Chapter IV: Act THE SECOND

SCENE I. A hall in the house of Polemius.

Enter Claudius and Escarpin.

CLAUDIUS. Has he not returned? Can no one Guess in the remotest manner[8] Where he is?

ESCARPIN. Sir, since the day That you left me with my master In Diana's grove, and I Had with that divinest charmer To leave him, no eye has seen him. Love alone knows how it mads me.

CLAUDIUS. Of your loyalty I doubt not.

ESCARPIN. Loyalty 's a different matter, 'T is not wholly that.

CLAUDIUS.
What then?

ESCARPIN. Dark suspicions, dismal fancies, That perhaps to live with her He lies hid within those gardens.

CLAUDIUS. If I could imagine that, I, Escarpin, would be gladdened Rather than depressed.

ESCARPIN. I 'm not:-- I am filled, like a full barrel, With depressions.

CLAUDIUS.
And for what?

ESCARPIN. Certain wild chimeras haunt me, Jealousy doth tear my heart, And despairing love distracts me.

CLAUDIUS. You in love and jealous?

ESCARPIN. I Jealous and in love. Why marvel? Am I such a monster?

CLAUDIUS. What! With Daria?

ESCARPIN. 'T is no matter What her name is, or Daria Or Maria, I would have her Both subjective and subjunctive, She verb passive, I verb active.

CLAUDIUS. You to love so rare a beauty?

ESCARPIN. Yes, her beauty, though uncommon, Would lack something, if it had not My devotion.

CLAUDIUS.
How? explain:--

ESCARPIN. Well, I prove it in this manner:-- Mr. Dullard fell in love (I do n't tell where all this happened, Or the time, for of the Dullards Every age and time give samples) With a very lovely lady: At her coach-door as he chattered One fine evening, he such nonsense Talked, that one who heard his clatter, Asked the lady in amazement If this simpleton's advances Did not make her doubt her beauty?-- But she quite gallantly answered, Never until now have I Felt so proud of my attractions, For no beauty can be perfect That all sorts of men do n't flatter.

CLAUDIUS. What a feeble jest!

ESCARPIN.
This feeble?--

CLAUDIUS. Yes, the very type of flatness:-- Cease buffooning, for my uncle Here is coming.

ESCARPIN. Of his sadness Plainly is his face the mirror.

Enter Polemius and servants.

CLAUDIUS. Jupiter doth know the anguish, My good lord, with which I venture To approach thee since this happened.

POLEMIUS. Claudius, as thine own, I 'm sure, Thou dost feel this great disaster.

CLAUDIUS. I my promise gave thee that To Chrysanthus . . .

POLEMIUS. Cease; I ask thee Not to proffer these excuses, Since I do not care to have them.

CLAUDIUS. Then it seems that all thy efforts Have been useless to unravel The strange mystery of his fate?

POLEMIUS. With these questions do not rack me; For, though I would rather not Give the answer, still the answer Rises with such ready aptness To my lips from out my heart, That I scarcely can withstand it.

CLAUDIUS. Why conceal it then from me, Knowing that thy blood meanders Through my veins, and that my life Owns thee as its lord and master?-- Oh! my lord, confide in me, Let thy tongue speak once the language That thine eyes so oft have spoken.

POLEMIUS. Let the servants leave the apartment.

ESCARPIN (aside). Ah! if beautiful Daria Would but favour my attachment, Though I have no house to give her, Lots of stories I can grant her:-- [Exeunt Escarpin and servants.

CLAUDIUS. Now, my lord, we are alone.

POLEMIUS. Listen then; for though to baffle Thy desire were my intention, By my miseries overmastered, I am forced to tell my secret; Not so much have I been granted License to avow my sufferings, But I am, as 't were commanded Thus to break my painful silence, Doing honestly, though sadly, Willingly the fact disclosing, Which by force had been extracted. Hear it, Claudius: my Chrysanthus, My Chrysanthus is not absent: In this very house he 's living!-- Would the gods, ah! me, had rather Made a tomb and not a prison Of his present locked apartment! Which is in this house, within it Is he prisoned, chained, made captive. This surprises thee, no wonder: More surprised thou 'lt be hereafter, When thou com'st to know the reason Of a fact so strange and startling. On that fatal day, when I Sought the mount and thou the garden, Him I found where thou didst lose him, Near the wood where he had rambled: He was taken by my soldiers At the entrance of a cavern, With Carpophorus:--oh! here Patience, patience may heaven grant me!-- It was lucky that they did not See his face, for thus it happened That the front of my dishonour Was not in his face made patent: Him they captured without knowing Who he was, it being commanded That the faces of the prisoners Should be covered, but ere captured This effectually was done By themselves, they flying backward With averted faces; he Thus was taken, but his partner, That strange prodigy of Rome-- Man in mind, wild beast in manners, Doubly thus a prodigy-- Saved himself by power of magic. Thus Chrysanthus was sole prisoner, While the Christian crowd, disheartened, Fled for safety to the mountains From their grottoes and their caverns. These the soldiers quickly followed, And behind in that abandoned Savage place remained but two-- Two, oh! think, a son and father.-- One a judge, too, in a cause Wicked, bad, beyond example, In a cause that outraged Caesar, And the gods themselves disparaged. There with a delinquent son Stood I, therefore this should happen, That both clemency and rigour In my heart waged fearful battle-- Clemency in fine had won, I would have removed the bandage From his eyes and let him fly, But that instant, ah! unhappy! Came the soldiers back, and then It were but more misery added, If they knew of my connivance: All that then my care could manage To protect him was the secret Of his name to keep well guarded. Thus to Rome I brought him prisoner, Where pretending great exactness, That his friends should not discover Where this Christian malefactor Was imprisoned, to this house, To my own house, I commanded That he should be brought; there hidden And unknown, a few days after I in his place substituted . . . Ah! what will not the untrammelled Strength of arbitrary power Dare attempt? what law not trample? Substituted, I repeat, For my son a slave, whose strangled, Headless corse thus paid the debt Which from me were else exacted. You will say, "Since fortune thus Has the debt so happily cancelled, Why imprison or conceal him?"-- And, thus, full of doubts, I answer That though it is true I wished not, Woe is me! the common scaffold Should his punishment make public, I as little wished his hardened Heart should know my love and pity Since it did not fear my anger: Ah! believe me, Claudius, 'Twixt the chastisement a father And an executioner gives, A great difference must be granted: One hand honours what it striketh, One disgraces, blights, and blackens. Soon my rigour ceased, for truly, In a father's heart it lasteth Seldom long: but then what wonder, If the hand that in its anger Smites his son, in his own breast Leaves a wound that ever rankles-- I one day his prison entered With the wish (I own it frankly) To forgive him, and when I Thought he would have even thanked me For receiving a reproof, Not severe, too lenient rather, He began to praise the Christians With such earnestness and ardour, In defence of their new law, That my clemency departed, And my angrier mood returned. I his doors and windows fastened. In the room where he is lying, Well secured by gyves and shackles, Sparingly his food is given him, Through my hands alone it passes, For I dare not to another Trust the care his state demandeth. You will think in this I reached to The extreme of my disasters-- The full limits of misfortune, But not so, and if you hearken, You 'll perceive they 're but beginning, And not ended, as you fancied. All these strange events so much Have unnerved him and unmanned him, That, forgetful of himself, Of himself he is regardless. Nothing to the purpose speaks he. In his incoherent language Frenzy shows itself, delusion In his thoughts and in his fancies:-- Many times I 've listened to him, Since so high-strung and abstracted Is his mind, he takes no note of Who goes in or who departeth. Once I heard him deprecating Some despotic beauty's hardness, Saying, "Since I die for thee, Thou thy favour sure wilt grant me". At another time he said, "Three in one, oh! how can that be?" Things which these same Christian people In their law hold quite established. Thus it is my life is troubled, Lost in doubts, emeshed, and tangled. If to freedom I restore him, I have little doubt that, darkened By the Christian treachery, he Will declare himself instanter Openly a Christian, which Would to me be such a scandal, That my blood henceforth were tainted, And my noble name were branded. If I leave him here in prison, So excessive is his sadness, So extreme his melancholy, That I fear 't will end in madness. In a word, I hold, my nephew, Hold it as a certain axiom, That these dark magician Christians Keep him bound by their enchantments; Who through hatred of my house, And my office to disparage, Now revenge themselves on me Through my only son Chrysanthus. Tell me, then, what shall I do; But before you give the answer Which your subtle wit may dictate, I would with your own eyes have thee See him first, you 'll then know better What my urgent need demandeth. Come, he 's not far off, his quarter Is adjoining this apartment; When you see him, I am certain You will think it a disaster Far less evil he should die, Than that in this cruel manner He should outrage his own blood, And my bright escutcheon blacken. [He opens a door, and Chrysanthus is seen seated in a chair, with his hands and feet in irons.]

CLAUDIUS. Thus to see my friend, o'erwhelms me With a grief I cannot master.

POLEMIUS. Stay, do not approach him nearer; For I would not he remarked thee, I would save him the disgrace Of being seen by thee thus shackled.

CLAUDIUS. What his misery may dictate We can hear, nor yet attract him.

CHRYSANTHUS. Was ever human fate so strange as mine? Were unmatched wishes ever mated so? Is it not enough to feel one form of woe, Without being forced 'neath opposite forms to pine? A triune God's mysterious power divine, From heaven I ask for life, that I may know, From heaven I ask for death, life's grisly foe, A fair one's favour in my heart to shrine: But how can death and life so well agree, That I can ask of heaven to end their strife, And grant them both in pitying love to me? Yet I will ask, though both with risks are rife, Neither shall hinder me, for heaven must be The arbiter of death as well as life.

POLEMIUS. See now if I spoke the truth.

CLAUDIUS. I am utterly distracted. (The door closes.

POLEMIUS. Lest perhaps he should perceive us, Let us move a little further. Now advise me how to act, Since you see the grief that racks me.

CLAUDIUS. Though it savours of presumption To white hairs like yours, to hazard Words of council, yet at times Even a young man may impart them: Well-proportioned punishment Grave defects oft counteracteth. But when carried to extremes, It but irritates and hardens. Any instrument of music Of this truth is an example. Lightly touched, it breathes but sweetness, Discord, when 't is roughly handled. 'T is not well to send an arrow To such heights, that in discharging The strong tension breaks the bowstring, Or the bow itself is fractured. These two simple illustrations Are sufficiently adapted To my purpose, of advising Means of cure both mild and ample. You must take a middle course, All extremes must be abandoned. Gentle but judicious treatment Is the method for Chrysanthus. For severer methods end in Disappointment and disaster. Take him, then, from out his prison, Leave him free, unchecked, untrammelled, For the danger is an infant Without strength to hurt or harm him. Be it that those wretched Christians Have bewitched him, disenchant him, Since you have the power; for Nature With such careful forethought acteth, That an antidotal herb She for every poison planteth. And if, finally, your wish Is that he this fatal sadness Should forget, and wholly change it To a happier state and gladder, Get him married: for remember Nothing is so well adapted To restrain discursive fancies As the care and the attachment Centered in a wife and children; Taking care that in this matter Mere convenience should not weigh More than his own taste and fancy: Let him choose his wife himself. Pleased in that, to rove or ramble Then will be beyond his power, Even were he so attracted, For a happy married lover Thinks of naught except his rapture.

POLEMIUS. I with nothing such good counsel Can repay, except the frankness Of accepting it, which is The reward yourself would ask for. And since I a mean must choose Between two extremes of action, From his cell, to-day, my son Shall go forth, but in a manner That will leave his seeming freedom Circumscribed and safely guarded. Let that hall which looketh over Great Apollo's beauteous garden Be made gay by flowing curtains, Be festooned by flowery garlands; Costly robes for him get ready; Then invite the loveliest damsels Rome can boast of, to come hither To the feasts and to the dances. Bring musicians, and in fine Let it be proclaimed that any Woman of illustrious blood Who from his delusive passions Can divert him, by her charms Curing him of all his sadness, Shall become his wife, how humble Her estate, her wealth how scanty. And if this be not sufficient, I will give a golden talent Yearly to the leech who cures him By some happy stroke of practice. [Exit.

CLAUDIUS. Oh! a father's pitying love, What will it not do, what marvel Not attempt for a son's welfare, For his life?

Enter ESCARPIN.

ESCARPIN. My lord 'por Baco!' (That 's the god I like to swear by, Jolly god of all good rascals) May I ask you what 's the secret?

CLAUDIUS. You gain little when you ask me For a secret all may know. After his mysterious absence Your young lord 's returned home ill.

ESCARPIN. In what way?

CLAUDIUS. That none can fathom, Since he does not tell his ailment Save by signs and by his manner.

ESCARPIN. Then he 's wrong, sir, not to tell it Clearly: with extreme exactness Should our griefs, our pains be mentioned. A back tooth a man once maddened, And a barber came to draw it. As he sat with jaws expanded, "Which tooth is it, sir, that pains you?" Asked of him the honest barber, And the patient in affected Language grandly thus made answer, "The penultimate"; the dentist Not being used to such pedantic Talk as this, with ready forceps Soon the last of all extracted. The poor patient to be certain, With his tongue the spot examined, And exclaimed, his mouth all bleeding, "Why, that 's not the right tooth, master". "Is it not the ultimate molar?" Said the barber quite as grandly. "Yes" (he answered), "but I said The penultimate, and I 'd have you Know, your worship, that it means Simply that that 's next the farthest". Thus instructed, he returned To the attack once more, remarking "In effect then the bad tooth Is the one that 's next the last one?" "Yes", he said, "then here it is", Spoke the barber with great smartness, Plucking out the tooth that then Was the last but one; it happened From not speaking plain, he lost Two good teeth, and kept his bad one.

CLAUDIUS. Come and something newer learn In the stratagem his father Has arranged to cure the illness Of Chrysanthus, whom he fancies . . .

ESCARPIN. What?

CLAUDIUS. Is spell-bound by the Christians Through the power of their enchantments:-- (Since to-day I cannot see thee, [aside. Cynthia fair, forgive my absence). [Exit.

ESCARPIN. While these matters thus proceed, I shall try, let what will happen, Thee to see, divine Daria:-- At my love, oh! be not angered, Since the penalty of beauty Is to be beloved: then pardon. [Exit.

SCENE II.--The Wood.

Enter DARIA from the chase with bow and arrows.

DARIA. O stag that swiftly flying Before my feathered shafts the winds outvieing, Impelled by wings, not feet, If in this green retreat Here panting thou wouldst die, And stain with blood the fountain murmuring by, Await another wound, another friend, That so with quicker speed thy life may end; For to a wretch that stroke a friend must be That eases death and sooner sets life free. [She stumbles and falls near the mouth of a cave.] But, bless me, heaven! I feel My brain grow hot, my curdling blood congeal: A form of fire and snow I seem at once to turn: this sudden blow, This stumbling, how I know not, by this stone, This horrid mouth in which my grave is shown, This cave of many shapes, Through which the melancholy mountain gapes, This mountain's self, a vast Abysmal shadow cast Suddenly on my heart, as if 't were meant To be my rustic pyre, my strange new monument, All fill my heart with wonder and with fear, What buried mysteries are hidden here That terrify me so, And make me tremble 'neath impending woe. [A solemn strain of music is heard from within.] Nay more, illusion now doth bear to me The sweetest sounds of dulcet harmony, Music and voice combine:-- O solitude! what phantasms are thine! But let me listen to the voice that blent Sounds with the music of the instrument.

Music from within the cave.

SONG. Oh! be the day for ever blest, And blest be pitying heaven's decree, That makes the darksome cave to be Daria's tomb, her place of rest!

DARIA. Blest! can such evil auguries bless? And happy can that strange fate be That gives this darksome cave to me As monument of my sad life?

MUSIC.
Yes.

DARIA. Oh! who before in actual woe The happier signs of bliss could read? Will not a fate so rigorous lead To misery, not to rapture?--

MUSIC.
No.

DARIA. O fantasy! unwelcome guest! How can this cave bring good to me?

MUSIC. Itself will tell, when it shall be Daria's tomb, her place of rest.

DARIA. But then, who gave the stern decree, That this dark cave my bones should hide?

MUSIC. Daria, it was he who died, Who gave his life for love of thee.

DARIA. "Who gave his life for love of me!" Ah! me, and can it be in sooth That gentle noble Roman youth I answered with such cruelty In this same wood the other day, Saying that I his love would be If he would only die for me! Can he have cast himself away Down this dark cave, and there lies dead, Buried within the dread abyss, Waiting my love, his promised bliss?-- My soul, not now mine own, has fled!

CYNTHIA (within). Forward! forward! through the gloom Every cave and cavern enter, Search the dark wood to its centre, Lest it prove Daria's tomb.

DARIA. Ah! me, the sense confounding, Both here and there are opposite voices sounding. Here is my name in measured cadence greeted, And there in hollow echoes oft repeated. Would that the latter cries that reach my ear Came from my mates in this wild forest sphere, In the dread solitude that doth surround me Their presence would be welcome. [Enter Cynthia with bow and arrows.]

CYNTHIA. Till I found me, Beauteous Daria, by thy side once more, Each mountain nook my search had well gone o'er.

DARIA (aside). Let me dissemble The terror and surprise that make me tremble, If I have power to feign Amid the wild confusion of my brain:-- Following the chase to-day, Wishing Diana's part in full to play, So fair the horizon smiled, I left the wood and entered on the wild, Led by a wounded deer still on and on. And further in pursuit I would have gone, Nor had my swift career Even ended here, But for this mouth that opening in the rock, With horrid gape my vain attempt doth mock, And stops my further way.

CYNTHIA. Until I found thee I was all dismay, Lest thou some savage beast, some monstrous foe, Hadst met.

DARIA (aside). Ah! would to Jove 't were so! And that my death in his wild hands had paid For future chastisement by fate delayed! But ah! the wish is vain, Foreboding horror fills my heart and brain, This mystic music borne upon the air Must surely augur ill.

(Enter NISIDA.)

NISIDA. Daria fair, And Cynthia wise, I come to seek ye two.

CYNTHIA. Has any thing occurred or strange or new?

NISIDA. I scarce can tell it. As I came along, I heard a man, in a clear voice and strong, Proclaiming as he went Through all the mountain a most strange event: Rome hath decreed Priceless rewards to her whose charms may lead Through lawful love and in an open way By public wedlock in the light of day, The son of proud Polemius from the state Of gloom in which his mind is sunk of late.

CYNTHIA. And what can be the cause that he is so?

NISIDA. Ah! that I do not know, But yonder, leaving the Salarian Way, A Roman soldier hitherward doth stray: He may enlighten us and tell us all.

CYNTHIA. Yes, let us know the truth, the stranger call.

DARIA (aside). Ah! how distinct the pain That presses on my heart, and dulls my wildered brain!

(Enter Escarpin.)

NISIDA. Thou, O thou, whose wandering footsteps These secluded groves have entered . . .[9]

ESCARPIN. Thou four hundred times repeated-- Thou and all the thous, your servant.

NISIDA. Tell us of the proclamation Publicly to-day presented To the gaze of Rome.

ESCARPIN. I 'll do so; For there 's nothing I love better Than a story (aside, if to tell it In divine Daria's presence Does not put me out, for no one, When the loved one listens, ever Speaks his best): Polemius, Rome's great senator, whose bended Shoulders, like an Atlas, bear All the burden of the empire, By Numerian's self entrusted, He, this chief of Rome's great senate, Has a son, by name Chrysanthus, Who, as rumour goes, at present Is afflicted by a sadness So extreme and so excessive, That 't is thought to be occasioned By the magic those detested Christians (who abhor his house, And his father, who hath pressed them Heavily as judge and ruler) Have against his life effected, All through hatred of our gods. And so great is the dejection That he feels, there 's nothing yet Found to rouse him or divert him. Thus it is Numerianus, Who is ever well-affected To his father, hath proclaimed All through Rome, that whosoever Is so happy by her beauty, Or so fortunately clever By her wit, or by her graces Is so powerful, as to temper His affliction, since love conquers All things by his magic presence, He will give her (if a noble) As his wife, and will present her With a portion far surpassing All Polemius' self possesses, Not to speak of what is promised Him whose skill may else effect it. Thus it is that Rome to-day Laurel wreaths and crowns presenteth To its most renowned physicians, To its sages and its elders, And to wit and grace and beauty Joyous feasts and courtly revels; So that there is not a lady In all Rome, but thinks it certain That the prize is hers already, Since by all 't will be contested, Some through vanity, and some Through a view more interested: Even the ugly ones, I warrant, Will be there well represented. So with this, adieu. (Aside, Oh! fairest Nymph Daria, since I ventured Here to see thee, having seen thee Now, alas! I must absent me!) [Exit.

CYNTHIA. What strange news!

NISIDA. There 's not a beauty But for victory will endeavour When among Rome's fairest daughters Such a prize shall be contested.

CYNTHIA. Thus by showing us the value Thou upon the victory settest, We may understand that thou Meanest in the lists to enter.

NISIDA. Yes, so far as heaven through music Its most magic cures effecteth, Since no witchcraft is so potent But sweet music may dispel it. It doth tame the raging wild beast, Lulls to sleep the poisonous serpent, And makes evil genii, who Are revolted spirits--rebels-- Fly in fear, and in this art I have always been most perfect: Wrongly would I act to-day, In not striving for the splendid Prize which will be mine, when I See myself the loved and wedded Wife of the great senator's son, And the mistress of such treasures.

CYNTHIA. Although music is an art Which so many arts excelleth, Still in truth 't is but a sound Which the wanton air disperses. It the sweet child of the air In the air itself must perish. I, who in my studious reading Have such learn`ed lore collected, Who in poetry, that art Which both teacheth and diverteth, May precedence claim o'er many Geniuses so prized at present, Can a surer victory hope for In the great fight that impendeth, Since the music of the soul Is what keeps the mind suspended. In one item, Nisida, We two differ: thy incentive Thy chief motive, is but interest: Mine is vanity, a determined Will no other woman shall Triumph o'er me in this effort, Since I wish that Rome should see That the glory, the perfection Of a woman is her mind, All her other charms excelling.

DARIA. Interest and vanity Are the two things, as you tell me, That, O Cynthia! can oblige thee, That, O Nisida, can compel thee To attempt this undertaking By so many risks attended. But I think you both are wrong, Since in this case, having heard that The affliction this man suffers Christian sorcery hath effected Through abhorrence of our gods, By that atheist sect detested, Neither of these feelings should Be your motive to attempt it. I then, who, for this time only Will believe these waves that tell me-- These bright fountains--that the beauty Which so oft they have reflected Is unequalled, mean to lay it As an offering in the temple Of the gods, to show what little Strength in Christian sorcery dwelleth.

NISIDA. Then 't is openly admitted That we three the list will enter For the prize.

CYNTHIA. And from this moment That the rivalry commences.

NISIDA. Voice of song, thy sweet enchantment On this great occasion lend me, That through thy soft influence Rank and riches I may merit. [Exit.

CYNTHIA. Genius, offspring of the soul, Prove this time thou 'rt so descended, That thy proud ambitious hopes May the laurel crown be tendered. [Exit.

DARIA. Beauty, daughter of the gods, Now thy glorious birth remember: Make me victress in the fight, That the gods may live for ever. [Exit.

SCENE III.--A hall in the house of Polemius, opening at the end upon a garden.

(Enter Polemius and Claudius.)

POLEMIUS. Is then everything prepared?--

CLAUDIUS. Everything has been got ready As you ordered. This apartment Opening on the garden terrace Has been draped and covered over With the costliest silks and velvets, Leaving certain spaces bare For the painter's magic pencil, Where, so cunning is his art, That it nature's self resembles. Flowers more fair than in the garden, Pinks and roses are presented: But what wonder when the fountains Still run after to reflect them?-- All things else have been provided, Music, dances, gala dresses; And for all that, Rome yet knows not What in truth is here projected; 'T is a fair Academy, In whose floral halls assemble Beauty, wit, and grace, a sight That we see but very seldom. All the ladies too of Rome Have prepared for the contention With due circumspection, since As his wife will be selected She who best doth please him; thus There are none but will present them In these gardens, some to see him, Others to show off themselves here.

POLEMIUS. Oh, my Claudius, would to Jove That all this could dispossess me Of my dark foreboding fancies, Of the terrors that oppress me!--

(Enter Aurelius.)

AURELIUS. Sir, a very learned physician Comes to proffer his best service To Chrysanthus, led by rumour Of his illness.

POLEMIUS. Bid him enter. [Aurelius retires, and returns immediately with Carpophorus, disguised as a physician.]

CARPOPHORUS (aside). Heaven, that I may do the work That this day I have attempted, Grant me strength a little while; For I know my death impendeth!-- Mighty lord, thy victor hand, [aloud. Let me kiss and kneeling press it.

POLEMIUS. Venerable elder, rise From the ground; thy very presence Gives me joy, a certain instinct Even at sight of thee doth tell me Thou alone canst save my son.

CARPOPHORUS. Heaven but grant the cure be perfect!

POLEMIUS. Whence, sir, art thou?

CARPOPHORUS.
Sir, from Athens.

POLEMIUS. 'T is a city that excelleth All the world in knowledge.

CARPOPHORUS. There All are teachers, all are learners. The sole wish to be of use Has on this occasion led me From my home. Inform me then How Chrysanthus is affected.

POLEMIUS. With an overwhelming sadness; Or to speak it more correctly (Since when we consult a doctor Even suspicions should be mentioned), He, my son, has been bewitched;-- Thus it is these Christian perverts Take revenge through him on me: In particular an elder Called Carpophorus, a wizard . . . May the day soon come for vengeance!

CARPOPHORUS. May heaven grant it . . . (aside, For that day I the martyr's crown may merit). Where at present is Chrysanthus?

POLEMIUS. He is just about to enter:-- You can see him; all his ailment In the soul you 'll find is centered.

CARPOPHORUS. In the soul then I will cure him, If my skill heaven only blesses. [Music is heard from within.

CLAUDIUS. That he 's leaving his apartment This harmonious strain suggesteth, Since to counteract his gloom He by music is attended. (Enter Chrysanthus richly dressed, preceded by musicians playing and singing, and followed by attendants.)

CHRYSANTHUS. Cease; my pain, perchance my folly, Cannot be by song diverted; Music is a power exerted For the cure of melancholy, Which in truth it but augmenteth.

A MUSICIAN. This your father bade us do.

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is because he never knew Pain like that which me tormenteth. For if he that pang incessant Felt, he would not wish to cure it, He would love it and endure it.

POLEMIUS. Think, my son, that I am present, And that I am not ambitious To assume your evil mood, But to find that it is good.

CHRYSANTHUS. No, sir, you mistake my wishes. I would not through you relieve me Of my care; my former state Seemed, though, more to mitigate What I suffer: why not leave me There to die?

POLEMIUS. That yet I may, Pitying your sad condition, Work your cure:--A great physician Comes to visit you to-day.

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). Who do I behold? ah, me!

CARPOPHORUS. I will speak to him with your leave.

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). No, my eyes do not deceive, 'T is Carpophorus that I see! I my pleasure must conceal.

CARPOPHORUS. Sir, of what do you complain?

CHRYSANTHUS. Since you come to cure my pain, I will tell you how I feel. A great sadness hath been thrown O'er my mind and o'er my feelings, A dark blank whose dim revealings Make their sombre tints mine own.

CARPOPHORUS. Can you any cause assign me Whence this sadness is proceeding?

CHRYSANTHUS. From my earliest years to reading Did my studious tastes incline me. Something thus acquired doth wake Doubts, and fears, and hopes, ah me! That the things I read may be.

CARPOPHORUS. Then from me this lesson take. Every mystery how obscure, Is explained by faith alone; All is clear when that is known: 'T is through faith I 'll work your cure. Since in that your healing lies, Take it then from me.

CHRYSANTHUS. From you I infer all good: that true Faith I hope which you advise.

CARPOPHORUS (to Polemius). Give me leave, sir, to address Some few words to him alone, Less reserve will then be shown. (The two retire to one side. Have you recognized me?

CHRYSANTHUS. Yes, Every sign shows you are he Who in my most perilous strait Fled and left me to my fate.

CARPOPHORUS. God did that; and would you see That it was His own work, say, If I did not then absent me Through His means, could I present me As your teacher here to-day?

CHRYSANTHUS. No.

CARPOPHORUS. How just His providence! Since I was preserved, that I Here might seek you, and more nigh Give you full intelligence Leisurely of every doubt Which disturbs you when you read.

CHRYSANTHUS. Mysteries they are indeed, Difficult to be made out.

CARPOPHORUS. To the believer all is plain.

CHRYSANTHUS. I would believe, what must I do?--

CARPOPHORUS. Your intellectual pride subdue.

CHRYSANTHUS. I will subdue it, since 't is vain.

CARPOPHORUS. Then the first thing to be done Is to be baptized.

CHRYSANTHUS. I bow, Father, and implore it now.

CARPOPHORUS. Let us for the present shun Further notice; lest suspicion Should betray what we would smother; Every day we 'll see each other, When I 'll execute my mission: I, to cure sin's primal scath, Will at fitting time baptize you, Taking care to catechise you In the principles of the faith; Only now one admonition Must I give; be armed, be ready For the fight most fierce and steady Ever fought for man's perdition; Oh! take heed, amid the advances Of the fair who wish to win you, 'Mid the fires that burn within you, 'Mid lascivious looks and glances, 'Mid such various foes enlisted, That you are not conquered by them.

CHRYSANTHUS. Women! oh! who dare defy them By such dread allies assisted?

CARPOPHORUS. He whom God assists.

CHRYSANTHUS. Be swayed By my tears, and ask him.

CARPOPHORUS. You Must too ask him: for he who Aids himself, him God doth aid.

POLEMIUS. What, sir, think you of his case?

CARPOPHORUS. I have ordered him a bath, Strong restoring powers it hath, Which his illness must displace:--

POLEMIUS. Sir, relying on you then, I will give you ample wealth, If you can restore his health.

CARPOPHORUS. Still I cannot tell you when, But I shall return and see him Frequently; in fact 'till he Is from all his ailment free, From my hand I will not free him.

POLEMIUS. For your kindness I am grateful.

CHRYSANTHUS. He alone has power to cure me. Since he knows what will allure me, When all other modes are hateful. [Exit Carpophorus.

(Enter Escarpin.)

ESCARPIN. All this garden of delight Must be beauty's birth-place sure, Here the fresh rose doubly pure, Here the jasmin doubly white, Learn to-day a newer grace, Lovelier red, more dazzling snow.

POLEMIUS. Why?

ESCARPIN. Because the world doth show Naught so fair as this sweet place. Falsely boasts th' Elysian bower Peerless beauty, here to-day More, far more, these groves display:-- Not a fountain, tree, or flower . . .

POLEMIUS. Well?

ESCARPIN. But by a nymph more fair Is surpassed.

POLEMIUS. Come, Claudius, come, He will be but dull and dumb, Shy the proffered bliss to share, Through the fear and the respect Which, as son, he owes to me.

CLAUDIUS. He who gave the advice should see Also after the effect. Let us all from this withdraw.

POLEMIUS. Great results I hope to gather:

ESCARPIN (aside). Well, you 're the first pander-father Ever in my life I saw.

CHRYSANTHUS. What, Escarpin, you, as well, Going to leave me? Mum for once.

ESCARPIN. Silence suits me for the nonce.

CHRYSANTHUS. Why?

ESCARPIN. A tale in point I 'll tell: Once a snuffler, by a pirate Moor was captured, who in some Way affected to be dumb, That his ransom at no high rate Might be purchased: when his owner This defect perceived, the shuffle Made him sell this Mr. Snuffle Very cheaply: to the donor Of his freedom, through his nose, Half in snuffle, half in squeak, Then he said, "Oh! Moor, I speak, I 'm not dumb as you suppose". "Fool, to let your folly lead you So astray", replied the Moor. "Had I heard you speak, be sure I for nothing would have freed you". Thus it is I moderate me In the use of tongue and cheek, Lest when you have heard me speak, Still more cheaply you may rate me.

CHRYSANTHUS. You must know the estimation I have held you in so long.

ESCARPIN. Well, my memory is not strong. It requires consideration To admit that pleasant fact.

CHRYSANTHUS. What of me do people say?--

ESCARPIN. Shall I speak it?

CHRYSANTHUS.
Speak.

ESCARPIN. Why, they Say, my lord, that you are cracked.

CHRYSANTHUS. For what reason? Why this blame?

ESCARPIN. Reason, sir, need not be had, For the wisest man is mad If he only gets the name.

CHRYSANTHUS. Well, it was not wrongly given, If they only knew that I Have consented even to die So to reach the wished-for heaven Of a sovereign beauty's favour.

ESCARPIN. For a lady's favour you Have agreed to die?

CHRYSANTHUS.
'T is true.

ESCARPIN. Does not this a certain savour Of insanity give your sadness?

CHRYSANTHUS. Were I certain as of breath I could claim it after death, There was method in my madness.

ESCARPIN. A brave soldier of the line, On his death-bed lying ill, Spoke thus, "Item, 't is my will, Gallant friends and comrades mine, That you 'll bear me to my grave, And although I 've little wealth, Thirty reals to drink my health Shall you for your kindness have". Thus the hope as vain must be After death one's love to wed, As to drink one's health when dead. [Nisida advances from the garden.]

CHRYSANTHUS. But what maid is this I see Hither through the garden wending?

ESCARPIN. If you take a stroll with me Plenty of her sort you 'll see.

NISIDA. One who would effect the ending Of thy sadness.

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). Now comes near thee, O my heart, thy threatened trial! Lady, pardon the denial, But I would nor see nor hear thee.

NISIDA. Not so ungallantly surely Wilt thou act, as not to see One who comes to speak with thee?

CHRYSANTHUS. To see one who thinks so poorly Of herself, and with such lightness Owns she comes to speak with me, Rather would appear to be Want of sense than of politeness.

NISIDA. All discourse is not so slight That thou need'st decline it so.

CHRYSANTHUS. No, I will not see thee, no. Thus I shut thee from my sight.

NISIDA. Vainly art thou cold and wise, Other senses thou shouldst fear, Since I enter by the ear, Though thou shut me from the eyes.

Sings. "The bless`ed rapture of forgetting Never doth my heart deserve, What my memory would preserve Is the memory I 'm regretting".

CHRYSANTHUS. That melting voice, that melody Spell-bound holds th' entranc`ed soul. Ah! from such divine control Who his fettered soul could free?-- Human Siren, leave me, go! Too well I feel its fatal power. I faint before it like a flower By warm-winds wooed in noontide's glow. The close-pressed lips the mouth can lock, And so repress the vain reply, The lid can veil th' unwilling eye From all that may offend and shock,-- Nature doth seem a niggard here, Unequally her gifts disposing, For no instinctive means of closing She gives the unprotected ear.

(Enter Cynthia.)

CYNTHIA. Since then the ear cannot be closed, And thou resistance need'st not try, Listen to the gloss that I On this sweet conceit composed: "The bless`ed rapture of forgetting Never doth my heart deserve; What my memory would preserve Is the memory I 'm regretting". When Nature from the void obscure Her varied world to life awakes, All things find use and so endure:-- Thus she a poison never makes Without its corresponding cure: Each thing of Nature's careful setting, Each plant that grows in field or grove Hath got its opposite flower or weed; The cure is with the pain decreed; Thus too is found for feverish love 'The bless`ed rapture of forgetting.' The starry wonders of the night, The arbiters of fate on high, Nothing can dim: To see their light Is easy, but to draw more nigh The orbs themselves, exceeds our might. Thus 't is to know, and only know, The troubled heart, the trembling nerve, To sweet oblivion's blank may owe Their rest, but, ah! that cure of woe 'Never doth my heart deserve.' Then what imports it that there be, For all the ills of heart or brain, A sweet oblivious remedy, If it, when 't is applied to me, Fails to cure me of my pain? Forgetfulness in me doth serve No useful purpose: But why fret My heart at this? Do I deserve, Strange contradiction! to forget 'What my memory would preserve?' And thus my pain in straits like these, Must needs despise the only sure Remedial means of partial ease-- That is--to perish of the cure Rather than die of the disease. Then not in wailing or in fretting, My love, accept thy fate, but let This victory o'er myself, to thee Bring consolation, pride, and glee, Since what I wish not to forget 'Is the memory I 'm regretting.'

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is not through the voice alone Music breathes its soft enchantment.[10] All things that in concord blend Find in music their one language. Thou with thy delicious sweetness [To Nisida] Host my heart at once made captive;-- Thou with thy melodious verses [To Cynthia] Hast my very soul enraptured. Ah! how subtly thou dost reason! Ah! how tenderly thou chantest! Thou with thy artistic skill, Thou with thy clear understanding. But what say I? I speak falsely, For you both are sphinxes rather, Who with flattering words seduce me But to ruin me hereafter:-- Leave me; go: I cannot listen To your wiles.

NISIDA. My lord, oh! hearken To my song once more.

CYNTHIA.
Wait! stay!

NISIDA. Why thus treat with so much harshness Those who mourn thy deep dejection?

ESCARPIN. Oh! how soon they 'd have an answer If they asked of me these questions. I know how to treat such tattle: Leave them, sir, to me.

CHRYSANTHUS. My senses 'Gainst their lures I must keep guarded: They are crocodiles, but feigning Human speech, so but to drag me To my ruin, my destruction.

NISIDA. Since my voice will still attract thee, 'T is of little use to fly me.

CYNTHIA. Though thou dost thy best to guard thee, While I gloss the words she singeth To my genius thou must hearken.

CHRYSANTHUS (aside.) God whom I adore! since I Help myself, Thy help, oh! grant me!

NISIDA. "Ah! the joy" . . . . (she becomes confused. But what is this? Icy torpor coldly fastens On my hands; the lute drops from me, And my very breath departeth.

CYNTHIA. Since she cannot sing; then listen To this subtle play of fancy: "Love, if thou 'rt my god" . . . . (she becomes confused. But how, What can have my mind so darkened What my memory so confuses, What my voice can so embarrass?

NISIDA. I am turned to frost and fire, I am changed to living marble.

CYNTHIA. Frozen over is my breast, And my heart is cleft and hardened.

CHRYSANTHUS. Thus to lose your wits, ye two, What can have so strangely happened?

ESCARPIN. Being poets and musicians, Quite accounts, sir, for their absence.

NISIDA. Heavens! beneath the noontide sun To be left in total darkness!

CYNTHIA. In an instant, O ye heavens! O'er your vault can thick clouds gather?

NISIDA. 'Neath the contact of my feet Earth doth tremble, and I stagger.

CYNTHIA. Mountains upon mountains seem On my shoulders to be balanced.

ESCARPIN. So it always is with those Who make verses, or who chant them.

CHRYSANTHUS. Of the one God whom I worship These are miracles, are marvels.

(Enter Daria.)

DARIA. Here, Chrysanthus, I have come . . .

NISIDA. Stay, Daria.

CYNTHIA. Stay, 't is rashness Here to come, for, full of wonders, Full of terrors is this garden.

ESCARPIN. Do not enter: awful omens Threat'ning death await thy advent.

NISIDA. By my miseries admonished . . . .

CYNTHIA. By my strange misfortune startled . . .

NISIDA. Flying from myself, I leave This green sphere, dismayed, distracted.

CYNTHIA. Without soul or life I fly, Overwhelmed by this enchantment.

NISIDA. Oh! how dreadful!

CYNTHIA.
Oh! how awful!

NISIDA. Oh! the horror!

CYNTHIA.
Oh! the anguish! [Exeunt Cynthia and Nisida.]

ESCARPIN. Mad with jealousy and rage Have the tuneful twain departed.

DARIA (aside). Chastisements for due offences Do not fright me, do not startle, For if they through arrogance And ambition sought this garden, Me the worship of the gods Here has led, and so I 'm guarded 'Gainst all sorceries whatsoever, 'Gainst all forms of Christian magic:-- Art thou then Chrysanthus?

CHRYSANTHUS.
Yes.

DARIA. Not confused or troubled, rather With a certain fear I see thee, For which I have grounds most ample.

CHRYSANTHUS. Why?

DARIA. Because I thought thou wert One who in a darksome cavern Died to show thy love for me.

CHRYSANTHUS. I have yet been not so happy As to have a chance, Daria, Of thus proving my attachment.

DARIA. Be that so, I 've come to seek thee, Confident, completely sanguine, That I have the power to conquer, I alone, thy pains, thy anguish; Though against me thou shouldst use The Christian armoury--enchantments.

CHRYSANTHUS. That thou hast alone the power To subdue the pains that wrack me, I admit it; but in what Thou hast said of Christian magic I, Daria, must deny it.

DARIA. How? from what cause else could happen The effects I just have witnessed?

CHRYSANTHUS. Miracles they are and marvels.

DARIA. Why do they affect not me?

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is because I do not ask them Against thee; because from aiding Not myself, no aid is granted.

DARIA. Then I come here to undo them.

CHRYSANTHUS. Most severe will be the battle, Upon one side their due praises On the other side thy anger.

DARIA. I would have thee understand That our gods are sorely damaged By thy sentiments.

CHRYSANTHUS. And I That those gods are false--mere phantoms.

DARIA. Then get ready for the conflict, For I will not lower my standard Save with victory or death.

CHRYSANTHUS. Though thou makest me thy captive, Thou my firmness wilt not conquer.

DARIA. Then to arms! I say, to arms, then!

CHRYSANTHUS. Though the outposts of the soul, The weak heart, by thee be captured; Not so will the Understanding, The strong warden who doth guard it.

DARIA. Thou 'lt believe me, if thou 'lt love me.

CHRYSANTHUS. Thou not me, 'till love attracts thee.

DARIA. That perhaps may be; for I Would not give thee this advantage.

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! that love indeed may lead thee To a state so sweet and happy!

DARIA. Oh! what power will disabuse thee Of thy ignorance, Chrysanthus?

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! what pitying power, Daria, Will the Christian faith impart thee?