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Title: The Mortal Gods and Other Plays

Author: Olive Tilford Dargan

Release Date: May 16, 2012 [EBook #39708]

Language: English

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BOOKS   BY   OLIVE   TILFORD   DARGAN
Published   By   CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS

THE MORTAL GODS
AND OTHER PLAYS

THE MORTAL GODS

AND

OTHER PLAYS

BY

OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SON'S
1912

Copyright, 1912, by Charles Scribner's Sons
All rights reserved

Published November, 1912

CONTENTS

THE MORTAL GODS

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS

CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY

ACT I

Scene: A vast room in the palace of Hudibrand. As the curtain rises the place is in darkness save for a circlet of gold apparently suspended in mid-air near the centre of the room. As the light increases, the outline of a man's figure becomes distinguishable, and the circlet is seen to be resting on his head. Gradually the rim of gold fades to invisibility, while the figure of the man and the contents of the room become clear to the eye. The man might be mistaken for an American citizen in customary evening dress. He is Hudibrand.

At the left are two entrances, upper and lower. Rear, left, large windows. The wall rear makes a right angle about centre, the apex of which is cut off by a window. Right of centre the room seems to extend endlessly rearward, and is arranged to suggest an upland grove in the delicate, venturing days of spring. The ground, rising a little toward right, is covered with winter moss and tufts of short silvered grass. The trees are young birch, slight maples in coral leaf, cornel in flower, and an occasional dark foil of cedar. A brooklet ripples down the slope and off rear. Birds chirp and flit, and now and then a breeze stirs the grove as if it were one tender body. The lights are arranged to give the effect of night or day as one wishes.

It is winter without, the climate of Assaria's capital city being similar to that of New York.

Double doors lower right, through which Count Dorkinski enters to Hudibrand.

Dor. Your majesty, Sir Borduc has arrived.

Hudi. Hot-shod. We'll let him cool.

Dor. Where shall he wait,
My lord?

Hud. His usual corner. Keep him off
My Delhi rug.
[Exit Dorkinski]
Poor Bordy's fuming ripe.

[Re-enter the Count]

Dor. His Excellency calls, your majesty.

Hud. Which Excellency? They are thick as hops.

Dor. The Governor of Peonia.

Hud.   In time and tune.
We'll see him here.
[Exit Dorkinski]
A pawn of mine who'd push
Beyond his square, and I must humor him
'Neath meditative thumb.

[Enter Megario]

Hud. Welcome, Megario.

Meg. I've travelled far
To press your hand.

Hud. We made appointment here,
Knowing your visit to Assaria touched
Nothing of state or office.

Meg. [Accepting his cue] Nothing, sir. [Looks about him]
I thought I left the springtide in my rear,
Three thousand miles or so, but here it greets me.

Hud. A gimcrack of my daughter's. She would freak
With sun and time. My toyshop has no walls.
I juggle too with seasons, climates, zones,
But in the open where there's warrior room,
And startled Fate may spring against my will,
Giving an edge to mastery when I wrest
The whip from Nature, turn it on herself,
And set her elemental slaves to filch
Her gold for me. That, friend, is play.

Meg. For gods
And not as thief, but as divinity,
You take from crouching Nature.

Hud. Men have said
I pile up gold because its glitter soothes
A fever in my eyes. The clacking fools!
I am no Cheops making warts on earth.
No mummy brain! God built my pyramids,
Slaving through dark and chaos till there rose
My iron-hearted hills, and mountains locked
On ago-unyielded treasure waiting me.
There slept my gems till longing became fire
And broke the grip of stone,—there lay my gold,
Re-purged each thousand years till baited Time
Gave up the master's hour.

[Hernda has come from the grove and moves up to his side]

Her. [Adoringly] And you the master!

Hud. Daughter, you owe my lord Megario
Some pretty thanks.

Her. I give them, sir.

Meg. No, no!
I pray your Highness, no! My thanks to earth
That bears the flower of you, and to the light
That makes my eyes your beauty's treasurer.
But thanks from you to me, as jewels hung
Upon a beggar's neck, would set my rags
Unkindly in the sun.

Her.   Then I am not
Your debtor?

Meg. Mine the debt, that mounts too fast
For feeble payment from thin purse of words.
Ah, every moment adds a suitor hope
To th' bankrupts in my heart.

Her. I fear, my lord,
Your coiner's name is Fancy, and I like
Truth's mintage best. [To her father]
  What is this debt of mine,
So languished that a word of thanks may be
Its slender cover?

Meg. A word, if beauty speak it,
May mantle a bare world.

Hud. His Excellency
Is Governor of Peonia——

Her. In Goldusan!

Hud. And smoothed my road there——

Meg. Nay, your majesty,
My aid was but a garnish on the might
That moves with your own name.

Hud. Between us then,
We saved my holdings through a bluster there.
And what they brought me I've tossed here to make
This smile on winter.

Meg. What? You gave her all?

Her. How, sir? One word of mine would robe a world.
And my whole self not worth a little spot
Twitched from Spring's garment?

Meg. Oh, I'd grind the stars
To imperial dust that you might trample them,—
But this—this was a fortune!
[To Hudibrand] Sir, 'tis true
You care not for the gold.

Hud. I care for it
As men of hero times held dear the sword
That made them lords of battle.

Her. You are lord
Of Peace!

Meg. Write that upon the clouds, that eyes
Of men and angels may contending claim
The truth for earth and heaven!

Hud. Tush, sir, tush!

Meg. Can I forget how at your kingly touch
My fair Peonia, paling in treason's grip,
Thrilled from her deathward droop, renewed her heart
Through safe, ease-lidded nights, and woke once more
The rose of fortune?

Hud. There's no rumble now
Of riot?

Meg. Not a sound comes to our ears
But from the toiling strokes that steadily
Uproll Peonia's wealth.

Hud. Yet those who led
The last revolt are free.

Meg. Not all, your Highness.
A few crossed to Assaria, but expedition
Warms on their trail. Rejan LeVal is tracked
To your own capital.

Hud. Nay, mend that, sir.
We're safe here from such ruck.

Meg. The startled eel
Will make for muddy waters,—and 'tis sure
LeVal found murky welcome here.

Hud. My city!
What mutinous bolt turns here for him?

Meg.   His friends
Are friends of power. How else could he elude
The thousand eyes in search?

Hud. [Musing] Treason at court?...

Meg. We'll mouse LeVal to 's cranny, do not doubt.
Then we shall ask Assaria's great seal
For his delivery to Goldusan.

Hud. That is assured you.

Meg. But your minister,
Sir Borduc, warns——

Hud. Ha! Warns?

Meg. He urges that
The extraditing power is at pause,
Blocked by the people's will.

Hud. I've given my word,—
A word that mobbish din ne'er added to,
Nor yet stripped of one letter that I chose
Should spell authority. You ask for more?

Meg. Pardon, your majesty! It is enough,
Beyond all stretch of need.

Hud. I call to mind
That Borduc waits,—and primed for tongue-work too.
The princess will content your Excellency?

Meg. [With obeisance to Hernda] 'Tis Heaven's honor! I have left the earth!

Hud. You waste your art. She's in the milk-maid humor.
Would marry Hob. [Exit, lower right]

Meg. The Señor Hob? He says
You'll marry him? [Hernda laughs]
  You care not if I die!

Her. You'll live, my lord.

Meg. You'll marry Hob. I die!

Her. He is not Hob. That is my father's mock
Because he's poor.

Meg. [In hope] Ah, poor?

Her. A beggarly
Ten millions,—not a penny more.

Meg. Ten millions!

Her. But that's my joy. I would not wed for gold.

Meg. O, pity me! I love you, señorita!

Her. No, no! I must not hear that.

Meg. Then I'll pray
Silence to be my friend and speak my dumb
Unuttered heart.

Her. You must not love me, sir.
But you may love—my father. When you praised him,
You too seemed fair to me.

Meg. I'll sing him till
The stars lie at our feet, if you will listen!

Her. He gave your country peace?

Meg. His royal name
Is dear as Cordiaz' in the grateful heart
Of Goldusan. That proud land lay unkept.
Her ores intombed, her vales without a plough,
Her rivers wasting down to shipless seas,
Her people starving, while her nobles strove
For shreds of power,—the clouted thing we called
A government. Then on our factions fell,
Strong as a god's, the hand of Hudibrand;
And now, compact, we stand by Cordiaz,
While every mountain groans with golden birth.
And every river turns its thousand wheels,
And every valley buried is in bloom.

Her. My dearest father! But I knew 'twas so!
And they who starved are fed and happy now?
They reap the bloom and share the golden flood?

Meg. All will be well when once we've scourged the land
Of rebels that drip poison from their tongues,
Stirring the meek and unambitious poor,—
Who sought no life but saintly, noble toil,—
With strangest rage, till maddened they would bite
The fostering hand of God.

Her. We've prisons where
We put such troublers. Has your land no jails?

Meg.'Tis full of them! I mean—ah, we have jails,
But foes like these are wary, slip all watch,—
Flee and dart back, our weariness their charter
To tread with havoc's hoof. If I could find
Rejan LeVal, then might I rest from guard,
But not while he—unlassoed warrigal!—
May canter from his thicket and paw up
Peonia's fields!

Her. I'll lend an adjutant.
Ask Chartrien, who knows each foggy nook
And smirchèd corner of the capital,—
Having once made his pastime serve a quest
For such drab knowledge,—ask him help you find
This traitor.

Meg.      Chartrien! Nay, the fox is safe
When th' hound too wears a brush.

Her. You mean the prince?
Speak, sir! Who hints me calumny,
Shall make the drum his chorus. I'll hear all.

Meg. A rumor drifts through Goldusan....

Her. Is that
An oddity? Here rumors are too thick
For ears to gather them.

Meg. But this—O, princess....
Fairest of earth, forgive me that I speak!

Her. You do not speak. And that I'll not forgive.

Meg. Ah, then,—but first,—is Chartrien near the king?

Her. No nearer than his heart.

Meg. I do offend.

Her. Offence now lies in silence. Speak, my lord.

Meg. When I left Goldusan, 'twas said—and with
No muffled hesitance—Prince Chartrien aids
The rebels there, and lays a train to rend
The State apart, that Cordiaz may drop
Into the gap,—then he with plausive cleat
Will make the fissure stanch, and seat himself
In unoppugnèd power.

Her. Why he is Hob! [Silence. They both rise]
A mad and sorry tale, you see.

Meg. I see.
He's in the capital?

Her. Beneath this roof.
The palace is his home. My father holds
His meagre millions guarded, nursing them
To a prince's portion.

Meg. We shall meet?

Her. To-night.
He's with a friend—a Spanish gentleman,—
But not from Goldusan.

Meg. I made no guess.

Her. Deny that with your eyes. Your tongue's exempt.

Meg. And may I meet the Spanish gentleman?

Her. That's as he chooses. I may not command him.

[Re-enter Count Dorkinski]

Dor. His Highness, sir, is pleased to bid you join him.

Meg. His pleasure is his marshal. [To Hernda, softly] I've your leave
To love your father. That I go from you
To him, is Heaven's proof I do.

[Exit Megario and the Count]

Her.The proof
I seek, and would not find, is locked in Hell,
Not Heaven. Megario lied. Oh, Chartrien!

[Retreats slowly into grove and pauses out of sight, rear. Enter, upper left, Chartrien and LeVal]

LeV. No,——

Cha. Prudence, dear LeVal!

LeV. I shall go mad
Shut in this gilded den,—this stifling hold
Of banditry.

Cha.       Peace, friend!

LeV. I'd rather crouch
With brats of grime upon an unswept hearth
And claw my bread from cinders, than draw breath
In this gold-raftered house of blood!

Cha. Come, come!
Your wits fly naked, stripped of every caution,
And beat suspicion up that else might keep
Untroubled bed. Whist! We must move rose-shod
Through these next hours, not clack in passion's clogs.

LeV. I'll out of this! There's surge in me no fear
Can put in bonds.

Cha. Nay, here and here alone
Your life is safe. The hounds of Goldusan
Sniff through the cellars. They'll not scent you in
The royal shadow. That's more brilliancy
Than ever lit a rush in houndom. This
My home, I share with you, for mine it is
Till I've secured my gold from Hudibrand.

LeV. Ay, but Megario! While he's here these walls
Pen me in fire.

Cha.   His visit is too brief
To be a danger.

LeV. Danger! To me, or him?
If we should meet, his fate as mine would be
In that encounter. These are hands would see to 't!

Cha. LeVal, forget——

LeV. Forget Céleste? My wife?
Forget she died of blows while he stood by
And smiled, because she was my wife!
Oh, God! Breathe air with him while this arm hangs
A limp discretion!

Cha. Peace! This mood unpent
Will wreck us. Keep your room if it must swell.
The princess gazes yonder, and your face
Is badged exposal. Go. I'll meet her question.
'Twill not fash honor if a lie or two
Must be our guard.

[Exit LeVal upper left. Hernda emerges from grove. Chartrien waits for her as she comes circuitously, lightly hovering and hesitating]

Her. [At his side] What lover's this?—dreams still
When love is by. Were he an olden knight
He'd ride to tourney and forget his spurs!

Cha. He would forget the world and fame and God
To see your eyes like this!

Her. You tremble, Chartrien.
Love so much?—yet stood here just—a stump—

Cha. That felt you coming, coming like a bird,
And watched and waited, envying every bough
Where you paused doubting, till you fluttering lit,
Down in the old stump's heart—

Her. There, I've forgot!
This is my lover ere that lure crept up
From Goldusan. Since you came back, I've felt
The shadow of a difference, and I've heard
The maids of Goldusan can draw men's souls
Out of their bodies for a dance in hell.

Cha. My love!

Her. O, Chartrien, are you mine? I feel
A question in your worship. When your eyes
Are warmest, love lies on them like
The shallow moon-gleam on a deep, dark sea
That is not kin with it. A sea that once
Was mine, and I could go, with circling arms,
Love-lanterned to its depth. But now the dark
Is round me fathomless——

Cha. My own!

Her. I try to rise,
To find my wings—and feel the air again
Without your drowning touch upon me——

Cha. Hernda!
Have I so nearly lost you? Come, beloved,
Sit here, and let me vow me yours again
Till in each word you feel my beating heart.

Her. My stars shall hear these vows.

[Changes the light to pale, evening glow. Rear, right, are glimpses of sky with frail, moving clouds, faint stars and a new moon]

And see, my moon.
Intent and virginal.

[She sits, and Chartrien lies on the ground, his breast covering her feet]

Now, now my heart
Holds not another thing but love and you!

Cha. No thought of those dread wings?

Her. None, none! And you?
[Bends over him]
All mine. I hold you now, fast in my world.
Sometimes you enter, come within my door.
And then I can not shut it for a wind
That clings about you from a farther sky.

Cha. [Rises and takes her face between his hands]
There's but one sky!

Her. A shuddering breath,
As from a planet strange, where you have walked
And I shall never go.

Cha. O, shut me in,
Rose of a heart! I'll not go out though Life
Beat at the door, and call her giant storms
To knock upon 't.

Her. Is this not life? And this
The only world?

Cha. The only world. My habitat
One perfect hour.

Her. One hour? Forever, love.

Cha. O, vow it for me, sweet,—again, again!
Till I believe once more in Arcadies
Born of a silken purse. In sunsets caught
In tinted tapestries, with jacinth heart
Gold-bleeding through the woven breath of dream.
In soft moon-hours that drop from painted skies,
In fairy woodlands aye unwintering,
In love's elf-ring no boding star may cross,
And you, my Hernda, sceptred in joy's name,
Tossing the apple planets in your hands—
These little, sovereign hands—as God might do,
Had he, poor God, your power.

Her. Love, you hurt.

Cha. Ah, tears in Arcady?

Her. Oh, what is this
Has come between us?

Cha. What? The universe.
I can not reach you even when my lips
Are on your heart.

Her. May I not come to you?

Cha. From this moon-world? No hope of that.

Her. See then,
The day! [Changes the light to sunrise]
Now may I come?

Cha. Forever playing!
The way lies here.

[Steps to window and opens it. A snowy blast rushes in]

Her. Stop, Chartrien! Shut it! Oh,
You've killed my Spring!

Cha.   You will not come?

Her. You're mad.

[Struggles with the window until she closes it, Chartrien watching her]

Cha. You do not like that road. But it is mine.
And children walk it. I have met them there.

Her. Oh, I am frozen! See!

Cha. [With sudden contrition, pressing her to his breast]
No, you are fire.
A fire that I will clasp, though it should burn
My holiest temple and betray my soul
To ashes!

Her.   O, my love, what secret curbs
Your nature to this chafe? It rubs even through
Your ardor.—stabs me on your breast.
May I not know it? Is not confidence
Dear blood and life of love? Without it, ours
Must pale, ghost-cold, a chill between locked arms.

Cha. Is trust not love's prerogative
More royal sweet than any burdened share
Of secrecy?

Her.       Not to the strong!

Cha. [Smiling] You strong?
By what brave test dost know it?

Her. And by what
Dost know me weak?

Cha. The proof awaits. But now,—
Emilio needs me,—

Her. Go!

Cha.       Sweet, friendship too
Has bonds. Not all are love's.

Her. He's ill,—your friend?

Cha. As plague-bit life,—no worse.

Her. You'll wait upon
My father? Bid him but good-night?

Cha. No, Hernda.

Her. You shun him, Chartrien. I have watched you keep
A curious distance,—ay, as though your heart
Removed itself while your unwarmèd eyes
Made invoice of its treasure. Once you rushed
Unto his counsel as security
Hived in his word, and you, denied, were lost.
Are those hours gone? If you have grown too large
For his shrunk wisdom, bind you to his need.
Age unsuspected crowns him, and you take
Your young arm out of his.

Cha. He wants no staff.

Her. You'll go no more to Goldusan?

Cha. I must.

Her. And soon?

Cha. When Hudibrand is pleased to free
My fortune from his ward.

Her. You want it all?

Cha. Yes, all.

Her. For Goldusan?

Cha. My greatest need
Is there.

Her. What is that need?

Cha. You question me?

Her. May love not ask?

Cha. If love could understand.

Her. Have I grown dull? I do not know you, Chartrien.
You're so unfeatured by that Spanish cloud,
You're lowering friend. He is the universe
Between our hearts. Ill? No. I saw him here,—
A tropic threat. 'Twas rage broke his suave guard,
Not illness.

Cha. Hernda!

Her. The Lord Megario
Has asked to compliment a brother guest.
May he be seen? Does his unmannered storm
Spare one amenity?

Cha. Megario knows?

Her. Knows what?

Cha. Oh!—nothing.

Her. So much more than naught
Your cheek is pale with it.

Cha. No matter, Hernda.

Her. An ashen matter truly, yet not light
As nothing. But your answer. May our guests
Exchange the roof-tree greeting?

Cha. No.

Her. Why not?
That "no" trails consequence. It can not be
Your period.

Cha. They are enemies.

Her. I knew!

Cha. Megario dealt my friend a bitter wrong,—
The foulest wrong that man may put on man.

Her. He's loyal to my father. I know that
Of him,—and of Emilio—nothing.

Cha. Sweet,
I beg one day!

Her. One day? What's hatching here
That's one day short its time?

[Enter, lower right, Hudibrand, Megario, and Borduc]

Cha. [Drawing Hernda aside] To-morrow, love!

Her. To-night!

Hud. You've won your suit, Megario.
If by our presence in your Goldusan
We can advance that sister country's peace.
The journey's naught. We'll count it done.

Meg. My lord,
All revolution will dispel as air
Before your eye. Our Cordiaz is great,
But his familiar subjects are too near
To take his height, while you they know to be
Of giant measure; and when once they see
Your majesties are brothered, Cordiaz
Will grow your twin in stature.

Hud. You've our word.

Meg. I treasure it,—and lest repeated thanks
Stale their sincerity. I beg to say
Good-night.

Hud. You have our leave. Good-night, my lord.

[Megario bows impressively to Hudibrand, slightly to Borduc, and is passing out when Hernda, who has crossed right, intercepts him]

Her. You leave us early, Lord Megario.

Meg. I do not leave, your Highness. I am driven.
I go to drudgery with my secretaries,
Foregoing even the sleep that might have brought
Your dreamèd face to me.

Her. Is 't still your wish
To meet our Spanish guest?

Meg. He grants me that?

Her. He has refused a meeting.

Meg.   Ah!... Refused.

Her. But there's a way, my lord. When you have passed
The second door without, turn to the left.
You'll find a vaulted passage,—at the end
An entrance to my wood. Come in, and wait.

Meg. You grace me so?

Her. It is not grace that breaks
The covenant of salt. But who keeps faith
With traitors? He is one, by every sign.
An evil thing blown to our royal hearth
Through Chartrien's open love that lets all winds
Pour in. And I'll have proof of it!

Meg. [Over her hand]          You shall. [Exit, lower right]

Cha. [Crossing to Hernda] A long-spun courtesy, and with one merit,—
It ended in good-night.

Her. [Gayly] Unruly yet?
A truce until to-morrow!

Cha. You believe me?

Her. I would not doubt you for a world compact
Of virtues only, but it's no unreason
To fear you are deceived.

Cha. Dear Hernda——

Her. Come!
I love you, Chartrien. Let us have an hour
As light as joy, as sweet as peace, and call
Your friend to share it. He shall smile for me.
I vow it, by his most ungentle frown!

Cha. 'Twill take your deepest magic, for his heart
Holds naught that smiles are made of.

Her. Bring him here.
I'll make that heart my wizard bowl and mix
Such sweet and merry potions in 't, his griefs
Must doff their gray for motley. You shall see!

Cha. Art such a witch? [Exit, upper left]

Her. What's this I do? My soul
Leans shameward, but I'll trounce it up. The man,
If innocent, keeps so, untouched and clear.
If he aims darkly, creeps a weaponed hate
Upon my noble father, do I worse
Than cancel so the unwrought half of 's crime,
And make him less a villain?

Bor.   May I speak
Against this southward jaunt?

Hud. Loud as you please,
My Bordy, but I go.

Bor. Your Highness makes
Assaria bow too low.

Hud. The State shall have
No name in this. I go as Cordiaz' friend,
Not as Assaria's king. I've interests there
That sort with quiet venture. Give it out
This move in part concerns my health.

Bor.   That much
I welcome. You should rest, my lord.

Hud. Ha? Rest?
The twin of death! I'll rest when I am dust.
Nay, then I hope that storm and hurricane
Will keep me whirling. No,—I'll not go lame
Even in report. Say that this move concerns
My pleasure solely,—solely, Borduc.

Her. Father,
I have a suit. May I not go with you?
I long to make that land where you are loved,
More vivid than the dream that now it is.

Hud. And find what lodestar there draws Chartrien
From constancy? Well, you shall go.

Bor. Tut, tut!

Her. Dear father!

Hud. This will give domestic screen
And color to our tack.

Bor.   A gadding throne—

Hud. Good Borduc, we will leave the throne at home.
Do not you stay?

Bor. I've some authority,
You'll not dispute, my lord. Much as may go
With broad election. My investiture
Lies in the people's choice.

Hud. Ay, you're their bark
Of freedom, where their pride may hoist full sail,
But who wots better, Bordy, that 'tis puffed
With winds that know my port?

Bor. They think their choice
Is free. Sincere in that, they give my post
A dignity not even your majesty
May mock me out of.

Hud. Fools are noted most
For their sincerity,—a virtue that
Must stand a cipher if uncertified
By wit or wisdom.

Bor. Sir, Assarians
Are not the fools you think them. They are men
Who have the patriot's heart, and on their flag
Where you write "power" their love reads "liberty."

Hud. It does, praise be! And they may keep their flag
To wear around their eyes long as they will.
For then I dance my measure, while they bump
In hither-whither hoodman blind and pay
My fiddler too!

Bor. And what's my part in this?

Hud. The fiddler's, Borduc.

Bor. Sir?

Hud. And your next tune
Is Goldusan. Come, let's rehearse.

Bor. My lord,——

[Exeunt, lower right, as Chartrien and LeVal enter left]

Her. You've come, dear Señor! Was it savagery
To wrest the hour from you?

LeV. Too kindly done
For such a name,—though I was deep in bond
To sober thoughts, your Highness.

Her. Be so still.
We would not force our humor on your heart,
But share your own.

LeV. [Smiling] Can you be sad?

Her.   As rains
That drench October. As the gray
That fringes twilight on the dark of moons.
As seas that sob above a swallowed ship,
Repenting storm. [Leads to seat, right]
  Come, sir,—and I'll be sad
In what degree you choose, though I could wish it
Nearer a smile than rheum, and not so heavy
But that its sigh may float upon a song,
A gentle song that might be sorrow's garland
When moan wears down. Wilt hear one now, my lord?
I have a music-maker yon whose lute
Was nectared in a poet's tears the hour
He lost his dream. Say you will hear him! Nay,
That courtier "yes" can not o'ertake the "no"
Sped from your eyes. We'll have no music. Yet
The soul must love it ere one can be sad
To th' very sweet of sadness. O, I know!

LeV. I love it, but not here.

Her.   What here forbids?
My bower! The eye translates its tenderness
To fairy sound, nor need of pipe or strings.

LeV. I can not hear the bells of fairydom
When life is making thunder's music 'gainst
This bauble house of play——

Her. [Rising]   Sir, you forget——

LeV. Nay, I remember!

Her. What do you remember?

LeV. Ah!... Pardon, princess!

Cha. May I mend this peace?

Her. [Sitting again by LeVal] It is not broken yet.

LeV. Your gentleness
Has saved it, not my manners.

Her.   Oh, my lord,
Would I had grace to cover sorrow's breach
As smoothly as a gap in courtesy!
Then you should smile!

LeV. I have a happiness
That makes it thievery in me to take
Your pity. You've a sadder need.

Her. I'll yield
No jocund vantage to that brow of yours.
You hear this sombre braggart, Chartrien?
Speaks as I were Despair's own fosterling!

LeV. You are. As I am Hope's. Do you not gaze
On earth's foul spots and cry "A sad world this!"
"We must endure!" "The dear God wills it so!"
And such and such like seed of misery
Till hopelessness sprouts chronic?—building then
Your house of life amid its smelling weeds,
Where you may dance—or pray—till you forget
Your creed keeps earth in tears?

Her.   And yours, my lord?

LeV. Gives her a singing and forefeeling heart
Whose courage cleaves renunciation's cloud
That swathes her splendor and would sighing keep
Her livid 'mong the stars!

Her.   You would divide
Omnipotence with God, and arrogant,
Assume the bigger half. But there are woes
That even your hope, though it go winged and armored,
Must fall before.

LeV.   Not one that I'll not face
Until its features mould me destiny.
The shape of radiance it shall wear for man
'Neath an unslandered Heaven! I could not live
If in the life about me I saw not
The world within this world, and sped my hope
The way that it shall take.

Her. Is not that way
Called Peace, Emilio?

LeV.   Not the peace that spills
More blood than war, builds bigger jails, and leaves
More waifs to suck the stunting, poisonous breast
Of Charity! Peace as white ashes spread
Upon injustice' fly-blown wrack——

Her. [Leaving him]   You are
A revolutionist!

LeV. And black to you,
For revolution leads into the horizon,
And must be figured dark to rearward eyes
Though God beyond gives welcome.

Her. [Coming gently back] May we not
Be patient even as Christ, who found this world
The home of poverty and left it so?
Did he not say the poor are ever with us?

LeV. You too must tap that last and golden nail
In th' pauper's coffin!

Her. It is the nail of truth,
If Christ spoke true.

LeV. Words uttered to his day,
Not to all time. Not as a deathless brand
Burning his own millennium. Not meant
To take from man his goal, condemning him
To hug an ulcer to the sick world's end,
Which even your bosom must take to whitest bed
Although your festrous partner be not guessed
Nor visible. But if he did mean that——
That vicious thing—then he is false as hell,
Denying man's bright destiny,—and I,
Who vouch the triumph of an angel race,
Am more a god than he!

Her. You dare blaspheme——

LeV. Because it once was said to men, whom worms
Made dust of twice ten hundred years ago,
"The poor are always with you," such as you
Shall not forever pick your way to ease
O'er broken bodies, lifting up white brows
And hiding crimson feet! Daring to make
The Christ your sheltering sanction while you feed
On others' lives, and keep injustice sleek
Even as you cosset that dim thing, your soul,
And preen the wings you think bear you aloft
The puddled world!

Her. You lie! You do not know
Our gentle hearts, our——

LeV.   Gentle? O, you're nice,
You later cannibals, and will not eat
Of babes at table, but you'll pipe their blood
From unoffending distance, while you pray
Your conscience numb and swear the source is clean.
Some dare to name that fount the Love of God,
And kneel him thanks!

Her. Oh, mad and impious!
Who is this, Chartrien, you've dared call your friend?

[Megario steps from the grove]

Meg. He's dumb as prudence, but my tongue is free.
This is Rejan LeVal, the man who hates
Your father,—and my country's enemy.

LeV. [Plunging toward Megario] Murderer!

Cha. [Grasping LeVal] Come! At once!

Meg. Your pardon, prince.
I must delay you. I feared your sympathy
Would gird itself 'gainst justice, and took care
To balk escape. [To officer who appears behind him]
Be off with him. You know
Your road. No stop this side Peonia's border.

Cha. Outlawry this! Stop, sir! You will not dare
Kidnap him on this soil!

Meg. [Laughs]         Where Hudibrand
Is king?

[Exit officer with LeVal, lower right]

Her. This strains your privilege, my lord.

Cha. His privilege? My God! Did you....

Her. I did.

Meg. No third voice here is cordant. I will leave you.
My thousand times most gracious lady, thanks!
Again I bid you happiest good-night! [Exit]

Her. I am no adder, though your bitter eyes
Give me that name.

Cha. Not bitter. In my heart,
That wrapped you as the South its dearest bud,
There's nothing left to warm the thought of you
Even with my hate. You are the crown, the peak,
The unmeaning top of all to which I'm most
Indifferent. [Turns away]

Her.     Look at me!

Cha. I look, and know
My eyes till now were cankered, look and see
The whole fair lie you are.

Her. Nay, Chartrien!

Cha. The book is open. There the brow yet shines
As God o'erlilied it,—an altar urn
Stuffed with profane decay. Those are the eyes
Like springs within a wood where no road leads
With murking pilgrim dust, yet Innocence
There paused looks up no more. That is the hand
That as a comrade angel's took my friend's,—
Reached out as though it parted Heaven's veil
To draw his grief within, then clapped him down
To Hell.

Her. The place for traitors. Let him go.
This moment is for us. 'Tis true your eyes
Were cankered, and I thought by surgeon means
To give them health, but deeper than the eyes
This trouble's seat. Deep as your changèd soul,
That forfeits its divinity to link
With an infection. Here you stood and heard
Those poured-out profanations with no move
Or sound of protest. That was left for me.

Cha. What truth may pierce such ignorance, fatuous, thick!
That man,—Megario,—with whom you've struck
Alliant palm, twisted a lawless law
To his deformed desire, and took the lands—
The priceless valley lands of Cana Ru—
From gentle dwellers there, whose titles bore
The rooted claim of dear ancestral graves
Nine generations deep,—and when they stood
The guardians of their doors, faced them with guns,
Dragged them to his bribed courts, weighed them with fines,
And sent them to his burning maguey fields
To slave and rot.

Her. No—don't——

Cha. The lands were sold
To Hudibrand——

Her. It can not be!

Cha. Not be?
That cry is stale as ignorance, as old
As wrong. I've heard it till my ears refuse
To register its emptiness. LeVal,
It was, rose first against Megario,—
Stood up and urged men to be Man,—and this,
That makes archangels in the ranks of Heaven,
Was treason upon earth. He lived—escaped—
But not his wife. Anointed woman, such
As centuries with conjoined virtues breed
Once and no more! She was condemned, enslaved,
And toiling in the steaming fields, fell down,
Was flogged, and died.

Her. No! no! no! no!

Cha. So she
Is free. But now LeVal goes back. My friend!
O, giant heart! I see you stagger, drop,
As feverous as the smitten earth——

Her. Who could
Believe such things? You're wrong! You must—you shall
Be wrong! He was a traitor, bitter-souled.
Undoing my father's work!

Cha. Farewell!

Her. Oh, Chartrien,
I did it for the best!

Cha. The woman's cry.
She'd wreck a world, and from that earthquake piled
Look up to say she did it for the best.

Her. You will not go? You loved me one hour past.
I am not changed. I'm Hernda still.

Cha. The same.
And yet I loved you. But no blush need burn
The soul escaped enchantment. 'Twas a charm
Enringed me with its bale till helpless there,
And feeble as a babe in bassinet,
I cooed away my manhood,—emptied time
With infant fingering toward your protean hair!

Her. You loved me!

Cha. More than ever could be laid
To madness' charge, or god that passion whelms
With mortal longing till his skies become
His prison, and dark earth Elysian ground
Beneath the feet he loves!

Her. [With arms beseeching] Here, Chartrien, here!

Cha. Even when my eyes—so late—were wide to wrong
That binds the race to pain's dread Caucasus,
My mad imagination laid the gift
Of seership on you, dreamed that you would go
To meet the gleam of the delivering days,——

Her. With you!

Cha. Sail any sea of venture, beat
Through any storm to make the prophet's port,—
White priestess vassal to the truth that leads
The planet into light!

Her. Together, Chartrien!

Cha. That was my dream. Then coming to your side.
There was no life but yours,—no world that bled
And felt the vulture feeding. Groans of men
Grew still, or like the unavailing hum
Of far-off, aimless bees, scarce reached my ears
That heard, more near, as music from new earth,
Your children call me father. Ay, 'twas but
The storming undersea of passioning sex
That breaking to the sky o'erlaid my stars
And wore the mask of Heaven! That ebbless power,
That spawning tide of Nature, by whose might
She took primordial forts and made Life hers!
Still does it tear belated, unassuaged,
In wreck about the Mind's aspiring fanes.
And shakes the nesting Spirit from her towers,
Her heavenly brood unfledged!

Her. Oh! Oh!

Cha. Here—now—
I beat it back, and go my way unmated
Till beauty fair as yours has bred a soul
And signals me! [Exit]

Her. Stay, Chartrien! Oh, my love!

[Falls. Curtain]

ACT II

Scene: A grove in the outskirts of a town in Goldusan. Semi-tropical verdure. Rocks, shrubbery, trees, at convenience. A hidden cascade mumbles upper right, not loud enough to disturb conversation. At upper left, the pillared and vine-wreathed entrance to a mansion. A wall, rear, partly hidden by foliage. Paths lead off, right and left, lower, under trees. It is evening, and the grove is lit for revel. Gay flocks of people pass, then Hernda and Megario enter lower right.

Meg. Unsoft as winter! Thou hast brought thy north,
With thee, a frigid shade, here where the hours
Are poppy-fingered, and their dreaming breasts
Unshuttered as the summer!

Her. Is it true,
This joy, that smiles as though its fountained heart
Could not be emptied?

Meg. True as that I love you.

Her. But if it is no mask, why should revolt
O'ercloud your borders?

Meg. There's no just revolt.

Her. But Chartrien said——

Meg. Are you yet poison-tinct
With that old rebel tale his credulous heart
Dressed new in his while honor till both grew
One sooty treason?

Her. Where is Chartrien now?

Meg. Wherever he may hatch a discontent
And cluck us trouble. But of late he spurs
His heart of venture, and dartles to our towns
To stir the scum there.

Her. Scum? You've such a thing
In Cordiaz' happy land? I'll see that scum.
It breathes, does 't not? Has eyes, and tongue?
Can answer if one speaks?

Meg. You're merry, princess.

Her. As graves at night. All is not open here.
I shall go farther,—knock at doors where Truth
Keeps honest house, not gowned for holiday.

Meg. One want we have,—that you will stay with us
And be the fairy soul of Goldusan.
Then must our land, so measureless endeared,
Be cherished as the darling care of Heaven,
Where storm may breathe but as a twittering bird
That fears to shake its nest.

Her.   You've only words!
Words like these thousand-thousand smiles that seem
Half real and half painted,—teasing, strange,—
All feeding one illusion round my way
Till even the ground unqualifies beneath me
And makes each step a question.

Meg. 'Tis the doubt
You look through that transforms our face
Of truth and paints us vaguely hued.
O, for our many smiles, wilt not give one?

Her. Nay, there's a darkness fringing on this grove.
It creeps above the walls, it touches me,
And makes me shudder winding at my feet!

Meg. You've sipped of fancy at a witch's knee! [Plucks a flower]
But see,—your serpent shadows nurture this.
Confess to its perfection, and be shriven
Of any thought less fair.

Her. Oh, if I might!
No, keep it. Let us find our friends.

Meg. [Drops the flower] My hand
Defiles it for you.

Her. Nay——

Meg. Where is the fan
I carried yester-night?

Her. 'Tis—lost.

Meg. 'Tis burnt!

Her. What wind's your gossip?

Meg. Truth paused at my ear.
But, princess, if there's any charm will draw
Your eyes to me unburdened of their hate,
I'll find it though it lie beneath the ruin
Of every other hope!

Her. I'll leave you, sir.

Meg. Forgive me! Love will speak,—ay, storm its need.
Though each vain word pile up the barricade
That fends the heart desired.

Her. My lord, no hate
Is in that barrier. I'm free of that.

Meg. Thanks for that little much. Your highness speaks
Of journeying. What can I say to gild
My own Peonia till it distant gleams
The gem of pilgrimage? There you will see
How earth is dressed when the devoted sun
Is pledged to her adorning. Trees that mass
Their bloom in forest heavens, giving her
A nearer sky. Unthwarted vines that scarf
Her mountain shoulders with their pendent clouds.
Lakes where a dreamer's bark may drift unoared
And chance no port save beauty. Everywhere
The dart and wave of color that would beckon
A neighbor planet looking once this way.
Come, be my guest. One day! I'll ask no more.

Her. I do not know. Señora Ziralay
Will be my guide. I go with her.

Meg. With her?

Her. What is 't? I touch the shadow. You are not
Her friend?

Meg.     She hates in secret, while her smile
Levies the world for love.

Her. I'll hate where she does,
And know my soul is safe.

Meg. Her husband holds
By love and purse to Cordiaz, but she
Is a LeVal.

Her. LeVal? And kin to—him?

Meg. Rejan? His sister. And I know her nature
Is tinted as her blood, whatever hue
It wears at court.

Her. A sister to the man
That I gave up to death. And I have dared
To love her—take her kiss——

Meg. [Cautioning] She's here.

[Enter, lower right, Señora Ziralay and Guildamour]

Her. Señora!
We spoke of you.

Señ. And with such gloom?

Meg. No, no!

Señ. It lingers yet, my lord. Do I in absence cast
Such knitted shadows?

Meg.   Safely asked of us,
Who know your bright philosophy. How fares
That magic broom with which you'd sweep the earth
Of every ill? Is 't still invincible?

Señ. Much worn of late, my lord, as you should know,
Who give it work.

Meg. You'd leave us not one grief
To keep us praying and rebuilding Heaven?
Abolish Death perhaps?

Señ. True mock! I would
Except the death that's like a waiting bed
When not another turn may mend the day;
When sleep is sweeter than the thumbèd book,
And hearth-near voices drowse like waves that lap
Shores unconcerned. Now we are murdered, all.

Meg. No, no. Señora!

Gui.   Ay! Do we not vaunt,
And set it rarely down, a thing to note,
If age unmoor the life-disusèd raft,
For th' chartless cruise?

Señ. Now we go hurried out,
With half our dreams unpacked, and earth made poor
With a few grains of dust where should have risen
Our wisest years in flower.

Meg. Fate, fate, Señora!

Señ. What's fate but ignorance? And not always that
Comes hobbling with excuse. Sometimes a man,
Whose eyes fling lances at the foes of Life,
Is knouted from the world——

Meg. No more, I pray!
This is a festal night. Reserve your sermon
For our next fast.

[A musical group plays softly under trees left. Enter lower right, Hudibrand, Cordiaz, Rubirez, Vardas, Ziralay and others]

Hud. Here, daughter? You've been sought.

Cor. The search was mine, your highness. I would beg
A grace of you.

Her. You grant one as you beg,
Your majesty. I'll not do less than give
Your own again. But pray you name it, sir.

Cor. This garden where our amity has borne
Its fairest blossom shall be called henceforth
The Grove of Peace, and we would beg your highness
To queen our christening.

Her. A queenly part,
And royally I thank you, but I'll play it
With humblest prayer that Heaven may keep unbroken
These new-sworn bonds between my land and yours.

Cor. So pray we all.

Her. Is this our scene?

Cor. Not here.
Come you this way, my friends. We'll cast the wine
To yon cascade, and let the waters bear it
Down to my capital.

[All go off upper right, except two officers, who remain centre, and a guard who walks to and fro by wall rear, sometimes visible, sometimes hidden by the wood and rocks]

First Off. This peace will prove
As stout as any spider's thread that swings
In a blowing rain. Fah!

Second Off. Climb what hill you please,
You see the rebels' smoke.

First Off.   But where in name
Of magic does Bolderez get his gold?
The rebels we pick up have lost no meals.

Second Off. Enough he gets it. Goldusan sleeps well.
Bolderez is so near that if his men
Were eagles they could pick out Cordiaz' eyes
And he'd not wake to miss 'em.

First Off. Cordiaz
Is not asleep, but so bedimmed and fooled
By a thievish Cabinet that what he sees
Takes any name they give it.

Second Off. He is old.

First Off. Ah, there you hit it. Warriors should die young.
When age unsoldiers them their field-worn hearts
Have no defence against a crafty peace,
And falling power will seize on any prop
Be 't foul or fair, to keep on legs.

Second Off. My faith!
His crutches are so villanous, a fall
Were better than his gait.

[Enter Ziralay, lower right]

First Off. Well, Ziralay,
What news?

Zir.         Where's Cordiaz?

Second Off. He comes.

[Re-enter group from the cascade]

Zir. [To Cordiaz]   My lord,
The Assarian prince is captured, and is held
Within the town.

Cor. What? Chartrien?

Zir. Yes, my lord.

Cor. Fit period to this dedicated day!
Our gentle bonds are now forged whole. The man
Who was Bolderez' hope, most luminous
Of all who drew rebellion to him, now
Is darkly fallen.

Rub. This golden aid cut off,
Bolderez stands so bare his nakedness
Will sprint to nearest cover.

Cor. I'll see his face.
Bring here the prisoner.

Off.   I'll speed the order,
Your majesty. [Exit]

Rub. Shall he be shot, my lord?

Cor. Shot? No. But kept close prisoned.

Rub. That is mercy
You have denied the blood of Goldusan.
Why grant it to Assaria?

Var. In him swells
A strength was never in LeVal. I urge
His instant death.

Cor. No, friends. He is a son
Of our great neighbor, and his death would wound
The courtesy of nations that is kept
By lenience unabraded.

Var. Breath so bold
Will from a prison fan the treachery
Whose flame would die without it.

Her. Father, speak!

Cor. We'll hear our friend, Assaria's majesty,
If he have word for us.

Hud. I pray your highness
To let no ghostly and unfounded fear
Of my Assaria——

Cor. Fear, my lord?

Hud. I mean
No more than ask you to be just, nor let
My presence here enforce your chivalry
To do your country wrong. Think of your people,
Not the approval of a gazing land
Whose distant nod is given in ignorance
Of your stern cause.

Her. Here's not my father! So
The clock runs backward, and time ends.

Meg. [To Cordiaz]   Your highness,
My voice is not so loud as others here,
But could I send it far as sound may go,
It should take mercy's part in this debate.

Var. You need no trump, my lord. A limpet's whistle
Would tell us where you stand.

Meg. I stand with Cordiaz,
His majesty of Goldusan!

Cor. This matter
Is not for open market. Come, my friends,
Let us go in. Please you to walk before.

[Rubirez, Ziralay, Vardas, and Megario enter the house, upper left. Their majesties linger at entrance. Guildamour retreats on path, upper right. Officers go off, lower left. Hernda and Señora Ziralay wait unnoticed, right]

Cor. Is 't kindly done, my lord, to pose your station
In public against mine?

Hud. My neutral words
You've packed with import all your own. I strive
To bend not right or left, but keep my way
As even as Justice.

Her. [To Señora] Justice! There's a stone
That was my father.

Cor. Yet, my lord, this prince
Is of your house.

Hud. Is it for Cordiaz
To teach me mercy?

Cor. By my soul!

Hud. I know
Whence starts this softness. Mercy has no fane
Where you leave offering.

Cor. I know you too!
By holy Heaven, your head was never bared
In Justice' temple! You now seek my fall,
Because I've turned at last to check the hand
That rifles Goldusan. Is 't not enough
That I've unjewelled all her treasured hills
To alien avarice—that her forests bleed
The priceless sap of all primeval Springs
Into your golden stream? But I must lay
My people under bond,—sell them as slaves
To buy your stolen railways!

Hud. Stolen, sir?
I've paid——

Cor. I know what you have paid! You've sent
Your henchmen creeping in the night, to buy
At beggar's price our toil-built roads, and where
You could not buy, you bribed and thieved, till all
Was yours!

Hud.       What of my toil, that built the lines
Through half your provinces?

Cor. You paid yourself!
Took from my governors, half gulls, half thieves
Of your own breed, a hundred times the worth
Of every graded foot, in lands and mines
And water-power that holds the prisoned light
Of robbed futurity! Now we must buy
Once more those tracks, long over-bought,—pay you
A value centuple for every mile,—
Pay you in bonds—bonds in hell's verity—
Whose interest will outrun each reckoned year
The summed returns from our fool's purchase! No!
That is my word while I am Goldusan!

Hud. You wake too late. I'll tell you so, my lord,
Since this imprudent burst thrusts courtesy
From court. Your ministers have given assent——

Cor. Have given! You'll over-steal enough
To quit their boldest price!

Hud. I'll not defend
Your chosen servants, sir.

Cor. My servants! Oh,
What State is free from scuttling greed that bores
For treasure through the stanchest hold?

Hud. This moral chant comes late from you, my lord,
Who've fingered heavily in many a pie
Spiced in the devil's kitchen.

Cor. But to sell
My people! Pay you this devouring price
For stock that hardy yields the groaning third
Of interest on your bonds! What shall we do
To pay it? Rob our treasury, and ask
Our worn-out slaves to fill it up again?
Not ask, but goad and lash,—for you must have
Your own—you honest mortgagees of babes
Unborn——

Hud. Is all the scarlet on our hands?
What of that mountain province, sold entire
To foreign pockets, and the dwellers there
Torn up like shrieking roots and cast abroad
To fasten where they could?

Cor. And where was that
But in your hell-mouthed mines? You wanted slaves
And got them.

Her. I shall die, Señora!

Señ. Listen!

Hud. The tyrant Cordiaz grown pitiful?
Then stones are butter, alabaster is
Uncrumpled down. You should have wept before
The Pueblo strike, then fewer corpses had
Gone out to sea.

Cor. Don't name that thing to me!
Don't speak of it! I will not bear that curse!

Hud. Mine aged convert, lies it in your will,
Or juster Heaven's?

Cor. 'Twas your property
My troops defended—and Rubirez lied.
Swore that the men foamed mad as tuskèd beasts,
And must be trashed to place,—men who had asked
No more than bread when you shut up your doors——

Hud. Not I, my friend.

Cor. Your tool then. One of all
Your million hookèd hands fast in the heart
Of my poor country, shut your doors, thereby
To starve the wretches till they crawled to you
And begged their chains again. But they—their veins
Were not all tapped—they'd blood left, and arose
From their dumb prayers to fight for life—and then....

Hud. You sent the troops.

Cor. Because Rubirez lied!

Hud. Because you knew there'd be no after-sale
For your high favors, once let titles drift
Unguaranteed. And when your work was done—
Your work, my tear-washed saint, why weary patience
Could not take further time to count the dead,
Or dig so many graves. They were piled up
And carted to the sea——

Cor. Oh, every tide
Brings back their faces—staring, staring up!
Will God not answer them? I dare not shut
My eyes....

Hud. And this is why you weep so late?
Come, Cordiaz, you're broken. Leave a throne
Your own fears shake. You know that I must win.
Own you are mastered——

Cor. Mastered! While I've breath
I am a king. If I win peace of God,
And his white angel let my dark soul out,
'Twill be for this—the last throe of my strength
Was spent against you!

Hud. Madly you've uncased
Your madness, and I know my weapons.

Cor. So!
I too, my lord, know how to sleep and wake
With hand on steel.

Hud. Then is there more to say?

Cor. All's said. We're waited for. Assaria,
Will 't please you enter?

Hud. I thank you, Goldusan. [They go in]

Her. Don't comfort me, Señora. Not a breath.
I'll not disfigure shame with comfort's patch,
But droop as low as leprous dust, and take
Some pride in that. 'Tis dark here, dark. Pray God
I am asleep!

Señ. Dear princess!

Her. Men do well
To keep the women blind. If once they knew,
They'd breed no more, but let a bairnless world
Escheat to God. Yet you, Señora, knew,
And you have children. By your motherhood
You've bound you Life's accomplice,—given it heart
And veins and an accepting soul!

Señ. I have!
Deny our hearts these babes, and we deny
The future that we fight for. Ah, defeat
May be endured by those who hold in lap
The victors of to-morrow!

Her. Oh, my father!

Señ. This truth was edged and swift. You should have had
Love's lips to teach you——

Her. I've been taught, my friend,
But would not learn. [Rising] Señora, it was I
Betrayed your brother!

Señ. Yes.... I know.

Her. To death!
You do not understand. I killed him!

Señ. No.
There, love,—forget a little. I've a hope
He is not dead.

Her. Not dead? What gives you hope?

Señ. Perhaps the nameless mentor in the heart
That tells us when our loved shrines are lit
And when they're out forever. But there's more.
Whenever Lord Megario's eye meets mine
There's something couched there speaks me living wrong,
Not wrong that's ended—locked within a grave
No prayer may open. He is burning yet
With uncompleted vengeance—and its shame.

Her. Señora, you've a plan!

Señ. 'Twill take much gold.

Her. Ah, I have that.

Señ. And courage.

Her. Well!

Señ. Such as,
We're told, no woman has.

Her. Here is my life,
And any Fate may have it that will make
Your brother live. Will you forgive me then?

Señ. [Kissing her] Ah, dear, you could not know....

Her. How did you hear?

Señ. From Chartrien.

Her. You are friends?

Señ. So true he seems
Not friend but friendship to my soul. And I
Talk here, while yonder he——

Her. They dare not! No!
My father would.... My father? Oh, Señora! [Sobs hopelessly]

Señ. We'll find a door to this.

Her. Would Ziralay
Not help?

Señ. Had he the wit, he would not dare.
While I'm his wife he must keep double guard
Against suspicion.

Her. Oh!

Señ. If there's one true,
'Tis Guildamour. I'll go to him.

Her. At once!
He took that path.

Señ. I know what shade he seeks
When he would brood.

[Exit Señora, upper right. Hernda waits drooping, as if too weary for thought. A group of ladies and gentlemen enter, lower right, among them Guildamour]

Her. [Starting up] Oh!—Guildamour!

Gui. Your highness!

[Leaves his party chattering lower left, and crosses to Hernda]

Her. Señora seeks you.

Gui. Ah, about the prince?

Her. We have a hope, my lord, your hand may turn
Some stone of rescue.

Gui. Mine are powerless hands,
Pinned to inaction's cross. My eyes may turn
No way that is not watched. To lift my lids
May raise a cry of "Treason!"

Her. There's no help?
In all this land no help?

Gui. Megario,
Could he be softened to it, is the man
Who might with safety slip a secret bolt
For Chartrien.

Her. He!

Gui.       His name is set above
The nick of treason by his stern dispatch
Of poor LeVal,—and, that struck off, he yet
Is chronicled so dark that none would lay
A fair deed at his door.

Her. Megario!

Gui. I would not name him, but I know he loves you,
And there's no soul that love may not endue
With tinge of Heaven.

[Re-enter Señora]

Her. Señora!

Señ. [Panting] I have seen him!

Gui. The prince?

Her. Not Chartrien?

Señ. Yes!

Gui. Escaped?

Señ. The guards
Were of our heart—they let him make the wood—
I've hidden him——

Her. Oh, where?

Señ. Within the cave
Veiled by the waterfall. But safety there
Is minute-frail.

Gui. What way? He'll climb the wall?

Señ. And drop into the river.

Gui. Yes. What guard
Walks there? I see. 'Tis Miguel. And I know
Somewhat of him,—more than he'd tell the winds.

Señ. Thank Heaven for a sinner! When he's next
Behind the rocks, then to him, Guildamour,
And be his palsying conscience. Peg his feet
To the earth!

Gui. Trust me, Señora!

Señ. I'll lead off
Those babblers. Princess, you're the watch,—you'll give
The signal.

Her.     Ah! What is 't?

Señ. Two pebbles dashed
Into the water is our sign.

Her. The guard!
He's gone!

Gui. It is our time. [Exit into wood, rear]

Her. [As the talkative group move up] Take them away,
Señora! It would kill me now to meet
A painted smile.

Señ. I'll go. And you—be swift.
Don't stop—don't think. [Joins group]
I know where lordings three
Wait for as many maids.

A young lady. You saw them pass?

Señ. Disconsolate.

Young Lady. O, to the river!

Another. Come!

[They go off with Señora, lower left]

Her. Now! [Takes up two stones. Ziralay and Megario come out of the house]
Oh! [She drops the stones. They cross to her]

Meg. You wait?

Her. I read the sentence.

Zir. Death.

Her. And when?

Zir. To-night. They've given Vardas charge
Of 't. He's an eager butcher,—does not know
Delay.

Her. You wished his death.

Zir. I voted no.
Megario laid my doubts.

Her. Did he do that?

Zir. He countered to their teeth.

Her. [To Megario] So merciful
Is hate?

Meg. The prince's death would mean the fall
Of Cordiaz, and our houses rock with his.

Her. Be clearer, pray you.

Meg. Vardas wants the throne,
And we've a sour and guilty faction here
Who'd see him on it, but they dare not move
Against a king yet rich in arms and friends.
And Hudibrand is not so absolute
That he may turn the army of Assaria
On the sole pivot of his word. For that,
Even he must knock the sleeping nation up
And ask good leave.

Her. You'd say, sir, Hudibrand
Would favor Vardas?

Zir. Short and plain, he does.

Her. What then?

Meg. The Assarians are proud, and where
They think their honor's pricked, their pride out-tops
Their judgment. Chartrien's death, whose ugly weight
Must lie with Cordiaz, will inflame their hearts
Till Hudibrand may send an army on us,
His people clapping to 't. In open day
They'll choose the road his cunning cut by night,
And pray him take it.

Zir. Ay, and where are we,
With Vardas crowned in Goldusan?

Her. I see.

Meg. He'd like my million acres in Peonia
Sliced for his foreign hounds!

[Enter an officer]

Zir. What trouble now?

Off. Prince Chartrien has escaped.

Meg. And you in charge?

Off. I sent him with good men, or so I thought,
Being pressed to another way——

Meg. His guards,—what name?

Off. Vinaldo, and a sergeant, who——

Meg. Vinaldo!
He's on the blue list, turning fast to black.
Did you not know it?

Off. I held him, sir, the pick
Of loyalty.

Meg. Well,—on. What else?

Off. They reached
The grove, passed in, and after prudent time,
The guards came out, smug as all right, and now
They're gone,—clear foot,—will doff you from the hills.

Meg. A tale for Vardas! You may save your beard,
But not your neck.

Off. I'll not shake yet. The prince
Is in the grove. We'll soon uncover him.

Zir. The walls are picketed?

Off. A double watch
Is on.

Zir. That's well enough.

Off. On chance he makes
The wall, I've reinforced the river guard.

Meg. Both sides?

Off. A close patrol, both east and west.
Though he had fishes' gills and dived the stream,
He'd not get by. That way is fast against him
As Belam's iron door.

Meg. [To Hernda] You're ill?

Her. No, no!
I'm well—quite well.

Meg. The lily in your cheek
Lies not so bravely.

Off. [To Ziralay] If he gets out of this,
He'll steer around the moon. We'll find him, sir.
But he's most darkly hid. Has made a coat
Of leaves and plays the grouse trick on us.

Zir. Come!
His majesty must know. [Ziralay and officer go into house]

Meg. How may I help you? Let the service be
Of such poor nature as your dog might give,
And pride will whistle to it.

Her. O, my lord,
I half believe you. When our angels fall,
Then devils are not black. And I have lost
My father.

Meg. Devils! You've a tongue.

Her. Forgive
A heart unmantled, and too wild to choose
What word may veil it. I would say, my lord,
In this discolored world I now begin
To find you fair,——

Meg. O, heavenly retraction!

Her. And if I ask a service it will be
No paltry one, but such as makes the king
Bow to the knight.

Meg. I'll prove this grace
Is native in me, and not solely lent
Of your new bounty!

Her. Would you save the life
Of Chartrien?

Meg. I would. Though a treasonous tool
Of rebelry, he should be held by me
A prisoner of knightliest war.

Her. A prisoner!

Meg. You can not ask his freedom! That would give
My foes clear argument to pluck me bare,
And set me outlawed on the rebel side
Of this deplored division.

Her. Oh, not free!
And in your power!

Meg. To hold him prisoner,—that
I'd undertake, and make the action good
Even to this bloody council.

Her. You'd dare that?

Meg. My policy is open, and I'd dare
To put it into deed that must commend me
To their unwilling justice. To do more
Would disarray all sense,—be fullest like
The idiot's gesture that disrobes the wretch
Of his last sanity.

Her. Megario....

Meg. What secret is so dear these costly sighs,
Like gentle pickets ever reinforced,
Let it not pass?

Her. A secret? No!

Meg. But yes.
I push me by its fragile guardians,
And hear it beating in its citadel.

Her. What says it then?

Meg. You've seen the prince.

Her. My lord!

Meg. You know what shadow hides him.

Her. No, no, no!
My oath, sir, I've not seen him!

Meg. I would trust
One negative, not three. Give him to me,
And you will know he lives. Let him be found
By Vardas' men, and when you wake to-morrow
The earth will be without him.

Her. No, not you!
I'll go to Cordiaz. He'll save the prince
As he would save his throne. You've taught me that.

Meg. He'd lose it so. Should Cordiaz to-night
Set Chartrien free, he'd rise without a lord
To bid him one good-morrow.

Her. Ziralay....

Meg. Ask him? An ass whose ears if visible
Would signal Mars! Say he had courage for you,
He'd blunder with the prince to Vardas' arms.

Her. Ah, you could do it,—set him free!

Meg. Nay—don't—
Don't ask it, if you've mercy! Your highness knows
I could not grant so much though lips I love
Above my soul should beg that treason of me.
Though they should take again those dearest words
That knighted me, and now lie in my heart
Like swelling seed of fortune! Let me shield
His life. In saintliest trust—— [She shudders from him]
You fear me so?

Her. I do! I do! You took away LeVal,
And he no longer lives.

Meg. He does! My oath,
He does!

Her. You spared him?

Meg. By my soul, he lives!
But let the word sleep in your vestal ear,
Until these smouldering troubles die to dust
And feed the grass above them. For the State
Believes LeVal is dead, nor taints me with
Such treacherous clemency. See how I lay
My safety and my honor in your hands?
I give them, hostages for Chartrien!
Ah, you should know how I will guard your trust,
For when I say to you he does not live,
Your eyes will slay the single, nurturing hope
Of my own life!

Her. [Battling] I can not! I'm not Fate
To do her awesome work.

Meg. We aid her most
With passive hand, as Chartrien's ghost will come
On mourning nights to tell you.

Her. Oh, I'll speak!...
No, no! Ah, never, never!

Meg. [Resolute, giving up his suit] I must join
The hunt. There's but one place—the cave——

Her. The cave!

Meg. Those guards are fools—or shy of water.

Her. Sir,
What cave?

Meg. He's there. Your cold, uncandid calm
Has babbled it. The frost is crafty that
Puts out such anxious fire.

Her. My lord, if I
Should tell you....

Meg. Quickly then! How canst debate
So fatally, knowing delay but robs him
Of venture's favor? Every moment steals
A bud of chance.

Her. How will you take him out?

Meg. I'll pass the gates unchallenged. Close without,
My car stands by,—a racer never spent,
And begs no pause. Know he is safe, and sleep.
Night will be secret, and we'll greet the sun
In my Peonia——

Her. Ah, Peonia's far!

Meg. And Vardas near.

Her. Take these two stones, my lord.
Cast them into the falls——

Meg. So! I was right!
But you must summon him.

Her. So soon a tyrant?

Meg. I'll take him from your hands,—no other way.
Your trust to me! And with my life I'll guard it!
For that you love him is my means to you.
Once in your heart, I'll win the throned place
Though all his saints defend it!

Her. True, my friend,
We shall be nearer, for anxiety
Will draw me to you with a longing like
The aching letch for morning in the eyes
Pain keeps astare. You then will be the goal
Of fondest question,—and from that—who knows?
Out of unbroken faith, and kindly shafts
'Tween hearts disponent, bridges have been built
For love's plenipotence to cross.

Meg. You bid
Me hope?

Her. I do not say despair. Sometimes
A presto-worker sits within the soul
Of gratitude, and love that must give thanks
In name of one beloved, has then been known
To pass from the liege object to the heart
Whose compass held them both in selfless bounds
Of chivalry. And yet—I promise nothing!

Meg. I ask no promise but the one I find
In words that so deny it. Now the thought
Is born, I'll make the naked infant grow
Heir of my princely opportunity.
Go now. An instant may defeat us. Haste!
My purse must buy a guard.
    [Hernda goes off, upper right. Megario walks left and calls]
Benito! Ho!
You and your fellow!
[Enter two guards]
I have work for you.
You've seen my gold before. Here's more of it.
Stand for my word.

[Hernda returns with Chartrien]

Cha. Gods give me time for one
Wild kiss! O, Heaven! To find and lose you in
One whirling breath!

Meg. [His pistol at aim] You are my prisoner.

[Señora rushes on left]

Señ. Oh, princess! Oh!

Meg. [To guards] Move on with him.

Her. Wait—wait——

Meg. No time.

Her. But I must tell——

Cha. Let fiends be dumb.
You damned and double traitress, this my hand
Could lay you dead!

Meg. [To Hernda, who seems dazed] My goddess, I'll be true!

[Kisses her, and goes off, lower right, with Chartrien and guards]

Señ. You let him kiss you!

Her. Who?

Señ. Megario.

Her. I did not know it. I am dead, I think.

[Curtain]

ACT III

Scene: A yard, walled and spiked, of Megario's hacienda. A long, low hut, the men's sleeping-quarters, at right. In upper centre, a smaller hut which serves for kitchen and also as sleeping-room for several women. On left, the yard continues, showing other huts used by families. The entrance gate is off stage, left. An unused gate, locked and barred in wall, right.

Hernda, in the guise of a young Maya woman known as Famette, stirs a pan of food which is heating on some coals in front of kitchen. Lissa stands in door of hut watching her.

Lis. [Stepping out] You mend, Famette. But when you came—all thumbs.
A woman grown and couldn't spoon up fish!

Fam. It was the smell. How can they eat it, Lissa?

Lis. You'll eat it too.

Fam. That? Never!

Lis. Another week
Will starve you to it.

[Ysobel comes out of kitchen bearing apron full of cups and spoons which she places on ground]

Yso. [Looking left] Here's Masio in. [Enters hut]

Lis. He's always first.
[Masio comes up left] How did my boy get on?

Mas. I wasn't near him in the field.

Lis. He did
His stint?

Mas. I never heard.

Lis. No eyes, no ears,—
All belly, you!

Mas. [Taking up spoon and cup from the pile]
Fish! fish!

Lis. Beans first. You know
The rules.

Mas. I've teeth can break 'em. Fish, Famette!
[Famette puts fish into his cup]
There'll be a blessed cleaning-up to-night.

Lis. More beating? Has the master come?

Mas. [Nods] And on
The rounds. He'll clear the yards. News from the north
Has turned him red and black.

Fam. A flogging? Oh,
If you were men you'd fight with your bare hands
Till you were free!

Mas. Free as the dead. Our blood
Would soak the earth and make more hennequin,—
That's all.

Fam. Then run away.

Mas. How far? The swamps?
To sleep with snakes—a week or less?

Fam. Across
The ridges.

Mas.       Where the sun would lap you dry
As crackling cat-guts? Thirst would draw you in
To th' next hacienda well. The masters own
The water, and in this land, that's life.

Fam. No chance?
They never get away?

Mas. Sometimes a man
Makes Quito, but he soon comes back.

Fam. Comes back?

Mas. What else? In Quito there's no work. He starves.
And here—there's beans. So he gives up, and then
They send him back.

Fam. And he is flogged?

Mas. Ay, till
His bones crack.

Fam. Oh! He bears it?

Mas. Like a man,
My dear.

Fam. The coward!

Mas. So—back to the field,
Mute as a snail, and poorer too, for then
The dream is gone of any life but this.

Fam. They have no spirit—none!

Mas. Much as you'll have
This time next year.

Fam. Next year? I shall be gone.
My debt was just ten pesos.

Mas. [Incredulous] You were sold
For that?

Fam. I'll work it out.

Mas. Be 't ten or hundreds,
Who comes here stays. You'll soon know that, my bird,
And limber your fine neck.

[As they talk, men and women enter in groups of scores and dozens until there are several hundred in the yard. They are mostly of mixed blood, their color ranging from the full brown of the Maya to the pale olive of the Peonian aristocrat. At a spout, upper left, they wash their hands, then drop about wearily. One man sits near Famette, his head sunk on his chest. She lays her hand on his shoulder]

Fam. What, Garza, you?
Who were so blithe this morning, on your way
To freedom?

Garza. [Rocking] Mother of God! Oh, Mother of God!

Fam. What is it, Garza?

Mas. There you have it! You see
Who comes here stays.

Fam. But he was free! His friend
Brought twenty pesos to pay off his debt.

Gonzalo. And when he went to pay it, on the books
There stood two hundred pesos against Garza.

Mas. Two hundred—twenty,—you see, Famette,
How much a little "o" can do.

Fam. They dare
Do that? I'll see the magistrate! [The men stare at her]

Mas. [Patting her shoulder] Poor girl!

Fam. I will! Why not? What is he for?

Gon. What for?
To see we are well beaten when we ask
For justice. He must serve who pays him,—that's
The master.

Fam.       Oh, you worse than slaves!

Mas. No names,
My proudling. Wait a year, then what you please.

[The men have been eating. Ysobel stands in door of hut holding a great bowl of beans from which the peons fill their cups. Lissa gives out the fish. Her boy, Iduso, crouches by her skirts]

Lis. [To boy] Not eat? Now you're a man? Twelve years to-day!

Fam. [Bending over Iduso] Is 't fever, Lissa?

Lis. [With sullen jealousy] Let him be, Famette.
What do you know? You've got no children.

Fam. I've
A little brother.

Lis. Brother! Nothing that.

Fam. He's just Iduso's age.

Lis. [Softened] And has to take
A man's work on him?

Fam. N-o——

Lis. I said it now.
What do you know? Look at your hands—not stumps
Like mine.

Mas. Who hugs the post to-night?

Gon. I heard
Of seven warned.

Yso. My man! He hasn't come!

Mas. God's mercy, give us peace! It was his turn
To put away the knives.

[Ysobel leans against hut. Famette takes bowl from her]

Lis. There's seven, you say?

Ben. None from this yard. Famette, you haven't seen
A flogging yet?

Fam. And never will, you beast!

Ben. Your never's short,—less than an hour.

Fam. What do you mean?

Ben. The whip draws blood to-night,
And we must all look on, for our soul's good.
It is the master's order.

Fam. I'll not go!

Mas. Why, God looks on, Famette, and so may we.
All Heaven sees it, and I'll pledge my—fish—
That not an angel blanches.

Gon. You should see
The master!

Fam. He is there? Does he look on?

Mas. O, not quite that. To eye the work
Would show too grossly, but you'll see him there,—
Somewhat aside, leaning against a yew,
Most carefully at ease. Then he will light
A delicate cigar that fills the grove
With a fantastic odor, like, we'll say,
Faint musk that creeps on burning pine.
You will approve the quality, Famette.
That is his signal.

Fam. Oh!

Mas. Long as he puffs,
And soft, white rings twirl upward to the leaves,
The lashes fall. And when, grown gently weary,
As 'twere half accident, from his high thoughts
Remote, he clears the cindered tip—like this—
The whip is still.

Fam. Where, where am I?

Mas. In hell,
Sweetheart.

Fam. Who are you, Masio? You are not
As these that suffer speechless.

Mas. Pinch the difference!
A little learning, and a few opinions
That brought me here.

Fam. [Moving aside with him] What did you do?

Mas. I spoke
The truth too near the ear of Cordiaz,
And there's no greater crime.

Fam. You are a prisoner?
But you're not guarded.

Mas. No, they leave me free,
In hope I'll run. Then they will shoot me down.
And you—what brought you here? Ten pesos
Could never buy you—nor a hundred either.

Fam. I mean to lead these men to join Bolderez:

Mas. What! Lead them out?

Fam. And you will help me do it.

Mas. Well, when I want to die. You're mad.
We're all
Sprats in a net. You'll not get out, once let
The master see you. Better hide those eyes——

Yso. [Running and catching Masio by the shoulder]
You lied to me! You lied! They've got my Grija!
Down in the lower yard!

Grija. [Entering and making his way to her] No! Here I am.
Safe in, old tear-box.

Yso. Holy Mary! [Tells her beads rapidly as he leads her aside]

Fam. [Aroused] Men!
If Osa looked from yonder mountain scarp,
Would she descend to lead such currish hearts
To liberty?

Gon. We are not dogs.

Fam. Then shame
To bear the life of dogs!

Ben. What do you know
Of Osa?

Fam. Know? Does she not guard the shrine
Cherished ten centuries in your secret hills?
Priestess and princess, daughter of your kings,—
The ancient poet kings who ruled and sang
In palaces where now your huddled huts
Give you a slave's foul shelter!

A Voice. Will she come?

Fam. To such as you? With heads hung down, and backs
Bared for the whip? The moment that you hold
Your manhood dearer than your life, she'll stand
Before you. Then you'll see——

Mas. For God's sake, hush!
The master!

Ben. [As all look left] No, it's Coquriez.

Gon. With his Gringo.

[Coquriez enters with Chartrien. They cross right]

Cha. Leave me alone.

Coq. My soul, am I not sick
Of your dumb lordship? Now the master's here,
I hope, by Jesu, that our ways will part.

[Turns and joins the men, leaving Chartrien seated on the stone step of one of the doors to the long hut, right. Megario enters unseen and stands watching, left. They gradually become aware of his presence, and all are silent]

Meg. Coquriez!

Coq. [Crossing left] Here, sir!

[The tension relaxes slightly. Lissa and Ysobel quietly distribute food and the men eat in silence. Famette keeps in shadow, a shawl over her head, and vainly tries to hear what Megario and Coquriez are saying. They talk in low tones at left, then more centre, front]

Coq. Shoot the Gringo, sir?
I thought he was to live.

Meg. It must be done
To-morrow.

Coq. I'll do it.

Meg. Take him on the road,
And don't come back with him.

Coq. To-morrow, sir?

Meg. At day-break. Drop him cold. I was a fool
To let him live a day!
    [Famette has advanced too far and Megario sees her]
Who's that?

Coq. There? Oh!
I bought her in last week.

Meg. The day I left?

Coq. I think 'twas then.

Meg. An old one,—so you said.

Coq. About the Gringo, sir,——

Meg. What is her name?

Coq. Famette.

[Famette goes back to the women]

Meg. A figure too.

Coq. It's not so easy
To drop a white-skin——

Meg. Come, Famette! Come here.
[She turns and comes slowly]
Old? By the gods! Why did you lie to me?

Coq. My lord ... you like none past fourteen.
  She's that
Half over.

Meg. Brazen devil! Come, Famette.
I like your name. I like your face too, girl.
Don't be afraid. Show me your eyes. You won't?
Where have I seen you?

Fam. I'm a stranger, sir.
My home was in the north.

Meg. That fester-spot!
A stranger? Then we must be good to you.
Where do you sleep?

Fam. There, in the hut.

Meg. You'll have
A better soon. Next time I'll see your eyes. [Going]
Mind, Coquriez, to-morrow! Do that well,
I'll pardon this. [Exit]

Fam. What is 't you do to-morrow?
And why do you need pardon? You who serve
So well?

Coq. My pretty bird, I've been too slow.

Fam. Too slow?

Coq. I've limped, and lost.

Fam. Ah, Coquriez!

Coq. You're not afraid of me. You look at me,
And turned from him. That's honey on his curse!

Fam. He curses you? And you do all for him!
All that he asks you,—things he dares not do
With his own hand.

Coq. You care for that?

Fam. You risk
Your soul, perhaps,——

Coq. 'Tis certain. Pray for me,
Chiquita.

Fam. When?

Coq. To-morrow I must leave
The Gringo in the marshes.

Fam. Oh, 'twas that!
And paid with curses——

Lis. [Calls, as a new batch of men come in]
  Come, Famette! Here's work!

Fam. We'll talk again. [Hurries to Lissa]

A man. The beans are cold.

Another. Soured too!
Gray Moses, here's a life!

Mas. Do you complain,
O, comrades? Now your hour is come? The pearl
O' the long ungarnished day? The holy hour
Of—beans? Why, think! What do we live for, men?
For sweaty moments battling 'gainst the sun
To strip the thorny hennequin? For nights
Of bitten sleep in unwashed pens? Not so.
Lift up your cups! Here is the crown of toil!
Each day we reach our life's supremest dome,
And know we're there! Can man ask more? Even kings,
Though the gold frontal of munificence
Is bowed before them, yet must fretting guess
The morrow's store. But we, my friends, we know!
Then let each separate and distinct legume,
Dear as the Egyptian treasure lost in wine,
Delay as preciously——

Coq. [Cutting him across shoulders]
Come down from that!
There's more for you, my friend, i' the lower yard.
I'll tie you up.

Fam. O, Coquriez, let him go.
You should not care. His tongue was born with him,
And God may mend it. Let the fool alone.

Coq. Hmm, if you ask me——

Fam. Thank you, Coquriez.
I'll stand for him he'll not offend again.

Mas. My tongue is glue. 'Twill stick to its place.

A man. Fish! fish!

Another. He's had his share.

The man. Not half a cup!
O, Jesu, I am starved. I did my stint,
And helped the boy, Famette. Can I do that
On half a cup?

Fam. No, Berto, here is more.

Yso. The Gringo does not eat.

Fam. I'll take him this.

[Fills cup from bowl of beans and goes to Chartrien, who is still seated on the step, listless and observing nothing]

Fam. Señor?

Cha.             Who spoke? O, you, Famette? No, thanks.
I can not eat. [Turns from her] That's twice I've heard the voice
Of Hernda. Madness creeps, but surely comes.

Fam. [Over his shoulder] You must escape to-night.

Cha. [Facing her] Escape? To-night?

Fam. Here, hold the cup, and eat. Do, sir! We're watched.
To-morrow Coquriez leads you to the woods,
Comes back alone——

Cha. At last I know my hour.

Fam. But you shall live. Last night I worked till day
At that locked gate. 'Tis open. None suspects.
Outside there's water in a flask, and bread,—
Beneath the cactus at the left——

Cha. But how
Get out? I am locked in at night, and watched
At other hours.

Fam. Eat, eat, and listen, Señor!
To-night a flogging in the lower yard
Will empty this. You'll go with Coquriez.
Urge him to bring you back. Say you are ill,—
For that you are,—and come. Here I shall hide,
And as you pass, will suddenly step out
And speak to Coquriez. You fall behind,
In shadow of my hut, move round it, wait
This side, then see what's next to do.

A man. [Calling] Famette?
Where is Famette? She doesn't count the beans.

[Famette goes back to the men]

Cha. It is a lure. If I attempt escape,
Then Coquriez shoots me dead, his soul just clear
Of murder.

Coq. [To Famette] Our Gringo's learned to eat, I see.

Cha. Now do they change confederate nods, and gaze
Their mated thoughts. Down, down to dust, my heart!
The struggle's off. I'll fight no more. Yon stars
Have rest for me. Is 't so? Vain footing there.
What rest have they, that share with man the surge
From life to life? There Jupiters unfound
Whirl cooling till their straining sides may bear
Ocean and land and clinging bride of green;
And Saturns, nameless yet, cast travailing
Their ringed refulgence. Not the frozen moons
May fix in stillness, but sweep captive back
To flaming centres when their planets call.
There old, dead suns, that think their work is done,
Meet crashing, ground to cloudy fire whose worlds,
Far driven, traverse time and know men's days.
Ay, one may go beyond the ether's breath,
Farthest of all, to be another First,
Undreaming this our God. And I must shift
Eternal and unresting as those suns.
Then let Death hasten. He shall be as one
Who timely strips a wrestler of his cloak,
And, kindly freed, I shall uncumbered leap
To other battle, finding armor where
I find my cause.

A man. [To Famette] My turn. Here, give me that.

Fam. The Gringo's had no fish.

The man. Then give me his.
He doesn't care. Has run already from
The smell.

Fam. I'll give you half. The rest
I'll take to him.

Coq. He'll come for what he wants.

Fam. No, he is sick, poor devil! [Goes to Chartrien]

Coq. Humph!

Fam. [To Chartrien] You'll take
The chance? There is no other.

Cha. It's a trap.
You risk your life for me, a Gringo? No.

Fam. You must believe me! Oh, what can I say!

Cha. Say nothing. Go.

Fam. I love you, love you, Señor!

Cha. You would persuade me.

Fam. Sir, the wine you found
Behind your prison door,—and good, clean bread,—
I put them there!

Cha. 'Twas you, Famette? I thought
That Coquriez did it,—feared I'd die before
The master came.

Fam. Not his brute heart! And then
That night, of fever——

Cha. Yes! What then?

Fam. I lay
Outside your jail, my head against the wall,
That I might hear if once you groaned, or know
If sleep had come.

Cha. Can such love be for me?

Fam. You must—you must believe me!

Cha. God, your eyes!
[She lowers her head]
... 'Tis madness, bred of these sun-poisoned days,
And nights without a hope.... Look up, Famette.
I do believe you.

Fam. [Kissing her rosary] Mother, adored and blessed!

Cha. Wilt be a beggar soldier's bride, Famette?

Fam. You do not love me, Señor.

Cha. But I love
Your gentle heart that warms mine empty,—love
Your eyes, like memories burning,—and your voice
That's linked to an old wound in me,—but most
I love your soul that is as great as truth
And strong as sacrifice. You'll come to me
In Quito, if I make escape? I'll find
A way to bring you out——

Fam. You're mine?

Cha. Till death.

Fam. And after that?

Cha. I'll give you truth for truth.
Beyond this world I hope to meet a soul
Who did not walk in this, but ought to have,
For here her body dwelt. This side of death,
My life—a bitter one, that only you
Have sweetened—is your own, if you will have
So mean a gift.

[Ipparro has entered the yard and becomes a centre of altercation. He starts out taking Lissa's boy, Iduso. There is a shriek from Lissa, and Famette hurries to her]

Lis. My boy! My little one!
God strike you dead, Ipparro!

Fam. You'll not flog
The boy?

Ipp. He didn't do his stint by half.
You know the master's rules. He's twelve years old.
Must cut three thousand leaves.

Fam. A man's full work.
And he's so small.

Lis. And sick he is. Two days
He couldn't eat.

Ipp. You women!

Fam. Let him go.
A little child, Ipparro.

Ipp. Let him go?
Am I the master of the hacienda?
He'll tie me up to-morrow!

Fam. It will kill
Iduso.

Lis. Such a little one, he is!
A baby yesterday,—to-day a man,—
How can that be?

[An overseer enters left]

Overseer.       What's up? Come on with you!
The master waits,—burns like perdition! Come!
Come, all of you! The women too! Clear out!

[Drives them out. Famette slips into her hut. Chartrien joins the men and follows last with Coquriez. They stop left]

Coq. Won't see the show?

Cha. I'll not go on.

Coq. Come then.
I'll lock you up. [They turn back]
We'll have an early march
To-morrow, mate. Must hit the brush by dawn.
There's little sleep for me.

Cha. Shall I have more
In that hot pen?

Coq. [Laughs] You'll make it up, I guess.

Cha. I understand. You'll murder me.

Coq. My soul!
Let's keep our manners, though we sit in hell,
My occupation's decent, nothing said.
The silent deed is clean, but mouth it once,
The hands will smell. Pah!
[Famette steps out of hut]
Here's my kitten!
A kiss, my honey-pot!

Fam. I've better for you.
[Gives him a bottle of wine]

Coq. My ducky! From the master's cellar!
. . . . . . . . . . How——

Fam. No matter. It is good.

Coq. Thief of my soul,
A kiss!

[As he attempts to embrace her she springs back, pointing left]

Fam. Look, look! He's gone! The Gringo flies!
O, Coquriez, you'll be shot!

Coq. [Stunned for a moment, springs off shouting]
Help! Stop him! Help! [Exit left, firing his pistol]
The Gringo! Stop him!

[Famette runs to gate right, where Chartrien is removing bar]

Cha. Come! Fly with me! Now!
I can not leave you here!

Fam. Go! Do not stop,
However weary, till you're safe in Quito.
The wounded hare, remember, takes no nap.

Cha. Come, come!

Fam. No, I am safe. And there's more work
For me. They'll come back here to search. Nay, go!
Another moment and we both shall die!

Cha. [Kissing her] I'll wait in Quito,—then a husband's kiss!

[Goes. Famette puts up bar, then returns to her hut and sinks at door]

Fam. If I could pray! If I could pray! How far
Seems that old God I knew! A playhouse God
Who never saw the world! [Leaps up]
They're coming back!

[Sits again, abjectly, her shawl over her head. Megario, Coquriez, and peons, enter]

Meg. Where is the woman?

Coq. There she sits,—the witch!

Meg. Stand up! Take off that shawl!

[Famette stands up. A man snatches the shawl from her head]

Meg. Famette! Not you?

Fam. [Cowering] I, master.

Meg. [To men] Search the yard. Turn every leaf
And stone.

[The men scatter]

Mas. I'll give that gate a look. [Crosses to gate right]

Meg. This was
Your drooping modesty! [Turns on Coquriez]
  You fool!—to let
The man escape! By Heaven, you might have burnt
The hacienda down and not have made
My blood so hot!

Coq. It was the woman, sir.
She jumped before me, smiling like a devil,
And when I tried to pass she caught my knees
And held this thing up, saying 'twas for me.
I kicked her off——

Meg. No doubt!

Coq. And when I turned
The prisoner was gone.

Meg. [To Famette] You saw him go?

Fam. Yes, master. Through the gate, like wings. And then
I gave the warning. Coquriez knows I did.

Meg. What did she say?

Coq. She cried "The Gringo flies!"
And pointed there.

Mas. [Returning] The upper gate is fast.
He went that way. [Nods left] Beneath the cypresses
Into the maguey fields.

A man. He'll not get far.
He has no water.

Meg. He will die in th' brush,
And I shall never know it. Alive or dead,
He must be found. I'll flog a man a day,
Until I see his bones.

Gon. [Coming up] He is not here.
We've looked in all the huts.

Meg. Ipparro?

Ipp. Sir!

Meg. Send men abroad, for fifty miles about,
To put the haciendas on the watch.
He must come in for water. Choose good men,
Who ride, and see no wenches by the way.

Coq. My lord, I've served you long——

Meg. Too long, you hound!
Where is your lady's token?

Coq. This, my lord.
She thrust it in my hand.

Meg. And left it too!

Coq. I knew 'twas yours.

Meg. [To Famette] A thief too, are you?

[Famette crouches, drawing shawl over her head]

Meg. True,
Coquriez, you have served me long. I'll add
You've served me well until to-night.

Coq. O, pardon!

Meg. I trusted you. And held your hand as mine,
To make my wishes deeds.

Coq.   'Tis sworn your own!

Meg. Then prove it. Take this whip. Come, take it, man!
Now flog that witch.

Coq. Famette! A woman, sir?

Meg. The devil's second name is woman. Do it!

Coq. A heavy hand I've laid on men, my lord,
But never yet——

Meg. Her smile struck deep to make
Such putty of your heart.
[Coquriez drops whip] Pick up that whip!
You want its kisses, do you? Pick it up,
Or you shall feel them to your traitor bones!
I'll have you flogged together!

[Coquriez slowly picks up whip. Famette rises, throwing off her shawl]

Fam. Hear me, men!
For men you are,—not beasts. Your hands are strong
In ceaseless toil. Day after day you pile
Your master's wealth more high. Day after day
You sweat your way a little nearer death,
That he may kick your bodies from his path
And set your graves in hennequin. But know
Who toils may fight! The hand that lifts a spade
May bear a sword. The strength you give to him,
Use for yourselves. Your master is one man,
You are five hundred——

Meg. Gods! I'll stop your mouth!
You men there—go—you dozen at the gate—
Go to the dry-yard—load your backs with fibre—
And bring it here!
[Men go out]
I'll teach you now, you slaves!
You are five hundred—yes—and I am one,
But in me is the might of Goldusan!
The power of Cordiaz is in my whip,
And back of that is iron Hudibrand!
Kill me to-night, to-morrow you shall die,
Each dog of you,—you know it!
[Men come in with fibre]
Throw the stuff
Against the hut. There, pile it up. More, more!
Now, Coquriez, the gentle, you've refused
To ruffle your fond dove,—here's sweeter work,
And for no hand but yours. Put her within,
Then fire the hut. [Utter silence]
  What terror's on you, beasts?

Coq. In God's name, sir, you dare not!

Meg. In the name
Of all who know how power is kept, I dare!
Move there, you dog!
[Coquriez stands motionless]
Do you refuse again?
Then ... in your heart. [Shoots. Coquriez falls dead]
Who'll be the next to stand on feet of lead
When I say "Do?" Gonzalo! Garza! Out!
[The men do not move. Megario lifts his pistol]

Fam. Spare them, Megario. I'll go in.
  [Enters hut, closing door]

Meg. [Trembling] That voice!
Who is this woman? Speak! Who knows? I've heard....
Bah! I'm a fool!... Take up that lantern there,
Gonzalo. Break it on the fibre. Move!

[He stands with his weapon drawn. The door of the hut in thrown open and Famette appears. She wears a rich robe, gleaming white, with blue and gold cabalistic broidery. In her hand is a sceptre, on her head a crown with a single star. The men, with cries of "Osa! Osa!" fall upon their knees, foreheads to ground, then leap up, changed, and glaring. They seem ready to spring upon Megario]

Fam. Shoot now, Megario! [Silence]
You dare not do it!
Kill me,—kill one of them,—shoot till your weapon
Pants its last murder, and a hundred hands
Will tear you limb from limb and bone from bone,
Till every separate shred of you be cast
To its own devil! Shoot, Megario!
[His hand falls. Famette steps into the yard]
Where are the masters who can help you now?
The mighty ones who know how power is kept?
Look on these men. Their blood sings as it sang
Through centuries gone,—with courage that was theirs
Ere ships came up like night on this doomed coast
Unloading hell!

Meg.   Who are you, woman? Who?

Fam. The spirit of these people, absent long,
But come at last to be their hearts' old fire.
Four hundred years you've trampled on their bodies,
But see—look in their eyes—you have not slain
Their God.

Meg. Your name! Who are you?

Fam. Riven hills
May hide the shrine of long unsceptred kings,
And keep their royal secret year by year.

Voices. Hail, Osa! Osa, queen!

Meg. What do you want?

Fam. Three things, Megario.

Meg. What are they?

Fam. First,—
That I may pass from here, free as I came,
With every soul that will go out with me.

Meg. The way is open. Go.

Fam. And you with us.
Far as the coast, where willing transport waits
To bear us northward. Then you may go free.
[Turns to the people]
There brothers wait you, men,—there freedom's tongue
Is beacon fire. The whole of northland sings,
A canticle of flame. You'll go with me?

Mas. [Loudly] We'll follow Osa!

Voices. Osa! Osa! On!

Fam. Gonzalo, choose you men, a thrifty score,
To fill the water-jars and get us food
From the hacienda stores.
[Gonzales passes out, men following at his signal]
  The third demand,
Megario, is this. That key you belt
So close—
[Megario claps hand on key]
Yes, that,—it must be mine, to unlock
A dungeon here and free a prisoner
Whom you for love of torture keep alive.

Meg. No, that's a lie.

Fam. Deny it to the stars
That saw you yesternight steal up like crime
To a dark grating, saw you gloat, and fling
The crumbs that will not let your victim die,
Though scarce they give him life.

Meg. [Gasping] A lie!

Fam. The key,
Megario.

Meg. I will not——

Fam. In my hand!
      [Megario takes key from his belt and hands it to her]
I thank thee, God, my hand may turn the key
That frees Rejan LeVal! Now forward, men!
O, glorious to be men! Ipparro, walk
Beside our prisoner. Garza, be his aid.
Two days of marching, then the friendly sea.
And if you toil again amid these fields,
You'll take the fruit. On!

Men. Osa! To the sea!

[Curtain]

ACT IV

Scene: The Grove of Peace, as in second act. Late afternoon. Two officers meet as curtain rises.

First Off. So Cordiaz is fallen.

Second Off. Joggled down
At last, poor man!

First Off.         When all the ghosts he made
Come back to weep his fall, I'll swell the flood
With half a tear, no more.

Second Off. Then you're for Vardas?

First Off. By glory, no! He'll open Goldusan
To every thief that knocks.

Second Off. Trust Hudibrand
To guard the door. Till he has plucked the goose,—
Then they may shave it for their part.

First Off. So, friend?

Second Off. Phut! Goldusan's his box of snuff—held so—
And as he pleases, tchew!—'tis empty.

First Off. Come,
I'll walk your way. [They move, right]
What of this truce? Goes 't deep?

Second Off. As flattery may plough. It is our croon
Of compliment to our new-seated king.

First Off. Nay, president. We're a republic now.

Second Off. Spell 't king or president, it means the same.

First Off. But with Bolderez ours, the truce should last.

Second Off. Why, 't may, till night. Bolderez, friend,
Is not the revolution.

First Off. He's the heft of 't,
And's made a full surrender.

Second Off. Made his terms!
His officers are guardians of the State,
And he—he's stallion of the court, submits
To curb and comb that he may prouder prance
And keep the herd at stare. Surrender? Lord!
I think it!

[Enter Third Officer, from left]

Third Off. What's stirring, friends?

Second Off. Sleep-walkers.

Third Off. Ay,
This amnesty makes idlers.

Second Off. So to-day,
But work brews for to-morrow.

Third Off. You've a secret,
And I've a guess that picks the lock to 't.

Second Off. Come!
These leaves are listeners.

[They go off, lower right. Enter by path upper right, Señora Ziralay and Guildamour]

Gui. To find you here
Makes my best hope a sluggard, far outgone
By th' dear event.

Señ. I came five days ago,
The princess with me, here to wait return
Of Hudibrand. That you have come with him,
Makes sober welcome blithe.

Gui. He's slack in health.

Señ. That's written plain.

Gui. What iron's in the man
That he yet lives?

Señ. He's been in conclave?

Gui. Yes.
Five nights he routed sleep from th' drowsy synod,
And hung upon us turning every flank,
Till Protest paled and Patience bled at heart.

Señ. And at the end?

Gui. He held our sealèd bonds,
And Vardas sat secure.

Señ. The bonds? We own
Our railways now?

Gui. We do. And Hudibrand
Owns us,—that is, the bonds. A good, stout noose
For a nation's neck.

Señ. And all these days he's been
In th' capital?

Gui. In closest session, though
A stage-fed rumor held that he was gone
From Goldusan. The harried people fear
Assarian power, and on the jealous watch,
Keep Hudibrand in burrow.

Señ. He's gay-blown
With confidence. I hear from Ziralay
He made a careless peace with all the friends
Of tottering Cordiaz.

Gui. That carelessness
Was sea-deep cunning. Favors will go high,
They'll find. Megario gave full half his lands
For place in th' Cabinet.

Señ. Megario moved
In blaze of censure, and did well to escape
Singed of but half his goods. Two prisoners lost——

Gui. Ah, Chartrien and....

Señ. Rejan!

Gui. Be guarded here.
Fate rustles at that name.

Señ. O, Guildamour,
Fear is the silent warder that divides
Our secret hearts. Give it the tongue of daring,
And like a blest interpreter 'twill bring
Our hopes together.

Gui. There is stir within.
Come from these walls, Señora. And if your hope
Is on the road with mine, I've news will make
The wayside sing. Winds gather here and yon
That may out-swagger even Hudibrand.

[They go back along cascade path, as Hudibrand, Diraz, Mazaran, and Golifet come out of house]

Gol. [Holding up letter] Nay, fearless majesty might take more note
Of this despatch.

Hud. That beggar's mewl?

Gol. There's power
In every word. LeVal must harbor strength
We do not know of.

Hud. Tush! That is the vaunt
Of weakness, not of power.

Maz. What is 't he says?

Gol. Avers him free of this imposèd truce,
And gives a fair foe's warning he'll attack
Whene'er and how he can.

Maz. Well bragged.

Dir. His guns,
No doubt, are cooler than his pen.

Maz. What more?

Gol. Repudiates Bolderez, and declares
Himself the head of the Insurrectionists,
Sole authorized to speak and treat for them.
My lord, what shall I answer?

Hud. Answer? Humph!
Treat with a rag-pole? We'll not sag to that.

[Re-enter, right, Señora and Guildamour]

Hud. My dear Señora, is our freakish daughter
In hiding from us? We've not had her greeting.

Señ. She knew you close engaged, my lord, and left
The hour to you. I'll tell her of your pleasure.

Hud. My steps are yours. [To his companions]
Each where he would, my friends.
[Goes in with Señora]

Dir. I'm for a swim.

Gol. And I.

Maz. The river? With you!

Gol. [Leading left] Bolderez' men are gathering opposite,
Behind the river woods.

Maz. The pick of camps.

Gol. They know it too. There's water, and the trees
Are cool and friendly.

Dir. Was it not resolved
Bolderez' men should join the Federal Guards?

Gol. They do, in th' main. This is a straggling wing
Left in the hills, that we have given leave
To station here.

Dir. That's prudence too.

Maz. Why so?

Dir. I'm windward of a whisper.

Gol. About LeVal?

Dir. He's circling in. Let Hudibrand laugh low
Or the enemy will hear him.

Gol. This LeVal
Was dead and buried,—three months out of life,—
Shook from remembrance as the stalest clutter,—
Now, save our eyes, he's jumped alive and rides
Our foremost thought! Enough to send a man
Back to his marrows. I shall pray to-night.

Maz. A plunge for resolution! That will cool it.

[Exeunt lower left. Señora comes out of house and crosses to seat, right]

Señ. 'Tis five o'clock. No sign! But he will come.
He comes!

[Enter Chartrien, lower right. They meet silently and clasp hands]

Cha. My friend! I thought you far from here.
Safe in the capital. But nothing's strange
To those who've moved mid miracles. You've seen
LeVal?

Señ. I have.

Cha.          I long to greet him. O,
Such walking of the dead renews the earth
And makes it habitable! I have heard
It was Famette who saved him,—added that
To array of deeds that must unlaurel all
The heroines of time.

Señ. There'll be an hour
To talk of that. Now you must see the princess.

Cha. Hernda is with you? Here!

Señ. And Hudibrand.
No danger there. He wants you now, and says
You'll find good grass if you will leap the stile.

Cha. [Answering her smile] So blind as that? Poor mole, he's been in th' ground
Too long. Will never get his eyes.

Señ. Ay, he'll
Deny the sun till 't bakes him in his burrow.
But Hernda,—O, what welcome waits you, friend!
The ivory-crusted temple, shut and sealed
To eternal airs, is now a fane of rose,
Whose cloistral stairs, that wound so futilely,
Will now through fragrant twilight lead you up
To windowed Heaven. Come! Come, take your own!

Cha. No! Wait....

Señ. A lover speaks that word?

Cha. Señora,——

Señ. That wound she gave you here is open yet?
But you were wrong, and with your wretched doubts
Assailed her in the hour she lay on rack
To save you.

Cha. On rack for me? She gave me up.
Gave me to him,—Megario,—knowing that
Meant death.

Señ. And yet you live.

Cha. I—?

Señ. Live. Do you not know
You were to die that night?

Cha. I've heard.

Señ. Those hours
She gained for you meant life.

Cha. She gained for me?
I saw his lips on hers.

Señ. You did. And I—
I saw her face. The dead are warmer. She
Could bear that touch for your sake, and on that
Bore too your curse.

Cha. For me? I'll hear no more,
Señora.

Señ. You will see her now?

Cha. Not now,
Nor ever. I am here by pledge, to meet—
A friend.

[Masio enters lower right]

Señ. Is this—the man?

Cha. No, but I know him.
He's seeking me, I think.

Señ. I'll leave you then.

Cha. [Seizing her hands] Nothing to Hernda!

Señ.   Nothing. You and she
For what may come. [Goes in]

Cha. You, Masio? From Famette?

Mas. No, from the camp.

Cha. The camp! But she is there?

Mas. That's guessing, sir. There's fernseed on her wings.
She flits invisible, then bat your eyes
You see her.

Cha. I've her word she'd meet me here.

Mas. Queer place. You come from Quito?

Cha. Yes. 'Twas there
I had her letter making this strange tryst.
I've travelled from that hour. Famette has left
Her name upon the air, and all the way
I heard it.

Mas. She's the bird of courage, dares
Go far as our LeVal himself. But here's
What brought me, sir. [Gives Chartrien a letter]
'Tis from LeVal.

Cha. His hand!
His living hand! [Reads, pales, and stands silent]

Mas. Bad, sir?

Cha. No, good. 'Tis good.

Mas. Then I'll be off. My head's no show variety,
But I'd not trust it long in th' grove of Peace.
We'll see you soon in camp?

Cha. To-night, I hope.
Famette holds key to that.

Mas. The first star bring you! [Exit]

Cha. [Reads letter] When you see the princess Hernda, kiss for me the hand that gave me freedom. It was she unlocked my dungeon and nursed my bones to life. What I am is hers, and therefore yours. Le Val.

Hast grown so spent, O Fortune, that one stroke
Must deal both death and life?—with hand that parts
The night, show too my rainbow loss?.... All, all
My future sold to the gray usurer Grief,
Who gathers up as sapped and withered leaves
Time's unimagined buds! No eve, no dawn
With Hernda! No brief night that makes
The sun unwelcome as he golds desire,
The warm mist-flower where we lie its heart!
Unbrace thee here, my courage! Valiancy,
First god and last in man, unbuckle here!
... How meet Famette? Smile on her smiles? Deceive
Her love? She'll lay her head upon my heart
And hear it crying "Hernda!".... Hernda lost!
I must not dream here open to the risk
Of her unanswered eyes. Their lure would make
Dishonor, that on wreck feeds rampant, spring
Unshamed in me. I would forsake Famette.

[Goes right, upper path. Hernda comes from house and crosses rapidly to him]

Her. Chartrien! Come! [He turns slowly and meets her]
You take my hand, here where
You wished me dead?

Cha. That you have offered it
Proves me forgiven.

Her. You forgiven? Ah,
Has my atonement swollen above my fault
Till I may nod a pardon where I thought
To kneel for one?

Cha. LeVal has written me. [Kisses her hand]
This kiss is his salute, and that 'tis his,
Not mine, makes my lips bold to leave it here.

Her. Forgiven! Dawn is on my sky, that hung
Unutterably black! Yes, it is true
I saved LeVal. From Fate's own arms I snatched
My treachery's sequence, though his meantime pain
Is ever writ against me. Yet I too
Knew misery that might be mate of his.
And for that other wrong—here where we stand——

Cha. My wrong to you! Nay, don't forgive me that.
Leave me a wound to keep me ever paying
The debt of pain that solely eases guilt.

Her. I had to choose,—Oh, agony of choice!—
Between your death as certain as the night
And your surrender to Megario,
That seemed but death postponed, yet held a hope
Worth any hazard. That you live is proof
My choice was God's. My reasonless despair
Held Heaven's sanity. Ah, that you live
Is substance of reward, joy's permanent
Sweet soil, but there's a flower to spring from that,
A nodding ecstasy that I may pluck
For my own bosom,—is there not?

Cha. Don't—don't——

Her. You turn away? You've still a doubt of me?
Then modesty may save her frigid self.
I'll speak for love, the one best thing this side
Of Heaven. You've taken my hand, and now my heart,
And all myself would follow it. My heart,
My body, and my risen soul. Yes, risen!
My past of clay is quickened with a breath
That waits not death to know itself immortal,
And this is all my pride, that by that breath
I'm rich enough to give myself to you.
[She waits for him to speak. He makes no answer]
I am rejected, having but my shame
To cover naked love. Yet vanity
Finds me this scanted shroud. Seeing you here,
My hunger guessed at yours. I felt you came
To seek me, else my heart, timid with fault,
Had kept its silence, though my tongue had given
As now a friend's good welcome.

Cha. I have come,
But not to you.

Her. For why then? I've an ear
Of caution. Let my veins, at too swift flood,
Grow slow as prudence in what work you will.
Now that our aims are near as once our hearts,
You'll let me help? I swear by both our souls,
And yours the dearer one, that our desires
Are one bent bow, and if our arrows speed
They'll kiss at the same mark.

Cha. I'm fathoms deep,
But in a sea as sweet as ever closed
O'er drowned felicity!

Her. Why are you here?

Cha. To keep an oath!—that kept is our division,
Yet forfeited would so untreasure me
That being's god would blush dishallowed way
Quite out such husk of man!

Her. An oath?

Cha. Oh, first
In made self-curses I'll unload some part
Of this stuffed loathing for the wretch I am!

Her. Nay, I'll not listen.

Cha. Star that was a maiden,
Do not believe I loved you when my days
Ran tribute at your feet,——

Her. Say anything
But that. Those days were mine, and true.

Cha. False, false!
For love is generous as the heart of bounty,
Giving defect perfection. Narrowed hours,
Beseamed and flawed, take from its seer-lit eyes
The unstinted, dear proportion secret yet
In Time's full dream.

Her. 'Twas I who failed——

Cha. Not you!
That midnight moment held the dawn of this,
All this that now you are, and love had seen
The folded glory of yourself had love
Been there to see. But I cast dust upon
Your sleeping wings, and did not know your heart
Till wounds had laid it bare.

Her. How could you know
More than its native bosom where it dwelt
Strange and unguessed?

Cha. If I had loved,
Such soul of fragrance had not hid from me
This unbound blossoming.

Her. We must forget
Love's morning miracles forever missed.
His fair, warm day is left us,—sunset's gold,
And evening with the stars. That is enough
For me and you——

Cha. My pledge! I'm here to meet
Famette!

Her. Famette! I know her.

Cha. Know her! You?

Her. And know she loves. Then it is you she waits?

Cha. She saved my life. But that unvalued thing
Is debt's mere rubble. 'Tis her love makes up
The sum unpaid and out of reckoning.
And I—how can I tell you?

Her. If you loved,
Look up. No shame can be where love has been.

Cha. I've no defence,—yet say that you were lost
In midmost desert sands, and suddenly
A flower at your feet breathed of the woods
And darkling velvet shade where rest might be....

Her. But that's a miracle.

Cha. So was her love
To me. Or say that flam and falsity
Ensnarled your every way till no true thing
Seemed left on earth, and then in lifted flash
Truth's priestess eyes looked from a human face
And you were loved,—what startled warmth would say
Your heart yet lived? Would you keep back your life
In barren hug? Deny its sunless gray
To gentle eyes that asked but leave to lay
Their radiance there?

Her. I understand. She gave,
And I demanded. So the gods decree
Her boughs shall bloom and mine go bare.

Cha. Oh, Heaven!

Her. You love her, Chartrien?

Cha. Silence be on that.

Her. I'll know it,—hear you say it. Is your heart
Mine, or Famette's?

Cha. My life is hers.

Her. Your heart!

Cha. Is yours.

Her. Ah! Then—I give you to Famette.

[He kneels to kiss her hand. Hudibrand appears in door of house, left. Smiles, and crosses to them]

Hud. Up to her lip, you rogue! A humble suitor
Gets humble favors.

Cha. [Rising] You, my lord?

Hud. Your hand,
My boy.

Cha. It was my head you wanted, sir,
When last we met.

Hud. Not so. I meant to save you,
But Hernda spiked my train. To have you die
Quite safely in a rumor was the sum
Of my intent against you.

Cha. You're not well,
My lord?

Hud. Most well!

Her. He's lost some sleep.

Hud. Tut, tut!

Cha. You stay full long in Goldusan. I thought
You nearer home.

Hud. I'm cruising in the gulf,
By th' morning papers,—the reliable ones.
The gutter rags have guessed me,—but no matter.
I've seen the play through, and I go to-morrow.
Pouf! It has been a game!

Cha. You speak as 'twere
At end.

Hud. It ends to-day. [Looks at watch]
'Tis just the hour.
Now Vardas is proclaimed the president
Of a liberated people.

Cha. What of that?

Hud. He's bowing now. "I thank you, gracious friends,
Most loyal citizens——"

Cha. What's that to do
With freedom's war?

Hud. It merely ends it.

Cha. What?
You think we fought for that? A change of caps
Upon two brigands' heads?

Hud. Tut, you've won more.
You with some justice warred on Cordiaz,
But Vardas is of heart so liberal
His people shall be rich in privileges
As many and as fair as in Assaria.
Myself will vouch it.

Cha. I will vouch it too.
As many pits fed with the souls of men,
As many images of God deformed
In lawless fray to hold the peaks of greed
And at the top sit on their goblin gold
Content with bestial purr, who might have touched
The heavens with song.

Hud. Is that for me, my boy?

Cha. As many lives tramped out in hunger's scramble,
As many factories where driven wives
Forget the altar dream of babes and home.
As many sweating traps where flames may feed
On flesh of maidens, leaving still, charred bones
Whose only fortune is to ache no more.
As many brazen mills that noise their thrift
Above the ceaseless shuttle of small feet,
While you, the great arch-master, think none hears
That drownèd pattering. As many marts
Where, in law's shadow, girl-eyed slaves are sold
To blows and lust. As many cripples thrown
Upon the dump-heap of a soulless Peace,
Each season piled to moaning wreck more high
Than ever War made in its darkest year.
As many holes where life must lie with death
For privilege of sleep. Oh, I could give
Black instances till yonder sun be set
Nor end your loathsome list!

Hud. A rare, hot sermon,
But I'm not Providence, that from my hand
Must pour unfailing bounty.

Cha. Humble, sir?
I thought you claimed a power that gave the world
The shape you chose.

Hud. But I must use the stuff
I find here. That I can't remake or change.
So must my world show flaws and ugly spots
Due to its substance, not to my good pattern.

Cha. That stuff, sir, is the same that lifted us
From four feet up to two! The elements
That played like death upon it but aroused
Their conqueror. In the embrace of winds
It made us ships and gave us wings. From dust,
The very dust that choked it, grew the dream
That lifts it deathless, an eternized God.
And surely as your grip makes it a slave,
You teach it freedom. In your clutch 'twill find
Once more the need creative, and upswell
With power that shall leave you by the way
As heaving seas leave straws upon the sand.
You shall be nothing. As a dream that dies
With waking—lost so utterly
The sleeper knows not that it was—so you
Shall be a vanished thing that man born free
Can not reclothe in guess!

Hud. Peonia's sun
Has touched your wits. You still think of revolt?

Cha. I think of victory.

Hud. Your comedy
Is past its hour. Come, Chartrien, give it up.
Confess the war is done.

Cha. Bolderez' guns
Will make confession of another sort.

Hud. O, ho! I see a light. You have not heard
The morning news. Bolderez has come in.

Cha. Come in? Your couriers flatter you. He holds
The heights of Gila with five thousand men.

Hud. That's yesterday. To-day those brave five thousand
Are soldiers of united Goldusan.
Bolderez is adviser to the State,
A tinker in high place, who solders fast
The civic split——

Cha. You dream! This is not true!

Her. Yes, Chartrien, it is true. We've lost Bolderez.

Cha. He—has—deserted?

Hud. No, he proves him loyal
To me, his master.

Cha. You?

Hud. He served me always.
You fool, this was my revolution.

Cha. Yours?

Hud. Bolderez led my troops. It was for me
You fed his bony beggars. Ha! For me
You stuffed their hungry pockets with your gold!
I loosed your fortune when I know 'twould save
My own a gouge. But I've not dodged the score.
Those guns and horses for the Gazza scare
Cost me some paper——

Cha. You? My God! Your war?

Hud. I knew the storm would sweep out Cordiaz,
So strode its back that I might hold the bit
When came my hour. My boy, you fought for me.
I made you do it—I, whom you have said
Shall be as nothing. Where's the mighty sea
Shall toss me as a straw——

Her. O, father, peace!
You see he dies!

Hud. Don't waste your tears. He'll live.
I've made good oxen out of wilder bulls.

Her. He cannot live! The pain of it, the pain!
When aspirations have returned as wounds,
Then even the soul must die!

Hud. They all get up.
Stout workers too,—quiet, serviceable,
Pestered no more with dreams. Here, give him this. [Offers a flask]

Cha. [Rousing, pushing flask aside] Ay, no more dreams.
[Springs up] But action! Keep Bolderez.
We have LeVal, whose undiscouraged heart
Bears on its tide the conquering desire
Of twenty thousand men!

Hud. Humph! Where are these
Invisible veterans?

Cha. Some gather now
About his banner,—some wait in the hills
Till they are sure it is his voice that calls,—
Some in your favor wrapped go to and fro
In your own camp, feeding a fire your gold
Can never light,—some dream till we have oped
Their prison doors,—in every part and corner
Of Goldusan, there's courage on the leap
To reach his side.

Hud. What dribble!

Cha. Rein this storm?
No human hand, nor Heaven's now, may leash it.
It is the throe when travailing Life is shaken
In absolute birth that makes undreamèd news
Even in the ear of God.

Hud. Fanatic! Fool!
Have I not tried to teach you——

Cha. Teach yourself!

Hud. Come, come!

Cha. I mean the words. The race has learned
Its lesson while you've played with sand. At last
The dumb, trod way has spoken 'neath man's feet,
And by that word uncovered he has learned
What he shall not be,—knows what heights of sun
Are his, and seeing takes his road,—no more
Battering in wild and bruisèd ignorance
A destiny of stone. Ay, consciousness
Has wakened in itself the unknown god
That gives the race its eyes. You, you a king?
Who do not know that every man is heir
To kingship that must leave such thrones as yours
Outcoursed and little recked as the strewn toys
Of childhood!

Hud. Mud-sill dynasties. You know
That I am master.

Cha. Master? You believe
That man, at top of conquest, who has made
Nature his weariless serf, and set the yoke
From his own neck on her divinities,
Will seal to you—weak, myriadth part of him—
Those wizard captives bending to the dream
Of his new world? Gird you with fortune that
He wrenched from stony ages?—let you gorge
The magic fruit snatched by his perilled being
In starward battle up the abysmal steep?

Hud. I am a fact,—not words.

Cha. You can believe it?
At last on dawn-browed heights, with victor foot
On mysteries bound the genii of his wish,
He'll trail his hopes to kennel? Let you pluck
His universe unflowered, and shrink life
To growling brevity 'tween lash and bone?
A slave to you? Obstructive clod,
Who could not stir with one life-budding dream
Though holy imagination tipped with fire
Should score her script upon you!

[A physical pain overcomes Hudibrand. Hernda runs to his side. He regains composure, his manner forbidding solicitude]

Hud. I am patient.
One word of mine would send you manacled
To prison. If you are here to lay down arms——

Cha. I'm not.

Her. O, father! The amnesty!

Hud. That shelter
Is not for him!

Cha. Then speak your word, and learn
You fight not men but man. Wide as the world
His spirit blows against you, and little part
You'll cage in this one shackled body.

Hud. One?
We'll drag the earth, or net the pack of you!
LeVal, marauding ghost, we'll prick his blood
Beneath his spectral mask. And that mad trull,
Famette, your holy maid——

Cha. She's safe from you!
God is about her as she walks among
Your hope-lorn slaves and touches their dead hearts
To life.

Hud. To folly they are sick of! Ah,
Once more I've news. Your swarthy Joan has fled,
And all her magic warriors of a day
Again are beggars.

Cha. Fled?

Hud. To her cactus lair.
But she'll trapse back between two bayonets,
Stripped of her phantom wings.

Cha. She is not gone.
That heart of truth! When she deserts LeVal
There'll be a breach in Heaven, and fiends may claim
The day for hell and you.

Hud. 'Tis mine without
Such warm avouch. Your chaparral cock and hen
Have parted company. Her followers now,
Cursing and naked, straggle to our camps——

Her. Your pardon, sir! You are deceived.

Hud. Ho, ho!

Her. They're with LeVal. Not one stout heart is lost.
Famette but lends her captaincy to his
In needful absence——

Hud. You are much too wise.

Her. I know Famette.

Hud. You—what? Know her?

Her. I do.

Hud. This is the fruit of that mad jaunt,
Through Goldusan! Where have you seen her?

Her. Here.

Hud. Not here? That woman? Are you mad, my girl?

Her. I love Famette. If we were one, I'd be
But cinders in her saintly fire.

Hud. Here, miss?
You've had her with you? Sniffed and cheeped together,
And drowned my kingdom in a gossip cup?

Her. If men, the bravest, are but flies upon
Your monarch ermine, that with careless shake
You scatter, can you fear a woman?

Hud. What?
Mocked by a chit? I fear? You mannerless filly,
I've let you plunge and ramp o'er all my fields,
But I'll not have you whinnying at the fence
Till roadside jades break through! She has been here?

Her. She has. Dined at my board, slept in my bed,
And so shall do again.

Hud. I'll welcome her!
And send you trucking home! You shall not wait
For any whimsy this or that!

Her. But, sir,——

Hud. No trumpery packing,—no unready whine!
This hour! That you should moil your royalty
Touching such scum!

Her. Nay, I was scum until she gave me substance.
I had no soul until she made hers mine,
No cleanliness of heart till I knew hers,
No knowledge till I looked through her clear eyes,
No riches till I wrapped me in her rags——

Hud. You're raving!

Her. No. Ah, father, father, I'm
Famette,—your daughter! I've not been in Cana,
But in the pits your greed has dug,—down, down
Where misery is so vile its own abyss
Shudders to hold it. Chartrien, now you know
My tale untold. I see your mind runs back
To light a way it travelled in the dark.
O, you were blind! I'd know you near though masked
In utter change.

Cha. I'm folded now in sun
That makes me blind again. Are you Famette?

Her. [Showing her bared arm] See this brown circlet left that you might find
A trace of her? I've crossed the universe——
Through hell—and reached you, have I not?

Cha. [Embracing her] All sweet
Forfending stars now heap their fortunes one
And drop it on my heart that borrows heaven
To hold the imponderable gift!

Her. Ah, poor Famette!

Cha.'Twas you—in that foul hacienda pen?
And would not speak?

Her. I meant to save you, sir.
And had I told you then, would you have set
So blithely off to Quito?

Cha. And left you there!
How can you think it?

Her. Do I, sir? Nay, love,
Nor ever did. I knew you'd ruin all
With your big "won'ts" and "don'ts."

Cha. O, sagest heart!
But here you kept my joy-gates shut so long.
Why such slow mercy, golden one?

Her. You'll hear it?
There is a teasing devil in me, Chartrien,
That must have play.

Cha. Ah, no!

Her. Ay, and an ounce
Or so of cruelty, that would not let
Your frailty go unpinched.

Cha. Nay, 'tis not so!

Her. You'd rather think I put to royal test
Your godship? Wooed with lips so near your own,
And found you stanch to honor? That may be,
But I've a shameless reason dearer still.
I wanted all your love for Hernda,—all.
And had I said too soon that we were one,
Then on your breast my heart had never known
Which maid you clasped.

Cha. You ever, sweet!

Her. Yet she
Is dear. My joy could never be content
Within your heart beside unfaith to her.
She must have room there, not in name of love,
But truth. So you shall hold us both.

Cha. Like this?
Grow to my heart, O garland of myself!
Be breath of me, till, like a double tree,
Root, sap, and bloom are one,
And in our noble fruiting Time forgets
To mourn Hesperides!

Her. Heaven hold thy wish
The prayer thou meanest it!

Cha. One bliss is man's
The perfect angels know not. In the arms,
Warm, rhythmic, round his battling soul, to feel
Spur of his noblest blood, and know his dreams
Are mated,—find in lightest winds that stir
Love's tremulous hair, the brave wing of his hope
That needs go farthest,—and when seasons fail,
And weary spirit turns from waste to waste,
Know lips that he may touch and touching kiss
The fallow world to harvest. Thus, and thus!

[Hudibrand, forgotten by the lovers, has fought through another moment of agony, and advances, taking hold of Hernda]

Hud. Are you my daughter?

Her. I am, but I've known hours
When shame, a cleansing fire, searched through my blood
For any drop that owned you father.

Hud. In!
Go in! [To Chartrien] And you—I'll rid the earth of you,
And take its thanks! [Staggers with a return of pain]

Her. [Her arms about him] O, father, let us help!
What is it, father?

Hud. Nothing. Keep away!
Away!

[Throws her off. Enter, lower right, an officer attended]

Off. Your majesty, there's sure report
LeVal makes ready to oppose his guns
To our weak garrison.

Hud. [Ironic] The spectre's near?

Off. Across the stream,—the east and wooded bank.
A hundred times our force could not dislodge
His guns from such a vantage.

Hud. Guns? LeVal?
He has no guns!

Off. You'll hear them soon. I beg
Your highness' pardon, but your dignity
Would not be touched if you should hasten out.

[Enter, lower left, Golifet, Diraz, Mazaran]

Gol. My lord!

Hud. What is this tale? You, Golifet?
You are in charge!

Gol. 'Tis treachery, sir! I warned
Your majesty——

Hud. Come, what's the story?

Gol. This.
Bolderez' officers whom we gave leave
To station near us, thus to put more guard
Between the town and rebels that might creep
Down from the hostile hills——

Hud. This egg's all shell.
Come, sir, the meat!

Gol. They were in secret yoked
Most traitorously with LeVal, and all their men
Were coupled to his cause. They gave him cover
To lead his army up——

Hud. His army, sir?

Gol. His followers——

Hud. There may be treachery
Uncapped among us.

Gol. 'Twas by your advice
We gave them leave to camp——

Hud. I trusted fools!
Or traitors! You've a choice of names.

Off. I beg
Your majesty to come with us. They'll fire
At any moment.

Hud. Fire? Then we shall know
At last where we may find LeVal. You've wired
To Vardas, Golifet? He must despatch
The Federal Guards——

Gol. It is too late.

Hud. Too late?

Maz. We can not save the town.

Off. The citizens
Are fleeing. Do not delay, your majesty!

[Fire of guns is heard]

Hud. Cowards! Before you fly, arrest that man.
Look to it, Golifet. You'll answer for him.
Let him be trebly guarded.

Gol. Is not this
The missing lord, Prince Chartrien?

Hud. Ay, that traitor!

Gol. At this hot juncture, prudence must forbid
A needless insult to the enemy
That may too soon be master.

Hud. Insult!

Gol. Come,
My lord.

Hud. By every god that was or is——

[Guns again heard]

Gol. Please you, retire, your majesty!

[Men gather excitedly from different parts of the grove. Guests and servants desert the house]

Maz. Come, come!

[A shell breaches the wall, rear. Stones fly among the trees. The house is battered and portico torn away]

Hud. Grant me this favor. Let me be the last
To leave the Grove of Peace. Ha, ha! The last!

Her. Come, father!

Hud. Go! I've asked a favor, friends.

[They turn from him and pass slowly out. Hernda and Chartrien remain]

Her. Now you will come?

Hud. When you have gone! Go, go!

[More shells. Chartrien carries Hernda away, lower left]

Hud. [Alone, racked with pain] My foe is nearer than those feeble guns.
Bah! I could crush them! Here I am fordone.
No, no! I'll not surrender. I will live!
I'll keep my world. I fought for it, and won.
'Tis mine! I will not leave it to these mice
To scramble over. [The agony seizes him]
  A coward foe, that gives
No even chance. Strikes from the dark, with blade
Tempered secure in undiscovered fire.
... Shall then the world go on and I not here?
I shall be here,—a pile of dust, no more,——
That is the hell of hells,—while other dead,
Who made them souls here out of faith and clay,
Race on unflagging,—on and leave me still,—
The everlasting mute!... Souls? That's a lie.
A ranting, tom-tom lie, to ease us on
The wheel. I'll none of that. The sick mind's pap!
Imagination's vent, lest misery
O'er-rack the world! Protective fume
Enclouding man's last grapple till none see
If he or Death be victor, and on the doubt
He rides to Heaven!...
... Was 't truth that Chartrien spoke?
The race has found its eyes? Man is no more
A blind and hopeless struggler cornered fast
By ills unconquerable?—his lusting wars,
Diseases, hungers, Hudibrands? Then what
A chance was there, my heart? If I had fought
Upon his side!... That battle would have made
Red Fate throw down her bludgeon,—won us place
To vanward of the gods!... If I had fought
With him.... Obstructive
clod!... My God! My God?

[He dies. Sunset has passed, and the darkness grows rapidly until nothing is seen but the gleam of a fallen crown. Curtain]

A SON OF HERMES

A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS

CHARACTERS

ACT I

Scene: Pelagon's garden, Athens. Wall, rear, shutting off street. Upper right, path to street gate. Upper and middle left, entrances to Pelagon's house. Lower left, path to a neighbor's dwelling. Lower right, path leading deeper into garden.

[Enter, upper left, Pelagon, Stesilaus and Lysander]

Lys. A gracious senate! If such welcome keys
The tune to come, then our ambassadry
Is concord's instrument, and we may bear
Fair music back to Sparta.

Ste. Tut, the smiles
Of Athens are as flying leaves, divorced
From the tree's heart, as apt to light
On vagrancy as merit.

Pel. Stesilaus
Bears hard as truth. Yet I was warmed to note
The council's greeting.

Ste. Ever Sparta's friend!

Pel. And friend of peace. The age no more can bear
The locked alarum of our rivalling States.
We must the groaning tussle bring to end,
Or ends the world.

Lys. 'Twas wisdom's cue you gave us,—
To say we had our Sparta's sovereign word
For Athens' terms.

Pel.   Ay, hold your embassage
Unstrictured, friends. In that lies flattery
Each lord will take to himself and thereon feed
A grace which will, in sort, come back to you.
What hour was fixed for answer? I lost that.

Lys. The last hour of the sun.

Pel. The crier stood
Wrong side of my good ear, and I'll not twist
To set the gossips nudging me to th' grave,
Robbed in a shrug of twenty grizzled years. [Looks about the garden]
Where's Biades? He's always trailing here,
Save in the tick of need. I'd have him bid
The ambassadors lie at my house. Lysander,
You'll be my suitor to your comrades? Say
We've heart and room for all.

Lys. For all, my lord?

Pel. And more!

[Exit Lysander]

Ste. My Sparta thanks you, Pelagon.

Pel. Nay, such an honor shall not pass me, sir.
Now where is Biades?

Ste. Your nephew, friend?

Pel. Ay, Stesilaus. Bar my blood in him,
He'll fasten on your heart.

Ste. Report has been
Too dear his friend. What buzz about a youth
Of twenty-five! Sir, Attica is mad
To give him captainship. In Sparta now,
The spurring callant would be kept in ranks,
And yoked with Prudence till he learned her jog.

Pel. In ranks! I see him! Well, just in your ear,
He sweeps a pretty curvet. With my wife
His slave, and Phania neck-deep in love,
He rides the very comb of my poor house.
If you would say to him, hold here or there,
I'd take it not amiss. But I do love him.
And now a bout with th' cook. The pest sends word
A double score of sudden guests are all
He'll have at table. Mine own table, sir!
Ha, there is Biades! He'll wait upon you.
Pray touch him as I've hinted. But no word
About our daughters, friend. We'll let that lie.

[Exit upper left. Enter Biades upper right]

Bia. Most noble Stesilaus, my heart greets you!

Ste. Greeting to Biades, whom Athens makes
Her general!

Bia. Would, my lord, this dignity
Were laid on senior years. Your Sparta's way
Is best,—to keep the cool, meridian bays
From youth-flushed brows. My moist and charmèd eyes
Spoke inward to my soul when they beheld
The ambassadors before the council, each
With staff unneeded, and gray locks that seemed
As wisdom's holy place.

Ste.   You sat with us?
I did not mark you there.

Bia. I kept in modest shadow,
Which is youth's fairest mantle,—though my rank
Moves back for none. But, sir, the Spartan elders!
Ah, might I see more men in Athens who
Thus honor age, and age that honors men!

Ste. Breathe that into your shrines.

Bia. The gods who smile
On folly young, must weep when reverend years
And wisdom part. Mayhap you've noticed, sir,
In my good uncle here ... a falling off.
I would not speak but that I know your eyes
Can not keep curtain when the blabbing sun
Makes it no secret.

Ste. Somewhat I have seen.

Bia. Somewhat will grow to much ere you take leave.

Ste. I fear it, Biades.

Bia. And yet, my lord,
Time has not carried him ahead of you
More years than half a score.

Ste. Tis t'other way.
I'm elder by that much.

Bia. Not you, my lord?
[Muses flatteringly]
The Spartan way is best. Was 't Pelagon
Led you to say you had full power to treat
With Athens?

Ste. It was he.

Bia. I thought it. [Sighs] Sir,
In the Athenian mind there dwells a child
No length of days can age. We do not grow
As Spartans. But our vanity's no dwarf.
Tops with the highest, you've some cause to know.

Ste. What of 't? Unlatch! unlatch!

Bia. The people, sir,
Always our rearward urge, knowing you've power
To assent to all they ask, will ask for more
Than all.

Ste. Think'st that?

Bia. In your brave time you've met
Athenians of the best. Didst ever know
One modest?—slow to ask for what he thought
His own?—or what he might by mere demand
Make his?

Ste. They are well stomached,—true. No doubt
They'll press us far.

Bia. They will. And if refused,—
Well, they are children,—and must bite and scratch.
With strutting rage, may pelt you out of Athens.
But why not say you are in part empowered.
And must return to Sparta with the terms
Before a vowed conclusion?

Ste. Late for that,
Young sir. The tongue we used to the Council
Must serve in the Assembly. We have said
We have full power.

Bia. To treat, not to assent.
That was your word.

Ste. Hmm! Now the cloud is off
The dunce's script, and I read clear why you
At twenty-five have Athens' voice to sail
'Gainst Syracuse.

[Re-enter Pelagon]

Bia. No word unto my uncle!

Ste. My brain will serve.

Pel. They've come,—your comrades,—all!
If honor now were substance, my poor walls
Would groaningly unroof and beg the sky
For room to embrace it! Go you, Biades.
Repeat my welcome, with increase of grace
Your tongue is rich in.
[Exit Biades, upper left]
Now the full time comes.
We'll speak of that that's centre of our hearts,—
Our daughters, friend. This is the hour that ends
A watch of twenty years.

Ste. A patient score.
So long your daughter has been mine, so long
Has mine been yours.

Pel. Like flower upon a stalk
Long nursed and tended, comes the end upon
This day of budding peace. You've had no whiff,
No hint untoward, that what we did had best
Been left undone?

Ste. Sir, what I do, I do!
When we changed babes not past their cradle sleep,
My mind then glossed the act with comment fair
As our unfructured hope. So does it still.
By Nestor, though I'm thitherward of prime,
There's none will say that with accreted years
I moult sagacity!

Pel. Eh, so! 'Twas well.
I've never doubted it. Here have I reared
Your Phania, Spartan-thewed, who now shall home
With Athens' gentle nurture in her veins
To hither yearn in blood of every son
She bears to Sparta. And you my Pyrrha bring
Back to her land to live a Spartan dame
Among Athenian mothers. So we feed
The unity we dream on,—quicken time,
Foresued, to give our tousing, touchy States
One civic heart.

Ste. Has Sachinessa kept
A secret tongue?

Pel. A nut not closer sits
About its kernel. And your wife, my friend?
What of Archippe? Did she hold for long
Against the exchange?

Ste. She did. Nor ever learned
To love your Pyrrha. For that cause,—and that
Our even trust might move with even faith,
Nor odds of grace to you,—I've stood her guard,
And made her comrade where a son might claim
The dearest post.

Pel. Good thanks, my Stesilaus.
From your wife's audit I'd not brush a doit,
But to the credit of my dame can set
A fairer sum. Æneas' curlèd lad
Lay not more dearly in his Dido's lap
Than your sweet Phania in the swaddling love
Of Sachinessa. Ay, she'll swear me now
That not to gain her own will she give up
Her foster darling.

Ste. Humph!

Pel. The little duck!
She has so chucked herself into my heart
'Twill put me sad about to oust her.

Ste. Duck!
When I lose Pyrrha, sir, that hour I lose
This good right arm!

Pel. [Meditative] Hmm! So!... Come, my friend.
The dinner's toward, and the host astray.
The love's deep-vouched that puts such duty off
For one more word. [Pauses as they move left]
We'll give no open voice
To our most dear concern till we have met
Our daughters.

Ste. [Gloomy] Met our daughters! Have it so.

[Exeunt upper left. Enter, middle left, Phania and Biades]

Bia. Come, Phania! The old cocks are off.

Pha. They're gone?

Bia. Good flitting too! I feared they'd perch till night,
Crowing the deeds of Stesilaus the Great
And Pelagon the Wise.

Pha. These Spartans! If
They'd rest their clubs without the door, our shins
Would give them thanks. Why are we so besieged?

Bia. Why, Phania, why? Because your father dotes
On dull and sodden peace that never was
Save in an old man's dream. We dine our foes!
The city must throw ope her gates, forsooth,
Lest the dear enemy should take some hurt
Scaling the walls! They'd bleed us as we sleep,
And Pelagon would vow the sword at 's throat
Were Sachinessa's dozing kiss.

Pha. Ho, hear
The captain speak! You go to Syracuse,
And not content? 'Tis well there's one cries peace.

Bia. What's Syracuse? To conquer Sparta,—that
Were warrior's work! Your father robs me of it,
Bringing the water where I set my fires.
But come! I've not made love to a soul to-day
Save ancient Sparta. Ha! it is an art
That should be spared such sweat. The Heavens mean
That I shall pull to yoke these two days left,
And love take beggar's chance.

Pha. Ah, but two days!

Bia. Come to our myrtle nook——

Pha. Nay, Sybaris
Might turn me out. That is her royal seat
When you'll play consort.

Bia. What, my Phania? Dour?
Does Creon keep away?

Pha. I'm not for him.
You know it, Biades.

Bia. But he does not.
Too oft I find him here.

Pha. And Sybaris
Comes out of count, knowing you like this spot.
Yon path is worn of every blade.

Bia. Her feet
Can be so cruel?

Pha. You love her still!

Bia. Nay, sweet.
Not for three days. Believe me, cousin!

Pha. Cousin!
Athene save us! See her now,—the plague!

Bia. By gentle Eros, Phania, we'll be kind.
I loved her once.

Pha. How tall she is!

Bia. Ay, moves
A very sylph!

[Sybaris comes on, lower right]

Syb. A fair day's greeting, friends!

Bia. We double it for thee.

Pha. My dearest Syb!
Do you turn snail, you keep your house so long?
Why, hours, I think!

Syb. Indeed!

Bia. Where lovers watch
The dial, that's an age.

Pha. Oh, so!

Bia. [To Phania] Do I
Not know?

Syb. An age? Ay, love grows old and fades in 't.

Bia. A thousand moons in journey o'er my love
Would leave 't no withered hour! By the fair soul
Of one who knows me true!

Syb. That is no woman.

Pha. A pretty oath!

Syb. But not a new one, dear.

Bia. Plead, Phania, dove! Let her not chide
Poor penitence on knee. In two days' time
I sail to war, yet stony Sybaris
Would break love's wings with doubt—put me aboard
With sighs to sink my ship——

Pha. Nay, Sybaris!
I'll vow him constant now.

Syb. Inconstancy
Once stopped for breath, and fools came with a chair.

Bia. No thaw in thee? Plead, Phania, sweet! Your lips
Are unimpeached where mine too oft have worn
Conviction's droop.

Pha. Forgive, dear Sybaris!

Bia. Ay, be my tongue! Tell her that as the bee
Betrays the honey-buds yet hiveward flies,
I've left all by-roads for the true home-path.

Syb. Then you have trailed all others stale. There's none
Left new but that.

Bia. Tell her when I have sailed
From Athens' eyes into the sun that eve
May skirt with blood——

Pha. No, no!

Bia. —to walk with you
The haven's brim, watching the waves that throw
The sea-heart there, and know that from my ship
Pulses a heart to love's dream-sandalled feet
As constant as the sea to Athens' shore.

[Sybaris moves relentingly nearer. Biades behind Phania, who sits on bench, leans to talk into her ear, but keeps his eyes tenderly on Sybaris]

Ah, tell her, Phania, sleep is slow to come
Where warriors bed, and unforgiven hours
Are thorny comrades for an age-long night.

Syb. Then here's my hand. Pray Pallas 'tis no fool's!

Bia. Yours too, my Phania! In one breath I seal
Judge and defender mine! [Kissing their hands]
Now with my ship
Will prayers go tendant, mending every sail
That storm may batter. Typhon, whirl the sea
To insurrection,—send her meekest wave
To crinkle round the sun, and hiss from Heaven
The mariner's port-star,—I shall be safe
While I have implorators fair as ye
To melt the gods!

Syb. Ah, Biades, thou must
Be loved or die. Is 't heart or vanity,
That's so insatiate?

Pha. Nay, you have forgiven!

Syb. But will not coo yet. Is that Creon comes?
[Looking to upper right]
You'll meet him, Phania?

Pha. He knows his way.

Bia. Has news!
I'll pick the pigeon. [Goes up right]

Pha. O, my Sybaris,
Thanks for this generous peace! But who could long
Be harsh to Biades?

Syb. Such steel's not in me.
I but stood off, a shadow of resolve,
To hear him woo me back. His coldest words
Are ta'en from music, but when warm in suit,
Then music sues to him.

Pha. Woo you? Didst say
Woo you? Couldst think—couldst dream—couldst let blind sense
So flatter?

Syb. Blind? Well, you've no eye to lend.

Pha. His words were all for me, and through my heart
Were sifted to your ears.

Syb. For you, my dear?
Now what a gosling 'tis!

Pha. Oh! Ask him then!

Syb. You'll beat that bush. I have no doubt in cover.

[Biades returns with Creon]

Cre. You'll not go out?

Bia. No, friend.

Cre. I warn you, sir!
It is your reputation left i' the street
That knocks for you.

Bia. 'Twill care for itself.

Cre. Nay, come!
Soon every ear in Athens will be crammed
Wi' the tale.

Syb. What tale?

Cre. 'Tis said that Biades
Was cap and spur to riot that defaced
The Hermæ yesternight.

Bia. Denosed, you mean.

Pha. O, do not jest! I tremble, Biades!

Cre. You must o'ertake the lie, my lord, ere winds
Be up with 't.

Bia. Let it fly, my Creon. When
Its wings are worn 'twill down for any heel
To trample.

Cre. Not this feather. It broods on the air,
And its dark issue makes eclipse your sun
Can push no beam through.

Bia. Sinon's pate has hatched
The ebon chick.

Cre. You're not far out. He wants
The generalship.

[Enter Hippargus, upper right]

Bia. Here comes a tongue to market.
Most purchasable, tho' neither cut nor dried.

Cre. The senate's messenger!

Bia. Greeting, Hippargus.

Hip. Greeting, my lord,—and I must lay command
On that, for you are charged on the instant to appear
Before the Council.

Bia. The instant? Cramped to that?
And what to do there, sir?

Hip. Give proof you touched
With no profaning and injurious hand
Our threshold gods.

Bia. Go gently back, Hippargus,
And tell the senators I pardon them,
Knowing they do mistake. They would not lay
So dull an antic on me, and this charge
Is meant for Bico, my fat monkey here,
Whom they may have for trial.

Hip. Spare such jest,
My worthy lord. A hundred tongues have sworn
You said in open street, nor cared who heard,
The guardian Hermæ might be nipped of ears,
And noses too, yet serve our pious turn,
Since they smell out no faults and citizens
Confess none.

Bia. Ah! Do they make wit a crime,
Who have no taint of its color? Say 'twere red
The senators would never be mistook
For woodpeckers. Gods! When they prate, I know
Athene's owl is stuffed, and her wise serpent
An old-year slough! Off now! Your pannier's full.
Trot and unpack.

[Exit Hippargus]

Cre. Out! Follow, and deny
This answer! Dare you, standing on the top
And slippery point of fortune, throw your cap
In Heaven's face?

Bia. Dare I do less? No, friend.
The Council fears me, and would see me down.
My power is in the people, who for gold
And merry flattery give me their love.
But now they're on the quibble how to turn,
To me or Sinon. I'll not let them see
My office brought to question, and myself
Outfaced by perjurers in Sinon's keep.
Nay, when they find I'm not the senate's groom,
But know myself, their pride will know me too,
And I shall go to bed as I rose up,
The Athenian general.

Cre. The street will bellow.
I'll listen to it, and pick interpretation
From 'ts roar. You'll come with me?

Bia. Though oracles,
On every curb and step, begged audience,
I'd not go out.

[Exit Creon]

Pha. Oh, me!

Bia. Why so? I'm not a hare
To jump because a leaf falls. Wag the hour,
And Pleasure wait on us! If she fill not
My cup to-day, I fear it must go empty
A good twelvemonth. There are fair maids
In Syracuse, but they'll peer on me through
A crimson lattice.

Pha. You'll not see them, sir!
Or break a thousand oaths! So oft you've sworn
No beauty out of Athens could persuade
Your eyes to worship.

Syb. Then the Spartan maid
Lodged here will let him sleep.

Bia. What maid is this?

Pha. Why, Pyrrha,—Stesilaus' daughter.

Bia. Here?

Pha. Ay, everybody's here.

Syb. I saw her leave
The chariot. Such clothes!

Pha. No clothes, you mean!

Syb. [In shocked aside] Just to the knees!

Pha. And open to the hips!

Syb. You say it!

Pha. And manners, none. I took her nuts
And sugared poppy seeds. She said she kept
No parrot.

Syb. Here's a guest!

Pha. And when I said
I lived on them——

Bia. My dainty!

Pha. —then she asked
If that made me so little!

Bia. Ay, they feed
To grow in Sparta. Breed but monsters there.
No arts, no grace, no soft and tendrilled speech
That creeps to ends of being and looks back
Exultant and afraid. They are not men,
But, wearing human port, would force on us
A beastly comradeship. Set me to woo
A toad bred in a ditch of Attica,
But not a maid of Sparta! Were she fair
As was Persephone when she drew the god
From nether earth, yet sprung from that hard soil,
I'd let her beauty pass.

Syb. Hist, Biades!
She's yonder.

[They look middle left, where Pyrrha appears]

Pha. I like the garden best when 't wears
Pale Cybele's gown. Apollo makes it harsh
In black and gold—Ah, Pyrrha! You have found
Our blossomy corner. Welcome to it, and know
My neighbor, Sybaris,—and Biades.

Pyrr. I greet you, friends of Athens.

Pha. Will you sit?

Bia. [Who has not removed his gaze from her since her entrance]
A walk! That was your wish.
I'll show the paths.

Syb. Nay, here's a seat.

Bia. There's Artystone's rose,
Brought from the Mysian stream——

Pha. She'll stay with us.

Bia. The ivory cup of Isis, where each night
Her one tear falls,—and flowers whose sisters blow
In walled Ecbatana.

Syb. Come, sit by me,
Dear Pyrrha.

Pyrr. I would see the garden.

Syb. [Rising] Would?
We'll guide you then.

Pha. Ay, who would dawdle here?

Bia. But rest a moment, Pyrrha. I mind me now,
That from this spot the eye may best o'ersweep
The full design. Yon mass of planes——

Pyrr. I'll walk
Alone. [Moves off, lower right]

Syb. Well!

Pha. Said I not?

Syb. Does nothing that
She's asked! And stares as though a woman's eyes
Were made to see with, when their chiefest use
Is not to see!

Pha. Crude as her Spartan rocks!

Bia. I'll follow.

Syb. Nay, she'd walk alone!

Bia. She's Athens' guest.
I'll not be rude, whatever lack in her
Provokes me to it.

Pha. Nor shall I, by all
The grace in th' world!

Syb. You shame us, Biades.
We'll go with you.

[Each taken an arm of Biades as he goes right. Pelagon enters, upper left]

Pel. Daughter, this way!

[Phania returns reluctantly. The others pass off, right]

Pel. My chick,—
Nay, I'll be brief. I know young feet would flock.

Pha. O, father dear, I'd please you first! [Kissing him]

Pel. Well, well!...
You've seen Lord Stesilaus?

Pha. Just a peek.

Pel. Nay, he's no bear.

Pha. He'll bite though. I know that.

Pel. Now, Phania, now! I have a reason, miss,
A most dear reason you should win the love
Of Stesilaus.

Pha. Love!

Pel. I mean, my duck,
A father's gentle love.

Pha. But, daddy, he's——
So tall!

Pel. He has a heart, my daughter.

Pha. Fum!
Are you so sure?

Pel. Find it the shortest way.
Remember he's your—hmm!—remember—hmm!—
That he's a man—as I am—and his pride
But April frost. Be as he were myself——

Pha. As you? Oh, dear! [Under his arm]
And must I cuddle so?
Nay, that's for my own fa-fa!

Pel. Little Phania!
I'll lose my pipit,—lose my bonny bird!

Pha. Lose me? O, never, daddy, never! I'm
Your pipsey, wipsey, umpsey, ownty own!

Pel. [Resolutely] Wait here. I'll send him by.

Pha. But, father, why——

Pel. Nay, that's my secret. Not for little birds.

[Exit upper left. Phania waits until he disappears, then turns flying, and vanishes lower right. Archippe and Sachinessa enter, middle left]

Sac. Blest be Athene, there's nobody here!
The house is overrun, and Pelagon
Has twenty shadows, one at every door.
Out, in,—in, out,—with ears like aprons held
For every whisper! Here we're safe to talk.

Arc. O, dearest Sachinessa, what's to do?

Sac. We'll go to Philon. If he says confess——

Arc. Confess? I'll never do it! I will take
What way he will but that, though 't be the one
Leads out of life. You do not know my lord!

Sac. Your Stesilaus is no god, Archippe.
I'll tell you that.

Arc. If it should come to him
We never changed our daughters! If he learns
That twenty years I've made him wear the hood,
His roof no more would shade me. Nay! Confess?
Oh, Sachinessa, I should lose him quite!

Sac. That could be borne, I think.

Arc. But lose my Pyrrha?
Be driven out from her? See her no more?

Sac. There, friend, you stir me. Such a piece of man!
To strike like that because a woman's wit
Has clipped his own! He's not suspected you
In all these years?

Arc. Not once. I've watched myself
As I were my own jailer, fenced my heart,
And made my love a thief that gave my child
No open looks, but by her bed at night
Stole comfort as she slept.

Sac. Not I, Archippe!
I've laughed above the snores of Pelagon,
Knowing my darling near, whom he thought far
As Sparta. Come! You're taller by a head
Than I, yet die with quaking. And I thought
Each Lacedæmon wife a lioness.

Arc. Ah, but their lords are lions.

Sac. Well, they've mane
Enough, but they'd not shake it in my face.

Arc. Will you confess?

Sac. Why, no. For Pelagon
Would play the spousal saint, sit on the clouds,
And with a piety intolerable
Forgive his perjured wife. What soul could bear it?
But I'll not part with Phania, know you that!

Arc. What then?

Sac. We'll go to Philon. How to keep
Our secret and our daughters,—that's a nut
To break the oracle's teeth.

Arc. If 't can be done!

Sac. It must be done, Archippe. Come,—I hear
A chatter. This way out.

[They leave, upper right. Biades, Pyrrha, Sybaris, and Phania enter lower right]

Pha. What of our garden,
Now all is seen?

Pyrr. Here gods should live, not men.
At every turn I seemed to lose the step
Of a departing deity.

Syb. We are content
With our Athenian lords, and seek no charm
To turn them into gods.

Bia. [Showing a locket] I've here a charm
Does more than that. This jewel webbed
In mystic rings—and set——

Syb. The Persian gem!
You promised me——

Bia. It is a magic stone,
That gazed upon by a true-minded maid——

Pha. [Securing the trinket] I'll see it, sir!
I've heard you vow your bride
Should wear this locket.

Bia. [To Phania] So she shall.
[To Sybaris] None else!
[To Pyrrha]
You hear my oath. Come, Sybaris, sit here
And, Phania,—come! You both shall peep at fate
Through a ruby portal, if your hearts be true.
Now fix your look——

Pha. We'll see the same!

Bia. Not so.
Each fortune's connate with the gazer's star,
And tinted as she dreams. Direct your eyes
With flawless constancy, or you'll see naught.

Pha. Not lift them once?

Bia. Nay, fasten every thought
Deep in the jewel's fire, till I have said
The Persian chant of welcome to the spirit
Whose magic you shall see.

Pha. A spirit? Oh!

Bia. But she is fair,—framed as divinity
For adoration.

Syb. She!

Bia. Lift not your eyes.

[Stands behind Phania and Sybaris and makes the incantation an ardent address to Pyrrha]

[Sybaris throws the locket at his feet. He turns and sees that she and Phania have risen and are staring at him]

Pyrr. [After a silence] I do not know this game. Will leave you to it.
[Exit, middle left]

Syb. And I'll go home! [Exit, lower left]

Pha. And I'll go tell my father!
[Exit, upper left]

Bia. And I'll go stand in th' donkey mart and bray
Till a farmer buys me! Witched, and by a Spartan!
Mad as the fleeing ass of Thessaly! [Exit, upper right]

[Curtain]

ACT II

Scene: The same as first act, a few minutes later. Phania in discovered in rear. Stesilaus walks frozenly back and forth, front, while she timidly advances and retreats.

Pha. [Approaching] I'm Phania, sir.

Ste. [Looks at her incredulously, then walks left, leaving her centre]
My blood and bone in that!
What dwarf-dish has she fed on? Ugh!

Pha. [Crossing] I've come
To walk with you. You like our garden, sir?
We've bulbuls in it,—and wee, visiting wings
From the unknown south. Can see them if you watch
A place I know. They dart like breathing bits
Of chrysoprase and sard o' the sun.

Ste. Humph! You
Are Phania?

Pha. [Braver] Troth, I am! Wilt see a nest—
So small as—that! Could put it on your thumb.
[Takes his hand]
I'll show you, sir. Don't you love little things?
They wiggle to the heart, my daddy says.
You love my daddy, don't you?

Ste. Ugh! Your—Ugh!

Pha. [Defensive] I love him,—yes, and all his friends. I do,
Though they're—so tall. I come just to your beard.
See now! [Leans against him]

Ste. Get off! You squeaking pewit! Ugh!

Pha. [Quiveringly] Have I displeased you, sir?

Ste. Displeased me? No.
You make contentment creep on honored bones
Far back as Lacedæmon's earliest grave
That opened for my house. You turn my blood
That's not yet earthed, and hot as Sparta's pride,
To drops that mutiny 'gainst their own succession
And beg to be the end. Displeased? Oh, no!
[Retires, rear]

Pha. Oh, sir——

[Fails, and goes off weeping, lower right. Enter, upper right, Biades and Creon]

Cre. But this confusion, many-throated,
Has single voice and warns articulate.
A treasonous tempest rises, and you stand
A god indifferent when you should bethink
Yourself most mortal. Vilest mouths puff bold
In Sinon's service. You must wax your way
To th' Council——

Bia. Nay, no bending there!

Cre. But——

Bia. Peace!
Here's Stesilaus! He's most heavy shipped.
What is aboard? And now comes Pelagon,
With 's threshing-tongue a-ready. Chaff will fly.

[Enter Pelagon, upper left]

Pel. What thinkst of Phania? Is she not a chick?

Ste. You've tricked me, Pelagon! What fubbery
Have you put on me?

Pel. Sir? Now, now! Why, friend!

Ste. That's not my daughter!

Bia. [Drawing Creon back] Whist!

Ste. I'll see my own!
My Phania! Not that bib,—that mewling piece,
With th' milk still in her mouth!

Pel. Speak so of her?
A bud in th' dew! A cherry next its leaf!
A pippin on the limb!

Ste. Not mine, I say!

Pel. If you repent you did beget her, sir,
I'll be your shift and own the curtained deed
'Fore man and Heaven.

Ste. That my child?

Pel. Yours, friend.

Ste. Would she had never left Archippe's lap
For Sachinessa's! Patience, cool my tongue!
But I've done better by your Pyrrha!

Pel. Soft,
Beseech you, Stesilaus! Here's no place
For trumpeting our secret. And brief time
Forbids it present voice. The hour is on
To hear the people's answer. Come, my lord.
Your comrades go before you. We're past late.

Ste. Friend Pelagon, though courtesy be pressed
To th' kibe, I'll urge you keep at home. 'Tis best
You be not seen in this. The lords, who know
You lean to Sparta,—and for that all thanks,—
Are pricked therewith to oppose us, when they else
Might voice us favor.

Pel. Ay, they know me, friend.
My eye sets them at guard. They feel it, sir!
Puts them on screw. Well, so,—I'll stay behind.
But let me set you forth. [Exeunt, upper right]

Bia. Is 't trick, or truth?

Cre. Touch me! A needle's point
Could find no spot amazement hath not taken!

Bia. Didst hear it Creon? Pyrrha an Athenian!
O, words of miracle, if ye be true,—
Friend, friend, I'm in a whirl upon a way
To use this strange unearthment for the good
Of Athens. You'll be silent. Creon?

Cre. Nay,
I think——

Bia. And now I've lost fair Phania!

Cre. Lost?

Bia. With Mars i' the dusk of this debated time,
The Athenian general may not wive himself
With Sparta.

Cre. True!

Bia. I might give up command,
And be no more my country's armored watch....
Nay, Attica is first! That's sworn. I'll plunge
The sacrificial knife deep as my love.
And now 'tis done. Ah, Creon, tend thee well
My gentle loss.

Cre. This sets thee o'er thyself!
O noblest bounty that in grace compeers
With emulous Heaven! What in me can pay——

Bia. No more of 't now. But what a secret this!
If 't solely were my own—

Cre. It is, my lord!
'Tis yours. I have no speech, no tongue for 't!

Bia. Thanks,
My Creon, thanks! And will you go once more
To th' street, where now it seems I have some need
Of loyal ears?

Cre. I serve you, Biades. [Exit, upper right]

Bia. Fast hooked, and feels no barb. If he'll lie dark
Till I would stir the waters.... Is it truth?
Pyrrha! Athenian born and Spartan bred!
By Mars and Eros! Here's a captain's bride!
There's flutter in me like a forest shook
With waking birds!

[Re-enter Phania, still weeping]

Bia. Why, Phania! Such a shower,
My kitkin!

Pha. Stesilaus sh-shook me so!
Called me a sque-e-aking pewit!

Bia. Ha! He did?
Well, listen to me, Phania. Come, look up.
[Lifts her chin]
A maid with little eyes should never weep.
Leave that to Juno orbs. They swim in sorrow
Like full moons in a lake, but beads like yours
Are only bright when dry. Shun grief as you
Shun mud. [Exit, middle left]

Pha. [Gasping] Why—Biades—he's gone!
He said——
Oh, oh! If I could die——

[Sobs with abandon. Enter Alcanor, upper left. He pauses before her. She looks up bewildered]

Alc. Ah, gentle star,
What shrouds thee in this rain? Yet thou'rt not hid.
Thy beauty shining on these clouds of pearl
Makes every drop that dies reflecting thee
A little, falling sun.

Pha. Oh, Biades said——
He said—he said——

Alc. If what he said so troubles,
Let me unsay it with a kiss that makes
Trouble forgot and dumb. [Kisses her]

Pha. [On his bosom] I'm not—I'm not—
Not ugly, sir?

Alc. O, dove of Aphrodite!
Earth stores her beauty in this single face,
That she may show one jewel to the skies
When gods boast they have all!

[Phania purrs comfortedly, then releases herself]

Pha. How dare you, sir,
Attack me? Who are you?

Alc. I do not know.

Pha. Not know?

Alc. Nothing of self or where I am.
It may be those are trees on giant guard,
And these bright peeping things are flowers' eyes,
And this is happy grass we stand upon,
And that blue watcher is the faithful sky,
But I know naught except my soul is yours,
O, maid-magician, in whose snare I lie
Kissing the net that binds me! [Kissing her fallen curls]

Pha. But you know
Your name!

Alc. Not in this world a minute old
That now I find me in, but in time past
I was Alcanor, Stesilaus' son.

Pha. O!—then—why—all is well! You're noble, sir!
My father will approve you.

Alc. Hast a father?
And art not magic-born? Then I perceive
I must go back and find my earthly wits.

Pha. Nay, he is Pelagon, your father's friend.

Alc. You're Phania, then!

Pha. [Giving her hand] I am.

Alc. No more than this?
No kiss?

Pha. [Very shy] You've had it, sir.

Alc. A phantom one!
'Twas in a dream, as two ghost-lovers meet
On an Elysian path. Too cold for earth!

Pha. [Touching her cheek] Nay, it is warm here yet.

[He takes her in his arms, and they withdraw lower right. Pelagon enters, upper right, in time to witness the embrace]

Pel. [Rousing from his horror] Her brother! Gods!
Whip me all hagglers! We have stood so long
At door of our confession that this shame
Gets by us. Phania and Alcanor! Oh!
No shuffling now! When Stesilaus comes,
The tale must out!

[Enter Pyrrha, middle left. She crosses, passing Pelagon, who retreats rear, unseen by her. She loiters right]

Pel. Here's opportunity
At beck. I'll follow. [Advances] Ahem! My daughter,——

Pyrr. Sir?
You seek your daughter? I will look this way.
[Goes farther right]

Pel. I must advance, and take her Spartan guard
With gentleness. My love, 'tis you I seek.

Pyrr. [Stiffly] You'd speak to me?

Pel. My little Pyrrha,——

Pyrr. Little!

Pel. I think of Phania. In my heart you both
Hold undivided place. Shall we not chat a bit,
My Pyrrha?

Pyrr. Kitchen maids do that, not men
Of State.

Pel. Nay, there's a time when one may cast
The civic garment and take household ease
In modest robe.

Pyrr. [Aside] A swaddling band would fit him!

Pel. You will not hear me?

Pyrr. I wait upon you, sir.
For if your hostship I forget, and leave
The fees of grace unpaid, I yet must know
You are my father's friend. Say what you will,
My lord.

Pel. That word undears me! Let your tongue
Breach colder custom and give me a name
That brings me near in love as Stesilaus.
Wilt call me father, Pyrrha?

Pyrr. [Retreating] You, my lord?

Pel. They've frozen her, poor child! Must blow more warm.
Indeed a father. Call me what I am,
For so I love you, Pyrrha.

Pyrr. Is it thus
The Athens sages talk?

Pel. Ay, we're not cut
Of ice as Spartans are. Here your poor heart
Shall know what sun is, and the Springs you've lost,
Betrayed without a bloom in frigid Sparta,
In Athens shall blow fair. You are amazed,
My sweet, but by this kiss——

Pyrr. [Giving him a blow] You goose-eyed goat!
I strike not at your years, Lord Pelagon,
But at your mind which has not come of age
And gives me elder right.

[Exit, middle left. While Pelagon is recovering, enter Stesilaus, upper right]

Pel. [Welcoming the interruption] You, Stesilaus?
So soon, friend, from the Assembly?

Ste. Late, sir, late!
More haste had been more prudence.

Pel. Why, why, why!

Ste. Where is your buttery nephew, Biades?
Who slips to the seat of question and melts all
Into one potch of folly!

Pel. But I'd know——

Ste. Why I am here, not there? A crater mouth
That calls itself a people hissed eruption
Into my face, and without bow I set
My back to 't, sir!

Pel. Blame me for all! I knew
I should not stay behind! The gods do know
I am the voice of Athens. 'Tis no pride
That speaks bare truth. I'll go——

Ste. Tuh, tuh!
A word with Biades——

Pel. But not too sharp,
My friend. He is of weight——

Ste. No sharper than
My stick! Then I set out for Sparta, where
The very ground knows Stesilaus walks!

Pel. And Phania goes with you?

Ste. Not if the chit
May corner in your kitchen! She's worth that.

Pel. You'll leave her here?

Ste. It will content me. I'll
Surrender both.

Pel. What? Both! Nay, your free heart
Shall not outdo my own.

Ste. You'll give me Pyrrha?

Pel. Friend of my soul, I will!

Ste. [Moved] Thanks, Pelagon.
She's dearer than my son. More like my blood.
Alcanor is too soft and woman-lipped.
Too much Archippe in him from his birth,
Nor blows could drive it out.

Pel. And mine own eyes
Have seen a cooing match between himself
And Phania.

Ste. Zeus! His sister!

Pel. While we speak,
The fated pair are yonder——

Ste. I'll get him home!
And leave the witch to you! Had I a doubt
To hold me back, this turn would be
Decision's point. She must stay here.

Pel. But how
Make answer to our wives? Our wisdom's nicked
Where it is tenderest if we confess.

Ste. What's to confess? I know my will and do it.

Pel. Ay, ay, you bear your wife in a sack, but mine
Is on her feet and goes her pace. Look yon!
They come together! A brace, and one of them
Would tie my tongue.

Ste. Tie water in a brook!

[Archippe and Sachinessa enter upper right]

Sac. We do not come to shame you, noble lords
And husbands, though we've that to bear which put
To honest ballad would uncrest your pride
And clip a reef or two from the tall sail
Of dignity.

Ste. Why, madam, this approach?

Sac. I walk, sir, in my garden when I please.

Arc. We have a suit, my honored lords, which you
May think full strange, remembering our prayers
Of twenty years ago.

Ste. What suit canst have?
If you must try the goose-step out of doors,
Go thank the gods for suiting you with me,
Who save you from all suit by hearing none.

Sac. Not hear us, sir? I'll catch you by the ears
And shake the pride-wool out, but you shall hear!
Suited with you! And then go thank the gods!

Pel. Why, Sachinessa, love! What you, duck?

Sac. This, Pelagon. When in that sad year gone
You took my child from me——

Pel. What? That again?

Sac. Not that, but this. I did not stay you then,
Being young in wedlock and my wit at cheep
In its first feathers. But this second time
When you lift up your hand to cut the bough
Whose root is in my heart, I'll speak so loud
That if your dull ear miss, I'll reach you yet
By way o' the stars that will cry back my wrong
When they so hear it.

Pel. You would beg for Phania?

Sac. I would. There is no source of love so great
As brooding care. That makes the mother, not
The childing pangs. Though she, from the first hour,
Will cherish what she must so dearly buy,
'Tis day by watchful day her swelling love
Is born. So I, as new days past, forgot
The child of my brief pain, and gave to one
That nestled in her place my care-born love.
Now you would strike again——

Pel. Sweet, by my soul,—
Nay, Sachinessa, dearest heart, be calm.
Your words have never in our mated life
Moved me as now. If Stesilaus yields,
And his stern will be broken by your plea,
I am content.

Ste. I'm so far moved, my friend,
That I will hear Archippe speak her wish.
Her love for Pyrrha will not match with that
Your wife bestows on Phania.

Arc. Ay, my lord,
I've never loved the stranger as my own,
But she is dearer than my own grown strange.
I see in Phania all my tender loss,
But it is lost forever. Give me, Pyrrha.
I have no other daughter.

Ste. Keep her, dame.
But make this weakness not your heckling ground
Where you would spar for favors. No more suits!

Pel. And, Sachinessa, hear the same from me.

Sac. You borrow feathers and I'll twitch 'em out!

Ste. [To Archippe] Lest you should badger, footed safe on this,
Know that my judgment's not earwigged by you
To this repeal, but now configures pat
To the act itself, that keeps a constant step
With our first purpose. Our intent comes out
With even edges, though reversed in face.
An Athens' maid shall be a Spartan mother,
And here shall dwell a dame of Spartan blood.

Pel. You hear it, Sachinessa. I'm not one
To throw my pack away in sight of home.
Come mud, come mire, I bear my judgment out,
As Athens knows.

Sac. I'll swear to it there's no man
I' the city better hides the sun with a sieve!

Ste. And secondly, my dame, know that I've won
My high contention that the laws of Sparta
Are best for brooding earth a godlike race.
For here my proof enroots in warmest life
That they can aggrandize the chalky veins
Of pampered Attica to ducts that bear
The red, unconquered sap of Lacedæmon.

Sac. So Pyrrha is your proof!

Ste. No question there.
A weak, Athenian babe grows up the pride
Of Sparta, while a budling of her own,
Nursled by Athens' soft and careless shift,
Scarce grows to woman's level——

Sac. Why, you puffed——
You pride-blown——

Arc. Come with me!

Sac. But such a bladder!
He'd top a flood into the second world
And wet but half his skin!

Arc. Nay, Sachinessa,
Our suit is won. No words! We'll haste once more
To Philon's shrine. For this dear joy I'll bend
A willing knee. Come, come!
[Draws her away, upper right]

Pel. [Capering] Could reel it now
Like school-boy 'scaped a whipping!

Ste. Shame! Your years
Will blush. [Goes left] Now Biades, and then farewell!

Pel. Ah, there's my mourning cloak! I'll go at once
To th' Council, and——

Ste. Vain labor, Pelagon.

Pel. Nay, I will stir them!

[Exit, upper right. Biades enters left. He is arrayed in a purple gown with long train held up by his monkey. A peacock fan swings from a girdle, and jewels dangle from his ears. He carries a scroll from which he reads as he walks, tittering over the matter. Stesilaus watches him curiously, then amazedly recognizes him]

Ste. Biades! Is 't he?
May eyes report it to a brain unshaken?
... Ho, sir,—or madam?

Bia. Did you speak, my lord?
Your pardon! I was buried here,—quite drowned
I' the honey of this tale. Sir, it suggests,—
But that's not it,—the style, so quaint, so pure,—
It plays with thoughts and leaves them bright as shells
The sea has polished to their curling edges.
You'll hear this line? 'Tis worth a pause. Eh, not?
You've never wooed the script? Ah, I forget.
War is the art of Sparta.

Ste. Are you man?

Bia. What's that to an artist, sir? Life in me packs
The germinal grain of all, and what may come
To birth and bloom, I leave to nursing Fate.
But you seem ruffled,—warm. Pray have my fan.
Then take my parchment,—sit you in this nook
And read of Corys and his water-nymph
Until the charm of an unhurrying world
Steals wave-like round you.

Ste. Olympus! Was 't this voice
That tripped my reason? Led my cautious years
To take instruction from a dizzened ape
And lose the cause they guarded? Was 't myself
So slubbered judgment——

Bia. Ah, must I believe
You honored my good counsel?

Ste. Good!

Bia. 'Twas good
For Athens. Ha, you slipped into the noose
As easily as my finger takes this ring.
A wondrous sapphire here. You know the stone?
This is from Egypt,—has the desert fire
'Neath Nilus' liquid smile. Is 't not a treasure?
But I forget. Your Sparta has no gems.
By Hera's belt, your country goes too bare
For this adornèd earth!

Ste. Come, Biades!
Throw off that gown, and with a captain's sword
Deny this folly!

Bia. Friend, 'tis not my hour
For exercise. Our moods, I see, would quarrel.
But here's my thornless world. You'll pardon me.

[Resumes walking and reading as before. Pyrrha enters, middle left, and stands watching him. He looks up and is struck motionless to find her eyes upon him. She comes nearer for a detached scrutiny, then crosses right]

Ste. Find me Alcanor, daughter. And this hour
We leave for Sparta.

Pyrr. I am ready, sir.

[Exit, lower right. Stesilaus goes into house, upper left]

Bia. She has good eyes, and used them. Overshot,
By Hermes! I must follow,—'twixt this fool
And meditation's eye must interpose
My soldier self!

[Tears off robe, under which he wears a simple, belted tunic, flings jewels from his ears, and drives out Bico. Goes off, lower right. Enter Pelagon, much ruffled, from street]

Pel. Where's Stesilaus? Stesilaus, ho!
Find Stesilaus!
[Stesilaus returns, upper left]
O, my friend, they're mad,
And you must fly! I never was so battered!
The senators cry out you played with them
As though their stationed honors were a row
Of last year's weanlings,—first to say you bore
Full power to treat, then at their open answer
To cover and prefer the opposite,
Declaring that their noble terms must cool
On th' road to Sparta! As I speak your comrades
Are driven through the gates. You must not stay.
They'll have your life, they are so worked. Come, come!
I know a way—I'll get you through——

Ste. I'll go
The way I came.

Pel. Nay, nay, I'll slip you out!
Leave here your wife and daughter. In gentler hour
I'll send them after, with your son,—

Ste. I'll speak
To Pyrrha——

Pel. No! This way! The world's at somersault!
The turtle's on his back, his claws to Heaven!
No one would hear me! Me! The voice of Athens!
And jeered me down, for I was Biades' kin,—
Though why the wind sits so I know not!
Come—come—I was so battered——

[Exeunt, upper left. Pyrrha and Biades enter, lower right]

Bia. But one word!

Pyrr. I've let you shower words in hope to drain
Your breath of them, but they grow to a hail.
Pelt me no more, Athenian.

Bia. O, that name
I held my pearl of honor is become
A wounding thorn! I'll wear 't no more.

Pyrr. You'll be
A Spartan?

Bia. Ay, if you are one!

Pyrr. So vows
An Athens' captain.

Bia. Nay, I have no place,
No rank, no office, duty or pursuit,
But this my gage is in. Nor rest till I have won!

Pyrr. Then you'll die weary, sir. So long 'twill take
To make me yours.

Bia. If you will love my shade
I'll on the instant make myself a ghost!

Pyrr. Love's burning deeds do ever lie before him.
He ne'er gets past to make them history.

Bia. O, hear my oath! Thy birthland shall be mine!

Pyrr. Whist, Biades! The gods might hear you too.

Bia. I'll swear it in the ears of Zeus!

Pyrr. By what
Irreverenced deity wilt break it?

Bia. Ah,
By none, fair Pyrrha! I'll stake my golden part
In love's eternity, no land's more dear
To my own heart than that which gave you birth.

Pyrr. Ay, for on Spartan soil the laurel grows
Which you would pluck from drenched defeat and set
Among your bays. So dear as that!

[A clamor is heard in street]

Bia. I'll woo
In better time. Till then let this pure gem
Speak for me on your breast. 'Tis like my love,
No sudden thing. For as this captive fire
Dreamed in the heart of earth and could not wake
Till beauty born in man sent down his kiss,
So lay my love in Life from her first breath,
Deep as unconsciousness, till at your step
It knew itself. You scorn the half-hour flame,
But in your coming like an instant dawn
Find all its brevity. Ay, Pyrrha, sweet!
And let my token lie, a patient prayer,
Upon your bosom. Heaven should have its sun!

[Drops the locket into the folds of her dress. She casts it to the ground]

Pyrr. Athens is such a sun, and Sparta as my foot
Shall overcloud it! [Exit, middle left]

Bia. Had she crushed my gem
To bleeding dust, I'd pay it o'er to see
Such flame unsheathe. Bright Eos necklaced with
A darkling east could not more beauteously
Threat earth with storm. [Takes up the locket]
You'll wear it yet, my terror,
Or I'll cut out the tongue that can not wag
To a woman's heart.
[Enter Creon from street]
What, Creon? Dumb with news?
Which I will guess before your tongue's uncrimped.
We've lost our gentle guests? Our Spartan friends
Are off?

Cre. They're driven out. But that is old.
Atop that tale, like mountain on a hump,
Comes one will wake you, sir! The tumbling streams
That bore the Spartans out, rage back again,
A gathered flood against you,—you, my lord!

Bia. Ah!

Cre.      Sinon's poison spreads till men
That yesterday lay down before you, now
Cry for your death. I warned you, friend!