Chapter I

The back of CIRCE’S palace, late in the afternoon, one year later than the occurrences of the First Act. The back of the building lies toward the setting sun, whose declining rays are now intercepted and softened into shade by foliage and flitting clouds. The pale yellow walls and tall narrow windows and the one central entrance on this side are not obscured by vines and trailing plants, but cleanly sheltered by a lofty colonnade which runs the entire length of the edifice, with wide low pavement only a step higher than the lawn that borders it. The veranda-floor and the plinth are dewy with freshly sprinkled water. The green sward of the foreground is varied by flower-beds and dotted with luxuriant trees, a bower and seats near by. Here there is no fountain; but a streamlet, issuing from an archway at the Right corner of the palace, winds its way downward across the flowery slope. A peacock struts and spreads his fan in one of the open places. Some utterances of persons represented indicate that the situation affords glimpses of the sea.

There are no suggestions of witchcraft or magic in the present scene. Where the anterior façade of the palace seemed weird or uncanny, the rear elevation and its belongings wear rather an idyllic aspect.

The curtain rising discovers three couples severally grouped. Upon the veranda, at the Left, CIRCE and ULYSSES are seated opposite each other at a small table, upon which are cups and a vase of flowers, while a nymph occasionally passes to and fro, serving them with wine from within. CIRCE is not attired as enchantress. She wears neither her black robe nor the coronal of pearls. The prevailing color of her Grecian dress is amethyst, and her hair is loosely confined by a narrow band of gold.—On the Right, at the farther end of the veranda, PHILEMON and PHILINNA sit side by side in confidential attitude.—Upon the lawn, in the foreground near the centre, far enough from the others to converse gently without being overheard by them, are seen XENIAS and THERMIA: the former seated carelessly facing sidewise toward the colonnade; the latter standing by a tall shrub, cutting flowers which she gathers in the fold of her garment.

THERMIA

[_Who stands with her back to the veranda_]

If you will take a good long look, Xenias, just where you are
looking now, you will see exactly why you and I are a whole lot
luckier than some others I might name.

XENIAS

How is that? What’s the mystification now, Miss Inscrutable? I
see only what we see every day; and no great signs of bad luck
about them yet.

THERMIA

Of course we see it every day! And every day is making it worse
for them, friend Xenias. Do you suppose they can keep this sort
of thing up forever?

XENIAS

Well, what if they can’t? I’ve no doubt the illusion is mighty
pleasant while it lasts.

THERMIA

And so much the more painful when it comes to an end—but you
and I have kept our wits about us, Xenias.

XENIAS

And have been uncommon good friends all the time, you mean,
Thermia—Well, I admit it’s the best way. But they don’t think
so.

THERMIA

They think of nothing! But it will set them thinking, when the
time comes for you to sail away.

XENIAS

If that time ever does come! The commander has got to order
it; and he doesn’t seem very likely to speak the word until
your lady orders _him_. It’s true some of the lads are getting
restive and tired of dilly-dallying, as they call it, here in
this blessed island!

THERMIA

Yes, and Graea gives me to understand that Eurylochus is going
about secretly stirring them up and wants them to put on a bold
front and demand that something shall be done.

XENIAS

Ah, so? He hasn’t said a word to me or Philemon. I reckon he
thinks Philemon and Xenias are in the same box.

THERMIA

Eurylochus doesn’t know the difference, of course! I shall be
sorry when you have to go, Xenias; I shall miss you sadly after
you are gone. But it will simply _kill_ Philinna.

XENIAS

Well now, what if Philemon should take her home to Ithaca with
him for his wife? _He_ hasn’t got any Penelope waiting for him
there.

THERMIA

O heavens! And do you believe Philinna would ever leave Circe,
or that Circe would ever let her go?

XENIAS

And do you believe Philemon would ever leave Philinna behind,
or that Philinna would ever let him go without her?

THERMIA

Xenias, it’s a pity about them both—the greatest pity in the
world! As for Circe, she really admires your captain; great
men are scarce enough, she says; but Circe will never lose her
head, even if Ulysses has lost his; nor will either of them be
quite heart-broken, be sure. But Philinna! Philinna!

[_CIRCE, who has been laughing merrily with ULYSSES, claps her hands twice._]

Yes, now; here comes the music they feed on.

[_THERMIA begins to move away as THRATTIS the lute-girl enters from the palace in response to CIRCE’S summons._]

XENIAS

But stay, Thermia, and let us hear it.

THERMIA

O, it will only be the same old songs! Besides, I have my vases
to fill.

[_She goes out round the Right corner of the building. XENIAS settles himself in a listening attitude._]

CIRCE

Thrattis, we need thee still.—’Tis strange, Ulysses,
How, like some thirst or hunger, each day return
These tuneful memories!

ULYSSES

Yet, fair Circe, charged
With a more strange forgetfulness of all else
Than that they celebrate.

CIRCE

Hist, listen now!

THRATTIS

[_Standing midway between the two couples on the veranda, after a brief prelude upon her instrument, sings._]

Forget, forget! Ah, linger not
By dreams of yesterday!
Each vanish’d hour shall be forgot,
Fresh phantasies hold sway.
No lowlier crown the linden weaves
Of tassel’d verdure now
Because the old year’s scatter’d leaves
Return not to the bough.

CIRCE

[_While an interlude is played_] Our Thrattis echoes thy
thought, Ulysses; and indeed I find a certain sort of wisdom in
the ditty.

ULYSSES

Yet methinks it carries somewhat of a different effect from the
open intention of it.

CIRCE

Wait, listen!

THRATTIS

[_Sings_] Forget, forget! In love’s demesnes
No faded chaplet wear;
Nor conjure phantoms from lost scenes,
To sit unbidden there.
Round heaven her sign swift Iris sets,
Flings forth her jewel’d zone:
O, who beholds it but forgets
The frowning storm-cloud flown?

[_The singer bends her head to hide her face as she sweeps the strings again._]

CIRCE

Good Thrattis, thou art tired standing. Sit and sip of the
wine. Thou need’st sing no farther now.

PHILINNA

She weeps, my lady.

[_As THRATTIS, declining the offered refreshment, turns and goes within._]

CIRCE

Poor soul! truly I pity her.

PHILEMON

But why does the girl weep, sweet Philinna? Has she some
express sorrow attending her?

PHILINNA

O yes, Philemon; nor will she put it entirely away. ’Tis three
years agone since she floated to our island, lashed to some
fragment of a vessel from the north which the hurricane had
wrecked; but her father and two brothers who so saved her life
themselves perished in the sea.

PHILEMON

O, sad story; unhappy Thrattis! Yet so I do much wonder at the
song she chose to sing.

PHILINNA

We could do little to assuage her grief. But Circe has been
kind to her and taught her the songs she sings so sweetly to
her lute.

ULYSSES

Perchance some such strains would comfort the child as the
captive Trojan maidens might listen to betimes among us at the
ships when the harp was struck.

CIRCE

Pray what, Ulysses?

ULYSSES

Such as sounded praise
Not for the living and the days we lived
(Which with their moil and megrim did afford
Scant food, I grant, for eulogy); but ever
With vision backward turn’d the bard would seek
Among long-treasured memories one most apt
And draw it forth. Then did we lose all sense
Of aching limbs, sore wounds, and comrades slain,
Whilst in high-swelling measures like great waves
Of Iphitus or Heracles he sang—
Glories of ancient men.

CIRCE

It was fair medicine
To still the pains ye dwelt in. In my isle
Such cordials find not place.—But come, Ulysses,
And see me prove the powers of that rare herb
Whereof I promised.—Philinna, attend us. Of simples
My sampler art thou.

[_CIRCE laughs heartily as she utters the last words and she and ULYSSES rise from their seats. ULYSSES joins in the laugh. PHILINNA smiles faintly and seems loth to part from PHILEMON as these two also rise._]

CIRCE

[_Laughing again_] Thy Philemon
Will not forget so soon.

[_CIRCE and ULYSSES go into the palace followed by PHILINNA._]

XENIAS

[_As PHILEMON turns toward him, stepping down from the veranda_]

The commander and our Lady of the Herbs seem to be in a right
merry mood, Philemon.

PHILEMON

That they are indeed, to judge by the colors they fly.

XENIAS

_You_ take it not quite so. And yet methinks you have as good
cause as they to be blithe.

PHILEMON

I take your meaning, Xenias. Nevertheless I’m sheer doubtful
now and then—as though too great happiness should somehow have
a sobering effect, as you might say, upon a fellow.

XENIAS

Then belike when the commander sobers down a bit he will pass
the word for a home start.

PHILEMON

Ay, truly I have thought of it.

XENIAS

[_Laughing and clapping his friend on the shoulder_]

But you’re not in a raking hurry about it; eh, Philemon?

[_Re-enter THERMIA round the Right corner. She comes quickly toward the men._]

But here’s Thermia again, in a hurry about something or other
surely.

THERMIA

O Xenias! I’ve seen Graea again and have learnt that Eurylochus
has called all the men to a meeting at the shore to-morrow
morning early about that business.

PHILEMON

Ah, what business, Thermia?

THERMIA

You tell him, Xenias.

XENIAS

Philemon and I were just upon the same matter—about the
commander passing the word to cast off.

PHILEMON

Well, it seems the mate hasn’t invited _me_ yet.

XENIAS

No, nor me; he thinks you and I would pull on the wrong
quarter, laddie. But I shall be on hand just the same to see
how the wind does blow. Don’t you go, Philemon; you haven’t the
heart for it.

THERMIA

Ah, thou art sad, Philemon; I feel for thee.

PHILEMON

O, let it come; let it come!

THERMIA

Yes, the day is bound to come, sooner or later. I would I could
belate it. But farewell now. [_She goes out._]

PHILEMON

Xenias, I would not ask thee to hold back
And thine own sentiments belie because
Mine do enchain me so to Circe’s isle
As in its soil the roots of yonder oak
Are wove and knotted. No; it is for you all
Timely and reasonable—nor for Ulysses least—
To set your faces homeward. But to me
That home so dimly beckons now, I know not
If it be there or here!

XENIAS

[_Stepping closer to his friend_] ’Twas not thy wont
To doubt, Philemon, with faint wavering heart,
When we together oft by chilly Troy
Crouch’d with our captain in an ambuscade
Or sprang from the galley’s prow full-arm’d ashore
At Tenedos or Chryse. Be thyself; be bold!
The girl is not to the island rooted fast,
Even though, as they pretend, their mothers be
Fig-trees and fountains. We go: take _her_! Herself,
I’ll wager, nothing loth.

[_While the last words are exchanged between the two men the figure of GRAEA the swine-maiden, unobserved by them, is seen passing furtively behind and occasionally halting as if to listen._]

PHILEMON

Ah, Xenias,
Thou knowest not Philinna. She is true
Not to me only.

XENIAS

I know. Untie them!
If need be, cut the knot! Love glories
In shifts and stratagems.

PHILEMON

Ah, ’twere not easy!

XENIAS

Think; ponder! Swear it: _If with Ulysses’ crew_
_Philemon sail, Philinna shall sail too._

[_XENIAS seizes the hand of PHILEMON and they go out together at the Left._]