Chapter III: Act THE FIRST

SCENE I.--A Room in the house of Polemius at Rome.

Chrysanthus is seen seated near a writing table on which are several books: he is reading a small volume with deep attention.

CHRYSANTHUS. Ah! how shallow is my mind! How confined! and how restricted![3] Ah! how driftless are my words! And my thoughts themselves how driftless! Since I cannot comprehend, Cannot pierce the secrets hidden In this little book that I Found by chance with others mingled. I its meaning cannot reach, Howsoe'er my mind I rivet, Though to this, and this alone, Many a day has now been given. But I cannot therefore yield, Must not own myself outwitted:-- No; a studious toil so great Should not end in aught so little. O'er this book my whole life long Shall I brood until the riddle Is made plain, or till some sage Simplifies what here is written. For which end I 'll read once more Its beginning. How my instinct Uses the same word with which Even the book itself beginneth!-- "In the beginning was the Word" . .[4] If in language plain and simple Word means speech, how then was it In the beginning? Since a whisper Presupposes power to breathe it, Proves an earlier existence, And to that anterior Power Here the book doth not bear witness. Then this follows: "And the Word Was with God"--nay more, 't is written, "And the Word was God: was with Him In the beginning, and by HIM then All created things were made And without Him naught was finshed":-- Oh! what mysteries, what wonders, In this tangled labyrinthine Maze lie hid! which I so many Years have studied, with such mingled Aid from lore divine and human Have in vain tried to unriddle!-- "In the beginning was the Word".-- Yes, but when was this beginning? Was it when Jove, Neptune, Pluto Shared the triple zones betwixt them, When the one took to himself Heaven supreme, one hell's abysses, And the sea the third, to Ceres Leaving earth, the ever-wing`ed Time to Saturn, fire to Phoebus, And the air to Jove's great sister?[5]-- No, it could not have been then, For the fact of their partition Shows that heaven and earth then were, Shows that sea and land existed:-- The beginning then must be Something more remote and distant: He who has expressly said 'The beginning,' must have hinted At the primal cause of all things, At the first and great beginning, All things growing out of HIM, He himself the pre-existent:-- Yes, but then a new beginning Must we seek for this beginner, And so on ad infinitum; Since if I, on soaring pinion Seek from facts to rise to causes, Rising still from where I had risen, I will find at length there is No beginning to the beginning, And the inference that time Somehow was, ere time existed, And that that which ne'er begun Ne'er can end, is plain and simple. But, my thought, remain not here, Rest not in those narrow limits, But rise up with me and dare Heights that make the brain grow dizzy:-- And at once to enter there, Other things being pretermitted, Let us venture where the mind, As the darkness round it thickens, Almost faints as we resume What this mystic scribe has written. "And the Word", this writer says, "Was made flesh!" Ah! how can this be? Could the Word that in the beginning Was with God, was God, was gifted With such power as to make all things, Could it be made flesh? In pity, Heavens! or take from me at once All the sense that you have given me, Or at once on me bestow Some intelligence, some glimmer Of clear light through these dark shadows:-- Deity, unknown and hidden, God or Word, whate'er thou beest, Of Thyself the great beginner, Of Thyself the end, if, Thou Being Thyself beyond time's sickle, Still in time the world didst fashion, If Thou 'rt life, O living spirit, If Thou 'rt light, my darkened senses With Thy life and light enkindle!-- (The voices of two spirits are heard from within, one at each side.)

First Voice. Hear, Chrysanthus . . .

Second Voice.
Listen . . .

CHRYSANTHUS. Two Voices, if they are not instincts, Shadows without soul or body, Which my fancy forms within me, Are contending in my bosom Each with each at the same instant. (Two figures appear on high, one clothed in a dark robe dotted with stars; the other in a bright and beautiful mantle: Chrysanthus does not see them, but in the following scene ever speaks to himself.)

First Voice. What this crabbed text here meaneth By the Word, is plain and simple, It is Jove to whose great voice Gods and men obedient listen.

CHRYSANTHUS. Jove, it must be Jove, by whom Breath, speech, life itself are given.

Second Voice. What the holy Gospel means By the Word, is that great Spirit Who was in Himself for ever, First, last, always self-existent.

CHRYSANTHUS. Self-existent! first and last! Reason cannot grasp that dictum.

First Voice. In the beginning of the world Jove in heaven his high throne fix`ed, Leaving less imperial thrones To the other gods to fill them.

CHRYSANTHUS. Yes, if he could not alone Rule creation unassisted.

Second Voice. God was God, long, long before Earth or heaven's blue vault existed, He was in Himself, ere He Gave to time its life and mission.

First Voice. Worship only pay to Jove, God o'er all our gods uplifted.

Second Voice. Worship pay to God alone, He the infinite, the omniscient.

First Voice. He doth lord the world below.

Second Voice. He is Lord of Heaven's high kingdom.

First Voice. Shun the lightnings of his wrath.

Second Voice. Seek the waves of his forgiveness. [The Figures disappear.

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! what darkness, what confusion, In myself I find here pitted 'Gainst each other! Spirits twain Struggle desperately within me, Spirits twain of good and ill,-- One with gentle impulse wins me To believe, but, oh! the other With opposing force resistless Drives me back to doubt: Oh! who Will dispel these doubts that fill me?

POLEMIUS (within). Yes, Carpophorus must pay For the trouble that this gives me.--

CHRYSANTHUS. Though these words by chance were spoken As an omen I 'll admit them: Since Carpophorus (who in Rome Was the most renowned, most gifted Master in all science), now Flying from the emperor's lictors, Through suspect of being a Christian, In lone deserts wild and dismal Lives a saintly savage life, He will give to all my wishes The solution of these doubts:-- And till then, O restless thinking Torture me and tease no more! Let me live for that! [His voice gradually rises.

ESCARPIN (within). Within there My young master calls.

CLAUDIUS (within). All enter. (Enter Polemius, Claudius, Aurelius, and Escarpin).

POLEMIUS. My Chrysanthus, what afflicts thee?

CHRYSANTHUS. Canst thou have been here, my father?

POLEMIUS. No, my son, 't was but this instant That I entered here, alarmed By the strange and sudden shrillness Of thy voice; and though I had On my hands important business, Grave and weighty, since to me Hath the Emperor transmitted This decree, which bids me search Through the mountains for the Christians Hidden there, and specially For Carpophorus, their admitted Chief and teacher, for which cause I my voice too thus uplifted-- "Yes, Carpophorus must pay For the trouble that this gives me"-- I left all at hearing thee.-- Why so absent? so bewildered? What 's the reason?

CHRYSANTHUS.
Sir, 't is naught.

POLEMIUS. Whom didst thou address?

CHRYSANTHUS. Here sitting I was reading to myself, And perchance conceived some image I may have addressed in words Which have from my memory flitted.

POLEMIUS. The grave sadness that o'erwhelms thee Will, unless it be resisted, Undermine thy understanding, If thou hast it still within thee.

CLAUDIUS. 'T is a loud soliloquy, 'T is a rather audible whisper That compels one's friends to hasten Full of fear to his assistance!

CHRYSANTHUS. Well, excitement may . . .

POLEMIUS. Oh! cease; That excuse will scarce acquit thee, Since when one 's alone, excitement Is a flame that 's seldom kindled. I am pleased, well pleased to see thee To the love of books addicted, But then application should not To extremes like this be driven, Nor should letters alienate thee From thy country, friends, and kinsmen.

CLAUDIUS. A young man by heaven so favoured, With such rare endowments gifted, Blessed with noble birth and valour, Dowered with genius, rank, and riches, Can he yield to such enthralment, Can he make his room a prison, Can he waste in idle reading The fair flower of his existence?

POLEMIUS. Dost thou not remember also That thou art my son? Bethink thee That the great Numerianus, Our good emperor, has given me The grand government of Rome As chief senator of the city, And with that imperial burden The whole world too--all the kingdoms, All the provinces subjected To its varied, vast dominion. Know'st thou not, from Alexandria, From my native land, my birth-place, Where on many a proud escutcheon My ancestral fame is written, That he brought me here, the weight Of his great crown to bear with him, And that Rome upon my entry Gave to me a recognition That repaid the debt it owed me, Since the victories were admitted Which in glorious alternation By my sword and pen were given her? Through what vanity, what folly, Wilt thou not enjoy thy birth-right As my son and heir, indulging Solely in these idle whimseys?--

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, the state in which you see me, This secluded room, this stillness, Do not spring from want of feeling, Or indifference to your wishes. 'T is my natural disposition; For I have no taste to mingle In the vulgar vain pursuits Of the courtier crowds ambitious. And if living to myself here More of true enjoyment gives me, Why would you desire me seek for That which must my joys diminish? Let this time of sadness pass, Let these hours of lonely vigil, Then for fame and its applauses, Which no merit of my own, But my father's name may bring me.

POLEMIUS. Would it not, my son, be fitter That you should enjoy those plaudits In the fresh and blooming spring-time Of your life, and to hereafter Leave the loneliness and vigil?

ESCARPIN. Let me tell a little story Which will make the whole thing simple:-- A bad painter bought a house, Altogether a bad business, For the house itself was bad: He however was quite smitten With his purchase, and would show it To a friend of his, keen-witted, But bad also: when they entered, The first room was like a kitchen, Black and bad:--"This room, you see, sir, Now is bad, but just permit me First to have it whitewashed over, Then shall my own hand with pictures Paint the walls from floor to ceiling, Then you 'll see how bright 't will glisten".-- To him thus his friend made answer, Smiling archly: "Yes, 't will glisten, But if you would paint it first, And then whitewash o'er the pictures, The effect would be much better".-- Now 's the time for you, my lord, To lay on the shining pigment: On that brilliant ground hereafter Will the whitewash fall more fitly, For, in fine, the poorest painting Is improved by time's slow finger.

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, I say, that in obedience To your precepts, to your wishes, I will strive from this day forward So to act, that you will think me Changed into another being. [Exit.

POLEMIUS. Claudius, my paternal instinct Makes me fear Chrysanthus' sadness, Makes we tremble that its issue May result in total madness. Since thou art his friend and kinsman Both combined, make out, I pray thee, What occasions this bewitchment, To the end that I may break it: And my promise now I give thee, That although I should discover Love's delirious dream delicious May be at the root,--most likely At his age the true suspicion,-- It shall not disturb or grieve me. Nay, since I am doomed to witness His dejection, it will glad me To find out that so it springeth.

ESCARPIN. Once a high priest of Apollo Had two nephews soft and silly, More than silly, wretched creatures, More than wretched, doltish drivels; And perceiving from experience How love smartens up its victims, He but said to them this only, "Fall in love at least, ye ninnies".-- Thus, though not in love, sir, now, I 'll be bound he 'll be so quickly, Merely to oblige you.

POLEMIUS. This Is not quite as I would wish it, For when anything has happened, The desire to know it, differs From the wish it so should happen.

CLAUDIUS. I, my lord, my best assistance Offer thee to strive and fathom From what cause can have arisen Such dejection and such sadness; This henceforth shall be my business To divert him and distract him.

POLEMIUS. Such precisely are my wishes: And since now I am forced to go In obedience to the mission Sent me by Numerianus, 'Mid the wastes to search for Christians, In my absence, Claudius, Most consoling thoughts 't will give me, To remember that thou watchest O'er Chrysanthus.

CLAUDIUS. From this instant Until thy return, I promise Not to leave his side.

POLEMIUS.
Aurelius . . .

AURELIUS. My good lord.

POLEMIUS. Art sure thou knowest In this mountain the well-hidden Cave wherein Carpophorus dwelleth?

AURELIUS. Him I promise to deliver To thy hands.

POLEMIUS. Then lead the soldiers Stealthily and with all quickness To the spot, for all must perish Who are there found hiding with him:-- For the care with which, ye Heavens! I uphold the true religion Of the gods, their faith and worship, For the zeal that I exhibit In thus crushing Christ's new law, Which I hate with every instinct Of my soul, oh! grant my guerdon In the cure of my son's illness! [Exeunt Polemius and Aurelius.

CLAUDIUS (to Escarpin). Go and tell my lord Chrysanthus That I wish he would come with me Forth to-day for relaxation.

ESCARPIN. Relaxation! just say whither Are we to go forth to get it; Of that comfort I get little--

CLAUDIUS. Outside Rome, Diana's temple On the Salarian way uplifteth Its majestic front: the fairest Of our Roman maids dwell in it: 'T is the custom, as thou knowest, That the loveliest of Rome's children Whom patrician blood ennobles, From their tender years go thither To be priestesses of the goddess, Living there till 't is permitted They should marry: 't is the centre Of all charms, the magic circle Drawn around a land of beauty-- Home of deities--Elysium!-- And as great Diana is Goddess of the groves, her children Have to her an altar raised In the loveliest cool green thicket. Thither, when the evening falleth, And the season is propitious, Various squadrons of fair nymphs Hasten: and it is permitted Gallant youths, unmarried also, As an escort to go with them. There this evening will I lead him.

ESCARPIN. Well, I doubt that your prescription Is the best: for fair recluses, Whose sublime pursuits, restricted To celestial things, make even The most innocent thought seem wicked, Are by no means likely persons To divert a man afflicted With this melancholy madness: Better take him into the thickest Throng of Rome, there flesh and bone Goddesses he 'll find, and fitter.--

CLAUDIUS. Ah! you speak but as the vulgar: Is it not the bliss of blisses To adore some lovely being In the ideal, in the distance, Almost as a vision?--

ESCARPIN. Yes; 'T is delightful; I admit it, But there 's good and better: think Of the choice that once a simple Mother gave her son: she said: "Egg or rasher, which will I give thee?" And he said: "The rasher, mother, But with the egg upon it, prithee". "Both are best", so says the proverb.

CLAUDIUS. Well, if tastes did n't sometimes differ, What a notable mistake Providence would have committed! To adore thee, sweetest Cynthia, [aside Is the height of all my wishes: As it well may be, for am I Worthy, worship even to give her? [Exeunt.

SCENE THE SECOND A Wood near Rome.

(Enter NISIDA and CHLORIS, the latter with a lyre).

NISIDA. Have you brought the instrument?

CHLORIS. Yes.

NISIDA. Then give it me, for here In this tranquil forest sphere, Where the boughs and blossoms blent, Ruby blooms and emerald stems, Round about their radiance fling, Where the canopy of spring Breathes of flowers and gleams with gems, Here I wish that air to play, Which to words that Cynthia wrote I have set--a simple note.

CHLORIS. And the song, senora, say, What 's the theme?

NISIDA. A touching strain,-- How a nightingale in a grove Singing sweetly of his love, Sang its pleasure and its pain.

Enter CYNTHIA (reading in a book).

CYNTHIA (to herself). Whilst each alley here discloses Youthful nymphs, who as they pass To Diana's shrine, the grass Turn to beds of fragrant roses,-- Where the interlac`ed bars Of these woods their beauty dowers Seem a verdant sky of flowers-- Seem an azure field of stars. I shall here recline and read (While they wander through the grove) Ovid's 'Remedy of Love.'

NISIDA (to Chloris). Hear the words and air.

CHLORIS.
Proceed.

NISIDA (singing). O nightingale, whose sweet exulting strain Tells of thy triumphs to the listening grove, Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain. But no; but no; for if thou sing'st of love, Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain.

CYNTHIA (advancing). What a charming air! To me What an honour! From this day I may well be vain, as they May without presumption be, Who, despite their numerous slips, Find their words can please the ear, Who their rugged verses hear Turn to music on thy lips.

NISIDA. 'T is thine own genius, not my skill, That produces this effect; For, without it, I suspect, Would my voice sound harsh and shrill, And my lute's strings should be broken With a just and wholesome rigour, For presuming to disfigure What thy words so well have spoken. Whither wert thou wending here?

CYNTHIA. Through the quiet wood proceeding, I the poet's book was reading, When there fell upon my ear, Soft and sweet, thy voice: its power, Gentle lodestone of my feet, Brought me to this green retreat-- Led me to this lonely bower: But what wonder, when to listen To thy sweetly warbled words Ceased the music of the birds-- Of the founts that glide and glisten? May I hope that, since I came Thus so opportunely near, I the gloss may also hear?

NISIDA. I will sing it, though with shame.

(Sings) Sweet nightingale, that from some echoing grot Singest the rapture of thy love aloud, Singest with voice so joyous and so proud, All unforgetting thou mayst be forgot, Full of thyself and of thy happy lot! Ah! when thou trillest that triumphant strain To all the listening lyrists of the grove, Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain! But no; but no; for if thou sing'st of love. Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!

Enter DARIA.

DARIA. Ah! my Nisida, forbear, Ah! those words forbear to sing, Which on zephyr's wanton wing Thou shouldst waft not on the air. All is wrong, how sweet it be, That the vestal's thoughts reprove: What is jealousy? what is love? That they should be sung by thee? Think this wood is consecrated To Diana's service solely, Not to Venus: it is holy. Why then wouldst thou desecrate it With thy songs? Does 't not amaze Thee thyself--this strangest thing-- In Diana's grove to sing Hymns of love to Cupid's praise? But I need not wonder, no, That thou 'rt so amused, since I Here see Cynthia with thee.

CYNTHIA. Why Dost thou say so?

DARIA. I say so For good cause: in books profane Thou unceasingly delightest, Verse thou readest, verse thou writest, Of their very vanity vain. And if thou wouldst have me prove What I say to thy proceeding, Tell me, what 's this book thou 'rt reading?

CYNTHIA. 'T is The Remedy of Love. Whence thou mayst perceive how weak Is thy inference, thy deduction From my studious self-instruction; Since the patient who doth seek Remedies to cure his pain Shows by this he would grow better;-- For the slave who breaks his fetter Cannot surely love his chain.

NISIDA. This, though not put quite so strong, Was involved in the conclusion Of my lay: Love's disillusion Was the burden of my song.

DARIA. Remedies and disillusions, Seek ye both beneath one star? Ah! if so, you are not far From its pains and its confusions: For the very fact of pleading Disillusion, shows that thou 'Neath illusion's yoke doth bow,-- And the patient who is needing Remedies doth prove that still The sharp pang he doth endure, For there 's no one seeks a cure Ere he feels that he is ill:-- Therefore to this wrong proceeding Grieved am I to see ye clinging-- Seeking thou thy cure in singing-- Thou thy remedy in reading.

CYNTHIA. Casual actions of this class That are done without intention Of a second end, to mention Here were out of place: I pass To another point: There 's no one Who with genius, or denied it,-- Dowered with mind, but has applied it Some especial track to go on: This variety suffices For its exercise and action, Just as some by free attraction Seek the virtues and the vices;-- This blind instinct, or this duty, We three share;--'t is thy delight Nisida to sing,--to write Mine,--and thine to adore thy beauty. Which of these three occupations Is the best--or those that need Skill and labour to succeed, Or thine own vain contemplations?-- Have I not, when morning's rays Gladdened grove and vale and mountain, Seen thee in the crystal fountain At thyself enamoured gaze? Wherefore, once again returning To our argument of love, Thou a greater pang must prove, If from thy insatiate yearning I infer a cause: the spell Lighter falls on one who still, To herself not feeling ill, Would in other eyes seem well.

DARIA. Ah! so far, so far from me Is the wish as vain as weak-- (Now my virtue doth not speak, Now but speaks my vanity), Ah! so far, I say, my breast Turns away from things of love, That the sovereign hand of Jove, Were it to attempt its best, Could no greater wonder work, Than that I, Daria, should So be changed in mind and mood As to let within me lurk Love's minutest, smallest seed:-- Only upon one condition Could I love, and that fruition Then would be my pride indeed.

CYNTHIA. What may that condition be?

DARIA. When of all mankind, I knew One who felt a love so true As to give his life for me, Then, until my own life fled, Him, with gratitude and pride, Were I sure that so he died, I would love though he were dead.

NISIDA. Poor reward for love so great Were that tardy recollection, Since, it seems, for thy affection He, till life is o'er, must wait.

CYNTHIA. Soars thy vanity so high? Thy presumption is above All belief: be sure, for love No man will be found to die.

DARIA. Why more words then? love must be In my case denied by heaven: Since my love cannot be given Save to one who 'll die for me.

CYNTHIA. Thy ambition is a thing So sublime, what can be said?-- Better I resumed and read, Better, Nisida, thou shouldst sing, This disdain so strange and strong, This delusion little heeding.

NISIDA. Yes, do thou resume thy reading, I too will resume my song.

DARIA. I, that I may not renew Such reproaches, whilst you sing, Whilst you read, in this clear spring Thoughtfully myself shall view.

NISIDA sings. O nightingale, whose sweet exulting strain Tells of thy triumphs to the listening grove, Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain!-- But no, but no, for if thou sing'st of love Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!

Enter CHRYSANTHUS, CLAUDIUS, and ESCARPIN.

CLAUDIUS, to Chrysanthus. Does not the beauty of this wood, This tranquil wood, delight thee?

CHRYSANTHUS. Yes: Here nature's lord doth dower and bless The world in most indulgent mood. Who could believe this greenwood here For the first time has blessed mine eyes?

CLAUDIUS. It is the second Paradise, Of deities the verdant sphere.

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is more, this green and grassy glade Whither our careless steps have strolled, For here three objects we behold Equally fair by distance made. Of these that chain our willing feet, There yonder where the path is leading, One is a lady calmly reading, One is a lady singing sweet, And one whose rapt though idle air Gives us to understand this truth-- A woman blessed with charms and youth, Does quite enough in being fair.

ESCARPIN. You are quite right in that, I 've seen Beauties enough of that sort too.

CLAUDIUS. If of the three here given to view, The choice were thine to choose between, Which of them best would suit thy taste? Which wouldst thou make thy choice of, say?

CHRYSANTHUS. I do not know: for in one way They so with equal gifts are graced, So musical and fair and wise, That while one captivates the mind, One works her witcheries with the wind, And one, the fairest, charms our eyes. The one who sings, it seems a duty, Trusting her sweet voice, to think sweet, The one who reads, to deem discreet, The third, we judge but by her beauty: And so I fear by act or word To wrong the three by judging ill, Of one her charms, of one her skill, And the intelligence of the third. For to choose one does wrong to two, But if I so presumed to dare . . .

CLAUDIUS. Which would it be?

CHRYSANTHUS.
The one that 's fair.

ESCARPIN. My blessings on your choice and you! That 's my opinion in the case, 'T is plain at least to my discerning That in a woman wit and learning Are nothing to a pretty face.

NISIDA. Chloris, quick, take up the lyre, For a rustling noise I hear In this shady thicket near: Yes, I 'm right, I must retire. Swift as feet can fly I 'll go. For these men that here have strayed Must have heard me while I played. [Exeunt Nisida and Chloris.

CYNTHIA. One of them I think I know. Yes, 't is Claudius, as I thought, Now he has a chance: I 'll see If he cares to follow me, Guessing rightly what has brought Me to-day unto the grove:-- Ah! if love to grief is leading Of what use to me is reading In the Remedies of Love? [Exit.

DARIA (to herself). In these bowers by trees o'ergrown, Here contented I remain, All companionship is vain, Save my own sweet thoughts alone:--

CLAUDIUS. Dear Chrysanthus, your election Was to me both loss and gain, Gave me pleasure, gave me pain:-- It seemed plain to my affection (Being in love) your choice should fall On the maid of pensive look, Not on her who read the book: But your praise made up for all. And since each has equal force, My complaint and gratulation, Whilst with trembling expectation I pursue my own love's course, Try your fortune too, till we Meet again. [Exit.

CHRYSANTHUS. Confused I stay, Without power to go away, Spirit-bound, my feet not free. From the instant that on me, As a sudden beam might dart, Flashed that form which Phidian art Could not reach, I 've known no rest.-- Babylon is in my breast-- Troy is burning in my heart.

ESCARPIN. Strange that I should feel as you, That one thought should fire us two, I too, sir, have lost my senses Since I saw that lady.

CHRYSANTHUS. Who, Madman! fool! do you speak of? you! Dare to feel those griefs of mine!--

ESCARPIN. No, sir, yours I quite resign, Would I could my own ones too!--

CHRYSANTHUS. Leave me, or my wrath you 'll rue; Hence! buffoon: by heaven I swear it, I will kill you else.

ESCARPIN. I go:-- For if you address her, oh! Could my jealous bosom bear it? [aside [Exit.

CHRYSANTHUS (to Daria). If my boldness so may dare it, I desire to ask, senora, If thou art this heaven's Aurora, If the goddess of this fountain, If the Juno of this mountain, If of these bright flowers the Flora, So that I may rightly know In what style should speak to thee My hushed voice . . . but pardon me Now I would not thou said'st so. Looking at thee now, the glow Of thy beauty so excelleth, Every charm so plainly telleth Thou Diana's self must be; Yes, Diana's self is she, Who within her grove here dwelleth.

DARIA. If, before you spoke to me, You desired my name to know, I in your case act not so, Since I speak, whoe'er you be, Forced, but most unwillingly (As to listening heaven is plain) To reply:--a bootless task Were it in me, indeed, to ask, Since, whoe'er you be, my strain Must be one of proud disdain. So I pray you, cavalier, Leave me in this lonely wood, Leave me in the solitude I enjoyed ere you came here.

CHRYSANTHUS. Sweetly, but with tone severe, Thus my error you reprove-- That of asking in this grove What your name is: you 're so fair, That, whatever name you bear, I must tell you of my love.

DARIA. Love! a word to me unknown, Sounds so strangely in my ears, That my heart nor feels nor hears Aught of it when it has flown.

CHRYSANTHUS. Then there is no rashness shown In repeating it once more, Since to hear or to ignore Suits alike your stoic coldness.

DARIA. Yes, the speech, but not the boldness Of the speaker I pass o'er, For this word, whate'er it be, When it breaks upon my ear, Quick 't is gone, although I hear.

CHRYSANTHUS. You forget it?

DARIA.
Instantly.

CHRYSANTHUS. What! love's sweetest word! ah, me! Canst forget the mightiest ray Death can dart, or heaven display?

DARIA. Yes, for lightning, entering where Naught resists, is lost in air.

CHRYSANTHUS. How? what way?

DARIA. Well, in this way: If two doors in one straight line Open lie, and lightning falls, Then the bolt between the walls Passes through, and leaves no sign. So 't is with this word of thine; Though love be, which I do n't doubt, Like heaven's bolt that darts about, Still two opposite doors I 've here, And what enters by one ear By the other ear goes out.

CHRYSANTHUS. If this lightning then darts through Where no door lies open wide To let it pass at the other side, Must not fire and flame ensue? This being so, 't is also true That the fire of love that flies Into my heart, in flames must rise, Since without its feast of fire The fatal flash cannot retire, That has entered by the eyes.

DARIA. If to what I said but now You had listened, I believe You would have preferred to leave Still unspoken love's vain vow. This you would yourself allow.

CHRYSANTHUS. What then was it?

DARIA. I do n't know: Something 't was that typified My presumption and my pride.

CHRYSANTHUS. Let me know it even so.

DARIA. That in me no love could grow Save for one who first would die For my love.

CHRYSANTHUS. And death being past, Would he win your love at last?--

DARIA. Yes, on that he might rely.

CHRYSANTHUS. Then I plight my troth that I Will to that reward aspire,-- A poor offering at the fire By those beauteous eyes supplied.

DARIA. But as you have not yet died, Pray do n't follow me, but retire. [Exit.

CHRYSANTHUS. In what bosom, at one moment, Oh! ye heavens! e'er met together[6] Such a host of anxious troubles? Such a crowd of boding terrors? Can I be the same calm student Who awhile ago here wended? To a miracle of beauty, To a fair face now surrendered, I scarce know what brought me hither, I my purpose scarce remember. What bewitchment, what enchantment, What strange lethargy, what frenzy Can have to my heart, those eyes Such divine delirium sent me? What divinity, desirous That I should not know the endless Mysteries of the book I carry, In my path such snares presenteth, Seeking from these serious studies To distract me and divert me? But what 's this I say? One passion Accidentally developed, Should not be enough, no, no, From myself myself to sever. If the violence of one star Draws me to a deity's service, It compels not; for the planets Draw, but force not, the affections. Free is yet my will, my mind too, Free is still my heart: then let me Try to solve more noble problems Than the doubts that love presenteth. And since Claudius, the new Clytie[7] Of the sun, whose golden tresses Lead him in pursuit, her footsteps Follows through the wood, my servant Having happily too departed, And since yonder rocks where endeth The dark wood in savage wildness Must be the rude rustic shelter Of the Christians who fled thither, I 'll approach them to endeavour To find there Carpophorus:-- He alone, the wise, the learn`ed, Can my understanding rescue From its night-mare dreams and guesses. [Exit.

SCENE III. The extremity of the wood: wild rocks with the entrance to a cave. Carpophorus comes forth from the cave, but is for a while unseen by Chrysanthus, who enters.

CHRYSANTHUS. What a labyrinthine thicket Is this place that I have entered! Nature here takes little trouble, Letting it be seen how perfect Is the beauty that arises Even from nature's careless efforts: Deep within this darksome grotto Which no sunbeam's light can enter, I shall penetrate: it seemeth As if until now it never Had been trod by human footsteps. There where yonder marge impendeth O'er a streamlet that swift-flying Carries with it the white freshness Of the snows that from the mountains Ever in its waves are melted, Stands almost a skeleton; The sole difference it presenteth To the tree-trunks near it is, That it moves as well as trembles, Slow and gaunt, a living corse. Oh! thou venerable elder Who, a reason-gifted tree, Mid mere natural trees here dwelleth.--

CARPOPHORUS. Wo! oh! wo is me!--a Roman! (At seeing Chrysanthus, he attempts to fly.)

CHRYSANTHUS. Though a Roman, do not dread me: With no evil end I seek thee.

CARPOPHORUS. Then what wouldst thou have, thou gentle Roman youth? for thou hast silenced My first fears even by thy presence.

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is to ask, what now I ask thee, Of the rocks that in this desert Gape for ever open wide In eternal yawns incessant, Which is the rough marble tomb Of a living corse interred here? Which of these dark caves is that In whose gloom Carpophorus dwelleth? 'T is important I speak with him.

CARPOPHORUS. Then, regarding not the perils, I will own it. I myself Am Carpophorus.

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! let me, Father, feel thy arms enfold me.

CARPOPHORUS. To my heart: for as I press thee, How, I know not, the mere contact Brings me back again the freshness And the greenness of my youth, Like the vine's embracing tendrils Twining round an aged tree: Gallant youth, who art thou? tell me.

CHRYSANTHUS. Father, I am called Chrysanthus, Of Polemius, the first member Of the Roman senate, son.

CARPOPHORUS. And thy purpose?

CHRYSANTHUS. It distresses Me to see thee standing thus: On this bank sit down and rest thee.

CARPOPHORUS. Kindly thought of; for, alas! I a tottering wall resemble: At the mouth of this my cave Let us then sit down together. [They sit down. What now wouldst thou have, Sir Stranger?

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, as long as I remember, I have felt an inclination To the love of books and letters. In my casual studies lately I a difficulty met with That I could not solve, and knowing No one in all Rome more learn`ed Than thyself (thy reputation Having with this truth impressed me) I have hither come to ask thee To explain to me this sentence: For I cannot understand it. 'T is, sir, in this book.

CARPOPHORUS. Pray, let me See it then.

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is at the beginning; Nay, the sentence that perplexes Me so much is that.

CARPOPHORUS. Why, these Are the Holy Gospels! Heavens!

CHRYSANTHUS. What! you kiss the book?

CARPOPHORUS. And press it To my forehead, thus suggesting The profound respect with which I even touch so great a treasure.

CHRYSANTHUS. Why, what is the book, which I By mere accident selected?

CARPOPHORUS. 'T is the basis, the foundation Of the Scripture Law.

CHRYSANTHUS. I tremble With an unknown horror.

CARPOPHORUS.
Why?

CHRYSANTHUS. Deeper now I would not enter Into the secrets of a book Which are magic spells, I 'm certain.

CARPOPHORUS. No, not so, but vital truths.

CHRYSANTHUS. How can that be, when its verses Open with this line that says (A beginning surely senseless) "In the beginning was the Word, And it was with God": and then it Adds: this Word itself was God; Then unto the Word reverting, Says explicitly that IT "Was made flesh"?

CARPOPHORUS. A truth most certain: For this first evangelist Here to us our God presenteth In a twofold way: the first As being God, as Man the second.

CHRYSANTHUS. God and Man combined together?

CARPOPHORUS. Yes, in one eternal Person Are both natures joined together.

CHRYSANTHUS. Then, for this is what more presses On my mind, can that same Word When it was made flesh, be reckoned God?

CARPOPHORUS. Yes, God and Man is Christ Crucified for our transgressions.

CHRYSANTHUS. Pray explain this wondrous problem.

CARPOPHORUS. He is God, because He never Was created: He is the Word, For, besides, He was engendered By the Father, from both whom In eternal due procession Comes the Holy Ghost, three Persons, But one God, thrice mystic emblem!-- In the Catholic faith we hold In one Trinity one God dwelleth, And that in one God is also One sole Trinity, ever bless`ed, Which confounds not the three Persons, Nor the single substance severs. One is the person of the Father, One the Son's, beloved for ever, One, the third, the Holy Ghost's. But though three, you must remember That in the Father, and in the Son, And in the Holy Ghost . . .

CHRYSANTHUS. Unheard of Mysteries these!

CARPOPHORUS. There 's but one God, Equal in the power exerted, Equal in the state and glory; For . . .

CHRYSANTHUS.
I listen, but I tremble.

CARPOPHORUS. The eternal Father is Limitless, even so unmeasured And eternal is the Son, And unmeasured and eternal Is the Holy Ghost; but then Three eternities are not meant here, Three immensities, no, but One, Who is limitless and eternal. For though increate the three, They are but one Uncreated. First the Father was not made, Or created, or engendered; Then engendered was the Son By the Father, not created; And the Spirit was not made Or created, or engendered By the Father or the Son, But proceeds from both together. This is God's divinity Viewed as God alone, let 's enter On the human aspect.

CHRYSANTHUS. Stay: For so strange, so unexpected Are the things you say, that I Need for their due thought some leisure. Let me my lost breath regain, For entranced, aroused, suspended, Spell-bound your strong reasons hold me. Is there then but one sole God In three Persons, one in essence, One in substance, one in power, One in will?

CARPOPHORUS.
My son, 't is certain.

(Enter Aurelius and Soldiers.)

AURELIUS to the Soldiers. Yonder is the secret cavern Of Carpophorus, at its entrance See him seated with another Reading.

A SOLDIER.
Why delay? Arrest them.

AURELIUS. Recollect Polemius bade us, When we seized them, to envelope Each one's face, that so, the Christians, Their accomplices and fellows, Should not know or recognize them.

A SOLDIER. You 're our prisoners. [A veil is thrown over the head of each.]

CHRYSANTHUS.
What! base wretches . . .

AURELIUS. Gag their mouths.

CHRYSANTHUS.
But then I am . . .

AURELIUS. Come, no words: now tie together Both their hands behind their backs.

CHRYSANTHUS. Why I am . . .

CARPOPHORUS. Oh! sacred heaven! Now my wished-for day has come.

A VOICE FROM HEAVEN. No, not yet, my faithful servant:-- I desire the constancy Of Chrysanthus may be tested:-- Heed not him, as for thyself, In this manner I preserve thee. [Carpophorus disappears.

(Enter Polemius.)

POLEMIUS. What has happened?

AURELIUS. Oh! a wonder.-- We Carpophorus arrested, And with him this other Christian; Both we held here bound and fettered, When from out our hands he vanished.

POLEMIUS. By some sorcery 't was effected, For those Christians use enchantments, And then miracles pretend them.

A SOLDIER. See, a crowd of them there flying To the mountains.

POLEMIUS. Intercept them, And secure the rabble rout; This one I shall guard myself here:-- [Exeunt Aurelius and soldiers. Miserable wretch! who art thou? Thus that I may know thee better, Judging from thy face thy crimes, I unveil thee. Gracious heaven! My own son!

CHRYSANTHUS.
Oh! heavens! my father!

POLEMIUS. Thou with Christians here detected? Thou here in their caverns hidden? Thou a prisoner? Wherefore, wherefore, O immense and mighty Jove, Are thy angry bolts suspended?

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T was to solve a certain doubt Which some books of thine presented, That I sought Carpophorus, That I wandered to these deserts, And . . .

POLEMIUS. Cease, cease; for now I see What has led to this adventure: Thou unhappily art gifted With a genius ill-directed; For I count as vain and foolish All the lore that lettered leisure Has in human books e'er written; But this passion has possessed thee, And to learn their magic rites Here, a willing slave, has led thee.

CHRYSANTHUS. No, not magic was the knowledge I came here to learn--far better-- The high mysteries of a faith Which I reverence, while I dread them.

POLEMIUS. Cease, oh! cease once more, nor let Such vile treason find expression On thy lips. What! thou to praise them!

AURELIUS (within). Yonder wait the two together.

POLEMIUS. Cover up thy face once more, That the soldiers, when they enter, May not know thee, may not know How my honour is affected By this act, until I try Means more powerful to preserve it.

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). God, whom until now I knew not, Grant Thy favour, deign to help me: Grant through suffering and through sorrow I may come to know Thee better.

(Enter Aurelius and Soldiers.)

AURELIUS. Though we searched the whole of the mountain, Not one more have we arrested.

POLEMIUS. Take this prisoner here to Rome, And be sure that you remember All of you my strict commands, That no hand shall dare divest him Of his veil:-- [Chrysanthus is led out. Why, why, O heavens! [aside. Do I pause, but from my breast here Tear my bleeding heart? How act In so dreadful a dilemma? If I say who he is, I tarnish With his guilt my name for ever, And my loyalty if I 'm silent, Since he being here transgresses By that fact alone the edict: Shall I punish him? The offender Is my son. Shall I free him? He Is my enemy and a rebel:-- If between these two extremes Some mean lies, I cannot guess it. As a father I must love him, And as a judge I must condemn him. [Exeunt.