I might eecape them 

both; 
If not, for Roderick all my vows aeoend. 
Not that my foolish love inclines me 

thus, 

But Sancho'a prixe I cannot, cannot be I 

That fear o'ennaaters eve^ wish beaidee. 

What ia 't I Bee? Undonel ~ I am undone! 

[Enter Sancbo,] 

Samcho. 'T ia mine thie sword to offer at 

your feet. 
CmdiNs. What! dripping still with 

Roderick's life-blood pure? 
Perfidious wretch! how dar'st thou show 

thyself 
To me, of my dear love by thee bereft? 
Burat forth, my love 1 no longer need'st thou 

fear I 
My father's death 



By one fell blow my honor is oaauied, 
tiy love aet free, my soul plunged in de- 

Sancbo. With calmer mind — ^ 
CHiMiNii. Thou apeak'st to me againi 
Aaaaaain of a hero I adotel 
Away! thou waat a traitorl Well I know 
That valiant knight by thee waa never 

[n open combat. Nothing hope from me. 
My champion thoul — my death Uioult 

surely bet 
Sancho. What atrange illusioni Hear 

me, I entreat! 



GHiKton. Think'st thou 111 listen to 
thy bragging tale — 
With patience bear thine insolence whidi 

His fall, my crime, and, chiefeet still, thy 
valor? 



CsiMfeNE. Ah, sire, no more need I dis- 
simulate 
What vainly I have struggled to conoeal 
I loved; 't waa known to you; but for my 

I could devote to death ao dear a head. 
Lave, aire, to duty's desperate cause I gave 
Now Roderick is dead, my heart is changed 
From foe relentleaa to afflicted lover. 
To him who gave me life was vengeance 

But now my tears can fall for him I love. 

Young Sancbo in defending me destroys, 

And of his murderous arm I am the priie. 

In pity, aire, if pity move a king. 

Revoke a law so terrible to mel 

As recompense for victory, whose end 

To me is loss of all on euth I love, 

All that I have is his; myself, I pray, 

May to a holy cloister now retire, 

Where death shall find me weeping life 

DitoDB. No longer, aire, it seems to her 

To openly avow her heart's deaire. 
KiMQ. Be undeceived, Chimjinc: ihy 
Roderick lives! 
The champion has, though vanquished, 
told thee false. 
Sancho. 'T was her too hasty thoui^t 
deceived herwlf. 
To tell the issue of the ^t I came — 
How the brave warrior who her heart en- 
chains, 
After disarming me, thus nobly" spoke: 
"Fear naught! I'd leave the combat all 

Rather than pierce a heart that loves 

Chimtee. 
My duty summons n^e at onoe to court. 
Do thou convey to her the final chance. 
And lay thy sword, her trophy, at her feet." 
niis had I done, but seeing me return. 



Beaiing my aword, Hhe deemed me con- 
queror. 
Tbeo love and anger, minted middenly, 
BetrsTed her into transports unoontrolled, 
Nor oould I gain a hearing for mjr tale. 
Vanquiahed in combat, still I am content, 
And gratefully accept my own defeftt; 
For though I love and loee my love, 't is 



ThiB perfect love of theira to ooi 
Knta. My child, no fliuh of shame 
should mount thy cheelc. 
No longer seek to disavow thy flame. 
Thy faithful love luunueured pnuse shall 

Hty honor's safe, thy Glial duty done. 
Thy father is aveiiged; to do thy will 
Thy Boderick'a hfe thou host in peril set. 
"T was Heaven ordained to save him for 

thine owDj 
Hwu haat not shunned thy part; take thy 

Be not tebelljous toward my wise decree. 
Thy lover in thy loving arms enfold. 
|£n(«r Roderick, Infanta, and Lsonoka.I 
Infanta. No longer weep, Chimine. 

With joy receive 
This noble conqueror from thy princess' 

hand. 
RomBicK. I crave indulgence, rire, that 

love's high claim 
Impels me, in thy presence, to her feet. -^ 
To ask no promised prise, Chimftne, I 

But once again my life to otttx thee. 
My love cannot for thee obey alone 
The code of honor or a sovereign's will. 
If still your father's death seem unavenged, 
But apeak your wish; you shall be satisfied. 
A thounnd rivals I will yet o'ercome, 
To utmoat bounds of earth III fight my 

way. 
Alone I'll force a camp, an army rout, 
The fame of demigods III cast in shade; 
Whate'er the deeds my crime to expiate, 
All things will I attempt and all atdueve. 
But if the voice of honor unappeased 
Still clamors for the guilty slayer's death, 
Ann not against me warrior such as I. 
My head is at your feet: Btrilce now the 

blow! 



You only can o'eroonte the iavindble; 
No other hand than yours can vengeance 

take. 
One thing I pray: let death end punish- 

From your dear memory ne'er banish me. 

Your honor is exalted in my death; 

As recompense let my remembrance live. 

Say Bometimee, t.hiniring o{ my |ove for 
you, 

"He died, because he ne'er could be un- 
true." 
CmuiNB. Nay, Roderick, rise. — Ah, 
sire, no more I hide 

The feelings which have buret their long 
oontrol. 

His virtues high compel my heart to love 

A king commands; obedience is his due; 

Yet, though my fate is sealed by sentence 
stem. 

Can you with eye approving give consent? 

If duty drive me on to do your will, 

Can justice the unnatural act confirm? 

For Roderick's service to his monarch's 

Must I, the guerdon, though reluct&nt, 

be? 
A prey forever to remorseful shame 
That in paternal blood my hands I've 

stained. 
Krao. Time changes all ; a deed to-day 

unmeet. 
May seem hereafter lawful and benign. 
Thou has been won by Roderick; thou art 

hia. 
This day his valor rightly gained the prise. 
But since so freshly from the fidd becomes. 
And still thy heart unreoonciled remains, 
I well might seem thy fair fame's enemy, 
If I to soon reward his victory. 
My law decreed no hour for nuptial vows. 
Nor does delay show chan|ie in royal will. 
Let a round year bring solace to thy 

And dry the fountain of a daughter's tears. 
For thee, brave knight, wait mighty deeds 

of arms; 
The Moore on our own bordere thou hast 

Their plots confounded, their assaults 

repelled; 
Now into their own country push the wort 



364 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Command my army, plunder all their 
laiMl. 

Thy name of Cid their terrors will in- 
flame; 

Themselvu have given it — king theyll 
chooae thee now. 

Fidelity is valor's noblest crown; 

Return yet worthier of this lovely maid. 

Let thy great deeds so loudly [dead for 
thee, 

That pride and love wiU join to make her 



RoDBRicK. To win Chimtee and serra 
my glorious long. 

My arm is inm and my heart is flame. 

Though absence from her eyes I must en- 
dure, 

I thank you, sire, for hope's unfailing bliss 
KiNO. Thy valor and my woid assure 
thy hopes; 

Her heart already ia confessed thine own. 

The filial hon(» that resists thee now, 

To time, thy long, and thy high deeda will 



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CHARACTERS 

Madahb Pzrnxlle, nuAher <4 Or^/om 

Oboon, huAand of Elmirt 

EudBK, xmfe of Orgoa 

Dauis, son of Orgon 

Mawanx, doughty i^ Orgon, in hoe with Valin 

Vai^be, in love vnth Mariane 

CiiANTB, brother-itt^aio of Orgon 

Tabtdffe, a hypocrite 

DOBINE, Mariane's maid 

M. Loyal, a bailiff 

FupoTTB, Madame PemeO^t tervant 

A Police Officer 

Th» Stm* it at Faria 



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TARTU FFE 



[En(«r Maoahk Pbrnelle and Flipottb, 
her tenant; Elube, Mabiane, ClA- 
ANTE, Daios, Dorihb.) 
Madame Pebnellx. Gome, come, Fli- 

potte, and let me get away. 
Elmibx. You hiury so, I hardly can 

attend you. 
Madaub PXBNBLI.B. Then don't, my 
daughter-in-law. Stay where you 

1 ccm diapetue with your polite attentions. 

GLunui. We'reoJily paying what IB due 

you, moth«'. 

Why must you go away in Buch a hurry? 

Madamb PsRiaxLLB. Because I can't 

endure your carry inga-on. 

And no one takes the slightest pains to 

please me. 
I leave your house, I tell you, quite di»- 

You do the opposite of my instructions; 
You've no-respect for anything; each one 
Must have his say; it's perfect pandemo- 

DOBINB. If , . . 

Madake Pebnbllg. You're a servant 
wench, my girl, and much 
Too full of gab, and too impertinent 
And free with your advice on all occasions. 
Dauis. But . . . 

Madamb Pbbnellb. You're a fool, my 
boy — f, 0, o, 1 
Just ^>ellB your name. Let grandma tell 

you that. 
I've said a hundred times to my poor son. 
Your father, that you 'd never come to good 
Or give him anything but plague and tor- 

Mariane. I think . . . 
Madake Pbbnellb. dearie me, his 
little sister] 
You're all demureuess, butt«r wouldn't 



In your mouth, one would think to look at 
you. 

Still wateiB, though, they say . . . you 
know the proverb; 

And I don't like your doings on the sly. 
Elmibx. But, mother . . . 
Macaue Pbbnellb. Dau^ter, by your 
leave, your conduct 

In everything is altogether wrong; 

You oU|^t to set a good example for 'em; 

Their dear departed mother did much bet- 
ter. 

You are extravagant; and it offends me, 

To see you always decked out like a prin- 

A woman who would please her husband's 

Alone, wants no such wealth of fineries. 

CuEantb. But, madam, after all . . . 

Madame Pebnbllb. Sir, as for you, 
The lady's brother, 1 esteem you highly, 
Love, and respect you. But, sir, all the 

It I were in my son's, her husband's, place, 
I'd urgently entreat you not to come 
Within our doors. You preach a way of 

That decent people cannot tolerate. 

I'm rather frnnk witii you; but that's mj 

way — 
I don't mince matters, when I mean a 

Damis. Mr. TartufFe, your friend, is 



*«.scatterbrains like you attack him. 
AjAMwJWhatl Shall I let a bi pit criti c- 

Come ijid luurp a tyrant's power here? 
And shall we never dare amuse ourselves 
Till this fine {[entleman deigns to consent? 
DoBiNB. If we must hark to him, and 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Then'i not a thing we do but what's a 

He oeSBUTM mmnrtliinp^ t.>]M wwJima n»rpiw. 

"Tttsnna nWtuJB. And all he censuies 
ia well oeiuuied, too. 
I wantfl to guide you on the way to 



My BOD ahoUd tr ain you all to love him 

- ~H^r — - 

Daub. No, madam, look you, Nothing 
— not my fathw 

Nor anything — can make me tolerate him. 

I should belie my fedings not to aay ao. 

Hia actions rouse my wrath at ev^ry turn; 

And I foresee that there muat come of it 

An open rupture with this ■nnftlring scoun- 
drel. 
DoBiNx. Beaidee, 't ia downrif^t scan- 
dalous to see 

This unknown upBtart mwitat of the 

This vagabond, who had n't, when he 

Ohoes to bis feet, or clothing worth six /ar- 

And who so far forgets his place, as now 
To censure everything, and rule the rooetl 
Madamb Pkhnbllk. Ehl Mercy sakee 
olivel Things would go better 
If aJI were g overned by his pioua orders. 
^^oanraiT^ He paesea for a saint in your 

opmion. 
In fac t, he' s nothing but a hypocri te. 
ItXDxMrnRNKUJB. Just usiflir to her 

tonguel 
DoHuri. I would n't truat him, 
Nor yet his Lawrence, without bonda and 
surety. 
Madamk RjRwmjj. I don't know what 
the servant's character 
May be; but I can guarantee the master 
A holy man. You hate him and reject him 
Because he tella home truths to all of you. 
T ia sin alone that moves his heart to 

anger, 
A fid Heaven's mtereet i a b 'j yly mntiva 
DoKiNi. Of ooune. But why, eepedi^y 
of late. 
Can he let nobody come near the houae? 
Is Heaven offended at a civil call 
That he should make so great a fuss 
about it? 



I'll tell you, if you like, just what I think; 
[Potmuv lo Euaxi.l Upon my wtnd. 

he's jealous of our mistreas. 
Madau PernbllK. You hold your 

tongue, anid think what you are 

saying. 
He's not alone in oeosuring these visita; 
The turmoil that attends your sort of 

Their corriapee foravar at the door, 

And all their noisy' footmen, flocked to- 

Annoy the neighborhood, and raise a scan- 
dal. 
I'd ^adly think there's nothing really 

But it makea talk; and that's not aa it 

ahould be. 
ClAants, Ehl maHajw. osn you hope to 

keep folk's tongues 
From waggingT It would be a grievoua 

thing 
If, for the fear of idle talk about ua. 
We had to aacrifice our friends, No, no; 
Even if we could bring ourselves to do it, 
Think you that every one would then be 

silenced? 
Against backbiting there is no defense. 
So let us try to live in innooenoe. 
To aJly tattle pay no heed at all. 
And leave Ute gosaipa free to vent their gall. 
DoniNn. Our neighbor Daphne, and bar 

little huaband. 
Must be the ones who Blander ua, I 'm think- 

Thooe whoee own conduct's most ridieu. 

lous, 
Are always quickest to speak ill of othtra; 
Tbey never fail to seiie at onoe upon 
The slightest hint of any love affair. 
And spread the ikewa of it with glee, and 

The charact«r they'd have the worid be- 
lieve in. 
By others' actions, painted in their colors, 
liieyhope to justify their own; they think, 
In the false hope of some resemblance, 

To make their own intrigues seem innocent. 
Or else to make their neighbore shore the 

Which they an loaded with by tmtjbodj. 

Goc«lc 



M«Tn»ia PxoNiiLLii. Theoe argunwats 
ai« nothing to the purpoae. 
Orauta, we all know, lives & perfect life; 
Ho- thou^ta are all of heaven; and I have 

beanl 
lliat she oondemni the company you keep. 
DoBiNx. O admiiafale pattarnl Virtu- 
She liven the model of austerity; 
But age haa brought this 'piety upon her, 
And she's a prude, now she can't help her- 
self. 
ia long u she could capture mea's atten- 

Bbe made the most of her advantsges; 
But, now she eees her beauty vanishing, 
She wanta to leave the world, that's leaving 



her. 

And in the specious veil of haughty virtue 
She'd hide tiie weakness of her worn-out 

charms. 
That is the way with all your old coquettes, 
Tbey find it bard to see their lovers leave 

'em; 
And thus abandoned, their forlorn estate 
Can find no oecupation but a prude's. 
Theee pious dames, in their austerity. 
Must carp at everything, and pardon noth- 

Tb^ loudly blame their neighbors' way of 

Not for rdigion's sake, but out of envy. 
Because they can't endure to see another 
Enjoy the pleasures age has weaned them 

from. 
Masau PXRNSUJt ((oEuoBsI. Therel 

"Hiat's the kind of rigmarole to 

(dease you, 
Dau^ter-in-law. One never has a ohanoe 
To get a word in edgewise, at your house. 
Because this lady holds the floor all day; 
But none the lees, I mean to have my say. 



Into his household; Heaven sent him here, 
bi your-gresfneed, to make you all re- 

Far your salvation, you must hearken to 

He oensurea nothing but deserves his oen- 



[JFFE 371 _ 

These visita, tbeae aasembliee, and tbesi 

balls. 
Are all inventipns of the evil spirit. 
You never bear a word of godliness 
At them — but idle eaokle, i 



Our neighbor often cornea in for a share, 
The talk flies fast, and scandal fiila the air; 
It mak«e a sober person's head go round. 
At these aaaembltes, just to hear the souiid 
Of BO much gab, with not a word to say; 
And as a learned man remarked one day 
Most aptly, 't is the Tower of Babylon, 
Where all, beyond all limit, babble on. 
And just to tell you how this point oame 

[7*0 CiifANTn]. Bol Now the gentleman 

must snicker, must he? 
Qo find fools like yourself to make you 

And don't . . . 

[T'oEuoRx.] Dau^ter, good-bye; not one 

As for this houae, I leave the half unsaid; 
But I shan't soon set foot in it again. 
[Cvffing Flipottb.I Come, youl What 
makes you dream and stand agape, 
HuBsyl I'll warm your ears in proper 

March, trollop, march! 

[Exeunt aU but CiJamtb, DobiniJ 
Ci^Aim. I won't escort her down, 
F<w fear she might fall foul of me agtun; 
The good old lady . . . 

DoniKX. Bless us[ What a pity 
She should n't hear the way you speak of 

herl 
She'd surely tell you you're too "good" 

by half. 
And that she's not so "old" as all tbat, 
neither! 
Ci^AKTX. How she got angry wiU us, 
all for nothing! 
And how she seems possessed with her 
Tartuffel 
DoRim. Her case is nothing, thou^ 
beside her son's I 
To see hini, you would say he's ten times 

His conduct in our late v 
Had won him much esteei 
courage 



CtOOi^Ic 



371 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



In service of his kiii«; but now he'a like 
-& man btwotted, aince he's been so token 
ll^th this T&rtufFe. He e&lls him brother, 
I lores him 

(a hundred times as much as mother, son, 
/ Daughter, and wife. He tells him all his 
I secrets 

And lets him guide his acts, and rule his 
conscience. 

He fondles and embraoes him; a sweet- 

L Could not, I think, be loved more t«nderiy; 
1 At table be must have the seat of honor, 
I While with delight our master sees him eat 

As much as six men could; we must give 
\ up 

The~choiceat tidbits to him; if he belcbes. 

Master exclaims: "God bless you!" — 
Oh, he dptee 

Upon him; he'a hia univwse, his hero; 

He's lost in constant admiration, quotes 
, him 

On all occasions, takes his trifling acts 

For wonders, and his words for oracles. 

The fellow knows his dupe, and makes the 

He fools him with a hundred masks of 

Gets money from him all the time by 

canting, 
And takes upon himself to carp at us. 
Even bis silly ooxoomb of a lackey 
Makes it his business to instruct us too; 
He comes with rolling eyes to preach at 

And throws away our ribbons, rouge, and 

patches. 
Tttt wret«h, the other day, tore up a ker- 

That he had found, pressed in the GoUen 

Calling it honid crime for us to mingle 
The devil's finery with holy things. 

|£nler EufiRE, Marianr, Dahis.) 
Elmirb [to Oii.ANTi]. You 're very 
lucky to have missed the speech 
She gave us at the door. I see my husband 
Is home again. He has n't seen me yet, 
80 I'll go up and wait till he comes in. 
OLiANTB. And I, to save time, will 
await him here; 



I '11 merely say good-momiiig, and be gone. 

{ExxwU Eliork and Mabi&nb.) 

Daios. I wish you'd say a itard to him 

My sister's marriage; I suspect Tartuffe 

Opposes it, and puts my father up 

To all these wretehed shifts. You know. 

How nearly I'm concerned in it myself; 
If love unites my sister and ValBre, 
I love his sister too; and if this marriage 
Were to . . . 
DORiNii. He's coming. 

[frit Daiob.] 
[Enter Orgon.] 
Oboon. Ah! Good-morning, brother. 
Ci^ANTE. I was just going, but am ^ad 



tog 






Things are not far advanced yet, in the 
country? 
Oroon. Dorine . . . 
ITo Ci^ANTfl.] Just wait a bit, please, 

brother-in-law. 
Let me allay my first anxiety 
By askii^ news about the family. 
[To DouiTB.] Has everything gone well 

these last two days? 
What's happening? And how is every- 
body? 
DoRiNE. Madam had fever, and a split- 
ting headache 
Day bdore yesterday, all day and evening. 
OaooN. And how about Tartuffe? 
DoRiNS. Tartuffe? He's well; 
He's mighty well; stout, fat, fair, rosy- 
lipped. 
Oboon. Poor man I 
DoniNX. At evening she had nausea 
And could n't touch a single thing for 

Her headache still was so severe. 

Oroon. And how 
About Tartuffe? 

DoRiNE. He supped alone, before her, 
And unctuously ate up two partridges, 
As well as half a leg o' mutton, deviled. 

Oroon. Poor man! 

DoRiNX. All ni^t she could n't get ft 

Of sleep, the fever racked her so; and wo 
Had to ait up with her till daylight. 



Obook. How 
About Tartuffe? 

DoBiNB, Gently iDclined to Blumber, 
He left the table, went into his loam, 
Got himself straight into a ^ood warm bed, 
And slept quite undisturbed until next 



Oscx>N. Poor man ! 

DoBiNE. At last she let us all persuade 

And got HP courage to be bled; and then 
She was relieved at once. 

Oroon. And how about 
Tartuffe? 

DoHDiE. He plucked up ooura^ pmp- 
erly, 
Bravely entrenched his soul against all 

evils, 
And, to replace the blood that she had lost, 
He drank at breakfast four huge draughts 
of wine. 
Obgon. Poor mant 
DoBiNB. Bo now tbey both are doing 

Aitd I'll go strai^tway and inform my 






How plesaed you are at her recovery. 

[Exit DoBiNi.) 
CiJante. Brother, she ridiculee you to 

your face; 
And 1, though I don't want to make you 

angry, — -^ 

Mu«t tell you candidly that she's quita 

right. I 

Was such infatuation ever heard ofT I 

And can a man to-day have charms 

make you 
Foi^t nil else, relieve his poverty. 
Give him a home, and then . . . ? 

Oboon. Stop Uiere, good brother, 
You do not know the man you're speaking 

of. 
Ciif AKra. Since you will have it so, I 

do not know him; 
But after all, to tell what sort of man 
He is . . . 

Oboon. Dearbrother, you'd be charmed 

to know him; 
Your raptures over him would have no 

end. 
He is a man . . . who . . . ahl ... in fact 



Whoever does his will, knows perfect peace, 
And counts the whole world else, as so much 

dung. 
His converse has transformed me quite; he 

My heart from every friend^p, teaches 

To have no love for anything on earth; 
And I could see my brother, children, 

mother, 
And wife, all die, and never care — a snap. 
Cl£antii. Your feelings are humane, 

I must say, brother! 
Oboon. Ahl U you'd seen him, as I saw 

him first. 
You would have loved him just as much 

as I. 
He came to church each day, with con- 
Kneeled, on both knees, right opposite my 

pl«ce, 
And drew the eyes of all the congregation, 
To watch the fervor of his prayers to 

heaven; 
With deep-drawn sighs and great ejacula- 

He humbly kissed the earth at every mo- 

And when I left the church, he ran before 

To give me holy water at the door. 
I learned his poverty, and who he was, 
By queetioning his servant, who is like him, 
And gave him gifts; but in his modesty 
He always wanted to return a part. 
"It is too much," he'd say, "too much by 

half; 
1 am not worthy of your pity." Then, 
When I refused to take it back, he'd go. 
Before my eyes, and give it to the poor. 
At length Heaven bade me take him to my 

And since that day, all seems to prosper 

He cenBures everything, and for my sake 
He even takes great interest in my wife; 
He lets me know who ogles her, and seems 
Six times as jealous as I am myself. 
You'd not believe how far his seal can go: 
He calls himself a sinner just for trifles; 
The merest nothing is enough to shock him; 
So much so, that the other day I heard bim 



274 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Accuse himadf for having, while at prnyor, 

la too much tuiger cau^^t and killed a flea. 

CiAurn. Zounds, brother, you are 

mad, I UiinKl Or else 
You're malcing sport of me, with mteb a 

speech. 
What are you driving at with all this non- 

Okoon. Brother, your language moacks 

of atheism; 
And I mupeot your soul 's a little tunted 
Ttuvewith. I've preached to you a score 

of times 
That you'll draw down some judgment on 

your bead. 
ClAanix. That is the usual strain of all 

yourldnd; 
They must have every one as blind as 

they. 
Hey call you atheist if you have good 

eyes; 
And if you don't adore their vain grimaoes. 
You've neither faith nor care for sacred 

No, no; sueh talk can't frighten me; 

I know 
What I am saying; Heaven sece my heart. 
We're not the dupes of all your canting 



There are false heroes — and false de- 

And as true heroes never are the ones 
Who make much noise about their deeds of 

Just so true devotees, whom we should 

Are not the ones who make so much vain 

What! Will you find no difference between 

Hypocrigjr and genuine devoutnees? 

And will you treat them both alike, and 

pay 
The selfsame honor both to masks and 

faces, 
Set artifice beside sincerity, 
Confuse the semblance with reality. 
Esteem a phantom like a living peraon. 
And counterfeit as good as honest coinf 
Men, for the most part, are strange crea- 
tures, truly I 
You never find them keep the golden 



The limits of jpx>d sense, too narrow for 
Must always be paesed by, in each direo- 
Hiey often spoil the noblest things, be- 

They go too far, and pu^ them to ex- 
tremes. 

I merely say this by the way, good brother. 
Ohoon. You are the sole expounder of 
the doctrine; • 

Wisdom Bball die with yon, do doubt, good 
brother. 

You are the only wise, the sole' enlight 

The oracle, the Cato. of our age. 

An men, compared to you, are downright 

fools. 
GLfiANTE. I'm not tiie sole expounder 

of the doctrine. 
And wisdom shall ikot die with me, good 

brother. 
But this I know, tJunigh it be all my 



That there's a difference 'twixt false and 

true, 
And as I find no kind of hero more 
To be admired than men of true religion. 
Nothing more noble or more beautiful 
Than is the holy leal of true devoutnesa. 
Just BO I think there's naught more odious 
Than whiled sepulchera of outward unc- 

Those barefaced charlatans, those hireling 

sealote, 
Whose sacrilegious, tieacherous pretense 
I>e<«ive8 at will, and with impunity 
Makes mockery of all that men hold 

Men who, enslaved to selfiah intereets, 
Moke trade and merchandise of godliness. 
And try to purchase influence and office 
With false eye-rollings and affected rap 

Thoee men, I say, who with uncommon 

seal 
Seek their own fortunes on the road to 

heaven; 
Who, skilled in prayer, have always mooh 

And live at court to preadi retimnent; 
Who recondle religion with their vioM, 



Are quick to anger, Tengtful, futUess, 

tricky, 
And, to de8tit)7 a nuo, will hav« the bold- 

To call their private gnidge the o&uae of 

HeKven; 
AH the more dangerous, einoe in UKitr anger 
The; use aKainst ue weapons men revere, 
AAd since they make the woild applaud 

their paadon, 
And seek to etab ub with a sacred eword. 
There are too many of thia canting kind. 
Still, the sincere are eaey to distinguish; 
And many splendid patterns may be found. 
In our own time, before our very eyes. 
Look at Aiiston, P&iandre, Oronte, 
Alcidamas, Clitandte, and Folydore; 
No one denies thmr claim to true reliipoo; 
Yet they're do braggadocios of virtue, 
They do not make insufferable display, 
And their religion's human, tractable; 
They are not always judging all our ac- 

lltey'd think such ' judgment savored of 

presumption; 
And, leaving pride of words to other men, 
T is by their deeds alone they oensure ours. 
Bvi! appearances find Uttle credit 
With Uiem; they even incline to think the 

best 
Of others. No cabalers, no intriguers, 
Tliey mind the businees of their own right 

They don't attack a nnner tooth and nail, 
For ain's the only object of their hatred; 
Nor are litey overaealous to attempt 
Fat more in Heaven's behalf than Heaven 

would have 'em. 
That is my kind of man, that is true living, 
Tliat is the pattern we should set ouraelvee. 
Tour fellow was not fashioned on this 

You're quito sincere in boasting of his 

seal; 
But you're deceived, I think, by false pre- 
tenses. 
Oboon. My dear good brother-in-law, 

have you quito doneT 
CLiANTK. Yes. 
Okoon. I'm your humble servant. 

\SlarU to go.] 
ClAaktb. Just a word. 



UFFE »7s 

We'U drop that other subject. But you 

know 
Valdra has had the promise of your 

daughter. 
Oboon. Yes. 
CLiANTX. You had named tiie happy 

day. 
Oboon. T is true, 
CUbANm. Then why put o& the oele- 

bration of itT 
Oboon. I can't say. 
Ci^ANTB. Can you have some other 

plan 
Li mindT 
Oboon. Feriiape. 
Cutum. You mean to break yow 

wtod? 
OsooN. I don't say that. 
Ci^Camtx. I hope no obstacle 
Can Iceep you from performing what you 've 

promised. 
Oboon. Well, that depends. 
Cl^ANTB. Why must yeiu beat about? 
Val^re has sent me here to settle matten. 
Oroon. Heaven be praisedl 
ClAante. What answer shall I take 

Oboon. Why, anything you please. 

OLiANTX. But we must know 
Your plans. What are theyT 

Oaootf. 1 shall do the will 
Of Heaven. 

CiJantii. Come, be serious. You've 



it7 

Oboon. Good-bye. [ETiti 

ClAantb [alone). His love, methintcs, has 

much to fear; 
must go let him know what's happening 

here. [BtU.] 



ACT II 
[ErU^ Oboon and Mariamb.I 
Oboon. Now, Mariano. 
Mabiank. Yes, fatiierf 
Oboon. Gome: I'll tell jrou 
A secret. 
Mabianb. Yes . . . What are you look- 
ing forT 



176 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Okoon [looMno irUo a fmall eiotel-room]. 
To see thera'a no one there to spy 

That little cloeet 's mighty fit to hide in. 
Therel We're all riRht now. Muiane, in 

I've alwayi found a dsu^ter dutiful 
And gentle. So I've aXwayt lov«d you 

Masiakb. I'mgratefntfoiyourfatheriy 



Oboon. Well spoken, dau^ter. Now, 

prove you deserve it 
By doing aa I wish in all reapectx. 

Mabiane. To do so is the height of my 

ambition. 
Oboon. Excellent well. What say you 

of — Tartuffe? 
Mabiank, Who? I? 
Oboom. Yee, you. Look to it how you 



Oboon. Well spoken, A good girl. Say 
then, my daughter, 
That all his person ehinee with noble merit, 
That he has won your heeut, and you 

would like 
To have him, by my choice, become your 

husband. 
Eh? 
Mabiane. Eh7 
Oboon. What say youT 
Mabiane. Please, what did you say? 
Oboon. What? 

Mabiane. Surely I mistook you, sir? 
Oboon. How now? 

Mabiane, Who is it, father, you would 
have me say 
Has won my heart, and I would like to 

have 
Become my husband, by your dioioe? 
Oroon. TartuSe. 
Mabiane. But, father, I protest it is n't 

Why should you make me tell this dread- 
ful Ue? 
Oboom. Because I mean to have it be the 
truth. 



Let this suffice (or you: I've settled it 
Mabiane. What, father, you would . . . 
Oboon. Yee, child, I'm resolved 
To graft Tartuffe into my famfly. 
So he must be your husband. That I've 

settled. 
And since your duty , . . 
\/Seeinif DoBora.j What are you doing 

thoe? 
Your curiooity is keen, my prl. 
To make you come eavesdropping on ua 

so. 
DoBiNX. Upon my word, I don't know 

how the rumor 
Got started — if 'twas guMswork or mere 

But I had beard already of this match. 
And treated it as utter stuS and ponsense. 
Oboon. WhatI Is the thing incredible? 
Dobine. So mudi so 
I don't believe it even from youradf, sir. 
Oboon. I know a way to make you 

credit it. 
DoaiNE. No, no, you're tdhng us a 

fairytale! 
Oboon. I'm telUng you just what will 

happen shortly. 
DoRtNE. Stufil 
Oboon. Dai^bter, what 1 say is in good 

DoKim. There, there, don't take your 
father seriously; 
He's fooling. 

Oboon. But I tell you . . . 

DoBtNZ. No. No use. 
Iliey won't believe you. 

Oboon. If I let my anger . , . 

Dobine. Well, then, we do believe you; 
and the worse 
For you it is. WbatI Can a grown-up man 
With that expanse of beanl acrosa his face 
Be mad enough to want . . . ? 

Oboon. You hark to me: 
You've taken on youtself here in this 

A sort of free familiarity 
That I don't like, I tell you franldy, girl. 
Dobine. There, there, let's not get 
angry, sir, I beg you. 
But are you making game of everybody? 
Your daughter's not cut out for bigot's 



TARTUFFE 



377 



And he has more important things to 

think {rf. 
BeoidM, what can you gai:i by luch a 

match? 
How can a man of wealth, like you, go 

A wretched VKabo od for aon-in-law? 
Uboom. ifou tkold your tflugue. And 
know, the tew he has, 
The better cause have we to honor him. 
Hi> poverty is honcflt poverty; 
It dtould exalt him more than worldly 

For he has let himself be robbed of all, 
Throu^ careless disrei^rd of temporal 

And fixed attachment to the things eternal. 
My help may set him on his feet again. 
Win back his property — - a fair estate 
Be haa at home, so 1 'm informed — and 

prove him 
For what he is, a true-born gentleman. 
DoRiNii. Yee, so he says himself. Sudi 

But ill accords with pious living, or. 
The man who cares for holiness alone 
Should not so loudly boast his name and 

birth; 
The humble waj^ of genuine devoutness 
Brook not so much display of earthly 

Why should he be so vain? ... But I 

offend you; 
Let's leave his rank, then, — take the man 

Can you without compunction give a man 
Ijke him poseessian of a girl like herl 
Think what a scandal 'a sure to come of 

itl 
Virtue is at the mercy of the fates. 
When a girl 'a married to a man ahe hates; 
The beet intent to live an honest wo- 

D^Muds upon the buabond'a beii^ hu- 
man, 
And men whose brows are pointed at afar 
May thank themselves their wives ore 

what they are. 
For to be true is more than woman can, 
With husbands built upon a certain plan; 
And he who weds his child against her 
win 



Owes Heaven account for it, if she do ill. 
Tliink then what perils wait on your de- 
sign. 
Oboon [to Maxunii]. Sol I must learn 

what's what from her, you see! 
DoEum. You might do wone than fd- 

low my advice. 
Oboon. Daughter, we can't waste time 
upon this nonsense; 
I know what's good for you, and I'm your 

True, I had promised you to young VaKre; 
But, first, they tell me he's inclined to 

Andthen, Ifeai his faith is not quite sound. 

i have n't noticed that he's regular 

At church. 
DoRiNB. You'd have him run there just 
when you do, 

like those who go on purpose to be seen? 
Oboon. I don't ask your opinion on the 
matt«r. 

In short, tjie other is in Heaven's beet 
graces. 

And that is riches quite beyond compare. 

This match will bring you every joy you 
long for; 

'T will be all steeped in sweetness and de- 
light. 

You'll live together, in your faithful lovee, 

Ijke two sweet children, like two turtle- 

You'Il never fall to quarrel, soold, or 
And you may do with him whate'er you 

DoRiNX. With himT Do naught but 
give him horns, I'll warrant. 

Ohoon. Out on the wench! 

DoRiNX. I tell you he's cut out for 't; 
However great your daughter's virtue, air. 
His deetiay is sure to prove the stronger; 

Oboon'. Have done with interrupting. 
Hold your tongue. 
Don't poke your nose in other people's 
business. 

Donnn:. [She keep* irUemipHng him, 
pat at he (urns oiuf tiartt U> tpeakto 
his daufhUr.] If I make bold, Sir, 
't ia for your own good. 

Croon. You're too officious; f»ay yot^ 



«78 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



DoRno. T is love of you — 
Oroon. I wont none of your love. 
DoRiNB. Then I wilt love you in your 

own deepite. 
Ohook. You will, eh? 
Ddrine. Yes, your honor's dear tome; 
I can't endure to see you made the butt 
Of &U men's ridicule. 
Ohoon. Won't you be still? 
Dosnn, 'T would be a sin to let you 

m&ke thii match. 
Oboon. Won't you be still, I say, you 

impudent viper! 
DosiMx. What! you are pioui, and you 

lose your temper? 
Oboon. I'm all wrought up, with your 
confounded nonaenie; 
Now, once for all, I tell you hold your 
tongue. 
DoBuni. Then mum's the wonl; I'll 

take it out in thinking. 
Oboon. Think all you please; but not a 
syllable 
To me about it, or . . . you understandl 
[T'umino (o hit daughter] As a wise father, 

I've considered all 
With due deliberation. 
DoKiNE. I'll go mad 
If I can't speak. 

[She tlopK the itulant he (urns hit 
head] 
Oboon. Tliougb he's no lady's man, 
Tartuffe is well enough . . . 
DoRiNE. A pretty phiz 1 
OsooK. So that, althou^ you may not 
care at all 
For his b^et qualities . . . 
DoRiNX. A handsome dowry! 

[Oroon (urns and »land$ in front 

of her, mik arme folded, eyeing 

her] 

Were I in her place, any man should rue it 

Who married me by force, that 's m^ty 

I'd let him know, and that within a week, 
A woman's vengeance is n't far to seek.' 
Oboon [to DobinsI . So — nothing that 

I say has any weight? 
DoRiNE, Eh7 What's wrong now? I 

did n't speak to you.. 
Oroon. What were you doing? 
DoRiNB. Talking to myadf. 



Oboon. Oh! Vwy well. [Aiide] Her 
monstrous impudence 
Must be chastised with one good slap in the 

[He glands ready to ttrike her, and, 
each time he ipeake to hit 
daughter, he fflaneei toward her; 
hut the »Umde aHU a.nd tayt not 

Oboon. Daughter, you must approve of 
my design. . . . 
Think of titis husband ... I have diosen 

foryou . . . 
[To DordtbJ Why don't you talk to 
youTB^lfT 
DoRiNB, Nothing to say. 
Oroon. One little word more. 
DoRiNx. Oh, no, thanks. Not now, 
Orgon. Sure, I 'd have cau^t 3rou. 
DoRn«E, Faith, I'm no such fool. 
Oboon. So, daughter, i 
the word; 
You must accept my choice with n 

DoBINX [running mmij;]. You'd never 
catch me marrying such a creature. 
Oroon {noinging hit hand at her and 
mitnng her]. Daughter, you've such 
a pestilent hussy there 
I can't live with her longer without sin. 
I can't discuss thin^ in the state I'm in. 
My mind's so flustered by her insolent 

talk. 
To calm myself, I must go take a walk. 

[EzUJ 

DoBiNZ. Say, have you lost the tongup 

from out your head? 

And must I speak your rAle from A to Zed? 

You let them broach a project that's 

absurd. 
And don't oppose it with a sin^ wordi 
Marians. What can I do? My father is 

the master. 
DoBtNE. Do? Everything, to ward off 

such disaster. 
Mariane. But what? 
DoBiNB. Tell him one does n't love by 
proxy; 
Tellhimyou'limarry for yourself, not him; 
Since you 're the one for whotn the thing is 

done, 
You are the one, not he, the man must 
please; 



ElilizedbvGoOQlc 



If his Tutuffe hu olukrm«d him «o, why 

let him 
Juat marry him himself — noonewillhiader. 
Mahunz. a fatbo-'s rights are such, 
it seems to me. 
That I could never dare to say a word. 
DoBiNK. Come, talk it out. Valire has 
aaked your hand: 
Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? 
Makiane. Doriuel How can you wrong 
my love so much, 
^d ask me such a question? Have I not 
A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? 
Do you not know how ardently I love him? 
DoBiNE. How do I know it heart and 
words agree, 
And if in honest truth you really love him? 
Marianb. Dbrine,youwToiigmeKreatIy 
if you doubt it; 
I've shown my inmost feelings, all too 
plainly. 
DoBiNs. So then, you love him? 
Mariane. Yes, devotedly. 
DoRiNB. And he returns your love, e^>- 

parently? 
Masiane. I think so. 
DoRiNE. And you both alike are eager 
To be well married to each other? 
Masianb. 9urely. 
DoBiNX. Then what's your plan about 

this other match? 
Mariane. To kill myself, if it is forced 

upon me. 
DoftiNE. Good! That's a remedy I 
had n't thought of. 
Just die. and everything will be all right. 
This medicine ia marvelous, indeed! 
It drives me mad to hear folk talk such 



Mariane. Oh, dear, Dorme, you get in 
&uch a temperl 
You have no sympathy for people's troubles. 
DoRiNE. I have no sympatiiy when folk 
talk nonsense. 
And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. 
Mabiane. But what can you expect? — 

if one is timid? — 
DORINE. But what is love worth, if it 

has no courage? 
Makiaks. Am I not constant in roy 
love for him? 
Ib 't not his plaoe to win me from my father 7 



UFFE 179 

DoBim. Butifyourfatherisaciuiy foot. 
And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? 

And btvaks 
His bounden word? Is that your lover's 
fault? 
MARtANi. But shall I publicly refuse 

This match, and make it plain that I'm in 

love? 
Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be. 
Womanly modesty and filial duty? 
You ask me to display my love in pub- 



[ you nothing. 



lie 

DORINX. No, DO, 

You shall be 
Mister Tartuffe'a; why, now I think of it, 
1 should be wrong to turn you from this 

marriage. 
What cause can I have to oppose your 

So fine a match! An excellent good match! 
Mister Tartuffe! Oh hoi No mean pro- 
Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, 
Is not a man to sneeze at — oh, by no 

means! 
'T is no small luck to be his happy spouse. 
The whole worid joins to sing hit praise 

already; 
He 's noble — in his parish; handsome too; 
Red ears, and high complexion — oh, my 

ludl 
You'll be too happy, sure, with him for 

husband. 
Mabianb. Oh, dear! . . . 
DoKiNE. What joy and pride will fill 

your heart 
To be the bride of such a handsome fellow I 
Mabiank. Oh, stop, I beg you; try to 

find some way 
To help break off the match. I quito 

I'm ready to do anything you say. 
DomNE. No, no, a daughter must obey 

her father, 
Though be should want to make her wed 

a monkey. 
Besides, your fate is fine. What could be 

betterl 
You'll take the stage-coach to his little 

village, 
And find it full of oi 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Whose conversfttion will delight jou. 

Then 
You'll be presented in their beat society. 
You'll even go to call, by way of wdcome, 
On Mta. BsiliS, Mra. Tax-Colleotor, 
Who'll patroniie you with a folding-atool. 
There, onoe a year, at carnival, you'll 

hare — 
Perhaps — a ball; with ordiMtn — two 

bag-pipee; 
Aikd sometimee a trained ape, and Punch 

and Judy; 
Though it your huaband . . . 

Mabunb. Oh, youll kill me. Pleaae 
Contrive to help me out with your advice. 
DoBiNS. I thank you kindly. 
Mariane. Ohl Doiioe, I beg you . . . 
DoRtNx. To serve you rif^t, this mar- 

riage must gp through. 
Mabiane. Dear girlt 
DORHtB. No. 

Marians. If I say I love Val^re . . . 
DoRimB. No, no. Tartuffe 's your man, 

and you shall tast« him. 
Marians. You know I've always 

tiusted you; now help me . . . 
DomNB. No, you shall be, my faitht 

Tartuffified. 
Mariamx. Well, then, since you've no 
pity for my fate 
Let roe taie coiwsel only of despair; 
It wiU advise and help and give me oour- 

age; 
There's one sure cure, I know, for all my 
troubles. [She ^arlt U> go.] 

DoRiNK. There, there! Come back. 1 
can't be angry long. 
I must take pity on you, after all. 
Mariani!. Oh, don't you SBe,.Dorine, if 
I must bear 
This martyrdom, 1 certainly shall die. 
DoRiNE. Now don't you fret. Well 
surely Bnd some way 
To binder this . . . But here's Valire, 3^ur 
lover. 

\Enler VaiAm!,] 
VaiAre. Madam, a piece of news — 
quite new to me — 
Has just come out, and very fine it is. 
Mahia»ic. What piece of news? 
VALtRB. Your marriage with TartuSe. 



Mabiamb. T is toue my father has this 

plan in mind. 
VALftBB. Your fatJKr, madam . . . 
Mabianb. Yea, he's changed his fdana, 
And did but now propose it Ut me. 

ValIbx. WhatI 
Seriously? 

Marianx. Yes, he was serious. 
And openly insisted on the match. 
VaiArb. And what's your resolution in 

the matter, 
Madam? 
Marianb. I don't know. 
VaiArb. That's a pretty answer. 
You don't know? 
Makians. No. 
VaUpbb. Not 

Marianb. What do you advise? 
VaiArb. I? My advice is, marry him, by 

oU means. 
Marianb. That's your advice? 
VaiJirb. Yea. 

Marianb. Do you mean it? 
VALkRB. Surely. 
A splendid choice, and worthy your ac- 
ceptance. 
Marianb. Oh, very well, sir! I shaO 

take your counsel. 
VaiJire. Youll find no trouble taking 

it, I warrant. 
Marianb. No more than you did giving 

it, be sura. 
VaiAre. I gave it, truly, to oblige you, 

"" w ji ftt n- 
Marianb. And I shall take it to obUge 

you, sir. 
DoRiNB [vnthdravini/ to the baiii of Oib 

itag^. Let's see what this affair will 



That is your love? And it was all deceit 
When you . . . 

Marianb. I beg you, say no more of 
that. 
You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept 
The husband that is offered me; and I 
Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so. 
Since you have given me this good advice. 

VAiiiRB. Don't shield yourself with 
talk of my advice. 
You had your mind made np, that's vn- 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



And now you're Biutching at a trifling 

pretext 
To jusUf y the brealciog of your word. 

Marians. Exactly m. 

Vai±re. Of course it ia; your heart 
Hsa never known true love for me. 

Mabiamx. Alas! 
You're free to think bo, if you pleaae. 

ValIbi. Yee. yes, 
I'm free to think so; and my outraged 

love 
May yet forestall you in your perfidy, 
And offer elsewhere botii my heart and 

Marianb. No doubt of it; the love your 
hijth deserts 
May <riu . . . 
VAiJiits. Good Lord, have done with 
my deserte! 
1 know I have but few, and you have 

proved it. 

But I may find more kindness In another; 

1 know of some one, who '11 not be aohamed 

To take your leavings, dad make up my 

loss. 

Mabiank. Thelossiflnotsogreat;you'l) 

Console younelf completely for this 

Val±sx. I'll try my best, that you may 
well believe. 
When we 're forgotten by a woman's heart, 
Our pride is challenged; we, too, must 

Or if we cannot, 'must at least pretend 

to. 
No other way oan man such 



A« be a lover scorned, and still in love. 
Masiami. In faith, a hi^ and noble 

sentiment. 
Vai^kk. Yes; and it's one that all men 
must approve. 
What! Would you have me keep my love 

And see you fly into another's arms 
Before my very eyes; and never offer 
To some one else the heart that you had 

scorned? 
Masiamb. Oh, no, indeed! For my part, 

1 could wish 
That it were done already. 



JFFE 381 

ValArb. WbatI You wish itT 
Marians. Yes. 

VaiAri. This is insult heaped on io- 
jury; 
I'll go at onoe and do as you desire. 

[He taket a ttep or two aa if to go 
auaj/.J 
Marians. Oh, very well then. 
ValAre Ituming back]. But remembw 
this; 
'T was you that drove me to this duperatti 

Mabiank. Of course. 
Vai^sb {btminff back again]. And in Hbo 
plan that I have formed 
I only follow your example. 
Mariakb. Yes. 
ValIrb [at lli£ door]. Enough; you shaO 

be punctually obeyed. 
Marianh. So much the better. 
VALknx [conan^ back again]. This is 

once for all. 
Marjamx. 80 be it, then. 
VaiArb [going bnvard th» door, hut juil 
at ke reaches il, turning around. Eh7 
Mabianb. What? 
Vai±rx. You did n't eaU me? 
Mariamb. I? You are dreaming. 
Vai±kk. Very well, I'm gone. 
Madam, farewell. 

[He tnitt« tlouiy 010^.] 
Mariamb. Farewell, sir. . 
DoRiNB. I must Bay 
You 've lost your senses and both gone clean 

daft! 
I've let you fight it out to the end o' the 

chapter 
To see how far the thing oould go. Oho, 

there, 
Mister Valferel 

[She goea and »eite» kim by the 
arm, to itap him. He maket a 
grtat show of renatanee.] 
Vai±rb. What do you want, DorineT 
DOBINB. Come here. 
ValIre. No, no, I'm quite beside my- 
self. 
Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. 
DoRiNB. Stop! 
ValIibb. No. You see, I'm fixed, re- 

solved, determined. 
DORtNB. Sot 

.GooqIc 



383 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Mabiakk locidc). Since my ptesenoe 
pains him, makes him go, 
I'd better go myseU, and leave him free. 
DoBiNB [leamng VALkiu), and running 
Hfter Mabianx). Now 't other! 
Where are you going? 
Marianb. Let me be. 
DoRiNE. Come back. 
Masianx. No, no, it isn't any uae. 
Vai±rs [oiide]. 'T is clear the eight of 
me is torture to her; 
Mo doubt, 't were better I ghould free her 
from it. 
DoBiNE [leamng Marianx, and running 
after VaiJirb|. Same thing againl 
Deuce take you both, I say. 
Now atop your fooling; come here, you; 
and you. 
IShe pidU firtt one, Aen the olher, 
totoard the middle of the ttage] 
VaiAb* [to DobineJ. What's your idea? 
Mablank [to DoBiNii]. What can you 

mean to do? 
DoKiME. Set you to rights, and pull you 
out o' the ectape. 
[To VaiAre.] Are you quito mad, to 
quarrel with her now? 
VALiRE. Didn't you hear the things 

she said to me? 
DoRiNE [to Marianb). Are you quite 

mad, to get in euch a passion? 
Marianx. Did n't you see the way he 

treated me? 
DoitiNX. Fools, both of you. 
[To Valise.] She thinks of nothing else 
But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. 
[ToMasianx.] And he lovee none but you, 

and longs for nothing 
But just to marry you, I stake my life 

Mariane [to Vaurb]. Why did you 

give me such advice then, pray? 
ValArk [to Masianr], Why ask for my 

advice on such a mattorT 
DoRiNE. You both are daft, I tdl you. 

Here, your hands. 
[To VAi,tsB.l Ck)me, yours. 
ValIrb [gwing DoRum hit Aand]. What 

for? 
DoKiNE [to Mariami}. Now, yours. 
M&riank [gitingDotasKhtrhmdl. But 

what's the use? 



DoBim. Oh, quick now, come along. 
There, both of you — 
You love each other better than you think. 
[VaiJBse and Mariane hold each 
olher'g handt tome time wilhoul 
looking at each other,] 
VaIiIire lot loat turning toward Marianij. 
Come, don't be so ungracious now 
about it; 
Look at a man as if you dkl n't bate him. 
[Marians looks aidetnaya toward 
VuMaXyWithjiutabilofatmite.] 
DoRiNB. My faith and troth, what fools 

these lovers be I 

VaiArb |(o Mariane]. But come now, 

have I not a just complaint? 

And truly, are you not a wicked creature 

To take delight in saying what would pain 

Mariane. And ore you not yourself the 

most ungrateful ... 7 
DoRiNE. Leav6 this discussion till an- 
other time; 
Now, think how you'll stave off this 
ploguey marriage. 
Mariane. Then tell us how to go about 

it. 
DoRiNE. Well, 
We'll try all sorta of ways. 
[To MariansJ Your father 's daft; 
[To VAiiiRB.] This plan is nonsense. 
[To Mariane.J You had better humor 
His notions by a semblance of consent, 
So that in case of dan^r, you can ttill 
Find means to block the' marriage by delay. 
If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. 
One day youll fool them with a suddMi 

Causing delay; another day, ill omens: 
You've met a funeral, orbrakea minor. 
Or dreamed of muddy water. Beet of all, 
They cannot marry you to any one 
Without your saying yea. But now, me- 

Th«y mustn't find you chattming to- 
gether. 

[ToVjljAsx.] You, go at once and set your 
friends at work 

To make him keep his word to you ; irtiile we 

Will bring the brother's influence to bear. 

And get the Bt«proother on our aide, too. 

Oood-bye. 



VAiifeBS Ito Makune]. Whatever efforts 
we m&y make, 
My greatMt hope, be sure, must rest on 

Mabians [lo VaiJirx). I cannot an- 
swer for my father's whims; 
But no one save Volbe shall ever have me. 
ValIrb. You thrill me through with joy! 

Whatever comes . . . 
DoRiHS. Ohol These lovers! .Never 
done with prattlingi 
Now, go. 
VaiAb> [ttarting lo go, and coming bade 

again]. One last word . . . 
DoBBm. What a gabble and pother! 
Be off I By this door, you. And you, by 
t 'other. 
[She . pa*lies Ihem off, by the 
ihtnMeri, in oppotiie diree- 



ACT III 
[Enter Daiob and Dobink.] 
Damb. May lightning strike me dead 
this very instant, 
May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoun- 
drel, 
If any reverence or power shall stop roe, 
And if I don't do straightway something 
desperate! 
DoRiNZ. I beg you, moderate this tow- 
ering passion: 
Your father did but merely mention it. 
Not ail things that are talked of turn to 

facts; 
Hw road is long, sometimes, from plans to 
acts. 
Daius. No J must end this patey fel- 
low'sp lota. 
Aud he shall bear from me a truth or two. 
DoBont. So ho! Go slow now. Just you 
leave the fellow — 
Your father too — in your stepmother's 

She has some influenoe with this Tartuffe, 
He makes a point of heeding all she says, 
And I suspect that he is fond of her. 
Would God 't were truel ~ 'T would bo 

the height of humor. 
Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, 



JFFE 983 

To sound him on this marriage, to find out 
What his ideu are, and to show him plainly 
What troubles he may cause, if he persists 
In giving countenance to this design. 
His man says, he's at prayers, I must n't 

see him, 
But likewise says, hell presently l>e down. 
So off with you, and let me wait for bim. 

Damis. I may be present at this inter- 
view. 

DoKiNB. No, no! They must be left 

Damis. I won't 
So much as speak to him. 

Dobink. GoonI We know you 
And your high tantrums. Just the way to 

spoil things! 
Be off. 
Daiob. No, I must see — I'll keep my 

temper. 
DoBnra. Out on you, what a plague! 
He's coming. Hide! 

[Dauis goee and hides in the dotet 
at the back of Ihe Hage.] 
[Enter TABTurFB.) 
TABmn [spetUeiTig lo hie valet, <^ the 
ilagt, aa nxm as he sees Dommi u 
lAsre]. lAwrence, put up my hair- 
cloth shirt and soourge. 
And prny that Heaven may shed its light 

upon you. 
If any come to see me, say I 'm gone 
To share my alms among the prisoners. 
DoBiNX [aside]. What affectation and 

what shovring offt 
Tabtupfi:. What do you want with me? 
DoBiNE. To t«ll you . . . 
TABTCrra [taking a haitdkerehief from 
hiepoeliet]. Ah! 
Before you speak, pray take this hand- 
kerchief. 
DomNK. What7 

TABtvm. Cover up that boaom, whioh 
1 can't 
Endure to took on. Iliings Uke that offend 
Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful 
thoughts, 
DoBiNa. Are you so tender to tempta- 
tion, then. 
And has the fiesh audt power upon your 



sS4 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



I doi^'t know how you get in such a heat; 

For my part, I am not so prone to lust, 

And I could see you stripped from bend to 
foot. 

And all your hide not tempt me in the least. 
Taktuffb. Show in your speech some 
little modesty, 

Or I must instantly take leave of you. 
DoBiNE. No, no, I'll leare you to your- 
self; I've only 

One thing to say: Madam will soon be 

And begs tbe favor of a word with you. 

TARTumi. Ahl Willmgly. 

DoBim [aside]. How gentle all at oncel 
My faith, I still believe I 've hit upon it. 

Tabthitx. Will she some soon? 

DoBiKX. 1 think I hear her now. 
Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with 
her. [ExU.\ 

[£nl«r EiiinuJ 

Tabtditb. May Heaven's overflowing 



Give you good health of body and of soul, 

And Ueee your days according to the wishee 

And prayers of its most humble votary! 

EuoBX. I'm very p«teful for your 

pious wishes. 

6ut let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. 

TAfiTDFFE lifter nUing down]. And how 

are you recovered from your ill- 

ELkiBB l$iOiiig down alto]. Quite well; 

the fever soon let go its hold. 
TABTom:. My prayers, I fear, have not 
sufficient merit 
To have drawn down this favor from on 

high; 
But each entreaty that I made to Heaven 
Had for its object your recovery. 
EuiORK. You're too solicitous on my 

behalf. 
TABTurvz. We could not idKrish your 
dear health too much; 
I would have ajven mine, to help restore it. 

EUURB. That's W ^ing Ou-iy.jftp nhnr. 

ity too far; -~ 

I owe you manychanks for so much Idnd- 

Tartuffb. I do far lees for you than 
you deserve. 



Eumti. There is a matter that I wished 
to speak of 
In private; I am glad there's no one htn 
To listen. 

Tam'uvfx. Madam, I am overjoyed. 
T is sweet to find myself alone wiUi you. 
This is an oiq>ortunity I've asked 
Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. 
y.i.uiBTB. All that I wish, is just a wiml 
,from you, 
Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from 
me. 

[Daiob, willtout their geetng Mm, 

opeiu the do»et door halfway.) 

Tabtuffs. I too could wish, as Heaven's 

especial favor. 

To lay my soul quite open to your eyca. 

And swear to you, the ttouhlc that I made 

About those visits which your charms 

attract. 
Does not result from any hatred toward 

you. 
But rather from a paseionat« devotion. 
And purest motives . . , 

Elmibe. That is how I take it, 

I think 't is my salvation that concerns you. 

Tabtcffb \preuinff htr finger-tip^. 

Madam, 'tis so; and such is my 

devotion . . . 

EuiiBX. Ouchl but you squeese too 

hard. 
Tabtdftb. Excess of seal. 
In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, 
And I'd OS soon . . . 

[Ue pull hit hand on her fcneej 
EuiiBx. What's your hand doing then? 
TARTCrra. Feeling your gown ; the stuff 

is very soft, 
EiiHiRB. Let be, I beg you; I am very 
ticklish. 

[She mauea her chair away, and 
Tartuffb bringt hit nenrerj 
Tabtttffb [handlvng the lact yai« <if 
Euiibb's dreei\. Dear me, how 
wonderful in workmanship 
This lace is! They do marvels, nowadi^; 
Things of all kinds were never better made. 
Elmibx. Yea.voytrue. Butletusoomc 
to business. 
They say my husband means to break his 

word, 
And marry Mariane to you. lit nT 



TARTUFFE 



TAimmv. He did hint some such thing; 

but truly, nrndom, 
"HMt's not the hAppinen I'm yeanung 

after; 
I see dsewhera the nroet oompelliiig 

cbsnos 
Of suoh a )oy aa filla my every wiah. 
Elubk. You mean you cannot love 

Wrreatrial things. 
TABTCFra. The heart within my boaom 

ia not atone. 
Eluhis. I well believe your sigha all 

tend to Heaven, 
And nothing here bdow can stay your 

thoughta. 
TABTcm. Love for the beauty of eter- 
nal things 
Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty ; 
Our mortal senaM well may be entranced 
By perfect works that Heaven haa faah- 

ioned here. 
Its charma reflected shine in such as you, 
And in yourself, ita rarest miraclee; 
It haa displayed such marvels in your face, 
That eyee are dawd, and hearts are rapt 

I could not look on you, the p^eot crea- 

Without admiring Nature's gt«at Ci^ator, 
And feeling all my heart inflamed with 

For you, His fairest image of Himself. 
At first I trembled lest this aecret love 
Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; 
I even schooled my heart to See your 

Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. 
But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, 
I saw how this my passion may be blame- 
less. 
How I may make it fit with modesty, 
And thus completely yield my heart to it. 
"T is, I must own, a great presumption in 

To dare make you the offer of my heart; 
My love hopes all things from your perfect 

gootfaiem, 
And nothing from my own poor weak en- 

Yoa are my hope, my stay, my peace of 

bsart; 
On y<H> depends my torment or my bliss; 



^s 

And by your doom of judgment, I shall be 
Blest, if you will; or damned, by your 

EuiiBX. Your declaration's turned most 

pUlantly; 
But truly, it is just a bit surprising. 
You should have better armed your heart, 

methinks. 
And taken thought somewhat on such a 

matt«r. 
A pious man like you, known eveiy- 

Tabtutpe. Though pious, I am none the 

less a man; 
And when a man beholds your heavenly 

charms. 
The heart surrenders, and can think no 

I know such words seem strange, coming 

But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; 

If you condemn my frankly made avowal 

You only have your charming self to 

Soon as I saw vour more than hum an 

YflU tf°"i thennnfortih thn anTer"'^" "^f^^ 

Sweetness meSsble was in your eyes, 
That took by storm my still resisthig heart, 
And oonqu^ed everything, fasts, prayeia, 

and tears. 
And turned my worship wholly to your- 
self. 
My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand 

Now, to express it all,my voice must speak. 
If but you will look down with gracious 

Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, 
If in your goodness you wiU give me com- 
fort 
And oondescend unto my nothingness, 
I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, 
An uneitampled worehip and devotion. 
Then too, with me your honor runs no 

risk ; 
With me you need not fear a public scandal. 
These court gallants, that women are so 

fond of. 
Are boastful of tbmr acta, and vain in 



GooqIc 



386 CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 

They alwaya br»g in public of their prog- And gnat me meniu to tAke a ngnal rengs- 



Soon aa a favor 'a granted, they 'U divulge 

it; 
llteir tattling tongues, if jrou but trust to 

Will foul the altar irtiere their bearte have 

worshiped. 
But men like me are so discreet in love, 
That you may trust their lasting secreoy. 
Th& care we take to guard otir own good 

May fully guuantee tht one we love; 

So you may find, with hearta like oun 

ainoeie. 
Love without scandal, pleasure without 

Elmirb. I've heard you through — 

your speech ie clear, at least. 

But don't you fear that I may take a fancy 

To tell my husband of your gallant passion, 

And that a prompt report of this affair 

May somewhat change the fnendship 

which he bears you? 

TAitTUFm. I know that you 're too good 



That you wiU pardon my temerity. 
Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, 
The violenoe of passion that offends you, 
And not forget, when you consult your 

That I'm not blind, and man is made of 
flesh. 
EuoBB. Some women mi^t do other- 
wise, perhaps, 
But I am willing to employ discretion. 
And not repeat the matter to my husl»utd; 
But in return, I'U ask one thing of you: 
That you urge forward, frankly and sin- 

The marriage of Valeie to Mariano; 

That you give up the unjust influence 

By which you hope to win another's righte; 

And. . . 

Dami9 [coming out of the dout-room whert 
he had been hiding]. No, Isayl This 
thing must be made public. 

I was just there, and overheard it all; 

And Heaven's goodness must have brought 
me there 

On purpose to oonfound this scoundid'a 



On his hypocri^ and arrogance, 
And undeceivB my father, showing up 
The rascal caught at making love to you. 
EuuRS. No, no; it is enou^ if he re 
forms. 
Endeavoring to deserve the favor ahowk 

And since I've promised, do not you belit 

T is not my way to make a pubUc scandal; 
An honest wife will scorn to heed sut^ 

And never fret her husband's ears with 

Dakis. You've reasonsof yourownfor 
acting thus; 
And I have mine for doing otherwise. 
To spare him now would be a mockery; 
His bigot's pride had triumphed all too king 
Over my righteous anger, and has caused 
Far too much trouble in our family. 
The rascal all too long has ruled my father, 
And eroBsed my sister's love, and mine as 

well. 
The traitor now must be unmasked before 

And Providenoe has given me means to do 

it. 
To Heaven I owe the opportunity. 
And if I did not use it now I have it, 
I should deserve to lose it once fw aU. 

EuoBB. Damis . . 

Daios. No, by your leave; 111 not be 
counaeled. 
I'moverjoyed. You need n't tiy to tell me 
I must give up the pleasure of revenge. 
I'll make an end of this affair at onoe; 
And, to content me, here's my father now. 

[Enter Oroon.] 
Damis. Father, we've news to weloome 
your BJtival, 
That's altogether novel, and surprising. 
You are well paid for your careAing care, 
id this fine gentleman rewards your low 
~~^ handsomely, with leal that seeks no 

less 

m your dishonor, as has now been proven. 
e just surprised him m».iripg to yoo 
wif« 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



Tbe Bbameful ofFer of a guilty tove. 
8be, somewhat over gentle' and discreet, 
Insisted that the thing should be concealed; 
But I will not condone such shameleaeneaB, 
Nor so far wrong you as to keep it secret. 
Elmibx. Yea, I believe a wife should 

never trouble 
Her husband's peace of mind with such 

vain gossip; 
A wooukn's honor doea not hang on telling; 
It is enough if she defend herself; 
Or so I think; Damie, you'd not have 

spoken, 
If you would but have heeded my adrioe. 
[ExU.] 
Oboon. Just Heaven! Can what 1 hear 

be credited? 
Tartutts. Yea, brother, I am wicked, 

I am guilty, 
A miserable sinner, steeped in evil. 
Hie greatest criminal that ever lived. 
Each moment of my life is stained with 

Boiluree; 
And all is but a mass of crime and filth; 
Heaven, for my punishment , I see it plainly. 
Would mortify me now. Whatever wrong 
Hey find to charge me with, I'll not 

But guard against the pride of self-defense. 
Believe their stories, ann your wrath 

against me, 
And drive me like a villain from your house; 
I cannot have so great a share of shame 
But what I have deserved a greater still. 
OttdoN [to hit ton]. You miscreant, can 
you dare, with such a falsehood. 
To try to stain the whiteness of his virtue? 
Dauis. What I The feigned meekness of 
this hyt>ocrite 
Makes you discredit . . . 
Oroon. Silence, cursed ploguel 
TARTum:. Ah! Let him speak; you 
chide him wrongfully; 
You'd do far better to believe his tales. 
Why favor me so much in such a matter? 
How can you know of what I'm capable? 
I And^ bould you trust my outward sc m- 
^T<,^ " bTani fi,~Bfother) 

Or judge~nierefrom that I'm the better 

man? 
No, no; y ou let appeara nces decei ve you; 
I 'nl 4nyllUu£l>Ul ivlutt I'lu UiwigLTtD-be, 



JFFE 387 

Alas! and though all men believe me godly, 
The simple truth is, I'm a worthless crea- 

[To Dahis.] Yu, my dear son, say on, and 

call me traitor. 
Abandoned scoundrol, thief, and murderer; 
Heap on me names yet more detestable, 
And I shall not gainsay you; I've deaerved 

them; 
111 bear this ignominy on my knees. 
To expiate in shame the crimee I've done. 
Oboon [la Tartuffe]. Ah, brother, 't is 

too much I 
\Toku*cm.] You'll not relent, 
You blackguard? 
Daus. What! His talk can so deeeive 

Oroon. Silence, you scoundrel! 
[To TASTum:.) Brother, rise, I beg you. 
[To hit son.] Infamous villainl 

DAins. Can he . . . 

Oroon. Silence! 

Damib. What . . . 

Oroon. Another word, I'll break your 
every bone. 

Tartuftk. Brother, in God's name, 
don't be angry with himi 
.1 'd rather bear mysdf the bitterest torture 
Than have him get a scratch on my account. 

Oroon [to Au son]. Ungrateful monster! 

Tartuffd, Stop. Upon my knees 
I beg you pardon him . . . 

Ob«mn [throwing himeelf on hit kneea too, 
and embracinff TARTurml. Alaal 
How can you? 
[To hit son.] Villainl Behold his goodness! 

Dahib. 80 . . . 

Oroon. Be still, 

Damis. Whatl I . . . 

Oroon. Be still, I say. I know your 
motives 
For this attack. You hate him, all of you; 
Wife, children, servants, all let loose upon 

You have recourse to every shameful trick 
To drive this godly man out of my house; 
The more you strive to rid yourselveeof him. 
The more-1'11 strive to moke him stay with 

I'll have him stru^tway married te my 

daughter, 
Just to ramfound the pride of all of you. 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



DAins. WhatI WiH you fwoe h«r to 

(tcoept bie handf 
Oboon. Yes, and this very ereiuiiK, to 
enrage you, 
Young rascal! Ahl I'll brave you all, and 

rfiowyou 
That I'm the maflt«r, and muat bo obeyed. 
Now, down upon your knees this instant, 

rogue. 
And take back what you said, and ask bis 
pardon. 
Damib. Who? I? Ask pardon of that 

cheating scoundrel . . . T 
Okoon. Do you resist, you beggar, and 
insult him? 
A cudgel, herel a cudgel! 
{To TAKTurra.] Don't restrain me. 
[To his ion.] OS with yout Leave my 

house this instant, sirrah, 
And never dare set Coot in it again. 
Damis. Yes, I will leave your house, 

but. . . 
Oroon. Leave it quickly. 
You reprobat«, I disinherit you. 
And give you, too, my curae into the bar- 
gain. \ExU Damis.] 
WhatI So insult a saintly man of GodI 
Tartuffs. Heaven forgive him all the 
pain he gives mel 
[To Oroon.] Could you but know with 

what distress I see 
Them try to vilify me to my brothert 
Oroon. Ahl 

TARTurrs. The mere thought of such 
ingratitude 
Makee my soul suffer torture, bitterly . . . 
My horror at it . . . Ahl my heart '■ so full 
I cannot apeak ... I think I'll die of it. 
OaaoN [in teart, runnmg to Iht door 
Ihrvugh which he drove ouiav kit son]. 
Scoundrell I wish I'd never let you 
go, 
But slain you on the spot with my own 

hand. 
[To Tartuffe.] BrothM-, compose your- 
sdf, and don't be angry. 
Tartuffk. Nay, brother, let us end 
these painful quarrels. 
I oee what troublous times I bring upon 

you. 
And ibink 't is needful that I leave this 



Oboon. What! You can't mean it? 
TABT0FFS. Yea, they hate me hen, 
And tiy, I find, to make you doubt my 
faith. 
Crook. What of it? Do you find I listen 

to them? 
Tartoffz. No doubt they won't stop 
there. These same reports 
You now reject, may some day win a hear- 
ing. 
Oboon. No, brother, never. 
Tartupfb. Ahl my friend, a woman 
May easily mislead her husband's mind. 
Oboon. No, no. 

TABTurFB. So let me quickly go away 
And thus remove all cause for sudt at- 
tacks. 
Oboon. No, you shall stay; my life de- 
pends upon it. 
Tartuffd. Then I must mortify my- 
self. And yet. 
If you should wi^ . . . 
Orqon. No, neverl 
TAnrnFFB. Very well then; 
No more of that. But I shall rule my oon- 

To fit the esse. Honor is delicate, 

And friendship binds me to forestall sus- 
picion. 

Prevent all scandal, and avoid your wife. 
Oboon. No, you shall haunt her, just to 
spite them aU. 

'T is my delight to set them in a rage; 

You shall be seen together at all hours; 

And what is more, the better to defy 

I '11 have no other heir but you; and 
straightway 

III go and make a deed of gift to you, 

Drawn in due form, of all my property. 

A good true friend, my Bon-in~law to 
be. 

Is more to me than son, and wife, and kin- 
dred. 

You will accept my offer, will you not? 
Tartuffv. Heaven's will be done in 

everything! 
Okoon. Poor man^ 

We'll go make haste to draw the deed 
aright, 

And then let envy bunt itadf witii epHel 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



ACT IV 

[Bnier CiJanti and TAKTum] 

CLiANTD. Yes, it's become the talk of 

all the town. 
And nude a stir that's acaroely to your 

credit; 
And I have met you, sir, most opportunely, 
Ta tell you in a word my fiank opinion. 
Hot to sift out this scandal to the bottdm. 
Suppose the worst for us — suppose Damis 
Acted the tmitor, and acoused you falsely; 
Should not a Christian pardon this offense, 
And stifle in his heeirt all wish for veuge- 

anoeT 
Should you peimit that, foi your petty 

quarrel, 
A son be driven from his father's house? 
I ten you yet again, and tell you frankly, 
Every one, high or low, is scandaUsed; 
If you'll take my advice, you'll make it up, 
And not push matters to extremities. 
Make sacrifice to God of your resentment; 
Restore the son to favor with his father. 
TABTurn:. Aloat So for as I'm con- 

oemed, how ^adly 
Would I do sol I bear him no iH-will; 
I pardon all, lay nothing to his charge. 
And wish with all my heart that I might 

serve him; 
But Heaven's interests cannot allow it; 
If he returns, then I must leave the house. 
After his conduct, quite unparalleled, 
All interoourae between us would bring 

God knows what every one's first thought 

would bet 
They would attnbute it to mereet schem- 

tug 
On my part — say that conscious of my 

guilt 
I feigned a ChriHtian love for my accuser. 
But feared him in my heart, and hoped to 

And underhandedly secure his silence. 
ClAantx. You try to put us off with 

specious phrases; 
But all your argumenta are too far-fetched. 
Why take upon yourself the cause of 

Heaven? ^' 

Does Heaven need our help to punisb sin- 

neis? 



JFFE 38$ 

Leave to itself the care of iU own venge- 

auoe, 
And keep in nund the pardon it commands 

Besides, think somewhat less of men'l 
opinions. 

When you are following the will of Heaven. 

Shall petty fear of what the world may 
think 

Prevent the doing of a noble deed? 

No! — let us always do ea Heaven com- 
mands. 

And not perplex our brains with further 
questions. 
TABTunrx. Already I have told you I 
forgive him; 

And that is doing, air, as Heaven com- 
mands. 

But af tu this day's scandal and aSrtmt 

Heaven doee not order me to Uve with him. 
CLiANTB. And does it order you to lend 

To what mere whim suggested to his father. 

And to accept the tpf t of his estates. 

On which, in justice, you can make do 

claim? 
TiSTvrvK. No one who knows me, sir, 

can have the thought 
That I am acting from a selfish motive. 
The goods of this world have no charms for 

I am not dauled by their treacherous 

glamor; 
And if I bring myself to take the gift 
Which he insiste on giving me, I do so. 
To tell the truth, only because I fear 
This whole estate may fall into bad hands. 
And those to whom it cornea may use it iU 
And not employ it, as is my design. 
For Heaven's glory and my neighbon* 
good. 
CiAastm. Eh, air, give up these con- 
scientious scruples 
That well may cause a rightful heir's com- 

Don't take so much upon youtsdf, but let 

1 risk and 



B what's his, at his c 

^ "Consider, it were better he n 

Ilian you should be accused of n^ing him. 
1 am astounded that unblushingly 



990 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



You could allow such oSeta to be madel 
Tell me — hoa true religion &uy maxim 
That t«aehee lu to rob the lawful heir? 
If Heaven has made it quit« impotHible 
Damis and you ebould live together here, 
Were it not better you should quietly 
And honorably withdraw, than let the son 
Be driven out for your sake, dead against 
All reason? 'T would be giving, sir, be- 
lieve me 
Such an example of your probity . . . 

TABTniTB. Sir, it is half-past three; 
certain devotions 
Recall me to my doeet; you'll forgive me 
For leaving you so soon. [Exit.] 

Gi.iAKTX [alon«]. Ahl 
[Enter Euaaii, Maiuanb, and Dobinb.) 

DoHiNii [to GiitAKTx]. Sir, we beg you 
To help us alt you can in her behalf; 
She 's suffering almoet more than hettrt can 

This match her father means to moke to- 
night 
Drives her eaoh moment to despair. He's 
coming. 
' Let us unite our efforts now, we b^ you, 
And try by strength or skill to change bis 
purpoae. 

[ETtUr Oboon.] 
Oaaov. So ho! I'm glad to find you all 
together. 
'To Mabiank.] Here is the contract that 

shall make you happy. 
My dear. You know already what it 
means. 
Marianb [an her kneei before Oaobif]. 
Father, I beg you, in the name of 

-fhat knows my grief, and by whate'er caa 

move you, 
Relax a little your paternal rights, 
And free my lore from this obediencel 
Oh, do not make me, by your harsh 00m- 

Complain to Heaven you ever were my 

father; 
Do not make wretched this poor life you 

gave me. 
If, croesing that fond hope which I bad 

formed, 



You'll not permit me to belong to one 
Whom I have dared to love, at least, I beg 

Upon my knees, oh, save me from the 

torment 
Of being possessed by one whom I abhorl 
And do not drive me to some desperate act 
By exercising all your rights upon me. 
OaooM la liUie touched. Come, come, 

my heart, be firm! no human waak' 

Marians. I am not jealous of your love 
for him; 
Di^lay it freely; give him your estate. 
And if that's not enough, add all of mine; 
I wHUn^y agree, and give it up. 
If only you'll not give him me, your 

daughter; 
Oh, rather let a convent's rigid rule 
Wear out the wretched days that Heaven 
allote me. 
Oroom. These girls are ninnieat — al- 
ways turning nuns 
When fathers thwart their silly love-affairs. 
Get on your feetl The more you hate to 

The more 't will help you earn your soul's 

salvation. 
So, mortify your senses by this marriage. 
And don't vex me about it any more. 
DOBUIE. But what , . . ? 
OaooM. You, hold your tongue, beioto 
your betters. 
Don't dare to say a single word, I tell you. 
CiJantii. If you will let me answer, 

and advise . . . 
Oboon. Brother, I value your advice 
most hi^y; 
'T is well thought out; no better can be 

had; 
But you'll allow me — not to follow it. 
EuuHX [to her hutbaniH. I can't find 
words to cope with such a ease; 
Your blindness makes me quite astounded 



Yoi} pf; ^nritrhpij ^^^ hjm^to disbelieve 
The things we telT^nTTappened here 
to^ay. 
Orooh. I am your humble servant, and 



I know you're partial to my raeca) Bon, 
And did n't d&re to disavow the trick 

He tried to play "" *^'n p^r miyi • hamAwt, 

Vou Were too calm, to be believed; if that 
Had happened, you'd have been far mora 
■Curbed. 
EJuimii. And must our honor alw&ya 

At tbe mere mention of illicit love? 
Or can we answer no attack upon it 
Except with blaiinK eyes and lips of aoomT 
For my part, I just lau^ away such non- 

I've no desire to make a loud to-do. 
Our virtue ahould, I think, be gentle-na- 

Nor can I quite approve those savage 

prudes 
Whose honor arms itself with t«eth and 

To tear men's eyes out at the sli^teet 

word. 
Heaven preserve me from that kind of 

honorl 
I like my virtue not to be a vixen, 
And I believe a quiet cold rebuff 
No Eees effective to repulse a lover. 

Oboon. I know . . . and you can't 
throw me off the scent. 

E!ufiBii. Once more, I am astounded at 
your weakness; 
I wonder what your unbelief would answer. 
If I should let you see we've t«Id the truth? 
. OBOON. See it? 

E!i.uiBB. Yea. 

Oboon. Nonsense. 

EuaBB. Cornel If I should find 
A way to make you see it clear as day? 

Croon. All rubbish. 

Euins. Whatamant But answer me. 
I 'm not propceing now that you believe 

But let's suppose that here, from proper 

hiding. 
You should be made to see and hear all 

plainly; 
What would you say then, to your man of 

virtue? 
Okoon. Why, then, I'd say . . . say 

nothing. It can't be. 
l-W.Miim Your error has endured too long 

already. 



And quite too long you've branded me a 

Uar. 
I must at once, for my own satisfaotion, 
Make you a witness of the things we've told 
you. 
Oboon. Amen I I take you at your word. 
We'U see 
What tricks you have, and how you'll keep 
your promise. 
EuoBX [to Dobinb]. Send him to me. 
DoRiNB [to EudBa]. The man's a 
crafty codger; 
Perhaps you'll find it difficult to catch 

EufiBB [U> DosiNS]. Oh, not A lover's 
never hard to cheat. 
And self-conceit leads straight to sdf- 

Bid him oome down to me. 
[To Ci^ANTB and Mabianb.] And you, 
withdraw. 
[Bxeiail ClAantx and Mabumb.) 
EuoBK. Bring up this table, and get 

under it. 
Oboon. What? 
EuoRx. One ceeential ia to hide you 

well. 
Oboon. Why und^ there? 
Euobb. Oh, dearl Do as I say; 
I know what I'm t^ut, as you shall see. 
Get under, now, I tell you; and once there 
Be careful no one either sees or hears you. 
Oboon. I'm going a long way to humor 

I must say; but I'll see you through your 

scheme. 
Elmibb. And then you'll have, I think, 

no more to say, 
[To her AtM&and, u>Ao ig now undo- tlie 

UMe.] But mind, I'm going to 

meddle with strange mattera; 
Prepare yourself to be in no wise shocked. 
Whatever I may say must pass, because 
T is only to convince you, as I promised. 
By wheedling speeches, since I'm forced 

to do it, 
T'U in«t g this hypocrita on t fiF *''" "— ^j 
Fl8tt«r tbe longings of his shameless pas- 

And give free play to all his impudence. 
But, since 't is for your sake, to prove to 



a^ 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Big guilt, that I ahall feiga to ahAi« hia 

love, 
I out leave off as soon as you're convinced, 
And things shall go no further th&n yo\x 

ohooae. 
So, when you think they've gone quite far 

enou^, 
It is for you to stop his road pursuit, 
To spare your wifa, and not enpoae me 

further 
Than you shall need, yourself, to undeceive 

It IB your own affair, and you must end it 

When . . . Here he comes. Keep still, 

don't show yourself. 

[Enter Tabtuffb.) 

TARTcm. They told me that you wished 

to see me here. 
Elhibb. Yee. I have secrete for your 
ear alone. 
But shut the door fint, and look every- 

For fear of spies. 

tTABTUFTE goet and dote* lite 
door, and comes back.] 

We surely can't afford 

Another scene like that we had just now; 

Was ever any one so caught before! 

Damia did frighten me most teiribly 

On your account; you saw I did my beet 

To baffle his deaign, and calm his anger. 

But I was HO confused, I never thought 

To contradict his story; still, thank 
Heaven, 

Things turned out all the better, as it hap- 
pened, 

And now we're on an even safer footbg. 

The high esteem you're held in, laid the 

My husband can have no suapicios of you, 
And even inaiats, to apite the acandal- 

mongers, 
That we shall be together constantly; 
So that ia how, without the risk of blame, 
I can be here locked up with you alone. 
And can reveal to you my heart, perhaps 
Only too ready to allow your paaaion. 
TAinxiFm. Your words are somewhat 

hard to understand. 
Madam; just now you used a different 

style. 



Eliors. If that refusal has offended you, 
How little do you know a woman's hearti 
How ill you guess what it would have you 

When it presents so feeble a defsnsel 
Always, at first, our modesty resiats 
The tender feelinga you inspire us with. 
Whatever cause we find to justify 
The love that maaters us, we still must feel 
Some little shame in owning it; and strive 
To make as though we would not, when we 

But from the very way we go about jt, 
We let a lover know our heart surrendera, 
The while our lips, for honor's sake, oppose 
Our heart's desire, and in refusing prcHnise. 
I'm tilling you my secret all too freely 
And with too little heed to modesty. 
But — now that I've made bold to speak 

— pray, tell me. 
Should I have tried to keep Damis from 

speaking, 
Should I have heard the offer of your heart 
So quietly, and suffered all your pleading, 
And taken it just as I did — remember — 
If auch a declaration had not pleased me. 
And, when I tried my utmost to persuade 

you 
Not to acc^t the marriage that was talked 

of. 
What should my eameetneas have hinted 

to you 
If not the int«t«st that you've inspired. 
And my chagrin, should such a match. 

compel me 
To share a heart I want all to myselff 
Taktofth. 'Tia, past a doubt, Q» 

bei^t of happiness. 
To hear auch words from lips we dote upon; 
Their honeyed sweetness poun through all 

my senses 
Long draughts of suavity ineffable. 
My heart employs its utmost zeal to please 

And counts jrour love its one beatitude; 
And yet that heart must beg that you al- 

To doubt a little its felicity. 

I well might think these words an honest 

trick 
To make me break off this approaching 

marriage; 



And if I may expieM mjself quite plainly, 
I ouiDot trust these too emiiAntitig words 
Until the granting of some little favor 
I sigh for, shall assure me of their truth 
And build within my soul, on firm foui)d»- 

A lasting faith in your sweet charity. 
Eunsa [a/aghing Ut draw her htuband't 
otlcnMon). Whatl Must you go so 
fast? — and all at onoe 
Exhaust the whole love of a woman's 

heartT 
She doee herself the violence to make 
This dear confession of her love, and you 
Are not yet satisfied, and will not be 
Without the grsnting of her utmost favors? 
TABTTJTFa. The less a blessing is de- 
served, the less 
We dare to hope for it; and words alone 
Can ill assuage our love's desires. A fate 
Too full of happiness, seems doubtful still; 
We must enjoy it ere we con believe it. 
And I, who know how little I deserve 
Your goodness, doubt the fortunes of my 

daring; 
Hq T ithf " trust to nothing. 
Yott nave convmccdT u Ho i 






dui rJuMHbui 



Eluirb. Ahl How your love enacte the 
tyrant's r6Ie, 
And throws my mind into a strange con- 
fusion I 
With what fierce sway it rutes a conquered 

heart, 
And violently will have its wishes granted! 
WhatI Is there no escape from your pur- 
suit? 
No req)ite even? — not a breathing space? 
Nay, is it decent to be ao exacting, 
And so abuse by urgency the weakness 
You may discover in a woman's heart? 
TAKTOFra. But if my worship wins your 
gracious favor, 
Then why refuse me some sure proof 
thereof? 
EuoRB. But how can I consent to what 
you wish, 
Without trending Heaven you talk so 
much of? 
TABTomi. If ^Heaven is all that stan ds 
n ow in my way, ' ' 

t that little hindraooe; 



Your heart need not bold back for such a 
trifle. 
EuuBS. But they aSr^t us so with 

Heaven's commandsl 
Tabtuffm. I can dispel theoe foolish 
fears, dear madam; 
I know the art of pacifying scruplee. 
Heaven forbids, 't is true, some satisfao- 

But we find means to make things right 

with Heaven. 
There is a science, madam, that instnietH 



How to enlarge the limits of o' 

According to our var' 

And rectify the evil of the deed 

According to our purity of motive. 

I 'U duly teach you sJI these secrets, madam ; 

You only need to let yourself be guided. 

Content my wishes, have no fear at all; 

I answer for 't, and take the sin upon me. 

[EuDBB eoughi itSl louder.) 
Your cough is very bod. 

EufiBi. Yes, I'm in torture. 

Tartutfii. Would you accept tiiis bit 
of licorice? 

Elmieb- The case is obstinate, I find; 

The licorice in the world will do no good. 
Tahtotfb. 'T ia very trying. 
EuuBS. More than words can say. 
Tartuffe, In any case, your scruple's 

Removed. Withmeyou'reaureofaecrocy, 
And there's no harm unless a thing is 

The public scandal is what brings offense, 
AEU BmiiuL s JMUHg i s BuL B iu T tTair 
~Ei3illtL [nfUi vou^hiim liffllinV So theo, 

I see I must resolve to yield; 
I must consent to grant you everything, 
And cannot hope to give full eatiafaction. 
Or win full confidence, at lesser cost. 
No doubt 't is very hard to oome to this; 
'T is quite against my will 1 go bo for; 
But since I must be farced to it, since noth- 
ing 
That con be said sufficee for belief, 
Since more convincing proof is still de- 
manded, 
I must make up my mind to humor peo^e> 
If my consent give reason for oS«iae, 



394 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



8p much the wotbb for him who forced me 

to it; 
The fault can euitly not be counted mine. 
TAMTorm. It need not, madam ;utd the 

thing iteelf . . , 
EuoBii. Open the door, I pnj you, and 

Whetiier my husband's not there, in the 
hall. 
Tabtuitx. Why take such care for him? 
Between ourselvM, 
He is a man to lead round by the noae. 
He's capable of glorying in our meetings; 
' I've fooled him so, he'd see all, and deny 
it. 
EuoBB. No tnattw ; go, I beg you, look 

And carefully examine every oomer. 

{ExU TAHrnrra.] 
Orqok [crauJinjf out from under the 
UMe]. That is, I own, a man . . . 
abominable! 
I Dan't get over it; the whole thing 6aors 
me. 
EuoHB. What? You come out so soon? 
You'oannot mean it I 
Qo back under the table; 't is not time 

yet; 
Wait till the end, to see, and make quite 

And don't believe a thing on mere conjec- 
ture. 
Oroom. Nothing more wicked e'er came 

out of hell. 
EmiKB. Dear me! Don't go and credit 
things too lightly. 
No, let yourself be thoroughly convinced; 
E)on't yield too soon, for fear you'll be 
mistaken. 
[At Tabtdfpe eniert, the makea 
her huAand eland behind her.] 
Tabtuffs [nolseeirvOBOON]. All things 
conspire toward my satiafactioa, 
Madam. I've searched the whole apaJi- 

ment through. 
Tlm«'i no one here; and now my ravished 

Oboon [tUipping him]. Softlyl You are 
too eager in your amours; 

You need n't be so passionate. Ah, ha! 

My holy maul You want to put it on 
met 



How is your mul abandoned to t«mptationl 
Marry my daughter, eh? — and want my 

wife, too? 
I doubted long enou^ if this was earnest, 
Expecting all the time the tone would 

change; 
But now the proof's been carried far 

enough; 
I'm satisfied, and ask no more, for my 

EuoRB [to TAXTUwwm]. 'Twas quite 

against my character to play 

l^iis part; but I was forced to tre&t you 

"TARTorra. What? You believe . . . ? 

Oboon. Come, now, no protMtatious. 
Get out from here, and make no fuss about 
it. 

Tabttitts. But my intent . . . 

Oboon. That talk is out of season. 
You leave my house this instant. 

TAintjmi. You're the one 
To leave it, you who play the maBt«r berel 
This house belongs to me, I'll have you 

And show you plainly it 's no uae to turn 
To these low tricks, to pick a quarrel with 

And that you can't inault me at your 

pleasure. 
For I have wherewith to confound your 

lies. 
Avenge (tended Heaven, and compel 
Those to repent who talk to me of leaving. 
[Bxa Tabtuffe.) 
EuoRii. What sort of speech is this? 

What can it mean? 
Ohqoh. My faith, I'm dased. This ia 

no lau^iing matter. 
EuiiBa. What? 

Oboon. From his words I see my great 
mistake; 
The deed of gift is one thing troublee me. 
EuoBB. The deed of gift . . . 
Oboon. Yes, that is past recall. 
But I've another thing to make me aax- 
iouB. 
EiiUBx. What's that? 
Oboon. You shall know i^l. Let's aob 
at onoe 
Whether a certain boi is still upstairs 

[Exeunt.] 



lEnltr Obqon and CLiANTX.] 
CiifAimi. Whither away so fut? 
OaaoN. How should I know7 
ClCants. Mothiuks we should begui by 

♦ft lrin g oouiuel 

To see wh&t cau be done to meet the case. 

Obqon. I'm all worked up about that 

wretched box. 

More than all dae it drives me to deepair. 

CLtANTB. That box must hide some 

mi^ty mystery? 
Oroom. Argas, my friend who ia in 
trouble, brought it 
Himself, moat secretly, and left it with me. 
He chose me, in hia exile, for this trust; 
And on these documents, from what he 

1 judge his life and property depend. 

Ci^ANTK. How could you trust them to 
another's hands? 

Oboon. By reason of a conscientious 
scruple. 
I went straight to my traitor, to confide 
In him; hia sophistiy made me believe 
That 1 muat give the box to him to keep, 
So that, in case of search, I might deny 
My having it at all, and still, by favor 
Of this evasion, keep my conacience clear 
Even in taking oath agamst the truth. 

CiiiAMTx. Your case is bad, so far as I 

This deed of gift, thia truating of the 

To him, were both — to state my frank 

opinion — 
Steps that you took too lif^tly; be can 

lead you 
To any length, with these for hostages; 
And since he holda you at such diaadvan- 

tage, 
ToU-'d be still more imprudent, to provoke 

So you must go some gentler way about. 
Obook. Whatt Can a soul so base, a 

heart so false, 
Hide 'neath the semblance of such touching 

fervor? 
I took him in, a va^bond, a beggart . . . 
T is too mudi! No more pious folk for 

mel 



JFFE 395 

I shall abhor them utterly torevtt, 

And henceforth tnat them worse than any 

devD. 
CiJairrB. Sot There you go again, quite 

off the handle! 
Id nothing do you keep an even temper. 
You never know what reason ia, but al' 

Jump first to one extreme, and thsn the 

You see your error, and you reoogniie 
That you've been cozened by a feignfcd 

leal; 
But to make up for't, in the name of rea- 

Why should you plunge into a worse mis- 
take, 

And find no difference in character 

Between a worthless scamp, and all good 
people? 

WbatI Just because a rascal boldly duped 

With pompous show of false austerity, 
Muat you needa have it everybody 's like 

And no one 'a truly pious nowadays? 
Leave such conclusions to mere infidels; 
Siatinguish virtue from ite counterfeit. 
Don't give esteem too quickly, at a ven- 

But try to keep, in thia, the golden mean. 
If you can help it, don't uphold impov 

ture; 
But do not rail at true devoutness, either; 
And if you must fall into one extreme, 
Then rather err again the other way. 
[Enter Daios.) 
Daus. What! father, can the scoundrel 
threaten you. 
Forget the many b^efite received, 
And in his base abominable pride 
Make of your very favors arms against 

Oroon. Too true, my son. It tortures 

me to think on't. 
Daiqb. Let me alone, I'U chop his ears 
off for him. 
We must deal roundly with hie insolence; 
'T is I must free you from him at a blow; 
T is I, to set thingB right, must strike him 
down. 



19^ 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



CLdANTB. 9poke like & true young man. 
Now, just calm down, 
And moderate your towering tantruma, 

will you? 
We live in such an age, with such a king, 
That violence cannot advance our cause. 



Mad AUK PsBNELiB. What's thia? I 

hear of fearful myaterieal 
Oroon. Strange things, indeed, for my 
own eyee to witness; 
You see how I'm requited for my kindness. 
I cealousty receive a wretched beggar, 
I lodge him, entertain him like my brothM*, 
Load him with benefactions every day, 
Ciive him my daughter, give him all my 
r\^_ fortune: 

I And he meanwhile, the villain, raaoal, 
/ wretch, 

/ Tries with black treason to siU>om my 
C wife. 

And Dot oont«nt with such a foul design, 
He dares to menace me with my own 

favors, 
And would make use of those advantagee 
Which my too foolish kindnees aimed him 

with, 
To ruin me, to take my fortune from me, 
And leave me in the state I saved him from. 
DoBiNii. Poor man I 
Madame Pernblui. My son, I cannot 
possibly 
Believe he could intend so black a deed. 
Oroon. WhatT 
Madawe Pibnxlle. Worthy men are 

still the sport of envy. 
Oroon. Mother, what do you mean by 

such a speech? 
Madaub PerkeliiB. There are strange 
goings-on about your house, 
And everybody knows your people hate 

Oroon. What's that to do with what I 

tell you now? 
Maoaue Pernxllz. I always said, my 
son, when you were little: 
That virtue here below is hat«d ever; 
The envious may die, but envy never. 
Oroon. What's that fine speech to do 
with present facts? 



Masakc Psrnelub. Be sure, tiuy've 

forged a hundred silly lies . . . 
Okoon. I've told you once, I saw it all 

Madaue Fernbijji. For slanderers 

abound in calumnies . . . 
Oroon. Mother, you'd make me damn 
my soul. I tell you 
I saw wiUi my own eyes his shamelessness. 
Madaue Pxrnxlle. Their tonguee for 
spitting venom never lock. 
There's nothing here below they'll not 
attack. 
Oroon, Your speech has not a single 
grain of sense. 
I saw it, harkee, saw it, with these eyes 
I saw — d' ye know what sow means? — 

must I say it 
A hundred times, and din it in yam ears? 
Madaue Pxbnelli. My dear, appear- 
ances are oft deceiving, 
And seeing should n't always be believing. 
Oroon. I '11 go mad. 
Madaue Pernxllx. False suspioions 
may delude, 
And good to evil oft is misconBtrued. 
Oroon. Must I construe as Christian 
charity 
The wish to kiss my wifel 

Madaub Peknklle. You must, at least, 
Have just foundation for accusing people, 
And wait until you see a thing for sure. 
Oroon. The devil! How could I see any 

Should I have wait«d till, before my eyes. 
He . . . No, you'll make me say thinff 
quite improper. 
Madaue Pebneij.e. In short, 'tis 
known too pure a leal inBames him; 
And BO, I cannot possibly conceive 
That he should tt? to do what's charged 
against him. 
Oroon. If you were not my mother, I 
should say 
Such thingsl ... I know not what, I'm so 
enraged! 
DoRiNE [to Oroon]. Fortune has pakl 
you fair, to be so doubted; 
You flouted our report, now yours is 
flouted. 
CiJantb. We're wasting time here in 
the merest trifling, 



TARTUFFE 



397 



Which we should nther use in taking 



To goard ounelvea i^unst the scovindrel'a 
threats. 
DuiiB. You think his impudence oould 

go BO far? 
Elmibx. For one, I can't believe it pos- 
sible; 
Why, hia ingratitude would be too patent, 
CiSAtm. Don'ttrust to that; he'Ufind 
abundant warrant 
To give good color to his acta against you; 
And for kna oauae than this, a strong cabal 
Con make one's life 4 labyrinth of troubles. 
I tell you once again: armed as he is 
You never should have pushed him quit« so 
far. 
Oroon. True; yet what oould I do? The 
rascal's pride 
Made me lose all control of my teeent- 

CiJastb. I wish with all my heart that 
some pretense 
Of peace could be patched up between you 

Elkirb. If I had known what weapons 
he was armed with, 
I never should have raised such an alarm. 
And my . . . 
Obook [to DoRiNK, teeinq Mb. Lotal 
arms tttl. Who's coming now? Go 
quick, find out. 
I!in in a fine state to receive a visit! 
Mb. Lotal \to DoBiHB, cU Ote bad: of the 
tlage]. Good-day, good sister. Pray 
you, let me see 
The master of the house. 

DoBiNB. He's occupied; 
I think be can see nobody at present. 
Mb. Lotal. I'm not by way of being 
unwelcome here. 
My coming can, I think, nowise displease 

My errand will be found to his advantage. 
DoBiNX. Your name, then? 
Mb. Lotai^ Tell him simply that his 

Hr. Tartufie has sent me, for his goods . . . 
DoRiNB [to Oroon]. It is a man who 
comes, with civil manners, 
Sent by Tartu£Fe, he says, upon an errand 
Tha,t you'll be pleased with. 



CiAamte [to OboonI. Surely you must 

And find out who he is, and what he wants. 

Oboon I'o CiJANTBt. Perhaps he 'soome 
to make it up between us; 
How shall I treat him? 

Ci^AHTB. You must not get angry; 
And if he talks of reconciliation, 
Accept it. 

Mr. Lotal [to Orook]. Sir, good-day. 
And Heaven send 
Harm to your enemies, favor to you, 

Oroon [tuide lo Ci.£amtb]. This mild 

beginning suits with my conjectures 

And promisee some oompromiee already. 

Mb. Lotal. All of your house has long 
been dear to me; 
I had the honor, sir, to serve your father. 

Orooit. Sir, I am much ashamed, and 
ask youi pardon 
For not renlling now your face or name. 

Mb. Lotal. My name is Loyal. I'm 
from Normandy. 
My office is court-bailiff, in despite 
Of envy; and for forty years, thank Heaven 
It 's been my fortune ta perform that office 
With honor. 80 I've come, sir, by your leave. 
To render service of a certain writ . . . 

Oboon. What, you are here to . . , 

Mr. Lotal. Pray, su, don't be angiy. 
'T is nothing, air, but just a littJe sum- 
Order to vacate, you and yours, this house. 
Move out your furniture, make room for 

And that without delay or putting off. 
As needs must be . . . 

Oroon. I? Leave this house? 

Mr. Lotal. Yes, please, sir. 
The house is now, as you wejl know, of 

Mr. Tartuffe's. And he, beyond dispute, 
Of all your goods ia henceforth lord, and 

master 
By virtue of a contract here attached. 
Drawn in due form, and unassailable, 
Dahib [to Mb, Lotal]. Your insolence 

is monstrous, and astounding I 

Mr. Lotal [to Damib]. I have no busi- 

neea, air, that touches you; 

[Pointing lo Oroon.) This is tlw gentl»- 

maiL He's fair and courteous. 



198 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



And knowB too veil & Rentleman's behavior 
To wish in any wise to question justice. 

Oeooh. But . . . 

Mb, liOTAU Sir, I know you would not 
for a million 
Wiah to rebel; like a good citii«n 
You'll let me put in force the court's de- 

Dahis. Your long black gown may welt, 
before you know it, 
Mister Court-bailiff, get a thorough beat- 
ing. 
Mr. Lotal [to Oroon]. Sir, make your 
son be silent or withdraw. 
I should be loath to have to set things down, 
And see your namee inscribed in my report. 
DoBiNB loavte]. This Mr. Loyal's looks 

are moet disloyal. 
Mr. Lotal. I have much feeling for 
respectable 
And honest folk like you, air, and con- 
sented 
To serve tbeoe papera, only to oblige you, 
And thus prevent the choice of any oljier 
Who, tees possessed of teal for you than 

lam, 
Mi^t order matters in less gentle fashion. 
Oeoom. And how could one do worse 
than order people 
Out of their house? 

Mr. Lotal. Why, we allow you Ume; 
And even will suspend until to-morrow 
The execution of the order, sir. 
I'll merely, without scandal, quietly, 
Come here and spend the night, with half 

Of officers; and just for form's sake, please 
You '11 bring your keys to me, before retir- 
ing. 
I will take care not to disturb your test, 
And see there's no unseemly conduct here. 
But by to-morrow, and at early morning, 
You must make haste to move your least 

belonginp; • 
My men will help you — I have chosen 

strong ones 
To serve you, sir, in clearing out the house. 
No one could act more generously, I fancy, 
And, since I'm treating you with great in- 
dulgence, 
I beg you'll do as well by me, and see 
I'm not disturtied in my discharge of duty. 



Okijom. I'd give this very minute, and 
not grudge it, 
The hundred beet gold louis I have left. 
If I could just indulge myself, and land 
My fist, for one good square one, on his 

CiiANTX lofitU lo ObookI. Carefull — 

don't make Uiings wone. 
Daiob. Such insolenoel 
I hardly can teslram myself. My hands 
Are itching to be at hhn. 
DoBiNX. By my faith. 
With such a fine broad back, good Mr. 

Loyal, 
A little bea^ig would become you well. 
Mb. Lotal. My girl, sudi infamottt 
words are actionable, 
And warrants can be issued against women. 
Ci^ANTB [la Mr. Lotal]. Enough of 
this discussion, sir; have done. 
Give ua the paper, and then leave us, 
pray. 
Mb. Lotal. Then ou reroir. Heaven 
keep you from disaster! [Exit.] 

Oroon. May Heaven confound you 
both; you and your masterl 
— Well, mother, am I right or am I not? 
This writ may help you now to judge the 

matter. 
Or don't you see his treason even yet? 
MAOAioi Pbbnxllb. I'm all amaied, 

befuddled, and beflustered! 
DoRiNS [to Oboon). You are quite 
wrong, you have no right to blame 

This action only provee his good inteu' 

Love for his neighbor makes his virtui 

perfect; 
And knowing money is a root of evil. 
In Christian charity, he'd talra away 
Whatever things may hinder your salva- 

GaaoN. Be stiQ. You always need ia 

have that told you. 
Ci^AVm [lo Ohoon]. Come, let us see 

what course you are to follow. 
Elmihe. Go and expose his bold in- 
gratitude. 
Such action must invalidate the contract; 
His perfidy must now appear too black 
To bring him the success that he expects. 



TARTUFFE 



»99 



[Enter VALfera.) 
VaiAkb. 'T is with regret, sir, that I 
bring b&d nevm; 
But urgent danger forces me to do bo. 
A cloee and intimate friend o! mine, who 

The interest I take in what oonoorng you, 
Hae gone bo far, for my sake, aa to break 
The secreoy that's due to state aSaira, 
And eent me word but now, that leaves yon 

The one expedient of sudden flight. 

The villain who so kmg imposed upon you, 

Found means, an hour ago, to see the 

And to accuse you (among other things) 
By putting m bis handa the private strong- 
box 
Of a stat« criminal, whose guilty Kcret, 
You failiDg in your duty aa a subject 
(He aays) have kept. I know no more of it 
Save that a warrant 's drawn against you, 



Ci^AMTC. His rights are armed; and 
this is how the scoundrel 
Seeks to secure the property he daims. 
Oboom. Man is a wid^ animal, 111 

□wnitl 
VaiAre. The least delay may still be 
fatal, sir. 
I have my carriage, and a thousand louis. 
Provided for your journey, at the door. 
Let's lose no time; tbe bolt is swift to 

And such as only flight can savs you from. 
1 11 be your guide to seek a place of safety. 
And stay with you until you reaoh it, sir. 
Oboon. How much I owe to your oblig- 
ing care! 
Anotbeo' time must serve to thank you fitly ; 
And I pray Heaven to grant me bo much 

That I may some day recompense your 

Good-bye; see to it, all of you . . . 

ClJamtb. Come, hurry; 
Woll see to everything Uiat's needful. 



[Enttr TABTunrs and an Offieer.] 
Taih'ufpb [ttoppin^ Oroon]. Softly, sir, 
softly; do not run so fast; 
You have n't far to go to find your lodg- 
ing; 
By order of the prince, we here arrest you. 
Oboon. Traitorl You saved this worst 
stroke for the last; 
This crowns your perfidies, and ruins me. 
Tartutfh. I shall not be embittered by 
your insulte. 
For Heaven has tau^t me to endure all 

ClIante. Your moderation, I must 

own, is great, 
Damis. How shameleedy the wretch 

makes bold with Heaven I 
TAUTurFB. Your ravings cannot mov« 
me; all my thought 
Is but to do my duty. 

Mabianx. You must claim 
Great glory from this honorable act. 
TASTumi. The act cannot be aught but 
honorable. 
Coming from that hi^ power which sends 

Oroon. Ungrat«ful wretch, do you for- 
get 't was I 
That rescued you from utter misery? 
TABTurrB. I've not forgot some help 
you may have given; 
But my first duty now is toward my prince. 
The hi|^er power of that moat sacred 

Must stifie in my heart all gratitude; 
And to such puissant ties I 'd sacrifice 
My friend, my wife, my kindred, and my- 
self. 

Eluire. The hypocrite I 

DoBiNE. How well he knows the trick 
Of cloaking him with what we most reverel 

CiiAantz. But if the motive that you 
make parade of 
Is perfect as you say, why should it wait 
To show itself, until the day he caught you 
Soliciting his wife? How happens it 
You have not thought to go inform against 

Until his honor forces him to drive you 
Out of his house? And though I need not 



GooqIc 



300 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



That he'e just given you hia whole eatate, 

Still, if you meant to treat him now as 
guilty, 

How could you then consent to take his 
(Ptt? 
TAHTcrra [to the Officer]. Pray, sir, de- 
liver me from all this clamor; 

Be good enough to cany out your order. 
Thx OrncBK. Yes, I've too long de- 
layed ita execution; 

'T is very fitting you should urge me to it; 

So, therefore, you must follow me at once 

To prison, where you'll find your kxiging 

Tabtdttii. Who? I, sirT 
The OmcER. You. 
Tartufte. But why to prisonT 
Thb Offickb. You 
Are not the one to whom I owe account. 
You, sir [to Oboon], recover from your hot 

alajm. 
Our prince is not a friend to double-deal- 
ing, 
Hia eyes can lead men'e inmost hearts, and 

all 

/The art of hypocritee cannot deceive him. 
I His sharp discMiunent sees things clear and 

I His mind cannot too easily be swayed, 
I For reason always holds the balance even. 
I He honors and exalts true piety, 
I But knows the false, and views it with dis- 
gust. 

I This fellow was by no means apt to fool 

Far subtler snares have failed against his 
J — wisdom, 

II And his quick insight pieroed immediately 
/ X^e hidden baseness of this tortuous heart. 

, the knave betrayed him- 

seii, 
AndbytruerectHnpenseof Heaven's justice 
He stood revealed before our monarch's 

eyes 
A scoundrel known before by other names, 
Whose horrid crimes, detaUed at length, 

might fill 
A long-drawn history of many volumes. 
Our monarch — to resolve you in a word — 
Detesting his ingratitude and basenees. 
Added this horror to his other orimas, 



And sent me hither under his direction 

To see his insolence out-top itself. 

And force him then to give you eatisfac- 

Your papers, which the traitor says are his, 
I am to take from him, and give you bask; 
The deed of gift transferring your estate 
Our monarch's sovereign will makes null 

and void; 
And for the secret penonal offense 
Your friend involved you in, he pardons 

Thus he rewards your reoent seal, dis- 
played 
In helping to maintain his rights, and shows 
How well his heart, when it is least ex- 
Knows bow to recompense a noble deed. 
And will not let true merit miss its due. 
Remembering always rather good than 



Obook [to TABTom, who it being ltd og 
by Ihe Officer]. There, traitorl Now, 
■ you 're . . , 

\BxewU Tabtuttb and Offieer.\ 
ClAantx. Brother, hold ! — and don't 
Descend to such indignitiee, I beg you. 
Leave the poor wretch to his unhappy fate. 
And let remorse oppress him, but not you. 
Hope rather that hu heart may now return 
To virtue, hate his vice, reform hia ways. 
And win the pardon of our glorious prince; 
While you must straightway go, and on 

your knees 
Repay with thanks his noble generous 



Oroon. Well said! Well go, and at his 
feet kneel down, 
With joy to thank him for his goodness 

And this first duty done, with honors due. 
We'll then attend upon another, too. 
With wedded happiness reward Valfere, 
And crown a lover noble and sincere. 

[Exmxia omnm.) 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



PHyEDRA 

(PHEDRE) 

Bv JEAN RACiNE 

Ihmilaail inU EnglUh Hank veru by ROBERT BRUCE BOSWELL 



ciilizedbvGoOQic 



CHARACTERS 

Thubeus, son of Sgeut and King o} Athens 

Pbmdrjl, wife of Theaeut and daughter of Minos and Paaipkai 

HiPFOLYTne, son of Theseus and AnHope, Queen of the Amazons 

Abicia, Princess of the Stood Royal of Athena 

(EsosK, nurse <tf Phadra 

THBRAifXNE8, tvior of Hippolj/hu 

IsUBNE, bosom friend of Aricia 

Panope, waiting-woman of Phadra 

Guards 

Tht wenc u laid at Traun, a lovm o! Oi» PtIopanntnM 



ciilizedbvGoOQic 



ACT I 
{StOer HiPPOLTTTB, Thsramxnxs.) 
HiPPOLTTDB. My mind is settled, dear 

Ther&meaes, 
And I can stay not mora in lovely Trcesen. 
tn doubt that racks my soul with mortal 

anguish, 
I grow ashamed of such long idleness. 
Six months and more my father has been 

gone, 
And what may have befallen one bo dear 
I know not, nor what comer of the earth 
Hides him. 
TaERAUENxa. And where, prince, will 

you look for him? 
Already, to content your juat alarm, 
Have I not croas'd the seas on either side 
Of Corinth, aak'd if aught were known of 

Theseus 
Where Acheron is lost among the Shades, 
Visited Elis, doubled Toeuarua, 
And soil'd into the sea that saw the fall 
Of IcaruB? Inspired with what new hope, 
Under what favor'd sldea think you to trace 
Bisfootstepa? Who knows if the king, your 

father, 
Wishes the aecret of his absence knownT 
Perchance, while we are trembling for hia 

life. 
The hero calmly plots some fresh intrigue, 
And only waits till the deluded fair — 
HiFFOLTTca. Cease, dear Theramenee, 

respect the name 
Of TheaeuB. Youthful errors have been left 
Behind, and no unworthy obstacle 
Detains him. Phsedra long has fii'd a heart 
Inconstant once, nor need she fear a rival. 
In neeking him I shall but do my duty, 
And leave a place I dare no longer see. 
THiaAMENXs. Indeed! When, prinoe, 

did you begin to dread 
'Hieae peaceful haunt^ao dear to happy 

childhood. 
Where I have seen yjoi^t prefer to stay. 



Rather than meet the tumult and the pomp 
Of Athens and the court? What danger 

ehun you. 
Or shall I say what grief? 

HiFPOLTTDs. That happy time 
Is gone, and all is idianged, since to theee 

shores 
The gods sent Phcdra. 

THGaAUDNES. I psrceive the cause 
Of your distress. It is the queen whose sight 
Offends you. With a step-dame's spite she 

schemed 
¥our exile soon as she set eyee on you. 
But if her hatred is not wholly vanisb'd, , 
It has at least taken a milder aspect. 
Besides, what danger can a dying woman, 
One too who longs for death, bring on your 

head? 
Can Phedra, aick'ning of a dire disease 
Of which she will not speak, weary of life 
And of heiself, form any plots aga^tst youT 

HiPPOi.n-usi It is not her vain eimiity I 

Another foe alarms Hippolytus. 

I fly, it must be own'd, from young Aricia, 

The sole survivor of an impious race. 

What I You become hn 

too! 

The gentle sister of the sruel sons 
Of Pallas shared not in thur perfidy; 
Why should you hate such charming inno- 

HippoLTTUB. I should not need to fly, if 

it were hatred. 
TBXRAiiEirES. May I, then, leam the 
meaning of your flight? 
Is this the proud Hippolytus I see. 
Than whom there breathed no fiercer foe to 

And to that yoke which Theseus has so <rft 
Endiwed? And can it be that Venus, 

So long, will justify yxAir sire at last? 
Has she, then, setting you with other moN 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Forced e'en Hippolytus to offer incense 
Before her? Can you love? 

HippoLTTDB. Friend, aek me not. 
You, who h&ve known my heart from in- 
fancy 
And all ita feelings of disdainful pride, 
Spare ate the shame of disavowing all 
That I profMs'd. Born of an Amaion, 
Tlie wildnees that you wonder at I suck'd 
With mother's milk. When come to riper 

age, 
Reason approved what Nature had im- 
planted. 
Sincerely bound to me by sedous aervice. 
You told me then the st^iry of my sire, 
And know how oft, att«ntive to your voice, 
I kindled when I heard his noble acta, 
As you described him bringing consolation 
To mortals for the absence of Alcidee, 
The highways clear'd of monsters and ot 

robbOTS, 
Procrustes, Cercyon, Sciro, Sinnis alain. 
The Epidaurian giant's bones dispersed, 
Crete reeldng with the blood of Minotaur. 
But when you told me of leaa glorious 

Troth plighted here and there and every- 

Young Helen stoleo from her home at 

Sparta, 
And Feriboea's tear e in Salamis, 
With many another trusting heart deceived 
Whose very namea have 'scaped his mem- 
ory, 



By better ties, — you know with what 

I heard and urged you to cut short the tale, 

Happy had I been able to erase 

From my remembrance that imworthy 

Of such a splendid record. I, io turn, 
. Am I too made the slave of love, and 
brought 
To stoop BO low? The more cant«mptible 
That no renown is mine such as exalts 
The Dame of Theseus, that no monsters 

Have pven me a right to ahare hia weak- 



And if my pride of heart must needs be 

humbled, 
Aricia should have been the last to tame it 
Was I beside myself to have forgotten 
Eternal barriers of separation 
Between ub? By my father's stem com- 

Her brethren's blood roust ne'er be rein- 
forced 
By sons of hers; he dreads a single shoot 
From stock so guilty, and would fain with 

Bury their name, that, even to the tomb 
Content to be his ward, for her no torch 
Of Hymen may be lit. Shall I espouse 
Her rights against my sire, rashly provoke 
His wrath, and launch upon a mad career — 
Teiebamenbb. The gods, dear prince, if 

once your hour is come, 
Care little for the reaaoDS that should 

guldens. 
Wishing to shut your eyee, Theseua ""■"bW 

His hatred, stirring a r^>elliouB flame 
Within you, lends his enemy new charms. 
And, after all, why should a guiltless paft- 

Alarm you? Dare you not easay its sweet- 

But follow rather a fastidious scruple? 
Fear you to stray when Hetcidea has wan- 

der'd? - 
What heart so stout that Venua has not 

vanquish'd? 
Where would you be yourself, so long ber 

toe. 
Had your own mother, constant in heraooni 
Of love, ne'er glowed with tenderneos ior 

Theseus? 
What boots it to affect a pride you fed not? 
Confess it, all is changed; for some time 

You have been seldom seen with wild de- 
light 
U^png the rapid car along the strand. 
Or, skillful in the art that Neptune taught. 
Making th' unbroken steed obey the bit; 
Less often tiave t^e woods retum'd our 

shouts; 
A secret burden on your spirits cast 
Has dimm'd your eye. How can I doubt 
you love? 



305 



Viinljr wmiM you conceal the fatal wound. 

Hal not the fair Aricia touch'd your heart? 

HippoLTTCB. Theramenefl, I go to find 

my father. 
TRKiuiawzs. Will you not oee the 
queen before you atait. 
My prinoe? 
HiPPOLTTDB. That is my purpose: you 
can tdl her. 
Yee, I wiH oee her; duty bids me do it. 
But what new ill vexee her dear (EnoneT 
[Enter (Enonx.] 
CEnomx. Alaa, my lord, what grief wae 
e'er Uke mine? 
The queen has almoet touch'd the gates of 

Vainly cloae watch I keep by day and night, 
E'en is my arma a secret malady 
SUye her, and all her sensee are diaorder'd. 
Weary yet reetleas from her couch she rises. 
Pants for the outer air, but bids me see 
That no oae on hot misery intrudes. 
She comes. 

HiPFOi-rrOH. Enough. She shall not be 
disturb 'd. 
Nor be confronted with a face she hat«a. 
[Exeunt Hippolttus and Teira- 

[Enier Ph.edba.1 
PasDRA. We have gone far enough. 
Stay, dear (Bnone; 
Strength fails me, and I needs must rest 

My eyes are dauled with this ^ring light 
So long unseen, my trembling knees refuse 
Support. Ah mel 

CEnomx. Would Heaven that our teaia 
Might bring reliefl 

PH.BDtu. Ah, how these cumbrous gauds. 
These veils oppress me! What officiouB 

hand 
Has tied these knots, and gather'd o'er my 

TheM clustering coila? How all conspires 

toadd 
To my distress! 

<£nonx. What is one moment wish'd, 
Thenext, isirkBome. Did you not just now, 
Siok of inaction, bid us deck you out, 
And, with your former energy recall'd, 



Desiro to go abroad, and see the l^t 
Of day once more? You see it, and would 

Be hidden from the sunshine that you 
sought. 
Phadka. Thou glorious author of a hap- 

Whoee daughter 't was my mother's boast 

to be. 
Who well may 'at blush to see me in such 

plight. 
For the last time I come to look on thee, 
OSunI 
(Enonx. What I Still are you in love with 

death? 
Shall I ne'er see you, reconciled to life. 
Forego theee cruel accents of despair? 
Phadra. Would I were seated in the 

forest's shade I 
When may I follow with delighted eye, 
Thro' glorious dust flying in full career, 
A chariot — 
(Emonx. Madam? 
PoKDRA. Have I lost my senses? 
What said IT Had where am IT Whither 

stray 
VainwishosT Aht The gods have made me 

I blush, (Enone, and confusion covers 
My face, for I have let you see too dearly 
The shame and grief that, in my own de- 

O'erflow these eyes of mine. 

(Enonx. If you must blush, 
Bluah at a silence that inflaihes your woes. 
Resisting all my care, deaf to my voice, 
Will you have no compassion on yourself, 
But let your life be ended in mid course? 
What evil spell has drain'd its fountain dry? 
Thrioe have the shades of night obscured 

the heav'ns 
Since sleep has enter'd thro' your eyes, and 

The dawn has chased the darkness thence, 

since food 
Pase'd your wan lips, and you are faint and 

languid. 
To what dread purpose ie your heart in- 

clined? 
How dare you make attempts upon your 

life, 
And BO offend the gods who gave it you. 



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Prove faloe to TbteeuB and your marriage 

Ay, and betray your most unhapp7 chil- 

Bending their necka youreelf beneath the 

rhat day, be Eure, which roba them of their 

mother. 
Will give hi^ bopea back to the stranger's 

To that proud enemy of you and yours, 
To whom an Amaion gave birth, I mean 
Hippoly tuB — 

I^ADRA. Ye gods! 

(Enonx. Ah, thia reproach 
Moves youl 

Phsdra. Unhappy woman, to what 

Gave your mouth utterance? 

(Enonb. Your wrath is just. 
T is well that that ill-omen'd name can 

Such rage. Then live. Let love and duty 

Their claima. Live, suffer not this eon of 

Scythia, 
Cruahit^ your children 'neath his odious 

To rule the noble offspring of the gods, 
Titepnreet blood of Greece. Make no delay; 
Each moment threatens death; quickly 

Your ahatter'd stnngth, while yet the 

torch of life 
Holds out, and can be fann'd into a flame. 
pB^niu. Too loi^ have I endured its 

guilt and shame 1 
CEnone. Why? What remorse gnaws at 
your heart? What crime 
Can have diaturb'd you thus? Your hands 

Polluted with the blood of innocence? 
Pb«dra. Thanks be to Heav'n, my 
hands are free from stain. 
Would that my soul were innocent as they! 
(Emokx. What awful project have you 
then conceived, 
Whereat your conscience should be still 
alarm 'd7 
PaaDBA. Have I not said enough? 
Spare me the rest. 
I die to save myself a full confession. 



(Enone. Die then, and keep a silence so 
inhuman; 
lek some other hand to close your 



But 



Tho' but a spark of life i«mains within you, 
My soul shajl go before you to the Shades. 
A thousand roads are always open thither; 
Pain'd at your want of confidence, I'll 

The shortest. Cruel one, when has my 

faith 
Deoeivedyou? Think bow in my arms you 

lay 
New born. For you, my country and my 



I have forsaken. Do you thus repay 
My faithful service? 

Phmdba. What do you expect 
From words so bitter? Were I to break 

silence, 
Horror would freeze your blood. 

(Enonb. What can you say 
To horrify me more than to behold 
You die before my eyee? 

Ph^3>ba. When you shall know 
My crime, my death will follow none ths 

But with the added stain of guilt. 

CEnokb. Dear madam. 
By all the tears that I have shed for you, 
By these weak knees I clasp, relieve my 

From torturing doubt. 

Pbadra. It is your wish. Then rise. 

(Enonk. I hear you. Speak. 

Pbasra. Heav'na! How shall I begin? 

(Ekonb. Dismiss vain fears, you wound 
me with distrust. 

Phadba. O fatal animosity of Venus! 
Into what wild diatractions did she cast 
My modierl 

^NONB. Be they blotted from remem- 
brance, 
And for all time t« come buried in silence. 

Phsdra. My sister Ariadne, by what 

Were you betray'd to death, on lonely 

Forsaken 1 

(E!nonx. Madam, what deep-seat«d pain 
Prompts these reproaches against all your 
kin? 



pBMDRi. It is tbe will of Venus, and I 

I^flt, most vmbappy of a funilj' 
When all wen wretohed. 

(Enonk. Do you loveT 

Phxdka. I feel 
All its nuul fever. 

CEkonv. Ah! For whom? 

Phxdha. Hear now 
The crowiunK horror. Yes, I love — my 

Upe 
l^cmble to eay his name. 

(Ekoms. Whom? 

Phxdra. Know you him, 
Son of the Amawn, whom I've oppreaa'd 
So long? 

(Ekonx. HippolytuaT Great godel 

Phxdea. 'T is you 
Have named him. 

(Enonk. All my blood within my veins 
Seans frown. despair I Ocurs&lrwiel 
ni-omen'd journey I L^nd of misery! 
Why did we ever reach thy dangerous 

P tumw* . My wound ia not so recent. 

Scarcely had I 
Been bound to Theseus by tbe marriage 

yoke. 
And happiness and peace seem'd well 

Mcured, 
When Athens bhoVd me my proud enemy. 
I look'd, alternately tum'd pale and 

bhish'd 
To see him, and my soul grew all distraught ; 
A mist obscured my vision, and my voice 
Falter'd, my blood ran cold, then bum'd 

Venus I felt in all my fever'd frame, 
Whose fury had so many of my race 
I^umled. With fervent vows I sought to 

Her torments, built and deck'd for her a 

And there, 'mid countless victims did I 

seek 
Tbe reason I had lost; but all for naught, 
No remedy could cure the wounds of love I 
In vain I oCer'd incense on ber altan; 
When I invoked her name my heart adored 
Htppolytua, before me constantly; 
And when I made her altars smoke with 



'T was for a god whose name I dared not 

utter. 
I fled his presence everywhere, but found 

crowning horror! — in his father's tea. 

Against myself, at last, I raised revolt, 
Ajid stirr'd my courage up to persecute 
The enemy I loved. To banish him 

1 wore a step-dame's harsh and jealous 

carriage, 
With ceaseless cries I damor'd for his exile. 
Till I had torn him from his father's arms. 
I breathed once more, (Enone; in his ah- 

My days fiow'd on less troubled than before. 
And innocent. Bubmissive to my husband, 
I hid my grief, and of our fatal marriage 
Cherish'd the fruits. Vain caution! Cruel 

Fate! . 
Brought hither by my spouse himself, I saw 
A^in the enemy whom I had banicji'd, 
And the old wound too quickly bled afresh. 
No kmger is it love hid in my heart, 
But Venus in her might seiting her prey. 
I have conceived just terror for my crime; 
I hate my life, and hold my love in horror 
Dying I wish'd to keep my fame unsullied. 
And bury in the grave a guilty paasian; 
But I have been unable to withstand 
Tears and entreaties, I have told you all; 
Content, if only, as my end draws near. 
You do not vex me with unjust reproaches. 
Nor with vain efforts seek to snatch from 

death 
The last faint lingering sparks of vital 

breath. 

[ErUer Panope.) 

Panops. Fain would I hide from you 

tidings so sad. 

But 't is my duty, madam, to reveal them. 

The hand of death has seised your peerless 

husband, 
And you are last to hear of this disaster. 
(Enonx. What say you, Panope? 
Panopi. The queen, deceived 
By a vain trust in Heav 'n, b^ safe return 
For Theseus, while Hippolytus his son 
Learns of his death from vessels that are 

In port. 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Phxdra. Ye godat 
P&NOpa. Divided counsels sway 
Tbe choice of Atheiw; some would luTe the 

Your child, for master; othera, disregftrding 
The lawB, dare to rapport tiie Btnnger'e 

'T ie even said that a presumptuous faction 

Would crown Aricia and the house of 
PaUHs. 

I deem 'd it right U> warn you of this danger. 

Hippolytufl already is prepared 

To start, and should he show himaeir at 
Athena, 

T is to be fear'd the fickle crowd will all 

Follow his lead. 
(Enonb. Enough, The queen, who heare 
you, 

By no means will neglect this timely warn- 
ing. [Exit Pakopx.] 

Dear lady, J had almost ceased to urge 

The wish that you should live, tiiinldng to 

My mistreaH to the tomb, from whidi my 

Had fail'd to turn you; but this new mis- 
fortune 
Alters the aspect of affairs, and piompta 
Freeh measures. Madam, Theaeua is no 

You must supply his place. He leaves a 

son, 
A slave, if you should die, but, if you live, 
A king. On whom has he to lew but youT 
No hand but yours will dry his tears. Then 

For him, or else the tears of innocence 
Will move the gode, his ancestors, to wrath 
Against his mother. Live, your guilt is gone. 
No Uame attaches to your passion now. 
Tlie king'ij decease has freed you from the 

That made the crime and horror of your 

HippolytuB no longer need be dreaded. 
Him you may see henceforth without re- 
It may be, that, convinced of your aversion, 
He means to head the rebels. Undeceive 

Soften hie <mUoub heart, and bend his pride. 
King of this fertile land, in Troeien here 



His portion liee; but as he knows, the laws 
Give to your son the ramparts that Min- 



Built and protects. A common enemy 
Threatens you both, unite then to oppose 

PoamnA. To your counsel I consmt. 
Yes, I will live, if life can be lestored, 
If my affection for a son has powV' 
To rouse my sinking heart at such a dan- 
gerous hour. iExeunt.] 



ACT II 

iBrUer Akicia and Ibuenx.] 

Abicia. Bippolytus request to see me 

HippolytuB desire to bid fsrewelll 

Is't true, IsmeneT Are you not de(«ivedT 

leiiENi:. This ie the first result of The- 
seus' death. 
Prepare yourself to see from every side 
Hearts turn toward you that were kept 

. away 
By Theseus. Mistress of her lot at last, 
Aricia soon shall find all Greece fall low, 
To do her homage. 

Aricia. 'T is not then, Ismene, 
An idle tale? Am I no more a slave? 
Haw I no enemies? 

leuBNS. The gpda oppose 
Your peace no longer, and the soul of 

TheeeuB 
Is with your brothers. 

AxiciA. Does the voice of fame 
Tell how he died? 

laifSNB. Rumora incredible 
Are spread. Some say that, seising a new 

bride, 
The faithless husband by the waves was 

swallow 'd. 
Othera affirm, and this report prevails. 
That with Pirithofls to the world bdow 
He went, and saw the shores of dafk Coey- 

Showing himself alive to the pale ^losts; 
But that he could not leave those ^oom^ 

realms. 
Which whoso enters there abides forever. 
Abicia. Shall I believe that en hii das- 

tined hour 



.Goog[c 



Its terron? 

Ibhenx. He IB dead, and you »loae 
Doubt it. The men of Athena moura his 

Trcesen already h&ila Hippolytua 

As king. And Phiedra, fearing for her son. 

Aska oouiwel of the frienda who share her 

trouble, 
Here in tha palace. 

Abicia. Will Hippolytua, 
Hunk you, prove kinder than his sire, make 

li^t 
My chains, and pity my misfortuneeT 

IsHzm. Yes, 
I think BO, madam. 

Abicia. Ah, you know him not 
Or you would never deem so bard a heart 
Can pity feel, or me alone except 
FVom the contempt in which he holds our 

Hm be not long avoided every spot 
Where we resort? 

lauBtn. I know what talee an told 
Of proud Hippolytus, but I have seen 
Him near you, and have watcb'd with curi- 
ous eye 
How one eeteem'd ao eold would bear him- 

aelf. 
Little did his behavior correspond 
With what I look'd for; in his face confusion 
Appear'd at your first glance, he could not 

His languid eyes away, but gaied on you. 
Love ia a word that may offend his pride. 
But what the tongue disowns, looks can 

betray. 
Abicu. How eagerly my heart hears 

what you say, 
Tho' it may be delusion, dear Ismenel 
Did it seem pOHsible to you, who know me, 
That I, sad sport of a relentless Fate, 
Fed upon bitter tears by night and day, 
Could ever taste the maddening draught of 

love? 
The last frail offspring of a royal race. 
Children of Earth, I only have survived 
War's fury, ' Cut off in the flow'r of youth. 
Mown by the sword, six brothers have I 

lost. 



UKA 309 

The hope of an iUustrioua bouav, whose 

blood 
Earth drank with sorrow, near aldn to hia 
Whom she herself produced. Since then, 

you know 
How thro' all Greece no heart has been 

allow'd 
To aigh for me, lest by a aiater's flame 
The brothera' aehea be perchance rekindled. 
You know, besides, with what disdain I 

view'd 
My conqueror's mispiciona and precau- 

And how, oppoe'd as I have ever been 
To love, I often thank'd the king's injustice 
Which happily confirm'd my inclination- 
But then I never had beheld bis son. 
Not that, attracted merely by the eye, 
I love him for his beauty and hia grace, 
EndowmentA which he owes to Nature'a 

bounty, 
Charma which he seems to know not or to 

I love and prize in him richer metre rare, 
The viri:ues of his sire, without hia faults. 
I love, B8 I must own, that generous pride 
Which ne'er has stoop'd beneath the amor- 

Phsdra reaps little glory from a lover 
So lavish of his sighs; I am too proud 
To share devotion with a thousand others. 
Or enter where the door ia always open. 
But to make one who ne'er haa stoop'd be- 

Bend his proud neck, to pierce a heart of 

To bind a captive whom hia chains astonish. 
Who vainly 'gainst a pleasing yoke rebels, — 
lliat piques my ardor, and I long for that. 
'T was eaaier to diaarm the god of strength 
Than this Hippolytus, for Hercules 
Yielded so often to the eyes of beauty. 
As to make triumph cheap. But, dear 

lamene, 
I take too little heed of opposition 
Beyond my pow'r to quell, and you may 

Humbled by sore defeat, upbraid the pride 
I now admire. What! Can he love? and 1 
Have had the happmess to bend — 

IsuENB. Heoomes. 
Yourself ahall bear him. 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



[Bnter HifpOlttos.) 

HippoLTTUS. I^y, ere I go 

My duty bids me tell you of your change 

Of fortune. My worat fears are reftliied; 

My aire is dead. Yea, his protracted ab- 

Was caused as I foreboded. Death alone, 
Ending his toSs, could keep him from the 

Conoeal'd so Idtig. The gods at last have 

doom'd 
Aleidee' friend, companion, and aucoessor. 
I think your hatred, tender to hia virtues, 
Can hear auch terms of praise without re- 
sentment. 
Knowing them due. One hope have I that 

soothes 
My Borrow; I can free you from reetraint. 
Lo, I revoke the laws whose rigor moved 
My pity; you are at your own disposal. 
Both heart and hand; here, in my heritage, 
In Trceien, where my grandaire Pittheus 

Of yore and I am now aeknowledged king, 
I leave you free, free as myself, — and 

Abicia. Your kindness is too great, 't is 
overwhelming. 
Such generoaity, that pays disgrace 
With honor, lende more force than you can 

think 
To those harsh laws from which you would 
release me. 
HippoLYTiTs. Athens, uncertain how to 
fill the throne 
Of ThesBus, speaks of you, anon of me. 
And then of Phsdra'a son. / 

Aricia. Of me, my lord? i 

HiPPOLTTus. I know myself excluded by I 
strict law: \ 

Greece turns to my reproach a foreign 

mother. 
But if my brother were my only rival. 
My rights prevail o'er his clearly enough 
To make me careless of the law's caprice. 
My forwardness ia check'd by jusW claims ; 
To you I yield my place, or, rather, own 
That it is yours by ri^t, and yours the 



Adoption placed it in the hands of .^/nw. 
Athens, by him protected and increased, 
Welcomed a Idog ao generous as my sire, 
And left your hapless brothers in oblivion. 
Now she invites you back within her walla ; 
Protracted strife has cost her groans enough, 
Her fields are glutted with your kinemen'a 

blood 
Fatt'ning the fuirowg out of whichitaprung 
At first. I rule this Trceien; while the son 
Of nuadra has in Crete a rich domain. 
Athens is yours. I will do all I can 
To join for you the votes divided now 



Asicu. Stunn'd at all I hear, my lord. 
I fear, I almost fear a dream deceives me. 
Am I indeed awake? Can I believe 
Such generoeityT What god has put it 
Into your heart? Well is the fame deserved 
lliat you enjoyi That fame falls short of 

trutbt 
Would you for me prove traitor to yourselft 
Was it not boon enough never to ha(« me, 
So long to have abstoin'd from hartforing 
The enmity — 

HiPPOLTTca. To hate you? I, to hate 
you? 
However darkly my fierce pride was 

Do you suppose a monster gave me birth? 
What savage temper, what envenom'd 

hatred 
Would not be mollified at nght of you? 
Could I resiBt the soul-bewitching charm — 

Aricia. Why, what is this, sir? 

HiPPOLTTOB. I have said too much 
Not to say more. Prudence in vain resists 
l^e violence of passion. I have broken 
Silence at last, and I must tell you now 
Thesecretthatmy heart can bold no longer. 

You see before you an unhappy instance 
Of hasty pride, a prince who daims com- 



Who, pitying poor mortals that were shi{^ 

In seeming safety view'd the storms from 

land. 
Now find myself to the same fate exposed, 
Toas'd to and fro upon a sea of troublwt 



^ 



Hy boldnesB haa been vanquiaii'd in a 



And humbled is the pride wherein I boaated. 
For neariy aiz months pait, ashamed, 

deepairing, 
Bearii^ where'er I go the shaft that rendfl 
My heart, I stoug^ vainly to be free 
FVom you and from myMlf; I shun you, 

present; 
Absent, I find you near; I see your form 
In the dark foreat depths; the shades of 

night, 
Nor less bnmd daylight, bring back to my 

view 
The charms t^t I avoid; all things con- 
To make Hippolytus your slave. For fruit 
Of all my bootless si^ts, I fail to find 
My former self. My bow and javelins 
Please me no more, my chariot is forgotten. 
With all the Sea God's leasoDs; and the 

Echo my groans instead of joyous shouts 
Urging my fiery steeds. 

Hearing this tale 
Of passion so uncouth, you blush perchance 
At your own handiwor^. With what wild 

I offer you my heart, strange captive held 
By silked jeest But dearer in your eyes 
Should be the offering, that this language 

Strange to my hps; reject not vows ex- 

press'd 
So ill, which but for you had ne'er been 



[Enter 

Thbraubneb. Prince, the queen comes. 
I herald her approach. 
'T is you she seeta. 
HiPPOLTTua. Me? 

Thzkuiznxs. What her thou^t may be 
I know not. But I speak OD her behalf. 
She would converse with you ere you go 

HippoLTTus. What ahsU I say to bwT 

Can ahe expect — 
AsiciA. You cannot, aoble Prince, re- 
fuse to hear her, 
Howe'er convinced she is your enemy, 
Some shade of pity to her tears is due. 



HippOLTTcs. Shall we part thus? and 
will you let me go. 
Not knowing if my boldness has offended 
The goddeas I adoreT Whether this heart 
Left in your hands — 

Ajucu. Go, Prince, pursue the schemes 
Your generous soul dictates, niake Athenf 

My scepter. All the gifts you offer me 
Will I accept, but this high throne of em' 

pire 
Is not the one most precious in my light. 
[Exeuni Aiucu and Ibmxhk.] 
HippoLTTUB. Friend, ia all readyT 
But the Queen approaches. 
Go, see tiie vessel in fit trim to sail. 
Baste, bid the crew aboard, and hoist the 

Then soon return, and so deliver me 
From interview moet irksome. 

[SxU TazRAHxmiB.] 

[Enter Phadra and (Enone.1 
PH.BDRA (10 (Enone). There I see himt-"" 
My blood forgets to flow, my tongue to 

What I am come to say. 

(Enons. Think of your son. 
How all his hopes depend on you. 

Pbmd&a. I hear 
You leave us, and in haste. I come to add 
My tears to your distress, and for a son 
Plead my alarm. No more haa he a father, 
And at no distant day my son must witne«' 
My death. Already do a thousand foee 
Threaten his youth. You only can defeni 

But in my secret heart remorse awakes, 
And fear lest I have shut your ears against 
His criee. I tremble lest your righteous 

an^r 
Visit on him ere long the hatred eam'd 
By me, his mother. 

HippoLTTiTB. No auch base resentment, 
Madam, is mine. 

Phjedra. I could not blame you, Prince, 
If you should hate me. I have injured you: 
So much you know, but could not read my 

T* incur your enmity has been mine aim: 
The selfsame borders oould not hold us 
botii; 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



In public luad in private I ded&red 
Myself your foe, and found do peace till 

PkrtMl us from each other. I forbade 
Your very name to be pronounced befora 

And yet if puoiduneot should be prapor- 

To the offense, if only hatred draws 
Your hatred, never woman merited 
More pity, leas deserved your emnity. 
HippoLTTUB. A mother jealous of her 
children's rights 
Seldom forgivee the offspring of a wife 
Who leign'd before her. Harassing sus- 
picions 
An common sequels of a second marriage. 
Of me would any other have been jeabus 
No less than you, perhaps more violent. 
Pksdoa. Ah, Prince, how Heav'n has 
from the general law 
Made me exempt, be that same Heav'n my 

Far different is the trouble that devours me '. 

HippoLTTDB. This is no time for self- 

reproaohes, madam. 

It may be that your husband still beholds 

The light, and Heav'n may grant him safe 

In answer to our prayets. His guardian god 

Is Neptune, ne'er by him invoked in vain. 

PH.KnHA. Hewhohasseen themaDsiooB 

of the dead 
Returns not thence. Since to those gloomy 

shores 
Theseus is gone, 'tis vain to hope tliat 

May send him back. Prince, there is no 

release 
F^m Acheron's greedy maw. And yet, me- 

He lives, and breathes in you. I see him 

BtiU 
Before me, and to him I seem to qieak; 
My heart — 

Ohi I am mad; do what I will, 
I cannot hide my passion. 
HiPPOi-TTiTB. Yefl, I Bee 
The strange effects of love. Tlteseus, tho' 

dead. 
Seems present to your eyes, for in your soul 
Hiere burns a consent flame. 



PaxDRA. Ah, yes, for 1 
I languish and I long, not as the Shades 
Have seen him, of a thousand different 

The fickle ktver, and of Pluto's bride 
The would-be ravisher, but faithful, proud 
E'en to a slif^t disdain, with youthful 

chirms 
Attracting every heart, as gods are painted. 
Or like yourself. He had your mien, your 

ey«. 
Spoke and could blush like you, when to the 

isle 
Of Crete, my childhood's home, he crosi'd 

the waves. 
Worthy to win tiie love of Minos' daughters. 
What were you doing then7 Why did he 

The flow'r of Gieece, and leave HippoIytusT 
Oh, why were you too young to have em- 

bark'd 
On board the ship that brought thy sire to 

Crete? 
At your hands would the monster then have 

perish'd, 
Despite the windinp of his vast retreat. 
To guide your doubtful steps within the 

My aist«r would have arm'd you with the 

But no, therein would Ptuedra have fore- 

stall'd her. 
Love would have first inspired me with the 

thought; 
And I it would have been whose timely aid 
Had taught you all the labyrinth's crooked 

What anxious care a life so dear had ooetmel 
No tluead had satisfied your lover's fearB: 
I would myself have wi^'d to lead the way. 
And share the peril you were bound to face; 
Ph»dra with you would ha^'e explored the 

With you emerged in safety, or have 
perish'd. 
HippoLTTCS. Gods! What is this I hear? 
Have you forgotten 
That Theeeus is my father and your hus- 
band? 
pBJcnRA. Why should you taacy I havt 
lost remMnbranoe 
Thereof, and am regardless of mine honorT 



HippOLTTUB. Forgive me, madam. With 

a blush I own 
That I misconstrued words of innocence. 
For very shame I cannot bear your sight 
Longer. I go — 

Phxdha. Ahl cruel Prince, too well 
You understood me. I have said enough 
To save you from mistake. I love. But 

think not 
That at the moment when I love you most 
I do not feel my guilt; no weak compliance 
Hss fed the poison that infecte my brain. 
The ill-Btarr'd object of celestial vengeance, 
I un not BO detestable to you 
As to myself. The gods will bear me wit- 

Wbo have within my veins kindled this fire, 
Tlie gods, who take a barbarous delight 
In leacUng a poor mortal's heart astray. 
Do you yourself recall to mind the past: 
'T was not enough for me to fiy, I chased 

Out of tJie country, wishing to appear 
Inhuman, odious; to resist you better, 
I sought to make you hate me. All in 

Hating me more I loved you none the lees: 
New charms were lent to you by your mis- 
fortunes. . 
I have been drown'd in tears, and scorch'd 

Your oWn eyee might convince you of the 

truth, 
If for one moment you could look at me. 
What is 't I eay? "Hunk you this vile con- 
That I have made is what I meant to utterT 
Not daring to betray a eon for whom 
I trembled, 't was to beg you not to hate 

I came. Weak purpose of a heart too full 
Of love for you to speak of aught besides! 
Take your revenge, punish my odious 

passion; 
Prove yourself worthy of your valiant sire, 
And rid the world of an offensive monster! 
Does Theseus' widow dare to love his son? 
The frightful monstorl Let her not escape 

Here is my heart. This is the place to strike. 
Already prompt to expiate its guilt, 
I feel it leap impatiently to meet 



Your arm. Strilce home. Or, if it would 



To steep your hand in such polluted blood. 
If that were punishment too mild to slalce 
Your hatred, lend me then your sword, if 

Your arm. Quick, giv't. 

(Gnomi. What, madam, will you doT 
Just godst But some one comes. Go, fly 

from shame. 
You cannot 'scape if seen by any thus. 

[Exeunt Pbxdrk and (Esotti.] 

[Enter Thxbauxnes.] 
Thebauenbb. Is ' that the form of 
Phffidra that I see 
Hurried awayT What mean these signs of 

sorrow? 
Where is your sword? Why are you pale, 
confused? 
B1PPOLTTU8. Friend, let us fly. I am, 
indeed, confounded 
With horror and astonishment extreme. 
Phndra — but no; gods, let this dreadful 

Bemain forever buried in oblivion. 

Tkehaubnbb. The ship is ready if you 
wish to soil. 
But Athens has already giv'n her vot«; 
Their leaders have consulted all her tribee; 
Your brother is elected, Pluedra wing 

HiFPOLTTUB. Pluedra? 

THBRumtniB. A herald, charged with a 

From Athens, has arrived to place the reins 
Of power in her hands. Her son is Idi^. 
HippoLTTua. Ye gods, who know her, do 
ye thus reward 
Her virtue? 
Tberauenss. A faint rumor meanwhile 
whispers 
That Theseus is not dead, but in Epinis 
Has shown himself. But, after all my 

I know too well — 

'HippOLTTDB. Let nothing be neglected. 
This rumor must be traced back to its 

If it be found unworthy of belief. 
Let us set sail, and cost whate'er it may, 
To hands deserving trust the scepter's 
sway. {fixeunt.] 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



ACT III 

[Enter Phadba and (Enons.) 
Fksdha. Ahl Let them take elaewtkere 

the worthless honore 
l^iey bring me. Why so urgent I should 

see them? 
Whftt fl&ttehng batm oan soothe mjr 

wounded heortT 
Far rather hide me: I have said too much. 
My madoesa has bunt forth like streams 

And I have utter'd what ahould ne'er have 

reach 'd 
His ear. Gods! How he heard mel How 

reluctant 
To catch my meaning, dull and cold aa 

marble, 
And eager only for a quick retreat! 
How oft his blushes made my shame the 

deeper I 
Why did you turn me from the death I 

. sought? 
Ahl When his sword was pointed to my 

boBom, 
Did he grow pale, or try to snatch it from 

That 1 had touch'd it was mough for him 
To render it forever horrible, 
Leaving defilement on the haiid that holds 
it. 
(Enone. Thus brooding on your bitter 
disappointment, 
You only fan a fire that must be stifled. 
Would it not be more worthy of the blood 
Of Minofl to find peace in nobler cares, 
And, in defiance of a wretch who flies 
From what he hates, reign, mount the 
proffer' d throne? 
PHn>ItA. I reignt Shall I the rod of 
empire sway, 
When reason raigns no longer o'er myself? 
When I have lost control of all my senses? 
When 'neath a shameful yoke I scarce can 

breathe? 
When I am dying? 
(Enonk. Fly. 

Phxdba. I cannot leave him, 
(Emonb. Dare you not fly from him you 

dared to banish? 
Phxdra. The time for that is past. He 
knows my frensy. 



I have o'erstepp'd the bounds of modesty, 
And blason'd forth my shame before his 

Hope stole into my heart against my will. 
Did you not rally my declining pow'rs? 
Was it not you yourself recall'd my soul 
When fluttwing on ay lips, and with your 

counsel. 
Lent me freah life, and told me I might love 

him? 
CEnonx, Blame me or blame me not for 

your misfortunes, 
Of what was I incapable, to save you? 
But if your indignation e'er was roused 
By insult, can you pardon his contempt? 
How cruelly his eyes, severely fix'd, 
Survey'd you almost prostrate at his feetl 
How hateful then appear'd his savage pridel 
Why did not Pluedra see him then as I 
Beheld him? 

Pksdra. This proud mood that yoa re- 
May yield to time. The rudeness of the 

fOKStS 

Where he wss bred, inured to rigorous laws, 
Clings to him still; love is a word he ne'er 
Had heard before. It may be his surprise 
Stunn'd him, and too much vehemence was 

In all 1 said. 
(Enons. Remember that his mother 

Was a barbarian. 
pHADRA. Scythian tho' she was. 

She learned to love. 
(Enonb. He has for all the sex * 

Hatred intnnse. 
Phadba. Then in bis heart no rival 

Shall ever reign. Your counsel oomea too 
late. 

CBnone, serve my madness, not my reason. 

His hesirt is inaccessible to love: 

Let us attack him where he has more feel- 
ing. 

The charms of sovereignty appear'd to 
touch him; 

He could not hide that he wss drawn to 
Athens; 

His vessels' prows were thither turn'd al- 
ready. 

All sail was set to scud before the breeie. 

Go you on my behalf, to his ambition 

Appeal, and let the prospect of tba crown 



Dftssle his eyes. The sacred diadem 
Bhall deck hie brow, no higher honor mioe 
Than there to bind it. His shall be the 

pow'r 
I cftDDot keep; and he ehall t«ach my son 
Row to rule men. It may be he will deign 
To be to hi"! a father. Son and mother 
He shall control. Try ev'iy means to move 

Your words will find more favor than can 

Urge him with groans and teare; show 

Phfedra dying, 

Nor blush to use the voice of supplication. 

In you is my last hope; I'll sanction all 

Vou aay; and on the issue hanga my fat«. 

[Exit (Enone.) 

PBXDtUi (dlonel. Venus implacable, who 

Bcegt me shamed 
And sore confounded, have I not enou^ 
Been humbled? How can cruelty be 

stretcb'd 
Farther? Thy shafts have all gone home, 

and thou 
Haat triumph'd. Would'st thou win a new 

renown? 
Attack on enemy more contumacious '. 
Hippolytua neglects thee, braves thy wrath. 
Nor ever at thine altars bow'd the knee. 
Thy nanie offends his proud, disdainful ears. 
Our interests are alike: avenge thyself, 
Foroe him to love — 
But what is this? (Enone 
Retum'd already? He detests me then, 
Abd will not hear you. 

{EtOit (Enonb.) 
(Emonb. Madam, you must stifle 
A fruitless love. Recall your former virtue: 
The king who was thought dead will soon 

Before your eyes, Theseus has just arrived, 
Theseus is here. The people flock to see 

With eager haste. I went by your command 
To find the prince, when with a thousand 

The air was rent — 

PKxnaA. My husband is alive, 
That is enough, (Enone. I have own'd 
A passion that disbonois him. He lives: 
I ask to know no more. 



OKA 315 

(Enonb. What? 

Phadka. I foretold it. 
But you refused to hear. Your tears pie- 
Over my just remorse. Dying this mom, 
I had deserved compasaion; your advioe 
I took, and die diahonor'd. 

(Enonx. Die? 

FosDRA. Just Heav'nsI 
What have I done to-day? My hud>and 

With him his son ; and I shall see the witnees 
Of my adulterous flaiUe watch with what 

I greet his father, while my heart is big 
With si^is he scom'd, and tears that/ could 

not move hini 
Moisten mine eyee. Think you that his re- 

For Theseus will induce him to conceal 
My madnen, nor disgrace his aire and kingT 
Will he be able to keep back the horror 
He has for me? His silence would be vain. 
I know my treason, and I lack the boldness 
Of those abandon'd women who can taste 
Tranquillity in crime, and show a forehead 
All unabaah'd. I recognise my madness, 
Recall it all. These vaulted roofs, me- 

Theee walls can speak, and, ready to accuse 

Wait but my husband's presence to reveal 
My perfidy. Death only can remove 
Thisweightof horror. Is it such misfortune 
To cease to live? Death causes no alarm 
To misery. I only fear the name 
That I shall leave behind me. For my sons 
How sad a heritage I The blood of Jove 
Might justly swell the pride that boasts 

descent 
From Heav'n, but heavy weighs a mother's 

guilt 
Upon her offspring. Yes, I dread the scorn 
That will be cast on them with too much 

For my dispace. I tremble when I think 
That, orush'd beneath that curse, they'll 

never dare 
To raise their eyes. 

(Enone. Doubt not I pity both; 
Never was fear more just tluui yours. Why, 

tJien, 



3i6 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Ezpoae them to this ignominy? Why 
Will you accuse younwlfT You thus do- 

Tba only hope that's left; it will be said 
That Phiedro, conacious of her perfidy, 
Fled from her husband's ai^t. Hippolytus 
Wilt be rejoiced that, dying, you should 

Hia charge nipport. What can I answer 

himT 
He'll find it easy to confute my tale. 
And I shall hear him with an air of triumph 
To every open ear repeat your Bhame. 
Sooner than that may fire from heav'n con- 
Deceive me not. Say, do you lore him stillT 
IIow look you now on this coQt«niptuous 

princeT 
Phsdra. As on a monster frightful to 

<Eno»™. Why yield him, then, an easy 

You fear him. Venture to accuse him first, 
As guilty of tbe charge which he may bring 
Tbia day gainst you. Who can say 't is 

false? 
All tells agaiuEt him' in your handff his 

sword 
Happily l^t behind, your present trouble, 
Your past distrees, your warnings to his 

His exile which your earnest pray'ra ob- 

Pbadra. What I Would you have me 

slander innocence? 
(Enonk. My leal has need of naught 
from you but eilence. 

Like you I tremble, and am loath to do it; 

More willingly I 'd face a thousand deaths. 

But since without this bitter remedy 

I lose you, and to me your life outweighs 

All else, I'll speak. Theseus, howe'er en- 
raged. 

Will do no worse than banish him again. 

A father, when he punishes, remains 

A father, and bia ire is aatisfied 

Withalightsentence. But if guiltless blood 

Should flow, is not your honor of more 
moment? 

A treasure far too precious to be risk'd? 

You must submit, whatever it dictates; 

For, whm our reputation is at stake, 



All must be sacrificed, conscieuoe iteelf . 
But someone comes. 'T is Theseus. 

Phaora. And I see 
Hippolytus, my ruin {Mainly writt^k 
In his stem eyes. Do what you will; I trust 
My fate to you. I cannot help myself. 



Tbhseub. Fortune no longer fightfl 
against my wishes, 
Madam, and to your amu restores — 

Pbsoka. Stay, TheseusI 
Do not profane endearments that were once 
So sweet, but which I am unwmthy now 
Totaat«. You have been wTongi'd. Fortune 

has proved 
Spit^ul, nor in your abeence spared your 

I am unfit to meet your fond careas, - 
How I may bear my shame my only care 
Henceforth. 

[Exeunt Phasra and <ENom.| 

Tbssbub. Strange welcome for your 
father, this I 
What does it mean, my son? 

HippoLTTUB. Ptuedra alone 
Can solve this mystery. But if my wish 
Can move you, let me never see her mora; 
Suffer Hippolytus to disappear 
Forever from the home Utat holds your 
wife. 

Thkbbub. You, my sonl Leave me? 

HtPFOLTTDS. 'T was not I who soug}it 

'T was you who led her footsteps to these 

At your departure you thought meet, my 

lord. 
To trust Aricia and the queen to this 
TrcBzenian land, and I mysdf was charged 
With their protection. But what cares 

henceforth 
Need keep me here? My youtJi of idleness 
Has shown its skill enough o'er paltry foes 
That range tlie woods. May I not quit a 

life 
Of such inglorious ease, and dip my spear 
In nobler blood? Ere you had reaeh'd my 



More than one tyrant, 



HmI felt the weight of yo)it stout ami. 

Already, 
SuoceBrful ia stt&Dkine insolence, 
You had lemored aU dangers that iiifeet«d 
Our ooasts to east and west. The traveler 

fear'd 
Outrage no longer. Hearing of your deeds. 
Already Herculee relied on you, 
And rested from his toils. While I, un< 

Son of BO brare a sire, am far behind 
Even my mother's footstops. Let my cour- 
age 
Have scope to act, and if some monster yet 
Has 'soaped you, let me lay die glorious 

Down at your feet; or let the memory 
Of death faced nobly keep my name alive, 
And prove to all the world I was your bod. 
THBSxne. Wby, what is this? What 
terror haa posaem'd 
Hy family to make them fly before me? 
If I return to find myself so fear'd, 
So little welcome, why did Heav'n release 

Ikom prison? My sole friend, misled by 

passion. 
Was bent on robbing of his wife the tyrant 
Who ruled Epirus. With regret I lent 
The lover aid, but Fato had made us blind. 
Myself as wdl as him. The tyrant seized 

Defenseless and unarm'd. PirithoOs 

I saw with tears cast forth to be devour'd 

By savage beasts that lapp'd the blood of 

Myself in gloomy caverns he enclosed. 
Deep in the bowels of the earth, and ni^ 
To Pluto's realms. Six months I lay eic 

Heav'n 
Had pity, and I 'scaped the watchful eyes 
niat guarded me. Then did I purge the 

world 
Of a foul foe, and he himself has fed 
His monsters. But when with expectant 

joy 
To all that is moat precious I draw near 
Of what the gods have left me, when my 

soul 
Looks for full satisfaction in a sight 
80 dear, my only welcome is a shudder, 
Eaibiaxx tejectod, and a hasty flight. 



DRA 317 

Inq>iring, as I oleariy do, such terror, 
Would I were still a prisoner in EpirusI 
Phodra complains that I have suSer'd out- 
rage. 
Who has betray'd mef Speak. Why was I 

Avenged? iHas. Greece, to whom mine arm 

so oft 
Brought useful aid, abelter'd the criminalf 
You make no answer. Is my son, mine own 
Dear son, confederate witik mine enemies? 
I 'Q enter. This suspense is overwhelming. 
I 'II leani at once the culprit and the crime, 
And Phffidra must explain her troubled 
state. l&ea.] 

HiPPOLTTUB. What do these won^ por- 
tend, which seem'd to freese 
My very blood? Will Plusdra, in her freniy, 
Accuse herself, and seal her own deetruo- 

tion? 
What will the king say? Gods! What fatal 

Has love spread over all his houael Myself, 
Full of a fire his hatred disapproves, 
How changed he finds me from the son he 

With dark forebodings is my mind alarm'd. 
But innocence has surely naught to fear. 
Come, let us go, and in some other place 
Consider how I beet may move my sire 
To tenderness, and tell him of a flame 
Vex'd but not vanquish'd by a father's 
blame. [Bxmmt.] 



ACT IV 

[Enter Thxbbus attd (Enons.) 
Thusbits. Ahl What is this I hear? 

Presumptuous traitor! 
And would he have disgraced his father's 

honor? 
With what Telentleaa footsteps Fate pur- 

HueBmel 
Whither I go I know not, nor where now 
I am. kind affection ill repaid! 
Audacious scheme! Abominable thoughtl 
To reach the object of his foul desire 
Tlie wretch dist^in'd not to use violence. 
I know this sword that served him in his 

fury, 
Thesword I gave him for a nobler use. 



3<8 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Could not the sacred ties of blood 

And Phiedra ~ was she loath to have him 

punish 'd? 
She held her tongue. Waathat to spare the 

culprit? 
(Enonx. Nay, but to spare a most un- 

happir father. 
O'erwhelm'd with shame that her eyes 

should have kindled 
So infamous a flame and promptdd ^iTn 
To oriine so heinous, Fluedra would have 

died: 
I saw her raise hw arm, and ran to save her. 
To me alone you owe it that she liree; 
And, in my pity both for her and you. 
Have I against my will interpreted 
Her tears. 
Thbbbub. The traitorl He might weS 

turn pale. 
"T was fear that made him tremble when he 

saw roe. 
I wad astonish'd that he sbow'd no pleasure; 
His frigid greeting chili'd my tenderness. 
But was this guilty passion that devours 

Peclared already ere I banish'd him 
From Athena? 

(Ekonb. Sire, remember how the queen 

Urged you. Illicit love caused all her hatred. 

Thebbus. And then this fire broke out 

again at Trceieu? 
(Enonx. Sire, I have told you all. Too 
long the queen 
Has been allow'd to bear her grief alone. 
Let me now leave you and attend to her. 
[ExU.] 

[ErUer HippoLTrns-l 
THBSEDa. Aht Thereheis. Oeatgodal 
That noble mien 
Mig^t well deoeive an eye lees fond than 

Why should the aacred stamp of virtue 

gleam 
Upon the forehead of an impious wretch! 
Ought not the blackness of a traitor's heart 
To show itself by sure and certain signs? 
HiPi-OLrroB. My father, may I aak what 
fatal cloud 
Has troubled your majestic countenance? 
Dare you not tniat this secret to your sont 



THXsmtB. Traitor, how dare you sbov 

yourself before me? 
Monster^ whom Heaven's btAta have Qiand 

too long I 
Survivor of that robber crew whweof 
I cleansed the earth. After your brutal lust 
Scom'd even to mpeot my marriage bed, 
You venture — you, my hated toe — to 

Into my presenoe, hen, where all is full 
Of your foul infamy, instead of seeking 
Boine unknown land that never heard my 

Fly, traitor, fly I Stay not to tempt tJw 

That I can scarce restrain, nor brave my 

hatred. 
Disgrace enough have I incurr'd forever ■ 
In being father of so vile a son. 
Without your death staining indeh'bly 
The ^orious record of my noble deeds. 
Fly, and unless you wish quick punishment 
To add you to the criminals cut off 
By me, take heed this sun that lights us 



Ne'er 
I tell you 



youn 



re set foot upon this soil, 
gain, — fly, haste, return 



Rid all my realms of your atrocious pres- 

To thee, to thee, great Neptune, I app«d; 
If erst I clear'd thy shores of foul aMn—inrij 
Recall thy promise to reward those efforts, 
Crown'd with success, by granting my fint 

pray'r. 
Confined for long in close captivity, 
I have not yet call'd on thy pow'riul aid, 
Sparing to use the valued privilege 
lill g,t mine utmost need. Hie time is 

I ask thee now. Avenge a wretched fatbtt-l 
I leave this traitor to thy wrath; in blood 
Qu«kch his outrageous fires, and by thy 

fury 
Theseus will estimate thy favor tow'rds him. 
HippoLTTUB. Pluedra accuses me of law- 
less passioni 
This crowning horror all my soul con- 
founds; 
Such unexpected blows, falling at once, 
O'erwhelm me, choke my utteranoe, strike 



c. 



^!lc 



. Traitor, you nokon'd that in 

Umid silence 

ft would buiy jraur brutality. 
You dnuld not have abftndon'd in your 

fli^t 
The sword th»t in her hands helps to oon- 

demn you 
Or rather, to complete your perfidy, 
You should have robb'd her both of speech 

and life. 
HiFPOLTTtrs. Justly iadignaatatalieso 

black 
I might be pardon'd if I told the truth; 
But it concerns your honor to conceal it. 
Approve the reverence that shuta xay 

mouth; 
And, without wishir^ to increase your woes, 
Examine doeely vbaA my life has been. 
Great crimes are never nngle, they are 

Unk'd 
To former faults. He who has once trans- 

gress'd 
Hay violate at last all that men hold 
Most sacred; vice, like virtue, has degrees 
Of progress; imtocence was never seen 
To sink at once into the lowest depths 
Of guilt. No virtuous man can in a day 
Turn traitor, murderer, an incestuous 

lite nursling of a d)ast«, heroic mother, 
I have not proved unworthy of my birth. 
Fittheus, whose wisdom is by all esteem'd, 
Deign'd to instruct me when I left her 

It is no wish of mine to vaunt my merits. 
But, if I may lay claim to any virtue, 
I think beyond all else I have display'd 
AUKtrrence of those sins with which I'm 

chai^^. 
For this Hippolytus is known in Greece, 
So continent that he is deem'd austere. 
All know my abstinence inflexible; 
The daylight is not purer than my heart. 
Bow, then, could I, burning with fire pro- 

TaBSBua. Yee, dastard, 'tia that very 
pride condemns you. 
I see the odious reason of your coldness: 
Phsdra alone bewitch'd your sbameleea 



DRA 319 

HippoLTTiiB. No, father, I have hidden 
it too long. 
This heart has not disdain'd a sacred 

Here at your feet I own my real offense: 
I love, and love in truth where you forfoir' 

Bound to Aricia by my heart's devotion. 
The child of Pallas has subdued your eon. 
A rebel to your laws, her I adore. 
And breathe forth ardent sighs for her 

Thmebub. You love her? Heav'nel 
But no, I see the trick. 
You feign a crime to justify yourself. 
HiPPOLTTDB. Sir, I have shuna'd her tor 
six months, and still 
Love her. To you yourself I came to tell it, 
Trembling the while. Can nothing cleat 

your mind 
Of your mistake? What oath can reassun 

By beav'n and earth and all the pow'rs of 
nature — 
TBasBTTB. The wicked never shrink from 
perjury. 
Cease, cease, and spare me irksome prote»- 

tations. 
If your false virtue has no other aid. 
HiFFOLTTCs. Tho' it to you seem false 
and insincere, 
Pluedra has secret oauae to know it true. 
Thbseub. Ah, how your shameleasneee 

excites my wiathi 
HippoLTTOB. What is my term and place 



Thuskub. Were you beyond the Fillen; 
of Alcides. 
Your perjured presence were too near me 
yet. 
BiPFOLTTUS. What friends will pity me, 
when you forsake 
And think me guilty of a crime so vile? 
TBificue. Go, look you out for friends 
who hold in honor 
Adultery and clap their hands at incest, 
Low, lawless traitors, steep'd in infamy. 
The fit protectors of a knave like you. 
HtPPOLTTUB. Ate incest and adultery 
the words 
You oast at meT I hold my tongue. Yet 



Google 



3*0 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



What mother Phndra had; too well you 

know 
Her blood, not mine, is tainted with those 

horrors. 
Thkbeub. Whatl Does your rage before 

my eyee toae all 
Refltr&intT For the laot time — out of my 

Henoe, traitorl Wait not till a father's 

Force thee away 'mid general ezecmtion. 

[Exit PlPPOLTTUS.] 

Thebxcb [alotu]. WretchI Thou must 

meet inevitable ruin, 
Neptune has sworn by Styx — to gode 

thanaelves 
A dreadful oath — and be will execute 
His pronuee. Thou canst not escape hit 



I loved thee; and, in spite of thine offense. 
My heart ia troubled by Buticipation 
Tfa thee. But thou hast earu'd thy doom 

Had father ever greater cauee for rage? 
Just gods, who see the grief that over- 
whelms me, 
Why was I cursed with such a wicked son? 
[Enter Phjcdka.) 

PnflDRA. My lord, I come to you, fill'd 
with just dread. 
Your voice raised high in anger reach'd 

And much I fear that deeds have follow'd 

threate. 
Oh, if there yet is time, spare your own 

offBi»ing, 
Respect your race and blood, I do beseech 

Let me not hear tliat blood cry from the 

pound; 
Save me the horror and perpetual pain 
Of having caused hia father's hand to shed 



), madam, from that stain 
my hand is free, 

But, for all that, the wretch has not es- 
caped me. 

"nie hand of an Immortal now is charged 

With his destruction. 'T is a debt that 
Neptune 

Owes me, and you shall be avenged. 



A debt 
Owed you? Pray'is mode in anger — 

Thmetts. Never fear 
That they will fail. Rather join yours to 

In all their blacknen paint for me hii 

And fan my tardy passion to white heat. 
But yet you know not all his infamy; 
His rage against you overflows in olait 

Your mouth, he says, is full of all deceit, 
He says Aricia has his heart and soul, 
That her alone he loves. 
Phjcdea. Aricia? 
TrouEua. Aye, 
He said it to my face: an idle pretext! 
A trick that gulls me noti Let us hopn 

Neptune 
Will do him epeiedy justice. To his altara 
I go, to urge puformanoe of his oaths. 

\Ent.] 
Pbadra [alone]. Ah, he is gone] What 
tidings struck mine ears? 
What fire, half smother'd, in my heart re- 

What fatal stroke falls like a thundcx* 

bolt? 
Stung by temorse that would not let ms 

I tore myself out of (Enooe's arms. 

And flew to help Hippolytus with all 

My soul and strengtii. Who knows if that 

repentance 
Might not have moved me to accuse my- 

sein 
And, if my voice had not been choked with 

Perhaps I bad confess'd the frightful truth. 
Hippolytus can feel, but not for met 
Aricia has his heart, his plighted troth. 
Ye gods, when, deaf to all my sighs and 

He arm'd his eye with soom, his brow with 

I deem'd his heart, impreg^uUile to love, 
Was fortified 'gainst aU my sex alike. 
And yet another has prevajl'd to tame 
His pride, another has secured hie favor 
Perhaps he has a heart easily meltadj 
I am the only one he cannot bearl 
And shall I oha^e myself with his dif eonT 



[ErUer CEso^i.] 
PH.BDRA. Enowyou, dearnuTM, whatl 

h&ve leun'd juat now? 
(Ehonb. No; but I come in truth with 
trBtnbling luuba. 
I dreaded with what purpoae you went 

forth. 
The fear of fatal madneaa nude me pale. 
Fbjbdra. Who would have thought it, 

nurse? I had a rival. 
<Enonk. a rival? 
Phsdra. Yee, be loves. I caonot doubt 



Wearied, this tiger, whom I fe&r'd to rouae, 
FawuB on a hand that has subdued his 

Aricia has found entrance to hia heart. 
(Enonk. Aricia? 
Phsdka. Aht anguish as yet untried! 

For what new tortures am I atill reserved? 

All I have undergone, transporifi of passion. 

Longings and fears, the horrors of remorse. 

The shame of bdng spum'd with con- 
tumely, 

WpM'teeble foretastes of my present tor- 
^^ roents. 

They love each otherl By what secret 
charm 

Have they deceived me? Wbet«, and «riien, 
and how 

Met they? You knew it all. Why was I 



n'd?. 



Talking together? Did they seek the shades 
Of thickest woods? Alas! full freedom had 

they 
To see each other, Heav'n approved their 



They loved without the 

guilt; 
And every morning's sun for them shone 

clear. 
While I, an outcast from the face of Nature, 
Shunn'd the bright day, and sought to hide 

Dekth was the only god whose aid I dared 



To ask: I waited for the grave's release. 
Water'd with tears, nourish'd with gall, my 

Was all too closely wateh'd; I did not dare 
To weep without restraint. In mortal dread 
Tasting this dangerous solace, I disguised 
My terror 'neath a tranquil countenance. 
And oft bad I to check my tears, and smile. 

(Enone, What fruit will they enjoy of 
their vain love? 
They will not see each other more. 

Ph,sdiia. That love 
Will last forever, Evea while T speak. 
Ah, fatal thought, they laugh to sconi the 

madness 
Of my distracted heart. In spite of enle 
That soon inust part them, with a thousand 

They seal yet closer union. Can I suffer 
A happiness, (EInone, which insulte me? 
I crave your pity, ^e must be destrojr'd. 
My husband's wrath against a hateful 

Shall be revived, nor must the punishment 
Be light: the Bister'B guilt passes the broth- 
era'. 
I will entreat him in my jealous rage. 
What an^ I saying? Have I lost my 
senses? 
Is Pluedra jealous, and will she implore 
Theseus f jr help? My husband lives, and 

I bum. For whom? Whoee heart is this I 

As mine? At every word I say, my hair 
Stands up with horror. Guilt henceforth 

haspass'd 
All bounds. Hypocrisy and incest breathe 
At once thro' all. My murderous hands are 

ready 
To spill the blood of guileless innocence. 
Do I yet live, wretch that I am, and dare 
To face this holy Sun from whom I spring? 
My father's sire was king of all the gods; 
My ancestors fill all the univetse. 
Where can I hide? In the dark realms of 

Pluto? 
But there my father holds the fa£al urn; 
Hia hand awards th' irrevocable doom: 
Minos is judge of all the ghosts in heU. 
Ahl bow his awful shade will start and 



GooqIc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



When be eluJl see his daughter brought be- 
fore him, 
Forced to confees sins of such raried dye, 
Crimee it may be unknown to bell itself I 
What wilt thou say, my father, at a sight 
Bo diie? I think I see thee drop the um, 
And, seeking some unheard-of puoishment, 
TlQraelf iiecome my executioner. 
Spare mel A cruel goddess has deetroy'd 
liiy race; and in my madnees recogniM 
Her wrath. AlasI My aching heart has 

No fruit of pleasure from the frightful crime 
The shame of which pursues me to the 

And ends in torment life-long misery. 
(Emokx. Ah, madam, pray dioniss a 
groundless dread: 
Look tees severely on a venial error. 
YdU love. We cannot conquer deetinjr. 
You were drawn on as by a fatal charm. 
Is that a marvel without precedent 
Among ue? Has love triumph'd over you, 
And o'er none elseT Weakness is natural 
To man. A mortal, to a mortal's lot 
Submit. You chafe against a yoke that 

Have long since borne. The dwellers in 

Olympus, 
The gads tjiemselves, who terrify with 

The sins of men; have bum'd with lawless 

Pbmbba. What words are these I hearT 
What counsel this 

Von dare to give meT Will you to the end 

Pour poison in mine eara? You have de- 
etroy'd me. 

You brought me back when I should else 
have quitted 

The light of day, made me forget my duty 

And see Bippolytus, till'thea avuded. 

What hast thou done? Why did your 
wicked mouth 

With blackest lies slander his blameless 
lifeT 

Perhaps you 've slain him, and the impious 
pray'r 

Of an unfeeling father has been answer'd. 

No, not another wordl Go, hateful mon- 

Away, and leave me to my piteous fate. 



May HeaVn vrith justice pay you your 

And may your punishment forever be 
A t«rror to all those who would, like you, 
Nourish with artful wiles the weakneases 
Of princes, push them to the brink of ruin 
To which their heart indinee, and smooth 

the path 
Of guilt. Such flatterers doth the wrath of 

Heav'n 
Bestow on Idngi as its most fatal gift. [ExU.] 
(Enonb [dime). O gods! to serve her 

what have I not done? 
This is the due reward th at I have won. 
[J«t.l 

ACT V 
[Xnfar HippoLTTCs and Abicu.] 
Akicia. Can you keep silent in this mor- 
tal peril? 
Your father lovee you. Will you leave him 

Deceived? If in your cruel neart you soom 
My tears, content to see me nevermore. 
Go, part from poor Aricia; but at least, 
Going, secure the safety c^ your life. 
Defend your honor from a shameful stun. 
And force your father to recall his pray'ra. 
There yet is time. Why out of mere os^moa 
Leave the field free to I^uedra's oalunuuesT 
Let Theseus know the truth. 

HippOLTTUs. Could I say more, 
Without exposing him to dire disgrwse? 
How should I venture, by revealing all, 
To make a father's brow pow i«d wHb 

nhftfirw ? 

Um odious mysteiy to you alone 

Is known. My heart has been outpour'd 

to none 
Save you and Heav'n. I could not hide 

from you 
(Judge if I love you) all I fain would hide 
E'en from myself. But think under what 

seal 
I spoke. ^Forget my words, ifthat may be; 
And never let so pure a mouth disclose 
This dreadful secret. Let us trust to 

Heav'n 
My vindication, for the gods are just; 
For their own honw will thqr dew tbe 



r^Liii'izedii^GoOglc 



Sooner or Ut«r puniah'd for her cnme, 
Pluedn will not eicape the ah&me ahe 

I aak no other favor than your aOence; 
In all besidee I give my wrath free scope. 
Mak« your escape from this csptivity, 
Be bold to bear me oompany in flight; 
Linger not here on this acoursM soil, 
Where virtue breathes a pestilential air. 
To cover your departme take advantage 
Of this ooufuaion, caused by my disgrace. 
The meanB of fli^t are ready, be avuied; 
You have as yet no ottier guards than mine. 
Pow'rful defendwa win maintain our quar- 

Argos spreads open anns, and Sparta calls 

Let us appeal for justice to our friends, 
Nor suffer Ptuedra, in a common ruin 
Joining us both, to hunt us from the throne. 
And oggrandiie her son by robbing us. 
Embrace this happy opportunity : 
Vbat fear restrains? You seem to bentate. 
Your interest alone prompts me to urge 
Boldiwo. When I am all on fire, how 

comes it 
lliat you are ioeT Fear you to follow then 
A baniab'd monT 

Abicu. Ah, dear to me would be 
Suehexilet With what joy, my fate to yours 
United, could I live, by all tbe world 
FotgottenI But not yet has that sweet tie 
Bound us together. How then can I steal 
Away with youT I know the strictest honor 
Forbids me not out of your father's hands 
To free myadf ; this ie no parent's home, 
And flight is lawful when one flies from 

But you, sir, love me; and my virtue 
shrinks — 
HippOLTTua. No, no, your reputation is 

As dear as to yourself. A nobler purpose 
Brings me to you. Fly from your foes, and 

A husband. Heav'n, that sends us these 

iniafortunee, 
Sete free from hun 



Between us. Torches do not always light 
The face of Hymen. 
At tbe gates of Troien, 



'Mid anraent tombs wbne princes of my 

Lie buried, stands a temple ne'er approach'd 
By perjurers, where mortals dare not moke 
False oaths, for instant punishment befalls 
The guilty. Falsehood knows no stronger 

Than what is present there — the fear of 

death 
That cannot be avoided. Thither then 
Well go, if you consent, and swear to love 
Forever, take the guardian god to witness 
Our solemn vows, and his paternal oare 
Entreat. I will invoke the name of all 
The holiest Pow'rs; chaste Dion, and the 

Of Heav'n, yea all tbe gods who know my 

Will guarantee my sacred pramisee. 
Abicu. The king draws near. Depart — 
make no delay. 
To mask my flight, I linger yet one moment. 
Go you; and leave with me some trusty 

To lead my timid footsteps to your side. 
[Exit ^ppOLTTnB.] 
[Enttr Thxsbub and Ibkxhb.] 
Thbsxdb. Ye gods, throw light upon my 
troubled mind. 
Show me the truth which I am seeking here. 
AniciA [ande (0 Ibuenb]. Oet ready, dear 
Ismene, for our flight. 

[Exit iBMBMIiJ 

Thesecb. Your color comes and goes, 
you seem confused, 
Madam I What buaineee had my son with 

Abicu. Sire, he woe bidding me farewell 

forever. 
Thbbbus. Your eyes, it seems, can tante 

that stubborn pride; 
And the firat sighs he breathes are paid to 

Aricu. I can't deny the truth; he has 
not, sire. 
Inherited your hatred and injustice; 
He did not treat me like a criming. 
Thbsbos. That is to say, he swnre etN- 
nal love. 
Do not rely on that inconstant heart; 
To others has he sworn as much btfore. 



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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



AfiiciA. He, sireT 

THKeice. You ought to check hie roving 

taste 

How could you bear a partnership so vileT 
AsiciA. And how can you endure that 
vilest eUnders 

Should moke a life eo pure aa black aa pitch? 

Have you so little knowledge of his heart? 

Do you BO ill diBtinguieh between guilt 

And innocence? What miat before your eyes 

Blinds them to virtue bo conspicuous? 

Ahl 't is- too much to let false tongues de- 
fame him. 

Repent; call back your murderous wishes, 

Fear, fear lest Heav'n in its severity 
Hate you enough to hear and grant your 

pray'rB. 
Oft in their wrath the gods accept our 

victims, 
And oftentimee cbastise us with their gifts. 
Thxbxqs. No, vainly would you cover 

up his guilt. 
Your love is blind to his depravity. 
But I have witness irreproachable: 
Tears have I seen, true tears, that may be 

trusted. 
Abicia. Take heed, my lord. Your 

hands invincible 
Have rid the world of monsters numberlees; 
But all are not deetroy'd, one you have left 
Alive — Your son foiiiids me to say more; 
Knowing with what respect he still regards 

you, 
I should too much distress him if I dared 
Complete my sentence. I will imitate 
His reverence, and, to keep silence, leave 

you. [Exit.] 

Tbxb&vb [alone]. What is there in her 

mind? What meaning lurks 
In speech be^n but to be broken short? 
Would both deceive me with a vain pre- 

Have they conspired to put me to the 

torture? 
And yet, despite my stem severity. 
What plaintive voice cries deep within my 

heart? 
A secret pity troubles and alarms me. 
CEnone shall be questioned once again, 
I must have clearer light upon this crime. 
Guards, bid CBnone come, and oome alone. 



IfiTiter Panope.] 
Panofb. I know not what the queen in- 
tends to do. 
But from her agitation dread the worst. 
Fat^ despair is painted on her features; 
Death's pallor is already in her face. 
CEnone, shamed and driven from her aigh^ 
Has cast herself into the ocean depths. 
None knows what prompted her to deed so 

And now the waves hide her from us for- 



Fresh trouble to the queen's ■ 
Sometimes, to soothe her secret pain, sho 

Her children close, and bathes them with 
her tears; 

Then suddenly, the mother's love forgot- 
ten, 

8he thrusts them from her with a look of 

She wanders to and fro with doubtful steps; 
Her vacant eye no longer knows us. Thnce 
She wrote, and thrice did she, changing hex 

well b%un. 
ichsafe to kelp 
her. lExU.\ 

THEBEua. Heav'nsIIs(Enonedead,and 
Phfedra bent 
On dying too? Oh, call me back my son! 
Let him defend himself, and I am ready 
To hear him. Be not hasty to bestow 
Thy fatal bounty, Neptune; let my pray'n 
Bather remain ever unheard. Too soon 
I lifted cruel hands, believing lips 
That may have liedl Ahl What despair 
may follow I 

[Enter Tberaubneb.) 
Thbbeub. Theramenes, is 't thou? Where 
is my son? 
I gave him to thy charge from tendereet 

childhood. 
But whence these tears that ovnflow thine 

eyes? 
How is it with my son? 



. Google 



TmuAHENxs. Concern too lata I 
AAection vain! Hfppolytua ii dead. 
Thweub. Goda! 
THBBAMiiwEe. I hare seen tbe flow'r of 



Cut off, and I am bold to say that none 
Deeerred it less. 

Thkbhub. WbatI My son dead! When I 
Was stretching out my amu to him, has 

Hasten'd hia end7 What was this sudden 

stroke? 
Tberambneb. Scarce had we pass'd out 

of the g»t«i of TnGsen, 
He silent in his chariot, and fall guards. 
Downcast and silent too, around him 

ranged; 
To tbe Myoenian road he tum'd his steeds, 
TTien, loet in thought, allow'd the reins to 

Ue 
Looee on their backs. His noble ohaigen, 

So full of ardor to obey hie voice. 

With head depreea'd and melancholy eye 

Seem'd now to mark his Badness and to 

share it. 
A frightful cry, that issuee from the deep. 
With sudden discord rends the troubled 

And from the bosom of tJie earth a groan 
Is beard in answer to that voice of terror. 
Our bkmd is froKn at our very hearts; 
With bristling manes tbe list'ning steeds 

standstill. 
Meanwhfle upon the watery plain there 



n billow with mighty crest 
Of foam, that shoreward rolls, and, as it 

Before our eyes vomite a furious manstca'. 
With formidable horns its brow is ann'd, 
And all its body clothed with yellow scalee. 
In front a savage bull, behind a dragon 
Turning and twisting in impatient rage. 
Its long continued bellowings make the 

Tmnble; the sky seems horror-struck to 

The earth with terror quakes; its poisonous 

breath 
Infects the air. The wave that brought it 

ebbs 



5RA 3*5 

In fear. All By, forgetful of the courage 
That cannot aid, and in a neighboring 

temple 
Take refuge — all save bold Hippolytus. 
A hero's worthy son, he stays his steeds, 
SeiMS bis darts, and, rushing forward, hurls 
A nusafle with sure aim that wounds the 



Deep in the flank. With rage and pain it 

springB 
E'en ta the horses' feet, and, roarii^, falls, 
Writhes in the dust, and shows a fieiy 

throat 
That covers titem with flames, and blood, 

and smoke. 
Fearlends them wings; deaf to hk voice for 

once. 
And heedless of the curb, they onward fly. 
Their maeto' wastes his strength in efforts 

With foam and blood each courser's bit is 

red. 
Some say a god, amid this wild disorder, 
Is seen with goads pricking their dusty 

O'er jaggM rocks they rush urged on b; 

terror; 
Crash! goes the a]de-tne. Th' intrepid 

Sees his car broken up, flying to pieces; 
He falls himself entuigled in the teins. 
Pardon my grief. That cruel spectacle 
Wilt be for me a source of endless tears. 
I saw thy hapless son, I saw him, sire, 
Dragg'd by the liorses that his hands had 

fed, 
Fow'rless to check their fierce career, his 

voioe 
But adding to their fright, bis body soon 
One mass of wounds. Our cries of ftnguwh 

mi 

Theplaio. At last tbey slacken their swift 

pace, 
Then stop, not far from thoee old tondM 

that mark 
Where lie the ashes of his royal sires. 
Panting I thither run, and ^ter me 
His guard, along the track stain'd with 

fresh blood 
That reddens all tbe rocks; caught in the 

briers 
Locks of bis hsir hang driptHuc gory qmil*^ 

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CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



I oome, I call him. Stretdiiiig forth his 

haiul, 
He opee his dying eyra, tooo cloaed again. 
"The goda hftve robb'd me of a guiltkM 

lite," 
I hear him say: "Take cue of wd Arida 
When I am dead. Dear friend, if e'er my 

father 
Mourn, undeceived, his aon'a unhappy fate 
Falsely accused; to give my epirit peaoe. 
Tell him to treat his captive tenderly. 
And to restore — " With that the hero's 

breath 
FailB, and a mangled corpse lies in my arms, 
A piteous object, trophy of the wrath 
Of HeaVn — bo changed, his father would 

not know him. 
TassiiTra. Alas, mynonl Dear hope for- 
ever loBtl 
The ruthless gods have served me but too 

well. 
For what a life of an giiiiih and remorse 
Am I reserved! 

Tbbrahbmxs. Aricia at that instant. 
Flying from you, oomee timidly, to t&ke 

For husband, there, in pi«aence of the gods. 
Hius drawing nigh, she sees the grass all 

red 
And reeking, sees (sad sight for lover's 

eye!) 
Hippolytus stretch'd there, pale and dis- 
figured. 
But, for a time doubtful of her misfortune, 
(JnreoogniEed the hero she adores. 
She looks, and asks — " Where is Hippoly- 
tus?" 
Only too sure at last that he lies there 
Before her, with sad eyes that silently 
Reproach the gods, she shudders, groMW, 

and falls. 
Swooning and all but lifeless, at his feet. 
Ismene, all in tears, kneels down beside ber, 
And calls ber bock to life — life that is 

naught 
But sense of pain. And I, to whom this 

light 
Is darkness now, come to discharge the 

duty 
The hero has imposed on me, to t«ll thee 
His last request — a melancholy task. 
But hither oomea his mortal raieiay. 



[Enttr Fhxdiia, Panopb, and Ouordi.] 
Theseus. Hadam, you've triumph'd, 
and my son is kiU'dl 
Ah, but what room have I for fear! How 

justly 
Suspicion rocks me that in blaming him 
leir'dl But heisdead;acaept your victim; 
Kightly or wrongly slain, let your heart 

For joy. My eyes shall be forev«r blind: 
Since you accuse him, I'll believe him 

guilty. 
His deaUi affords me cause enou^ for teats, 
Without a foolish seanih for further light 
Which, pow'rlesB to restore him to my grief. 
Might only serve to make roe more un- 
happy. 
For from this shore and far from you 111 

fly, 

For hwe the image of my mangled son 
Would haunt my memory and drive me 

mad. 
From the whole world I fain would bani^ 

For all the world seems to rise up in judg- 

Against me; and my very glory weights 
My punishment; for, were my name less 

known, 
T ware essiw to hide me. All the favois 
The gods have granted me I mourn and 

hftto. 
Nor will I importune them with vain 

pray 'is 
Henceforth forever. Give me what th^ 

What they have taken will all dse out- 

Fhadra. Theseus, I cannot hear you 
and keep silBnoe: 
I moat repair tbe wrong that he has sul- 

fer-d — 
Your son was innocent. 

THBBEns. Unhappy latberl 
And it was on your word that I condemu'd 

Think you such cruelty can bo excused — 
PoMDSA.. Moments to me are precious; 
hear me, Theseus. 
'T was I who cast an eye of lawless passioD 
On diBsto and dutiful Hq>polytus. 



HeaT'n in my boBom kindled baJdul fire, 
And vile (Enose'a cunning did the rest. 
She fe&r'd Hippolytus, knowing my nmd- 

Would nuike that pEtaaion known which he 

i^aided 
With horror; so advantage of my weakness 
She took, and haeten'd to aoouse him first. 
For that she has bem punisb'd, tho' too 

mildly; i 

Seeking to shun my wrath she oaat henelf 
Beneath the waves. The sword ere now had 

My thread of life, but sl&nder'd innocence 
Made its cry heard, and I resolved to die 
In a more lingering way, confeesing first 
My penitence to you. A poison, brought 
To Athens by Medea, rune thro' my veins. 
Already in my heart the venom works, 
Tnf^MTng there a Atruige uid fatal chiU: 



DRA 3J7 

Already as thro' tiiicIceniDg mists I see 
The epouae to whom my preaence is an out- 

raee; 
Death, from mine eyea veiling tin U^t ol 

heav'u, 
lUatoras its purity that they defiled. 
Panopi. She diee, my lordl 
THBBBua. Would that the memory 
Of bw disgraoef ul deed oould pwisb with 

herl 
Ah, disabused too late! Come, let us go, 
And with the blood of mine unhappy son 
Mingle our tears, clasping his dear remains, 
In deep repentance for a pray'r detest«d. 
Let him be honor'd as he well deaervea; 
And, to appease his sore o&ended ghost, 
Be her near kinamen's guilt whate'er it 

may, 
Arioia shall be held my daughter from to- 
day. IBxmaa omns*.] 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



cmizedbvGoOQlc 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 
(LE BARBIER DE SEVILLE) 

Bv BEAUMARCHAIS 
TranttaUdty ARTHUR B. MVRICK 



ciilizedbvGoOQic 



CHARACTERS 

Count Auutiva, a grandee of Spain, the unibnoum lover qf Botint 

Babthom), a phygidan, guartUan of Bonne 

RoaiNB, a vounff ^V "f nobk birth, and the ward <^ fiorlAoJo 

FiOABO, a bmier of Senile 

Don Bazile, organic, and litigirig^naaUr to Rorine 

L& Jbunesbb, an old domestic of Bartholo 

L'EvBiiiiiA, another servant of Bartholo, a nmpleton and ttttggard 

A Notary 

An Aldade and.a Jtutice 

Poticem^n and Senanta with tordua 



i* laid in StPiUt in M< finl wl, jn lk« tirttt. imd tmdtr tkt wiMbnra 
M.' IA< remaindtr of tlit pite» itintht houm of Doelor Bartkolo. 



ciilizedbvGoOQic 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



ACT I 

[The gtane repreienta a 9tnet in SeoiSe: 
window* tooking vpon the tbtet an barred. 

The Count in a heemy broien doak 
broad-brimmed hat. He lookt at Am uolcA 
Of he toalkt back and forth.] 

Count. The monuiig ia not so far ad- 
vanced aa I thought; the hour at which she 
usuaUy shows herself behind her blinds ia 
Btill far off. No matter; I would far rather 






stheo 



when I nui7 see her. If mj of my amiable 
friende at court could see me one hundred 
leagues from Madrid, lingering beneath the 
window of a lady to whom I have never 
vpoken, they would oertainly take me for 
a Spaniard of Isabella's time. Why not? 
Every one seeks his own happiness. Mine 
I find in the heart of Bosine. WhatI fol- 
low a lady to Seville, when Madrid and the 
court everywhere offer pleasures so easily 
attained! That itself is the thing I shun. 
I am weary to death of oonquesta which 
_^^elf-intereet, convenience, or vanity are 
^Kjielding me every day. Ahi't is ao sweet to 
S bejoyed for one's self alone I And if I could 
be penBEtTy sure that under this disguise 
. . . The devil take this unseasonable 
raacall 

[Enter Fiqaro, with a iptitar dwig acrom 
hie hack by a broad ribbon, paper and 
pencil in hand.] 
PiOABO [tinfiing gayly]. 
Away with sorrow conoumingl 
Without the fire of good liquor iDBpirins, 
Without enlivenins pleasure. 
All men would live in a Etupot, 
With very sood proapeota of dying. 
Really, that's not »o bad, so far, is 



With very good proapeoti of dying. 
Oenerous wine and idlenasB 
Shall e'er dispute my heart. 



Well, not they do not diqiute; they letgn 
together peaceably enough. . . . 

Shall ever share my heart. 

Shall I say M partagtnaf Well, thank 

_ lodnees, we writers (J comic operas oeb 

hot so particular about style. Nowadays, 

what is scarcely worth saying, we sing. 

{Singe.} 

Generous wine and idleneM 

Shall ever shore my heart. 

I should like to finish with something 

fine, brilliant, sparkling, which would really 

look like an idea. 

[Kneele and uritM at he einge.] 
Shall ever share my heart. 
If one enjoys my tenderneM. - . . 
The other ia my joy. 
Pshawl that's flat. It is not that. ... I 
need an ontitheflia: — 

If one be my miattMs, 
The other . . . 
There! I have it. . . . 

The other shall be my slave. 
Well done. Master Figaro. 

[Writea and tinge.] 
GeDeroua wine and idleneas 
ShaU ever share my heart. 
11 one be my mistreaa. 
The other shall be my dave, 
The other shall be my alave, 
The other shall be my slave) 
There, how is that? When we have the 
accompaniments, we shall see now, gentle' 
men of the cabal, if I know what I am 
talking about. [ff< perceioef (A* Coomt.J 
1 have seen that priest somewhere. 

[He riset.] 
Count [aeide]. I am sure I know this fd- 

FiOAHO. No, he's no priest. His proud 
and noble bearing . . . 

CouHT. That grotesque figure . . . 

FiQAHo. I was right. Count Almaviva. 

Count. I think this rascal must b« 
Figaro. 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



FiOABO. The veiy s&me, mj' lord. 
Count. You ki^ve! If you uy one 

FiQARO. Yes, I reoogniie you; the some 
familiar kindnesa with which you hAve al- 
wa3^ honored me. 

Count. I did not reoogniie you at all. 
You were bo tall and etout . . . 

FisABO. What would you have, my 
Vtrd? 't is hard times. 

Count. Poor fellowl what are you doing 
in Seville? Not long since I recommended 
you to a poHitioD in the government. 

FiOARO. I received my appointment, my 
lord, and my gratitude . . . 

Count. Call me Lindor. Don't you Bee, 
by my dieguiBe, that I wish to be un- 
known? 

FioAHO. I will leave you. 

Count. On the contrary. I await the 
iBBue of a certain affair, and two men chat- 
ting together are teaa niapect than one 
pacing back and forth. Let us appear to be 
chatting. Now, this position. 

FiQAHO. The minister, having considered 
your excellency's recommendation, forth- 
with appointed me apothecary's boy. 

Count. In the anny hospitals? 

FiOABO. No, indeed; in the Andalusian 
studs. 

Count [Ufughini)]. Truly, a fine beginningi 

FioARO. The position was not a bad one; 
for, having the dressing and the drugs in 
my charge, I oft«n sold the men the beat 
of horse medicines . . . 

Count. Which killed the king's loyal 
mibjects? 

FioABo. Rat hat There is no universal 
rranedy which has not failed sometimea to 
cure Galicians, Catalans, or Auvergaats. 

Count. Why, then, did you reeign it? 

FiOABO. Re^gn it! Faith, I was re- 
moved. Some one maligned me to the 
powers. "Envy with crooked fingers, with 
visage pale and livid." 

Count. For pity's sake, my friend! Do 
you also make verses? I saw you scratch- 
ing away there on your knee, and singing 
this very morning. 

PiQABO. That is really the cause of my 
misfortune, your excellency. When they 
nported to the mintater that I was mak- 



ing, if I may so, some very fair garlands of 
verses to Cloris, that I was sending riddles 
to the journals, that madrigals of my com- 
position were the fashion, — in short, when 
he found out that I was everywhere in 
print, — he took the matter tiagically, and 
had me dismissed the service, on the pre- 
text that a love of letters is quite inoonv 
patibte with the spirit of businees. 

Count. Powerfully reasonedl And you 
failed to represent to him . . . 

FiQAEO. I thought myself only too 
happy to be forgotten; for I am persuaded 
that a grandee does us good enough when 
he does us no harm. 

Count. You do not tell the whole story. 
I remember that in my service you were 
something of a rascal. 

Figaro. Good HeavensI my lord, you 
would have a poor fellow absolutely fault- 

Count. lAty, dissolute . . . 

FiOABO. In comparison with the virtun 
demanded of a domestic, does 3^ur excel- 
lency know of many masters worthy irf 
being valete? 

Count [Umghmg]. Not so bad. And you 
retired to this city? 

FioAso. No, not immediately. 

Count [slopping him]. One moment . . . 
I thought 'twas she. . . . Keep on talk- 
ing, I can hear you well enough. 

FioARo. On my return to Madrid, I 
tried my literary talents again; and the 
theater seemed to me a field of honor . . . 
, CotiKx. Abl God help you tbwel 
' 'FiOABO [tekile he replies, the Couira 
gazes oUeTiiiiiely in the direeticn of the blind]. 
Truly I know not why I had not the greats 
est success; for I had filled the pit with the 
moet excellent workers, with hands like 
paddles; I had forbidden glovea, canes, and 
everything else which produces only dull 
applause, and, on my honor, before the 
piece was played, the oaI6 seemed to be 
perfectly well-disposed toward us. But the 
efforts of the cabal . . . 

Count. Ahl the cabslt The last refuge 
of our fallen author. 

Figaro. I may say that as well as an- 
other; why not? T^ey hissed me, but if I 
oould ever get them together again . . . 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



Count. You would take your revenge by 
boring them to death. 

FlOARO. Aht how I lay it up ugaiiwt 
ttteml Zoundflt 

CkiuMT. You Bwearl Do you know that 
in the courts you have only twenty-tour 
houia in which to curse your judges? 

FioARO. You have twenty-four years in 
the theater; life is only too abort to exhaust 
such resentmetit. 

Count. Your merry anger delights me. 
But jrou have not told me what caused you 
to l^ve Madrid. 

FiOABO. My good angel, your exoel- 
lenoy, since I am happy enough to find my 
old master. Recognizing that, at Madrid, 
the republic of letters is the republic of 
wolves, continually at each others' throats, 
and that, delivered up to the contempt to 
which this ridiculous obstinacy leads them, 
all the insects, gnats, mosquitoes and critics, 
all the envious, journatisto, booksellers, 
censors, and, in fact, everything able to 
oling to the hide of the unhappy man of 
letters, succeeded in lacerating and suck- 
ing the Uttle substance left to theu; worn 
out with writing, weaiy of myself, dis- 
iiusted with others, overwhelmed with 
rflebts, and innocent of cash; finaj ^jy mn. 
>qx]nCfid.that the tBTi[rihlH reve nue from my 
,. razor JBjjreferable to the empty honors of 
' ..Qie pen, I left Madrid, uiy b&ggage alung 
upon my shoulder, philosophically wander- 
ing through the two Castiles, la Mancha, 
Estremadura, Sierra Morena, and Anda- 
lusia; welcomed in one town, imprisoned 
in the next, and everywhere superior to 
events; praised by some, blamed by others, 
making the best of good weather and en- 
during the bad; mocking the foolish and 
braving the wicked; laughing in my misery 
and shaving all; you see me finally estab- 
lished in Seville and ready to serve your 
excellency in anything you may be pleased 
to order. 

Count. Who, then, has endowed you 

with so gay a philosophy? 

^ FiOAso. Ckintinual misfortune. {. ^l-. 

y ways hastgp. to laugh at everythinglorfeaE 

that Tm^ be obliged to weep. What are 

you staring &t ovw there? 

Count. Let us hide. 



FioAso. Why? 

Count. Come, you blockhead! You will 
be my destruction, ^heu conceal Oiem- 

[The Uirtd in Oie firgt ttory opens, and 
Babtholo and Robins appear at the 
window.] 

RosiNE. What a pleasure it is to breathe 
the fresh airl Tlus bhud is so rarely 
opened . . ■ 

Bartbolo. What is that paper? 

RoBiNK. These are a few couplets from 
TheUedf^^leOaulion, which my ainging ' 
master gave me yesterday. 

Babtholo. What is this UsdetK Prt- 
eaulionT 

Robins. 'T is a new comedy. 

Babtholo. Some new play! Some new 
sort of folly I 

RoBiNB. I know nothing about it. 

Babtholo. Well, the journals and the 
authorities will avenge us. Barbarous 
age.. . ! 

RosiNB. You are always critidiing our 
poor century. 

Babtholo. Pardon the liberty that I 
take I What has it produced that we should 
praise it? Follies of all sorts; Uberty of 
thought, gravitation, electricity, religious 
toleration, inoculation, quinine, the en- 
cydoptedia, and plays . . . 

HoeiNE [at the paper drops from her 
hand and fi^ into the ttreet]- Ohlmysongl 
My song dropped from my hand as I was 
listening to you. . . . Run, run, sir, — my 
song — it will be lostl 

Babtholo. Confound itl When you 
had it why did you not hold it? 

ILeavet Ihe bakonj/.] 

Koenm \glaneee about the room and tig- 
naU to the Count in the ttreet]. Shi [The 
Count appears.] Fiak it up quickly, make 
your escape. [The Count seixes the paper 
and T^ealt to hie kiding-place.] 

Babtholo [appears in the street and 
searchee for the ttrnf). Where is it? I can- 
not find it. 

RosiNB. Under the balcony, at the foot 
of the wall. 

Babtholo. You have sent me upon a 
fine emnd. Has any one passed by? 



334 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



RosiNE. I have seen ao one. 

Bartholo [onde]. Andl, whoh&Tebeen 

so simple u bo search . . . Bartholo, my 

friend, you are indeed a simpleton. This 

should tench you never to open the blinds. 

[He reinUra Uu house.] 

RofiiNB [in Ote balcony]. My excuse lies 
in my unhappineas; alone, ill, sjtd a butt for 
the persecutions of an odious msn, is it a 
crime to try to escape the bonds of slavery? 

Baktholo [appearing in the balconjf]. Go 

in, young lady ; it is my fault that you have 

lost your song; but this misfortune will 

nevedr overtake you °ji"'"; ' "■*"•'>■ ■- 

|^«/u«V locks the blind.]. 

Count. Now toltr-thoy -bsve gone in, 
let UB examine this song, in which a mystery 
v,^urely lies hidden. Ah, it is a note! 
yj FiOABO. Bfi asked what Tke_ UadeasPr^ 
eovtion was! 

COlJNTTwadinff exdteitty]. "Your devo- 
tion exoitee my curiosity. As soon as my 
guardian has gone out, sing carelmfily to 
the well-known air of these couplets, a few 
words which shall tell me the name, the 
rank, and the intentions of the gentleman 
who appears so deeperat«Iy attached to t^ 
unfortunat« Roeine." 

FiOABO [tntiloftny Robins's voU>e]. My 
song, I have lost my song; run, quickly. 
{Laughing.] Eal hal Oh! these women! 
Would you t«ach cunning to the moat un- 
sophisticated? Just shut her up. 

Count. My dear Rosinel 

FiOAKO. My lord, I am at no mote 
trouble for the motivee for your mas- 
querade; you are mulrine love here in pro- 
spective. 

Count. I see that you know how the 
land lies; but if you chatter . . . 

FiQABo. I, chatt«r1 To reassure you I 
shall employ none of the high-sounding 
phrases of honor and devotion which ate 
continually abused. I have only one word 
to say; my interest will answer for my 
loyalty; wei^ everything in that balance, 
and . . . 

Count. Very well! Know, then, that 
six months ago I met, by chance, in the 
Pnido, a young lady of such beauty . . . 
Well, you have just seen her. I have sought 
ber in vain throu|}i all Madrid. Itwasonly 



a few days ago that I discovered that ba 
name is Rosine, that she is of noble blood, 
an orphan, and married to an old physician 
of that city, one Bartholo. 

FiOABO. A fine bird, by my faith! — 
and a hard one to root outl But who told 
you that she is the doctor's wife? 

Count. Everybody. 

FiQABO. That is a story invented by him 
on his arrival from Madrid, to give the slqi 
to the gallants, and put them off the scent. 
She is still only his ward, but soon . . . 

Count [poMtorwidy], Neverl Ah! what 
newal I was resolved to dare everythii^ 
to exprem my disappointment, and now I 
findberfree! There's notamomenttoloae; 
I must win her love, and anatoh her from 
the unworthy husband to whom she is 
destined. Do you know her guardian? 

FiOASO. As well as my mother. 

Count. What sort of man is he? 

Figaro [tiivacioudj/]. He is a fine big, 
short, young old man, dapple gray, crafty, 
well-shaven, bltui, peeping and plying, 
grumbling and moaning, all at onoe. 

CouirT [impaHeniiy]. Ahl I have sean 
him. And his character? 

FlOARo. Brutal, avaricious, and ab- 
surdly jealous of his ward, who hates him 
with a deadly hatred. 

Count. So his power to please is . . . 

FiOABO. Zero. 

Count. So much the better! His 
honesty? 

FioABO. He is quit« honest enough to 
escape hanging. 

Count. So much the better! To punish 
a rascal while at the same moment I find 
my happiness . . . 

FioARO. Is to do a public and private 
good; really, a masterpieoe of morality, my 
lord! 

Count. You say that fear of the gal- 
lants makes him keep his doors closed upon 
her? 

FiOABO. Upon every one if he could atop 
up the cracks in it. . . . 

Count. The devil! 3o much the woraal 
Do you happen to have access to his house? 

FiGABO. Have II The house that I oo- 
cupy belongs to the doctor, who lodgee me 
there grati*. 



ElilizedbvGoOQlc 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



335 



COOKT. Halhal 

FiGABO. Yee.indeedl And I, in my grati- 
tude, promiae him t«n gold pbtolee a year 
ilao gratit. 

CovsT [impaiimUy]. YimareluBt«iuuitT 

FiQABO. Much more; hia b&ri>er, hia 
Burgeon, his apotheoary; there is not a 
stroke of the raior, the lancet, or tlie syringe 
in hia house which does not proceed from 
the hand of your humble servant. 

Count [enUrraeing kim]. Ah, f^garo, my 
friend! you shall be my savior and my 
guardiaa angel. 

FioAso. Theplaguet How soon has my 
usefulness shortened the distance between 
usl Talk to me of men with a passion! 

Count. Fortu(utt« Figarol You shall 
see my Roeinel you shall see her! Can you 
imagine your good fortune? 

FioABO. That's the usual lover's talkl 
I do not adore her. I wiah that you oould 
take my place. 

CoDNT. Ah, if we oould only dodge these 
vigilant fellows! 

FiOABO. That's what I was tttinldng of. 

Count. For but a single day. 

FioAKO. By setting the servants to look 
out for their own intereata, we shall prevent 
tbem from interfering with the intereata of 
others. 

CoPMT. DoubtlesB. Well? 

FlQJkBO [refiectinfi]. Ishallrackmybraina 
to see wheUier materia fn«d*ea will not 
furnish some innocent means . . . 

Count. Scoundrel! 

FiQABO. Am I going to hurt themT They 
all need my ministrations. It is only a 
queetion of how to treat them all at once. 

Count. But this doctor may grow sus- 
pidousT 

FiOABO. We ah^ have to set to work si 
quickly that he will have no time to aue 
pect. I have an idea. The regiment of the 
bmr-apparent has just arrived in the city. 

Count. The colonel ia one of my friends. 

FioABo. Good. Qo to the doctor's in a 
trooper's uniform with your billet; he will be 
obliged to lodge you; and I will look after 
the test. 

Count. Excellent! 

Figaro. It would be still better if you 
appeared a trifle intoxicated . . . 



Count. Why? 

Fiaaxo. And treat him a bit cavalierly, 
lor you have an eicellent excuse for b^ng 
unreasonable. 

Count. Again I ask you why? 

FiOABO. So that he will take no offense, 
and think you more in a hurry to go to bed 
than carry on intrigues in his house. 

Count. Beautifully planned! But why 
do you not figure in it? 

FioAKo. I, indeed! We shall be fortu- 
nate enough if he does not recognise you 
whom be has never seen. And how should 
I introduce you afterward? 

Count. You are right, 

Figaro. It is because you may not be 
able to act this difficult part. Cavalier 
. . . the worse for wine . . 

Count. You are lau^ting at me. [/mt- 
latmu the tpeeA of a drunkard.] Is this Urn 
bouse of Doctor Bartholo, my friend? 

Figaro. Truly, not bad, only a little 
more unsteady in the le^. [In a more 
drunken ooiee.] Is this the house of Doctor 
Bartholo . . . 

Count. Shame upon you I 'Tis a low 
and vulgar drunkennees. 

Figaro. A good one and a pteasant one. 

Count. The door opens. 

FiOABO. Our man: let us make off until 
he ia gone. [They hide.] 

BartboIiO [coming out, speaking to eome 
one in the hotue], I shall return instantly, 
let no one enter the house. How foolish I 
was to oome down. As soon aa she asked 
me, I should have suspected. . . . Why is 
Basile so lato? He waa to arrange every- 
thing for my secret lAarriage to-morrow: 
and no news! Let ua go and find out what 
may have delayed faim. [Exit.] 

Count. WhatdidlhearT To-morrowhe 
marries Roeine secretly! 

FioARO. My lord, the difficulties in ib» 
way of BuccesB only add to the necessity of 
the undertaking. 

Count. What sort of a man is thii 
Batile who is meddling with this mar- 
riage? 

Figaro. A poor devil who teaches music 
to the doctor's word, infatuated with his 
art, a bit of a rascal, always needy, on his 
knees before a oown-pieoe, who, in shu^ 



33« 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



vill be veiy easy to mui&ge, my lord . . 
lObmeing at the Utnd.] There she lel there 

CODUT. Whof 

FiOARO. Behind the blind, — there she 
iai there she i«! Don't look! Don't lookl 

CocKT. Why? 

FiGABO. Didahenot write: "Sing care- 
lenly" 7 — that ia to Bay, aing ... as if 
you were singing . . . only for the sake of 
singing. OhI there she is! there she isl 

Count. Since I have begun to interest 
ber without being known to her, I shall 
keep the name of Lindor which I have as- 
■umed; my triumph will have a greater 
chann. [ff e ut^oUa lAe pap«r uAteA Robimx 
has (Aroun out of the window.] But how 
shall I aing to this music. I cannot niake 

Figaro. Every verse that occura to you, 
my lord, will be excellent : in love, the heart 
assiste the productions of the mind . . . 
And take my guitar. 

Count. What shall I do with it? I play 
BO badly! 

FioARO. Can a man like you be ignorant 
of anything? With the back of the hand: 
turn, turn turn. ... To sing without a 
guitar in Sevillel You would soon be re- 
cogniced; faith, you would soon be hunted 

[FiOABO ttandt doae (a tht unll 
under tht haUony.] 
Count [exnging, waOnng bad and forth, 
and aceompanjfin{) himtdf on the guHar]. 
Thou shalt know my name, nnoe to mmmaDd 

Is thins; 
Unknown to thee, I dared to show my adora- 
tkm: 

noui^t but de>- 

)r'a will ia mine. 
FioARO [in a lotB voiet]. Fine, upon my 
wordi Courage, my lordl 

lindor am I, of common birth and nation: 

A limple atudent's life !■ all I etaim; 

Alaal why bear I Dot some knisht'i eialted 

To offer you bis brilliant rank and stationT 

FiQAso. Deuco tako itl I, who pique 
mynlf on mr veneo, oould do no b >tt«r. 



Comrr. 
Here, with a tender voice will I 
My hopeleaa love proclaim, each mominf 

My pleuurea ahall be bounded by thy n^t; 
Each morning here with tender notes aud long 
Will I my hopeless love of thee proclaim I 
To Ke thee ■ . . thia ahall be my joy, my 

And roayeet thou pleaaure Snd to list my 

FiQARO. Ohimywordtthislastonet . . . 
[Approaehes hie maaUr and Hatas 
Ilie hem of hit eloak.] 
ConwT. Figaro I 
FiQARo. Your excellency? 
Count. Do you think she heard me? 
RosiNi! [leiAin ainffiTtg:] — 
AH tella me now of Liudor'a charms, 
Whtxn I must love with cooatancy . . . 
[The]/ hear the vrindtne doetd funsily.\ 
FiGABO. Now, do you think that she 
heard you? 

Count. She has closed her window; 

some one has apparently entered the room. 

FioARO. Aht poor little thing! how she 

trembles as she sings! She is caught, my 

lord. 

CotJNT. She avails herself of the very 
means which she pointed out to me: ^ 
All tdls me DOW of Lindor'a charm. 
What KTBceT what a pret^ wit. 
, . FisABO. What eunning! what lovet 
' JDoDNT. That ia enou^! I am Roeine'a 

FioARO. You foi^t, my lord, that she 
fiaoiiot hear ysu now. 

Count. Master Figaro! I have but one 
word to Bay; she will be my wife, and if you 
further my plan by refusing to disclose my 
name to her . . . you und^atand me, you 

FioARo. I agree. Come, Figaro, your 
fortune is made, my boy. 

Count. Let us retire, for feat of exciting 
euspieion. 

FiQARO [vioacxoady]. I shall enter this 
house, wh(n« by means of my art, with a 
eiu|Je stroke of my wand, I ahall put vigi- 
lance to sleep, awake love, banish jealous?, 
mislead intrigue, and overcome all ob- 
stacles. You, my lord, my house, a aoldier'a 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



337 



uniform, the billet, and gold in your 
pockets. 

CoDNT. Gold for whom? 

FiaABo{impatienii]/]. Gold, for HeAven's 
sake, Kold[ it ia the ainewa of intrigue! 

CoTTKT, Calm yourself, Figaro, 1 Bfaall 
bring plenty of it. 

PiOARO igmng off]. I ehall rejoin you in 
A short time. 

Count. Fig&rot 

FiQARO. What IB it? 

Count. Your guitar? 

FiQAKO. I have forgotten my guitarl 
I am losing my wits! [Exit.] 

Count, And your houae, stupidi 

Figaro [rdumtnjrl- Ahl really, I am 
aatonishedl My ahop ia a few atepe away; 
't ie painted blue, has leaden window 
frames, three cups in the air, an eye in a 
hand, with a motto, ConnUo manvque. 

lExU.] 

ACT II 

[The aparlmenis of Robine. The eate- 
meiU ai tiie rear of the ttage it doted by a 
barred tkuUer.] 

[Enler Robine abrw, a eajuSe in her htmd. 
She takee tome paper and site doom lo 
Ihe table to un-ife.) 

RoeiNE. Marcelline is ill, all the serv- 
ants are busy, and no one sees me writing. 
I know not whether theee walla have eyes 
and ean, or whether my Argus commands 
some evfl genius who is always warning him 
at precisely the wrong moment; but I can- 
not say one word, take one step, that he 
does not immediately guess its purpose. 
... Ahl Lindor! [She aeaU the letter.] Well, 
I must seal my letter, though I know not 
when or how I may deliver it. As I lool^ 
through my blind, I saw him talking for a 
long time to the barber Figaro. The good 
fdlow has sometimes shown some pity for 
me; if I could only speak to him for a 
moment . . . 

[Enter Fioabo.] 
SosiNK [in turpriee]. Ahl Master Fi- 
garo, how glad I am to see youl 
FiOABo. Your health, modame? 



Rosms. Not too good. Master Figaro, ■ 
I am dying of ennut. 

FiQARO. I believe you; only [oola fatten 
upon it. 

RosiNE. With whom were you talking 
BO earnestly down there? I did not hear; 
but . . . 

FiQARO. With a young bachelor, a rela- 
tion of mine, a young man of fine parts, full 
of wit, sentiment, and talent, and gifted, 
with a most attractive counte- 



RoBiNi. OhI moat excellent, I asBure 
3rou1 and his name? . . . 

FiOARO. Lindor. He hsa nothing; but 
had he not left Madrid in such a hurry, he 
might have found some good position there. 

Rosins [Ihoughiiettly]. He will find one. 
Master Figaro, he will find one. Such a 
man as he whose portrait you have painted 
is not bom to remain unknown. 

FioAoo latide]. Very well. [Aloud.] But 
he has one great fault which will always 
stand in the way of his advancement. 

Ro&iNB. A fault, Mast«r Figaro I A 
faultl you are quite sure? 

FiOABO. He is in love. 

Robins. He lain lovet and you call that 
a fault? 

FioARo. In truth, 't is none but in re- 
gard to his poor fortune. 

Rosins. Ahl how unjust isFatel Andhat 
he told you whom he loves? I am curious . . . 

FiQARO. You are the last, madame, to 
whom I should like to entrust such b secret 

RoaiNB [beaeeckingly]. Why, Master 
Figaro? I am discreet; the young man is 
your relation, he intereste me greatly . . . 
teU me, then. 

FiQARO [uiiik a Ay ^nee]. Imagine the 
prettiest little darling, sweet, tender, gen- 
tle-mannered, freah aa the roee, provoking 
one's appetite, with a dainty foot, a ^uie 
agile and alender, plump arms, a fo^ 
mouth, and handal chceksl teethi eyeel . . . 

RoBiNX. Does she live in this city? 

FiOARO. In this quarter of it. 

RoBiNE. On this street, perhaps? 

FioARO. Not two feet away from me. 

RoeiNK. Ah! how charming! . . , f« 
your relation. And this peraon is? . . . 



338 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



* FiQABO. Have I not named her? 

RoBiNK [exeUedly]. It ia the only thing 
that you hftve fotgotteo, Maatar Figaro. 
Tell me, pleaie t«ll me quickly; if any one 
should oome in, I might never know . . . 

FiOARo. Do you really wish to know,' 
madame? Well! this person is . . . your 
guardi&n'a ward. 

RosiNK. Ward? 

Figaro. Doctor Butholo'e: yea, ma- 

RoeiNX [with emotion]. Ah, Mast«r Fi- 
^uol ... I do not believe it, I anure you. 

FioAito. And that ia what he ie himself 
dying to oonvince you of. 

RoBiNX. You make me toemble, Master 

FioABO. Shame, tnmble, indeedl a bad 
plan, madame; when one yields to the fear 
of suffering, one suffers from fear. Besides, 
I have come to rid you of all your watchers 
until to-morrow. 

RofiiNB. If he lovee me, he must prove 
it to me by ranaining absolutely quiet. 

FiQABO. Indeed, madamel May love 
and repose dwell aide by side in the same 
heart? Poor youth is so unfortunate, uowa- 
daya, that it has but this terrible choice, 
love without repoee, or repose without 

ROHiNX [dropping her egttl. Repose 
without love . . . eeenw . . . 

FiGABO. Ahl very languid, indeed. It 
seems, in fact, that love without repose 
cute a much better figure; and, u for my- 
self, if I were a woman . . . 

Rtwnra (in emharraaBmen^. It is quite 
certain that a young lady cannot prevent 
a good roan from esteeming her. 

FioABO. So my relation lovee you to 
distraction. 

ROHNE. But if he should be guilty of 
any imprudence, Master Figaro, he would 
ruin us. 

' FiOABO [onde]. He would ruin iw . . . 
[Aloud.\ If you woulitforbtd him expressly 
in a little note ... a note has a great deal 
<rf power. 

Rosins [ffft>ea him the letter wkick ihe haa 
put wtUen]. I have no time to write this 
over again, but when you give it to him, 
tell him .. . wdl, tell faim . . . [Litteiu.] 



FiaABo. No ooe, madame. 

RoBnm. That all that I do is out of pure 
friendi^p. 

FioABo. That speaks for itodf. Ood-a- 
mercy] Love sets us another paoel 

Rosim;. Only out of pure friendship. 
you understand? All that I fear is, that, 
discouraged by difficultiee . . , 

FiOAito. As if his passion were only a 
wiU-o'-tbe-wisp. Remember, madame, that 
the gust which blows out a light will light a 
braiier, and that, often enough, we are the 
brasier. Speaking of that only, be breathes 
out such a fiame, that he has made me al- 
most delirious with his passion, I who have 
nothing to do with the whole matterl 

RoBiMK. Good Heavenl I hear my 
guardian. If he should find you'bere . . . 
Go out throu^ the music-room, and go 
down as softly as jrou can. 

FiOABO. Be easy about that. [Aiide, 
holding up the letter.] This is worth toon 
than all my observationa. [Exit.] 

RoBiNK laloTte]. I am beside mysdf with 
anxiety until he has left the house . . . 
How I like him, that good Figarol He is a 
very honest fellow, a good relation! Ah* 
There is my tyrant, I must take up my 

[She bhwe out the eaadle, «ib 
dotDtt, and faket up some em- 
broidery.] 

[Enter Babtbolo.] 

Babtholo [in a rage]. Ahl curses upoa 
that villain, that piratical rogue, Fi^ro* 
Zounds! I cannot leave my bouse one mo- 
ment, and be sure when I return . , . 

BaeiNB. What makes you so angry, sir? 

Babtholo. That damned barber who 
just crippled my whole household in a jif^I 
He has given Eveill^ a sleeping powder, Ta 
'^euneese something to make him sneese, 
he has bled Marcelline in the foot; even 
down to my mute; he has put a poultice 
over the eyea of a poor blind beasti Be- 
cause he owes me one hundred crowns, he 
is in hasto to balance his account. Ah! let 
him bring them! And no one in the ante- 
roam! one might enter this apartment aa 
easily as the parade^round. 

RosiNK. And who but yourself. sirT 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



339 



Bartbou>. I would nther \i,v« vinrea- 
BOnable fears than expose myself without 
precautious. There are bold and daring fel- 
lows everywhere . . . Thia very morning, 
did not some one quickly pick up your 
Boug while I was going down to get it? 
OhI I . . . ' 

RoBnni. That is giving importance to 
everything just for the pleasure of it! The 
wind may have carried it ofF, or the first 
passer-by, how do I know? 

Babtholo. The wind, the first passer- 
by! . . . There is no wind, madame, there 
is no first passer-by in the world; it is al- 
ways some one waiting there on purpose to 
pidc up all the papers irtiich any woman 
aCFecte to drop by miatake. 

RoBiME. Afiecta, air? 

Babtbolo. Yes, madame, affects. 

RoBiNE ((uide]. OhI &m wicked old fel- 
low! 

Baktholo. But it will never happen 
again, because I am going bi have this 
blind locked. 

Rosnm. Do better than that; wall up 
all the windows; between a prison and a 
cell there is very little choice. 

Babtholo. As for those which look out 
upon the street, it would not be a bad idea, 
perhaps ... At least, that tuirber has not 
been here? 

RosiNii. Is he also an object of your 
jealousy? 

Babtbolo. Just as much as any other. 

RoBiNu. How civflly you-answer met 

Babtbolo. Ah! IVust in everybody, 
and you will soon have in your house a wife 
to deceive you, good friends to spirit her 
off, and good aervanta to help them do it. 

RofiiNB. What! You will not grant, in- 
deed, that one has principles against the 
seduction of Master Figaro? 

Bartholo. Who the devil knows any- 
Uiing about the peculiarities of women? 
And how many of these high and mighty 
virtues have I seen . . . 

RoBUTE [angrily]. But, eir, if one must 
only be a. man to please us, why is it, then, 
that you are so repulaive t^i me? 

Bastholo Itn anaxement]. Why? . . . 
Why? . . . You do not answer my question 
about that barber? 



RosiNK [proDotef]. Yea, then! Yes, that 
man came into my room, I saw him, I spoke 
to him, I will not conceal from you, even, 
that I found him veiy agreealile, and may 
youdieof veitstion! [ExO.] 

Bahtbou) [iJone]. Ah! the Jews! those 
dogs of servants! Jeunesse! Eveill^t that 
dimmed Eveilli! 
[Enier EvEiLiii, yawning, and hay awaix,\ 

EvBiLii. Aah, aah, ah, ah . . . 

Bartholo. Where were you, you con- 
founded idiot, when that barber entered 
the bouse? 

EvxiLiJ. Sir, I was ... ah, aah, ah . . . 

Babtbolo. Hatching out some trick, 
no doubt? And you did not see him? 

EtxillA. Certainly I saw him, because 
he found me very ill, as he said ; and it must 
have been very true, because I commenced 
to have pains in all my limbs, just bearing 
him talk . . . ah, ah, aah ... 

Baktholo (mimtu Aim). Just hearing 
him talk . . . Where is that good-for-noth- 
ing Jeunesse? To drug this little fellow 
without my preecriptioni There is.somt, 
rascality in it. 

[EiOa- Jeitnxssb lite an old man, Uaninfi 
upon a ctme; he «n«ezM ttverol timet.} 

'EvYiiuA [stUl yavming]. Jeuuesee! 

Bartholo. You will sneeze Sunday. 

Jbunkbsb. That's more than fifty . . 
fifty times , , . in a minute. [Sn«ezes.\ I am 
exhausted. 

Babtbolo. I ask you twice if any one 
entered Rosine's apartment, and you tell 
me only that that barber . . . 

EveillA [gftU yawning]. Is Master Fi- 
garo any one? aah, ah . . . 

Babtbolo. I would wager that the sly 
fellow has an understanding with him. 

Eveill£ [ineeping /ooIuUy]. I! ... I, 
have an understanding! . . . 

Jetinessb [tneeiing]. But sir, is there 
any justice ... is there any justice? 

Babtbolo. Juaticel Justice for you, 
you wretchesi I am your master, who is 
always ri^t. 

Jbunxsbb [«ne«nrvl> But, now, when a 
thing is true . . . 

BartboIiO. When aiding is true. Ifldo 



340 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



not wish it to be true, I claim that it is not 
true. If you would only allow all these 
rascals to be right, you would soon see 
what would become of authority. 

JsTTNBesE [tneetins]. You may as well 
give me my dismissal. It's a terrible posi- 
tion and a devilish row all the time. 

EvEiLiJ [teeeping], A poor respectable 
fellow is treated like a wretch. 

Babtbolo. Out with you, you poor re- 
spectable fellow! [Mimics them.] T'chewl 
t'cbewl One gneeiee and the other yawns 
in my faoe. 

Jeunbssb. Ah, sir! I swear that without 
Miss Rosine there would be no way of get- 
ting on in the house. [Exit tneenn{f.] 

Babtbolo. In what a plight has Figaro 
left them all I See what's the matter; the 
villain wants to pay me my hundred crowns 
without opening his purse, 

[ErUer Don Baiius. Fisaro, hidden in the 



Babtbolo. Ah, Don Baiilsl have you 
com^ to give Rosine her music-leaaon? 
Baeilb. That is the least part of my 

Bartholo. I went to see you without 
finding you at home. 

Baziix. Ihadgoneout on your business. 
I have learned some sony news. 

Barthoi.0. For yourseWT 

Bazilb. No, for you. Count Almaviva 
is in this city. 

Babthoix*. Speak lower. The one who 
had Boeine sought for throughout the 
whole city of Madrid? 

Baiils. He is lodging in a house on the 
Plasa, and comes out every day in disguise. 

Bartholo. He has designs upon me, 
that's cerUin. WhatshallldoT 

Bazilx. If he were a private citizen, we 
might soon get him out of the way. 

Babtbolo. Yes, we might ambush him 
in the evening, with sword and buckler . . . 

Babile. Bont-Deu»! Compromise our- 
selvesl To start a nasty affair, that is fine, 
and meanwhile slander him to the iitmoat 
ameidol 

Babtbolo. That is a aingiiliir way of 
getting rid of a man. 



Bazile. Slander, sirT You hardly know 
what you despise. I have seen the beet of 
men nearly crushed under it. Believe me 
that there is no vulgar wickedness, no hot- 
TOT, no absurd story, that one cannot fasten 
upon the idle residents of a great city if he 
go about it in the right way, and we have 
some pretty skillful fellows herel At first, 
a slight rumor, skimming the ground like 
the swallow before the storm, pumietimo, 
it murmurs, and twists and leaves behind 
it its poisonous trail. So-and-So hears it 
and piano piano aUps it gracefully into your 
ear. The evil is done, it sprouts, crawls, 
travels on, and rii^orzondo from mouth to 
mouth, it goes on at the deuce of a pace; 
then, suddenly, I know not how, you se^ 
slander arising, hissing, swelling, and visi- 
bly growing, tt rushes forward, extends its 
flight, whirls, envelops, tears, bursts, and 
thunders, and becomes, thank Heaven, a 
general cry, a public erttcendo, a universal 
chorus of hate and denunciation. Who the 
deuoe could withstand it? 

Babtbolo. What old wives' tale are you 
telling me? And what connection nuiy this 
piaruMTeaeendo have with my situation? 

Bazilb. Whatl — what connection! 
What one does everywhere to put his 
enemy out of the way, must now be done to 
prevent yours from further approach. 

Babtbolo. Approach? I intend to 
many Rosine before she knows that this 
count even ezigts. 

Bazhk. In that case, you have not a 
moment to lose, 

Babtholo. Why don't you hasten, 
BasileT I entrusted all the details of this 
affair to you, 

Bazilx. Yes, but you skimped on the 
expenses; and in the harmony of good order, 
an unequal marriage, a wicked judgment, 
and evident injustice are discords that we 
must always watch for and prevent, by the 
perfect accord of gold. 

Babtbolo \ffinng him m<mey\. Well, we 
shall have to give in to you; but to cmi- 

Bazile. That's what I call talking. It 
will be all over to-morrow; it is for you to 
prevent any one from waroiag your ward 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



341 



Baktbolo. Tniat to me. Are you com- 
ing this evening? 

Bazilb. Do not count upon me. Your 
mATTUge alone wiU keep me busy the whole 
d>y; do not count upon me. 

Babtholo [aeeompanying him to the 
dom]. Your serrant. 

Baule. No ceremony, doctor. 

BiXTBoia. No, indeed. I wi^ to close 
the street door after you. [ExeuiU.] 

FiOARO [aioTie, iMuinn from the cabinet]. 
Oh! a good precaution, indeedl Close your 
street door, then, and I shall open it again 
for the count as I go out. What a great 
rogue is that Baxilel Luckily he is even 
more foolish than rascally. One needs sta- 
tion, family, name, rank, and, in short, the 
ngfiid of the world, to make &ny sensation 
in the world as a slanderer. But a Basils! 
His lies would never pass current. 
[Enier Rosnn, {n hatte.] 

RoBUfz. What! You are still thne. 
Master Figaro? 

Figaro. Luckily for you, miss. Your 
guardian and your singjng-master, thinking 
that they were here alone, have spoken very 

RosiNB. And you listened to tbem. 
Master Figaro? Do you know that that is 
very wrong? 

FiaABO. To listen? That is the very best 
way to hear weU, Know, then, that your 
guardian is preparing to wed you to-mor- 

Rosntz. Ah I great Heaven! 

FioARo. Pear aotbing; we diall give him 
so much to do that he wUl have no time to 
think of that. 

RosiNB. He is returning; go out by the 
little staircase. You terrify me. 

[Exit FiOABO.] 
[Enler Babtholo.] 

Rosins. You were here with some one, 
sir? 

Babtholo. Don Bazile, whom I have 
just accompanied to the door, and with 
good reason. You would have prderred 
that it was Master Figaro? 

RosiNB. I assure you, it's all the same 



Baktholo. I should like to know what 
that barber was so anxious to tell you. 

RoBiNx. Must we talk seriously? He 
gave me an account of Marcelline's condi- 
tion, and, so he says, she is none too well. 

Bartholo. Give you an account? I will 
wager that he was commissioned to hand 
you some letter. 

RoBiNE. And from whom, if you please? 

Basthou). Oh,fromwhom! f>omsome 
oae whom women never name. How should 
I know? Perhaps the answer to the paper 
that dropped from the window. 

RoeiMX [aside]. He is perfectly right, 
to be sure. [Alimd.] It would serv^'-ja^ 
right if it was. ^ 

Bartholo [examining Robimii's hand]. 
That is it. You have been writing. 

RoeiNE [in emboTTastment]. You will bo 
skillfut indeed to malce me acknowledge it. 

Bartholo [taking her right hanH. IT 
Notatall! But your Snger is stained with 
ink. . . . What do you make of that, you 
sly miss? 

RoBiNii. What a cursed man! 

Bajctholo [itiH luMing her hand]. A 
woman always thinks that she is safe when 
she is alone. 

BoeiNB. Ahl No doubt. ... A fine 
proof! . . . Stop, sir, you are twisting my 
arms. I burned myself with the candle, and 
I have always been told that you must im< 
mediately dip it in ink; that is what I did. 

Bartholo. That is what you did? Let 
us see if the second witness will corroborate 
the deposition of the first. I am certain that 
there were six sheets in this package of 
paper, for I have counted them every morn- 
ing BH well se to-day. 

RoHiNE [aride]. Oh! what a fool! . . . 

Bartboix) [counting]. Three, four, 
five! ... 

RosiNK. The sixth . . . 

Bartholo. I see very dearly that there 
b no sixth. 

RosiNK [dropping her eye*). The sixth? 
I used it to make a bag for some bon-bcns 
which I sent to little Mistreas Figaro. 

Bartholo, Little Mistreas Figaro? And 
the pen, which was brand-new, how did 
that beoome black? Was it in writing her 
addiees? 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



34« 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



RoBiitE. This man has a genius for 
jealousy I . . . [Alottd.] I used it to sketch 
a faded flower on the jacket which I am 
embroidering. 

Bartholo. How edifying that isl In 
order to be believed, my child, you should 
/ not blushwhen concealing the truth so fast; 
but you do not know that yet. 

RoaiNE. Whati Who would not blush, 
sir, to see such damaging deductions drawn 
from the most innocent circumstanoes? 

Bartholo. Certainly I am wrong; to 
bum one's finger, dip it in the ink, to make 
bon-bon bagB for Mistress Figaro, and to 
sketch an embroidery deeiga! What more 
innocenti But how many ties told to con- 
ceal a single fact! / am aiotte, I am not db- 
ttrved, I may lie as 1 pleaee: but the end of 
her finger is still black, the pen is soiled, 
and the paper is missingt Of course, we 
could not think of everything. Indeed, my 
young lady, when I go out into the city, a 
good double lock shall answer for you. 

CoDNT [en&rinj; in a eavalry imiform, 
iagning iTUoxioaium and tinging:] 

Let 'a vake her, etc. 
Babtholo. What does this fellow wish 
of Its? A soldierl Go into your room, 
young lady. 

COOTTT [nnirtnpl. 

Let's wake her, 
[Adamcing toviard Robinb.] Which of you 
two ladies is named Doctor BalordoT [Aside 
'o RofiiNE.] I am Lindor. 

Bartholo. Bartholo 1 

RosmB. He speaks of Lindor. 

CoHNT. Balordo, Barque-ft-l'sau, I don't 
eare which, only I must know which of the 
two. . . . [To Rosinb; showing her a paper.] 
Take this letter. 

Bartholo. WhichI You see very well 
that it is I! Which, foreoothl Retire to 
your room, Rosine, this man seems to be 
drunk! 

RoeiNB. But you are alone, sir. A 
woman sometimes inspires a little respect. 

Bartholo. OS with you; I am not 
timid. [Exit Robtne.] 

Count. OhI I recognised you immedi- 
ately by your description. 



Bartholo [to the Codnt, wAo u foldins 
up the letter]. What are you hiding in your 
pffcketT 

Count. I am hiding this in my pocket 
BO that you will not know what it is. 

Babtholo. My description! Those fel- 
lows are forever believing that they art 
talJdDg to soldiers! 

Count. Do you think that it is such a 
hard matter to describe you? 
The noddii^ head, the bald and polished 

The wall-eyed, blear, and savage-Bquinting 

frown, 
The manners like a fierce Algonquin chief. 
The heavy figure, warped beyond beliri, 
The crooked shoulder and swarthy skin. 
As black as any Moorish child of sin. 
The nose, moreover, like a baldaquin, 
The bent and twisted leg, forever flexed. 
The hangman's voice, confused with words 

perplexed. 
And all hie vicious appetites declare 
This man 's the peaii of doctors, rich and 
rare! 

Bartholo. What do you mean? Have 
you come here to insult me? Clear out this 
moment! 

Count. Clear out! Ah, pshaw I That's 
a churlish speech. Can you read, doctor 
. . . Barfoe-U'eau? 

Bartholo, Another silly question. 

Count. OhI don't let that worry you; 
for I, who am at least aa much of a doctw 
as yourself . . . 

Bartholo. What is that? 

Count. Am I not horse-doctor to the 
regiment? That is why they have lodged 
me with a colleague. 

Bartholo. He dares to compare a 
farrier! . . . 

Count. No, doctor, I will not proclaim 
That this our art can put to shame 
Old Hippocrates and his crew; 
Your Imowledge, comrade, it is true, 
Hath a success of wider sway, i 

The ill it may not bear away, 
Yet bear off patients not a few. 
Do I not speak you fairly? 

Bartholo. It becomes you well, you 
ignorant manipulator, M to revile the &nrt, 
thegreateel, and the most uaeful of iba arts) 



CtOoi^Ic 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



343 



Count. Useful, indeed, (or those who 
pnctioe it. 

Bahtholo. An art honorii^ the 
which shines upon its succesaeBl 

Count. And whose blunders the earth 
makes hsste to cover. 

Baxtboix*. I see very well, you saucy 
fellow, that you are oidy accustomed to 
talk to horses. 

Count. Talk to horses! Ah, doctor! a 
poor wit fof a witty doctor. ... Is it not 
DotorioUB that the farrier always cures his 
patients without speaking to them, though, 
on the contrary, the physician talks much 

BartholiO. Without curing them, you 

Count. You have said so. 

BabthoiiO. Who the devil sends us this 
cursed drunkard? 

Count. My dear fellow, I think that you 
are firing epigrams at me! 

Babtholo. Well, what would you have? 
what do you want? 

Count \feignin{) a rage]. Well, then! 
What do I want? Don't you eee7 

Rosins [entering in hatU], Master sol- 
dier, do not get aogry, I beg youl [To 
Babtholo.] Speak to him gently, sir: an 
unreasonable man . . . 

Coitnt. You are right; he ii unreason- 
able; but toe are reasonable! I, polite, you, 
pretty . . . that's enough. To tell the 
truth, I wish to ha^'e dealings with no one 
in this house but you. 

Robins. What can I do to serve you. 

Count. A mere trifle, my child. If there 
is any obscurity in my words , . . 

ROBIME. I shall understand their mean- 
ing. 

Count [gkouring her the letter]. Now, con- 
fine yourself to the letter, to tiie letter. It 
is only this . . . that you give me a bed to- 
night. 

Babtholo. Nothing but that? 

Count. No more. Read the note which 
our quartennaster has written you. 

Babthclo. LetuBsee. [TheCoovrhidet 
the letter and gwe« Mm another paper. Bar- 
TBOLO reads.) " Doctor Bartholo will re- 
eeive, feed, lodge, and bed ..." 



Count [kaning ooer hie ahovlder]. Bed! 

Bartholo. " For one night only, one 
Lindor called the Scholar, trooper in the 
r^ment." 

RoBiNE. It is he, it is he! 

Babtholo [quidUy to Rosine]. What is 
that? 

Count. Welt, am I wrong now. Doctor 
Bartholo? 

Bastbolo. One might say that this man 
takes e. malicious pleasure in belaboring me 
in every possible way. To the devil with 
your Barbaro, Barbe-&-reaul and tell your 
impertinent quartermaater that since my 
journey to Madrid I am exempt from lodg- 
ing soldiers. 

Count Ia*ide]. OHeavenI Whatavexa- 
tiouB misfortune! 

Babtholo. Ha! ha! my friend, that puti 
you out a little? Clear out this very uo- 

Count [(wide). I nearly betrayed myself . 
[illowf.] Be off! If you are exempt from 
men of war, you are not eicempt from polite- 
nessl Decamp! Show me your exemption 
warrant; although I cannot read, I shall 

Babtholo, What has that to do witi 
it? It is in this bureau ... 

Count [as he approaches U taya w&hoiu 
monng]. Ah! my fair Rosine! 

RoBiNE. What, Lindor, is it you? 

Count. At all events, take this letter. 

Rosine. Take care, he has his eyes upon 
us. 

Count. Take out your handkerchief, 
I will drop the letter. [He approachea' 

Babtholo. Gently, gently, sir solditf 
I do not like my wife looked at so closelj 

Count, Is she your wife? 

Bartholo. And what then? 

Count. I took you for her grandfather, 
paternal, maternal, eternal. There are at 
least three generations between her ant 
yourself. 

Bartholo [reading from a pardiment], 
"In consideration of good and faithful 
testimony proffered us . . ." 

CoutTT [striking the parchments from hit 
hand to the floor]. Do I need this string of 
words? 

Babtholo. You know very well, scj 



344 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



dier, that if I coll my people, I will have 
you treated forthwith as you deaerve. 

Count. A fight! Ah, willingly! that is 
my trade Ishowinn a pistol in kit belt] aod 
here is something to throw powder in their 
eyM. Perhaps you have never seen a bat- 
tle, madamef 

RosiNE. Nor do I wish to see one. 

Count. Nothing, however, is as gay as 
a battlet Imagine {pwihirm the doctor], in 
the first place, that the enemy i^ on one 
aide of the ravine, and the friende on the 
other. {To Rosine, showing her (A« Utter.] 
Now take out your handkerchief, [Spit* 
on Ihe floor.] That's the ravine, you un- 
derstand. 

[RoBiMi! takes out her handker- 
ehi^. The Count dropi his 
UUer between them.] 

Babtbolo [stooping]. Hal hal 

Count. Thercl ... I was goiag to teach 
you all the secrets of my trade. . . . Truly, 
a very discreet lady! Has she not juat 
dropped a note from her pocket? 

Babtbolo. Give it to me. 

Count. Softly, papa! No meddling, if 
you please. If a prescription for rhubarb 
had fallen out of yoursT . . . 

RoBiNB [reaching }or it]. Ah! 1 know 
what it ia, master soldier. 

[She takes the letter and hides it in 
the liUle pocket of her apron.] 

Bahtbolo, Are you going to get out? 

Count. Well, I will go. Good-bye, 
doctor; no bitt^mesii. A little compliment, 
my dear fellow: pray Death to forget me 
for a few more campaigns: life haa never 
been so dear to me. 

Bartholo. Never mind, if I hod so 
much credit with Death . . . 

Count. With Death I Are you not a 
physician? You do so much for Death, 
that he can refuse you nothing. [Exit.] 

Bartholo [walching him out]. He is gone 
at last. [Aside.] Let us dissemble. 

RoeiNX. Now confess, sir, that he is a 
verygayfellow, thisyoungsoldierl Despite 
his drunkenness, I can see that he does not 
lack wit, nor a certain amount of educa- 
tion. 

BARmoLO. Fortunate, my love, that we 
have been able to get rid of himi But ore 



you not a little anxious to read me the paper 
that he handed you? 

Robins. What paper? 

Bartholo. The one that he pretended to 
pick up t« hand to you. 

RoBiNE. Good! that is a letter from my 
cousin the officer, which had dropped from 
my pocket. 

Bartholo. I had an idea that he got it 
out of his own. 

RoeiNK. I recogniied it easily. 

Bartholo. What does it cost to look at 
it. 

R06INE. I do not know what I have done 

Bartholo [pointing to her podoet]. You 
put it there. 

RosiNE. Oh, yes! absent-mindedly. 

Bartbolo. Ohlcertoinly. Youwillprob- 
ably oec that it is some piece of focdiahnees. 

RosiNE [aside]. There is no way of re- 
fusing him without making him angry. 

Bartholo. Give it to me, my dear. 

ROBINE. But what do you mean, sir, by 
tnasting? Do you distrust me? 

Bartholo. But why are you so unwill- 
ing to show it to me? 

RosiNE. I repeat, sir, that this paper is 
no other than a letter from my cousin, 
which you delivered to me yesterday un- 
sealed; and in regard to that, I wilt t«ll you 
frankly that your liberties displease me 
enceedingly. 

Bartholo. I do not understand you. 

KoaiNe, Shall I examine every paper 
addressed to you? Whydoyou takeit upon 
you to examine everything addressed to 
me? If itisjealouBy,itinBultHme; if itiathe 
abuse of a power usurped, I am even more 
disgusted. 

Bartholo. What, disgusted! You have 
never before spoken to me in this fashion. 

RosiNE. If I have been moderate unt3 
to-day, it was not to give you any right to 
offend me with impunity. 

Bartholo. What o&ense are yoa talk- 
ing about? 

RoBiN>. It is unheard of to pennit any 
one to open one's letters. 

Bartholo. Not even your wife's? 

RoaiNE. I am not yet your wife. But 
why should she be made Uie object of an 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



345 



indignity th&t you would not oSer to every 

(ffiS? 

Babtholo. You are trying to put me 
off the Bcent, and divert my attention from 
the note, which is, no doubt, a missive from 
some lover I But I shall see it, I assure you. 

Rosihd. You ahall not see it. If you 
approach me, I See thia house, and I ^lall 
ask refuge of the first comer. 

Babtholo. Who will not receive you. 

RosiNX, We shall see about that. 

BabthoijO. We are not in France, where 
&sy always give way to women; but in 
order tc destroy your illusion, I aliall lock 
the door. 

RosiHE [as he deparU to do »o\. Ah! 
Heaven! What shall I do? Let us quickly 
exchange it for my cousin's letter, and give 
him a chance to find it. 

{She mokea the exchangt, puta her 
cmistn'a Imer i» her peckei, so 
that il protradei a trifle.] 

Bakthoui [retuming]. Ahl now I ex- 
pect to see it. 

RoBifOi. By what right, if you please? 

Babtholo. By the right most univer- 
sally rec<%nised, the right of might. 

Rosins. You m^ay kill me before you 
get it from me. 

Babtbolo [giamping vith vexation], 
Madamel madamet . . . 

RoBiNii IfaBing into an arm-ehair and 
leigmng iUne»i\. Oh! what an outrage! . . . 

Babtholo. Give me that letter, or you 
will have n«son to fear my anger. 

RoBiKB [/oUtntr badcv>ard\. Unfortunate 

Babtholo. What is the matter with 

RoatNX. What a terrible future. 
Babtholo. Rosinel 
RoBiNE. I am choking with anger. 
BartholiO. She is ill. 
RoeiNE. I am fainting. ... I am dying. 
Babtholo {Jeditig her puiae and »aj/ing 
tttide]. Heavens! the lett«rl Iiet ua read it 
before she knows it. 

[He nmCinuM to feel her pulee, and 
KeUet liie letter, vihich he triet to 
read bj/ lumlntr atide a liltU.] 
RoBtNX fiCiU redining]. Ah! unfortu- 
nate! . . . 



Baittholo Idropping kit arm and sayirtg 
a»ide]. How mod are we to learn what we 
always fear to know. 

RoBiNB. Ah! poor Roeine! 

Babtholo. The use of perfumes pro- 
duces spasmodic affections. 

[He reads behind the armchair ai 
he feeU her putee. Robine ritee 
a litde, gout at him fixedly, nod», 
and /oils back mihout a viord.] 

Babtholo Inside]. O Heaven! it is her 
cousin's letter. Curaed anxiety! Now, how 
ehall I appease her? At least, let her not 
know that I have read it! 

[He pretends to raite her up and 
dipt the letter irtto her pocket.] 

RosiNE [eigha]. Ah! . . . 

Bartholo. Well!it is nothing, my child, 
a slight attack of the vapors, that is all; for 
your pulse has not varied one btot. 

[He turns to take aflatk from the table.] 

RoeiNE [aside). He has replaced my 
letter! very well. 

Bartholo. My dear Rosine, a little of 
these spirits. 

Rosine. I wish nothing from you; leave 
me alone. 

Bartholo. I confess Uiat I was a little 
too rough about the note. 

Rosine. He is still talking of t^ note! 
It is your manner of agUng for things 
which is disgusting. 

Babtholo [on hu kneee]. Your pardon. 
I soon saw that I was quite wrong; you see 
me at your feet, ready to make reparation. 

RosiNK. Yes, pardon indeed! when you 
believe that this letter does not come from 
my cousin. 

Babtholo. Whether it comes from him 
or any one else, I ask for no explanation. 

Rosine [preeentinf him the UHir]. You 
see that by decent behavior you may ob- 
tain anything of me. Read it. 

Bartholo. This open manner would dis- 
sipate my suspicions if I were unfortunate 
enough to have any. 

RosiNK. Read it, sir. 

Babtholo [drawing baek\. God forbid 
that I should offer you such an insult! 

Rosine. You would displease me by re- 
fusing it. 

BABrtHOLO. Reodve u ft i 



ojjlc 



3^6 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Uiig mark of my perfect, confidence. 1 tun 
Koing to see poor Marcelline, whom that 
Figaro has, for some odd reason, bled in the 
foot; will you not come alao? 

RoBiNK. I will go up in a moment. 

Bartbolo. Since we have made peace, 
my darling, give me your hand. If you 
could only love me, how happy you mi^t 
be! 

R08INE [dropping her eyta]. If you would 
only please me, ah! how I ^ould love you! 

Babtholo. I will pteaae you, I will 
please you! and when I say that I will 
please yout . . . [Bxii] 

RoBiNE [vxitcking him go oul]. Ah, Lin- 
dorl He says that he will pteaae me! . . . 
Let us read this letter which has almoat 
caused me so much sorrow. [She reads 
and eriet out:] Ahl ... I am too late, he 
oaks me to' Btart an open quarrel with my 
guardian. T had such a good opportunity 
and I let it escape me I When I received the 
letter I felt that I blushed to the eyes. Ah! 
my guardian ie right, I am far from having 
tiiat acquaintance with the world which, 
he oft«na tell me, assures the manners' of 
women on every occasion! But an unjust 
man would aucoeed in making an intriguer 
of innocence itself. [Exit.] 



ACT III- 

Barthoix) [atone and in despmr]. What 
caprices! what capricesl She seemed quite 
satisfied . . . There! I wish some one could 
tell me who the devi! has put it into her 
head not to wish any more lessons from Don 
BaiQe! She knows that he has something 
to do with my marriage ... [A knock at the 
door.] Do everything in the world to please 
a woman. If you omit one single pomt 
. . . one only . . . [AnoUter knock.] Let's 
see who it is. 

[Enter lite Codnt as a ttudent.] 

Count. May peace and Joy forever 
dwell bei:ein. 

Bartholo [shortly]. Never was wish in 
better season. 

ConNT. I am Alonio, bachelor, licen- 
tiate . . . 



Babtholo. I have no need of a tutor. 

Count. The pupil of Don Baiile, organ- 
ist to the grand convent, who has the 
honor to t«ach music to madame, your . . . 

Bartholo. Baiilel organist! who has 
the honor! I know it! Yes, indeed! 

Count [aside]. What a man! lAknid.] 
A sudden illness which forces him to keep 

Bartholo. Keep his bed! Baiile! He 
has done well to send me word, I will go to 
see him this moment. 

Count [aside]. Oh! the devil! [Aloud.] 
When I say his bed, sir, I ... I ... I mean 
his room. 

Bartholo. Even if it be only a tri6uig 
illness . . . Gd ahead, I will follow you. 

Count [in embarrattmeni]. Sir, I was 
charged . . . Nobody can hear us7 

Bartholo [aside]. He is some rt^ue. 
[Alowl.]' No, master mysterious! Speak 
without fear, if you can. 

Count [aside]. Confounded old man] 
[Aloud.] Don Baiile charged me to tell 

Bartholo. Speak louder, I am deaf in 

Count [raising his voice], Ahl willingly 
. . . that Count Almaviva, who was lodg- 
ing in the Ptasa . . . 

Bartholo [in f«rror]. Speak lower, speak 

CoiWT [louder] . . . has moved away this 
morning. As it was through me that he 
knew Count Almaviva . . . 

Bartholo. Not so loud, I beg you. 

Count [in the same (one] . . . was in this 
city, and that I have discovered that Misa 
Rosine has written to him . . . 

Bartholo. Has written to him? My 
dear friend, not so loud, I t>eg you! There, 
let us sit down, and have a friendly 
chat. You have discovered, you say, that 

Count [anxiously]. Assuredly. Baiile, 
disturbed on your account about this oor- 
lespondence, has asked me to show you the 
letter; but the way in which you take 
tbinp ... 

Bartholo. Goodness! I take them welL 
But can't you speak in a lower voice? 

Count. You are deaf in one ear, you aaj: 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



34J 



Babtholo. Pardon, Master Aloiuo, if 
you found me Biupicious and harsh; but I 
am BO completely lurrounded by intriguera 
and plote; . . . and then your appearance, 
your age, your air . . . Your pardon. 
Weill you have the letter. 

Count. In good time! If you take it this 
way, air . . . But I am afraid lest some one 
oay be eavesdropping. 

Baktholo. Who do you think? All my 
servuite are laid outi Boaine, in a rage, 
ahutrUpin herroom! The dev!l haa entered 
my house. I will go to make sure . . . 

[He open* KoHiNs'a door ti^Uy.] 

CoDNT [a»ide]. I have gat into trouble 
by being too much in a hurry . . . Shall I 
keep the letter for the preaent? I shall have 
to take myself off; I might as well have 
stayed away . . . Show it to him ... If 
1 can put Roaine upon her guard, to ahow 
it ia a maater-atroke. 

Baktholo [returning upon tiptoe]. She is 
sitting near the window with her back 
turned toward the door, reading over a 
letter from her cousin, an officer, which I 
had unsealed . . . Let 's aee hers. 

CoDNT {hands him Robikx's Utter], Here 
it ia. [Atide.] It ia my letter which ahe ia 
reading. 

Bartholo [reads]. ''Since you have told 
me your name and rank" . . . Ahl the 
wretchi It ia, indeed, her hand. 

Count [in terror]. It ia your tuni to 
Bpeak lower. 

Bartholo. What an obligation, my 
dear fellow I 

Count. When everything is done, if you 
think that you owe anything for it, you will 
be free to reward me. After a work which 
Don Bazile ia at preaent carrying on with a 
lawyer . . . 

Bartholo. With a lawyer, for my mar- 
riage? 

Count. Would I have stopped without 
telling you that? He chained me to tell you 
that all would be ready for to-morrow. 
Then, if ahe reslsta . . . 

Bartholo. She will resist. 

Count [trie* to regain Oe tetter from Bar- 
Ihoio, aho keepe H in hie ptuseanon]. That 
ia the time when I may be able to serve 
you; we will show her her letter, and if it is 



necessary [more myileriouel]/] I shall go M 
far as to teU her that I had it from a woman 
ta whom the Count had given it. You see 
that anxiety, shame, and spite may drivt 
her immediately . . . 

Bartholo [laughing], Calumnyl Now, 
indeed do I see that you really come froa 
Batilel But in order that all thia may not 
appear to be a plot, would it not be well for 
her to know you beforehand? 

Count [repressea a atari o/jok]. Thatw« 
Don Baiile's opinion. But how ehall we do 
it? It ia late ... In the little time which 



Bartholo. I will tell her tliat you are 
coming in hia place. Will you not pre her 
a lenon? 

Count. There is nothing that I would 
not do to please you. But bear in mind that 
all these atoriee of alleged masters are old 
dodges, comedy tricks.' If ahe auspects . . . 

Bartholo. If you are introduced by me, 
there is no likelihood of it. You look mora 
like a disguised lover than an obliging friend. 

Count. Heally! Do you think that my 
appearance will add to the deceit? 

Bartholo. I will leave the solution of 
that to some one cleverer than I. She is in 
a horrible humor this evening. But if she 
would only see you . . . Her harpaichord ia 
in this cabinet. Amuse jMuraelf while you 
wait; I am going to try the impoaaible in 
bringing her to you. 

Count. Take care not to speak of the 
letter. 

Bartholo. Before the decisive moment? ' 
That would destroy all its effect. You need 
not tell me things twice. [Exit.] 

Count [ofcmel. Savedl Phewl How hard 
this deviliah fellow ia to handlel Figaro 
knona him well. I could see myself as I 
lied ; it surely made me look flat and stupid, 
and he has eyeal My word, if it had not 
been for the sudden inapiration of the letter, 
I must confess, I would have gone on like 
a fool. O Heaven! they are disputing in 
there. If ahe should refuse to come I Let's 
listen . . . She refuaee to come out of her 
room, and I have loat all the advantage 
that I had gained. [He litlene again.] Here 
she is; let ua not appear at first. 

ifle enteri the eabintt.) 



348 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



[EnUr Robins and Babtholo.] 
RoBun: [ariih an affeded anffer]. All that 
joix may eay, dr, is uselem; I have de- 
cided, J wish to hear nothing more about 

BAtrmoLo. Listen, my child; it is 
Maat«r Alonao, the pupil and friend of 
Don Buile, choaen by hhn to be one of our 
witnessee. Music will calm yon, I asBuie 
you. 

RoBiNV. Oh I aa for that, you may give 
up that notioi). You want me to aiog thia 
ereningl Where is this master whom you 
aie afraid to send away? I will send him 
about his business, and Bazile's too. [She 
tea her lover cmd uUeri a cry,] Ah! . . . 

Bartholo. What is the matter? 

RoaiNE [datptTig her handt upon her 
brttut]. AhlBvl . . . Ah, sirl . . . 

Bartbolo. She is ill again, Maater 

RoaiNi. No, I am not ill .. . but, as I 
turned . . . Ahl 

CoDNT. You turned your ankle, madame? 

RoeiNK. Ah, yeel I turned my ankle. 
It gave me a torrible pain. 

Count. I perceived that it did. 

RosiNX [fKuinjT at Ihe Codnt]. It struck 
me to the heart, 

Bartbolo. A chair, a chair. Not an 
armehair herel [Qoe* to eeeh one.] 

Codnt. Ah, Bosinel 

RoaiNK. What an impnidencel 

CktuNT. I have a thouiiand things to tell 

Rosins. He will not leave us. 

Count. Figaro will come to our assist- 

Babtholo [brini/inff an eoaji chair]. 
There, darling, sit down. It is quito im- 
probable, master bachelor, that she will 
take a lesson this evening; you will have to 
wait until another day. Farewell. 

RosiNE [to th^ Count). Mo, wait; my 
pain is a little eased. [To Babtbolo.] I see 
that I was wtodk wiUi you, sir; 1 will fol- 
low your eitample by repairing immedi- 
ately . . . 

Babtbolo. Ahl what good little dis- 
positions women havel But after endur- 
ing such pain, my ohild, I will not allow 



you to make the least eSort. Faivwill, 
farewell, master bachelor. 

RoeiNE [to the CountJ, One moment, 
rir, if you plesael [To Babtholo] I will 
think, sir, that you do not like to oblige me, 
if you prevent me from showing my regret 
by taking the leeson. 

Count [atide la Bartbolo]. Do not op- 
pose her, if you wish to take my advice. 

Babtholo. That is enou^, my dear. 
I am BO for from trying to displeaae you, 
that I shall remain here while you are tak- 
ing your lesson. 

RosiNE. Oh, no, sir, I know that music 
has no attraction for you. 

Babtholo. I assure you that I shall be 
enchanted this evening. 

Robins [atide to the Count]. He puts me 
to the torment. 

Count [taking up a eheet of muic]. Wil! 
you sing that, madame? 

RosiNB Yes, it is a very pretty piece 
from The V»deaa Praxmlian. 

Bartbolo. The UteUuPreeauHonagunl 

Count. It ie the newest thing of the day. 
It is a picture of Spring in a very livdy 
f^enre. Does madame wish to try it? 

RoeiNZ [saxing at the Count]. With 
great pleasure; a picture of Spring will en- 
chant me; it is the youth of Natm«. After 
the winter, it seems as if the heart reaches 
a higher degree of sensibility, aa a slave 
who has long been confined enjoys to the 
full the charm of liberty which luts just been 
offered him. 

Babtholo [to the Count inaiow unw]. 
Her head is forever full of these romantic 
ideas. 

Count [in a low mice]. Do you see the 
point of it? 

Babtholo. Zounds I 

[Seats himself in the chair toUeft 
RosiNi hoe been oeeupying.] 

Rosins [tings]. 

When o'er the plain 
Love once aeoin 

Doth bring 
The lovers' cherished Spring, 

Tlien everythina 

With new life thrillB; 

The flowers it fills 
And maketh young hewta iiiif. 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



349 



Tbe flocks sra Hcn 

Upon the greeD, 
Andall the hills 

With the young Iambs' cries raMund. 
They frisk and bound ^ 

All thinsB be Browiag, 

All Uossoms blowing. 
And Erasing sheep 
The faithful watchdogs keep. 
But lindor, paasion-iaoved, 

Thinks none the less 
But of the joy of being loved 

By his fair shepherdeee. 

Far trom her mother, with a blitheaome eoDg, 
Out dieph^esB doth trip along 

To tryst her waitiiig lorer. 

By this device doth Love entioe 

And snare the pretty rover. 

Will song proteetion give hxaJ 

The piping reeds 

She lisls and heeds. 

Birds' sweet Blaims. 

Her swelling chaims, 

Her fifteen years — 

All that she mes, 

All that she hears 

mis her with (ean 

And vague malease. 

From his retreat 
Lindor discreet 
Doth meet perchance 
The maid's advance. 
The youth has just embraced her. 

The maid though pleased 
Doth feign a sudden anger 
In order to be teased. 
Rtfrain. 
Now sighs 
And sweet alarms and many a fond oaresi. 
Now amcvous vows and lively tandemeeB, 

Bright eyes 
Dear dalliance and swift repartee 
All come in play, and now, perdie, 
Bight soon our gentle ehepberdees 
Feels her just rage grow less: 
And if some jealous swain 
Dare trouble such sweet pain. 
Our lovers in accord, 
With eveiT aot and word 

Their hlgheat joys conoeal. 
For when we love indeed 
Raatraint can naught but feed 
The fires of love we feel. 

[Aa A« littena, Babtholo falU 
adeep. The Count, dvring the 



Ttftaia, 

hand, which he oaotrt wi& ibissM. 
In her emotion the eong diet 
aiBUy, until it ceaaet in Ihe mid- 
dle of tiu eadenee at the laitword. 
The orchettra fotimot the move' 
menl of the tinger, ond ie ntent 
toitk kef. The tJieenee of the 
totmde which had put Babtholo 
to sleep awakee hvn. The Count 
rtsM, RoeiNx and the onheitra 
gaicidy eontimie ihe air.\ 
Count. Truly it is s charming piece, and 
madame singH it with a d^ree of under- 
standing . . . 

ROBINB. You flatter me, air; the praise 
belongs entirely to the master. 

Babtholo \j/awning\. T think that I 
must have slept a little during this charm- 
ing piece. I have my little weaknesses. I 
go and come, I become a little giddy, and as 
Don as I sit dowti, my poor le^ . . . 

\He rises and piiahes away 1A« choir.) 

Robins [uAupers to ihe Count]. Figaro 

does not come. 

Count. Let us try to kill time. 

Babtholo. But, master bachelor, I have 

already said so to that old Baiile; is there 

< way of making her study something 

more lively than all these grand ariaa, which 

go up and down, rolling along with a hi, ho, 

I, a, a, and which seem to me like so 

many funerals? Now, some of those litUe 

airs that they used to sing in my youth, and 

which all lemembered so easily. I used to 

know some of them . . . For example . . . 

[During the pretiide he »eratthet kit 

head and tinge, mapping kit 

fingers and dancing with kit 

knees bent in Ike manner of did 

Doat thou, my Roeinette, 

Elect to get 

A spouse, the prince of menT . . . 
[To ihe Count, latigking.] There is a 
FanchoQett« in the song, but T substituted 
Rosinette for her, to make it more pleasing 
to her, and to make it fit the circum- 
stances. Hal bal hal hal Pretty good, 
'm'tit? 

Count Roughing]. Hal ha! hal yM^ 
capital 



:.L|,i,zedi!,GoOQlc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



tenter FiOARO, uAo remairti at the hack.] 
Babtboia [dngM]. 
Doat thou, my Rodnette, 
Elect to get 

A spouse, the prioce of menT 
No ThyraU I — yet when 
The shadows fall, at eDding of the day, 
I BtiU am worth my fee. 
For in obscurity 
The bravest cats are merely aomber gray. 

[He repeait th« refrain dancing. 
FiOAKO, behinA him, imiiaU* 
hit itiosemenU.] 
No Thyrris I. etc. 
[Pereewing Figaro.] Ahl enter master 
barber: come in, you are cbarmingi 

Figaro [taliiUt]. Sir, it is true that my 
mother used to teJl me so; but I am some- 
what deformed since that time. [Aaitie lo 
tte CotJNT.) Bravo, my lord. 

[During this whole scene, the 
CooNT makes nianermie at- 
lempU to gpeak lo Robinb, tnU 
the reiUets artd vigilanl eye of 
her guardian preventa kim, whvik 
produce* a sort of dumb show of 
ail the actors not taking -part in 
the discussion between the doctor 
and Fig ABO.] 
BarthoijO. Have you come again to 
bked, drug, and prostrate my whole house- 
hold? 

Figaro. Feast days, sir, come only once 
a year; but, without counting my daily at- 
tentions, you may have seen, sir, that when 
they need them, my zeal does not wait 
upon command . . . 

Babtholo. Your zeal does not wait I 
niiat have you to say, master sealot, to 
that wretch who yawns and aleepa, though 
wide awake? and the other, who, for the last 
three hours, has been snecEing enough to 
orack his cranium, or blow out hia brainsl 
What have you to say to that? 
Figaro. What have I to say to that? 
Babtholo. Yea I 

Figaro. Well, I should say ... I should 
say to him who sneeies, God bless you: and 
Go lo bed, to him who yawns. It is not that, 
!lir, which will increase the bill. 



Baktbolo. Truly, no: but it is bleed- 
ing and medicines which would increase it 
if I would stand it. Is it due to your seal 
also that you bandaged my mule's eyee? 
And will your liandage return its sight? 

Figaro. If it does not bring back the 
sight, it will no longer prevent it from see- 
ing. 

Bartbolo. Wait till I find it in the bill I 
... I will not stand such extravagance! 

FiOARO. Faith, sir, there being little to 
choose between stupidity and folly, in 
which I see no profit, I wish at least to find 
some pleasure, and long live joy! Who 
knows if the world will last three weeks 
longer? 

Bartbolo. You would do much better, 
master reasoner, to pay me my hundred 
crowns and tht interest, without any non- 
sense: I warn you. 

Figaro, Ito you doubt my honesty, 
sir? Your hundred crownsl I would rather 
owe them to you all my life than deny them 
to you for a single moment. 

Bartbolo. And tell me how Mistress 
Figaro liked the bon-bons that you took 
her. 

Figaro. What bon-bons? What do you 

Bartbolo. Yes, those bon-bons, m the 
bag made from a sheet of this letter paper 
, . . this morning. 

Figaro. The devil fly away with me 
if . . . 

RosiNE [iTilerrupting him]. Did you 
take care to tell her that they were from 
me. Master Figaro? I told you to do so. 

FioABO. Ah, yesl this morning's bon- 
bons! How stupid I am! I bad quite for- 
gotten that ... Oh! excellent, madams, 
admirable] 

Badtholo. Excellentl admirable! Ycfl, 
doubtless, Master Figaro, you are retrac- 
ing your steps! That is a fine business, sir^ 
that you ply. . . . 

Figaro. What is the matter with it, sir? 

Babtbolo. Which will acquire a fine 
reputation for you, sirrah. 

Figaro. I will tiy to live up to it, mr. 

Babtbolo. Say that you will live ii 
down, sirrah. 

FiOARO. Ab you pleaae. at. 



.. GooqIc 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



3SI 



Babtholo. You ride a bigh hone, sirrah. 
Enow that when I dispute with a fool, I 
never yield to him. 

FiOAHO [fuming kit back upon kirn]. We 
differ in that, eir, for I alwayti yield to him. 

Bartbolo. Hey! What does he mean 
by that, bachelor? 

FicuRO. That you think that you have 
to do with some village barber, who only 
knows how to handle the racor. Learn, sir, 
that I have labored with my pen at Mad- 
rid, and that were it not Cor the envioue . . . 

Babtholo. Why did you not stay there, 
without coming here to change your profes- 
sion 1 

FiaARO. We do what we can; put your- 
self in my place. 

Babtbolo. Put myself in your place! Ah! 
■ounds! I would say a fine lot of stupidities! 

FiGABo. Sir, you do not begin badly; I 
appeal to your colleague, who is dreaming 

Count [turning to Aim]. I ... I am not 
his colleague. 

FiGABo. NoT Seeing you here in con- 
sultation, I thought that you were pursuing 
the same object. 

Babteolo [angrily]. Well, what brings 
you here? Is it to bring madame another 
letter this evening? Speak; must I retire? 

FiOABO. How harshly you treat the 
poor world! Zounds, sir, I come to shave 
you, that 's all. Is not to-day your day? 

Bast&ouj. You may return later. 

Figaro. Ah, yea, return! The whole 
garrison takes medicine to-morrow morn- 
ing. I obtained the contract through some 
friends of mine. Consider, then, how much 
time I have to lose! Will you go into your 
room, sir? 

Baktbolo. No, I will not. But . . . why 
can't you shave me here? 

RoBiire [eontemptuouBly], Youarepolite! 
And why not in my apartments? 

Bartholo. You are angry? Pardon, my 
child; you may finish taking your lesson; 
it is in order not to lose for a moment the 
pleasure of hearing you. 

FioABO [lekiapert to the Count]. We 
cannot get himout of here! [Alottd.\ Come, 
EveiU4! Jeunesse! the basin, the wat«r, 
everything master needs I 



Baktboi.0. That 's right, c^l them! 
Fatigued, harassed, belabored at your 
hands, did they not need to go to bed? 

Fioaso. Well! I will go and look for 
everything; is it not in your room? [To the 
Count aside.] I am going to coax him out. 

Bartbolo [wtfailena kit bunck of ktye 
and taya rejtedtuelv.] No, no, I will go my- 
self. [Whispars to Ihe Count as he goe» out:] 
Keep your eyes on them, I beg you. 

[Exit.] 

P^garo. OhI what a great opportunity 
we have missed! He was going to give me 
the keys. Was not the key of the blind 
among them? 

RoaiNE. It was the newest of them till. 

Bartbolo [retumiTig]. [Atide.] GoodI 
I do not know what I am doing in having 
this cursed barber here. [ITo Fiqaro.J Here. 
[Give* kitn the keys,] In my dressing-room, 
under the bureau; touch nothing else. 

FiOABO. The plague! It would be good 
enough for you, suspicious as you are! 
[Atide, going off .] See how Heaven protectc 
innocence I [Exit. ] 

Babtholo ItfAtspers to (he Count], He is 
the knave who took the letter to the Count. 

Count [in a low voice]. He looks like a 
rogue to me. 

Bartbolo. He will not catch me again. 

Count. I think that as far as that goes, 
the worst is over. 

Bartbolo. Everything considered, I 
thought it more prudent to send him to my 
room than leave him with her. 

Count. They could not have said a 
word without my being a third party to it. 

RoBiNE. It is very polite, gentlemen, to 
whisper continually! And my lesson? 
[They hear a noite as of dishes upset.] 

Bartbolo [wUh a cry]. What do I hear! 
That cruel' barber must have dropped 
everything downstairs, and the finest 
pieces in my dressing-case I 

[He runs out.] 

Count. Let us profit by the moments 
which Figaro's intelligence has secured us. 
Grant me, this evening, I beg you, ma- 
dame, one moment's converse, which is 
absolutely necessary to save you from the 
slavery to which you are destined. 

RouNB. Ab, Lindort 



.Ck^t^^lc 



CHIEF EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS 



Count. I can climb to your blind; uid 
M for the letter which I received from you 
this morning, I found myself forced . . . 
[BtxUr Babtbolo and Fioaho.] 

Babtbolo. I was not mistaken; ev«y- 
thing is broken, smashed. 

FiOABO. It must be a great calamity to 
make so much noisel You can't see at all 
on the stairs. [He ahowt the key U) the 
Count.] As I came upstairs I stumbled 
upon a key . . . 

Badtholo. You should take care what 
you are doing. Stumble upon a key! The 

FtQABO. My faith, sir, you may look for 
a cleverer. 

[Enter Don Bazile.] 

RosiNE (aside in terror]. Don Baiilet . . . 

CoDNT [oMe], Good Heaven! 

Figaro laeide]. 'T is the devill 

Babtbolo [advancittji to meet him]. Ah! 
Baiile, my friend, you are soon cured. 
Your accident has had no bad conse- 
quences? Truly, Master Alonso had 
frightened me considerably about you; 
ask him; I was going out to see you, and if 
he had not restrained roe . . . 

Bazile [in aelonithmertt]. Master Al- 

FioARO [afampt hie foot]. WhatI More 
bad places? Two hours for one poor beard. 
Confound such a customer! 

Bazile [lookirtg at aU]. Wilt you be kind 
enou|!h to tell me, sirs? . . . 

Fioaro. You may speak to him when I 
am gone. 

Bazilk. But why should that be neces- 
sary, anyway? 

Count. You should be silent, Bazile. 
Do you think to t«ach him something which 
he does not know? I told him that you had 
requested me to come to give a music les- 
son in your place, 

Baeii^ [in grealer ottimtAmeni]. The 
music lessonl . . . Alonzol . . . ' 

RoBiNB \aaide to Bazilx). Come! Will 
rou be still? 

Bahle. And she, toot 

Count (tn a Una voice to Bartsolo]. 
Whiqwt to him that we have all agreed. 



Babtbolo [aaide to Baiile). Don't give 
us the lie, BaiQe, by saying that he is not 
your pupil; you would Spoil everything. 

Bazile. Hal hal 

Babtbolo [aloud]. Truly, Bosile, no one 
haa more talent than your scholar. 

Bazile [in attoniahment]. Than mf 
scholar! . . . [Wkuperg.] I was coming to 
tell you that the Coimt has moved. 

Bartholo [in a low voice]. Silence, I 
know it. 

Bazile [iotucnn^ hie voiec\. Who told 

Bastholo [wkiepers]. He, of couiael 

Count '(wAisptrsJ. Certainly I: if you 
would only listen. 

RoeiNX [in a whisper to Bazile]. Is it so 
difficult to keep still? 

FiOARO [tA« Kifne]. HumI your great hip- 
pogriffl He is deaf! 

Baiile [ostde]. Who the devil is it tliat 
they are fooling here? Evwy one seems to 
be in the secret. 

Babtbolo [alovd\. Well! B&sile, your 
lawyer? 

FioADO. You have the whole evening 
to talk about your lawyer. 

Babtbolo [to BazilsI. One word only; 
tell me if you are really satisfied with the 
lawyer? 

Bazilk [tna/rtffMj. With t^e lawyer? 

Count [miling]. Did n't you see your 
lawyer? 

Bazile [imvaHeviiy]. Mo, I did not see 
the lawyer, 

Count [aside to BAHrrBOLo). You don't 
want him to explain before her, do you? 
Send him off. 

Bartholo \in a whiiper to the Count]. 
You are right. {To Bazili.) But what 
made you ill so suddenly? 

Bazile [armrily]. I don't understand 
you. * 

Count [oaids, pule a purte into hie Aond]. 
Yes, he has just asked ymi what you ex- 
pect to do here tn your present state of 
illness. 

Figaro. He is as pale as deatii. 

Bazile. Aht I understand . . . 

Count. Go to bed, my dear Bazile: you 
are not well and you give us a terrible 
fright. Gotobedl 



GooqIc 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE 



353 



FiOABo. He looks very much upMt. Qo 
tobedt. . . 

Bartholo. Upon my wordl You could 
tell & league away that he has the fever. 
Go tobedt 

Rosins. Why did you come out? They 
say that it is catching. Gto to bedl 

Basilc [eompUUly luUmUhtd]. I, go to 
bedT 

All. OhI certainly. 

Baeha [gaging at than all]. In fact, 1 do 
believe that I would not do ill to retin; I 
feel as if 1 were a little out ol sorts. 

Babthoi^. To-morrow, again, if you Are 
better. 

CorNT. Baiile, I shall be at your house 
very early to-morrow. 

FiQABO. Bdieve me, keep yourself warm 
in your bed. 

RosiNE. Good-evening, Master Bszile. 

Baiile (ondej. The devil fly away with 
me if I understand anything about it; and 
if it were not for this purse . . . 

AH. Good-evening, Baiile, good-evening. 

Basiix [exit]. Weill Good-evening, 
then, good-evening. 

[The]/ aeeompany him with a burtC 
of laughttr.] 

Babhtholo (mtA on unporfaTit air]. That 
man is not at all well. 

RoBiNB. His eyes are wild. 

Count. He has probably caught a chill. 

FiOABO. You saw how he talked to 
nimself? How easy it is for us to fall ill! 
[To Babtbolo.) Now, are you going to 
decide this time? 

[He puthe* an eoxy chair to torn* 
Aittanee from Ihe Count and 
handt Mm the linen.} 

Count. Before we finish, madama, I 
must tell you one thing which is very ee- 
Matiftl for progress in the art which I have 
Uw honor to teach you. 

[He approachei Iter and tdiitperg 

Babtbou) {to FioABo). Come, nowt It 
seems as if it were on purpose that you ap- 
proach me, and stand in front of me to 
prevent me from seeing . . . 

Count [in a low voice to Rosink). We 
have the key to the blind, and we shall be 



FioABo [He* the napkin around Bab- 
tholo'b neck]. Bee what? If it were a 
dancing lesson, we might let you look at it; 
but a singing lesson! . . . Dear met 
Babtholc. What's that? 
FiQABo. I do not know what has got 
into my eye. 

[He hringe hie head nearer.] 

Babtholo. E)on't rub so hard. 

FtoABO. That's the left. Would you 

try to breathe a tittle harder for me7 

[Barthou) teitee Figaro's head, 

looke over ii, puehee him away 

roughly, and Mleals bdiind Ihe 

lovere to listen to their connerta. 

Count [in a low voice, to Robinx). And 
as for your letter, I soon found myself so 
bard put to it for an excuse to stay here . . . 

PiOARO [ai a dxetanee to icom lh»m\. 
Hem! . . . Hem! . , . 

Count. In despair also at seeing my 
disguise useless . . . 

Babtbolo [Aipping between lhem\. Your 
disguise useless! 

RoaiNK [terr^ied\. Obi . . . 

Bartbolo. Very well, madame, do not 
trouble yourself. Whatt under my very 
eyes, i