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diff --git a/old/44640.txt b/old/44640.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2dd2ad4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44640.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16105 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Greatest Books -- Volume 17 -- +Poetry and Drama, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The World's Greatest Books -- Volume 17 -- Poetry and Drama + +Author: Various + +Editor: Arthur Mee + J. A. Hammerton + +Release Date: January 10, 2014 [EBook #44640] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS, VOL 17 *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Matthias Grammel and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + [Illustration: Frontispiece] + + + + + THE WORLD'S + GREATEST + BOOKS + + [Illustration: Decoration] + + JOINT EDITORS + + ARTHUR MEE + Editor and Founder of the Book of Knowledge + + J.A. HAMMERTON + Editor of Harmsworth's Universal Encyclopaedia + + [Illustration: Decoration] + + VOL. XVII + + POETRY AND DRAMA + + + WM. H. WISE & CO. + + + + +_Table of Contents_ + + + PORTRAIT OF MOLIERE _Frontispiece_ + + GOETHE (_Continued_) PAGE + Goetz von Berlichingen 1 + Iphigenia in Tauris 18 + + GOGOL, NICOLAI + Inspector-General 30 + + GOLDSMITH, OLIVER + She Stoops to Conquer 39 + + HEINE, HEINRICH + Atta Troll 50 + + HOMER + Iliad 66 + Odyssey 78 + + HORACE + Poems 91 + + HUGO, VICTOR + Hernani 110 + Marion de Lorme 123 + Ruy Blas 134 + The King Amuses Himself 146 + The Legend of the Alps 159 + + IBSEN, HENRIK + Master Builder 171 + Pillars of Society 186 + + JONSON, BEN + Every Man in His Humour 195 + + JUVENAL + Satires 207 + + KLOPSTOCK, FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB + Messiah 217 + + LESSING, GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM + Nathan the Wise 226 + + LONGFELLOW + Evangeline 241 + Hiawatha 250 + + LUCRETIUS + On the Nature of Things 261 + + MACPHERSON, JAMES + Ossian 272 + + MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER + Dr. Faustus 282 + + MARTIAL + Epigrams, Epitaphs, and Poems 295 + + MASSINGER, PHILIP + New Way to Pay Old Debts 305 + + MILTON + Paradise Lost 319 + Paradise Regained 342 + Samson Agonistes 349 + + MOLIERE + The Doctor in Spite of Himself 362 + (MOLIERE: _Continued in Vol. XVIII_) + + * * * * * + + A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at + the end of Volume XX. + + + + +_Poetry and Drama_ + + + + +GOETHE + +_(Continued)_ + + + + +Goetz von Berlichingen[A] + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + THE EMPEROR MAXIMILIAN THE BISHOP OF BAMBERG + GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN FRANZ LERSE + ADELBERT VON WEISLINGEN ELIZABETH, _wife to Goetz_ + FRANZ VON SICKINGEN MARIE, _his sister_ + HANS VON SELBITZ ADELHEID VON WALLDORF + FRANZ, _page to Weislingen_ IMPERIAL COUNCILLOR + GEORGE, _page to Goetz_ USHER + FAUD + MAX STUMPF, SIEVERS, METZLER, LINK, KOHL, + _Leaders of the rebel peasants_ + + + ACT I + + SCENE I.--_Forest; a poor hut in the background_. GOETZ _and_ + GEORGE. + + GOETZ: Where can my men be? Up and down I have to walk, lest sleep + should overcome me. Five days and nights already in ambush. But when + I get thee, Weislingen, I shall make up for it! You priests may send + round your obliging Weislingen to decry me--I am awake. You escaped + me, bishop! So your dear Weislingen may pay the piper. George! George! + (_Enter_ GEORGE.) Tell Hans to get ready. My scouts may be back any + moment. And give me some more wine! + + GEORGE: Hark! I hear some horses galloping--two--it must be your + men! + + GOETZ: My horse, quick! Tell Hans to arm! + + [_Enter_ FAUD, _who reports to_ GOETZ _that_ WEISLINGEN _is + approaching. Exit_ GOETZ _and his men_. + + GEORGE: Oh, St. George! Make me strong and brave! And give me spear, + armour, and horse! [_Exit._ + + + SCENE II.--_Hall at Jaxthausen_. ELIZABETH _and_ MARIE. + + MARIE: If I had a husband who always exposed himself to danger, I + should die the first year. + + ELIZABETH: Thank God, I am made of harder stuff! God grant that my + boy may take after his father, and not become a treacherous hypocrite, + like Weislingen. + + MARIE: You are very bitter against him. Yet report speaks well of + him. Your own husband loved him, when they were pages together to the + margrave. + + [_The gay tune of a wind-instrument is heard_. + + ELIZABETH: There he returns with his spoil! I must get the meal + ready. Here, take the cellar keys and let them have of the best wine! + They have deserved it. + + [_Exeunt. Enter_ GOETZ, WEISLINGEN, _and men-at-arms._ + + * * * * * + + GOETZ (_taking off his helmet and sword_): Unstrap my cuirass and + give me my doublet! Weislingen, you've given us hard work! Be of good + cheer. Where are your clothes? I could lend you some of mine--a neat, + clean suit, which I wore at the wedding of my gracious lord the Count + Palatine, when your bishop got so vexed with me, because I made him + shake hands with me, unknown, after having taken two of his ships a + fortnight before on the Main. + + WEISLINGEN: I beg you to leave me alone. + + GOETZ: Why? Pray, be cheerful. You are in my power, and I shall not + abuse it. You know my knight's duty is sacred to me. And now I must go + to see my wife. [_Exit._ + + WEISLINGEN: Oh, that it were all a dream! In Berlichingen's power--and + he, the old true-hearted Goetz! Back again in the hall, where we played + as boys, where I loved him with all my heart! How strangely past and + present seem to intermingle here. + + [_Enter_ GOETZ, _and a man with jug and goblet_. + + GOETZ: Let us drink, until the meal is ready. Come, you are at home. + It is a long time since we last shared a bottle. (_Raising his goblet_) + A gay heart! + + WEISLINGEN: Those times are past. + + GOETZ: Heaven forbid! Though merrier days we may not find. If you had + only followed me to Brabant, instead of taking to that miserable life + at court! Are you not as free and nobly born as anyone in Germany? + Independent, subject only to the emperor? And you submit to vassals, + who poison the emperor's ear against me! They want to get rid of me. + And you, Weislingen, are their tool! + + WEISLINGEN: Berlichingen! + + GOETZ: No more of it! I hate explanations. They only lead to + deceiving one or the other, or both. + + [_They stand apart, their backs turned to each other. + Enter_ MARIE. + + MARIE (_to_ WEISLINGEN): I come to greet and to invite you in + my sister's name. What is it? Why are you silent both? You are host + and guest. Be guided by a woman's voice. + + GOETZ: You remind me of my duty. + + WEISLINGEN: Who could resist so heavenly a hint? + + MARIE: Draw near each other, be reconciled! (_The men shake hands_.) + The union of brave men is the most ardent wish of all good women. + + + ACT II + + SCENE I.--_A room at Jaxthausen_. Marie _and_ Weislingen. + + MARIE: You say you love me. I willingly believe it, and hope to be + happy with you and to make you happy. + + WEISLINGEN: Blessed be your brother and the day he rode out to + capture me! [_Enter_ Goetz. + + GOETZ: Your page is back. Whatever his news, Adelbert, you are + free! All I ask is your word that you will not aid and abet my + enemies. + + WEISLINGEN: I take your hand. And may I at the same time take + the hand of this noblest of all women? + + GOETZ: May I say "yes" for you, Marie? You need not blush--your + eyes have answered clearly. Well, then, Weislingen, take her hand, + and I say Amen, friend and brother! I must call my wife. Elizabeth! + (_Enter_ ELIZABETH.) Join your hand in theirs and say "God bless + you!" They are a pair. Adelbert is going back to Bamberg to detach + himself openly from the bishop, and then to his estates to settle + his affairs. And now we'll leave him undisturbed to hear his boy's + report. + [_Exit with_ Marie _and_ Elizabeth. + + WEISLINGEN: Such bliss for one so unworthy! + [_Enter_ Franz. + + FRANZ: God save you, noble sir! I bring you greetings from + everybody in Bamberg--from the bishop down to the jester. How they + are distressed at your mishap! I am to tell you to be patient--they + will think the more impatiently of your deliverance; for they cannot + spare you. + + WEISLINGEN: They will have to. I'll return, but not to stay long. + + FRANZ: Not to stay? My lord, if you but knew what I know! If you + had but seen her--the angel in the shape of woman, who makes Bamberg + a forecourt of heaven--Adelheid von Walldorf! + + WEISLINGEN: I have heard much of her beauty. Is her husband at + court? + + FRANZ: She has been widowed for four months, and is at Bamberg for + amusement. If she looks upon you, it is as though you were basking in + spring sunshine. + + WEISLINGEN: Her charms would be lost on me. I am betrothed. Marie + will be the happiness of my life. And now pack up. First to Bamberg, + and then to my castle. [_Exeunt._ + + + SCENE II.--_A forest. Some Nuremberg merchants, who, attacked on their + way to the Frankfurt Fair by_ Goetz _and his men, have + escaped, leaving their goods in the hands of the knights. + The page_ George _has, however, recaptured two of the + merchants as_ Goetz _and his men enter_. + + GOETZ: Search the forest! Let none escape! + + GEORGE (_stepping forward_): I've done some preparatory work. Here + they are. + + GOETZ: Welcome, good lad! Keep them well guarded! (_Exit his men + with the merchants_.) And now, what news of Weislingen? + + GEORGE: Bad news! He looked confused when I said to him, "A few + words from your Berlichingen." He tried to put me off with empty words, + but when I pressed him he said he was under no obligation to you, and + would have nothing to do with you. + + GOETZ: Enough! I shall not forget this infamous treachery. Whoever + gets into my power shall feel it. (_Exit_ GEORGE.) I'll revel in their + agony, deride their fear. And how, Goetz, are you thus changed? Should + other people's faults and vices make you renounce your chivalry, and + abandon yourself to vulgar cruelty? I'll drag him back in chains, if + I can't get him any other way. And there's an end of it, Goetz; think + of your duty! + [_Enter_ GEORGE _with a casket_. + + GEORGE: Now let your joke be ended, they are frightened enough. One + of them, a handsome young man, gave me this casket, and said, "Take + this as ransom! The jewels I meant to take to my betrothed. Take them, + and let me escape." + + GOETZ (_examining the jewels_): This time, Marie, I shall not be + tempted to bring it to you as a birthday gift. Even in your misfortune + you would rejoice in the happiness of others. Take it, George. Give + it back to the lad. Let him take it to his bride, with greeting from + Goetz! And let all the prisoners free at sunset. + + + ACT III + + SCENE I.--_Pleasure-garden at Augsburg. The_ EMPEROR, _the_ BISHOP OF + BAMBERG, WEISLINGEN, _the_ LADY ADELHEID, COURTIERS. + + EMPEROR: I am tired of these merchants with their eternal + complaints! Every shopkeeper wants help, and no one will stir against + the common enemy of the empire and of Christianity. + + WEISLINGEN: Who would be active abroad while he is threatened at + home? + + BISHOP: If we could only remove that proud Sickingen and + Berlichingen, the others would soon fall asunder. + + EMPEROR: Brave, noble men at heart, who must be spared and used + against the Turks. + + WEISLINGEN: The consequences may be dangerous. Better to capture + them and leave them quietly upon their knightly parole in their + castles. + + EMPEROR: If they then abide by the law, they might again be + honourably and usefully employed. I shall open the session of the Diet + to-morrow with this proposal. + + WEISLINGEN: A clamour of joyful assent will spare your majesty the + end of the speech. + + [_Exit_ EMPEROR, BISHOP, _and_ COURTIERS. + + WEISLINGEN: And so you mean to go--to leave the festive scenes for + which you longed with all your heart, to leave a friend to whom you + are indispensable, to delay our union? + + ADELHEID: The gayer, the freer shall I return to you. + + WEISLINGEN: Will you be content if we proceed against Berlichingen? + + ADELHEID: You deserve a kiss! My uncle, Von Wanzenau, must be + captain! + + WEISLINGEN: Impossible! An incompetent old dreamer! + + ADELHEID: Let the fiery Werdenhagen, his sister's stepson, go with + him. + + WEISLINGEN: He is thoughtless and foolhardy, and will not improve + matters. + + ADELHEID: We have to think of our relatives. For love of me, you + must do it! And I want some exemptions for the convent of St. Emmerau; + you can work the chancellor. Then the cup-bearer's post is vacant at + the Hessian Court, and the high stewardship of the Palatinate. I want + them for our friends Braimau and Mirsing. + + WEISLINGEN: How shall I remember it all? + + ADELHEID: I shall train a starling to repeat the names to you, and + to add, "Please, please." (_Exit_ WEISLINGEN. _To_ FRANZ, _whom she + stops as he crosses to follow his master_): Franz, could you get me + a starling, or would you yourself be my starling? You would learn + more rapidly. + + FRANZ: If you would teach me. Try. Take me with you. + + ADELHEID: No, you must serve me here. Have you a good memory? + + FRANZ: For your words. I remember every syllable you spoke to me + that first day at Bamberg. + + ADELHEID: Now, listen, Franz. I shall tell you the names which I + want you to repeat to your master, always adding, "Please, please." + + FRANZ (_seizing her hand passionately_): Please, please! + + ADELHEID (_stepping back_): Hands are not wanted. You must lose + such bad manners. But you must not be so upset at a little rebuke. + One punishes the children one loves. + + FRANZ: You love me, then? + + ADELHEID: I might love you as a child, but you are getting too tall + and violent. [_Exeunt._ + + + SCENE II.--_Hall at Jaxthausen_. SICKINGEN _and_ GOETZ. + + GOETZ: So you want to marry a jilted woman? + + SICKINGEN: To be deceived by him is an honour for you both. I want + a mistress for my castles and gardens. In the field, at court, I want + to stand alone. + + [_Enter_ SELBITZ. + + SELBITZ: Bad news! The emperor has put you under the ban, and has + sent troops to seize you. + + GOETZ: Sickingen, you hear. Take back your offer, and leave me! + + SICKINGEN: I shall not turn from you in trouble. No better wooing + than in time of war and danger. + + GOETZ: On one condition. You must publicly detach yourself from me. + The emperor loves and esteems you, and your intercession may save me + in the hour of need. + + SICKINGEN: But I can secretly send you twenty horsemen. + + GOETZ: That offer I accept. [_Exeunt._ + + + SCENE III.--_A hill with a view over a fertile country_. GEORGE _and_ + GOETZ'S _men cross the stage, chasing the imperial troops. + Then_ SELBITZ _is carried on, wounded, accompanied by_ + FAUD. + + SELBITZ: Let me rest here!--and back to your master; back to Goetz! + + FAUD: Let me stay with you. I am no good below; they have hammered + my old bones till I can scarcely move. (_Exit soldiers._) Here from + the wall I can watch the fight. + + SELBITZ: What do you see? + + FAUD: Your horsemen are turning tail. I can see Goetz's three black + feathers in the midst of the turmoil. Woe, he has fallen! And George's + blue plume has disappeared! Sickingen's horsemen in flight! Ha! I see + Goetz again! And George! Victory! Victory! They are routed! Goetz is + after them--he has seized their flag! The fugitives are coming here! + Oh! what will they do with you? + + SELBITZ: Come down and draw! My sword is ready. I'll make it hot for + them, even sitting or lying down! + + [_Enter imperial troops_. SELBITZ _and_ FAUD _defend themselves until_ + LERSE _comes to their rescue, attacking the soldiers furiously, + killing some and putting the rest to flight. Enter_ GOETZ, GEORGE, + _a troop of armed men._ + + SELBITZ: Good luck, Goetz! Victory! Victory! How did you fare? + + GOETZ: To George and Lerse I owe my life; I was off my horse when + they came to the rescue. I have their flag and a few prisoners. + + SELBITZ: Lerse saved me, too. See what work he has done here! + + GOETZ: Good luck, Lerse! And God bless my George's first brave deed! + Now back to the castle, and let us gather our scattered men. + + + ACT IV + + + SCENE I.--_Jaxthausen. A small room_. MARIE _and_ SICKINGEN. + + SICKINGEN: You may smile, but I felt the desire to possess you when + you first looked upon me with your blue eyes, when you were with your + mother at the Diet of Speier. I have long been separated from you; but + that wish remained, with the memory of that glance. + + [_Enter_ GOETZ. + + SICKINGEN: Good luck! + + MARIE: Welcome, a thousand times! + + GOETZ: Now quickly to the chapel! I've thought it all out, and time + presses. + + + SCENE II.--_Large hall; in the background a door, leading to the + chapel_. LERSE _and men-at-arms. Enter_ GOETZ _from + chapel_. + + GOETZ: How now, Lerse? The men had better be distributed over the + walls. Let them take any breastplates, helmets, and arms they may want. + Are the gates well manned? + + LERSE: Yes, sir. + + GOETZ: Sickingen will leave us at once. You will lead him through + the lower gate, along the water, and across the ford. Then look around + you, and come back. + + [_Enter_ SICKINGEN, MARIE, ELIZABETH, _from chapel_. + _Drums in distance announce the enemy's approach_. + + GOETZ: May God bless you and send you merry, happy days! + + ELIZABETH: And may He let your children be like you! + + SICKINGEN: I thank you, and I thank you, Marie, who will lead me to + happiness. + + GOETZ: A pleasant journey! Lerse will show you the way. + + MARIE: That is not what we meant. We shall not leave you. + + GOETZ: You must, sister! (_To_ SICKINGEN) You understand? Talk to + Marie; she is your wife. Take her to safety, and then think of me. + + [_Exeunt_ LERSE, SICKINGEN _and_ MARIE. _Enter_ GEORGE. + + GEORGE: They approach from all sides. I saw their pikes glitter from + the tower. + + GOETZ: Have the gate barricaded with beams and stones. + + [_Exit_ GEORGE. _A trumpeter is dimly heard from the distance, + requesting_ GOETZ _to surrender unconditionally_. GOETZ + _refuses angrily, and slams the window. Enter_ LERSE. + + LERSE: There is plenty of powder, but bullets are scarce. + + GOETZ: Look round for lead! Meanwhile, we must make the crossbows + do. [_Distant shooting is heard at intervals. Exit_ GOETZ _with + crossbow_. + + LERSE (_breaking a window and detaching the lead from the glass_): + This lead has rested long enough; now it may fly for a change. + [_Enter_ GOETZ. + + GOETZ: They have ceased firing, and offer a truce with all sorts of + signs and white rags. They will probably ask me to surrender on + knightly parole. + + LERSE: I'll go and see. 'Tis best to know their mind. + + [_Goes out and returns shortly_. + + LERSE: Liberty! Liberty! Here are the conditions. You may withdraw + with arms, horses, and armour, leaving all provisions behind. Your + property will be carefully guarded. I am to remain. + + GOETZ: Come, take the best arms with you, and leave the others here! + Come, Elizabeth! Through this very gate I led you as a young bride. + Who knows when we shall return? + [_Exeunt_ GOETZ _and_ ELIZABETH, _followed by_ GEORGE. + _While the men are choosing arms and preparing_, + LERSE, _who has heard shouting and firing without, + looks through the window_. + + LERSE: God! They are murdering our master! He is off his horse! + Help him! + + FAUD: George is still fighting. Let's go! If they die, I don't want + to live! [_Exeunt._ + + + SCENE III.--_Night; anteroom in_ ADELHEID'S _castle_. WEISLINGEN, + FRANZ, ADELHEID, _with a retinue of masked and costumed + revellers_. + + WEISLINGEN: May I, in these moments of lightheartedness, speak to + you of serious matters? Goetz is probably by this time in our hands. + The peasants' revolt is growing in violence; and the League has given + me the command against them. We shall start before long. I shall take + you to my castle in Franconia, where you will be safe, and not too far + from me. + + ADELHEID: We shall consider that. I may be useful to you here. + + WEISLINGEN: We have not much time, for we break up to-morrow! + + ADELHEID (_after a pause_): Very well, then; carnival to-night, and + war to-morrow! + + WEISLINGEN: You are fond of change. A pleasant night to you! + [_Exit._ + + ADELHEID: I understand. You would remove me from the court, where + Charles, our emperor's great successor, is the object of all hope? You + will not change my plans. Franz! + + FRANZ (_entering_): Gracious lady! + + ADELHEID: Watch all the masks, and find out for me the archduke's + disguise! You look sad? + + FRANZ: It is your will that I should languish unto death. + + ADELHEID _(apart)_: I pity him. (_To_ FRANZ) You are true and + loving; I shall not forget you! + + + SCENE IV.--_Heilbronn Town Hall_. IMPERIAL COUNCILLOR _and_ + MAGISTRATES, USHERS, GOETZ. + + COUNCILLOR: You know how you fell into our hands, and are a prisoner + at discretion? + + GOETZ: What will you give me to forget it? + + COUNCILLOR: You gave your knightly parole to appear and humbly to + await his majesty's pleasure? + + GOETZ: Well, here I am, and await it! + + COUNCILLOR: His majesty's mercy releases you from the ban and all + punishment, provided you subscribe to all the articles which shall be + read unto you. + + GOETZ: I am his majesty's faithful servant. But, before you proceed, + where are my men; what is their fate? + + COUNCILLOR: That is no business of yours. Secretary, read the + articles! _(Reads)_: I, Goetz von Berlichingen, having lately risen + in rebellion against the emperor------ + + GOETZ: 'Tis false! I am no rebel! I refuse to listen any further! + + COUNCILLOR: And yet we have strict orders to persuade you by fair + means, or to throw you into prison. + + GOETZ: To prison? Me? That cannot be the emperor's order! To promise + me permission to ward myself on parole, and then again to break your + treaty. + + COUNCILLOR: We owe no faith to robbers. + + GOETZ: If you were not the representative of my respected sovereign, + you should swallow that word, or choke upon it! + + [COUNCILLOR _makes a sign, and a bell is rung. Enter + citizens with halberds and swords_. + + COUNCILLOR: You will not listen--seize him! + + [_They rush upon him. He strikes one down, and snatches + a sword from another. They stand aloof_. + + GOETZ: Come on! I should like to become acquainted with the bravest + among you. + + [_A trumpet is heard without. Enter_ USHER. + + USHER: Franz von Sickingen is without and sends word that having + heard how faith has been broken with his brother-in-law, he insists + upon justice, or within an hour he will fire the four quarters of the + town, and abandon it to be sacked by his men. + + GOETZ: Brave friend! + + COUNCILLOR: You had best dissuade your brother-in-law from his + rebellious intention. He will only become the companion of your fall! + Meanwhile, we will consider how we can best uphold the emperor's + authority. + + [_Exeunt all but_ GOETZ. _Enter_ SICKINGEN. + + GOETZ: That was help from heaven. I asked nothing but knightly ward + upon my parole. + + SICKINGEN: They have shamefully abused the imperial authority. I + know the emperor, and have some influence with him. I shall want your + fist in an enterprise I am preparing. Meanwhile, they will let you and + your men return to your castle upon the promise not to move beyond + its confines. And the emperor will soon call you. Now back to the + wigs! They have had time enough to talk; let's save them the trouble! + + + ACT V + + SCENE I.--_Forest_. GOETZ _and_ GEORGE. + + GOETZ: No further! Another step and I should have broken my oath. + What is that dust beyond? And that wild mob moving towards us? + + LERSE (_entering_): The rebel peasants. Back to the castle! They + have dealt horribly with the noblest men! + + GOETZ: On my own soil I shall not try to evade the rabble. + + [_Enter_ STUMPF, KOHL, SIEVERS, _and armed peasants_. + + STUMPF: We come to ask you, brave Goetz, to be our captain. + + GOETZ: What! Me? To break my oath? Stumpf, I thought you were a + friend! Even if I were free, and you wanted to carry on as you did at + Weinsberg, raving and burning, and murdering, I'd rather be killed + than be your captain! + + STUMPF: If we had a leader of authority, such things would not + happen. The princes and all Germany would thank you. + + SIEVERS: You must be our captain, or you will have to defend your + own skin. We give you two hours to consider it. + + GOETZ: Why consider? I can decide now as well as later. Will you + desist from your misdeeds, and act like decent folk who know what + they want? Then I shall help you with your claims, and be your captain + for four weeks. Now, come! [_Exeunt._ + + + SCENE II.--_Landscape, with village and castle in distance_. GOETZ + _and_ GEORGE. + + GEORGE: I beseech you, leave this infamous mob of robbers and + incendiaries. + + GOETZ: We have done some good and saved many a convent, many a life. + + GEORGE: Oh, sir, I beg you to leave them at once, before they drag + you away with them as prisoner, instead of following you as captain! + (_Flames are seen rising from the distant village_.) See there! A new + crime! + + GOETZ: That is Miltenberg. Quick, George! Prevent the burning of the + castle. I'll have nothing further to do with the scoundrels. + + GEORGE: I shall save Miltenberg, or you will not see me again. + [_Exit._ + + GOETZ: Everybody blames me for the mischief, and nobody gives me + credit for having prevented so much evil. Would I were thousands of + miles away! + + [_Enter_ SIEVERS, LINK, METZLER, _peasants_. + + LINK: Rouse yourself, captain; the enemy is near and in great force! + + GOETZ: Who burnt Miltenberg? + + METZLER: If you want to make a fuss, we'll soon teach you! + + GOETZ: You threaten? Scoundrel! [_He knocks him down with a blow of + his fist_. + + KOHL: You are mad! The enemy is coming, and you quarrel. + + [_Tumult, battle, and rout of the peasants. Then the + stage gradually fills with gypsies_. GOETZ _returns + wounded, is recognised by the gypsies, who bandage + him, help him on to his horse, and ask him to lead + them. Soldiers enter and level their halberds at_ + GOETZ. + + + SCENE III.--ADELHEID'S _room. Night_. ADELHEID. FRANZ. + + FRANZ: Oh, let me stay yet a little while--here, where I live. + Without is death! + + ADELHEID: Already you hesitate? Then give me back the phial. You + played the hero, but you are only a boy; A man who wooes a noble woman + stakes his life, honour, virtue, happiness! Boy, leave me! + + FRANZ: No, you are mine. And if I get your freedom I get my own. + With a firm hand I shall pour the poison into my master's cup. + Farewell. + [_He embraces her and hurries away_. + + + SCENE IV.--_Rustic garden_. MARIE _sleeping in an arbour._ LERSE. + + LERSE: Gracious lady, awake! We must away. Goetz captured as a rebel + and thrown into a dungeon! His age! His wounds! + + MARIE: We must hurry to Weislingen. Only dire necessity can drive + me to this step. Saving my brother's life I go to death. I shall kneel + to him, weep before him. + [_Exit._ + + + SCENE V.--WEISLINGEN'S _hall_. + + WEISLINGEN: A wretched fever has dried my very marrow. No rest for + me, day or night! Goetz haunts my very dreams. He is a prisoner, and + yet I tremble before him. (_Enter_ MARIE.) Oh, heaven! Marie's spirit, + to tell me of her death! + + MARIE: Weislingen, I am no spirit. I have come to beg of you my + brother's life. + + WEISLINGEN: Marie! You, angel of heaven, bring with you the tortures + of hell. The breath of death is upon me, and you come to throw me into + despair! + + MARIE: My brother is ill in prison. His wounds--his age---- + + WEISLINGEN: Enough. Franz! (_Enter_ FRANZ _in great excitement_.) + The papers there! (FRANZ _hands him a sealed packet_.) Here is your + brother's death-warrant; and thus I tear it. He lives. Do not weep, + Franz; there's hope for the living. + + FRANZ: You cannot, you must die! Poison from your wife. [_Rushes + to the window, and throws himself out into the river_. + + WEISLINGEN: Woe to me! Poison from my wife! Franz seduced by the + infamous woman! I am dying; and in my agony throb the tortures of hell. + + MARIE (_kneeling):_ Merciful God, have pity on him! + + + SCENE VI.--_A small garden outside the prison_, GOETZ, ELIZABETH, + LERSE, _and prison-keeper_. + + GOETZ: Almighty God! How lovely is it beneath Thy heaven! Farewell, + my children! My roots are cut away, my strength totters to the grave. + Let me see George once more, and sun myself in his look. You turn + away and weep? He is dead! Then die, Goetz! How did he die? Alas! + they took him among the incendiaries, and he has been executed? + + ELIZABETH: No, he was slain at Miltenberg, fighting like a lion. + + GOETZ: God be praised! Now release my soul! My poor wife! I leave + you in a wicked world. Lerse, forsake her not! Blessings upon Marie + and her husband. Selbitz is dead, and the good emperor, and my George. + Give me some water! Heavenly air! Freedom! + [_He dies_. + + ELIZABETH: Freedom is only above--with thee; the world is a prison. + + LERSE: Noble man! Woe to this age that rejected thee! Woe to the + future that shall misjudge thee! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] The story of "Goetz von Berlichingen" was founded on +the life of a German soldier of fortune who flourished between 1480 +and 1562. The possibilities of his biography inspired Goethe (Vol. +IV, p. 253) with the idea of doing for Germany what Shakespeare had +done for mediaeval England. In a few weeks he had turned the life into +a series of vivid dramatic pictures, which so engrossed him that he +"forgot Homer, Shakespeare, and everything." For the next two years +the manuscript lay untouched. In 1773 he made a careful revision and +published it anonymously under the title of "Goetz von Berlichingen of +the Iron Hand"; it is in this form we possess the work now. At a still +later period, in 1804, Goethe prepared another version of the play +for the stage. The subject-matter of "Goetz" is purely revolutionary. +Goetz, the hero himself, is a champion of a good cause--the cause +of freedom and self-reliance. He is the embodiment of sturdy German +virtues, the Empire and the Church playing the unenviable role of +intrigue and oppression. As a stage play, "Goetz" is ill-constructed, +but otherwise it stands a veritable literary triumph, and a worthy +predecessor to "Faust." This epitome has been prepared from the German +text. + + + + +Iphigenia in Tauris[B] + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + IPHIGENIA ORESTES + THOAS, _King of Tauris_ + PYLADES ARKAS + + _The scene throughout is laid in a grove before_ DIANA'S _temple in + Tauris_. + + + ACT I + + IPHIGENIA _and_ THOAS. + + THOAS: To-day I come within this sacred fane, + Which I have often entered to implore + And thank the gods for conquest. In my breast + I bear an old and fondly-cherish'd wish, + To which methinks thou canst not be a stranger: + I hope, a blessing to myself and realm, + To lead thee to my dwelling as my bride. + + IPHIGENIA: Too great thine offer, king, to one unknown, + Who on this shore sought only what thou gavest, + Safety and peace. + + THOAS: Thus still to shroud thyself + From me, as from the lowest, in the veil + Of mystery which wrapp'd thy coming here, + Would in no country be deem'd just or right. + + IPHIGENIA: If I conceal'd, O king, my name, my race, + It was embarrassment, and not mistrust. + For didst thou know who stands before thee now, + Strange horror would possess thy mighty heart, + And, far from wishing me to share thy throne, + Thou wouldst more likely banish me forthwith. + + THOAS: Whate'er respecting thee the gods decree, + Since thou hast dwelt amongst us, and enjoy'd + The privilege the pious stranger claims, + To me hath fail'd no blessing sent from heaven. + End then thy silence, priestess! + + IPHIGENIA: I issue from the Titan's race. + + THOAS: From that same Tantalus, whom Jove himself + Drew to his council and his social board? + + IPHIGENIA: His crime was human, and their doom severe; + Alas, and his whole race must bear their hate. + His son, Pelops, obtained his second wife + Through treachery and murder. And Hebe's sons, + Thyestes and Atreus, envious of the love + That Pelops bore his first-born, murdered him. + The mother, held as murderess by the sire, + In terror did destroy herself. The sons, + After the death of Pelops, shared the rule + O'er Mycenae, till Atreus from the realm + Thyestes drove. Oh, spare me to relate + The deeds of horror, vengeance, cruel infamy + That ended in a feast where Atreus made + His brother eat the flesh of his own boys. + + THOAS: But tell me by what miracle thou sprangest + From race so savage. + + IPHIGENIA: Atreus' eldest son + Was Agamemnon; he, O king, my sire; + My mother Clytemnestra, who then bore + To him Electra, and to fill his cup + Of bliss, Orestes. But misfortunes new + Befel our ancient house, when to avenge + The fairest woman's wrongs the kings of Greece + Round Ilion's walls encamp'd, led by my sire. + In Aulis vainly for a favouring gale + They waited; for, enrag'd against their chief, + Diana stay'd their progress, and requir'd, + Through Chalcas' voice, the monarch's eldest daughter. + They lured me to the altar, and this head + There to the goddess doomed. She was appeased, + And shrouded me in a protecting cloud. + Here I awakened from the dream of death, + Diana's priestess, I who speak with thee. + + THOAS: I yield no higher honour or regard + To the king's daughter than the maid unknown; + Once more my first proposal I repeat. + + IPHIGENIA: Hath not the goddess who protected me + Alone a right to my devoted head? + + THOAS: Not many words are needed to refuse, + The _no_ alone is heard by the refused. + + IPHIGENIA: I have to thee my inmost heart reveal'd. + My father, mother, and my long-lost home + With yearning soul I pine to see. + + THOAS: Then go! + And to the voice of reason close thine ear. + Hear then my last resolve. Be priestess still + Of the great goddess who selected thee. + From olden time no stranger near'd our shore + But fell a victim at her sacred shrine; + But thou, with kind affection didst enthral + Me so that wholly I forgot my duty; + And I did not hear my people's murmurs. + Now they cry aloud. No longer now + Will I oppose the wishes of the crowd. + Two strangers, whom in caverns of the shore + We found conceal'd, and whose arrival here + Bodes to my realm no good, are in my power. + With them thy goddess may once more resume + Her ancient, pious, long-suspended rites! + I send them here--thy duty not unknown. + [_Exit._ + + IPHIGENIA: O goddess! Keep my hands from blood! + + + ACT II + + ORESTES _and_ PYLADES. + + ORESTES: When I implor'd Apollo to remove + The grisly band of Furies from my side, + He promised aid and safety in the fane + Of his lov'd sister, who o'er Tauris rules. + Thus the prophetic word fulfils itself, + That with my life shall terminate my woe. + Thee only, friend, thee am I loath to take, + The guiltless partner of my crime and curse, + To yonder cheerless shore! + + PYLADES: Think not of death! + But mark if not the gods perchance present + Means and fit moment for a joyful flight. + The gods avenge not on the son the deeds + Done by their father. + + ORESTES: It is their decree + Which doth destroy us. + + PYLADES: From our guards I learn + A strange and god-like woman holds in check + The execution of the bloody law. + + ORESTES: The monarch's savage will decrees our death; + A woman cannot save when he condemns. + + PYLADES: She comes: leave us alone. I dare not tell + At once our names, nor unreserv'd confide + Our fortunes to her. Now retire awhile. + + [_Exit_ ORESTES. _Enter_ IPHIGENIA. + + IPHIGENIA: Whence art thou? Stranger, speak! To me thy bearing + Stamps thee of Grecian, not of Scythian race. + + [_She unbinds his chains_. + + The gods avert the doom that threatens you! + + PYLADES: Delicious music! Dearly welcome tones + Of our own language in a foreign land! + We are from Crete, Adrastus' sons; and I + Am Cephalus; my eldest brother, he, + Laodamas. Between us stood a youth + Whom, when our sire died (having return'd + From Troy, enrich'd with loot), in contest fierce + My brother slew! 'Tis thus the Furies now + For kindred-murder dog his restless steps. + But to this savage shore the Delphian god + Hath sent us, cheer'd by hope. My tale is told. + + IPHIGENIA: Troy fallen! Dear stranger, oh, say! + + PYLADES: The stately town + Now lies in ruins. Many a hero's grave + Will oft our thoughts recall to Ilion's shore. + There lies Achilles and his noble friend; + Nor Palamedes, nor Ajax, e'er again + The daylight of their native land beheld. + Yet happy are the thousands who receiv'd + Their bitter death-blow from a hostile hand, + And not like Agamemnon, who, ensnared, + Fell murdered on the day of his return + By Clytemnestra, with AEgisthus' aid. + + IPHIGENIA: Base passion prompted then this deed of + shame? + + PYLADES: And feelings, cherish'd long of deep revenge. + For such a dreadful deed, that if on earth + Aught could exculpate murder, it were this. + The monarch, for the welfare of the Greeks, + Her eldest daughter doomed. Within her heart + This planted such abhorrence that forthwith + She to AEgisthus hath resigned herself, + And round her husband flung the web of death. + + IPHIGENIA (_veiling herself_): It is enough! Thou wilt again + behold me. + + + ACT III + + IPHIGENIA _and_ ORESTES. + + IPHIGENIA: Unhappy man, I only loose thy bonds + In token of a still severer doom. + For the incensed king, should I refuse + Compliance with the rites himself enjoin'd, + Will choose another virgin from my train + As my successor. Then, alas! with nought, + pave ardent wishes, can I succour you. + But tell me now, when Agamemnon fell, + Orestes--did he share his sire's fate? + Say, was he saved? And is he still alive? + And lives Electra, too? + + ORESTES: They both survive. + Half of the horror only hast thou heard. + Electra, on the day when fell her sire, + Her brother from impending doom conceal'd; + Him Strophius, his father's relative, + Received with kindest care, and rear'd him up, + With his own son, named Pylades, who soon + Around the stranger twin'd love's fairest bonds. + The longing to revenge the monarch's death + Took them to Mycenae, and by her son + Was Clytemnestra slain. + + IPHIGENIA: Immortal powers! + O tell me of the poor unfortunate! + Speak of Orestes! + + ORESTES: Him the Furies chase. + They glare around him with their hollow eyes, + Like greedy eagles. In their murky dens + They stir themselves, and from the corners creep + Their comrades, dire remorse and pallid fear; + Before them fumes a mist of Acheron. + I am Orestes! and this guilty head + Is stooping to the tomb and covets death; + It will be welcome now in any shape. + + [ORESTES _retires_. IPHIGENIA _prays to the gods, and_ + ORESTES _returns_. + + ORESTES: Who art thou, that thy voice thus horribly + Can harrow up my bosom's inmost depths? + + IPHIGENIA: Thine inmost heart reveals it. I am she--Iphigenia! + + ORESTES: Hence, away, begone! + Leave me! Like Heracles, a death of shame, + Unworthy wretch, locked in myself, I'll die! + + IPHIGENIA: Thou shalt not perish! Would that I might hear + One quiet word from thee! Dispel my doubts, + Make sure the bliss I have implored so long. + Orestes! O my brother! + + ORESTES: There's pity in thy look! oh, gaze not so-- + 'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought + An entrance to her son Orestes' heart, + And yet his uprais'd arm her bosom pierced. + The weapon raise, spare not, this bosom rend, + And make an outlet for its boiling streams. + + [_He sinks exhausted. Enter_ PYLADES. + + PYLADES: Dost thou not know me, and this sacred grove, + And this blest light, which shines not on the dead? + Attend! Each moment is of priceless worth, + And our return hangs on a slender thread. + The favouring gale, which swells our parting sail, + Must to Olympus waft our perfect joy. + Quick counsel and resolve the time demands. + + + ACT IV + + IPHIGENIA _alone_. + + IPHIGENIA: They hasten to the sea, where in a bay + Their comrades in the vessel lie concealed, + Waiting a signal. Me they have supplied + With artful answers should the monarch send + To urge the sacrifice. Detested falsehood! + + [_Enter_ ARKAS. + + ARKAS: Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice! + Impatiently the king and people wait. + + IPHIGENIA: The gods have not decreed that it should be. + The elder of these men of kindred-murder + Bears guilt. The dread Erinnys here within + Have seized upon their prey, polluting thus + The sanctuary. I hasten now to bathe + The goddess' image in the sea, and there + With solemn rites its purity restore. + + ARKAS: This hindrance to the monarch I'll announce. + + [_Exit_ ARKAS. Enter PYLADES. + + PYLADES: Thy brother is restor'd! The fire of youth + With growing glory shines upon his brow. + Let us then hasten; guide me to the fane. + I can unaided on my shoulder bear + The goddess' image; how I long to feel + The precious burden! Hast thou to the king + Announced the prudent message as agreed? + + IPHIGENIA: The royal messenger arrived, and I, + According to thy counsel, fram'd my speech. + + PYLADES: Danger again doth hover o'er our heads. + Alas! Why hast thou failed to shroud thyself + Within the veil of sacerdotal rights? + + IPHIGENIA: I never have employed them as a veil. + + PYLADES: Pure soul! Thy scruples will alike destroy + Thyself and us. Come, let us be firm. + Nor with incautious haste betray ourselves. + + IPHIGENIA: It is an honest scruple, which forbids + That I should cunningly deceive the king, + And plunder him who was my second father. + + PYLADES: Him dost thou fly, who would have slain thy brother. + If we should perish, bitter self-reproach, + Forerunner of despair, will be thy portion; + Necessity commands. The rest thou knowest. [_Exit._ + + IPHIGENIA: I must obey him, for I see my friends + Beset with peril. Yet my own sad fate + Doth with increasing anguish move my heart + To steal the image, sacred and rever'd, + Confided to my care, and him deceive + To whom I owe my life and destiny! + Let not abhorrence spring within my heart! + + + ACT V + + THOAS _alone_. + + THOAS: Fierce anger rages in my riven breast, + First against her whom I esteem'd so pure; + Then 'gainst myself, whose foolish lenity + Hath fashion'd her for treason. Vain my hope + To bind her to me. Now that I oppose + Her wish, she seeks to gain her ends by fraud. + + [_Enter_ IPHIGENIA. + + Wherefore delay the sacrifice; inform me! + + IPHIGENIA: The goddess for reflection grants thee time. + + THOAS: To thee this time seems also opportune. + + IPHIGENIA: Are we not bound to render the distress'd + The gracious kindness from the gods received? + Thou know'st we are, and yet wilt thou compel me? + + THOAS: Obey thine office, not the king. + + IPHIGENIA: Oh, couldst thou see the struggle of my soul, + Courageously toward the first attack + Of an unhappy doom which threatens me; + Must I implore a miracle from heaven? + + THOAS: Extravagant thy interest in the fate + Of these two strangers. Tell me who they are. + + IPHIGENIA: They are--they seem, at least--I think them Greeks. + + THOAS: Thy countrymen; no doubt they have renewed + The pleasing picture of return. + + IPHIGENIA (_after a pause_): Attend, + O king, and honour truth in me. A plot + Deceitfully and secretly is laid + Touching the captives thou dost ask in vain. + They have escaped. The eldest is Orestes, + Whom madness seized, my brother; Pylades, + His early friend and confidant, the other. + From Delphi, Phoebus sent them to this shore, + To steal away the image of Diana, + And to him bear back the sister thither. + And for this, deliverance promised he + The Fury-haunted son. + + THOAS: The traitors have contrived a cunning web, + And cast it round thee, who, secluded long, + Giv'st willing credence to thine own desire. + + IPHIGENIA: No, no! I'd pledge my life these men are true; + And shouldst thou find them otherwise, O king, + Then let them perish both, and cast me forth. + + [_Enter_ ORESTES, _armed_. + + ORESTES (_addressing his followers_): Redouble your + exertions! Hold them back! + And keep a passage open to the ship! + (_To_ IPHIGENIA) We are betray'd; brief time remains + for flight! [_He perceives the king_. + + THOAS: None in my presence with impunity + His naked weapon wears! + + IPHIGENIA: Do not profane + Diana's sanctuary with rage and blood. + In him revere the king, my second father! + + ORESTES: Will he permit our peaceable return? + + IPHIGENIA: Thy gleaming sword forbids me to reply. + + [_Enter_ PYLADES, _followed by_ ARKAS, + _with drawn swords_ + + PYLADES: Do not delay, our friends are putting forth + Their final strength! + + ARKAS: They yield; their ship is ours! + + THOAS: Let none annoy the foe while we confer. + + [ARKAS _retires_. + + THOAS: Now, answer me; how dost thou prove thyself + The priestess' brother, Agamemnon's son? + + IPHIGENIA: See here, the mark on his right hand impress'd + As of three stars, which on his natal day + Were by the priest declar'd to indicate + Some dreadful deed therewith to be perform'd! + + THOAS: E'en though thy words had banish'd every doubt, + Still must our arms decide. I see no peace; + Their purpose, as thou didst thyself confess, + Was to deprive me of Diana's image! + + ORESTES: The image shall not be the cause of strife! + We now perceive the error which the god + Threw o'er our minds. His counsel I implor'd; + He answer'd, "Back to Greece the sister bring, + Who in the Tauris sanctuary abides." + To Phoebus' sister we applied the words, + And she referred to thee. + + IPHIGENIA: Oh, let thy heart + Be moved by what an honest tongue has spoken. + Look on us, king; an opportunity + For such a noble deed not oft occurs! + + THOAS: Then go! + + IPHIGENIA: Not so, my king! I cannot part + Without thy blessing, or in anger from thee. + + THOAS (_extending his hand_): Fare thee well! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[B] Goethe's fascinating and noble drama, "Iphigenia in +Tauris," was first written in prose, and recast into verse in 1786. +Inspired partly by his feelings towards Frau von Stein, whom Goethe +"credited with knowing every trait of his being," and partly by the +"Iphigenia in Tauris" of Euripides, the play is totally different from +anything that had as yet come from his pen. Although it lacks some of +the pomp and circumstance of the best Greek tragedy, it is written with +great dignity in the strictest classical form, admirably suggesting +the best in French classical drama. The prominent motive of the piece +is the struggle between truth and falsehood. "It is," one critic has +remarked, "a poetic drama of the soul." On its production at Weimar, +the German public received it indifferently. + + + + +GOGOL[C] + + + + +The Inspector-General + + +_Persons in the Play_ + + ANTON ANTONOVITCH, _governor of a small town_ + ANNA ANDREYEVNA, _his wife_ + MARYA, _their daughter_ + LUKA, _director of schools_ + KHELSTAKOV, _a St. Petersburg official_ + OSIP, _his servant-man_ + BOBCHINSKI _and_ DOBCHINSKI, _independent gentlemen_ + A JUDGE, A CHARITY COMMISSIONER, A POSTMASTER + POLICE SUPERINTENDENT and CONSTABLES + A WAITER AT THE INN + + + ACT I + + SCENE.--_A room in the_ GOVERNOR'S _house. The_ GOVERNOR, _a coarse + and ill-educated official, and several functionaries of the + town_. + + GOVERNOR (_addressing the functionaries_): I have bad news. An + inspector-general is coming from St. Petersburg. You must see that + your various departments are set in order. The hospital must be tidied + up and the patients must be provided with nice white night-caps. The + school-teachers must coach up the scholars in their subjects. + + [_Enter_ BOBCHINSKI _and_ DOBCHINSKI _breathlessly_. + + BOBCHINSKI: What an extraordinary incident! + + DOBCHINSKI: A startling announcement! + + ALL: What is it? What is it? + + BOBCHINSKI: I will tell you correctly. After you had received the + letter from St. Petersburg, I ran out to tell the postmaster what it + had announced. On the way Dobchinski pressed me to go into the inn + for refreshment. Into the restaurant came an elegant young man with a + fashionable aspect. The landlord told us he was an official on his way + from Petersburg to Saratov, and that he is acting strangely, for he has + been here more than a fortnight, and pays for nothing. + + GOVERNOR: Good lord! Surely it cannot be he! Been here a fortnight? + May heaven help us. You, sirs, get all your departments in proper trim. + In the meantime I will take a stroll round the town, and satisfy myself + that travellers are treated with due respect. + + The governor orders the police to see that the street leading to the + inn is well swept. He threatens to punish severely any of the + townspeople who shall dare to bring complaints of any kind to the + visiting official. + + + ACT II + + SCENE.--_A small room in the inn_. OSIP _lying on his master's bed_. + + OSIP: Devil take it! I am famishing. It is two months since we left + St. Petersburg. This master of mine has squandered all his money on the + way, and here we are penniless. The old man sends his son money, but + he goes on the racket with it till all is spent, and then he has to + pawn his clothes almost to the last rag. And now this landlord declares + he will let us have nothing more to eat unless we pay in advance. Ah, + there's the knock. + + [_He gets off the bed_. KHELSTAKOV _enters_. + + KHELSTAKOV: Go down and ask for something to eat. + + OSIP: No. The landlord will not let us have it. He says we are + swindlers, and he threatens to have you put in prison. + + KHELSTAKOV: Go to the devil! Call the landlord. (OSIP _goes_.) How + fearfully hungry I am. And I was cheated at cards and cleaned right out + at Penza by that infantry captain. What a miserable little town this + is. They give no credit at the provision shops. + + [_Enter_ WAITER. + + WAITER: The landlord asks what you want. + + KHELSTAKOV: Please bring my dinner at once. I must be busy directly + I have dined. + + The waiter replies that the landlord refuses to supply anything more, + and seems likely to complain to the governor. But presently dinner is + brought in. To Khlestakov's great consternation Osip announces that + the governor has come and is asking for him. + + KHELSTAKOV: What? The landlord has reported me! I'll put on an + aristocratic air, and ask him how he dares---- + + Governor, entering in trepidation and saluting humbly, astonishes him + by profuse offers of hospitality and entertainment, though when at + first mention is made of taking him to other quarters, the guest in + horror ejaculates that he supposes the gaol is meant, and he asks what + right the governor has to hint at such a thing. + + KHELSTAKOV (_indignantly_): How dare you? I--I--I am a government + official at St. Petersburg. I--I--I---- + + GOVERNOR (_aside_): Good heavens, what a rage he is in! He knows + everything. Those confounded merchants have told him all. + + Banging the table, Khlestakov declares he will _not_ go to the + gaol, but will complain to the Minister of the Interior; and the + governor, trembling and terrified, pleads that he has a wife and + little children, and begs that he may not be ruined. The ridiculous + misunderstanding on both sides grows more confused every minute. The + governor pours forth the most abject apologies; declares that if the + people accuse him of oppression and extortion, and even of flogging + women, they are a slandering mob. + + KHELSTAKOV: What have I to do with your enemies or the women you have + flogged? Don't attempt to flog me. Now, look here, I will pay this + landlord's account, but just now I have not the money. That is why I am + staying here. + + GOVERNOR (_aside_): Sly rogue, trying to mystify me! (_Aloud_) If you + really are short of money, I am ready to serve you at once. + + The visitor says that he will in that case borrow 200 roubles, and the + money is readily handed over; in fact, the governor quietly slips in + 200 extra roubles. The governor, convinced that the inspector-general + is simply determined to keep up his _incognito_, resolves to act + accordingly, and to tell falsehoods appropriate for mutual deception. + He invites the guest to visit Various institutions, and a round is + made. + + + ACT III + + SCENE.--_A room in the_ GOVERNOR'S _house_. GOVERNOR, KHELSTAKOV, _and + other functionaries_. + + KHELSTAKOV: Fine establishments! In other towns they showed me + nothing. + + GOVERNOR: In other towns I venture to say that the officials + think most about their own profit; here we only aim at winning the + approbation of the government. + + KHELSTAKOV: That lunch was very good! The fish was delicious! Where + was it that we lunched? Was it not at the hospital? I saw the beds, + but there were not many patients. Have the sick recovered? + + GOVERNOR: Yes. Since I became governor they all get well like flies, + not so much by doctoring as by honesty and regularity. Thank God, + everything goes satisfactorily here! Another governor would undoubtedly + look after his own advantage; but, believe me, when I lie down to + sleep, my prayer is, "O Thou my Lord, may the government perceive my + zeal and be satisfied." So I have an easy conscience. + + KHELSTAKOV: Are there any clubs here where a game at cards could be + had? + + GOVERNOR: God forbid! Here such a thing as a card-club is never heard + of. I am disgusted at the sight of a card, and never dealt one in my + life. Once to amuse the children I built a house of cards, and had + accursed dreams all night. + + LUKA (_aside_): But the villain cheated me yesterday out of a hundred + roubles! + + Introduced to the governor's wife and daughter, Khlestakov addresses + them in the manner of a gallant from the metropolis, and chatters + boastfully of his influence, his position, and his connections. + His house is the first in St. Petersburg. Meantime, the various + functionaries meet in the house of the governor to concert measures + for propitiating this great courtier. They resolve to present him with + a substantial token of regard. With great trepidation they wait on him. + + JUDGE (_entering very nervously_): I have the honour to present + myself. I have been judge here since 1816, and have been decorated + with the Vladimir of the Fourth Class. + + KHELSTAKOV: What have you there in your hand? + + JUDGE (_in bewilderment drops banknotes on the floor_): Nothing. + + KHELSTAKOV: How nothing? I see some money has been dropped. + + JUDGE (_trembling and aside_): O heaven, I am already before the + tribunal, and they have brought the cart to take me into exile. + + Khlestakov picks up the notes, and asks that the money may be lent + him, as he has spent all his cash on the journey. He promises to + return it as soon as he reaches home, but the judge protests that the + honour of lending it is enough, and he begs that there shall be no + injunction against him. + + Next to present himself is the postmaster, in full uniform, sword in + hand. After a little conversation with this functionary, Khlestakov + thinks he may just as well borrow of him also, and he forthwith + mentions that a singular thing has happened to him, for he has lost + all his money on the way, and would be glad to be obliged with the + loan of three hundred roubles. It is instantly counted out with + alacrity, and the postmaster hastily retires. Also, in a very nervous + state, Luka, the School Director, the Charity Commissioner, Bobchinski + and Dobchinski, come to pay their homage, and Khlestakov borrows + easily from each in turn. + + KHELSTAKOV _(alone):_ There are many officials here; it seems to me, + however, that they take me for a government functionary. What fools! I + must write about it all to Tryapitchkin at Petersburg; he will write + sketches of it in the papers. Here, Osip, bring me paper and ink! I + will just see how much money I have got. Oh, more than a thousand! + + While he is writing a letter Osip interrupts him with earnest + assurances that it will be prudent to depart speedily from the town; + for people have been mistaking him for somebody else, and awkward + complications may ensue. It is really time to go. There are splendid + horses here, and these can be secured for the journey. Khlestakov + consents, tells Osip to take the letter to the post, and to obtain + good posthorses. Suddenly some merchants present themselves with + petitions, bringing with them gifts of sugar-loaves and wine. They + pour forth bitter complaints against the governor. They accuse him + of constant and outrageous extortion. They beg Khlestakov to secure + his deposition from office. When they offer the sugar-loaves and the + wine, Khlestakov protests that he cannot accept bribes, but if they + would offer him a loan of three hundred roubles that would be another + matter. They do so and go out. + + [_Enter_ MARYA _nervously_. + + MARYA: Ach! + + KHELSTAKOV: Why are you so frightened? + + MARYA: No; I am not frightened. I thought mamma might be here. I am + disturbing you in your important business. + + KHELSTAKOV: But your eyes are more attractive than important + business. + + MARYA: You are talking in St. Petersburg style. + + KHELSTAKOV: May I venture to be so happy as to offer you a chair? + But no; you should be offered a throne, not a chair! I offer you my + love, which ever since your first glance---- + + MARYA: Love! I do not understand love! + + He kisses her on the shoulder, and, when she rises angrily to go, + falls on his knees. At that moment her mother enters. With a show of + indignation she orders Marya away. + + KHELSTAKOV (_kneeling at her feet_): Madame, you see I burn with + love. + + ANNA ANDREYEVNA: But permit me, I do not quite comprehend you. If I + am not mistaken, you were making a proposal to my daughter? + + KHELSTAKOV: No; I am in love with you. + + ANNA ANDREYEVNA: But I am married! + + KHELSTAKOV: That is nothing. Let us flee under the canopy of heaven. + I crave your hand! + + Marya enters, and seeing Khlestakov on his knees, shrieks. The mother + scolds her for her bad manners, and declares that he was, after + all, asking for the daughter's hand. Then enters the governor. He + breathlessly begins to bewail the base, lying conduct of the merchants + who have been slandering him, and swears he is innocent of oppressing + anybody. + + To his profound amazement, Anna informs her husband that the great man + has honoured them by asking for their daughter's hand. On recovering + from his amazement, he sees the couple kissing, and gives them his + blessing. Osip enters at this juncture to say the horses are ready, + and Khlestakov informs the governor that he is only off to visit for a + day a rich uncle. He will quickly return. He presently rides off after + affectionate farewell expressions on both sides. + + + ACT IV + + SCENE.--_As before. The_ GOVERNOR, ANNA ANDREYEVNA, _and_ MARYA. _A + police-officer enters_. + + GOVERNOR (_addressing the policeman_): Ivan Karpovitch, summon the + merchants here, brother. Complaining of me, indeed! Cursed lot of Jews! + Little turtle doves! Ascertain who brought petitions; and take care to + let them know how heaven has honoured the governor. His daughter is + going to marry a man without an equal in the world; who can achieve + everything, everything, everything. Let everybody know! Shout it out to + everybody! Ring the bells! Devil take it; now that at length I triumph, + triumph I will! + + The police-officer retires. The governor and Anna indulge in roseate + prospects of their coming prosperity. Of course they will not stay + in these mean surroundings, but will remove to St. Petersburg. + Suddenly the merchants enter. The governor receives them with the + utmost indignation, assails them with a shower of vituperation. They + abjectly entreat pardon. They promise to make amends by sending very + handsome presents, and they are enjoined not to forget to do so. The + wedding gifts are to be worthy of the occasion. The merchants retire + crestfallen, and callers stream in with profuse congratulations. Anna, + with studied haughtiness, makes them fully understand that the family + will now be far above them all. All the people secretly express to + each other their hatred and contempt for the governor and his family. + + POSTMASTER (_breathlessly entering with an open letter in his hand_): + An astonishing fact, gentlemen! The official which we took for an + inspector-general is not one! I have discovered this from a letter + which he wrote and which I saw was addressed "Post Office Street." + So, as I said to myself that he had been reporting to the authorities + something he had found wrong in the postal department, I felt a + supernatural impulse constraining me to open the letter. + + GOVERNOR: You dared to open the letter of so powerful a personage? + + POSTMASTER: That is just the joke; that he is neither powerful nor + a personage. I will read the letter. (_Reads_) "I hasten to inform + you, my dear Tryapitchkin, of my experiences. I was cleared out of + everything on the way by an infantry captain, so that an innkeeper + wanted to put me in prison; when, owing to my Petersburg appearance + and dress, the whole town suddenly took me for the governor-general. + So now I am living with the governor, enjoy myself, and flirt with his + wife and daughter. These people all lend me as much money as ever I + please. The governor is as stupid as a grey gelding. The postmaster is + a tippler. The charity commissioner is a pig in a skull-cap." + + GOVERNOR: I am crushed--crushed--completely crushed. Catch him! + + POSTMASTER: How can we catch him? I, as if purposely, specially + ordered for him the very best post-carriage and three horses. + + GOVERNOR: What an old fool I am! I have been thirty years in the + service; not a tradesman nor contractor could cheat me; rogues upon + rogues have I outwitted; three governors-general have I deceived! + + ANNA ANDREYEVNA: But this cannot be, Antosha. He is engaged to + Mashenka. + + GOVERNOR (_enraged_): Engaged! Rubbish! Look, look; all the world, + all Christendom, all of you look how the governor is fooled! Fool, + fool; old driveller that I am! (_Shakes his fist at himself_) Ah, you + fat-nose! Taking a rag for a man of rank! And now he is jingling his + bells along the road. Who first said he was an inspector-general? + Answer! + + [_All point to_ BOBCHINSKI _and_ DOBCHINSKI, _who fall to + accusing each other. A gendarme enters_. + + GENDARME: The inspector-general sent by imperial command has + arrived, and requires you to attend him immediately. He awaits you at + the inn. + + [_Thunderstruck at this announcement, the whole group + remained as if petrified, and the curtain falls_. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[C] Nicolai Vasilieyitch Gogol is famous not only as the +prince of Russian humorists, but as the real founder of both the +modern drama and the novel in Russian literature. He was born on +March 31, 1809, in the province of Poltava, in South, or "Little," +Russia, and died at Moscow on March 3, 1852. His life was replete +with romantic episodes. After a short career on the stage, in St. +Petersburg, followed by the tenure of a minor Government office, he +returned to the South, and at once found his true vocation and achieved +a wide popularity by a collection of stories and sketches of Cossack +life, entitled "Evenings at a Farm House," which appeared in 1830. +Other "Cossack Tales" rapidly followed, including the famous "Taras +Bulba"; in recognition of which, and of his project for writing a +history of Russia in the Middle Ages, he was rewarded with a chair of +history at St. Petersburg. This he held but for a short time, however. +Turning his attention to comedy, Gogol now produced the drama "The +Inspector-General" ("Revizor") in 1836, the play achieving a tremendous +success on the stage in the spring of the same year, whilst in 1842 his +novel entitled "Dead Souls" embodied the fruits of the same idea in +fiction. The play is intended to bring a scathing indictment against +the corruptions and abuses of officialism and administration. The +following epitome has been prepared from the original Russian. + + + + +OLIVER GOLDSMITH[D] + + + + +She Stoops to Conquer + + +_Persons in the Play_ + + MR. HARDCASTLE MARLOW + + TONY LUMPKIN KATE HARDCASTLE + + HASTINGS SIR CHARLES MARLOW + + MRS. HARDCASTLE CONSTANCE NEVILLE + + SERVANTS + + + ACT I + + SCENE I.--MR. HARDCASTLE'S _house_. MR. _and_ MRS. HARDCASTLE. + + MRS. HARDCASTLE: I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, I hate such old-fashioned + trumpery. + + HARDCASTLE: And I love it; old friends, old times, old manners, old + books, old wine, and I believe you'll own I've been pretty fond of an + old wife. + + MRS. HARDCASTLE: Oh, you're for ever at your old wife. I'm not so old + as you'd make me. I was twenty when my son Tony was born, and he's not + come to years of discretion yet. + + HARDCASTLE: Nor ever will, I dare answer; you've taught him finely. + Alehouse and stable are his only schools. + + MRS. HARDCASTLE: Poor boy, anyone can see he's consumptive. + [TONY _is heard hallooing_. + + HARDCASTLE: Oh, very consumptive! + + [TONY _crosses, and_ MRS. HARDCASTLE _follows him out. Enter_ + KATE HARDCASTLE. + + HARDCASTLE: Blessings on my pretty innocence! What a quantity of + superfluous silk hast thou got about thee, girl! + + KATE: But in the evening I am to wear my housewife's dress to please + you; you know our agreement, sir. + + HARDCASTLE: By the bye, I shall have to try your obedience this very + evening. In fact, Kate, I expect the young gentleman I have chosen + to be your husband, this very day; and my old friend his father, Sir + Charles Marlow, soon after him. I shall not control your choice, but I + am told that he is of an excellent understanding. + + KATE: Is he? + + HARDCASTLE: Very generous. + + KATE: I believe I shall like him. + + HARDCASTLE: Young and brave. + + KATE: I'm sure I shall like him. + + HARDCASTLE: And very handsome. + + KATE: Say no more; he's mine. + + HARDCASTLE: And, to crown all, he's one of the most reserved and + bashful young fellows in the world. + + KATE: That word has undone all the rest, still I think I'll have him. + (_Exit_ HARDCASTLE.) Reserved and sheepish. Can't he be cured? (_Enter_ + MISS NEVILLE.) I'm glad you came, my dear. I am threatened with a + lover, the son of Sir Charles Marlow. + + MISS NEVILLE: The most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my admirer; + and such a character. Among ladies of reputation the modestest man + alive, but with others---- + + MISS HARDCASTLE: And has my mother been courting you for my brother + Tony, as usual? I could almost love him for hating you so. + + MISS NEVILLE: It is a good-natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure + would wish to see me married to anyone but himself. [_Exeunt_. + + + SCENE II.--_An alehouse_. TONY LUMPKIN _carousing with the village + riff-raff_. MARLOW _and_ HASTINGS _arrive, and inquire the + way to_ MR. HARDCASTLE'S _house_. TONY _tells them they + cannot possibly reach the house that night, but directs them + to it as an inn_. + + TONY: The old Buck's Head on the hill, one of the best inns in the + whole county. But the landlord is rich and just going to leave off + business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, and will be for giving + you his company. Ecod, he'll persuade you that his mother was an + alderman, and his aunt a justice of the peace. I'll just step myself, + and show you a piece of the way. + [_Exeunt._ + + + ACT II + + SCENE.--_The hall of_ HARDCASTLE'S _house_. MARLOW _and_ HASTINGS + _have just arrived at the supposed inn, and the supposed + innkeeper is paying hospitable attention to their belongings. + Enter_ MARLOW _and_ HASTINGS. + + HASTINGS: Upon my word, a very well-looking house; antique, but + creditable. + + MARLOW: The usual fate of a large mansion. Having just ruined the + master by good housekeeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as + an inn. + + HASTINGS: Good and bad, you have lived pretty much among them; and + yet, with all your experience you have never acquired any show of + assurance. How shall you behave to the lady you have come down to visit? + + MARLOW: As I behave to all other ladies. A barmaid, or a milliner--but + to me a modest woman dressed out in her finery is the most tremendous + object in creation. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty, but + I'll be hanged if a modest man can counterfeit impudence. I shall bow + very low, answer yes and no, and I don't think I shall venture to look + her in the face. The fact is, I have really come down to forward your + affair, not mine. Miss Neville loves you, the family don't know you, as + my friend you are sure of a reception, and----Here comes mine host to + interrupt us. + + [_Enter_ HARDCASTLE. + + HARDCASTLE: Heartily welcome once more, gentlemen; which is Mr. + Marlow? Sir, you are heartily welcome. + + MARLOW: He has got our names from the servants already. + + [MARLOW _and_ HASTINGS _converse together, ostentatiously + ignoring_ HARDCASTLE'S _attempts to join in + with a story of Marlborough at the siege of Denain_. + + MARLOW: My good friend, a glass of that punch would help us to carry + on the siege. + + HARDCASTLE: Punch sir! (_Aside_) This is the most unaccountable kind + of modesty I ever met with. Well, here, Mr. Marlow, here's to our better + acquaintance. + + MARLOW: A very impudent fellow, but a character; I'll humour him. + Sir, my service to you. (_They drink_.) Well, now, what have you in the + house for supper? + + HARDCASTLE: For supper! (_Aside_) Was ever such a request to a man in + his own house! + + MARLOW: Yes, sir; supper. I begin to feel an appetite. + + HARDCASTLE: Sure, such a brazen dog----Sir, I believe the bill of fare + is drawn out; you shall see it. (_The menu is produced and discussed in + scathing terms. Then_ MARLOW _insists on seeing himself that the beds + are properly aired_.) Well, sir, I will attend you. This may be modern + modesty, but I never saw anything so like old-fashioned impudence. + + [_Exeunt_ HARDCASTLE _and_ MARLOW. + + HASTINGS: This fellow's civilities begin to grow troublesome. + (_Enter_ MISS NEVILLE.) Miss Neville, by all that's happy! + + MISS NEVILLE: My dear Hastings! + + HASTINGS: But how could I have hoped to meet my dearest Constance + at an inn? + + MISS NEVILLE: An inn! You mistake. My aunt, my guardian, lives here. + How could you think this house an inn? + + HASTINGS: My friend, Mr. Marlow, and I were directed hither by a + young fellow---- + + MISS NEVILLE: One of my hopeful cousin's tricks. + + HASTINGS: We must keep up the deception with Marlow; else he will + fly. + + Hastings has planned to elope with Miss Neville; she wishes first to + get into her own hands her jewelry, which is in Mrs. Hardcastle's + possession. As they complete their plot Marlow enters. + + HASTINGS: My dear Marlow, the most fortunate event! Let me present + Miss Constance Neville. She and Miss Hardcastle have just alighted to + take fresh horses. Miss Hardcastle will be here directly. Isn't it + fortunate? + + MARLOW: Oh, yes; very fortunate, a most joyful encounter; but + our dresses, George! To-morrow will be every bit as convenient. Let it + be to-morrow. + + HASTINGS: Pshaw, man! Courage, courage! It is but the first plunge. + + [_Enter_ KATE _as from a walk_. HASTINGS _introduces them_. + + KATE (_after a pause_): I am glad of your safe arrival, sir. I am + told you had some accidents by the way. + + MARLOW: A few, madam. Yes, we had some. Yes, a good many. But should + be sorry, madam--I mean glad--of any accidents that are so agreeably + concluded. George, sure you won't go? + + HASTINGS: You don't consider, man, that we are to manage a little + _tete-a-tete_ of our own. + + [_Exeunt_ HASTINGS _and_ MISS NEVILLE. + + MARLOW: I am afraid, madam, I--hem--grow tiresome. + + KATE: Not at all, sir; there is nothing I like so much as grave + consideration. You were going to observe---- + + MARLOW: I was about to observe, madam--I was--I protest, I forgot---- + + KATE: Something about hypocrisy--this age of hypocrisy. + + MARLOW: Ah, yes. In this age of hypocrisy there are few who--a--a---- + But I see Miss Neville expects us; shall I---- + + KATE: I'll follow you. If I could teach him a little confidence! + [_Exeunt_. + + Mrs. Hardcastle, Miss Neville, Hastings and Tony enter. In pursuance + of their plot, Constance engages Tony in a determined flirtation, to + his extreme disgust, while Hastings wins the heart of Mrs. Hardcastle + by extravagant flatteries. On the pretext of bringing the "dear, + sweet, pretty, provoking, undutiful boy" to a better mind, Hastings + gets rid of the ladies, and then offers to take Miss Neville off + Tony's hands. Tony joyfully engages to help the elopement, and procure + Miss Neville's jewels. + + + ACT III + + SCENE.--_As before. Enter_ TONY _with a casket_. + + TONY: Ecod, I've got 'em. Cousin Con's necklaces, bobs and all. My + mother shan't cheat the poor souls out of their fortin. Here's (_enter_ + HASTINGS) your sweetheart's jewels. If I hadn't a key to every drawer + in my mother's bureau---- Never you mind me. Zounds, here she comes. + Keep 'em. Morrice! Prance! + + [_Exit_ HASTINGS. _Enter_ MISS NEVILLE, _and_ MRS. HARDCASTLE, + _who refuses to let her ward have her jewels_. + + MRS. HARDCASTLE: They are missing, I assure you. My son knows they + are missing, and not to be found. + + TONY: I can bear witness to that. I'll take my oath on't. + + MRS. HARDCASTLE: In the meantime you can use my garnets. [_Exit._ + + MISS NEVILLE: I detest garnets. + + TONY: Don't be a fool! If she gives 'em you, take what you can get. + I've stolen your jewels out of the bureau. She's found it out, ecod, + by the noise. Fly to your spark, and he'll tell you all about it. + Vanish! + [_Exit_ MISS NEVILLE. + + Kate has reported Marlow's bashfulness to Hardcastle, who has told + another tale. She has since learnt Marlow's blunder, and that he has + taken her in her "housewife's dress" for the barmaid. She has resolved + to test him in this character. She enters at the same time as Marlow, + who is studying his notebook. + + KATE: Did you call, sir? + + MARLOW (_not looking up_): No, child. + + KATE: Perhaps it was the other gentleman? + + MARLOW: No, no, child, I tell you! (_Looking up_.) That is--yes, I + think I did call. I vow, child, you're vastly handsome. + + KATE: Oh, la, sir, you'll make me ashamed! + + MARLOW: Suppose I should call for a taste of the nectar of your lips? + + KATE: Nectar? Nectar? We keep no French wines. (_He tries to kiss + her_.) Pray keep your distance. I'm sure you didn't treat Miss + Hardcastle so. Are you a favourite among the ladies? + + MARLOW: Yes, my dear. At the ladies' club up in town they call me + their Agreeable Rattle. Do you ever work, child? + + KATE: Ay, sure. There's not a screen or a quilt in the house but + bears witness to that. + + MARLOW: You must show me your embroidery. + + [_As he seizes her hand_, HARDCASTLE _enters. Exit_ MARLOW. + KATE _persuades her father to give her an hour to clear_ + MARLOW'S _character_. + + + ACT IV + + SCENE.--_As before_. HASTINGS _has passed over the jewels to_ MARLOW'S + _care. The unconscious_ MARLOW _has told him that the servant + by his order has placed them in charge of the landlady. Enter_ + HARDCASTLE, _solus_. + + HARDCASTLE: My house is turned topsy-turvy. His servants are drunk + already. For his father's sake, I'll be calm. (_Enter_ MARLOW.) Mr. + Marlow, sir, the conduct of your servants is insufferable. Their manner + of drinking is setting a very bad example. + + MARLOW: I protest, my good friend, that's no fault of mine. They had + my positive orders to drink as much as they could. + + HARDCASTLE: Zounds, I shall go distracted! I'll stand it no longer! + I desire that you and your drunken pack shall leave my house directly. + + MARLOW: Leave your house? I never heard such cursed impudence. Bring + me my bill. + + HARDCASTLE: Nor I, confound me if ever I did! + + MARLOW: My bill, I say. + + HARDCASTLE: Young man, young man, from your father's letter I + expected a well-bred, modest visitor, not a coxcomb and a bully. But he + will be down here presently, and shall hear more of it. [_Exit._ + + MARLOW: How's this? Surely I have not mistaken the house? Everything + looks like an inn. The barmaid, too. (_Enter_ KATE.) A word with you, + child. Who are you? + + KATE: A poor relation, sir, who looks after the guests. + + MARLOW: That is, you're the barmaid of this inn. + + KATE: Inn? Oh, la! What brought that into your head? Old Mr. + Hardcastle's house an inn! + + MARLOW: Mr. Hardcastle's house? Mr. Hardcastle's? So all's out. I + shall be laughed at over the whole town. To mistake this house of all + others--and my father's old friend. What must he think of me! And may I + be hanged, my dear, but I mistook you for the barmaid. I mistook--but + it's all over. This house I no more show my face in. By heaven, + she weeps! But the difference of our birth, fortune, education--an + honorable connection would be impossible, and I would never harbour a + thought of any other. Farewell. [_Exit_. + + KATE: He shall not go, if I have power to detain him. I will + undeceive my father, and he shall laugh him out of his resolution. + [_Exit_. + + The second couple are about to take flight without the jewels, by + Tony's help, when he receives a note from Hastings, which--not knowing + its source--he hands to his mother to decipher. She resolves to carry + Miss Neville off forthwith, to place her in charge of her old Aunt + Pedigree, in the coach prepared for the elopement. Tony being ordered + to attend them on horseback, hits on an expedient which he does not + reveal, but contents himself with bidding Hastings meet him two hours + hence in the garden. The party start on their journey. + + + ACT V + + SCENE I.--SIR CHARLES MARLOW _has arrived, and the two elders have been + making merry over the blunder; both are now eager for the + marriage. But they are mystified by_ MARLOW'S _assertion that + he is indifferent to_ MISS HARDCASTLE, _and his assertion is + corroborated by what_ HARDCASTLE _saw_. + + + SCENE II.--_The back of the garden. Enter_ TONY, _booted and spurred, + meeting_ HASTINGS. + + TONY: Ecod, five-and-twenty miles in two hours and a half is no such + bad driving. + + HASTINGS: But where are your fellow-passengers? Where have you left + the ladies? + + TONY: Why, where I found 'em! Led 'em astray, man. There's not a pond + or a slough within five miles of the place but they can tell the taste + of; and finished with the horsepond at the back of the garden. Mother's + confoundedly frightened, and thinks herself forty miles off. So now, if + your own horses be ready, you can whip off with my cousin, and no one + to budge an inch after you. + + HASTINGS: My dear friend, how can I be grateful. + + [_Exit_. + + TONY: Here she comes--got up from the pond. + + [_Enter_ MRS. HARDCASTLE. + + MRS. HARDCASTLE: Oh, Tony, I'm killed--shook--battered to death! + That last jolt has done for me. Whereabouts are we? + + TONY: Crackskull Common by my guess, forty miles from home. Don't be + afraid. Is that a man galloping behind us? Don't be afraid. + + MRS. HARDCASTLE: Oh, there's a man coming! We are undone! + + TONY (_aside_): Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky! Hide yourself, + and keep close; if I cough it will mean danger. + + [_Enter_ HARDCASTLE. + + HARDCASTLE: I am sure I heard voices. What, Tony? Are you back + already? (TONY _laughs_.) + + MRS. HARDCASTLE (_running forward_): Oh, lud; he'll murder my poor + boy! Here, good gentleman, whet your rage on me. Take my money, take + my life, good Mr. Highwayman, but spare my child. + + HARDCASTLE: Sure, Dorothy, you have lost your wits? This is one of + your tricks, you graceless rogue. Don't you remember me, and the + mulberry-tree, and the horsepond? + + MRS. HARDCASTLE: I shall remember it as long as I live. And this is + your doing--you---- + + TONY: Ecod, mother, all the parish says you've spoilt me, so you may + take the fruits on't. [_Exeunt_. + + Miss Neville thinks better of the elopement, and resolves to appeal + to Mr. Hardcastle's influence with his wife. This improved plan is + carried to a successful issue, with great satisfaction to Tony Lumpkin. + + + SCENE III.--_The hall_. SIR CHARLES MARLOW _and_ HARDCASTLE _witness, + from concealment, the formal proposal of_ MARLOW _to make + the supposed "poor relation" his wife. They break in_. + + SIR CHARLES: Charles, Charles, how thou hast deceived me! Is this + your indifference? + + HARDCASTLE: Your cold contempt? Your formal interview? What have you + to say? + + MARLOW: That I'm all amazement. What does it mean? + + HARDCASTLE: It means that you say and unsay things at pleasure; that + you can address a lady in private and deny it in public; that you have + one story for us and another for my daughter. + + MARLOW: Daughter? This lady your daughter? Oh, the devil! Oh--! + + KATE: In which of your characters may we address you? The faltering + gentleman who looks on the ground and hates hypocrisy, or the bold, + forward Agreeable Rattle of the ladies' club? + + MARLOW: Zounds, this is worse than death! I must be gone. + + HARDCASTLE: But you shall not! I see it was all a mistake. She'll + forgive you; we'll all forgive you. Courage, man! And if she makes as + good a wife as she has a daughter, I don't believe you'll ever repent + your bargain. So now to supper. To-morrow we shall gather all the poor + of this parish about us; the mistakes of the night shall be crowned + with a merry morning. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[D] The Life of Goldsmith, by John Forster, may be found in +Volume IX of the WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS (see also Vol. IV, p. 275). +"The Mistakes of a Night, or She Stoops to Conquer," appeared at Covent +Garden, in March, 1773. So convinced was George Colman that the public +would endure nothing but sentiment, that he could hardly be induced to +accept the play, and was extremely nervous about its success, almost +until the fall of the curtain on the first night. Nevertheless, its +success was immediate and decisive, and it became established as a +stock piece. The play loses nothing by the suppression of sentimental +passages between Hastings and Miss Neville, without which Colman +would certainly have declined it altogether. Apart from the main +argument--the wooing of Kate Hardcastle--the plot turns on the points +that Tony Lumpkin is the son of Mrs. Hardcastle by her first marriage, +and that Constance Neville is her niece and ward, not her husband's. + + + + +HEINRICH HEINE[E] + + + + +Atta Troll + +_A Summer Night's Dream_ + + +I + + In the valley lies attractive Cauterets. The shining houses + Gay with balconies, and on them + Stand fair ladies loudly laughing. + + Laughing as they look beneath them + On the brightly swarming market, + Where are dancing bear and she-bear + To the droning of the bagpipes. + + Atta Troll and his good lady, + Whom the people call black Mumma, + Are the dancers; the Biscayans + Shout aloud in admiration. + + Atta Troll, who once paraded + Like a mighty lord of deserts, + Free upon the mountain summit, + Dances in the vale to rabble! + + Both the music and the laughter + Quickly cease, and shrieking loudly, + From the market fly the people, + And the ladies they are fainting. + + Yes, the slavish chain that bound him + Suddenly hath rent asunder + Atta Troll. And, wildly springing, + Up the rocks he nimbly clambers. + + In the empty market standing, + All alone are left black Mumma + And the keeper. Wild with fury + On the ground his hat he dashes. + + On the wretched poor black Mumma + Falls this much-enraged one's fury + Doubly down at last; he beats her, + Then he calls her Queen Christina. + + +II + + In the vale of Ronceval + Not far off from Roland's cleft, + And by savage fir-trees hidden, + Lies the cave of Atta Troll. + + In the bosom of his family, + There he rests from all his hardships. + Tender meeting! All his young ones + Found he in the well-loved cavern: + + Well-licked, lady-like young bears, + Blonde their hair, like parson's daughters; + Brown the boys, the youngest only + With the single ear is black. + + Gladly now relates the old one + What he's in the world experienced, + Of the overwhelming plaudits + Reaped by his great skill in dancing. + + Overcome by self-laudation, + Now he calls on deeds to witness + That he is no wretched boaster, + That he's really great at dancing. + + +III + + In the caverns with his offspring, + Sick at heart, upon his back lies + Atta Troll; in meditation + Licks his paws, and, licking, growls: + + "Mumma, Mumma, pearl of blackness, + Whom I fished from out life's ocean, + Is it thus that in life's ocean + I am forced again to lose thee! + + "Might I only once more sniffle + That sweet odour, the peculiar, + Of my black, my darling Mumma, + Fragrant as the scent of roses! + + "But, alas! my Mumma pineth + In the fetters of those rascals, + Who, the name of Men assuming, + Call themselves Creation's lords. + + "Mankind, are ye any better + Than we others, just because ye + Boiled and baked devour your victuals? + In a raw state we eat ours. + + "Children," grumbles Atta Troll, + "Children, we must seize the future! + If each bear but thought as I do, + We should soon subdue the tyrants. + + "Let the boar but form alliance + With the horse, the elephant + Coil his trunk with love fraternal + Round the valiant bullock's horn; + + "Bear and wolf of every colour, + Goat and monkey; even hares, too, + Let them work awhile together, + And the victory cannot fail us. + + "Equal rights for all God's creatures, + Be our fundamental maxim; + Absolutely no distinction + In belief, or skin, or smell. + + "Strict equality! Ev'ry jackass + Competent for highest office; + On the other hand, the lion + Trotting with the corn to grind." + + +IV + + Many an honest, virtuous burgher + Lives on earth in evil odour, + Whilst your princely people reek of + Lavender and ambergris. + + Therefore do not make wry faces, + Gentle reader, if the cave of + Atta Troll should not remind you + Of the spices of Arabia. + + Tarry with me in the steamy + Confines in the dismal odour, + Where the hero to his youngest + Speaks as if from out a cloud: + + "Ever shun men's ways of thinking! + Not a creature that is decent + Can be found among these creatures. + Even Germans, once much better, + + "In primeval times our cousins, + These alike are now degen'rate: + Traitors to their creed and godless, + Now they preach e'en atheism! + + "Only be no atheist, + Like a non-bear who respects not + His great Maker--Yes, a Maker + Hath this universe created. + + "Yonder in the starred pavilion, + On the golden throne of power, + World-controlling and majestic, + Sits a giant Polar bear. + + "At his feet are sitting gentle + Sainted bears, who in their life-time + Uncomplaining suffered; in their + Paws the palm of martyrdom. + + "Shall I ever, drunk with heaven, + Yonder in the starred pavilion, + With the Glory, with the palm-branch, + Dance before the throne of God?" + + +V + + Figures twain, morose and baleful, + And on all-fours slowly creeping, + Break themselves a gloomy passage + Through the underwood at midnight. + + That is Atta Troll, the father, + And his son, young Master One-Ear. + "This old stone"--growls Atta Troll-- + "Is the altar, where the Druids + + "In the days of superstition + Human sacrifices butchered. + Oh, the overwhelming horror! + Shedding blood to honour God! + + "Now indeed far more enlightened + Are these men--they only murder + Now from selfishness and grasping. + Each one plunders for himself! + + "Nature never yet created + Owners, no--for void of pockets, + Not a pocket in our fur coats, + We were born, the whole of us. + + "Only man, that smooth-skinned being, + Could in borrowed wool, so artful, + Dress himself, or could, so artful, + Thus provide himself with pockets. + + "Be the mortal foe of all such + Fierce oppressors, reconcileless, + To the end of thy existence-- + Swear it, swear it here, my son!" + + And the youngest swore as once did + Hannibal. The moon illumined + With her yellow light the Blood-stone, + And the pair of misanthropes. + + +VI + + I was early one fine morning + With Lascaro setting forward + On the bear-hunt. And at mid-day + We arrived at Pont-d'Espagne. + + Evening shades were dark'ning round us + When we reached the wretched hostel, + Where the Ollea-Podrida + Steamed up from the dirty soup-dish. + + Corresponding to the kitchen + Was the bed. It swarmed with insects, + Just as if it had been peppered!-- + Bugs are man's most mortal foe. + + What a raving with these poets, + E'en the tame ones! Why, they never + Cease to sing and say, that Nature + Is the Maker's mighty temple. + + Well, so be it, charming people! + But confess that in this temple + All the stairs are slightly awkward. + Miserably bad the stairs! + + Close beside me strides Lascaro, + Pale and long, just like a taper; + Never speaking, never smiling, + He, the dead son of a witch. + + Yes, 'tis said, he is a dead one, + Long defunct, although his mother, + Old Uraka, by enchantments + Keeps him living to appearance. + + In the little fishing cottage, + On the Lac-de-Gobe we met with + Shelter and some trout for dinner; + And they tasted quite delicious. + + If the stuff I drank was really + Wine, at this same Lac-de-Gobe, + I know not. I think in Brunswick + They would simply call it swipes. + + +VII + + From the sunny golden background + Smile the violet mountain peaks, + On the ridge there clings a village, + Like a boldly ventured birds'-nest. + + Having climbed there, 'twas apparent + That the old ones wing had taken, + And behind were tarrying only + All the young brood, not yet fledged. + + Nearly all that day I lingered + With the children, and we chatted + Quite familiar. They were curious + Who I was, what I was doing? + + "Germany, dear friends"--so said I-- + "Is the land where I was born; + Bears live there in any number, + And I took to hunting bears. + + "There I drew the skin for many + Over very bearish ears; + And between them I was sometimes + Roughly by their bear claws handled. + + "But with merely unlicked blockheads + Every day to be contending + In my well-loved home, at last I + Found to be too much for me. + + "So at last have journeyed hither, + Seeking out some better sport; + I intend to try my prowess + On the mighty Atta Troll." + + +VIII + + Like a narrow street the valley, + And its name is Spectre Hollow; + Rugged crags rise up abruptly + Either side of giddy heights. + + On a dizzy, steep projection, + Peeping downwards, like a watch-tower, + Stands Uraka's daring cottage; + Thither I Lascaro followed. + + With his mother he took counsel, + Using secret signs as language, + How might Atta Troll be tempted, + How he might be put to death. + + For right well had we his traces + Followed up. And now no longer + Dare escape be thought of. Numbered + Are thy days, O Atta Troll! + + What Uraka as her lawful + Business followed, that was honest; + For she dealt in mountain simples + And she also sold stuffed birds. + + Full of all these natural wonders + Was the hut. The smell was dreadful + Of the henbane, cuckoo-flowers, + Dandelion and deadmen's fingers. + + Vultures, too, a large collection, + Carefully arranged on all sides, + With the wings at full extended + And the most enormous beaks. + + Was't the odour of the foolish + Plants which stupefied my senses? + Strange sensations crept about me + At the sight of all these birds. + + +IX + + Argonauts without a ship, + Who on foot the mountain traverse, + And instead of golden fleeces + Only look to win a bear-skin + + Ah, we are but sorry devils! + Heroes of a modern pattern, + And there's not a classic poet + Would in song immortalise us! + + And for all that we have suffered + Mighty hardships! What a shower + Overtook us on the summit, + And no tree and no _fiacre_! + + Tired to death, and out of humour, + Like two well-drenched poodles, once more, + Very late at night, we clambered + To the witch's hut above. + + Shivering, and with teeth a-chatter, + Near the hearth I stood awhile; + Then, as though the warmth o'ercame me, + Sank at last upon the straw. + + How the roaring of the chimney + Terrified me. Like the moaning + Of poor, wretched, dried-up souls-- + Quite familiar seemed the voices. + + Sleep completely overcame me + In the end, and then in place of + Waking phantasm, rose before me + Quite a wholesome, firm-set dream. + + And I dreamed the little cottage + Suddenly became a ballroom. + Carried up aloft on pillars + And by chandeliers illumined. + + Then invisible musicians + Struck up from "Robert le Diable" + That ungodly dance of nuns; + I was walking all alone there. + + But at last the portals open + Of themselves, and then come marching, + Measured footsteps, slow and solemn, + Most extraordinary guests. + + Nothing now but bears and spectres, + Walking upright, every he-bear + On the arm a ghost conducted, + Muffled in a long white shroud. + + Sometimes in the dance's bustle, + Tore a bear the burial garment + Off the head of his companion; + Lo! a death's-head came to view. + + But at last sounds forth a joyous + Crashing of the horns and cymbals; + And the kettle-drums they thunder, + And there came the galopade. + + This I did not dream the end of-- + For a most ill-mannered bruin + Trod upon my favourite corn, + So that, shrieking out, I woke. + + +X + + In the cavern, with his offspring, + Atta Troll lies, and he slumbers + With the snoring of the righteous; + But at last he wakes up yawning. + + "Children!"--sighs he, whilst are trickling + Tears from those large eyes unbidden-- + "Children! Finished is my earthly + Pilgrimage, and we must part. + + "Just at mid-day whilst I slumbered + Came a dream, which has its meaning. + Then my spirit sweetly tasted + Omens of my coming death. + + "On the world and fate reflecting, + Yawning I had fallen asleep, + When I dreamed that I was lying + Underneath a lofty tree. + + "From the tree's o'erspreading branches + Dribbled down transparent honey. + Joyous blinking, up above me + Seven little bears I noticed. + + "Tender, graceful little creatures, + Rosy coloured were their fur coats, + As they clambered; from their shoulders + Just like silk two wings were sprouting. + + "And with soft and supernatural + Flute-like voices they were singing! + While thus singing, icy coldness + Crept throughout my skin, and flame-like + + "From my skin my soul departed; + Soared in brightness up to heaven." + Thus in tender words and falt'ring + Grunted Atta Troll. His ears then + + Pricked themselves and strangely worked, + And from his repose he started, + Trembling, and with rapture bellowing, + "Children, do ye hear those sounds? + + "Is it not the voice melodious + Of your mother? Oh, I know it, + 'Tis the growling of my Mumma! + Mumma! Yes, my own black Mumma!" + + Atta Troll, whilst these words utt'ring, + Like a madman headlong bounded + From the cavern to destruction! + Ah! he rushed upon his doom! + + In the vale of Ronceval, + On the very spot where whilom + Charlemagne's peerless nephew + Gasped away his fleeting spirit, + + There fell also Atta Troll, + Fell through treason, like the other, + Whom the traitor, knighthood's Judas, + Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed. + + +XI + + Four gigantic men in triumph + Brought along the slaughtered Bear. + Upright sat he in an armchair, + Like a patient at the hot-wells. + + That same day soon after skinning + Atta Troll, they up to auction + Put the skin. For just a hundred + Francs a furrier purchased it. + + Elegantly then he trimmed it, + And he edged it round with scarlet, + And again he sold it quickly + Just for double what it cost. + + So, at last, third hand possessed it-- + Julietta, and at Paris + It reposes in her chamber, + Serving as a bed-side carpet. + + What of Mumma? Ah, the Mumma + Is a poor weak woman! Frailty + Is her name! Alas, the women + Are as so much porcelain frail. + + When the hand of Fate had parted + Mumma from her noble husband, + Neither did she die of sorrow, + Nor succumb to melancholy. + + And at last a fixed appointment, + And for life a safe provision, + Far away she found at Paris + In the famed Jardin des Plantes. + + Sunday last as I was walking + In the gardens with Julietta, + By the railing round the bear-pit-- + Gracious Heavens! What saw we there! + + 'Twas a powerful desert bear + From Siberia, snow-white coated, + Playing there an over-tender, + Amorous game with some black she-bear. + + And, by Jupiter! 'twas Mumma! + 'Twas the wife of Atta Troll! + I remember her distinctly + By the moist eye's tender glances. + + +XII + + Where in heaven, Master Louis, + Have you all this crazy nonsense + Scraped together? Such the question + Of the Cardinal of Este, + + After having read the poem + Of Rolando's frenzied doings, + Which Ariosto with submission + To his Eminence dedicated. + + Yes, Varnhagen, worthy friend, + Yes, I see the same words nearly + On thy lips this moment hanging + With the same sarcastic smile. + + "Sounds this not like youthful visions, + Which I once dreamt with Chamisso + And Brentano and Fouque, + On those deep-blue moonlight evenings?" + + Yes, my friend, it is the echo + Of those long-forgotten dream-days; + Only that a modern trilling + Mingles with the ancient cadence. + + Other seasons, other songsters! + Other songsters, other ditties! + What a cackling, as of geese, which + Once preserved the Capitol! + + Other seasons, other songsters! + Other songsters, other ditties! + I might take a pleasure also + In them had I other ears! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[E] Heinrich Heine was born on December 13, 1797, at +Duesseldorf, the son of Jewish parents. After quitting school he was +sent to Frankfort to the banking establishment of an uncle, but a +commercial career failed to appeal to him, and in 1819 he entered the +University of Bonn, with a view of studying for law. His thoughts, +however, were given to poetry; and 1822 saw the publication of his +first volume of poems. Up to this time he was largely dependent upon +the generosity of his uncle. Thus, in order to fulfil his obligations, +he entered the University of Goettingen, where he obtained his degree of +law, having previously qualified himself for practice by renouncing the +Jewish faith for Christianity. A voluminous prose-writer, a wonderful +satirist, and an ardent politician, Heine's present-day fame rests +largely on his poetry, and especially the wonderful lyrical pieces. +"Atta Troll" (1846), which has been described as the "Swan-song of +Romanticism," was written in the hey-day of his activities, and +admirably conveys something of the temper and genius of its many-sided +author. Heine died on February 17. 1856. + + + + +HOMER[F] + + + + +The Iliad + + +_I.--Of the Wrath of Achilles; and of Hector_ + + Achilles' baneful wrath resound, O goddess, that impos'd + Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls loos'd. + From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave + That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave; + To all which Jove's will gave effect; from whom strife first begun + Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis' god-like son. + + To appease Phoebus, Agamemnon restored the captive daughter of the + sun-god's priest, allotted to him for spoil; but took Briseis from + Achilles to replace her. Achilles vowed to render no more aid to the + Greeks, telling his mother, the sea-nymph Thetis, what had befallen, + calling on Jove to aid his vengeance. + + So Peleus' son, swift-foot Achilles, at his swift ship sate, + Burning in wrath, nor ever came to councils of estate + That make men honour'd, never trod the fierce embattled field, + But kept close, and his lov'd heart pined, what fight and cries + could yield, + Thirsting at all parts to the host. + + To satisfy Thetis, Jupiter sent a false dream to Agamemnon, the king + of men, persuading him that Troy should now fall to his attack. + Beguiled by the dream, Agamemnon set forth in battle array the whole + Greek host, save that Achilles and his followers were absent. And the + whole host of Troy came forth to meet them. Then Menelaus challenged + Paris to single combat; for the twain were the cause of the war, + seeing that Paris had stolen away Helen, the wife of Menelaus. Truce + was struck while the combat should take place. Paris hurled his + javelin, but did not pierce his foe's shield; Menelaus, having called + on Jove, + + Shook and threw his lance; which struck through Paris' shield, + And with the strength he gave to it, it made the curets yield, + His coat of mail, his breast; yet he prevented sable death. + This taint he followed with his sword, drawn from a silver sheath, + Which lifting high, he struck his helm full where the plume did stand, + On which it piecemeal brake, and fell from his unhappy hand ... + "Lo, now my lance hath missed his end, my sword in shivers flew, + And he 'scapes all." With this again he rushed upon his guest, + And caught him by the horse-hair plume that dangled on his crest, + With thought to drag him to the Greeks; which he had surely done, + And so, besides the victory, had wondrous glory won. + But Cyprian Venus brake the string; and so the victor's palm + Was, for so full a man at arms, only an empty helm. + That then he swung about his head, and cast among his friends, + Who scrambled and took it up with shouts. Again then he intends + To force the life-blood of his foe, and ran on him amain, + With shaken jav'lin; when the queen that lovers love, again + Attended and now ravish'd him from that encounter quite, + With ease, and wondrous suddenly; for she, a goddess, might. + She hid him in a cloud of gold, and never made him known + Till in his chamber fresh and sweet she gently set him down. + + Thereupon the truce was treacherously broken by Pandarus, who, incited + by Minerva, wounded Menelaus with an arrow; and the armies closed with + each other. Great deeds were done by Diomedes on the Greek side. But + Hector had gone back to Troy to rouse Paris; on the walls his wife + Andromache saw him. + + She ran to Hector, and with her, tender of heart and hand, + Her son borne in his nurse's arms; when, like a heavenly sign + Compact of many golden stars, the princely child did shine. + Hector, though grief bereft his speech, yet smiled upon his joy. + Andromache cried out, mix'd hands, and to the strength of Troy + Thus wept forth her affection: "O noblest in desire! + Thy mind inflamed with other's good will set thyself on fire. + Nor pitiest thou my son, nor wife, that must thy widow be + If now thou issue; all the field will only run on thee." + "Nay," answered he; "but in this fire must Hector's trial shine; + Here must his country, father, friends, be made in him divine. + Yet such a stormy day shall come (in mind and soul I know), + When sacred Troy shall shed her towers for tears of overthrow; + When Priam, all his birth and power, shall in those tears be drown'd. + But neither Troy's posterity so much my soul doth wound, + Priam nor Hecuba herself, nor all my brother's woes, + (Who, though so many, and so good must all be food for foes), + As thy sad state; when some rude Greek shall lead thee weeping hence, + These free days clouded, and a night of captive violence + Loading thy temples, out of which thine eyes must never see, + But spin the Greek wives webs of task, and their fetch-water be." + This said, he reached to take his son; who of his arms afraid, + And then the horse-hair plume, with which he was so overlaid, + Nodded so horribly, he cling'd back to his nurse and cried. + Laughter affected his great sire, who doff'd and laid aside + His fearful helm, that on the earth cast round about its light; + Then took and kiss'd his loving son. "Afflict me not, dear wife, + With these vain griefs. He doth not live that can disjoin my life + And this firm bosom, but my fate; and fate whose wings can fly? + Noble, ignoble, fate controls. Once born, the best must die." + + +II.--_Of the Battle by the Ships_ + + After this, Hector fought with Ajax, and neither had the better. And + after that the Greeks set a rampart and a ditch about their ships. + Also, Agamemnon would have bidden the Greeks depart altogether, but + Diomedes withstood him. And in the fighting that followed, Agamemnon + showed himself the best man among the Greeks, seeing that neither + Achilles nor Diomedes joined the fray; and the Trojans had the better, + driving the Greeks back to the rampart, and bursting through, so that + they were like to have burnt the Greek ships where they lay, led on by + Hector. To and fro swayed the tide of battle; for while Jove slept, + Neptune and Juno gave force and courage to the Greeks, and the Trojans + were borne back; Hector being sore hurt with a stone cast by Ajax. But + Jove, awaking, restored Hector's strength, sending Apollo to him. Then + Apollo and Hector led + + The Trojan forces. The Greeks stood. A fervent clamour spread + The air on both sides as they joined. Out flew the shafts and darts, + Some falling short, but other some found butts in breasts and hearts. + As long as Phoebus held but out his horrid shield, so long + The darts flew raging either way, and death grew both ways strong. + But when the Greeks had seen his face, and who it was that shook + The bristled targe, known by his voice, then all their strength forsook + Their nerves and minds. And then look how a goodly herd of neat, + Or wealthy flock of sheep, being close, and dreadless at their meat, + In some black midnight, suddenly, and not a keeper near, + A brace of horrid bears rush in, and then fly here and there. + The poor affrighted flocks or herds, so every way dispersed + The heartless Grecians, so the Sun their headlong chase reversed + To headlong flight, and that day rais'd with all grace Hector's head. + ... When Hector saw his sister's son lie slaughtered in the sand, + He called to all his friends, and prayed they would not in that strait + Forsake his nephew, but maintain about his corse the fight, + And save it from the spoil of Greece. + + The archery of Teucer, brother of Ajax, was dealing destruction among + the Trojans, when Jove broke the bow-string; and thereafter the god + stirred + + With such addition of his spirit the spirit Hector bore + To burn the fleet, that of itself was hot enough before. + But now he fared like Mars himself, so brandishing his lance + As through the deep shades of a wood a raging fire should glance, + Held up to all eyes by a hill; about his lips a foam + Stood, as when th' ocean is enraged; his eyes were overcome + With fervour, and resembled flames, set off by his dark brows, + And from his temples his bright helm abhorred lightnings throws. + He, girt in fire borne for the fleet, still rushed at every troop, + And fell upon it like a wave, high raised, that then doth stoop + Out from the clouds, grows as it stoops with storms, then down doth + come And cuff a ship, when all her sides are hid in brackish foam, + Strong gales still raging in her sails, her sailors' minds dismay'd, + Death being but little from their lives; so Jovelike Hector fray'd + And plied the Greeks, who knew not what would chance, for all their + guards. And as the baneful king of beasts, leapt in to oxen herds Fed + in the meadows of a fen exceeding great, the beasts In number infinite, + 'mongst whom (their herdsmen wanting breasts To fight with lions for + the price of a black ox's life) He here and there jumps first and last, + in his bloodthirsty strife; Chased and assaulted, and at length down in + the midst goes one, And all the rest 'sperst through the fen; so now + all Greece was gone. + + On the Grecian side Ajax + + Stalked here and there, and in his hand a huge great bead-hook held, + Twelve cubits long, and full of iron. And then again there grew + A bitter conflict at the fleet. You would have said none drew + A weary breath, nor ever did, they laid so freshly on. + + It seemed that even Ajax would be overborne. But Patroclus, the loved + friend of Achilles, saw this destruction coming upon the Greeks, and + he earnestly besought Achilles, if he would not be moved to sally + forth to the rescue himself, to suffer him to go out against the + Trojans, bearing the arms of Achilles and leading his Myrmidons into + the fray. Which leave Achilles granted him. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[F] Of the personality of Homer, the maker of the "Iliad" and +the "Odyssey," those great epic poems which were the common heritage +of all Greeks, we have no knowledge. Tradition pictures him as blind +and old. Seven cities claimed to be his birthplace. Probably he lived +in the ninth century B.C., since the particular stages of social life +which he portrays probably belong to that era. Beyond this, all is +conjecture. The poems were not written down till a later date, when +their authorship was already a matter of tradition; and when what +we may call the canon of the text of the epics was laid down in the +sixth century B.C., it may be readily supposed that they were not in +the exact form which the master-poet himself had given them. Hence +the ingenuity of the modern commentator has endeavoured to resolve +Homer into an indefinite number of ballad-mongers, whose ballads were +edited into their existing unity. On the whole, this view may be called +Teutonic. Of the "Iliad," it suffices to say that it relates events +immediately preceding the fall of Troy, at the close of the tenth year +of the siege undertaken by the Greeks on account of the abduction of +Helen from Menelaus by Paris. Of Chapman's translation we shall speak +in the introduction to the "Odyssey." + + +_III_.--_Of Patroclus, and the Rousing of Achilles_ + + Bearing the armour of Achilles, save the spear which none other could + wield, Patroclus sped forth, leading the Myrmidons. + + And when ye see upon a mountain bred + A den of wolves about whose hearts unmeasured strengths are fed, + New come from currie of a stag, their jaws all blood-besmeared, + And when from some black-water fount they all together herd, + There having plentifully lapped with thin and thrust-out tongues + The top and clearest of the spring, go, belching from their lungs + The clottered gore, look dreadfully, and entertain no dread, + Their bellies gaunt, all taken up with being so rawly fed; + Then say that such in strength and look, were great Achilles' men + Now ordered for the dreadful fight. + + The Trojans, taking Patroclus for Achilles, were now driven before + him and the other Grecian chiefs. Patroclus slew Sarpedon, king of + Lycia, and the fight raged furiously about the corse. The Trojans + fled, Patroclus pursued. At last Phoebus Apollo smote his armour from + him; Euphorbus thrust him through from behind, and Hector slew him. + Ajax and Menelaus came to rescue Patroclus' body; Hector fled, but + had already stripped off the armour of Achilles, which he now put on + in place of his own. Again the battle waxed furious about the dead + Patroclus until Menelaus and Meriones bore the corpse while the two + Ajaces stood guard. + + Now, when the ill news was brought to Achilles, he fell into a great + passion of grief; which lamentation Thetis, his mother, heard from + the sea-deeps; and came to him, bidding him not go forth to the war + till she had brought him new armour from Vulcan. Nevertheless, at the + bidding of Iris, he arose: + + And forth the wall he stepped and stood, and sent abroad his voice; + Which Pallas far-off echoed, who did betwixt them noise + Shrill tumult to a topless height. His brazen voice once heard, The + minds of all were startled, so they yielded. Thrice he spake, And + thrice, in heat of all the charge, the Trojans started back. + + In this wise was the dead Patroclus brought back to Achilles. But + Thetis went to Vulcan and besought him, and he wrought new armour for + Achilles--a shield most marvellous, and a cuirass and helmet--which + she bore to her son. And the wrath of Achilles against Agamemnon was + assuaged; and they two were reconciled at a gathering of the chiefs. + And when by the counsel of Ulysses they had all well broken their + fast, the Greeks went forth to the battle, Achilles leading. Now, in + this contest, by Jove's decree, all the Olympian gods were suffered to + take part. + + And thus the bless'd gods both sides urged; they all stood in the + midst + And brake contention to their hosts. And over all their heads + The gods' king in abhorred claps his thunder rattled out. + Beneath them, Neptune tossed the earth; the mountains round about + Bowed with affright and shook their heads, Jove's hill the earthquake + felt, + Steep Ida trembling at her roots, and all her fountains spilt, + With crannied brows; the infernal king, that all things frays, was + fray'd + When this black battle of the gods was joining. Thus array'd + 'Gainst Neptune Phoebus with winged shafts, 'gainst Mars the blue-eyed + maid, + 'Gainst Juno Phoebe, whose white hands bore stinging darts of gold, + Her side armed with a sheaf of shafts, and (by the birth two-fold + Of bright Latona) sister-twin to him that shoots so far. Against + Latona, Hermes stood, grave guard in peace and war Of human beings. + Against the god whose empire is on fire, The wat'ry godhead, that + great flood, to show whose pow'r entire In spoil as th' other, all his + streams on lurking whirlpits trod, Xanthus by gods, by men Scamander + called. Thus god 'gainst god Entered the field. + + +_IV_.--_Of Achilles and Hector_ + + Now Achilles fell upon the Trojan host, slaying one after another of + their mighty men; but AEneas and Hector the gods shielded from him. + Twelve he took captive, to sacrifice at the funeral of Patroclus. And + he would have stormed into Troy itself but that Phoebus deceived him, + and all the Trojans fled within the walls save Hector. But when he saw + Achilles coming, cold fear shook Hector from his stand. + + No more stay now, all posts we've left, he fled in fear the hand + Of that Fear-Master, who, hawk-like, air's swiftest passenger, + That holds a timorous dove in chase, and with command doth bear + His fiery onset, the dove hastes, the hawk comes whizzing on. + This way and that he turns and winds and cuffs the pigeon: + So urged Achilles Hector's flight. + + They ran thrice about the walls, until Hector, beguiled by Athene in + the form of his brother Deiphobus, stayed to fight Achilles. Having + cast his lance in vain, + + Then forth his sword flew, sharp and broad, and bore a deadly weight, + With which he rushed in. And look how an eagle from her height + Stoops to the rapture of a lamb, or cuffs a timorous hare; + So fell in Hector; and at him Achilles. + + Achilles smote Hector through with his javelin, and thus death closed + his eyes. Then, in his wrath for the death of Patroclus, Achilles + bound the dead Hector by his feet to his chariot, + + And scourged on his horse that freely flew; + A whirlwind made of startled dust drave with them as they drew, + With which were all his black-brown curls knotted in heaps and fill'd. + + Which piteous sight was seen from the walls by Priam and Hecuba; but + Andromache did not know that Hector had stayed without, until the + clamour flew + + Up to her turret; then she shook; her work fell from her hand, + And up she started, called her maids; she needs must understand + That ominous outcry. "Come," said she; then fury-like she went, + Two women, as she willed, at hand, and made her quick ascent + Up to the tower and press of men, her spirit in uproar. Round + She cast her greedy eye, and saw her Hector slain, and bound + T'Achilles' chariot, manlessly dragged to the Grecian fleet. + Black night struck through her, under her trance took away her feet. + + Thus all Troy mourned; but Achilles dragged the slain Hector to the + slain Patroclus, and did despite to his body in his wrath; and made + ready to hold high obsequies for his friend. And on the morrow + + They raised a huge pile, and to arms went every Myrmidon, + Charged by Achilles; chariots and horse were harnessed, + Fighters and charioteers got up, and they the sad march led, + A cloud of infinite foot behind. In midst of all was borne + Patroclus' person by his peers. + + Fit feastings were held, and games with rich prizes, racings and + wrestlings, wherein the might of Ajax could not overcome the skill + of Ulysses, nor his skill the might of Ajax. Then Thetis by the will + of the gods bade Achilles cease from his wrath against Hector; and + suffer the Trojans to redeem his body for a ransom. And Iris came to + Priam where the old king sate: the princesses his seed, the princesses + his sons' fair wives, all mourning by. She bade him offer ransom + to Achilles; and then, guided by Hermes, Priam came to the tent of + Achilles, bearing rich gifts, and he kneeled before him, clasping his + knees, and besought him, saying: + + "Pity an old man like thy sire, different in only this, + That I am wretcheder, and bear that weight of miseries + That never man did, my cursed lips enforced to kiss that hand + That slew my children." At his feet he laid his reverend head. + Achilles' thoughts now with his sire, now with his friend were fed. + + Moved by compassion, and by the message which Thetis had brought + him, Achilles accepted the ransom, and suffered Priam to bear away + the body, granting a twelve days' truce. And Troy mourned for him, + Andromache lamenting and Hecuba, his mother. And on this wise spake + Helen herself. + + "O Hector, all my brothers more were not so loved of me + As thy most virtues. Not my lord I held so dear as thee, + + That brought me hither; before which I would I had been brought + To ruin; for what breeds that wish, which is the mischief wrought + By my access, yet never found one harsh taunt, one word's ill + From thy sweet carriage. Twenty years do now their circles fill + Since my arrival; all which time thou didst not only bear + Thyself without check, but all else that my lord's brothers were. + Their sisters' lords, sisters themselves, the queen, my mother-in-law + (The king being never but most mild) when thy man's spirit saw + Sour and reproachful, it would still reprove their bitterness + With sweet words and thy gentle soul." + + So the body of Hector was laid upon the fire, and was burnt; and his + ashes were gathered into an urn of gold and laid in a grave. + + + + +The Odyssey[G] + + +_I_.--_How Ulysses Came to Phaeacia, and of Nausicaa_ + + Years had passed since the fall of Troy, yet alone Ulysses came not + to his home in Ithaca. Therefore many suitors came to woo his wife + Penelope, devouring his substance with riotous living, sorely grieving + her heart, and that of her young son, Telemachus. But Ulysses the + nymph Calypso had held for seven years an unwilling guest in the + island of Ogygia. And now the gods were minded to bring home the man-- + + That wandered wondrous far, when he the town + Of sacred Troy had sacked and shivered down; + The cities of a world of nations + With all their manners, minds, and fashions + He was and knew; at sea felt many woes, + Much care sustained to save from overthrows + Himself and friends in their retreat for home; + But so their fates he could not overcome. + + Then came Pallas Athene to Telemachus, and bade him take ship that he + might get tidings of his sire. And he spake words of reproach to the + company of suitors. To whom + + Antinous only in this sort replied: + "High-spoken, and of spirit unpacified, + How have you shamed us in this speech of yours! + Will you brand us for an offence not ours? + Your mother, first in craft, is first in cause. + Three years are past, and near the fourth now draws, + Since first she mocked the peers Achaian; + All she made hope, and promised every man." + + The suitors suffered Telemachus to depart, though they repented after; + and he came with Athene, in disguise of Mentor, to Nestor at Pylos, + and thence to Menelaus at Sparta, who told him how he had laid hold on + Proteus, the seer, and learnt from him first of the slaying of his own + brother Agamemnon; and, secondly, concerning Ulysses, + + Laertes' son; whom I beheld + In nymph Calypso's palace, who compell'd + His stay with her, and since he could not see + His country earth, he mourned incessantly. + + Laden with rich gifts, Telemachus set out on his return home, while + the suitors sought to way-lay him. And, meantime. Calypso, warned + by Hermes, let Ulysses depart from Ogygia on a raft. Which, being + overwhelmed by storms, he yet made shore on the isle of Phaeacia; + where, finding shelter, he fell asleep. But Pallas visited the + Princess Nausicaa in a dream. + + Straight rose the lovely morn, that up did raise + Fair-veiled Nausicaa, whose dream her praise + To admiration took. + + She went with her maidens, with raiment for cleansing, to the river, + where, having washed the garments, + + They bathed themselves, and all with glittering oil + Smoothed their white skins, refreshing then their toil + With pleasant dinner. Then Nausicaa, + With other virgins did at stool-ball play, + Their shoulder-reaching head-tires laying by. + Nausicaa, with wrists of ivory, + The liking stroke struck, singing first a song, + As custom ordered, and, amidst the throng, + Nausicaa, whom never husband tamed, + Above them all in all the beauties flamed. + The queen now for the upstroke, struck the ball + Quite wide off th' other maids, and made it fall + Amidst the whirlpools. At which, out-shrieked all, + And with the shriek did wise Ulysses wake; + Who, hearing maidish voices, from the brake + Put hasty head out; and his sight did press + The eyes of soft-haired virgins ... Horrid was + His rough appearance to them; the hard pass + He had at sea stuck by him. All in flight + The virgins scattered, frighted with this sight. + All but Nausicaa fled; but she stood fast; + Pallas had put a boldness in her breast, + And in her fair limbs tender fear compress'd. + And still she stood him, as resolved to know + What man he was, or out of what should grow + His strange repair to them. Then thus spake he; + "Let me beseech, O queen, this truth of thee, + Are you of mortal or the deified race? + If of the gods that th' ample heavens embrace, + I can resemble you to none alive + So near as Cynthia, chaste-born birth of Jove. + If sprung of humans that inhabit earth, + Thrice blest are both the authors of your birth; + But most blest he that hath the gift to engage + Your bright neck in the yoke of marriage." + + He prayed her then for some garment, and that she would show him the + town. Then she, calling her maidens, they brought for him food and oil + and raiment, and went apart while he should cleanse and array himself. + + And Pallas wrought in him a grace full great + From head to shoulders, and as sure did seat + His goodly presence. As he sat apart, + Nausicaa's eyes struck wonder through her heart; + He showed to her till now not worth the note; + But now he seemed as he had godhead got. + + Then, fearing the gossip of the market-place, she bade him follow + afoot with her maidens, giving him directions how he should find her + father's palace, which entering, + + "Address suit to my mother, that her mean + May make the day of your redition seen. + For if she once be won to wish you well, + Your hope may instantly your passport seal, + And thenceforth sure abide to see your friends, + Fair house, and all to which your heart contends." + + Nausicaa and her maidens went forward, Ulysses following after a time; + whom Pallas met, and told him of the King Alcinous and the Queen + Arete. Then he, being wrapped in a cloud which she had set about him, + entered unmarked; and, the cloud vanishing, embraced the knees of + Arete in supplication, as one distressed by many labours. And they all + received him graciously. Now, as they sat at meat, a bard sang of the + fall of Troy; and Alcinous, the king, marked how Ulysses wept at the + tale; and then Ulysses told them who he was, and of his adventures, on + this wise. + + +_II_.--_Ulysses Tells of his Wanderings_ + + After many wanderings, we came to the isle of the Cyclops, and I, with + twelve of my men, to his cave. He coming home bespake us. + + "Ho! guests! What are ye? Whence sail ye these seas? + Traffic or rove ye, and, like thieves, oppress + Poor strange adventurers, exposing so + Your souls to danger, and your lives to woe?" + "Reverence the gods, thou greatest of all that live, + We suppliants are." "O thou fool," answered he, + "To come so far, and to importune me + With any god's fear or observed love! + We Cyclops care not for your goat-fed Jove + Nor other blest ones; we are better far. + To Jove himself dare I bid open war." + The Cyclop devoured two sailors, and slept. I slew him not sleeping-- + For there we all had perished, since it past + Our powers to lift aside a log so vast + As barred all our escape. + + At morn, he drove forth the flocks, but barred the entry again, having + devoured two more of my comrades. But we made ready a great stake for + thrusting out his one eye. And when he came home at night, driving in + all his sheep, + + Two of my soldiers more + At once he snatched up, and to supper went. + Then dared I words to him, and did present + A bowl of wine with these words: "Cyclop! take + A bowl of wine." "Thy name, that I may make + A hospitable gift; for this rich wine + Fell from the river, that is more divine, + Of nectar and ambrosia." "Cyclop, see, + My name is No-Man." Cruel answered he. + "No-Man! I'll eat thee last of all thy friends." + He slept; we took the spar, made keen before, + And plunged it in his eye. Then did he roar + In claps like thunder. + + Other Cyclops gathered, to inquire who had harmed him; but he-- + + "by craft, not might, + No-Man hath given me death." They then said right, + "If no man hurt thee, and thyself alone, + That which is done to thee by Jove is done." + Then groaning up and down, he groping tried + To find the stone, which found, he put aside, + But in the door sat, feeling if he could, + As the sheep issued, on some man lay hold. + + But we, ranging the sheep three abreast, were borne out under their + bellies, and drove them in haste down to our ship; and having put out, + I cried aloud: + + "Cyclop! if any ask thee who imposed + Th' unsightly blemish that thine eye enclosed, + Say that Ulysses, old Laertes' son, + Whose seat is Ithaca, who hath won + Surname of city-razer, bored it out." + At this he brayed so loud that round about + He drove affrighted echoes through the air + In burning fury; and the top he tare + From off a huge rock, and so right a throw + Made at our ship that just before the prow + It overflew and fell, missed mast and all + Exceeding little; but about the fall + So fierce a wave it raised that back it bore + Our ship, so far it almost touched the shore. + + So we escaped; but the Cyclop stirred up against us the wrath of his + father Neptune. Thereafter we came to the caves of AEolus, lord of the + winds, and then to the land of the giants called Laestrygones, whence + there escaped but one ship of all our company. + + Then to the isle of AEaea we attained, + Where fair-haired, dreadful, eloquent Circe reigned. + Then I sent a company, led by Eurylochus, to search the land. + These in a dale did Circe's house descry; + Before her gates hill-wolves and lions lie; + Which, with her virtuous drugs, so tame she made + That wolf nor lion would no man invade + With any violence, but all arose, + Their huge, long tails wagged, and in fawns would close, + As loving dogs. Amaz'd they stay'd at gate, + And heard within the goddess elevate + A voice divine, as at her web she wrought, + Subtle and glorious and past earthly thought. + + She called them in, but Eurylochus, abiding without, saw her feast + them, and then turn them with her wand into swine. From him hearing + these things I hastened thither. But Hermes met me, and gave me of the + herb Moly, to be a protection against her spells, and wise counsel + withal. So when she had feasted me she touched me with her wand. + + I drew my sword, and charged her, as I meant + To take her life. When out she cried, and bent + Beneath my sword her knees, embracing mine, + And full of tears, said, "Who, of what high line + Art thou? Deep-souled Ulysses must thou be." + Then I, "O Circe, I indeed am he. + Dissolve the charms my friends' forced forms enchain, + And show me here those honoured friends like men." + + Now she restored them, and knowing the will of the gods, made good + cheer for us all, so that we abode with her for one year. Nor might + we depart thence till I had made journey to the abode of Hades to get + speech of Tiresias the Seer. Whereby I saw made shades of famous folk, + past recounting. Thence returning, Circe suffered us to be gone; with + warning of perils before us, and of how we should avoid them. + + First to the Sirens. Whoso hears the call + Of any Siren, he will so despise + Both wife and children, for their sorceries, + That never home turns his affection's stream, + Nor they take joy in him nor he in them. + Next monstrous Scylla. Six long necks look out + Of her rank shoulders; every neck doth let + A ghastly head out; every head, three set, + Thick thrust together, of abhorred teeth, + And every tooth stuck with a sable death; + Charybdis, too, whose horrid throat did draw + The brackish sea up. These we saw + + And escaped only in part. Then came they to the island where are + fed the Oxen of the Sun; and because his comrades would slay them, + destruction came upon them, and Ulysses alone came alive to the isle + of Calypso. + + +_III_.--_How Ulysses Came Back to Ithaca_ + + Now, when Ulysses had made an end, it pleased Alcinous and all the + Phaeacians that they should speed him home with many rich gifts. So + they set him in a ship, and bore him to Ithaca, and laid him on + the shore, yet sleeping, with all the goodly gifts about him, and + departed. But he, waking, wist not where he was till Pallas came + to him. Who counselled him how he should deal with the Wooers, and + disguised him as a man ancient and worn. + + Then Ulysses sought and found the faithful swine-herd Eumaeus, who made + him welcome, not knowing who he was, and told him of the ill-doing of + the suitors. But Pallas went and brought back Telemachus from Sparata, + evading the Wooers' ambush. + + Out rushed amazed Eumaeus, and let go + The cup to earth, that he had laboured so, + Cleansed for the neat wine, did the prince surprise, + Kissed his fair forehead, both his lovely eyes, + And wept for joy. Then entering, from his seat + His father rose to him; who would not let + The old man remove, but drew him back, and prest + With earnest terms his sitting, saying, "Guest, + Take here your seat again." + + Eumaeus departing, Pallas restored Ulysses to his own likeness, and he + made himself known to Telemachus, and instructed him. + + "Go them for home, and troop up with the Wooers, + Thy will with theirs joined, power with their rude powers; + And after shall the herdsmen guide to town + My steps, my person wholly overgrown + With all appearance of a poor old swain, + Heavy and wretched. If their high disdain + Of my vile presence made them my desert + Affect with contumelies, let thy loved heart + Beat in fixed confines of thy bosom still, + And see me suffer, patient of their ill. + But when I give the sign, all th' arms that are + Aloft thy roof in some near room prepare-- + Two swords, two darts, two shields, left for us twain. + But let none know Ulysses near again." + But when air's rosy birth, the morn, arose, + Telemachus did for the turn dispose + His early steps; went on with spritely pace, + And to the Wooers studied little grace ... + And now the king and herdsman from the field + Drew nigh the town; when in the yard there lay + A dog called Argus, which, before his way + Assumed for Ilion, Ulysses bred, + Yet stood his pleasure then in little stead, + As being too young, but, growing to his grace, + Young men made choice of him for every chase, + Or of their wild goats, of their hares, or harts; + But, his king gone, and he, now past his parts, + Lay all abjectly on the stable's store + Before the ox-stall, and mules' stable-door, + To keep the clothes cast from the peasants' hands + While they laid compass on Ulysses' lands, + The dog, with ticks (unlook'd to) overgrown. + But by this dog no sooner seen but known + Was wise Ulysses; who now enter'd there. + Up went his dog's laid ears, coming near, + Up he himself rose, fawned, and wagged his stern, + Couch'd close his ears, and lay so; nor discern + Could ever more his dear-loved lord again. + Ulysses saw it, nor had power t'abstain From + shedding tears; but (far-off seeing his swain) + His grief dissembled.... Then they entered in + And left poor Argus dead; his lord's first sight + Since that time twenty years bereft his sight. + + Telemachus welcomed the wayworn suppliant; the feasting Wooers, too, + sent him portions of meat, save Antinous, who + + Rapt up a stool, with which he smit + The king's right shoulder, 'twixt his neck and it. + He stood him like a rock. Antinous' dart + Stirred not Ulysses, who in his great heart + Deep ills projected. + + The very Wooers were wroth. Which clamour Penelope hearing, she sent + for Eumaeus, and bade him summon the stranger to her; but he would + not come till evening, by reason of the suitors, from whom he had + discourteous treatment. + + Now Ulysses coming to Penelope, did not discover himself, but told + her made-up tales of his doings; as, how he had seen Ulysses, and of + a robe he had worn which Penelope knew for one she had given him; so + that she gave credence to his words. Then she bade call the ancient + nurse Euryclea, that she might wash the stranger's feet. But by a scar + he came to be discovered by the aged dame. Her he charged with silence + and to let no ear in all the court more know his being there. As for + Penelope, she told him of her intent to promise herself to the man who + could wield Ulysses' bow, knowing well that none had the strength and + skill. + + +_IV.--Of the Doom of the Suitors_ + + On the morrow came Penelope to the Wooers, bearing the bow of her lord. + + Her maids on both sides stood; and thus she spake: + "Hear me, ye Wooers, that a pleasure take + To do me sorrow, and my house invade + To eat and drink, as if 'twere only made + To serve your rapines, striving who shall frame + Me for his wife. And since 'tis made a game, + I here propose divine Ulysses' bow + For that great master-piece, to which ye row. + He that can draw it with least show to strive, + And through these twelve axe-heads an arrow drive, + Him will I follow, and this house forego." + Whereat the herd Eumaeus wept for woe. + + Then Telemachus set up the axe-heads, and himself made vain essay, the + more to tempt the Wooers. And while they after him strove all vainly, + Ulysses went out and bespake Eumaeus and another herd, Philoetius. + + "I am your lord; through many a sufferance tried + Arrived now here, whom twenty years have held + Forth from my home. Of all the company + Now serving here besides, not one but you + Mine ear hath witnessed willing to bestow + Their wishes of my life, so long held dead. + The curious Wooers will by no means give + The offer of the bow and arrow leave + To come at me; spite then their pride, do thou, + My good Eumaeus, bring both shaft and bow + To my hands' proof; and charge the maids before + That instantly they shut the door. + Do thou, Philoetius, keep their closure fast." + + Then Ulysses claiming to make trial of the bow, the Wooers would have + denied him; but Penelope would not; whereas Telemachus made a vow that + it was for himself and none other to decide, and the guest should make + trial. But he, handling it while they mocked, with ease + + Drew the bow round. Then twanged he up the string, + That as a swallow in the air doth sing, + So sharp the string sung when he gave it touch, + Once having bent and drawn it. Which so much + Amazed the Wooers, that their colours went + And came most grievously. And then Jove rent + The air with thunder; which at heart did cheer + The now-enough-sustaining traveller. + + Then through the axes at the first hole flew + The steel-charged arrow. Straightway to him drew + His son in complete arms.... + "Now for us + There rests another mark more hard to hit, + And such as never man before hath smit; + Whose full point likewise my hands shall assay, + And try if Phoebus will give me his day." + He said, and off his bitter arrow thrust + Right at Antinous, that struck him just + As he was lifting up the bowl, to show + That 'twixt the cup and lip much ill may grow. + + Then the rest cried out upon him with threats, while they made vain + search for weapons in the hall. + + He, frowning, said, "Dogs, see in me the man + Ye all held dead at Troy. My house it is + That thus ye spoil, and thus your luxuries + Fill with my women's rapes; in which ye woo + The wife of one that lives, and no thought show + Of man's fit fear, or gods', your present fame, + Or any fair sense of your future name; + And, therefore, present and eternal death + Shall end your base life." + + Then the Wooers made at Ulysses and Telemachus, who smote down first + Eurymachus and then Amphinomus. But a way to the armoury having + been left, the Wooers got arms by aid of a traitor; whom Eumaeus and + Philoetius smote, and then came to Ulysses and his son. Moreover, + Pallas also came to their help; so that the Wooers, being routed-- + + Ulysses and his son the flyers chased + As when, with crooked beaks and seres, a cast + Of hill-bred eagles, cast off at some game, + That yet their strengths keep, but, put up, in flame + The eagle stoops; from which, along the field + The poor fowls make wing this and that way yield + Their hard-flown pinions, then the clouds assay + For 'scape or shelter, their forlorn dismay + All spirit exhaling, all wings strength to carry + Their bodies forth, and, truss'd up, to the quarry + Their falconers ride in, and rejoice to see + Their hawks perform a flight so fervently; + So in their flight Ulysses with his heir + Did stoop and cuff the Wooers, that the air + Broke in vast sighs, whose heads they shot and cleft, + The pavement boiling with the souls they reft. + + Now all the Wooers were slain, and they of the household that were + their accomplices; and the chamber was purified. + + Then first did tears ensue + Her rapt assurance; when she ran and spread + Her arms about his neck, kiss'd oft his head. + He wept for joy, t'enjoy a wife so fit + For his grave mind, that knew his depth of wit. + + But as for the Wooers, Hermes gathered the souls of them together, + and, as bats gibbering in a cavern rise, so came they forth gibbering + and went down to the House of Hades. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[G] Of the "Odyssey" it may be said with certainty that its +composition was later than that of the "Iliad," but it cannot be +affirmed that both poems were not composed within the life-time of one +man. It may be claimed that the best criticism declines to reject the +identity of authorship of the poet of the "Iliad" and the poet of the +"Odyssey," while admitting the probability that the work of other poets +was incorporated in his. We have given our readers the translation by +George Chapman, Shakespeare's contemporary, with which may be compared +the fine modern prose translation by Professor Butcher and Mr. Andrew +Lang. On the other hand, Alexander Pope's verse rendering has nothing +Homeric about it. It may be regretted that Chapman did not in the +"Odyssey" retain the swinging metre which he used in the "Iliad." The +poem relates the adventures of Odysseus (latinised into Ulysses) on his +homeward voyages, after the fall of Troy. + + + + +HORACE[H] + + + + +Poems + + + + +_Satires_ + + +HUMAN DISCONTENT + + Whence is it, sir, that none contented lives + With the fair lot which prudent reason gives, + Or chance presents, yet all with envy view + The schemes that others variously pursue? + Broken with toils, with ponderous arms oppressed, + The soldier thinks the merchant solely blest. + In opposite extreme, when tempests rise, + "War is a better choice," the merchant cries. + When early clients thunder at his gate, + Te barrister applauds the rustic's fate; + While, by _sub-poenas_ dragged from home, the clown + Thinks the supremely happy dwell in town! + Not to be tedious, mark the moral aim + Of these examples. Should some god proclaim, + "Your prayers are heard: you, soldier, to your seas; + You, lawyer, take that envied rustic's ease,-- + Each to his several part--What! Ha! not move + Even to the bliss you wished!" And shall not Jove, + With cheeks inflamed and angry brow, forswear + A weak indulgence to their future prayer? + + +AVARICE + + Some, self-deceived, who think their lust of gold + Is but a love of fame, this maxim hold, + "No fortune is enough, since others rate + Our worth proportioned to a large estate." + Say, for their cure what arts would you employ? + Let them be wretched, and their choice enjoy. + Would you the real use of riches know? + Bread, herbs, and wine are all they can bestow. + Or add, what nature's deepest wants supplies; + These and no more thy mass of money buys. + But with continual watching almost dead, + Housebreaking thieves, and midnight fires to dread, + Or the suspected slave's untimely flight + With the dear pelf--if this be thy delight, + Be it my fate, so heaven in bounty please, + Still to be poor of blessings such as these! + + +A PARAGON OF INCONSISTENCY + + Nothing was of a piece in the whole man: + Sometimes he like a frightened coward ran, + Whose foes are at his heels; now soft and slow + He moved, like folks who in procession go. + Now with two hundred slaves he crowds his train; + Now walks with ten. In high and haughty strain, + At morn, of kings and governors he prates; + At night, "A frugal table, O ye Fates, + A little shell the sacred salt to hold, + And clothes, though coarse, to keep from me the cold." + Yet give this wight, so frugally content, + A thousand pounds, 'tis every penny spent + Within the week! He drank the night away + Till rising dawn, then snored out all the day. + Sure, such a various creature ne'er was known. + But have you, sir, no vices of your own? + + +ON JUDGING FRIENDS + + A kindly friend, who balances my good + And bad together, as in truth he should, + If haply my good qualities prevail, + Inclines indulgent to the sinking scale: + For like indulgence let his friendship plead, + His merits be with equal measure weighed; + For he who hopes his wen shall not offend + Should overlook the pimples of his friend. + + +ON LOYALTY TO ABSENT FRIENDS + + He who, malignant, tears an absent friend, + Or fails, when others blame him, to defend, + Who trivial bursts of laughter strives to raise + And courts for witty cynicism praise, + Who can, what he has never seen, reveal, + And friendship's secrets knows not to conceal-- + Romans beware--that man is black of soul. + + +HORACE'S DEBT TO HIS FATHER + + If some few trivial faults deform my soul + (Like a fair face, when spotted with a mole), + If none with avarice justly brand my fame, + With sordidness, or deeds too vile to name; + If pure and innocent; if dear (forgive + These little praises) to my friends I live, + My father was the cause, who, though maintained + By a lean farm but poorly, yet disdained + The country schoolmaster, to whose low care + The mighty captain sent his high-born heir, + With satchel, copy-book, and pelf to pay + The wretched teacher on the appointed day. + To Rome by this bold father was I brought, + To learn those arts which well-born youths are taught, + So dressed, and so attended, you would swear + I was some wealthy lord's expensive heir. + Himself my guardian, of unblemished truth, + Among my tutors would attend my youth, + And thus preserved my chastity of mind-- + That prime of virtue in its highest kind. + + +HORACE'S HABITS IN THE CITY + + Alone I saunter, as by fancy led, + I cheapen herbs, or ask the price of bread, + I watch while fortune-tellers fate reveal, + Then homeward hasten to my frugal meal, + Herbs, pulse, and pancakes (each a separate plate), + While three domestics at my supper wait. + A bowl on a white marble table stands, + Two goblets, and a ewer to wash my hands, + And hallowed cup of true Campanian clay + My pure libation to the gods to pay. + I then retire to rest, nor anxious fear + Before dread Marsyas early to appear. + I lie till ten; then take a walk, or choose + A book, perhaps, or trifle with the muse. + For cheerful exercise and manly toil + Anoint my body with the pliant oil-- + Yet not with such as Natta's, when he vamps + His filthy limbs and robs the public lamps. + But when the sun pours down his fiercer fire, + And bids me from the toilsome sport retire, + I haste to bathe, and in a temperate mood + Regale my craving appetite with food + (Enough to nourish nature for a day); + Then trifle my domestic hours away. + Such is the life from bad ambition free; + Such comfort has one humble born like me: + With which I feel myself more truly blest, + Than if my sires the quaestor's power possessed. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[H] Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus), who was born near Venusia, +in Apulia, in 65 B.C., and died in 8 B.C., was a southern Italian. +When twenty, Horace was a student of philosophy at Athens. A period +of poverty-stricken Bohemianism followed his return to Rome, till +acquaintance with Virgil opened a path into the circle of Maecenas and +of the emperor. His literary career falls into three divisions--that +of his "Epodes" and "Satires," down to 30 B.C.; that of his lyrics, +down to 23 B.C., when the first three books of the "Odes" appeared; +and that of the reflective and literary "Epistles," which include +the famous "Art of Poetry," and, with sundry official odes, belong +to his later years. Horatian "satire," it should be observed, does +not imply ferocious personal onslaughts, but a miscellany containing +good-humoured ridicule of types, and lively sketches of character and +incident. So varied a performance as satirist, lyrist, moralist and +critic, coupled with his vivid interest in mankind, help to account for +the appeal which Horace has made to all epochs, countries, and ranks. +Of the translations of Horace here given, some are by Prof. Wight Duff, +and have been specially made for this selection, whilst a few are by +Milton, Dryden, Cowper, and Francis. + + + + +_Horace and the Bore_ + + + SCENE.--_Rome, on the Sacred Way. The poet is walking down the street, + composing some trifle, in a brown study, when a person, known + to him only by name, rushes up and seises his hand_. + + BORE (_effusively_): How d'ye do, my dear fellow? + + HORACE (_politely_): Nicely at present. I'm at your service, sir. + (HORACE _walks on, and as the_ BORE _keeps following, tries to choke + him off_.) You don't want anything, do you? + + BORE: You must make my acquaintance, I'm a savant. + + HORACE: Then I'll think the more of you. (HORACE, _anxious to get + away, walks fast one minute, halts the next, whispers something to his + attendant slave, and is bathed in perspiration all over. Then, quietly + to himself_) Lucky Bolanus, with your hot temper! + + BORE (_whose chatter on things in general, and about the streets of + Rome in particular, has been received with dead silence_): You're + frightfully keen to be off. I've noticed it all along. But it's no + good. I'm going to stick to you right through. I'll escort you from + here to your destination. + + HORACE (_deprecatingly_): No need for you to make such a detour. + (_Inventing fibs as he goes along_) There's someone I want to look + up--a person you don't know, on the other side of the river--yes, far + away--he's confined to bed--near Caesar's Park. + + BORE: Oh, I've nothing to do, and I don't dislike exercise. I'll + follow you right there. (HORACE _is as crestfallen as a sulky donkey + when an extra heavy load is dumped upon its back. The_ BORE + _continues_) If I know myself, you'll not value Viscus more highly + as a friend, or Varius either; for who can write verses faster, and + more of them, than I can? Who's a greater master of deportment? As + for my singing, it's enough to make even Hermogenes jealous! + + HORACE (_seizing the chance of interrupting_): Have you a mother--any + relatives to whom your health is of moment? + + BORE: Not one left. I've laid them all to rest. + + HORACE: Lucky people! Now I'm the sole survivor. Do for _me_! The + melancholy fate draws near which a fortune-telling Sabellian crone once + prophesied in my boyhood: "This lad neither dread poison nor hostile + sword shall take off, nor pleurisy, nor cough, nor crippling gout. A + chatterbox will one day be his death!" + + BORE (_realising that, as it is the hour for opening the law course, + he must answer to his recognisances, or lose a suit to which he is a + party_): Oblige me with your assistance in court for a little. + + HORACE: Deuce take me if I've strength to hang about so long, or know + any law. Besides, I'm hurrying, you know where. + + BORE: I'm in a fix what to do--whether to give you up or my case. + + HORACE: Me, please. + + BORE: Shan't! (_Starts ahead of_ HORACE, _who, beaten at every point, + has to follow. The other opens conversation again_.) On what footing do + you and Maecenas stand? + + HORACE (_haughtily_): He has a select circle, and thoroughly sound + judgment. + + BORE (_unimpressed_): Ah! No one ever made a smarter use of his + chances. You'd have a powerful supporter, a capable understudy, if + you'd agree to introduce your humble servant. Deuce take me if you + wouldn't clear everybody out of your way. + + HORACE (_disgusted_): We don't live on the terms _you_ fancy. No + establishment is more honest than his, or more foreign to such + intrigues. It does me no harm, I tell you, because this one has more + money or learning than I. Everybody has his own place. + + BORE: A tall story--hardly believable. + + HORACE: A fact, nevertheless. + + BORE: You fire my anxiety all the more to be one of his intimate + friends. + + HORACE (_sarcastically_): You've only got to wish. Such are _your_ + qualities, you'll carry him by storm. + + BORE (_on whom the irony is lost_): I'll not fail myself. I'll bribe + his slaves. If I find the door shut in my face I'll not give up. I'll + watch for lucky moments. I'll meet him at street corners. I'll see him + home. Life grants man nothing without hard work. + + [_Enter_ FUSCUS, _a friend of_ HORACE. _Knowing the_ + BORE'S _ways, he reads the situation_. HORACE + _furtively tugs at_ FUSCUS'S _gown, pinches him, + nods and winks to_ FUSCUS _to rescue him_. FUSCUS + _smiles, and with a mischievous fondness for a joke, + pretends he does not understand_. + + HORACE (_angry with_ Fuscus): Of course, you _did_ say you wanted to + talk over something with me in private. + + FUSCUS: Ah, yes, I remember; but I'll tell you at a more convenient + season. (_Inventing an excuse with mock solemnity_.) To-day is the + "Thirtieth Sabbath." You wouldn't affront the circumcised Jews, would + you? + + HORACE: I have no scruples. + + FUSCUS: But _I_ have. I'm a slightly weaker brother--one, of many. + Pardon, I'll talk about it another time. + + [_Exit, leaving_ HORACE _like a victim under the knife_. + + HORACE (_to himself_): To think this day should have dawned so + black for me! + + [_Suddenly enter the_ PLAINTIFF _in the suit against the_ + BORE. + + PLAINTIFF (_loudly to the_ BORE): Where are you off to, you + scoundrel? (_To_ HORACE) May I call you as a witness to his contempt + of court? + + [HORACE _lets his ear be touched, according to legal form. + The_ BORE _is hauled away to court, he and the_ PLAINTIFF + _bawling at each other. The arrest attracts a large + crowd_. + + HORACE (_quietly disappearing_): What an escape! Thank Apollo! + + + + +_The Art of Poetry_ + + +UNITY AND SIMPLICITY ARE REQUISITE + + Suppose a painter to a human head + Should join a horse's neck, and wildly spread + The various plumage of the feather'd kind + O'er limbs of different beasts, absurdly joined. + Or if he gave to view of beauteous maid + Above the waist with every charm arrayed, + But ending, fish-like, in a mermaid tail, + Could you to laugh at such a picture fail? + Such is the book that, like a sick man's dreams, + Varies all shapes, and mixes all extremes. + "Painters and poets our indulgence claim, + Their daring equal, and their art the same." + I own the indulgence, such I give and take; + But not through nature's sacred rules to break. + Your opening promises some grand design, + And purple patches with broad lustre shine + Sewed on the poem; here in laboured strain + A sacred grove, or fair Diana's fane + Rises to view; there through delightful meads + A murmuring stream its winding water leads. + Why will you thus a mighty vase intend, + If in a worthless bowl your labours end? + Then learn this wandering humour to control, + And keep one equal tenour through the whole. + + +THE FALSEHOOD OF EXTREMES IN STYLE + + But oft our greatest errors take their rise + From our best views. I strive to be concise, + And prove obscure. My strength, or passion, flees, + When I would write with elegance and ease. + Aiming at greatness, some to fustian soar: + Some, bent on safety, creep along the shore. + Thus injudicious, while one fault we shun, + Into its opposite extreme we run. + + +CHOICE OF THEME + + Examine well, ye writers, weigh with care, + What suits your genius, what your strength can bear; + For when a well-proportioned theme you choose, + Nor words, nor method shall their aid refuse. + + +WORDS OLD AND NEW + + The author of a promised work must be + Subtle and careful in word-harmony. + To choose and to reject. You merit praise + If by deft linking of known words a phrase + Strikes one as new. Should unfamiliar theme + Need fresh-invented terms, proper will seem + Diction unknown of old. This licence used + With fair discretion never is refused. + As when the forest, with the bending year, + First sheds the leaves, which earliest appear, + So an old race of words maturely dies, + And some, new born, in youth and vigour rise. + + Many shall rise which now forgotten lie; + Others, in present credit, soon shall die, + If custom will, whose arbitrary sway + Words and the forms of language must obey. + + +WORDS MUST SUIT CHARACTER + + 'Tis not enough, ye writers, that ye charm + With pretty elegance; a play should warm + With soft concernment--should possess the soul, + And, as it wills, the listeners control. + With those who laugh, our social joy appears; + With those who mourn, we sympathise in tears; + If you would have me weep, begin the strain, + Then I shall feel your sorrow, feel your pain; + But if your heroes act not what they say, + I sleep or laugh the lifeless scene away. + + +ON LITERARY BORROWING + + If you would make a common theme your own, + Dwell not on incidents already known; + Nor word for word translate with painful care, + Nor be confined in such a narrow sphere. + + +ON BEGINNING A HEROIC POEM + + Begin your work with modest grace and plain, + Not in the cyclic bard's bombastic strain: + "I chant the glorious war and Priam's fate----" + How will the boaster keep this ranting rate? + The mountains laboured with prodigious throes, + And lo! a mouse ridiculous arose. + Far better Homer, who tries naught in vain, + Opens his poem in a humbler strain: + "Muse, tell the many who after Troy subdued, + Manners and towns of various nations viewed." + Right to the great event he speeds his course, + And bears his readers, with impetuous force, + Into the midst of things, while every line + Opens by just degrees his whole design. + + +ACTION AND NARRATION IN PLAYS + + The business of the drama must appear + In action or description. What we hear, + With slower passion to the heart proceeds + Than when an audience views the very deeds. + But let not such upon the stage be brought + Which better should behind the scenes be wrought; + Nor force the unwilling audience to behold + What may with vivid elegance be told. + Let not Medea with unnatural rage + Murder her little children on the stage. + + +GOOD SENSE A WELL-SPRING OF POETRY + + Good sense, the fountain of the muse's art, + Let the strong page of Socrates impart; + For if the mind with clear conceptions glow, + The willing words in just expressions flow. + The poet who with nice discernment knows + What to his country and his friends he owes; + How various nature warms the human breast, + To love the parent, brother, friend, or guest; + What the high duties of our judges are, + Of senator or general sent to war; + He surely knows, with nice self-judging art, + The strokes peculiar to each different part. + Keep nature's great original in view, + And thence the living images pursue. + For when the sentiments and manners please, + And all the characters are wrought with ease, + Your play, though weak in beauty, force, and art, + More strongly shall delight, and warm the heart, + Than where a lifeless pomp of verse appears, + And with sonorous trifles charms our ears. + + +PERFECTION CANNOT BE EXPECTED + + Where beauties in a poem faults outshine, + I am not angry if a casual line + (That with some trivial blot unequal flows) + A careless hand or human frailty shows. + Then shall I angrily see no excuse + If honest Homer slumber o'er his muse? + Yet surely sometimes an indulgent sleep + O'er works of length allowably may creep! + + +A HIGH STANDARD MUST BE EXACTED + + In certain subjects, Piso, be assured, + Tame mediocrity may be endured. + But god, and man, and booksellers deny + A poet's right to mediocrity! + + +ARE POETS BORN OR MADE? + + 'Tis long disputed whether poems claim + From art or nature their best right to fame; + But art, if un-enriched by nature's vein, + And a rude genius of uncultured strain, + Are useless both: they must be fast combined + And mutual succour in each other find. + + + + +_Odes_ + + +A DEDICATION + + Maecenas, sprung from regal line, + Bulwark and dearest glory mine! + Some love to stir Olympic dust + With glowing chariot-wheels which just + Avoid the goal, and win a prize + Fit for the rulers of the skies. + One joys in triple civic fame + Conferred by fickle Rome's acclaim; + Another likes from Libya's plain + To store his private barns with grain; + A third who, with unceasing toil, + Hoes cheerful the paternal soil, + No promised wealth of Attalus + Shall tempt to venture timorous + Sailing in Cyprian bark to brave + The terrors of Myrtoan wave. + Others in tented fields rejoice, + Trumpets and answering clarion-voice. + Be mine the ivy, fair reward, + Which blissful crowns the immortal bard; + Be mine amid the breezy grove, + In sacred solitude to rove-- + To see the nymphs and satyrs bound, + Light dancing in the mazy round, + While all the tuneful muses join + Their various harmony divine. + Count me but in the lyric choir-- + My crest shall to the stars aspire. + + +TO PYRRHA + + What slender youth bedewed with liquid odours + Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, + Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou + In wreaths thy golden hair, + Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he + On faith and changed gods complain, and seas + Rough with black winds, and storms + Unwonted shall admire! + Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold, + Who always vacant, always amiable + Hopes thee, of flattering gales + Unmindful. Hapless they + To whom thou untried seem'st fair. Me, in my vowed + Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung + My dank and dropping weeds + To the stern god of sea. + + +WINTER CHEER + + Seest thou yon mountain laden with deep snow + The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow, + The streams congealed, forget to flow? + Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile + Of fuel on the hearth; + Broach the best cask and make old winter smile + With seasonable mirth. + + This be our part--let Heaven dispose the rest; + If Jove commands, the winds shall sleep + That now wage war upon the foamy deep, + And gentle gales spring from the balmy west. + + E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may: + When to-morrow's passed away, + We at least shall have to say, + We have lived another day; + Your auburn locks will soon be silvered o'er, + Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more. + + +"GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY" + + Secure those golden early joys, + That youth unsoured with sorrow bears, + Ere withering time the taste destroys + With sickness and unwieldy years. + For active sports, for pleasing rest, + This is the time to be possessed; + The best is but in season best. + + The appointed tryst of promised bliss, + The pleasing whisper in the dark, + The half-unwilling willing kiss, + The laugh that guides thee to the mark, + When the kind nymph would coyness feign, + And hides but to be found again-- + These, these are joys the gods for youth ordain. + + +GOD AND EMPEROR + + Saturnian Jove, parent and guardian god + Of human kind, to thee the Fates award + The care of Caesar's reign; to thine alone + Inferior, let his empire rise. + Whether the Parthian's formidable power + Or Indians or the Seres of the East, + With humbled pride beneath his triumph fall, + Wide o'er a willing world shall he + Contented rule, and to thy throne shall bend + Submissive. Thou in thy tremendous car + Shalt shake Olympus' head, and at our groves + Polluted hurl thy dreadful bolts. + + +THE STRENGTH OF INNOCENCE + + The man of life, unstained and free from craft, + Ne'er needs, my Fuscus, Moorish darts to throw; + He needs no quiver filled with venomed shaft, + Nor e'er a bow. + + Whether he fare thro' Afric's boiling shoals, + Or o'er the Caucasus inhospitable, + Or where the great Hydaspes river rolls, + Renowned in fable. + + Once in a Sabine forest as I strayed + Beyond my boundary, by fancy charmed, + Singing my Lalage, a wolf, afraid, + Shunned me unarmed. + + The broad oak-woods of hardy Daunia, + Rear no such monster mid their fiercest scions, + Nor Juba's arid Mauretania, + The nurse of lions. + + Set me where, in the heart of frozen plains, + No tree is freshened by a summer wind, + A quarter of the globe enthralled by rains, + And Jove unkind; + + Or set me 'neath the chariot of the Sun, + Where, overnear his fires, no homes may be; + I'll love, for her sweet smile and voice, but one-- + My Lalage. + + +TRANQUILLITY + + Should fortune frown, live thou serene; + Nor let thy spirit rise too high, + Though kinder grown she change the scene; + Bethink thee, Delius, thou must die. + + Whether thy slow days mournful pass, + Or swiftly joyous fleet away, + While thou reclining on the grass + Dost bless with wine the festal day. + + Where poplar white and giant pine + Ward off the inhospitable beam; + Where their luxuriant branches twine, + Where bickers down its course the stream, + + Here bid them perfumes bring, and wine, + And the fair rose's short-lived flower, + While youth and fortune and the twine + Spun by the Sisters, grant an hour. + + We all must tread the path of Fate, + And ever shakes the fateful urn, + Whose lot embarks us, soon or late, + On Charon's boat--beyond return. + + +TO A FAIR DECEIVER + + Did any punishment attend + Thy former perjuries, + I should believe a second time, + Thy charming flatteries: + Did but one wrinkle mark thy face + Or hadst thou lost one single grace. + + No sooner hast thou, with false vows, + Provoked the powers above, + But thou art fairer than before, + And we are more in love. + Thus Heaven and Earth seem to declare + They pardon falsehood in the fair. + + The nymphs, and cruel Cupid too, + Sharpening his pointed dart + On an old home besmeared with blood, + Forbear thy perjured heart. + Fresh youth grows up to wear thy chains, + And the old slave no freedom gains. + + +THE GOLDEN MEAN + + The man who follows Wisdom's voice, + And makes the Golden Mean his choice, + Nor plunged in squalid gloomy cells + Midst hoary desolation dwells; + Nor to allure the envious eye + Rears a proud palace to the sky; + The man whose steadfast soul can bear + Fortune indulgent or severe, + Hopes when she frowns, and when she smiles + With cautious fear eludes her wiles. + + +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA + + Bandusia's Well, that crystal dost outshine, + Worthy art thou of festal wine and wreath! + An offered kid to-morrow shall be thine, + Whose swelling brows his earliest horns unsheath. + And mark him for the feats of love and strife. + In vain: for this same youngling from the fold + Of playful goats shall with his crimson life + Incarnadine thy waters fresh and cold. + The blazing Dog-star's unrelenting hour + Can touch thee not: to roaming herd or bulls + O'erwrought by plough, thou giv'st a shady bower, + Thou shalt be one of Earth's renowned pools! + For I shall sing thy grotto ilex-crowned, + Whence fall thy waters of the babbling sound. + + +TO THE GOD FAUNUS + + O Faun-god, wooer of each nymph that flees, + Come, cross my land! Across those sunny leas, + Tread thou benign, and all my flock's increase + Bless ere thou go. + + In each full year a tender kid be slain, + If Venus' mate, the bowl, be charged amain + With wine, and incense thick the altar stain + Of long ago. + + The herds disport upon the grassy ground, + When in thy name December's Nones come round; + Idling on meads the thorpe, with steers unbound, + Its joys doth show. + + Amid emboldened lambs the wolf roams free; + The forest sheds its leafage wild for thee; + And thrice the delver stamps his foot in glee + On earth, his foe. + + +AN ENVOI + + Now have I reared memorial to last + More durable than brass, and to o'ertop + The pile of royal pyramids. No waste + Of rain or ravening Boreas hath power + To ruin it, nor lapse of time to come + In the innumerable round of years. + I shall not wholly die; great part of me + Shall 'scape the Funeral Goddess. Evermore + Fresh shall my honours grow, while pontiffs still + Do climb the Capitol with silent maid. + It shall be told where brawls the Aufidus + In fury, and where Daunus poor in streams + Once reigned o'er rural tribes, it shall be told + That Horace rose from lowliness to fame + And first adapted to Italian strains + The AEolian lay. Assume the eminence, + My own Melpomene, which merit won, + And deign to wreath my hair in Delphic bays. + + + + +VICTOR HUGO[I] + + + + +Hernani + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + HERNANI A MOUNTAINEER + CHARLES V. OF SPAIN A PAGE + DON RICARDO SOLDIERS + DON RUY GOMEZ CONSPIRATORS + DONA SOL RETAINERS + + Date of action, 1519. + + +ACT I + + SCENE--KING CHARLES _and some of his noblemen are creeping into the + courtyard of the palace of_ DON RUY GOMEZ DE SILVA _at Saragossa. + It is midnight, and the palace is dark, save for a dim light + coming from a balcony window_. + + THE KING: Here will I wait till Dona Sol comes down. + Guard every entrance. And if Hernani + Attempts to fight you need not kill the man. + Brigand although he is, he shall go free, + If I can win his lady. + + DON RICARDO: Shoot the hawk + If you would keep the dove. The mountaineer + Is a most desperate outlaw. + + THE KING: Let him live. + If I were not so passionately in love + With Dona Sol I would help Hernani + To rescue her from her old guardian. + To think that Don Ruy Gomez should have kept + So beautiful a girl a prisoner, + And tried to marry her! Had Hernani + Eloped with her before I fell in love + I would have praised his courage. + + [_The balcony window opens, and as the noblemen retire_, + DONA SOL _comes down_. + + DONA SOL: Hernani! + + THE KING (_holding her_): Sweet Dona Sol. + + DONA SOL: Oh, where is Hernani? + + THE KING: I am the king, King Charles. I worship you, + And I will make you happy. + + DONA SOL: Hernani! + Help! Help me, Hernani! [_She tries to escape_. + + THE KING: I am your king! + I love you, Dona Sol. Come, you shall be + A duchess. + + DONA SOL: No. + + THE KING: Princess. + + DONA SOL: No. + + THE KING: Queen of Spain! + Yes; I will marry you if you will come. + + DONA SOL: I cannot; I love Hernani. + + THE KING: That brigand is not worthy of you. A throne + Is waiting. If you will not come with me, + My men must carry you away by force. + + [_While he is talking_ HERNANI _appears_. + + HERNANI: King Charles, you are a coward and a cur! + + DONA SOL (_clasping him_): Save me! + + HERNANI: I will, my love. + + THE KING: Where are my men? + + HERNANI: In my hands. I have sixty followers + Waiting out there. And now a word with you. + Your father killed my father; you have stolen + My lands and titles from me; and I vowed + To kill you. + + THE KING: Titles? Lands? Who are you, then? + + HERNANI: But meeting Dona Sol, I lost all thought + Of vengeance. Now I come to rescue her, + And find you in my path again--a wretch + Using his strength against a helpless girl. + Quick! Draw your sword, and prove you are a man! + + THE KING: I am your king. I shall not fight with you. + Strike if you want to murder me. + + HERNANI: You think + I hold with the divinity of kings? + Now, will you fight? + + [_Striking him with the flat of his sword_. + + THE KING: I will not. Murder me, + You bandit, as you murder every man + That you desire to rob! Cross swords with you? + A common thief? No; get to your trade. + Creep round; assassinate me from behind! + + [KING CHARLES _fixes his fierce, hawk-like eyes on the + young brigand._ HERNANI _recoils, lowers his sword; + then, moved beyond himself by the strength of character + displayed by_ THE KING, _he breaks his blade on the + pavement._ + + HERNANI: Be off, then. + + THE KING: Very well, sir. I shall set + A price upon your head, and hound you down. + + HERNANI: I cannot kill you now, with Dona Sol + Looking at us. But I will keep my vow + When next we meet. + + THE KING: Never shall you obtain + Mercy, respite, or pardon at my hands. + + [_He departs._ + + DONA SOL: Now let us fly. + + HERNANI: No; I must go alone. + It means death! Did you see King Charles's face? + It means death. Oh, my love, my sweet, true love! + You would have shared with me the wild, rough life + I lead up in the mountains: the green couch + Beneath the trees, the water from the brook. + But now I shall be hunted down and killed. + You must not come. Good-bye. + + DONA SOL: Oh, Hernani! + Will you leave me like this? + + HERNANI: No, I will stay! + Fold your arms closely round me, love, and rest + Your dear head on my shoulder. Let us talk + In whispers, as we used to, when I came + At night beneath your window. Do you still + Remember our first meeting? + + [_There is a clash of bells._ + + DONA SOL: Hernani, + It is the tocsin! + + HERNANI: No; our wedding-bells. + + [_Shouts are heard. Lights appear in all the windows. + The noise of the bells grows louder. A mountaineer + runs in, with his sword drawn._ + + THE MOUNTAINEER: The streets are filled with soldiers. + + DONA SOL: Save yourself! + Here is a side gate. + + THE CROWD (_out in the street_): Bring the brigand out! + + HERNANI: One kiss, then, and farewell. + + DONA SOL (_embracing him_): It is our first. + + HERNANI: And it may be our last. Farewell, my love! + + + ACT II + + SCENE--DON RUY GOMEZ, _an old, grey-haired, but superb-looking man, is + standing in the hall of his castle in the Aragon mountains._ + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Only an hour, and then she is my wife! + I have been jealous and unjust, and used + Some violence. But now she is my bride + She shall know how a man can love. + + [_A_ PAGE _enters._ + + PAGE: My lord, + There is a pilgrim at the gate, who craves + For shelter. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Let him in. On this glad day + Give friend or stranger welcome. Is there news + Of Hernani? + + PAGE: King Charles has routed him + And killed him, so they say. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Thank Heaven for that! + My cup of happiness is full. Run, boy! + Bid Dona Sol put on her wedding-gown, + And as you go admit my pilgrim guest. + + [_The_ PAGE _retires._ + + Would I could let the whole world see my joy! + + [HERNANI _enters, disguised as a pilgrim._ + + HERNANI: To you, my lord, all peace and happiness! + + DON RUY GOMEZ: And peace and happiness to you, my guest! + Where are you bound for? + + HERNANI: For Our Lady's shrine. + + [DONA SOL _enters, arrayed in a wedding-dress._ + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Here is the lady at whose shrine I pray. + My dearest bride! Where is your coronet? + You have forgotten it, and all the gems + I gave you as a wedding gift. + + HERNANI (_in a wild, loud voice_): What man + Wishes to gain ten thousand golden crowns? + This is the price set upon Hernani. + + [_Everyone is amazed. Tearing off his pilgrim robe, he + shows himself in the dress of a mountaineer._ + + I am Hernani. + + DONA SOL: Ah! he is not dead! + + HERNANI: Ten thousand crowns for me! + + DON RUY GOMEZ: The sum is great. + I am not sure of all my men. + + HERNANI: Which one + Will sell me to King Charles? Will you? Will you? + + [_The retainers move away from him._ DONA SOL _makes + an imploring gesture; she is speechless with fear._ + + DON RUY GOMEZ: My friend, you are my guest, and I will slay + The man that dare lay hands on you. I come + Of noble race. And were you Hernani + Or Satan, I would keep the sacred law + Of hospitality. My honour is + A thing I prize above all else on earth, + And King Charles shall not stain it while I live! + Come, men, and arm, and close the castle gate. + + [_He goes out, followed by all his retainers._ DONA SOL + _remains, her face white with anguish._ HERNANI + _glares at her_. + + HERNANI: So he has bought you, this old wealthy man! + Bought you outright! + Oh, God, how false and vain + All women are! + + DONA SOL: When I refused the throne + Offered me by King Charles, was I then false? + Is this an ornament vain women wear + Upon their wedding day? + + [_She takes a dagger from her bosom._ + + Oh, Hernani, + They told me you were killed! I have been dressed + For marriage, but against the bridal night + I kept this dagger. + + HERNANI: Slay me with it, love! + I am unworthy of you! Blind and mad + Was I to doubt the sweetest, bravest soul + That ever walked in beauty on this earth. + + DONA SOL (_clasping him in her arms_): My hero and my lover, + and my lord, + Love me, and love me always! + + HERNANI: Unto death. + + [_As he embraces her,_ DON RUY GOMEZ _enters._ + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Judas! + + HERNANI: Yes. Draw your sword and take my life. + But spare your bride, for she is innocent. + I came to carry her away, but she + Refused to follow me. + + DONA SOL: It is not true. + I love him. Slay us both, or pardon us! + + DON RUY GOMEZ: You love him, Dona Sol? Then he must die. + + [_There is a sound of trumpets outside. A_ PAGE _enters._ + + THE PAGE: His Majesty King Charles is at the gate, + With all his army. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Open to the king! + + DONA SOL: Nothing can save him now! + + [DON RUY GOMEZ _presses a spring in the wall, and a + door opens into a hiding-place._ + + DON RUY GOMEZ (_to_ HERNANI): Here you are safe. + + HERNANI: Surrender me! I am a prisoner now, + And not a guest. + + [_He enters the hiding-place._ DON RUY GOMEZ _closes it._ + + THE PAGE: His Majesty, the King! + + [KING CHARLES _enters, followed by his soldiers._ DONA + SOL _covers herself hastily in her bridal veil._ + + THE KING (_to the soldiers_): Seize all the keys, and guard the gates! + (_To_ DON RUY GOMEZ) My lord, + I hear that you are sheltering my foe, + The brigand Hernani. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Sire, that is true. + + THE KING: I want his head--or yours. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: He is my guest. + I come of men who are not used to sell + The head of any guest, even to their king. + + THE KING: Why, man, he is your rival! You resolved + To help me hunt him down. You gave your word. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: But now he is my guest. + + THE KING: He shall be found, + Though every stone in all your castle walls + Fall ere I find him. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Raze my castle, then; + I cannot play the traitor. + + THE KING: Well, two heads + Are better, some men say, than one. My lord, + I must have yours as well as Hernani's. + Arrest this man! + + [_As the soldiers come forward_, DONA SOL _throws up her + veil and strides up hastily to_ KING CHARLES. + + DONA SOL: You are a wicked and cruel king! + + THE KING: What? Dona Sol? (_In a whisper_) + It is my love for you + That stirs in me this passion. You alone + Can calm it. (To DON RUY GOMEZ) + Until you deliver up + Hernani, I shall keep your lovely ward + As hostage. + + DONA SOL (_taking the dagger, and hiding it again in + her bosom_): It will save him! I must go! + + [_She goes up to_ KING CHARLES _and he leads her out._ + DON RUY GOMEZ _runs to the wall to press the + spring._ DONA SOL _turns as she passes through the + door, and stops him by a wild glance. He waits, + with heaving breast, till the hall is empty, and then + lets_ HERNANI _out._ + + DON RUY GOMEZ: The king is gone. Here are two swords. Now fight. + + HERNANI: No! You have saved me! No. I cannot fight. + My life belongs to you. But ere I die + Let me see Dona Sol. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Did you not hear + What happened? Till I give you up, King Charles + Holds her as hostage. + + HERNANI: Fool! He loves her. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Quick! + Call up my men! To horse! Pursue the king! + + HERNANI: Leave it to me. I will avenge us both. + My way is best--a dagger in the dark. + Let us go forth on foot and track him down. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: And when your rival dies? + + HERNANI (_taking a horn from his belt_): Then claim your debt! + My life belongs to you. At any time + You wish to take it, sound upon this horn, + And I will kill myself. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Your hand on it! + + + ACT III + + SCENE--CHARLES OF SPAIN, _who has just been elected Emperor of the + Holy Roman Empire, is kneeling by the tomb of Charlemagne in the + underground vault at Aix-la-Chapelle._ + + CHARLES: O mighty architect of Christendom, + Inspire me now to carry on thy work! + Ah, let me with the lightning of thy sword + Smite the rebellious people down, and make + Their kings my footstool! Warrior of God! + Give me the power to subjugate and weld + The warring races in a hierarchy + Of Christian government throughout the world! + + [_The tramp of many feet is heard._ + + Here my assassins come! Oh, let me creep, + Thou mighty spirit, into thy great tomb! + Counsel me from thy ashes; speak to me; + Instruct me how to rule with a strong hand, + And punish these wild men as they deserve! + + [_He hides in the tomb: the_ CONSPIRATORS _enter._ + + THEIR LEADER: Since Charles of Spain aims at a tyranny, + We, whom he threatens with his power, must use + The only weapon of defence still left-- + Assassination! Here, before the tomb + Of Charlemagne, let us decide by lot + On whom the noble task shall fall to strike + The tyrant down. + + [_The_ CONSPIRATORS _write their names on pieces of + parchment, and throw them into an urn. They kneel + down in silent prayer. Then their leader draws one + of the names._ + + THE CONSPIRATORS: Who is it? + + THEIR LEADER: Hernani. + + HERNANI: I have won! I hold thee now at last! + + DON RUY GOMEZ: No, I must strike the blow! Take back your life, + Take Dona Sol, but let me strike the blow! + + [_He offers_ HERNANI _the horn._ + + HERNANI: No! I have more than you have to avenge. + + THEIR LEADER: Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, you shall strike + The second blow if the first fail. And now + Let us all swear to strike and die in turn, + Until Charles falls. + + THE CONSPIRATORS: We swear! + + CHARLES (_coming out of the tomb_): You are dead men. + + [_The great vault is lighted up by torches, and a band of + soldiers who have been hiding behind the pillars + surround the_ CONSPIRATORS. + + CHARLES (_to a soldier_): Bring in the lady. (_To_ HERNANI) + What is your true name? + + HERNANI: I will reveal it now that I must die. + Don Juan of Aragon, Duke of Segorbe, + Duke of Cardona, Marquis of Monroy, + Count Albatera, and Viscount of Gor, + And lord of scores of towns and villages + Whose names I have forgotten. You, no doubt, + Remember all of them, Charles of Castile, + For they belong to you now. + + [_The soldier returns with_ DONA SOL. _She throws herself + at the emperor's feet_. + + DONA SOL: Pardon him! + + CHARLES: Rise, Duchess of Segorbe and Cardona. + Marquise of Monroy--and your other names, Don Juan? + + HERNANI: Who is speaking thus--the king? + + CHARLES: No. It is the emperor. He is a man + Different from the king (_turning to the astonished_ CONSPIRATORS); + and he will win + Your loyalty, my friends, and your good aid, + If God in His great mercy will but guide + His erring feet along the pathway trod + By Charlemagne. Don Juan of Aragon, + Forgive me, and receive now from my hands + A wife full worthy of you, Dona Sol. + + [_The two lovers kneel at his feet. Taking from his neck + the Golden Fleece, he puts it on_ HERNANI. + + THE SPECTATORS: Long live the emperor. + + DON RUY GOMEZ: I have the horn. + + + ACT IV + + SCENE--_A terrace by the palace of Aragon. It is midnight, and the + guests are departing from the marriage feast of_ HERNANI + _and_ DONA SOL. + + DONA SOL: At last, my husband, we are left alone. + How glad I am the feast and noise is done-- + Are over. + + HERNANI: I, too, am weary of the loud, wild joy. + Happiness is a deep and quiet thing, + As deep and grave and quiet as true love. + + DONA SOL: Yes, happiness and love are like a strain + Of calm and lovely music. Hernani, + Listen! (_The sound of a mountain horn floats on the air._) + It is some mountaineer that plays + Upon your silver horn. [HERNANI _staggers back._ + + HERNANI: The tiger comes! + The old, grey tiger! Look! In the shadows there! + + DONA SOL: What is it frightens you? + + [_The horn sounds again._ + + HERNANI: He wants my blood! I cannot! + + [DON RUY GOMEZ _enters, playing on the horn like a madman._ + + DON RUY GOMEZ: So you have not kept your word. + "My life belongs to you. At any time + You wish to take it, sound upon this horn + And I will kill myself." You are forsworn! + + HERNANI: I have no weapon on me. + + DON RUY GOMEZ (_offering a dagger and a phial_): + Which of these + Do you prefer? + + HERNANI: The poison. + + DONA SOL: Are you mad? + + HERNANI: He saved my life at Aragon. I gave + My word of honour I would kill myself + When he desired. + + [_He raises the phial to his lips, but his wife wrests it + from him._ + + DONA SOL (_to her guardian_): Why do you desire + To kill my husband? + + DON RUY GOMEZ: I have sworn no man + Shall marry you but me. I keep my oath! + + [_With a wild gesture_ DONA SOL _drinks half of the + poison, and hands_ HERNANI _the rest._ + + DONA SOL: You are two cruel men. Drink, Hernani, + And let us go to sleep! + + HERNANI (_emptying the phial_): Kiss me, my sweet. + It is our bridal night. + + DONA SOL (_falling beside him on the ground_): Fold me, my love, + Close in your arms. [_They die._ + + DON RUY GOMEZ: Oh, I am a lost soul! + + [_He kills himself._ + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[I] Victor Hugo (see Vol. V, p. 122) occupies an anomalous +position among the great dramatists of the world. He is really a poet +with a splendid lyrical inspiration; but he combines this in his plays +with an acquired but effective talent for stage-craft. "Hernani" is the +most famous play in the European literature of the nineteenth century. +This is partly due to the fact that it was the first great romantic +drama given on the French stage. When it was produced, on February 25, +1830, there was a fierce battle in the theatre between the followers +of the new movement and the adherents of the classic school of French +playwriting. Little of the play itself was heard on the first night. +The voices of the players were drowned in a storm of denunciations +from the classicists, and counter-cheers from the romanticists. The +admirers of Victor Hugo won. "Hernani" is certainly the most romantic +of romantic dramas. The plot is striking, and full of swift and +astonishing changes, but the characters are not always true to life. +Nevertheless, "Hernani" is a fine, interesting, poetic melodrama, with +a rather weak last act. The gloomy scene with which it closes lacks +the inevitability of true tragedy. Had the play ended happily it would +undoubtedly have retained its popularity. + + + + +Marion de Lorme[J] + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + MARION DE LORME + DIDIER + LOUIS XIII. + THE MARQUIS DE SAVERNY + THE MARQUIS DE NANGIS + THE COMTE DE GASSE + BRICHANTEAU + L'ANGELY, _the King's Jester_ + ROCHEBARON LAFFEMAS + TOWN CRIER HEADSMAN TWO WORKMEN + SOLDIERS, OFFICIALS, _and a crowd of people_ + + + ACT I + + SCENE--_A street in Blois in 1638. Some officers are sitting in the + twilight outside a tavern, chatting, smoking, and drinking. They + rise up to welcome the_ COMTE DE GASSE. + + BRICHANTEAU: You come to Blois to join the regiment? + We all condole with you. What is the news + From Paris? + + GASSE: The duel has come in again. Richelieu + Is furious. + + ROCHEBARON: That's no news. We duel here, + To pass the time away. + + GASSE: But have you heard + Of the incredible, mysterious flight + Of Marion de Lorme? + + BRICHANTEAU: We have some news, + Gasse, for you. Marion is here. + + GASSE: At Blois? You jest! The Queen of Beauty? Marion + In a place like this? + + BRICHANTEAU: Saverny was attacked + Last night by footpads. They were killing him, + When a man beat them off, and took our friend + Into a house. + + GASSE: But Marion de Lorme? + + BRICHANTEAU: It was her house. Saverny's rescuer + Was the young man with whom she is in love. + + ROCHEBARON: What is the man like? + + BRICHANTEAU: Ask Saverny that. + + THE TOWN CRIER (_arriving with a crowd_): + "Ordinance. Louis, by the grace of God, + King of France and Navarre, unto all men, + To whom these presents come, greeting! We will, + Ordain, and rule, henceforward, that all men, + Nobles or commoners, who break the law + By duelling, whether one survive or two, + Shall be hanged by the neck till they are dead. + Such is our good pleasure." + + GASSE: Hang us like thieves. + + [_Two officers of the town fix the edict to the wall, and + the_ CRIER _and the crowd depart._ SAVERNY _enters. + The street grows dark._ + + SAVERNY: Fair Marion de Lorme has left her house. + I cannot find her. + + GASSE: What was the man like? + + SAVERNY: I do not know. On entering the house + I recognised sweet Marion, and began + To speak to her. Before I could turn round + And thank the man to whom I owed my life, + He knocked the candle over. I withdrew, + Seeing I was not wanted. All I know + Is that his name is Didier. + + ROCHEBARON: It smacks + Of vulgar origin. To think a man + With such a name should carry Marion off-- + Marion, the queen of beauty and of love! + + SAVERNY: There may be men with greater names, but none + With greater hearts. To leap from Marion's arms, + And fight with footpads for a stranger's life! + The thing's heroic! I owe Didier + A debt that I would pay, if need there was, + With all my blood. I wish he were my friend! + + [L'ANGELY, _the King's jester--a mournful-looking + creature--comes and sits with the officers. He is + followed by a tall, pale, handsome young man. It + is_ DIDIER. + + DIDIER: The Marquis of Saverny! So the fop + Called himself. Oh, the easy, impudent air + With which he spoke to Marie! And I saved + The creature's life. If I meet him again---- + + GASSE: Saverny! + + DIDIER: Here's my man. + + GASSE: Have you observed + The edict against duelling, on pain + Of hanging? + + SAVERNY: Hanging? Hang a gentleman? + You jest! That is a punishment for serfs. + + BRICHANTEAU: Well, read the edict underneath the lamp. + + SAVERNY (_annoyed at_ DIDIER _for staring at him_): + Go, read it for me, pale face! + + DIDIER: I? + + SAVERNY: Yes, you. + + DIDIER (_rising_): It is an ordinance that punishes + By gibbeting all squabbling noblemen. + Having done all you wanted, may I claim + A slight reward? Will you now fight with me? + + SAVERNY: Certainly. Where? + + DIDIER: Here. Who will lend a sword? + + L'ANGELY: For this wild folly, take a fool's sword, friend, + And in exchange, bequeath to me, for luck, + The bit of rope that hangs you. + + DIDIER (_taking his sword_): Now, marquis! + + SAVERNY: Sir, at your service. + + DIDIER: Guard! + + [_As their swords clash,_ MARION DE LORME _appears._ + + MARION (_seeing_ DIDIER _fighting_): Stop! Help! Help! Help! + + [_In answer to her cries the town guard arrive._ + + THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Down with your swords! What! Duelling beneath + The edict of the king! You are dead men. + + [DIDIER _and_ SAVERNY _are disarmed and led away._ + + MARION: What has he done? + + [L'ANGELY _points to the edict: she reads it._ + + Oh, when I called for help + Death came! Is there no way to rescue him? + The king is kind at heart, he will forgive---- + + L'ANGELY: But Richelieu will not! He loves red blood, + The scarlet cardinal, he loves red blood! + + MARION: You frighten me! Who are you? + + L'ANGELY: The king's fool. + + MARION: Ah, Didier! If a woman's feeble hand + Can save you, mine shall do it! [_She departs_. + + L'ANGELY (_picking up the sword he lent to_ Didier): + Ha! Ha! Ha! + It was not I that played the fool to-night! + + + ACT II + + SCENE--_A hall in the castle of Chambord._ KING LOUIS XIII., + _a grey-haired, weak-minded man, is sitting, pale and + sorrowful, in a chair of state._ L'ANGELY _stands beside him._ + + THE KING: Oh, it is miserable to be a king + That lives but does not govern. Richelieu + Is killing all my friends. I sometimes think + He wants their blood to dye his scarlet robes. + + L'ANGELY: He works for France, sire---- + + THE KING: Yes, and for himself. + I hate him. Never did a king of France + Govern with so tyrannical a hand + As he now does. A single word from me + And all his pomp and splendour, all his power, + Would vanish. But I cannot say the word; + He will not let me. Come, amuse me, fool! + + L'ANGELY: Is not life, sire, a thing of bitterness? + + THE KING: It is. Man is a shadow. + + L'ANGELY: And a king + The miserablest creature on this earth. + + THE KING: It gives me pleasure when you speak like that. + I wish that I were dead. In all the world + You are the only man I ever found + Worth listening to. I often wonder why + You care to live. What are you? A poor fool-- + A puppet that I jerk to make me laugh. + + L'ANGELY: I live on out of curiosity. + The puppet of the king, I sit and watch + The antics of the puppet of the priest! + + THE KING: Yes, that is what I am. You speak the truth. + Could Satan not become a cardinal, + And take possession of my very soul? + + L'ANGELY: I think that's what has happened. + + THE KING: He loves blood, + The cardinal! It was the Huguenots + Yesterday that he wanted to behead, + And now it is the duellists. Blood! Blood! + He cannot live unless he lives in blood. + + [L'ANGELY _makes a sign._ MARION DE LORME _and the_ + MARQUIS DE NANGIS _enter._ + + MARION: Pardon! + + THE KING: For whom? + + MARION: Didier. + + NANGIS: And the Marquis of Saverny. + They are two boys of twenty years of age-- + Two children--they were quarrelling, when some spies + Posted by Richelieu ... + + MARION: Pardon them, my king! + You will have pity on them. Two young boys, + Caught in a boyish quarrel! No blood shed. + You will not kill my Didier for that! + You will not! Oh, you will not! + + THE KING (_wiping the tears from his eyes_): Richelieu + Has ordered that all duellists be hanged. + You make my head ache. Go. Leave me! + It must be so, for he has ordered it. + + [L'ANGELY _signs to_ MARION _to hide herself in the dark + hall. She does so._ NANGIS _goes out._ + + THE KING (_yawning_): I wish they would not come and worry me. + Amuse me, L'Angely, for I am sad. + Can you not talk to me of death again? + That is a pleasant subject. Your gay talk + Alone enables me to bear with life. + + L'ANGELY: Sire, I have come to say farewell to you. + + THE KING: Farewell? You cannot leave me! Only death + Can end your service to a king. + + L'ANGELY: 'Tis death + That ends it. You condemn me to be hanged, + Since you refuse to pardon those two boys. + For it was I who made them fight. I lent + My sword to Didier. + + THE KING (_sadly_): Oh, my poor fool! + So they will break your neck as well! Farewell! + Life will be dull without you. When you die, + L'Angely, come and tell me how it feels, + If you can, as some dead men do return + In ghostly form to earth. + + L'ANGELY (_to himself_): A pleasant task! + + THE KING: No! It would frighten me if you came back. + You must not die. L'Angely, do you think + That I could master Richelieu, if I wished? + + L'ANGELY: Try! + + THE KING: Some paper! + + [L'ANGELY _gives him some; he hurriedly scrawls a few + words, and hands the writing to the fool._ + + I have pardoned all of you. + + L'ANGELY (_running to_ MARION): Here is the pardon. + Thank the king for it. + + THE KING (_as_ MARION _throws herself at his feet_): + I must not! Give the paper back to me! + Richelieu will be angry. + + MARION (_thrusting the pardon in her bosom_): You must tear + My heart out ere you take it from me, sire! + + THE KING (_lowering his eyes, dazzled by her beauty_): + Are you a sorceress? You frighten me! + Keep it and go! + + MARION (_as she departs_): My Didier is saved! + + THE KING: At last I have shown Cardinal Richelieu + That I am King of France-- + + L'ANGELY: Who in a fright + Made a mistake, and once did what was right! + + + ACT III + + SCENE--_A field by the castle of Beaugenoy. A great gap has been made + in the outer wall, through which looms the castle-keep. Two + workmen are covering the gap with a vast black cloth._ + + A WORKMAN: If they would hang the two young gentlemen + Outside the wall, the cardinal could see + The execution without breaking down + The ramparts in this way. + + HIS MATE: Could he not come + Through the great gate? + + A WORKMAN: What! In a litter borne + By four-and twenty men? No! Richelieu + Travels in greater state than any king. + He enters, like a conqueror, through the breach + Made in the castles of our noblemen. + He means to kill them all, they say. + + HIS MATE: And now + He comes in his great litter through this wall, + To see these poor boys hanged? What cruelty! + + A WORKMAN: Now come and see the gallows we have built. + + [_As they depart,_ MARION _arrives at the castle gate. She + knocks, but before the door opens,_ LAFFEMAS, + RICHELIEU'S _agent, gallops up._ + + MARION: An order from the king. + + THE GATEKEEPER: You cannot pass. + + LAFFEMAS: An order from the cardinal. + + THE GATEKEEPER: Pass in. + + MARION: I have a pardon for two prisoners! + + LAFFEMAS: And I the document revoking it! + The cardinal is coming here to-night + To see the execution. It is fixed + For nine o'clock. + + MARION: Then there is no more hope! + Oh, God! Oh, God! My Didier must die! + Nothing can save him! + + LAFFEMAS: You can, Marion. + Yes, you can still! I will let Didier escape + If, Marion, you will---- + + MARION: No! + + LAFFEMAS: Then he dies! + + MARION: And if he lives, I lose him. (_A long silence._) + He shall live. + + [_She goes into the castle with_ LAFFEMAS. DIDIER _and_ + SAVERNY _appear, guarded by the jailer and his men. + It is now night._ + + THE JAILER (_in a whisper to_ SAVERNY): You can + escape. The Marquis of Nangis + Has made all preparations for the flight. + + SAVERNY: For both of us? + + THE JAILER: No; only you. And that + May cost me my own life. + + SAVERNY: Well, save my friend. + + THE JAILER: I cannot. + + SAVERNY: Then I must remain with him. + (_To_ DIDIER) They will hang us, friend, to-night. + + * * * * * + + DIDIER: Are you sure, + Saverny, she is Marion de Lorme? + On your honour, are you sure? + + SAVERNY: Yes, I am. + I cannot understand you, Didier. + Are you not proud to think that you have made + So great a conquest? + + DIDIER: And I thought she was + As innocent as she was beautiful! + + SAVERNY: She loves you. You should be content with that. + You will not die while Marion de Lorme + Lives. And I hope that she will not forget + I am your friend, but come and save me, too. + + [_It grows darker_ SAVERNY _falls asleep._ MARION + _comes out of the gate carrying a bundle, and + accompanied by_ DIDIER. + + MARION: Put on these clothes. Richelieu has arrived; + Can you not hear the guns announcing him? + + DIDIER: Raise your eyes! Raise your eyes, and look at me! + What sort of man, think you, am I? A fool, + Or libertine? + + MARION (_trembling, as she fixes her eyes passionately + on his_): I love you Didier, + More than my life. Your eyes are terrible. + What have I done? Am I not your Marie? + + DIDIER: Marie? Or Marion de Lorme? + + MARION: Didier, + Forgive me! I--I--meant to tell you all. + I feared to lose you if you learnt my name. + You had redeemed me by your love. I longed + To raise all memories of my former self, + And live a new life with you, Didier. + For, oh, I love you, and I love you still, + Deeply and truly! Didier, be kind, + Or you will kill me! + + DIDIER: How have you obtained + This favour for me? Why is Laffemas + Risking his neck by letting me escape? + + MARION: Not now! I cannot tell you now! + Fly! Fly! + Hark, they are coming! Do not stop to speak. + Save yourself! + + DIDIER: No; I have no wish to live! + Thank God, here is the headsman! + + [_A_ HEADSMAN, _carrying his axe, appears with a crowd + of soldiers, officials, and_ SAVERNY. + + MARION (_falling to the earth_): Didier! + + SAVERNY: What a shame + To rob me of my sleep! + + THE HEADSMAN (_grimly_): The time has come + To put you both to bed. + + SAVERNY (_gaily_): A headsman! Good! + I like the axe much better than the rope. + + DIDIER (_embracing him_): Good-bye, my friend! + + MARION (_clinging to him_): And me! Didier, me! + Will you not say good-bye to me? + + DIDIER (_wildly, as the soldiers drag him off_): No! No! + My heart is breaking! Oh, Marie, Marie! + I love you. I was wrong! + + MARION: You pardon me? + + DIDIER: I ask your pardon. Think of me sometimes. + Good-bye, my darling. [_He is dragged behind the wall._ + + AN OFFICIAL (_catching_ MARION _in his arms as she falls_): + All hope is not lost. + Look, here is Richelieu! Go and plead with him. + + [_The castle guns are fired. The cloth, hiding the great + breach in the wall, drops. The_ CARDINAL _comes + in his gigantic scarlet litter, borne by twenty-four + footguards. Scarlet curtains conceal him from the + shouting mob._ + + MARION (_dragging herself on her knees to the litter_): + In the name of God, oh, my Lord Cardinal, + Pardon these two poor boys! + + A VOICE (_from the litter_): No pardon! + + [_The litter passes on, and the crowd surges through the + wall after it_. MARION _is left alone._ + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[J] Victor Hugo wrote "Marion de Lorme" in 1829, three months +before he composed "Hernani." King Charles X., however, refused to +license the play, because of the terrible way in which his ancestor, +Louis XIII., was portrayed in it. But after the Revolution of 1830, +and the success of "Hernani," the forbidden drama was produced on the +stage. Its original title was "A Duel Under Richelieu." The whole play +is built around the frustrated duel in which two young men engage +against the edict of the great cardinal. This economy of stage-craft +makes "Marion de Lorme" a superior work, in point of construction, to +"Hernani." And though it may be less picturesque than that more famous +example of the romantic drama, it is on the whole a finer effort of +genius. + + + + +Ruy Blas[K] + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + DON SALLUST DE BAZAN, _President of the Magistrates_ + RUY BLAS, _Lackey to Don Sallust_ + DON CESAR DE BAZAN, _Cousin to Don Sallust_ + DON MANUEL ARIAS }_Counsellors_ + THE COUNT OF CAMPOREAL } + DOONA MARIA, Queen of Spain + _A crowd of_ Spanish Grandees, Counsellors, _and_ + Alguazils + + + ACT I + + SCENE--_A room in the palace of King Charles II., at Madrid, about + 1695._ + + DON SALLUST: So, after twenty years of constant toil, + And twenty years of honour and high power, + The weak hand of a woman strikes me down + Into the dust. Dishonoured and exiled! + And by the queen, a foolish, foreign girl + Ignorant of our ways, who has no fear + Because she has no knowledge. Had she guessed + I had so many weapons of revenge + That I am now perplexed which one to use, + She would have been more careful. Poisoning, + Of course, is easy; and when she was dead + I could retrieve the power that I have lost. + But I would rather crush and conquer her + Some other way; make her a very slave + Obedient to my slightest wish, and rule + The country in her name. The king is mad, + And she will soon be regent. (_Calling_) Ruy Blas! + + RUY BLAS (_appearing at the door_): Sir? + + DON SALLUST: Order my men to gather up and pack + My papers, books and documents! I leave + The palace at the break of day. But you + Must wait here till the queen comes through this room + At morning, on her way to mass. Who's that? + + [DON CESAR _enters, and he and_ RUY BLAS _look at + each other in surprise. Then, seeing he is not + wanted, the lackey departs._ + + DON CESAR: Well, here I am, dear cousin! Have you found, + After a search of twenty years, a post + Worthy of me? Upon the principle + Of setting thieves to capture thieves, I'd make + A splendid captain of your alguazils! + + DON SALLUST: I know all your remarkable exploits, + My cousin. Were I not chief magistrate, + Your murders, thefts, and acts of brigandage + Would long since have been punished, and Don Cesar, + Count of Garofa-- + + DON CESAR: He died years ago. + I now am Zafari. + + DON SALLUST: Zafari can die, + And Cesar, Count of Garofa, revive, + And dazzle all the ladies of the court + With his fine presence, and the wealth I'll give, + If he will serve me, as a cousin should, + Boldly and faithfully. + + DON CESAR: Ah, this sounds well. + Give me a hundred ducats to begin, + And I am your man! What do you want of me? + Some rival quietly despatched? + + DON SALLUST: I need + A daring, gallant and ambitious man + To help me to avenge myself. + + DON CESAR: On whom? + + DON SALLUST: A woman. + + DON CESAR: I have fallen very low, + Don Sallust, but I have not come to that. + Murder may be my trade, but to bring down + A woman by a dastardly intrigue + Is something I would never stoop to do! + I am a wolf, maybe, but not a snake! + + DON SALLUST: Give me your hand, my cousin! You have come + Out of the ordeal I prepared for you + Better than I expected. + + DON CESAR: Then this plot + Against a woman---- + + DON SALLUST: Merely was a test. + I'll give you now the money you require. + A hundred ducats, was it? I will fetch them. + + [_He departs, and signs to_ RUY BLAS _to enter._ + + DON CESAR: I knew you in your strange disguise, Ruy Blas. + What are you doing here? + + RUY BLAS: Ah, Zafari! + Hunger has now compelled me to adopt + The livery of a lackey. Don Sallust + To-night engaged me as his servitor, + And brought me here. And I came, Zafari, + Because---- (_He hesitates._) + + DON CESAR: You wanted food! + + RUY BLAS: No. It was love + I hungered for. + + DON CESAR: There are some pretty maids + In this great palace. + + RUY BLAS: I am mad, mad, mad! + I am in love, Zafari, with the queen-- + I, a lackey. Night after night I creep + Into the royal park, and leave some flowers + Upon her favourite seat. This evening + I put a letter with them. + + DON CESAR: My poor friend, + You certainly are mad! + + DON SALLUST (_opening the door slightly and pointing + out_ DON CESAR _to three armed alguazils as he + whispers_): That is the man. Arrest him when he leaves. + + And kill him quickly. [_He then enters the room, and + gives a purse to_ DON CESAR, _saying:_ Here is what + you want. + + Call on me to-morrow. + + DON CESAR (_giving_ RUY BLAS _half the ducats_): + Come with me. + Be a free man again. + + DON SALLUST (_in an aside_): The devil! + + RUY BLAS (_refusing the money_): No; + I never shall be a free man again. + My heart is captive; I must stay on here. + + DON CESAR: Well, each man to his fate. Your hand, old friend! + + [_After shaking hands, he goes out--to his doom._ + + DON SALLUST: No one has seen you yet, I think, Ruy Blas, + Clad in this livery? + + RUY BLAS: No one, my lord. + + DON SALLUST: Good! Shut the doors, and put on this attire. + + [_Bringing out the costume of a nobleman of high + rank, he helps his lackey to dress in it._ + + Splendid! You have a very gallant air, + And you will make a perfect nobleman. + Now listen. I've your interests at heart, + And if you will obey me faithfully, + You shall succeed in all that you desire. + But stay. There is a letter I must send + Before I leave Madrid. Write it for me. + + [RUY BLAS _sits down at the table, and_ DON SALLUST + _dictates to him:_ + + "My life is in great danger. You alone + Can save me. Come this evening to my house. + No one will recognise you if you use + The side-door by the corner." Now sign it + "Cesar," the name I commonly employ + In love affairs. + + RUY BLAS: Shall I address the note? + + DON SALLUST: Ah, no! I must deliver it myself. + Hark! There is someone coming. 'Tis the Queen! + + [_Dragging_ RUY BLAS _with him, he opens the door, + and says to the noblemen surrounding the_ QUEEN: + + Allow me to present to you, my friends, + Don Cesar, Count of Garofa, my cousin. + + + ACT II + + SCENE.--_The Hall of Government in the palace at Madrid, six months + after. The Privy Counsellors are sitting,--among them_ + DON MANUEL ARIAS _and the_ COUNT OF CAMPOREAL. + + DON MANUEL: How quickly he has climbed to supreme power! + General Secretary, Minister, + And now Duke of Olmedo! + + CAMPOREAL: It is strange, + A cousin of that fallen president, + Don Sallust, could have won to such a height + Within six months! + + DON MANUEL: The queen reigns over us + And he reigns, over her. + + CAMPOREAL: That is not so. + Don Cesar never sees the queen alone. + I know it. I have had them watched by spies. + They shun each other. Do you know, he lives + By Tormez mansion, in a shuttered house, + With two black mutes to wait on him? + + DON MANUEL: Two mutes! + He is, indeed, a terrible, strange man. + And now to business! We must re-arrange + Some of the taxes and monopolies. + We want a fair division. + + [_All the_ COUNSELLORS _seat themselves._ + + A COUNSELLOR: I must have + The salt monopoly. + + CAMPOREAL: No; that is mine! + You have the tax upon the trade in slaves. + I'll change that for the arsenic, if you like. + + [RUY BLAS _has entered at the beginning of the dispute: + after listening some time he comes forward_. + + RUY BLAS: You vile, rapacious gang of quarrelling thieves! + What! Can you rob the dead? Here by the grave + Of the great empire that was Spain, you sit, + Like greedy vultures, preying on her corpse! + We were the conquerors of the world, but now + Our army dwindled to four thousand men + That never get their arms, their food, their pay, + Is but a mob of brigands, and they live + By pillaging their wretched countrymen. + Our hardy peasantry is crushed beneath + A load of taxes and monopolies, + But not a ducat of the revenue + Is spent on Spain. Bankrupt in wealth and power, + Dead to all sense of honour, justice, right, + She lies, while you, you foul hyenas, snarl + Over her stricken body. + + [_Turning to the_ COUNT OF CAMPOREAL, _and the_ COUNSELLOR + _who was quarrelling with him, he says sternly:_ + + Let me not see + Either of you again at court. + + [_As they depart_, RUY BLAS _speaks to the other consternated_ + COUNSELLORS: + + Every man + Who will not serve Spain honestly must go. + If there are any who will work with me + In building up our country's power and fame, + On equal laws for rich and poor alike, + I shall be pleased to meet them in this room + In two hours' time. + + [_All the_ COUNSELLORS _go out, bowing low to_ RUY + BLAS _as they pass by him. When he is alone, the_ + QUEEN _comes from behind the tapestry; her face + is radiant with joy._ + + THE QUEEN: You spoke to them as I would like to speak + Were I a man. Oh, let me take, dear Duke, + This loyal hand, so strong, and so sincere. + + RUY BLAS: How did you hear me, madam? + + THE QUEEN (_showing a secret door_): In this place + That Philip made to watch his counsellors. + How often have I seen poor Carlos here, + Listening to the villains robbing him, + And ruining the state! + + RUY BLAS: What did he say? + + THE QUEEN: Nothing, but it drove him mad at last. + But you! How masterful you were! The voice + With which you thundered still rings in my ears. + I raised the tapestry to look at you. + You towered above them terrible and great, + A king of men! What was it that inspired + Such fury in you? + + RUY BLAS: Love for you, my queen! + If Spain falls, you will fall with it. But I + Will save it for your sake. Oh, I am mad! + I love you! Love you with a love that eats + The life out of me! God! What shall I do? + Die? Shall I die? Pardon me! Pardon me! + + THE QUEEN: No, live! Live for your country, and your queen! + Both of us need you. For the last six months + I have been watching from my hiding-place + Your struggle with my treacherous counsellors, + And seeing in you the master-mind of Spain, have, without + consulting you, advanced + Your interests. And now your strong, pure hands + Grasp all the reins of government and power, + Perform the work entrusted unto you! + Rescue our people from their misery. + Raise Spain up from her grave; restore to her + The strength that made her empress of the world; + And love me as I love you-- + + RUY BLAS: Oh, my queen! + + THE QUEEN: With a pure, steady, honourable love, + Working and waiting with a patient heart + Till I am free to marry you. Farewell! + + [_She kisses him on the brow, and departs by the secret + door._ + + + ACT III + + SCENE.--_A small, dark room in the house lent by_ DON SALLUST _to_ RUY + BLAS. _It is late at night, and_ RUY BLAS _is pacing up and + down in a state of wild agitation._ + + RUY BLAS: I only am a pawn with which he plays + Against the queen. He seeks to ruin her + By means of me. No! I will save her yet. + Save her and lose her! Cunning though you are, + Don Sallust, you have overlooked one thing; + Even a lackey will lay down his life + To save a noble woman whom he loves + From ruin and dishonour. + + [_Going to the table, he pours something into glass._ + + Oh, my queen! + Never more shall we meet upon this earth. + + [_As he raises the glass to his lips,_ THE QUEEN _enters._ + + THE QUEEN: Don Cesar! + + RUY BLAS: Oh, my God, my God! + + THE QUEEN: Fear not. + I shall protect you. + + RUY BLAS: What has brought you here? + + THE QUEEN: Your letter, Cesar. + + RUY BLAS: Letter? I have sent + No letter. + + THE QUEEN: What is this, then? Look and read. + + [_She gives him the note he wrote for_ DON SALLUST _as + his lackey._ + + RUY BLAS (_reading it_): "My life is in great danger. + You alone can save me." + + THE QUEEN (_continuing_): "Come this evening to my house. + No one will recognise you if you use + The side door by the corner." Here's your name, "Cesar." + + RUY BLAS: Go! Go! It is a plot against you. + I cannot now explain. Fly for your life! + + THE QUEEN: But you are in great danger. No! I'll stay, + And help you, Cesar. + + RUY BLAS: Go, I tell you! Go! + The letter is not mine. Who let you in? + + DON SALLUST (_striding into the room_): I did. + + RUY BLAS: Go, madam, while the way is clear. + + DON SALLUST: It is too late. Dona Maria is + No longer Queen of Spain. + + THE QUEEN (_in terror_): What, then, am I? + + DON SALLUST: A lady who has sold her throne for love. + + RUY BLAS: No! + + DON SALLUST (_whispering to_ RUY BLAS): I am working in your + interests. + (_Aloud to_ THE QUEEN) Now listen, madam. I have found you here, + Alone with Cesar, in his room, at night. + This conduct--in a queen--would lead the Pope-- + Were the fact published--to annul your marriage. + Why not avoid the scandal? + + [_Taking a parchment from his pocket, he presents it to_ + THE QUEEN. + + Sign this deed + Admitting everything, and we can keep + All the proceedings secret. I have put + Plenty of money in the coach that waits + Outside the door. Ride off in it and take + Cesar with you, to France or Portugal. + No one will stop you. But if you refuse + Everything shall be published. Here's a pen. + + [_He leads the terrified_ QUEEN _to a writing-table, and + puts a pen in her hand._ RUY BLAS _stands in a corner, + motionless and bewildered._ + + THE QUEEN: Oh, I am lost! Lost, and yet innocent! + + DON SALLUST: You lose a crown; but think of what you gain-- + A life of love and peace and happiness. + Don Cesar loves you, and is worthy of you. + A man of noble race; almost a prince. + + [THE QUEEN _is about to sign, but_ RUY BLAS _snatches + the pen from her hand, and tears up the parchment._ + + RUY BLAS: You must not sign it! This man lies to you. + I am Ruy Blas, a common serving-man. + + [_Turning fiercely on_ DON SALLUST. + + No more of it, I say! I'll have no more! + You mean, contemptible scoundrel! Tell the truth! + + DON SALLUST: This creature is, in fact, my serving-man, + Only he has blabbed too soon. + + THE QUEEN: Great Heavens! + + DON SALLUST: No matter. My revenge is good enough. + What do you think of it? Madrid will laugh! + You exiled me, my lady; brought me down + Into the dust. I'll drag you from the throne + And hold you up--the laughing-stock of Spain! + + [_While he is speaking_ RUY BLAS _silently bolts the door; + then, creeping behind_ DON SALLUST, _he snatches his + sword from the scabbard._ + + RUY BLAS: Insult the queen again, you wretch, and I + Will kill you where you stand. You foul, black snake, + Crawl in the further room and say your prayers. + + [DON SALLUST _rushes towards the outer door;_ RUY + BLAS _pushes him back at the sword's point._ + + THE QUEEN: You are not going to slay him? + + RUY BLAS: This affair + Must be now settled once for all. Go in! + + [_This to_ DON SALLUST, _whom he has now almost + driven into the further room._ + + DON SALLUST: Give me a sword, and let us fight it out. + + RUY BLAS: Surely a nobleman would never stoop + To fight a duel with his serving-man? + No! I am going to kill you like a dog! + + THE QUEEN: Spare him! + + DON SALLUST: Help! Murder! Help! + + RUY BLAS: Have you done? + + [DON SALLUST _leaps at_ RUY BLAS, _and the two men reel + into the further room, and the door closes behind + them._ THE QUEEN _covers her face._ + + THE QUEEN: Oh, God! + + [_There is a silence._ RUY BLAS _returns without the + sword._ + + RUY BLAS (_falling on his knees_): Pardon me, madam, pardon me! + I am less guilty than I seem. At heart, + I am an honest man. My love for you + Led me into the trap that villain laid. + Will you not pardon me? + + THE QUEEN: No! + + RUY BLAS: Never? + + THE QUEEN: No! + + [_Staggering to the table, he seizes the glass and + drains it._ + + RUY BLAS: Well, that is over, then. + + THE QUEEN (_running up to him_): What have you _done_? + + RUY BLAS: Nothing. But, oh, to think you loved me once! + + THE QUEEN: What was there in that glass? I love you still! + What was it? Poison? Tell me. + + RUY BLAS (_as she clasps him_): Yes, my queen. + + THE QUEEN: Then I have killed you! But I love you now! + More than before. Had I but pardoned you-- + + RUY BLAS: I should have drunk the poison all the same. + I could not bear to live. Good-bye! + + [_He falls down, and_ THE QUEEN _holds him up in her + arms._ + + Fly! Fly! + No one will know. That door. + + [_He tries to point to it, but sinks back in the agony + of death._ + + THE QUEEN (_throwing herself on him_): Ruy Blas! + + RUY BLAS (_reviving at the sound of his name_): + Thanks! Thanks! [_He dies._ + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[K] In appearance, "Ruy Blas" is a pendant to "Hernani." +In the earlier play, Victor Hugo gives a striking picture of the +Spanish nobility in the days of its power and splendour. In the +later drama, which he composed in 1838, he depicts in lurid light +the corruption into which that nobility afterwards fell. But, as a +matter of fact, "Ruy Blas" is a violent party pamphlet with a direct +bearing on the French politics of the thirties. It is the decadent +French nobility--vanquished in the revolution of 1830--that Hugo really +attacks; and Ruy Blas himself is a representative Frenchman of the era +of romanticism. Stendhal (Vol. VIII) was the first writer to study +this new type of character--the young man of the lower middle classes, +full of grandiose dreams and wild ambitions and strange weaknesses, +who thought to arrive by intrigue at the high position which the great +soldiers of the preceding generation had won on the battlefield. Balzac +(Vol. I) elaborated the character in his "Human Comedy"; and Hugo, by +ennobling and enlarging it, created the sombre, magnificent figure of +Ruy Blas. + + + + +The King Amuses Himself[L] + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + FRANCOIS I., _King of France_ + TRIBOULET, _his jester_ + BLANCHE, _Triboulet's daughter_ + SALTABADIL, _an assassin_ + MAGUELONNE, _his sister_ + DAME BERARDE + _A woman; a man; a crowd of people_ + + + ACT I + + SCENE.--TRIBOULET, _the ugly little hunchback jester to_ KING FRANCOIS, + _has stolen from the Louvre to a secluded house in a remote + part of Paris. He takes out the key to open the door, then + stops and glances round uneasily._ + + TRIBOULET: I thought I heard a footstep. + Blanche must go + Back to the country. In this wild, rough town + My little lonely girl may come to harm. + I was a fool to bring her here. A fool! + Ah, if she learns what a vile part I play + In this vile city--sees her father dressed + In patchwork, using his deformities + To make sport for a proud, vain, wicked king. + Oh, how I hate the man who laughs at me! + When I am sick and miserable, and creep + Into some corner to bewail my lot, + He kicks me out into the light, and cries, + "Amuse me, fool!" Some day I shall go mad, + And kill---- + + [SALTABADIL, _who has been following him, comes forward + and bows._ + + SALTABADIL: Your servant, sir! + + TRIBOULET (_startled_): What! Who are you? + + SALTABADIL: Excuse me. I have watched you for a week + Come to this house at evening. Every time + You seem afraid some foe is following you. + + TRIBOULET (_still more startled_): What do you want? + Who are you? Go away! + + SALTABADIL: I want to help you. Do you need a sword? + I am an honest man, and at a price + I'll rid you of your enemy. + + TRIBOULET (_relieved by the bravo's air_): What price? + + SALTABADIL: According to the job. If he is armed + 'Tis best to get my sister, Maguelonne, + To help me. She will lure him to our house-- + + TRIBOULET: I understand. + + SALTABADIL (_confidentially_): No noise, you see; no risk. + Give me your custom, sir, and you will find + I do the work better than any man + In Paris. + + TRIBOULET: But at present I've no need-- + + SALTABADIL: Well, think about it. I am Saltabadil. + I wait for clients every day at noon + By the Hotel du Maine. + + TRIBOULET: Good-night to you. + + SALTABADIL: Believe me, I am honest. Times are bad; + I have four children, and at least my trade + Is better than mere beggary. + + TRIBOULET: Of course. + One must bring up one's children. + + SALTABADIL: Thanks. Good-night. + + [_He departs._ TRIBOULET _then opens the door leading + into a courtyard, and knocks at an inner entrance. + This is opened by a charming young girl, who + throws herself into the jester's arms._ + + TRIBOULET: My daughter! When I see your sweet, bright face + My grief and trouble vanish. Kiss me, Blanche; + I am in need of love. Have you been out? + + BLANCHE: Only to church. It is so dull in town + That, were it not for you, dear, I should like + To go back to Chinon. + + TRIBOULET: It would be best; + put now I could not live in solitude. + My darling, I have no one in the world + But you to love me! + + [_Hiding his face in his hands, he weeps._ + + BLANCHE: Father, trust in me. + Tell me your name and calling. Every night + You come by stealth to see me; every day + You disappear. Oh, how it troubles me + To see you weep! + + TRIBOULET: You would be troubled more + If you could see me laugh! No, no, my child! + Know me but as your father; let me be + Something that you can venerate and love. + + BLANCHE: My father! + + TRIBOULET: But I cannot stay to-night; + I only came to see if you were safe. + Good-bye, my darling! Do not leave the house. + + [_While he is speaking,_ KING FRANCOIS _glides into the + courtyard, and hides behind a tree there. He is + dressed like a student._ + + BLANCHE: Good-bye, my father! + + THE KING: Father! Triboulet + Her father! What a joke! + + TRIBOULET: May God guard you! + + [_He kisses her again and departs._ BLANCHE _stands at + the door watching him, and_ DAME BERARDE, _her + housekeeper, joins her._ + + BLANCHE: I have not told him. + + DAME BERARDE: What? + + BLANCHE: That a young man + Follows me when I come from church. + + DAME BERARDE (_laughing_): You wish + To chase this handsome man away? + + BLANCHE: Ah, no! + 1 think he loves me. Oh, when Sunday comes + I shall be happy! + + DAME BERARDE: I should think he was + Some noble lord. + + BLANCHE: No! Lords, my father says, + Are men of little faith or honesty. + I hope he is a poor young scholar, filled + With noble thoughts rather than noble blood. + How long it is to Sunday! Would he were + Kneeling before me here. I then would say + Be happy, for I---- + + [_The_ KING _comes from behind the tree, and kneels + before her._ + + THE KING: Love you! Say it sweet: + I love you! + + BLANCHE: If my father comes! Ah, go! + + THE KING: Go? When my life is bound to yours? Sweet Blanche, + There is one heavenly thing alone on earth, + And that is love. Glory and wealth and power + Are base and worthless when compared with it. + Blanche, it is happiness your lover brings, + Happiness, shyly waiting on your wish. + Life is a flower, and love the honey of life. + Come, let us taste it, mouth to mouth, my sweet. + + [_Taking her in his arms, he kisses her._ + + BLANCHE: I do not know your name. Are you a lord? + My father does not like them. + + THE KING (_confused_): Yes.... My name-- + Gaucher Mahiet, a poor young scholar. + + DAME BERARDE: Look! + Someone is coming. + + [_It is_ TRIBOULET. _Seeing his daughter in the arms of + a man, he rushes forward with a terrible cry._ KING + FRANCOIS _leaves_ BLANCHE, _and, brushing past the + jester, who staggers as he catches a glimpse of his + face, hastens away._ + + TRIBOULET: The King! Oh, God, the King! + + [_Then, in a sort of madness, he mutters to himself._ + + That man that spoke to me ... Hotel du Maine; + At noon ... yes; in his house ... no noise, no risk ... + Oh, King Francois, the grave is dug for you! + + + ACT II + + SCENE.--_A tumble-down inn on the outskirts of Paris by the edge of + the Seine. The scene is represented on the stage in a sort of + section, so that the spectator sees everything that goes on in + the interior of the inn, as well as on the road outside. + Besides this, the building is so cracked and ruined that any + passer-by can see into the room through the holes in the wall. + It is night._ TRIBOULET _and his daughter appear in the road._ + SALTABADIL _is sitting in the inn._ + + TRIBOULET: I will avenge you, Blanche. + + BLANCHE: He cannot be + False and untrue. + + TRIBOULET (_whispering, as he leads her to a hole in the wall_): + + Come. See with your own eyes, + What kind of man our great King Francois is. + + BLANCHE (_whispering, as she sees only_ SALTABADIL): + I only see a stranger. + + TRIBOULET: Wait awhile. + + [_As he whispers,_ KING FRANCOIS _enters the room by a + little door leading from an inner chamber._ + + BLANCHE: Father! + + [_She trembles, and follows with angry eyes the movements + of_ THE KING. + + TRIBOULET: This is the man you wish to save. + + THE KING (_slapping_ SALTABADIL _on the back_): + Tell Maguelonne to bring me in some wine. + + TRIBOULET: King by the grace of God he is, with all + The wealth and splendour of the land of France + At his command; but to amuse himself + He drinks himself asleep in thieves' kitchens. + + THE KING (_singing while_ TRIBOULET _talks outside_): + Oh, woman is fickle, and man is a fool + To trust in her word! + She changes without any reason or rule, + As her fancies are stirred. + A weather-cock veering to every wind + Is constant and true when compared to her mind. + + [_While he sings_ MAGUELONNE _enters with a skin of + wine._ SALTABADIL _goes out, and seeing_ TRIBOULET, + _approaches him with an air of mystery._ BLANCHE + _continues to watch_ THE KING. + + SALTABADIL: We've caught our man! And now it rests with you + To let him live or die. + + TRIBOULET (_looking at_ BLANCHE): Wait for a while. + + THE KING (_to_ MAGUELONNE): Life is a flower and love the honey + of life; + Come, let us taste it, mouth to mouth, my sweet. + + [_He tries to kiss her, but she escapes._ + + MAGUELONNE: You got that from a book. + + THE KING: Your dark, sweet eyes + Inspired me! It was only yesterday + We met at the Hotel du Maine, and yet + I love you with as passionate a love + As if we had been sweethearts all our lives. + Come, let me kiss you! + + MAGUELONNE (_sitting herself gaily on the table where + he is drinking_): When you have drunk your wine. + + [THE KING _empties the flagon of drugged liquor, and + with a mocking laugh the girl jumps down and sits + on his knee._ + + THE KING: Oh, you delicious, fascinating thing. + What a wild dance you've led me! Feel my heart + Seating with love for you! + + MAGUELONNE: And for a score + Of other women! + + THE KING: No, for you alone! + + [BLANCHE _cannot bear to look at them any longer. Pale + and trembling, she turns away, and falls into her + father's arms._ + + BLANCHE: Oh, God, how he deceived me! My heart breaks. + All that he said to me he now repeats + To this low, shameless slut. He is a man + Without a soul. + + TRIBOULET (_in a whisper_): Hush, hush! or he will hear! + You leave him in my hands then? + + BLANCHE: What is it + You mean to do? + + TRIBOULET: Avenge you and myself! + Run home and dress yourself in the boy's clothes + Prepared for you. Take all the gold you find, + And ride to Evreux, and there wait for me. + + BLANCHE (_entreatingly_): Come with me, father! + + TRIBOULET (_sternly_): I have work to do, + Terrible work! Do not return for me, + But ride your horse as fast as it will go. + + BLANCHE: I am afraid. + + TRIBOULET:: Obey me, Blanche! Good-bye! + + [_He kisses her, and she staggers away._ TRIBOULET _then + signs to_ SALTABADIL, _who comes running up, and + gives him ten crowns in gold._ + + TRIBOULET: Here is half of the sum. I'll bring the rest + When you hand me the body in a sack. + + SALTABADIL: It shall be done to-night. + + TRIBOULET: At midnight, then. + + [_He goes in. During this scene outside, the drowsy_ + KING _has been flirting with_ MAGUELONNE. _She + jumps off his knee as_ SALTABADIL _enters._ TRIBOULET + _departs._ + + SALTABADIL: What a wild night! The rain is pouring down + In torrents. + + THE KING (_sleepily_): You must find me a bed. + + MAGUELONNE (_in a fierce whisper_): Go! Go! + + THE KING: What? And be drowned? You are unkind, my sweet. + + SALTABADIL (_Whispering to his sister_): + Keep him here. We have twenty golden crowns + To earn to-night. (_To_ KING FRANCOIS) Sir, you can have my room. + + THE KING: Ah, you are kinder than your sister is! + Show me the bed. + + [SALTABADIL _takes the lamp and leads him upstairs._ + + SALTABADIL: This way. + + MAGUELONNE (_in the darkness_): Poor, poor young man! + + [SALTABADIL _returns with the lamp. He sits at the table + in silence; his sister watches him._ + + MAGUELONNE (_fiercely_): You must not kill him! + + SALTABADIL: Twenty golden crowns! + Look, here are ten of them! The rest I get + At midnight. Pest! There is no time to lose. + Quick, sew this sack! My client will return + In a few minutes. + + [_Terrified by his look, she takes up the sack and begins + to mend it. There is again a silence, and in the + sinister and momentary radiance of the lightning + the figure of_ BLANCHE _is seen approaching the inn. + She is dressed in a man's clothes, and booted and + spurred._ + + BLANCHE: Terrible work to do! I cannot go. + Father, I cannot! Oh, this horrible dream! + Let me awake from it ere I go mad. + This dream, this horrible dream! + + [_Seeing the light from the window, she totters up to the + hole in the wall and looks in again._ + + God! it is true! + There they are! There!--the man with murderous looks, + The girl with shameless eyes! Where is the king? + + [_Her cries are drowned in the thunder._ + + MAGUELONNE: Brother! + + SALTABADIL: Yes. + + MAGUELONNE: Do not kill him. + + SALTABADIL: Ten more crowns! + + MAGUELONNE: He is worth more than that. Handsome and young, + And noble too, I'll take my oath on it. + Besides, he loves me. + + SALTABADIL: Get on with the sack. + + MAGUELONNE: You only want the money. Take and kill + The little hunchback when he comes with it. + + BLANCHE: My father! + + SALTABADIL (_angrily_): What! Am I a common thief? + Kill my own client? I will have you know, + My sister, that I am an honest man. + I do the work I'm paid for. + + [_Drawing his dagger, he goes towards the stairs._ + + MAGUELONNE (_barring the way_): Stop, I say! + Or I will go and rouse him. + + BLANCHE: Good, brave girl! + + SALTABADIL: Well, let us make a bargain, Maguelonne. + If anyone comes knocking at our inn + By midnight, he shall go into the sack. + My client only wants to fling some corpse + Into the river, and on this wild night + He will not see what he is throwing in. + + MAGUELONNE: It is just on the hour. No one will come. + Cannot you ram this faggot in the sack? + + SALTABADIL: Who would take that for a limp body? No! + Either a traveller or the man upstairs. + That is all! Will you take the chance? + + MAGUELONNE (_weeping_): I must. + + BLANCHE: Oh, God, I cannot! No! I am too young. + He does not love me. + + [_A church-bell begins to chime the hour._ + + SALTABADIL: Midnight! + + MAGUELONNE: Hark, a knock! + + BLANCHE (_stumbling to the door_): + My father hates him.... Perhaps it will not hurt, + If they strike hard and kill me at a blow. + Oh, if he only loved me! + + MAGUELONNE (_opening the door_): Who is there? + + BLANCHE: Give me a shelter for the night. + + MAGUELONNE: Come in. + + [_She enters. As she crosses the threshold_, SALTABADIL + _raises his dagger, and the curtain falls._ + + + ACT III + + SCENE.--_The same; but when the curtain rises, only the outside of the + inn is now seen. It is unlighted; everything is in darkness._ + + TRIBOULET (_knocking at the door_): Make haste! + + SALTABADIL (_bringing out a sack_): Here is your man. + + TRIBOULET (_helping him carry it_): Give me a light. + I want to see him--is he really dead? + + SALTABADIL: We must not use a light. We might be seen. + Where is the money? + + TRIBOULET (_giving him a bag_): Here. (_Looking at + the sack_) I have you at last! + Long have I waited for this happy hour! + + SALTABADIL: Come, throw it in the Seine! + + TRIBOULET: I want no help. + Your part is done. Leave me alone. + + SALTABADIL: Quick, then! + Somebody may come by. Is the man mad? + + [TRIBOULET _has knelt down in the mud by the sack. + The rain streams on him, and his face, convulsed + with hideous joy, is illumined by the lightning._ + SALTABADIL _enters the inn and shuts the door._ + + TRIBOULET (_feeling the sack_): Yes! I can feel his + spurs. It is the King! + + Now let the heavens break above my head, + And the earth rock and open at my feet! + The vengeance of a clown shakes the whole world! + Francois, the pivot on which Europe turns, + Is broken. German, Spaniard, and Turk + Can make a slaughterhouse of Christendom. + The King of France is dead! + + [_Leaping up in a fury, he kicks the sack._ + + Francois the First, + Do you remember how you treated me? + Who is the dog now, eh?--the dog to kick + And tumble about to make the courtiers laugh? + You liked my daughter, did you? A clown's brat + Found favour with a king! You stooped too low. + This is the road that you must take. + + [_He drags the sack to the parapet. While he is doing + so,_ MAGUELONNE _opens the door of the inn and lets + out_ THE KING, _who goes off singing gaily in the + opposite direction._ + + TRIBOULET (_lifting the sack on the parapet, to push + it over_): Go down! + + THE KING: + Oh, woman is fickle, and man is a fool + To trust in her word! + + TRIBOULET: Oh, God! Whose voice is that? + [_He pulls back the sack._ + + THE KING (_now unseen in the darkness_): + She changes without any reason or rule, + As her fancies are stirred. + + TRIBOULET: He has escaped! (_Running up to the + inn_) Accursed villains, you have cheated me! (_He + pulls at the door, but it will not open_.) + Who have they put in the sack? + [_He returns to it._ + Some innocent wayfarer? I must see. + + [_He tears open the sack, and peers into it._ + + It is too dark (_wildly_). Has no one got a light? + + [_As he is dragging the body out of the sack the lightning + irradiates it._ + + My daughter! God! My daughter! No, Blanche, no! + I sent you to Evreux. It is not her. + + [_The lightning again flashes out, and clearly shows the + pale face and closed eyes of the girl._ + + Speak, for the love of God! Speak! Oh, the blood! + Blanche, are you hurt? Speak to me! Blanche! + + BLANCHE (_opening her eyes_): Where am I? Father! + + [_She tries to rise, but falls back groaning._ TRIBOULET + _takes her in his arms._ + + TRIBOULET: Blanche, have they struck you? + It is too dark to see. + + BLANCHE (_in a broken, gasping voice_): + The dagger struck me ... but I ... + Saved the king ... + I love him. Father ... have they let him live? + + TRIBOULET: I cannot understand. + + BLANCHE: It was my fault ... + Forgive me ... father, I---- + + [_She struggles, speechless, in the agony of death._ + + TRIBOULET (_shrieking_): Help! Help! Oh, help! + + [_Rushing to the ferry-bell by the riverside, he rings it + madly. The people in the cottages around come running + out in wild alarm._ + + A WOMAN: What is it? Is she wounded? + + A MAN: She is dead. + + TRIBOULET (_taking the lifeless body in his arms and + hugging it to his breast_): I have killed my child! + I have killed my child! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[L] Victor Hugo was a man with a remarkable aptitude for +divining the real course of popular feeling and giving violent +expression to it. It was this that made him one of the leaders of the +modern republican movement in France. Precluded by his earlier works +from attacking the monarchy openly, he set about discrediting it by +a series of historical plays in which the French kings were depicted +in a sinister light. In "Marion de Lorme" he holds up the weakest of +the Bourbons to bitter contempt; in "The King Amuses Himself" ("Le roi +s'amuse"), produced in 1832, he satirises the most brilliant of the +Valois--Francois I. The portrait is a clever but one-sided piece of +work; it is based on facts; but not on all the facts. It is true that +Francois used to frequent low taverns and mix in disreputable company, +but he was also the most chivalrous king of his age, and a man of fine +tastes in art and letters. Nevertheless, the play is one of the best +of Victor Hugo's by reason of the strange and terrible character of +the king's jester, Triboulet. This ugly little hunchback is surely a +memorable figure in literature. The horror and pity which he excites +as he sits by the river in the storm and darkness, rejoicing in the +consummation of his scheme of revenge, have something of that awfulness +which is the note of veritable tragedy. The scene is a superb example +of dramatic irony. + + + + +The Legend of the Ages[M] + + +_Conscience_ + + Cain, flying from the presence of the Lord, + Came through the tempest to a mountain land; + And being worn and weary with the flight, + His wife and children cried to him, and said: + "Here let us rest upon the earth and sleep." + And, folded in the skin of beasts, they slept. + But no sleep fell on Cain; he raised his head, + And saw, amid the shadows of the night, + An eye in heaven sternly fixed on him. + "I am too near," he said, with trembling voice. + Rousing his weary children and worn wife, + He fled again along the wilderness. + For thirty days and thirty nights he fled. + Silent and pale, and shuddering at a sound, + He walked with downcast eyes, and never turned + To look behind him. On the thirtieth day + He came unto the shore of a great sea. + "Here we will live," he said. "Here we are safe. + Here on the lonely frontier of the world!" + And, sitting down, he gazed across the sea, + And there, on the horizon, was the eye + Still fixed on him. He leaped up, wild with fear, + Crying, "Oh, hide me! Hide me!" to his sons. + And Jabal, the tent-maker, sheltered him + Within his tent, and fastened down with stones + The flapping skins. But Cain still saw the eye + Burning upon him through the leathern tent. + And Enoch said, "Come, let us build with stone, + A city with a wall and citadel, + And hide our father there, and close the gates." + Then Tubalcain, the great artificer, + Quarried the granite, and with iron bands + Bound the huge blocks together, and he made + A city, with a rampart like a hill + Encircling it, and towers that threw a shade + Longer than any mountain's on the plain. + Deep in the highest and the strongest tower, + Cain was enclosed. "Can the eye see you now?" + His children asked him. "Yes, it is fixed on me," + He answered. And with haggard face he crept + Out of the tower, and cried unto his sons, + "I will go down into the earth, and live + Alone, within a dark and silent tomb. + No one shall ever see my face again, + And I will never look at anything." + They made a vaulted tomb beneath the earth, + And he was lowered into it; the hole + Above his head was closed; but in the tomb + Cain saw the eye still sternly fixed on him. + + +_Eviradnus_ + + When John the Striker, lord of Lusace, died, + Leaving his kingdom to his gentle niece, + Mahaud, great joy there was in all the land; + For she was beautiful, and sweet and young, + Kind to the people, and beloved by them. + But Sigismund, the German emperor, + And Ladislas of Poland were not glad. + Long had they coveted the wide domains + Of John the Striker; and Eviradnus, + The tall, white-haired Alastian warrior, + Home from his battles in the Holy Land, + Heard, as he wandered through the castle grounds, + Strange talk between two strangers--a lute-player + And troubadour--who with their minstrelsy + Had charmed the lovely lady of Lusace. + And she was taking them with her that night + To Corbus Castle--an old ruined keep + From which her race was sprung. Ere she was crowned, + An ancient custom of the land required + Mahaud to pass the night in solitude + At Corbus, where her ancestors reposed, + Amid the silence of the wooded hills + On which the stronghold stands. Being afraid + Of the ordeal, Mahaud took with her + The two strange minstrels, so that they might make + Music and mirth until she fell asleep. + An old priest, cunning in the use of herbs, + Came with her to the border of the wood, + And gave her a mysterious wine to drink + To make her slumber till the break of day, + When all the people of Lusace would come + And wake her with their shouts, and lead her forth + To the cathedral where she would be crowned. + + * * * * * + + To enter Corbus on this solemn night, + Or linger in the woods encircling it, + Was death to any man. Eviradnus + Did not fear death. Opening the castle gate + He strode into the chamber where Mahaud + Would have to pass the night. Two long, dim lines + Of armed and mounted warriors filled the hall, + Each with his lance couched ready for the shock, + And sternly silent. Empty panoplies + They were, in which the lords of old Lusace + Had lived and fought and died, since the red days + When Attila, from whom their race was sprung, + Swept over Europe. Now, on effigies + Of the great war-horses they loved and rode, + Their armoured image sat; and eyeless holes + Gaped in their visors, black and terrible. + Seizing the leader of this spectral host, + Eviradnus dragged his clanging body down, + And hid it; and then leaped upon the horse. + And with closed visor, motionless mail and lance + Clenched in his gauntlet, he appeared transformed + Into an iron statue, like the rest, + As through the open window came the sound + Of lute-playing and laughter, and a song + Sung by the troubadour, rang righ and clear: + + Come, and let us dream a dream! + Mount with me, and ride away, + By the winding moonlight stream, + Through the shining gates of day! + + Come, the stars are bright above! + All the world is in our scope. + We have horses--joy and love! + We have riches--youth and hope! + + Mount with me, and ride away, + Through the greenness and the dew; + Through the shining gates of day, + To the land where dreams come true! + + "Look!" cried Mahaud, as she came in the hall + With the two minstrels. "It is terrible! + Sooner would I have lost my crown than come + Alone at midnight to this dreadful place." + "Does this old iron," said the troubadour, + Striking the armour of Eviradnus, + "Frighten you?" "Leave my ancestors in peace!" + Exclaimed Mahaud. "A little man like you + Must not lay hands on them." The troubadour + Grew pale with anger, but the tall lute-player + Laughed, and his blue eyes flamed upon Mahaud. + "Now I must sleep," she said, "the priest's strange wine + Begins to make me drowsy. Stay with me! + Stay and watch over me all night, my friends." + "Far have we travelled," said the troubadour, + "In hopes to be alone with you to-night." + And his dark face lightened with a grim smile, + When, as he spoke, Mahaud fell fast asleep. + "I'll take the girl," he cried to the lute-player, + "And you can have the land! Are you content?" + "Yes," said the lute-player, "but love is sweet." + "Revenge is sweeter!" cried the troubadour. + "'A little man like me!' Those were her words. + Neither as queen nor empress shall she reign! + I swore it when she flouted me. She dies!" + "I cannot kill her," said the lute-player, + "I love her." "So do I!" the other said. + "I love her and hate her. If she lived, + There would be war between us two. She dies! + We love her; we must kill her." As he spoke + The troubadour pulled at a ring, and raised + A flagstone in the floor. "I know this place," + He said. "A lord of Lusace had this trap + Made for his enemies. 'Twill serve our need! + Help me to lift her. All the land is yours." + "Look!" screamed the lute-player. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" + The troubadour turned round, and his knees shook. + One of the iron images had leapt + Down from its lifeless horse, and with drawn sword + And clank of armour, it now drove at them. + "King Ladislas and Emperor Sigismund!" + It shouted in a terrible voice that fell + Upon them like a judgment from on high. + They grovelled at its iron feet, and shrieked, + "Mercy! Oh, mercy!" And Eviradnus, + Doffing his helmet and cuirass, exclaimed, + "I am a man and not an iron ghost! + It sickens me to see such cowardice + In the two greatest conquerors of the age. + Look! I have taken all my armour off; + Meet me like men, and use what arms you will." + "'Tis only an old man," said Ladislas. + "Hold him in front, while I strike from behind." + Eviradnus laid down his sword, to loose + The last piece of his armour, and the Pole + Ran at him with a dagger; with one hand + The old man gripped the little king, and shook + The life out of him. Then, as Sigismund + Snatched up his sword, and left him still unarmed, + Eviradnus stooped, and, seizing the dead king, + He whirled him by the feet, like a huge club. + Stricken with terror, Sigismund recoiled + Into the open trap. Eviradnus + Flung his strange weapon after him, and they fell, + The living emperor, and the lifeless king, + Into the dark abyss. Closing the stone, + Eviradnus put on his mail, and set + The hall in order. And when he had placed + The iron image on its horse, the dawn + Gleamed through the windows, and the noise + And murmur of the people of Lusace + Coming with branches of green broom to greet + Their lady, filled the air. Mahaud awoke. + "Where is my troubadour and lute-player?" + She said. Eviradnus bent over her, + His old grey eyes shining with tenderness. + "Lady," he said, "I hope that you slept well?" + + +_The Temple of the Captives_ + + The high-priest said unto the King of Kings: + "We need a temple to commemorate + Your glorious victories." The King of Kings + Called unto him the captives he had made, + And bade them build the temple, and he asked: + "Is there a man among you who can plan + And raise this monument unto my fame?" + "No," said they. "Kill a hundred of these slaves!" + The King of Kings exclaimed. And this was done. + One of the captives promised then to build + A temple on the mountain looking down + Upon the city of the King of Kings. + Loaded with chains, the prisoners were dragged + Along the streets and up the mountain track, + And there they toiled with grim and angry eyes, + Cutting a building in the solid rock. + "'Tis but a cavern!" said the King of Kings. + "We found a lion's lair," the captive said, + "And fashioned it into your monument. + Enter, O King of Kings, and see the work + Your slaves have built for you!" The conqueror + And captive entered. To a royal throne + The King of Kings was led, that he might view + The temple; and the builder flung himself + Face downwards at his feet. Then, suddenly, + The throne began to sink below the floor. + "Where are we going?" said the King of Kings. + "Down the deep pit into the inner hall!" + The captive said. A sound like thunder rang + Above them, and the King of Kings exclaimed: + "What noise was that?" "The block of stone + That covers in this pit," the captive said, + "Has fallen in its place!" The King of Kings + Groped in the darkness, and with trembling voice + He asked: "Is there no way out of this pit?" + "Surely," the captive said, "the King of Kings, + Whose hands are swift like lightning, and whose feet + Tread down all nations, can find out a way?" + "There is no light, no sound, no breath of air!" + Cried out the King of Kings. "Why is it dark + And cold within the temple to my fame?" + "Because," the captive said, "it is your tomb!" + + +_Jean Chouan_ + + The work of pacifying Brittany + Was going on; and children, women, men, + Fled from the revolutionary troops + In wild disorder. Over a bare plain + And up a hill, swept by the guns of France, + They ran, and reached the shelter of a wood. + There they re-formed--the peasant royalists. + And then Jean Chouan, who was leading them, + Cried: "Is there any missing?" "No," they said, + Counting their numbers. "Scatter along the wood!" + Jean Chouan cried again. The women caught + Their babies to their breasts, and the old men + Tottered beside the children. Panic, fear + Possessed the broken, flying peasantry. + Only Jean Chouan stayed behind to watch + The movements of the enemy. He stood + Silent in prayer below the sheltering hill; + A tall, wild figure, with his long, loose hair + Streaming upon the wind. And suddenly, + A cry rang shrill and keen above the roar + Of the French guns. A woman's cry it was; + And, looking from the hill, Jean Chouan saw + A woman labouring, with bare, torn feet, + And haggard, terror-stricken face, to reach + A refuge in the forest. Up the hill, + Swep by the French artillery, she toiled, + And the shells burst around her. "She is lost!" + Jean Chouan murmured. "She will be destroyed + Before she reaches shelter. Oh, the brutes, + To mass their fire upon a woman's head!" + + * * * * * + + Then on the height that overlooked the plain, + Jean Chouan sprang, and stood against the sky, + Fearless and proud, superb and motionless, + And cried, "I am Jean Chouan!" The French troops + Gazed for a moment in astonishment + At his tall figure. "Yes, it is the chief!" + They said to one another, as they turned + Their guns upon him. "Save yourself!" he cried, + "My sister, save yourself!" as, mad with fright, + The woman stumbled onward. Like a pine + Too strongly rooted in the rock to bend + Or break beneath the fury of the storm, + He towered amid the hurricane of death + That roared and flamed around him. "I will wait + Until you gain the forest!" he exclaimed. + The woman hastened. Over the hill she crept, + And staggered down the valley. "Is she safe?" + Jean Chouan shouted, as a bullet passed + Right through his body. Standing still erect, + He waited, with a smile upon his lips, + The answer. When some voices in the wood + Cried, "Jeanne is safe. Return!" Jean Chouan said, + "Ave Maria!" and then fell down dead. + + +_Civil War_ + + "Kill him!" the mob yelled. "Kill him!" as they surged + In fury round their prisoner. Unmoved + And unafraid he stood: a constable + Of Paris, captured by the Communards. + His hands were black with gunpowder; his clothes + Were red with blood. A simple, fearless man, + Charged with the task of carrying out the law, + He gave no quarter, and he asked for none. + All the day he had fought against the mob + That swept with sword and flame along the streets + Of Paris, while the German conqueror + Battened on France. A woman sprang at him, + And shrieked, "You have been killing us!" "That's true," + The man replied. "Come, shoot him here!" she screamed. + "No! Farther on! At the Bastille!" "No! Here!" + And while the crowd disputed, the man said: + "Kill me just where you like; but kill me quick." + "Yes!" cried the woman, "shoot him where he stands. + He is a wolf!" "A wolf that has been caught," + The prisoner said, "by a vile pack of curs!" + "The wretch insults us!" yelled the furious mob. + "Down with him! Death! Death! Death!" And with clenched fists + They struck him on the face. An angry flame + Gleamed in his eyes, but, silent and superb, + He marched along the street amid the howls + Of the ferocious, maddened multitude! + God! How they hated him! To shoot him seemed + Too light a sentence, as he calmly strode + Over the corpses of their comrades strewn + Along the street. "How many did you kill?" + They shrieked at him. "Murderer! Traitor! Spy!" + He did not answer; but the waiting mob + Heard a small voice cry: "Daddy!" and a child + Of six years' age ran from a house close by, + And struggled to remain and clasped his knees, + Saying, "He is my daddy. Don't hurt him! + He is my daddy--" "Down with the cursed spy! + Shoot him at once!" a hundred voices said; + "Then we can get on with our work!" Their yells, + The clangour of the tocsin, and the roar + Of cannon mingled. 'Mid the dreadful noise, + The child, still clinging to his father's knees, + Cried, "I tell you he's my daddy. Let him go!" + Pale, tearful, with one arm thrown out to shield + His father, and the other round his leg, + The child stood. "He is pretty!" said a girl. + "How old are you, my little one?" The child + Answered, "Don't kill my daddy!" Many men + Lowered their eyes, and the fierce hands that gripped + The prisoner began to loose their hold. + "Send the kid to its mother!" one man cried, + "And end this job!" "His mother died last month," + The prisoner said. "Do you know Catherine?" + He asked his little boy. "Yes," said the child, + "She lives next door to us." "Then go to her," + He said, in grave, calm, kindly tones. "No! No! + I cannot go without you!" cried his son. + "They're going to hurt you, daddy, all these men!" + The father whispered to the Communards + That held him. "Let me say good-bye to him, + And you can shoot me round the corner-house; + Or where you will!" They loosed their prisoner + A moment, and he said unto his child: + "You see, we're only playing. They are friends, + And I am going for a walk with them. + Be a good boy, my darling, and run home." + Raising his face up to be kissed, the child + Smiled through his tears, and skipped into the house. + "Now," said his father to the silent mob, + "Where would you like to shoot me; by this wall, + Or round the corner?" Through the crowd of men, + Mad with the lust for blood, a shudder passed, + And with one voice they cried: "Go home! Go home!" + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[M] English poetry of the last eighty years is fine in quality +and great in volume, but it would be difficult to maintain that it +is the finest and greatest poetry of the period. It was France that +produced the master-singer, and with rare generosity both Tennyson and +Swinburne acknowledged that Victor Hugo was their superior. The range +of power of the Frenchman was marvellous; he was a great novelist, a +great playwright, a great political writer; but, above all, he was a +poet. His immense force of imagination and narrative power is displayed +at its best in "The Legend of the Ages" ("La Legende des Siecles"). The +first part appeared in 1859, the second in 1877, and the last in 1883. +It consists of a series of historical and philosophic poems, in which +the story of the human race is depicted in the lightning flashes of a +resplendent imagination. Some of the poems, given here for the first +time in English, contain stories as fine as the masterpieces of the +great novelists. + + + + +HENRIK IBSEN[N] + + + + +The Master Builder + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + HALVARD SOLNESS, _the Master Builder_ + ALINE SOLNESS, _his wife_ + DR. HERDAL, _physician_ + KNUT BROVIK, _formerly an architect, now in Solness's employment_ + RAGNAR BROVIK, _his son_ + KAIA FOSLI, _his niece, book-keeper_ + HILDA WANGEL + + + ACT I + + SCENE.--_A plainly furnished work-room in the house of_ HALVARD + SOLNESS. _At the back, visible through an open door, is the + draughtsman's office, where sit_ KNUT BROVIK _and his son_, + RAGNAR, _occupied with plans and calculations. At the desk + in the outer office_ KAIA FOSLI _is writing in the ledger. + She is young, slight, and delicate-looking. She wears a + green shade over her eyes. All three work for some time + in silence_. + + KNUT BROVIK _(rising as if in distress_): No, I can't + bear it much longer! + + KAIA: You're feeling very ill, aren't you, uncle? + + BROVIK: Oh, I seem to get worse every day! + + RAGNAR _(advancing)_: You ought to go home, father. + + BROVIK: Not till _he_ comes! I'm determined to have + it out--with the chief! + + KAIA _(anxiously)_: Oh, no, uncle! Wait awhile. + Hush! I hear him on the stairs. + + [_They go back to their work_. HALVARD SOLNESS, _mature, + healthy, vigorous, comes in_. + + SOLNESS: Are they gone? + + KAIA: No. _[She takes the shade off her eyes_. + + SOLNESS _(approaching her and whispering_): Kaia! + Why do you always take off that shade when I come? + + KAIA: I look so ugly with it on. + + SOLNESS _(stroking her hair_): Poor, poor little + Kaia------ + + KAIA: Hush------ + + [BROVIK _comes into the front room_. + + BROVIK: May I have a few words with you? + + SOLNESS: Certainly. + + [BROVIK _sends_ KAIA _out_. + + BROVIK: It will soon be all over with me. (SOLNESS + _places him in an armchair_.) Thanks. Well, you see, it's + about Ragnar. That weighs most upon me. What's to + become of him? + + SOLNESS: Your son will stay with me as long as ever + he likes. + BROVIK: But he wants to have a chance. He must do + something on his own account. + + SOLNESS: Well, but he has learnt nothing, except, of + course, to draw. + + BROVIK: You had learnt little enough when you were + with me, and yet you cut me out. Now, how can you + have the heart to let me go to my grave without having + seen what Ragnar is fit for? And I'm anxious to see + him and Kaia married--before I go. + + SOLNESS: I can't drag commissions down from the + moon for him. + + BROVIK: He can have the building of that villa at Loevstrand, + if you would only approve of his plans, and + retire------ + + SOLNESS _(angrily):_ Retire? I? + + BROVIK: From the agreement, that is. + + SOLNESS: So that's it, is it? Halvard Solness to make + room for younger men! Never in the world! + + BROVIK _(rising painfully_): Then I'm to die without + any certainty, any gleam of happiness or trust in Ragnar? + + SOLNESS: You must pass out of life as best you can. + [BROVIK _reels_. RAGNAR _enters and takes his father + home._ SOLNESS _detains_ KAIA. + + SOLNESS: You want to marry Ragnar. + + KAIA: I cared for him once--before I met you. I + can't be separated from you------ + + SOLNESS: Marry him as much as you please. Make + him stay here, and then I can keep _you_, too, my dear + Kaia. + + KAIA _(sinks down before him_): Oh, how unspeakably + good you are to me! + + SOLNESS: Get up! For goodness' sake get up! I + think I hear someone. + + [MRS. SOLNESS _enters. She is wasted with grief, but has + once been beautiful_. + + MRS. SOLNESS _(with a glance at_ KAIA): Halvard! + I'm afraid I'm disturbing you. + + SOLNESS: Not in the least. What is it, Aline? + + MRS. SOLNESS: Merely that Dr. Herdal is in the drawing-room. + + SOLNESS: I'll come later on, dear--later on. + + [_Exit_ MRS. SOLNESS. + + KAIA: Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I'm sure Mrs. Solness + thinks ill of me in some way! + + SOLNESS: Oh, not in the least! You'd better go now, + all the same, Kaia. And mind you get that matter about + Ragnar settled for me. Please give me Ragnar's drawings + before you go. I might glance over them. + + KAIA _(happy):_ Oh, yes, please do! + + [MRS. SOLNESS _and_ DR. HERDAL _enter_. + + MRS. SOLNESS: Halvard, I cannot keep the doctor any + longer. + + SOLNESS: Well, then, come in here. + + KAIA: Good-night, Mrs. Solness. + + [KAIA _goes out_. + + MRS. SOLNESS: She must be quite an acquisition to you, + Halvard, this Miss Fosli. + + SOLNESS: Yes, indeed. She's useful in all sorts of + ways. + + MRS. SOLNESS: So it seems. + + [MRS. SOLNESS _goes out_. + + SOLNESS: Tell me, doctor, did you notice anything odd + about Aline? + + DR. HERDAL _(smiling_): Well, one couldn't help noticing + that your wife--h'm------ + + SOLNESS: Well? + + DR. HERDAL: That your wife isn't particularly fond + of this Miss Fosli. There's nothing of any sort in the + case, is there? + + SOLNESS: Not on _my_ side. + + DR. HERDAL: On hers, then? + + SOLNESS: Hardly a fair question! Still, you know + she's engaged to Ragnar; but since she came here she + seemed to drift quite away from _him_. + DR. HERDAL: She drifted over to you, then? + + SOLNESS: Yes, entirely. She quivers when she comes + near me. + + DR. HERDAL: Why on earth don't you tell your wife + the rights of it? + + SOLNESS: Because I seem to find a sort of--of salutary + self-sacrifice in allowing Aline to do me an injustice. + It's like paying off a little bit of a huge, immeasurable + debt I owe her. Oh, I know she thinks I'm ill--crazy. + And, I think, so do you. + + DR. HERDAL: And what then? + + SOLNESS: Then I dare say you fancy I'm an extremely + happy man--Solness, the master builder! + + DR. HERDAL: You've certainly had luck on your side. + First of all, the home of your wife's family was burnt + down for you. A great grief to her--but _you_ rose on the + ruins. Yes, you've had luck. + + SOLNESS: But luck must turn. The younger generation + will come knocking at my door. Then there's an + end of Halvard Solness, the master builder. (_A knock + at the door. Starts_.) What's that? + + DR. HERDAL: Someone is knocking at the door. + + SOLNESS (_loudly_): Come in! + + [HILDA WANGEL _enters. She is dressed in a tourist + costume, skirt caught up for walking, and carries + a knapsack and alpenstock_. + + HILDA: You don't recognise me? + + SOLNESS (_doubtfully_): No. I must admit that--just + for the moment. + + DR. HERDAL: But I recognise you, Miss Wangel. + + SOLNESS: Wangel? You must be the doctor's daughter + up at Lysanger? + + HILDA: Yes. Who else's daughter should I be? + + [SOLNESS _calls in his wife, an old friend of_ MISS + WANGEL'S. HILDA _asks leave to stay the night_. MRS. + SOLNESS _consents amiably. She and the doctor go + out._ HILDA and SOLNESS _alone_. + + HILDA: Mr. Solness, have you a bad memory? + + SOLNESS: Not that I'm aware of. + + HILDA: Don't you remember what happened up at Lysanger? + + SOLNESS: It was nothing much, was it? + + HILDA: How can you say that? Don't you remember + how you climbed the new church tower when it was + finished, and hung a great wreath on the weather-cock; and + how I stood with the other white-frocked schoolgirls and + screamed, "Hurrah for Mr. Solness?" And you sang up + there--like harps in the air! And afterwards you + kissed me, kissed me and said in ten years I'd be _your_ + princess, and you'd come back and give me a castle in + Spain--a kingdom-- + + SOLNESS (_open-mouthed_): _I_ did? + + HILDA: Yes, _you_. Well, the ten years are up to-day. + I want my kingdom! Out with my kingdom, Mr. Solness! + On the table! + + SOLNESS: But, seriously, what do you want to do here? + + HILDA: I don't want that stupid imaginary kingdom--I've + set my heart upon quite a different one. + + SOLNESS (_gazing at her_): I seem--it's strange--to + have gone about all these years torturing myself with the + effort to recover something--some experience which I + seem to have forgotten. What a good thing it is that + you have come to me now. I'd begun to be so afraid--so + terribly afraid of the younger generation. One day + they'll thunder at my door. + + HILDA: Then I'd go out and open it. Let them come + in to you on friendly terms, as it were. + + SOLNESS: No, no, no! The younger generation--it + means retribution. + + HILDA (_with quivering lips_): Can _I_ be of any use to + you, Mr. Solness? + + SOLNESS: Yes, you can. For you, too, come--under + a new banner, it seems to me. Youth marshalled against + youth! _You_ are the very one I have most needed. + + HILDA (_with happy, wondering eyes_): Oh, heavens, how + lovely! + + SOLNESS: What? + + HILDA: Then I _have_ my kingdom! + + SOLNESS _(involuntarily)_: Hilda! + + HILDA _(with quivering lips): Almost_--I was going to say. + + [_She goes out_. SOLNESS _follows her_. + + + ACT II + + SCENE.--_A small drawing-room in the house of_ SOLNESS. SOLNESS _is + examining_ RAGNAR BROVIK'S _drawings_. MRS. SOLNESS _is + attending to her flowers_. + + SOLNESS: Is she still asleep? + + MRS. SOLNESS _(looking at him_): Is it Miss Wangel + you are sitting there thinking about? She was up long + ago. + + SOLNESS: Oh, was she? So we've found a use for one + of our three nurseries, after all, Aline, now that Hilda + occupies one of them. + + MRS. SOLNESS: Yes, we have. Their emptiness is + dreadful. + + SOLNESS: We'll get on far better after this, Aline. + Things will be easier. + + MRS. SOLNESS: Because _she_ has come? + + SOLNESS _(checking himself_): I mean when once we've + moved into our new house. It's for your sake I've + built it. + + MRS. SOLNESS: You do far too much for me. + + SOLNESS: I can't bear to hear you say that. Stick to + what I said. Things 'll be easier in the new place. + + MRS. SOLNESS _(lamenting)_: Oh heavens, easier! + Halvard, you can never build up a real home again for + _me. This_ is no home; It will be just as desolate, as + empty there as here. + + [HILDA WANGEL _comes in_. + + HILDA: Good-morning, Mr. Solness! + + SOLNESS (_nods_): Slept well? + + HILDA: Deliciously! As if in a cradle. Oh, I lay + and stretched myself like--like a princess. But I + dreamed I was falling over a precipice. It's tremendously + thrilling when you fall and fall---- + + MRS. SOLNESS (_ready to go out_): I must go into town + now, Halvard. (_To_ HILDA) And I'll try to get one or + two things that may be of use to you. + + HILDA: Oh, you dear, sweet Mrs. Solness. You're + frightfully kind---- + + MRS. SOLNESS: It's only my duty. + + [MRS. SOLNESS _goes out_. + + HILDA: What made her say that about her duty? + Doesn't it sting you? + + SOLNESS: H'm! Haven't thought much about it. + + HILDA: Yes it does. Why should she talk in that + way? She might have said something really warm and + cordial, you understand. + + SOLNESS: Is that how you'd like to have it? + + HILDA: Yes, precisely. (_She wanders over to the + table and looks over_ RAGNAR'S _portfolio of drawings_.) + Are all these drawings yours? + + SOLNESS: No; they're drawn by a young man I employ. + + HILDA (_sits down_): Then I suppose he's frightfully + clever. + + SOLNESS: Oh, he's not bad, for my purpose. + + HILDA: I can't understand why you should be so + stupid as to go about teaching people. No one but yourself + should be allowed to build. + + SOLNESS: I keep brooding on that very thought. + (_Calling her to the window_) Look over there; that's + my new house. + + HILDA: It seems to have a tremendously high tower. + Are there nurseries in _that_ house, too? + + SOLNESS: Three--as there are here. But there will + never be any child in them. We have had children, + Aline and I, but we didn't keep them long, our two + little boys. The fright Aline got when our old house + was burnt down affected her health, and she failed to + rear them. Yet that fire made me. I built no more + churches; but cosy, comfortable homes for human beings. + But my position as an artist has been paid for in Aline's + happiness. I could have prevented that fire by seeing to + a flue. But I didn't. And yet the flue didn't actually + cause the fire. Yet it was my fault in a certain sense. + + HILDA: I'm afraid you must be--ill. + + SOLNESS: I don't think I'll ever be quite of sound + mind on that point. + + [RAGNAR _enters, and begs a few kind words about his + drawings to cheer his father, who is dying_. SOLNESS + _dismisses him almost brutally, and bids him never + think of building on his own account_. + + HILDA (_when_ RAGNAR _has gone_): That was horribly + ugly--and hard and bad and cruel as well. + + SOLNESS: Oh, you don't understand my position, + which I've paid so dear for. _(Confidentially)_ Hilda, + don't you agree with me that there exists special chosen + people, who have the power of desiring, _craving_ a thing, + until at last it _has_ to happen? And aren't there helpers + and servers who must do their part too? But they never + come of themselves. One has to call them very persistently, + inwardly. So the fire happened conveniently + for me; but the two little boys and Aline were sacrificed. + She will never be the woman she longed to be. + + HILDA: I believe you have a sickly conscience. I + should like your conscience to be thoroughly robust. + + SOLNESS: Is _yours_ robust? + + HILDA: I think it is. + + SOLNESS: I think the Vikings had robust consciences. + And the women they used to carry off had robust consciences, + too. They often wouldn't leave their captors + on any account. + HILDA: These women I can understand exceedingly + well. + + SOLNESS: Could you come to love a man like that? + + HILDA: One can't choose whom one's going to love. + + SOLNESS: Hilda, there's something of the bird of prey + in you! + + HILDA: And why not? Why shouldn't I go a-hunting + as well as the rest? Tell me, Mr. Solness, have you + never called me to you--inwardly, you know? + + SOLNESS _(softly)_: I almost think I must have. + + HILDA: What did you want with me? + + SOLNESS: You are the younger generation, Hilda. + + HILDA: Which you fear so much---- + + SOLNESS: Towards which, in my heart, I yearn so + deeply. + + [_In the next scene_ HILDA _compels_ SOLNESS _to write a + few kind words on_ RAGNAR'S _drawings, and send + them to_ BROVIK. _He entrusts the portfolio to_ KAIA, + _and thereupon dismisses her and_ RAGNAR _from his + service._ MRS. SOLNESS _re-enters._ + + MRS. SOLNESS: Are you really dismissing them, Halvard? + + SOLNESS: Yes. + + MRS. SOLNESS: Her as well? + + SOLNESS: Wasn't that what you wished? + + MRS. SOLNESS: But how can you get on without + _her_----? Oh, no doubt you've someone else in reserve, + Halvard. + + HILDA _(playfully)_: Well, _I_ for one am not the person + to stand at that desk. + + SOLNESS: Never mind, never mind. It'll be all right, + Aline. Now for moving into our new home--as quickly + as we can. This evening we'll hang up the wreath--right + on the pinnacle of the tower. What do you say to + that, Hilda? + + HILDA _(with sparkling eyes_): It'll be splendid to see + you up so high once more. + MRS. SOLNESS: For heaven's sake, don't, Miss Wangel. + My husband!--when he always gets so dizzy. + + HILDA: He--dizzy? I've seen him with my own eyes + at the top of a high church tower. + + MRS. SOLNESS: Impossible! + + SOLNESS: True, all the same. + + MRS. SOLNESS: You, who can't even go out on the + second-floor balcony? + + SOLNESS: You will see something different this evening. + + MRS. SOLNESS: You're ill, you're ill! I'll write at + once to the doctor. Oh, God, Oh, God! + + [_She goes out._ + + HILDA: Don't tell me _my_ master builder daren't, _cannot_ + climb as high as he builds. You promised me a kingdom, + and then you went and--well! Don't tell me you + can ever be dizzy! + + SOLNESS: This evening, then, we'll hang up the wreath, + Princess Hilda. + + HILDA (_bitterly_): Over your new home--yes. + + SOLNESS: Over the new house, which will never be a + _home_ for _me_. + + HILDA (_looks straight in front of her with a far-away + expression, and whispers to herself. The only words + audible are_): Frightfully thrilling---- + + + ACT III + + SCENE.--_A large, broad verandah attached to_ SOLNESS'S + _dwelling-house. A flight of steps leads down to the garden + below. Far to the right, among the trees, is a glimpse of + the new villa, with scaffolding round the tower. Evening + sky, with sun-lit clouds._ + + MRS. SOLNESS: Have you been round the garden, Miss + Wangel? + + HILDA: Yes, and I've found heaps of flowers. + + MRS. SOLNESS: Are there, really? You see, I seldom + go there. I don't feel that it is _mine_ any longer. They've + parcelled it out and built houses for strangers, who can + look in upon me from their windows. + + HILDA: Mrs. Solness--may I stay here with you a + little? + + MRS. SOLNESS: Yes, by all means, if you care to; but + I thought you wanted to go in to my husband--to help + him? + + HILDA: No, thanks. Besides, he's not in. He's with + the men over there. He looked so fierce, I didn't dare + to talk to him. + + MRS. SOLNESS: He's so kind and gentle in reality. + + HILDA: _He_------ + + MRS. SOLNESS: You don't really know him yet, Miss + Wangel. + + HILDA: Are you pleased about the new house? + + MRS. SOLNESS: It's what Halvard wants. It's simply + my duty to submit myself to _him_. + + HILDA: That must be difficult, indeed, when one has + gone through so much as you have--the loss of your two + little boys------ + + MRS. SOLNESS: One must bow to Providence and be + thankful, too. + + [DR. HERDAL _enters and goes in again with_ MRS. SOLNESS. + _She wishes to talk to him about her husband's mad + scheme. As they go_ SOLNESS _enters_. + + SOLNESS: Poor Aline! I suppose she was talking + about the two little boys? (HILDA _shudders_) Poor + Aline, she will never get over it. + + HILDA: I am going away. + + SOLNESS: I won't allow you to. I wish you simply to + _be_ here, Hilda. + + HILDA: Oh, thank you. You know it wouldn't end + there. That's why I'm going. You have duties to _her_. + Live for those duties. + + SOLNESS: Too late! Those powers--devils, if you + will!--and the troll within me as well, have drawn the + life-blood out of her. I'm chained alive to a dead + woman!--(_in wild anguish_) _I--I_, who cannot live without + joy in life. + + HILDA: What will you build next? + + SOLNESS (_shaking his head_): Not much more. + + HILDA (_with an outburst_): Oh, it seems all so foolish--not + to be able to grasp your own happiness, merely because + someone you know happens to stand in the way---- + + SOLNESS: If only one had the Viking spirit in life---- + + HILDA: And the other thing? What was that? + + SOLNESS: A robust conscience. + + HILDA (_radiant_): I know what you're going to build + next. + + SOLNESS: What? + + HILDA: The castle--_my_ castle. Build it for me this + moment. The ten years are up. Out with my castle, + Mr. Solness! It shall stand on a very great height, so + that I can see far--far around. We shall build--we two + together--the very loveliest thing in all the world! + + SOLNESS: Hilda, tell me what it is. + + HILDA: Builders are such very, very stupid people---- + + SOLNESS: No doubt--but tell me what we two are to + build together? + + HILDA: Castles in the air! So easy to build (_scornfully_), + especially for builders who have a--a dizzy conscience. + + SOLNESS: We shall build one--with a firm foundation. + (RAGNAR _enters with the wreath_) Have _you_ brought + the wreath, Ragnar? Then I suppose your father's better? + Wasn't he cheered by what I wrote him? + + RAGNAR: It came too late--he was unconscious. He + had had a stroke. + + SOLNESS: Go home to him. Give _me_ the wreath. + + RAGNAR: You don't mean that you yourself--no--I'll + stop. + + HILDA: Mr. Solness, I will stand here and look at you. + + [SOLNESS _takes the wreath and goes down through the + garden._ MRS. SOLNESS, _in an agony of apprehension, + re-enters and sends_ RAGNAR _to fetch her husband + back from the new building. She returns indoors._ + + SOLNESS (_re-entering_): Oh, it's _you_, Hilda! I was + afraid it was Aline or the doctor that wanted me. + + HILDA: You're easily frightened. They say you're + afraid to climb about scaffoldings. Is it true you're + afraid? + + SOLNESS: Not of death--but--of retribution. + + HILDA: I don't understand that. + + SOLNESS: Sit down, and I'll tell you something. You + know I began by building churches. I'd been piously + brought up. I thought it was the noblest task, pleasing + to Him for Whom churches are built. Then up at Lysanger + I understood that He meant me to have no love + and happiness of my own, but just to be a master builder + for Him all my life long. That was why He took my + little children! Then, that day, I did the impossible. I + was able to climb up to a great height. As I stood hanging + the wreath on the vane, I cried, "O Mighty One, I + will be a free builder--I, too, in my sphere as Thou in + Thine. I will build no more churches for Thee--only + homes for human beings." But _that_ is not worth six-pence, + Hilda. + + HILDA: Then you will never build anything more? + + SOLNESS: On the contrary, I'm just going to begin--the + only possible dwelling-place for human happiness------ + + HILDA: Our castles in the air. + + SOLNESS: Our castles in the air--yes. + + HILDA: Then let me see you stand free and high up + (_passionately_). I will have you do it--just once more, + Mr. Solness. Do the _impossible_, once again. + + SOLNESS: If I do, I will talk to Him once again up + there--"Mighty Lord, henceforth I will build nothing + but the loveliest thing in the world." + + HILDA (_carried away_): Yes--yes--yes! My lovely, + lovely castle! My castle in the air! + + [_The others go out upon the verandah. The band of the + Masons' Union is heard_. RAGNAR _tells_ SOLNESS + _that the foreman is ready to go up with the wreath_. + SOLNESS _goes out. The others watch eagerly_. + + DR. HERDAL: There goes the foreman up the ladder. + + RAGNAR: Why, but it's------ + + HILDA (_jubilant_): It's the master builder himself. + + MRS. SOLNESS: Oh, my God! Halvard, Halvard! I + must go to him! + + DR. HERDAL (_holding her_): Don't move, any of you. + Not a sound. + + RAGNAR: I feel as if I were looking at something + utterly impossible. + + HILDA (_ecstatically_): It is the _impossible_ that he is + doing now. Can you see anyone else up there with him? + There is One he is striving with. I hear a song--a + mighty song. He is waving to us. Oh, wave back. + Hurrah for Master Builder Solness! + + [_The shout is taken up. Then a shriek of horror. A + human body, with planks and pieces of wood, is + vaguely seen crashing down behind the trees_. + + HILDA: _My_ Master Builder! + + A VOICE: Mr. Solness is dead. He fell right into the + quarry. + + RAGNAR: So, after all, he could not do it. + + HILDA: But he mounted right up to the top. And I + heard harps in the air. (_Waves her shawl, and shrieks + with wild intensity) My--my_ Master Builder! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[N] Henrik Ibsen, poet and the creator of a new type of drama, +was born at Skien, in South Norway, on March 20, 1828. Apprenticed +first to a chemist at Grimstad, he next entered Christiania University, +but speedily wearied of regular academic studies. He then undertook +journalistic work for two years, and afterwards became a theatrical +manager at Bergen. In 1857 he was appointed director of the National +Theatre at Christiania, and about this time wrote, at intervals, +plays in the style of the ancient Norse sagas. "The Master Builder" +("Bygmester Solness") belongs to his later efforts, and was completed +in 1892. In it many critics discern the highest attainments of Ibsen's +genius, and its realism is strangely combined with romance. It is a +plea for the freedom of the human spirit; and the terrible drama is +wrought out in language of extraordinary symbolism. Hilda Wangel is +the "superwoman," who will suffer nothing to stand between her and the +realisation of herself. Had Solness been as strong a spirit, the end +might have been different. But he has a "sickly conscience," unable to +bear the heights of freedom. Here again Ibsen is unique in his estimate +of mankind. Nevertheless, his characters are all actual personalities, +and live vividly. Ibsen died on May 23, 1906. + + + + +The Pillars of Society[O] + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + CONSUL BERNICK + MRS. BERNICK + OLAF, _their son_ + MARTHA BERNICK, _sister of the consul_ + LONA HESSEL, _elder stepsister of Mrs. Bernick_ + JOHAN TOeNNESEN, _her younger brother_ + HILMAR TOeNNESEN, _Mrs. Bernick's brother_ + RECTOR ROeRLUND + DINA DORF, _a young lady living at the consul's_ + KRAP, _the consul's clerk_ + SHIPBUILDER AUNE + MRS. RUMMEL _and other ladies, friends of the consul's family_ + + + ACT I + + SCENE.--_A large garden-room in_ CONSUL BERNICK'S _house. A number of + ladies are seated in the room_. AUNE, _who has been sent for + by the_ CONSUL, _is addressed by_ KRAP _at the door of the_ + CONSUL'S _room_. + + KRAP: I am ordered by the consul to tell you that you + must stop those Saturday talks to the workmen about the + injury that our new machines will do to them. Your + first duty is to this establishment. Now you know the + will of the consul. + + AUNE: The consul would have said it differently. + But I know I have to thank for this the American that + has put in for repairs. + + KRAP: That is enough. You know the consul's wishes. + Pardon, ladies! + + [KRAP _bows to ladies, and he and_ AUNE _go into the + street_. RECTOR ROeRLUND _has been reading aloud, + and now shuts the book and begins to converse with + the ladies_. + + ROeRLUND: This book forms a welcome contrast to the + hollowness and rottenness we see every day in the papers + and magazines, which reflect the condition of the whited + sepulchres, the great communities to-day. Doubt, restlessness, + and insecurity are undermining society. + + DINA: But are not many great things being accomplished? + + ROeRLUND: I do not understand what you mean by + great things. + + MRS. RUMMEL: Last year we narrowly escaped the + introduction of a railroad. + + MRS. BERNICK: My husband managed to block the + scheme, but the papers, in consequence, said shameful + things about him. But we are forgetting, dear rector, + that we have to thank you for devoting so much time + to us. + + ROeRLUND: Do you not all make sacrifices in a good + cause to save the lapsed and lost? + + HILMAR TOeNNESEN (_coming in with a cigar in his + mouth_): I have only looked in in passing. Good-morning, + ladies! Well, you know Bernick has called a cabinet + council about this railway nonsense again. When it is a + question of money, then everything here ends in paltry + material calculations. + + MRS. BERNICK: But at any rate things are better than + formerly, when everything ended in dissipation. + + MRS. RUMMEL: Only think of fifteen years ago. + What a life, with the dancing club and music club! I + well remember the noisy gaiety among families. + + MRS. LYNGE: There was a company of strolling players, + who, I was told, played many pranks. What was + the truth of the matter? + + Mrs. Rummel, when Dina is out of the room, explains to the ladies + that the girl is the daughter of a strolling player who years before + had come to perform for a season in the town. Dorf, the actor, had + deserted both wife and child, and the wife had to take to work to + which she was unaccustomed, was seized with a pulmonary malady, and + died. Then Dina had been adopted by the Bernicks. + + Mrs. Rummel goes on to explain that at that season also Johan, Mrs. + Bernick's brother, had run away to America. After his departure it + was discovered that he had been playing tricks with the cash-box of + the firm, of which his widowed mother had become the head. Karsten, + now Consul, Bernick had just come home from Paris. He became engaged + to Betty Toennesen, now his wife, but when he entered her aunt's room, + with the girl on his arm, to announce his betrothal, Lona Hessel rose + from her chair and violently boxed his ear. Then she packed her box, + and went off to America. Little had been heard of Lona, except that + she had in America sung in taverns, and had given lectures, and had + written a most sensational book. + + + ACT II + + SCENE.--_The same garden-room._ MRS. BERNICK. AUNE _enters and greets_ + CONSUL BERNICK. + + BERNICK: I am not at all pleased, Aune, with the way + things are going on in the yard. The repairs are slow. + The _Palm Tree_ should long since have been at sea. + That American ship, the _Indian Girl_, has been lying here + five weeks. You do not know how to use the new machines, + or else you will not use them. + + AUNE: Consul, the _Palm Tree_ can go to sea in two + days, but the _Indian Girl_ is as rotten as matchwood in + the bottom planking. Now, I am getting on for sixty, + and I cannot take to new ways. I am afraid for the + many folk whom the machinery will deprive of a livelihood. + + BERNICK: I did not send for you to argue. Listen + now. The _Indian Girl_ must be got ready to sail in two + days, at the same time as our own ship. There are reasons + for this decision. The carping newspaper critics + are pretending that we are giving all our attention to the + _Palm Tree_. If you will not do what I order, I must + look for somebody who will. + + AUNE: You are asking impossibilities, consul. But + surely you cannot think of dismissing me, whose father + and grandfather worked here all their lives before me. + Do you know what is meant by the dismissal of an old + workman? + + BERNICK: You are a stubborn fellow, Aune. You + oppose me from perversity. I am sorry indeed if we + must part, Aune. + + AUNE: We will not part, consul. The _Indian Girl_ + shall be cleared in two days. + + [AUNE _bows and retires._ HILMAR TOeNNESEN _comes + through the garden gate._ + + HILMAR: Good-day, Betty! Good-day, Bernick. + Have you heard the new sensation? The two Americans + are going about the streets in company with Dina Dorf. + The town is all excitement about it. + + BERNICK (_looking out into the street_): They are + coming here. We must be sure to treat them well. + They will soon be away again. + + [JOHAN _and_ LONA _enter. Presently all disperse into + the garden, and_ BERNICK _goes up to_ JOHAN. + + BERNICK: Now we are alone, Johan, I must thank + you. For to you I owe home, happiness, position, and + all that I have and am. Not one in ten thousand would + have done all that you then did for me. I was the guilty + one. On the night when that drunken wretch came home + it was for Betty's sake that I broke off the entanglement + with Madame Dorf; but still, that you should act in such + a noble spirit of self-sacrifice as to turn appearances + against yourself, and go away, can never be forgotten + by me. + + JOHAN: Oh, well, we were both young and thoughtless. + I was an orphan, alone and free, and was glad to get + away from office drudgery. You had your old mother + alive, and you had just engaged yourself to Betty, who + was very fond of you. We agreed that you must be + saved, and I was proud to be your friend. You had + come back like a prince from abroad, and chose me for + your closest friend. Now I know why. You were + making love to Betty. But I was proud of it. + + BERNICK: Are you going back to your American + farm? Not soon, I hope. + + JOHAN: As soon as possible. I only came over to + please Lona. She felt homesick. You can never think + what she has been to me. You never could tolerate her, + but to me she has been a mother, singing, lecturing, writing + to support me when I was ill and could not work. + And I may as well tell you frankly that I have told her + all. But do not fear her. She will say nothing. But + who would have dreamt of your taking into your house + that little creature who played angels in the theatre, and + scampered about here? What became of her parents? + + BERNICK: I wrote you all that happened. The + drunken scoundrel, after leaving his wife, was killed in + a drinking bout. After the wife died it was through + Martha that we took little Dina in charge. + + To the amazement of the Bernicks and some others, Johan makes it known + that he has asked Dina to be his wife, and that she has consented. To + their further astonishment and annoyance, Lona declares her profound + approval of this engagement. Moreover, Lona now challenges Bernick + to clear his soul of the lie on which he has stood for these fifteen + years. It is a three-fold lie--the lie towards Lona, then the lie + towards Betty, then the lie towards Johan. But Bernick shrinks from + the terrible shame that would come on him as one of the "pillars of + society." + + + ACT III + + SCENE.--CONSUL BERNICK'S _garden-room again_. KRAP _is + speaking to the_ CONSUL. + + KRAP: The _Palm Tree_ can sail to-morrow, but as for + the _Indian Girl_, in my opinion she will not get far. I + have been secretly examining the bottom of the ship, + where the repairs have been pushed on very fast. The + rotten place is patched up, and made to look like new, for + Aune has been working himself all night at it. There is + some villainy at work. I believe Aune wants, out of + revenge for the use of the new machines, to send that + ship to the bottom of the sea. + + BERNICK: This is horrible. True, Aune is an agitator + who is spreading discontent, but this is inconceivable. + + [KRAP _goes out, and presently_ LONA HESSEL _enters_. + + BERNICK: Well, Lona, what do you think of me now? + + LONA: Just what I thought before. A lie more or + less---- + + BERNICK: I can talk to you more confidentially than + to others. I shall hide nothing from you. I had a part + in spreading that rumour about Johan and the cash-box. + But make allowance for me. Our house when I came + home from my foreign tour was threatened with ruin, + and one misfortune followed another. I was almost in + despair, and in my distraction got into that difficulty + which ended with the disappearance of Johan. Then + after you and he left various reports were spread. Some + folks declared that he had taken the money to America. + I was in such difficulty that I did not say a word to contradict + the rumours. + + LONA: So a lie has made you one of the pillars of + society. + + JOHAN (_entering_): I have come to tell you that I intend + not only to marry Dina Dorf, but to remain here and + to defy all these liars. Yesterday I promised to keep + silence, but now I need the truth. You must set me free + by telling the truth, that I may win Dina. + + BERNICK (_in great agitation_): But just reflect on my + position. If you aim such a blow as this at me I am + ruined irretrievably. The welfare of this community is + also at stake. If my credit is not impaired, I shall soon + be a millionaire, when certain company projects mature. + Johan, go away, and I will share with you. I have + staked all I possess on schemes now about to mature, but + if my character is impaired, my utter ruin is inevitable. + + To the surprise of Bernick, Johan announces that he will go to + America, but will shortly return for Dina, and that accordingly he + will sail next day in the _Indian Girl_, the captain having promised + to take him. He will sell his farm and be back in two months, and then + the guilty one must take the guilt on himself. + + JOHAN: The wind is good, and in three weeks I shall + be across the Atlantic unless the _Indian Girl_ should go to + the bottom. + + BERNICK (_involuntarily starting_): Go to the bottom? + Why should she? + + JOHAN: Yes, indeed, why? + + BERNICK (_very softly_): Go to the bottom? + + They separate, and Aune enters, and anxiously asks if Bernick is + positively determined that the American ship shall sail the next day, + on pain of his dismissal. He replies that he supposes the repairs + are properly finished, and therefore the _Indian Girl_ must sail. A + merchant steps in to say that the storm-signals have been hoisted, + for a tempest is threatening. This gentleman says to Bernick that the + _Palm Tree_ ought to start all the same, for she is a splendidly-built + craft, and she is only to cross the North Sea; but as for the _Indian + Girl_, such an old hulk would be in great peril. But Bernick evades + the remonstrance, and no alteration is made in the plans of procedure. + The ship is to sail. + + + ACT IV + + SCENE.--_The same garden-room. It is a stormy afternoon and growing + dark_. + + Bernick is apprised that he is to be most honourably feted by his + fellow citizens who are about to form a procession, and to parade + before his house with music. The proudest moment of his life is at + hand. But the fact that the sea is running high outside the harbour + is causing great agitation to the mind of Bernick. Lona looks in to + say that she has been saying farewell to Johan. He has not changed his + determination to sail. A strange incident happens. Little Olaf Bernick + runs away from home to slip on board the ship and accompany his uncle + to America. + + LONA: So the great hour has arrived. The whole + town is to be illuminated. + + BERNICK (_pacing to and fro in agitation_): Yes. + Lona, you despise me. + + LONA: Not yet. + + BERNICK: You have no right to despise me. For you + little realise how lonely I stand in this narrow society. + What have I accomplished, with all my efforts? We + who are considered the pillars of society are but its tools + after all. Since you came home from America I have + been keenly feeling all this. All this show and deception + gives me no satisfaction. But I work for my son, who + will be able to found a truer state of things and to be + happier than his father. + + LONA: With a lie for its basis? Think what an + heritage you are preparing for Olaf. + + BERNICK: Why did you and Johan come home to + crush me? + + LONA: Let me just tell you that after all Johan will + not come back to crush you. For he has gone for ever + and Dina has gone also to become his wife. + + BERNICK (_amazed_): Gone--in the _Indian Girl_? + + LONA: They did not dare to risk their lives in that + crazy tub. They are in the _Palm Tree_. + + Bernick rushes to his office to order the _Indian Girl_ to be stopped + in the harbour, but he learns that she already is out at sea. But + presently Hilmar comes to tell him that Olaf has run away in the + _Indian Girl_. He cries out that the ship must be stopped at any cost. + Krap says it is impossible. Music is heard, for the procession is + approaching. Bernick, in an agony of soul, declares that he cannot + receive anyone. The whole street blazes with the illuminations, and + on a great transparency on the opposite house gleams the inscription, + "Long live Karsten Bernick, the Pillar of our Society!" + + BERNICK (_at the window, shrinking back_): I cannot + look at all this. Away with all these mocking words! I + shall never see Olaf again. + + MRS. BERNICK: You will see him again, Karsten, all + right. I have got him. Do you think a mother does not + watch? I overheard a few words from our boy which + set me on my guard. I and Aune went in the sailing + boat from the yard and reached the _Indian Girl_ when she + was on the point of sailing, and he was soon discovered + hiding away. + + BERNICK: And is the ship under sail again? + + MRS. BERNICK: No. The darkness came on more + densely, the pilot was alarmed, and so Aune, in your + name, took it on himself to order the ship to stay till + to-morrow. + + BERNICK: What an unspeakable blessing. + + KRAP: The procession is coming through the garden + gate, consul. + + Rector Roerlund, at the head of the procession, makes a presentation to + Bernick in the name of the committee, and expresses the public esteem + and admiration for the consul's services to society. Bernick, to the + astonishment of the audience, proceeds to make a full confession of + the duplicity and deceit of which he has been guilty. He unreservedly + places himself in the hands of the people, who quietly disperse. + Bernick at once finds that, whatever the people may think, he has + won the sympathy of all his own circle. Lona lays her hands on his + shoulder with the words, "Brother-in-law, you have at last discovered + that the spirit of Truth and the spirit of Freedom are the real + Pillars of Society." + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[O] "The Pillars of Society," published in 1877, is perhaps +the most conspicuous of the series of psychological dramatic studies +through which Ibsen has exercised untold influence on European drama. +In it he deals with the problem of hypocrisy in a small commercial +centre of industry, and pours scorn on contemporary humanity, while +cherishing the highest hopes of human possibilities for the future. + + + + +BEN JONSON[P] + + + + +Every Man in His Humour + + +_Persons in the Comedy_ + + OLD KNOWELL + YOUNG KNOWELL, _in love with Bridget_ + BRAIN-WORM + MASTER STEPHEN, _a country gull_ + MASTER MATTHEW, _a town gull_ + CAPTAIN BOBADILL + DOWN-RIGHT + WELL-BRED, _his half-brother_ + KITELY, _husband to Down-right's sister_ + COB, CASH, FORMAL + JUSTICE CLEMENT + DAME KITELY + BRIDGET, _Kitely's sister_ + TIB, _Cob's wife_ + + + ACT I + + SCENE I.--_In_ KNOWELL'S _house. Enter_ KNOWELL, _with a letter from_ + WELL-BRED _to_ YOUNG KNOWELL. + + KNOWELL: This letter is directed to my son. + Yet I will break it open. + What's here? What's this? + + (_Reads_) "Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou forsworn all thy + friends i' the Old Jewry? Dost thou think us all Jews that inhabit + there yet? If thou dost, come over and but see our frippery. Leave thy + vigilant father alone, to number over his green apricots evening and + morning, o' the north-west wall. Prythee, come over to me quickly this + morning; I have such a present for thee! One is a rhymer, sir, o' your + own batch, but doth think himself a poet-major of the town; the other, + I will not venture his description till you come." + + Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ In such a scurrilous + manner to a friend! Why should he think I tell my apricots? + + [_Enter_ BRAIN-WORM. + + Take you this letter, and deliver it my son, + But with no notice I have opened it, on your life. + + [_Exeunt. Then, enter_ YOUNG KNOWELL, _with the letter, + and_ BRAIN-WORM. + + YOUNG KNOWELL: Did he open it, say'st thou? + + BRAIN-WORM: Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the contents. + For he charged me on my life to tell nobody + that he opened it, which unless he had done he would + never fear to have it revealed. + + [YOUNG KNOWELL _moves apart to read the letter. Enter_ + STEPHEN. KNOWELL _laughs_. + + STEPHEN: 'Slid, I hope he laughs not at me; an he + do---- + + KNOWELL: Here was a letter, indeed, to be intercepted + by a man's father! Well, if he read this with + patience---- (_Seeing_ STEPHEN) What, my wise cousin! + Nay, then, I'll furnish our feast with one gull more. + How now, Cousin Stephen--melancholy? + + STEPHEN: Yes, a little. I thought you had laughed + at me, cousin. + + KNOWELL: Be satisfied, gentle coz, and, I pray you, + let me entreat a courtesy of you. I am sent for this + morning by a friend in the Old Jewry: will you bear me + company? + + STEPHEN: Sir, you shall command me twice as far. + + KNOWELL: Now, if I can but hold him up to his + height! + + + SCENE II.--BOBADILL'S _room, a mean chamber, in_ COB'S _house_. + BOBADILL _lying on a bench. Enter_ MATTHEW, _ushered + in by_ TIB. + + MATTHEW: 'Save you, sir; 'save you, captain. + + BOBADILL: Gentle Master Matthew! Sit down, I pray + you. Master Matthew in any case, possess no gentlemen + of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging. Not + that I need to care who know it! But in regard I would + not be too popular and generally visited, as some are. + + MATTHEW: True, captain, I conceive you. + + BOBADILL: For do you see, sir, by the heart of valour + in me except it be to some peculiar and choice spirit like + yourself--but what new book have you there? + + MATTHEW: Indeed, here are a number of fine + speeches in this book. + + "O eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears"-- + + There's a conceit! Another: + + "O life, no life but lively form of death! + O world, no world but mass of public wrongs"-- + + O the Muses! Is't not excellent? But when will you come to see my + study? Good faith I can show you some very good things I have done of + late. But, captain, Master Well-bred's elder brother and I are fallen + out exceedingly. + + BOBADILL: Squire Down-right, the half-brother was't not? Hang him rook! + Come hither; you shall chartel him. I'll show you a trick or two you + shall kill him with, at pleasure, the first staccato, if you will, by + this air. Come, put on your cloak, and we'll go to some private place + where you are acquainted, some tavern or so. What money ha' you about + you? + + MATTHEW: Faith, not past a two shillings or so. + + BOBADILL: 'Tis somewhat with the least; but come, we will have a bunch + of radish and salt to taste our wine, and after we'll call upon Young + Well-bred. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + ACT II + + SCENE I.--KITELY'S _house_. KITELY _explains to_ DOWN-RIGHT _that_ + WELL-BRED, _who lodges with him brings riotous companions + to the house, which makes him much troubled for his pretty + wife and sister_. BOBADILL _and_ MATTHEW _calling in search + of_ WELL-BRED, _the former insults_ DOWN-RIGHT, _and leaves + him storming_. + + + SCENE II.--_Moorfields_. _Enter_ BRAIN-WORM, _disguised as a maimed + soldier_. + + BRAIN-WORM: The truth is, my old master intends to + follow my young master, dry-foot, over Moorfields to + London this morning. Now I, knowing of this hunting + match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my + young master, have got me before in this disguise, determining + here to lie in ambuscade. If I can but get + his cloak, his purse, his hat, anything to stay his journey, + I am made for ever, in faith. But here comes my young + master and his cousin, as I am a true counterfeit man of + war, and no soldier. + + [_Enter_ YOUNG KNOWELL _and_ STEPHEN. BRAIN-WORM, + _with a cock-and-bull tale of his services in the + wars, persuades_ STEPHEN _to buy his sword as a + pure Toledo. Exeunt. Presently, enter_ OLD KNOWELL, + _and_ BRAIN-WORM _meets him_. + + BRAIN-WORM (_aside_): My master! Nay, faith, have at + you; I am fleshed now, I have sped so well. Worshipful + sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poor soldier; + I am ashamed of this base course of life, but extremity + provokes me to it; what remedy? + + KNOWELL: I have not for you now. + + BRAIN-WORM: Good sir, by that hand, you may do the + part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the + price of a can of beer; Heaven shall pay you, sweet worship! + + KNOWELL: Art thou a man, and shamest not thou to beg? + To practise such a servile kind of life? + Either the wars might still supply thy wants, + Or service of some virtuous gentleman. + + BRAIN-WORM: Faith, sir, I would gladly find some + other course--I know what I would say; but as for + service--my name, sir? Please you, Fitzsword, sir. + + KNOWELL: Say that a man should entertain thee now, + Would'st thou be modest, humble, just, and true? + + BRAIN-WORM: Sir, by the place and honour of a + soldier. + + KNOWELL: Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths. + But follow me; I'll prove thee. [_Exit._ + + BRAIN-WORM: Yes, sir, straight. 'Slid, was there ever + a fox in years to betray himself thus! Now shall I be + possessed of all his counsels, and by that conduit, my + young master. [_Follows_ KNOWELL. + + + ACT III + + SCENE I.--_A room in the Windmill Tavern._ WELL-BRED, BOBADILL, + MATTHEW. _Enter_ YOUNG KNOWELL _with_ STEPHEN. + + WELL-BRED: Ned Knowell! By my soul, welcome! + (_Lower_) Sirrah, there be the two I writ of. But what + strange piece of silence is this? The sign of the Dumb + Man? + + KNOWELL: Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine; he has his + humour, sir. + + STEPHEN: My name is Master Stephen, sir; I am + this gentleman's own cousin, sir; I am somewhat melancholy, + but you shall command me. + + MATTHEW: Oh, it's your only fine humour, sir. Your + true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit. I am melancholy + myself, divers times, and then I do no more but + take pen and paper presently, and overflow you half a + score or a dozen of fine sonnets at a sitting. + + WELL-BRED: Captain Bobadill, why muse you so? + + KNOWELL: He is melancholy, too. + + BOBADILL: Why, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable + piece of service was performed at the beleaguering + of Strigonium; the first but the best leaguer that ever + I beheld with these eyes. Look you, sir, by St. George, + I was the first man that entered the breach; and had I + not effected it with resolution, I had been slain if I had + had a million of lives. Observe me judicially, sweet sir. + They had planted me three demiculvirins just in the + mouth of the breach, but I, with these single arms, my + poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors, and put 'em + pell-mell to the sword. + + [_Enter_ BRAIN-WORM, _who discloses himself apart, to_ + KNOWELL _and_ Well-Bred, _and reports that_ OLD + KNOWELL _is awaiting his return at_ JUSTICE + CLEMENT'S _house. Exeunt_. + + + SCENE II.--_At_ KITELY'S. KITELY _has gone to_ JUSTICE CLEMENT'S; + _very anxious about his wife and sister, he has ordered_ + CASH _to send him a messenger if_ WELL-BRED _comes home + with any of his boon-companions. Enter to_ CASH, + WELL-BRED, _with the party as in the last scene_. + + WELL-BRED: Whither went your master, Thomas, + canst thou tell? + + CASH: I know not; to Justice Clement's, I think, sir. + + [_Exit._ + + KNOWELL: Justice Clement! What's he? + + WELL-BRED: Why, dost thou not know him? He is a + city magistrate, a justice here, an excellent good lawyer + and a great scholar; but the only mad merry old fellow + in Europe. [_Enter_ CASH. + + BOBADILL: Master Kitely's man, pray thee vouchsafe + us the lighting of this match. (CASH _takes match, and + exits_) 'Tis your right, Trinidado. Did you never take + any, Master Stephen? + + STEPHEN: No, truly, sir, but I'll learn to take it now, + since you commend it so. + + BOBADILL: Sir, I have been in the Indies where this + herb grows; where neither myself nor a dozen gentlemen + more of my knowledge have received the taste of any + other nutriment in the world for the space of one and + twenty weeks, but the fume of this simple only. By Hercules, + I do hold it, and will affirm it, before any prince in + Europe, to be the most sovereign and precious weed that + ever the earth tendered to the use of man. + + [COB _has entered meanwhile_. + + COB: Mack, I marvel what pleasure they have in taking + this roguish tobacco. It's good for nothing but to + choke a man, and fill him full of smoke and embers. + And there were no wiser men than I, I'd have it present + whipping, man or woman, that should but deal with a + tobacco pipe. + + [BOBADILL _cudgels him. Enter_ CASH, _who drags off the + lamenting_ COB. _While the rest are conversing_, + MATTHEW _and_ BOBADILL _slip out_. + + WELL-BRED: Soft, where's Master Matthew? Gone? + + BRAIN-WORM: No, sir, they went in here. + + WELL-BRED: Oh, let's follow them. Master Matthew + is gone to salute his mistress in verse. We shall have the + happiness to hear some of his poetry now. He never + comes impoverished. [_Exeunt._ + + + SCENE III.--JUSTICE CLEMENT'S. COB _finds_ KITELY _and reports the + arrival of_ WELL-BRED'S _party_. KITELY _hurries home + in a panic. Enter_ CLEMENT _with_ OLD KNOWELL _and_ FORMAL. + + CLEMENT (_to_ COB): How now, sirrah? What make + you here? + + COB: A poor neighbour of your worship, come to + crave the peace of your worship; a warrant for one that + has wronged me, sir; an I die within a twelvemonth and + a day, I may swear by the law of the land that he killed + me. + + CLEMENT: How, knave? What colour hast thou for + that? + + COB: Both black and blue, an't please your worship; + colour enough, I warrant you. [_Baring his arm_. + + CLEMENT: How began the quarrel between you? + + COB: Marry indeed, an't please your worship, only + because I spake against their vagrant tobacco; for nothing + else. + + CLEMENT: Ha! You speak against tobacco. Your + name? + + COB: Cob, sir, Oliver Cob. + + CLEMENT: Then, Oliver Cob, you shall go to jail. + + COB: Oh, I beseech your worship, for heaven's sake, + dear master justice! + + CLEMENT: He shall not go; I did but fear the knave. + Formal, give him his warrant. (_Exeunt_ FORMAL _and_ + COB) How now, Master Knowell, in dumps? Your + cares are nothing. What! Your son is old enough to + govern himself; let him run his course. + + + ACT IV + + + SCENE I.--_At_ KITELY'S. DAME KITELY _and_ DOWN-RIGHT, _who, to his + sister's great indignation, is reproving her for admitting_ + WELL-BRED'S _companions. Enter_ BRIDGET, MATTHEW, _and_ + BOBADILL; WELL-BRED, STEPHEN, YOUNG KNOWELL, _and_ + BRAIN-WORM _at the back_. + + BRIDGET: Servant, in truth, you are too prodigal + Of your wit's treasure thus to pour it forth + Upon so mean a subject as my worth. + What is this same, I pray you? + + MATTHEW: Marry, an elegy, an elegy, an odd toy. + I'll read it if you please. + + [_Exit_ DOWN-RIGHT, _disgusted. The rest listen to_ + MATTHEW'S _"elegy," consisting of scraps from Marlowe. + As_ DOWN-RIGHT _re-enters, fuming_, WELL-BRED + _is beginning to chaff_ MATTHEW. DOWN-RIGHT + _interrupts with an attack on the whole company, and + threatens to slit_ BOBADILL'S _ears. Swords are drawn + all round, and_ KNOWELL _is endeavouring to calm the + disturbance, when_ KITELY _enters_. + + WELL-BRED: Come, let's go. This is one of my + brother's ancient humours, this. + + STEPHEN: I am glad nobody was hurt by his "ancient + humour." + + [_Exeunt all but they of the house_. BRIDGET _and_ DAME + KITELY _praise the conduct of_ KNOWELL, _whereupon_ + KITELY _conceives that he must be_ DAME KITELY'S + _lover_. + + + SCENE II.--_The Old Jewry_. WELL-BRED _has agreed with_ KNOWELL _to + persuade_ BRIDGET _to meet him at the Tower so that they + may be married_. BRAIN-WORM _has been despatched to + carry out other details of the plot. Meeting_ OLD KNOWELL + _with_ FORMAL _he reports that (as_ FITZSWORD) _his + connection with_ OLD KNOWELL _has been discovered; that + he has escaped with difficulty from_ YOUNG KNOWELL, _and + that the father had better hasten to_ Cob's _house to catch + his son in_ flagrante delicto. _He then goes off with_ + FORMAL. _Enter_ BOBADILL, YOUNG KNOWELL, MATTHEW, + _and_ STEPHEN. + + BOBADILL: I will tell you, sir, by way of private; were + I known to her majesty, I would undertake to save three + parts of her yearly charge in holding war. Thus, sir, I + would select nineteen more gentlemen of good spirit; + and I would teach the special rules, your punto, your reverso, + your staccato, till they could all play very near + as well as myself. We twenty would come into the field, + and we would challenge twenty of the enemy; kill them, + challenge twenty more; kill them, and thus kill every + man his twenty a day, that's twenty score; twenty score, + that's two hundred; five days a thousand, two hundred + days kills forty thousand. + + [_Enter_ DOWN-RIGHT, _who challenges_ BOBADILL _to draw + on the spot, and cudgels him while_ MATTHEW _runs + away, to_ KNOWELL'S _enjoyment. Exeunt all_. + WELL-BRED _makes the proposed arrangement with_ + BRIDGET. BRAIN-WORM, _who has stolen_ FORMAL'S + _clothes, tricks_ KITELY _and_ DAME KITELY _severally + into hurrying off to_ COB'S _house to catch each other + in misdoing. Then, meeting_ BOBADILL _and_ + MATTHEW _he engages to procure them a warrant against_ + DOWN-RIGHT, _and a sergeant to serve it_. OLD + KNOWELL, KITELY, _and_ DAME KITELY _attended by_ + CASH, _meet outside_ COB'S _house, each with their own + suspicions; there is a general altercation, while_ TIB + _refuses to admit any of them_. + + + SCENE III.--_A street_. BRAIN-WORM, _who has exchanged_ FORMAL'S + _clothes for a sergeant's attire. Enter_ MATTHEW _and_ + BOBADILL. + + MATTHEW: 'Save you, friend. Are you not here by + appointment of Justice Clement's man? + + BRAIN-WORM: Yes, an't please you, sir; with a warrant + to be served on one Down-right. + + [_Enter_ STEPHEN, _wearing_ DOWN-RIGHT'S _cloak, which + he had picked up in the scrimmage. As they are + arresting him_, DOWN-RIGHT _enters. He submits to + arrest, but has_ STEPHEN _arrested for wearing his + cloak. The whole party marches off to_ JUSTICE + CLEMENT'S. + + + ACT V + + + SCENE.--_Hall in_ JUSTICE CLEMENT'S. CLEMENT, KITELY, OLD KNOWELL. + + CLEMENT: Stay, stay, give me leave; my chair, sirrah. + Master Knowell, you went to meet your son. Mistress + Kitely, you went to find your husband; you, Master + Kitely, to find your wife. And Well-bred told her first, + and you after. You are gulled in this most grossly all. + + [BOBADILL _and_ MATTHEW _are ushered in; then_ BRAIN-WORM, + _with_ DOWN-RIGHT _and_ STEPHEN; _all make their charges_. + + CLEMENT: You there (_to_ BOBADILL), had you my + warrant for this gentleman's apprehension? + + BOBADILL: Ay, an't please your worship; I had it of + your clerk. + + CLEMENT: Officer (_to_ BRAIN-WORM), have you the + warrant? + + BRAIN-WORM: No, sir; your worship's man, Master + Formal, bid me do it. + + BRAIN-WORM, _in fear of some worse penalty, discloses himself. As + he reveals one after another of his devices, the delighted_ JUSTICE + _begs for him a readily granted pardon from_ OLD KNOWELL. _Finally, + he announces that by this time_ YOUNG KNOWELL _and_ BRIDGET _are + married_. CLEMENT _despatches a servant to bring home the young couple + to dinner "upon my warrant." Enter_ BRIDGET, YOUNG KNOWELL, _and_ + WELL-BRED. + + CLEMENT: Oh, the young company--welcome, welcome, + give you joy. Nay, Mistress Bridget, blush not; + Master Bridegroom, I have made your peace; give me + your hand. So will I for all the rest, ere you forsake + my roof. Come, put off all discontent; you, Master + Down-right, your anger; you, Master Knowell, your + cares; Master Kitely and his wife, their jealousy. + + KITELY: Sir, thus they go from me. Kiss me, sweetheart. + + CLEMENT: 'Tis well, 'tis well. This night we'll dedicate + to friendship, love, and laughter. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[P] Ben Jonson was born at Westminster in 1573. He was +brought up by his stepfather, a master bricklayer, and educated at +Westminster School, where he got his learning under Camden. While +still a youngster, he went a-fighting in the Low Countries, returning +to London about 1592. In 1598 he emerged as a dramatic author with +the play "Every Man in His Humour." This was the first of a series of +comedies, tragedies, and masques, which rank highly. In human interest, +however, none surpassed his first success. Unlike Shakespeare, with +whom he consorted among the famous gatherings of wits at the Mermaid +Tavern, Jonson regarded himself as the exponent of a theory of dramatic +art. He was steeped in classical learning, which he is wont to display +somewhat excessively. Besides his dramas, Jonson wrote many lyrical +pieces, including some admirable songs, and produced sundry examples of +other forms of versification. He died on August 6, 1637. + + + + +JUVENAL[Q] + + + + +Satires + + +_I.--Of Satire and its Subjects_ + + Still shall I hear and never pay the score, + Stunned with hoarse Codrus' "Theseid" o'er and o'er? + Shall this man's elegies and the other's play + Unpunished murder a long summer day? + + The poet exclaims against the dreary commonplaces in contemporary + poetry, and against recitations fit to crack the very statues and + colonnades of the neighbourhood! But _he_ also underwent his training + in rhetoric. + + So, since the world with writing is possessed, + _I'll versify in spite_, and do my best + To make as much wastepaper as the rest! + + It may be asked, why write satire? The reason is to be found in the + ubiquitous presence of offensive men and women. It would goad anyone + into fury to note the social abuses, the mannish women, and the + wealthy upstarts of the imperial city. + + When the soft eunuch weds, and the bold fair + Tilts at the Tuscan boar with bosom bare, + When all our lords are by his wealth outvied + Whose razor on my callow beard was tried, + When I behold the spawn of conquered Nile, + Crispinus, both in birth and manners vile, + Pacing in pomp with cloak of purple dye-- + I cannot keep from satire, though I try! + + There is an endless succession of figures to annoy: the too successful + lawyer, the treacherous spy, the legacy-hunter. How one's anger blazes + when a ward is driven to evil courses by the unscrupulous knavery of a + guardian, or when a guilty governor gets a merely nominal sentence! + + Marius, who pilled his province, 'scapes the laws, + And keeps his money, though he lost his cause: + His fine begged off, contemns his infamy, + Can rise at twelve, and get him drunk ere three-- + Enjoys his exile, and, condemned in vain, + Leaves thee, victorious province, to complain! + Such villainies roused Horace into wrath, + And 'tis more noble to pursue his path + Than an old tale of Trojan brave to treat, + Or Hercules, or Labyrinth of Crete. + + It is no time to write fabulous epics when cuckolds connive at + a wife's dishonour, and when horse-racing ne'er-do-wells expect + commissions in the army. One is tempted to fill volumes in the open + street about such figures as the forger carried by his slaves in a + handsome litter, or about the wealthy widow acquainted with the mode + of getting rid of a husband by poison. + + Wouldst thou to honours and preferment climb? + Be bold in mischief--dare some mighty crime, + Which dungeons, death, or banishment deserves, + For virtue is but drily praised--and starves. + To crime men owe a mansion, park, and state, + Their goblets richly chased and antique plate. + Say, who can find a night's repose at need, + When a son's wife is bribed to sin for greed, + When brides are frail, and youths turn paramours? + If nature can't, then wrath our verse ensures! + Count from the time since old Deucalion's boat, + Raised by the flood, did on Parnassus float: + Whatever since that golden age was done, + What human kind desires, and what they shun, + Joy, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, transport, rage, + Shall form the motley subject of my page. + And when could Satire boast so fair a field? + Say, when did vice a richer harvest yield? + When did fell avarice so engross the mind? + Or when the lust of play so curse mankind? + O Gold, though Rome beholds no altar's flame, + No temples rise to thy pernicious name, + Such as to Victory, Virtue, Faith are reared, + Or Concord, where the clamorous stork is heard, + Yet is thy full divinity confessed, + Thy shrine established here, in every breast. + + After a vigorous outburst against the degrading scramble among + impoverished clients for doles from their patrons, and a mordant + onslaught upon the gluttony of the niggardly rich, Juvenal sees in his + age the high-water mark of iniquity. + + Nothing is left, nothing for future times, + To add to the full catalogue of crimes: + Vice has attained its zenith; then set sail, + Spread all thy canvas, Satire, to the gale. + + +_II.--A Satire on Rome_ + + This sharp indictment is put in the mouth of one Umbricius, who is + represented as leaving his native city in disgust. Rome is no place + for an honourable character, he exclaims. + + Here, then, I bid my much-loved home farewell. + Ah, mine no more! There let Arturius dwell, + And Catulus; knaves, who, in truth's despite, + Can white to black transform, and black to white. + Build temples, furnish funerals, auctions hold, + Farm rivers, ports, and scour the drains for gold! + But why, my friend, should _I_ at Rome remain? + _I_ cannot teach my stubborn lips to feign; + Nor when I hear a great man's verses, smile, + And beg a copy, if I think them vile. + + The worst feature is the predominance of crafty and cozening Greeks, + who, by their versatility and diplomacy, can oust the Roman. + + I cannot rule my spleen and calmly see + A Grecian capital--in Italy! + A flattering, cringing, treacherous artful race, + Of torrent tongue, and never-blushing face; + A Protean tribe, one knows not what to call, + Which shifts to every form, and shines in all: + Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician, + Rope-dancer, conjurer, fiddler, and physician, + All trades his own your hungry Greekling counts; + And bid him mount the sky--the sky he mounts! + + The insinuating flatteries of these aliens are so masterfully + contrived that the blunt Roman has no chance against such a nation of + actors. + + Greece is a theatre where all are players. + For, lo! their patron smiles--they burst with mirth; + He weeps--they droop, the saddest souls on earth; + He calls for fire--they court the mantle's heat; + "'Tis warm," he cries--the Greeks dissolve in sweat! + + Besides, they are dangerously immoral. Their philosophers are + perfidious. These sycophant foreigners can poison a patron against a + poor Roman client. This leads to an outburst against poverty and its + disadvantages. + + The question is not put, how far extends + One's piety, but what he yearly spends. + The account is soon cast up: the judges rate + Our credit in the court by our estate. + Add that the rich have still a gibe in store, + And will be monstrous witty on the poor. + + This mournful truth is everywhere confessed-- + Slow rises worth by property depressed. + At Rome 'tis worse; where house-rent by the year, + And servants' bellies costs so devilish dear. + + It is a city where appearance beyond one's means must be kept up; + whereas, in the country one need never spend money even on a toga. + Everything has its price in Rome. To interview a great man, his + pampered lackeys must have a fee. + + Then there are risks in a great capital unknown in country towns. + There are tumble-down tenements with the buttresses ready to give; + there are top garrets where you may lose your life in a fire. You + could buy a nice rustic home for the price at which a dingy hovel is + let in Rome. Besides, the din of the streets is killing. Rome is bad + for the nerves. Folk die of insomnia. By day you get crushed, bumped, + and caked with mud. A soldier drives his hobnails into your toe. You + may be the victim of a street accident. + + Heavens! should the axle crack, which bears a weight + Of huge Ligurian stone, and pour the freight + On the pale crowd beneath, what would remain, + What joint, what bone, what atom of the slain? + The body, with the soul, would vanish quite, + Invisible, as air, to mortal sight! + Meanwhile, unconscious of their master's fate, + At home they heat the water, scour the plate, + Arrange the strigils, fill the cruse with oil, + And ply their several tasks with fruitless toil. + But he, the mangled victim, now a ghost, + Sits pale and trembling on the Stygian coast, + A stranger shivering at the novel scene, + At Charon's threatening voice and scowling mien, + Nor hopes a passage thus abruptly hurled, + Without his farthing to the nether world. + + In the dark there are equal perils. + + Prepare for death if here at night you roam, + And sign your will before you sup from home. + + Lucky if people throw only dirty water from their windows! Be thankful + to escape without a broken skull. A drunken bully may meet you. + + There are who murder as an opiate take, + And only when no brawls await them, wake. + + And what chance have you, without attendants, against a street rough? + Then there is the burglar; and the criminal classes are regularly + increased in town whenever the authorities grow active enough to clear + the main Italian roads of bandits. + + The forge in fetters only is employed; + Our iron-mines exhausted and destroyed + In shackles; for these villains scarce allow + Goads for our teams or ploughshares for the plough. + Oh, happy ages of our ancestors, + Beneath the kings and tribunician powers! + One jail did all the criminals restrain, + Whom now the walls of Rome can scarce contain. + + +_III.--A Satire on the Vanity of Human Wishes_ + + Look round the habitable world; how few + Know their own good; or, knowing it, pursue. + To headlong ruin see whole houses driven, + Cursed with their prayers, by too indulgent heaven. + + The several passions and aspirations of mankind, successively + examined in the light of legend and history, prove how hollow, if not + pernicious, are the principal objects of pursuit. Wealth is one of the + commonest aims. + + But avarice spreads her deadly snare, + And hoards amassed with too successful care. + For wealth, in the black days, at Nero's word, + The ruffian bands unsheathed the murderous sword. + Cut-throats commissioned by the government + Are seldom to an empty garret sent. + The traveller freighted with a little wealth, + Sets forth at night, and wins his way by stealth: + Even then he fears the bludgeon and the blade-- + Starts in the moonlight at a rush's shade, + While, void of care, the beggar trips along, + And to the robber's face will troll his song. + + What would the "weeping" and the "laughing" sages of ancient Greece + have thought of the pageants of modern Rome? Consider the vanity of + ambition. It is illustrated by the downfall of the powerful minister + Sejanus. On his overthrow, the fickle mob turned savagely upon his + statues. + + What think the people? They! + They follow fortune, as of old, and hate + With all their soul the victim of the state. + Yet in this very hour that self-same crowd + Had hailed Sejanus with a shout as loud, + If his designs (by fortune's favour blessed) + Had prospered, and the aged prince oppressed; + For since our votes have been no longer bought, + All public care has vanished from our thought. + Romans, who once with unresisted sway, + Gave armies, empire, everything, away, + For two poor claims have long renounced the whole + And only ask--the circus and a dole. + + Would you rather be an instance of fallen greatness, or enjoy some + safe post in an obscure Italian town? What ruined a Crassus? Or a + Pompey? Or a victorious Caesar? Why, the realisation of their own + soaring desires. + + Another vain aspiration covets fame in eloquence. But the gift + of oratory overthrew the two greatest orators of Greece and + Rome--Demosthenes and Cicero. If Cicero had only stuck to his bad + verses, he would never have earned Antony's deadly hatred by his + "Second Philippic" (see Vol. IX, p. 155). + + "I do congratulate the Roman state + Which my great consulate did recreate!" + If he had always used such jingling words + He might have scorned Mark Antony's swords. + + A different passion is for renown in war. What is the end of it all? + Only an epitaph on a tombstone, and tombstones themselves perish; for + even a tree may split them! + + Produce the urn that Hannibal contains, + And weigh the paltry dust which yet remains. + AND IS THIS ALL? Yet THIS was once the bold, + The aspiring chief, whom Afric could not hold. + Spain conquered, o'er the Pyrenees he bounds; + Nature opposed her everlasting mounds, + Her Alps and snows. O'er these with torrent force + He pours, and rends through rocks his dreadful course. + Already at his feet Italia lies. + Yet, thundering on, "Think nothing done," he cries, + "Till Rome, proud Rome, beneath my fury falls, + And Afric's standards float without her walls!" + But what ensued? Illusive glory, say. + Subdued on Zama's memorable day, + He flies in exile to a petty state, + With headlong haste; and, at a despot's gate, + Sits, mighty suppliant, of his life in doubt, + Till the Bithynian monarch's nap be out! + Nor swords, nor spears, nor stones from engines hurled, + Shall quell the man whose frown alarmed the world: + The vengeance due to Cannae's fatal field, + And floods of gore, a poisoned ring shall yield! + Fly, madman, fly! At toil and danger mock, + Pierce the deep snow, and scale the eternal rock, + To please the rhetoricians, and become + A declamation--for the boys of Rome! + + Consider next the yearning after long life. + + Pernicious prayer! for mark what ills attend + Still on the old, as to the grave they bend: + A ghastly visage, to themselves unknown; + For a smooth skin, a hide with scurf o'ergrown; + And such a cheek, as many a grandam ape + In Tabraca's thick woods is seen to scrape. + + The old man rouses feelings of impatient loathing in those around him; + his physical strength and faculties for enjoyment are gone. Even if + he remain hale, he may suffer harrowing bereavements. Nestor, Peleus, + and Priam had to lament the death of heroic sons; and in Roman history + Marius and Pompey outlived their good fortune. + + Campania, prescient of her Pompey's fate, + Sent a kind fever to arrest his date: + When lo! a thousand suppliant altars rise, + And public prayers obtain him of the skies. + The city's fate and his conspired to save + His head, to perish near the Egyptian wave. + + Again, there is the frequent prayer for good looks. But beauty is a + danger. If linked with unchastity, it leads to evil courses. Even if + linked with chastity, it may draw on its possessor the tragic fate + of a Lucretia, a Virginia, a Hippolytus, or a Bellerophon. What is a + Roman knight to do if an empress sets her heart on him? + + Amid all such vanities, then, is there nothing left for which men may + reasonably pray? + + Say, then, shall man, deprived all power of choice, + Ne'er raise to Heaven the supplicating voice? + Not so; but to the gods his fortunes trust. + _Their_ thoughts are wise, _their_ dispensations just. + What best may profit or delight they know, + And real good for fancied bliss bestow; + With eyes of pity they our frailties scan; + More dear to them than to himself is man. + By blind desire, by headlong passion driven, + For wife and heirs we daily weary Heaven; + Yet still 'tis Heaven's prerogative to know, + If heirs, or wife, will bring us weal or woe. + But (for 'tis good our humble hope to prove), + That thou mayst still ask something from above, + Thy pious offerings to the temple bear, + And, while the altars blaze, be this thy prayer: + O THOU, who know'st the wants of human kind, + Vouchsafe me health of body, health of mind; + A soul prepared to meet the frown of fate, + And look undaunted on a future state; + That reckons death a blessing, yet can bear + Existence nobly, with its weight of care; + That anger and desire alike restrains, + And counts Alcides' toils, and cruel pains, + Superior far to banquets, wanton nights, + And all the Assyrian monarch's soft delights! + Here bound, at length, thy wishes. I but teach + What blessings man, by his own powers, may reach. + THE PATH TO PEACE IS VIRTUE. We should see, + If wise, O Fortune, nought divine in thee: + But _we_ have deified a name alone, + And fixed in heaven thy visionary throne! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Q] Juvenal was born, it is usually believed, at Aquinum, +about 55 A.D. He lived to an advanced age, but the year of his death +is unknown. Rome he evidently knew well, and from long experience. +But there is great obscurity about his career. His "Satires," in +declamatory indignation, form a powerful contrast to the genial mockery +of Horace (p. 91): where Horace may be said to have a Chaucerian smile +for human weakness, Juvenal displays the wrath of a Langland. Juvenal +denounces abuses at Rome in unmeasured terms. Frequently Zolaesque in +his methods of exposing vice, he contrives by his realism to produce +a loathing for the objects of his attack. Dryden rendered into free +and vigorous English several of the satires; and Gifford wrote a +complete translation, often of great merit. The translation here has, +with adaptations, been drawn from both, and a few lines have been +incorporated from Johnson, whose two best-known poems, "London" and +"The Vanity of Human Wishes," were paraphrases from Juvenal. + + + + +FRIEDRICH KLOPSTOCK[R] + + + + +The Messiah + + +_I.--The Mount of Olives_ + + Rejoice, ye sons of earth, in the honour bestowed on man. He who was + before all worlds, by Whom all things in this visible creation were + made, descended to our earth as your Redeemer. Near Jerusalem, once + the city where God displayed His grace, the Divine Redeemer withdrew + from the multitude and sought retirement. On the side where the sun + first gilds the city with its beams rises a mountain, whose summit He + had oft honoured with His presence when during the solitary night He + spent the hours in fervent prayer. + + Gabriel, descending, stands between two perfumed cedars and addresses + Jesus. + + Wilt Thou, Lord, here devote the night to prayer, + Or weary, dost thou seek a short repose? + Permit that I for Thine immortal head + A yielding couch prepare. Behold the shrubs + And saplings of the cedar, far and near, + Their balmy foliage already show. + Among the tombs in which Thy prophets rest + The cooling earth yields unmolested moss. + + Jesus answered not, but regarded Gabriel with a look of divine + complacency. He went up to the summit, where were the confines of + heaven, and there prayed. Earth rejoiced at the renewal of her beauty + as His voice resounded and penetrated the gates of the deep, but + only He and the Eternal Father knew the whole meaning of the divine + petition. As Jesus arose from prayer, in His face shone sublimity, + love, and resignation. + + Now He and the Eternal Father entered on discourse mysterious and + profound, obscure even to immortals; discourse of things which in + future ages should display to man the love of God. A seraph entered + the borders of the celestial world, whose whole extent is surrounded + by suns. No dark planet approaches the refulgent blaze. + + There, central of the circumvolving suns, + Heaven, archetype of every blissful sphere, + Orbicular in blazing glory, swims, + And circumfuges through infinitude + In copious streams, the splendour of the spheres. + Harmonious sounds of its revolving motion + Are wafted on the pinions of the winds + To circumambient suns. The potent songs + Of voice and harp celestial intermingle + And seem the animation of the whole. + + Up to this sacred way Gabriel ascended, approaching heaven, which, in + the very centre of the assemblage of suns, rises into a vast dome. + When the Eternal walks forth, the harmonic choirs, borne on the wings + of the wind to the borders of the sunny arch, chant His praise, + joining the melody of their golden harps. During the hymn the seraph, + as messenger of the Mediator, stood on one of the suns nearest heaven. + The Eternal Father rewarded the choirs with a look of benignity and + then beheld the Chief Seraph, whose name with God is _The Chosen_, and + by the heavenly host is called _Eloah_. + + The awful thunder seven times rolled forth, + The sacred gloom dispelling, and the Voice + Divine gently descended: "God is Love. + E'er beings gently emanated I was Love. + Creating worlds, I ever was the same, + And such I am in the accomplishment + Of my profoundest, most mysterious deed. + But in the death of the Eternal Son + Ye learn to know Me wholly--God, the Judge + Of every world. New adoration then + Ye will to the Supreme of heaven address." + + The seraph having descended to the altar of the earth, Adam, filled + with eager expectation, hastened to him. A lucid, ethereal body was + the radiant mansion of his blessed spirit, and his form was as lovely + as the bright image in the Creator's mind when meditating on the form + of man in the blooming fields of Paradise. Adam approached with a + radiant smile, which suffused over his countenance an air of ineffable + and sweetest dignity, and thus with impassioned accents he spoke. + + Hail, blessed seraph, messenger of peace! + Thy voice, resounding of thy message high, + Has filled our souls with rapture. Son of God, + Messiah, O that Thee I could behold, + Behold Thee in the beauty of Thy manhood, + E'en as this seraph sees Thee in the form + Which Thy compassion prompted Thee to take + My wretched progeny from death to save. + Point out to me, O seraph, show to me, + Where my Redeemer walked, my loving Lord; + Only from far I will His step attend. + + Gabriel descends again to earth, the stars silently saluting him with + a universal morn. He finds Jesus placidly sleeping on a bare rock, and + after long contemplation, apostrophises all nature to be silent, for + her Creator sleeps. + + +_II.--Of Satan Warring, and the Council of the Sanhedrim_ + + The morn descends over the forest of waving cedars, and Jesus + awakes. The spirits of the patriarchs see Him with joy from their + solar mansion. Raphael, John's guardian angel, tells Jesus that this + disciple is viewing a demoniac among the sepulchres on the Mount of + Olives. He goes thither, and puts Satan to flight, who, returning to + hell, gives an account of what he knows of Jesus, and determines that + He shall be put to death. Satan is opposed by Abaddon. Another grim + fiend speaks. + + Then Moloch fierce approached, a martial spirit. + From mountains and entrenchments huge he came, + Which still he forms, thus the domains of hell + To fence, in case the Thundering Warrior e'er + (He thus the dread Eternal nominates) + From heaven descending, should th' abyss molest. + All before Moloch with respect retired. + In sable armour clad, which to his pace + Resounded, he advanced as does a storm + Amid dark lowering clouds. The mountains shook + Before him, and behind, a trembling rock + In shattered fragments sunk. Thus he advanced + And soon attained the first revolter's throne. + + After the council of fiends, all hell approves Satan's determination. + Satan and Adramelech return to earth to execute their design. Abaddon, + following them at a distance, sees at the gate of hell Abdiel, the + seraph who was once his friend, whom he addresses. But Abdiel ignoring + him, he presses forward, bewails the loss of his glory, despairs of + finding grace, and after vainly endeavouring to destroy himself, + descends to earth. Satan and Adramelech also advance to earth and + alight on Mount Olivet. + + They both advanced and stormed against the Mount + Of Olives, the Redeemer there to find + Assembled with His confidential friends. + Thus down into the vale destructive cars + Of battle roll, against th' intrepid chief + Of the advancing and undaunted host. + Now brazen warriors throng from every point. + The thundering crash of the encounter, clash + Of sword and shield, a sullen iron din + O'er distant rocks resounds tow'rd heaven aloft, + And in the valley scatters death around. + + Caiaphas assembles the Sanhedrim, and relates a vision which has + terrified him. He declares that Jesus must die, but counsels caution + as to the manner of the execution. Philo, a dreaded priest and + Pharisee, steps forward, and with great vehemence pronounces the dream + of Caiaphas a mere empty fiction, yet joins in counselling the death + of Jesus. He declares Caiaphas a disgrace to the priesthood of God, + but that Jesus would abolish the priesthood altogether. + + So saying, Philo, with uplifted arms, + Advanced in the assembly and exclaimed: + "Spirit of Moses, reigning now in bliss, + Whether in thy celestial robes thou art, + Or whether thy yet mortal children now + In council met beneath a humble roof, + Thou deign'st to visit. Solemnly + I swear to thee, by yon dread covenant, + Which thou to us hast brought out of the storm + From God, to thee on Sinai revealed: + I will not rest till this thine adversary, + Who hates thy laws and thee, be from this earth + Exterminated." + + The evil counsel is warmly opposed by Gamaliel and Nicodemus. Judas + has a private conference with Caiaphas. The Messiah sends Peter + and John into Jerusalem to prepare the Passover. Jesus, going to + Jerusalem, is met by Judas. Jesus institutes a memorial of His death. + Judas goes out from the supper. Then Jesus prays for His disciples, + and returns to the Mount of Olives. + + +_III.--Eloah Sings the Redeemer's Glory_ + + God descends towards the earth to judge the Mediator, and rests + on Tabor. The Almighty sends the seraph Eloah to comfort Jesus in + Gethsemane by singing a triumphant song on His future glory. + + He soared on golden clouds and sang aloud: + "Hail me, I was found worthy after Thee + To feel what Thou dost feel, and to behold + At humble distance the Messiah's thoughts, + Which in the fearful and most dreadful hour + Of His humiliation, fill His mind. + No finite being ever saw God's thoughts: + Yet I have been found worthy from afar, + From an obscure dimension of created + And but finite understanding, to extend + My view into Divine Infinitude! + O with what feelings of creation new, + Divine Messiah, those redeemed by Thee-- + With what surpassing transport they will see + Thee on Thy everlasting throne of glory! + How they will then behold those radiant wounds, + The splendid testimonies of Thy love + To Adam's race! How they will shout Thy praise + In never-ceasing songs and alleluias! + Ah, then the angel Death's tremendous trump + Will nevermore be heard, nor thunders, then, + O'er Thy redeemed from the Throne will roll, + The depths will bow before Thee, and the heights + To Thee, the Judge, will folded hands uplift. + The last of days will evanescent die + Before the throne, lost in eternity. + And Thou wilt gather all the righteous souls + Around Thee, that they, face to face, may see + Thy glory and behold Thee as Thou art." + + Now the Messiah from the crimsoned dust + Rose victor, and the heavens sang aloud-- + The third heaven, of the great Messiah's most + Transcendent sufferings which brought endless life + To precious souls, as now gone over Him. + So sang the heavens. + + +_IV.--Pilate's Wife Bewails the Saviour's Sufferings_ + + The Messiah is seized and bound. The assembled priests are seized + with consternation, but their fears are removed by the arrival of + successive messengers. Jesus being taken before Annas, Philo goes + thither and brings Him to Caiaphas. Portia, Pilate's wife, comes to + see Jesus. She approaches from the Procurator's palace near the hall + of assembly, by an arcade lit by lamps. + + Impelled by curiosity at last + The great and wondrous Prophet to behold, + She to the high-priest's palace came in haste, + Only few attendants being with her. + And Portia saw Him Who awoke the dead, + And Who serenely bore the hellish rage + And malice of indignant priests, and now, + With wondrous magnanimity stood forth + Resolved to act with greatness, unadmired, + To beings so degenerate still unknown. + With fervid expectation and with joy + She stood and gazed upon the Holy Man, + And saw how He, sublime with dignified + Serenity, His base accusers faced. + + On false evidence of suborned witnesses Jesus is condemned. Eloah and + Gabriel discourse on the Saviour's sufferings. + + GABRIEL: Eloah! He at whose command the dead + Of the renewed creation shall arise, + The tempest of the resurrection shaking + The earth around, that she with bearing throes + Will yield the dust at His almighty call. + He then with thunders and attendant hosts + Of angels and in terrors clad, that stars + Before Him sink, will judge that sinful world. + + ELOAH: He said, Let there be light! And there was light. + Thou, Gabriel, sawest how at His command + Effulgent beams rushed forth! With thought profound + He still advanced: and lo, at His right hand + Ten thousand times ten thousand beings bright + Collected, and an animating storm + Advanced before Him. Then the suns + Rolled in their orbits! Then the harmony + Of morning spheres resounded round the poles. + And then the heavens appeared! + + GABRIEL: And at His word + Eternal night sank far below the heavens! + Thou sawest, Eloah, how He stood on high + O'er the Profound. He spake again, and, lo, + A hideous mass inanimate appeared + And lay before Him, seeming ruins vast + Of broken suns, or of a hundred worlds + To chaos crushed. He summoned then the flame, + And the nocturnal blaze rushed in the fields + Of everlasting death. Then misery + Existed, which from the depths ascended + In cries of anguish and despondency. + Then was created the infernal gulf! + + Thus they communed. Portia no longer could + The Blessed Saviour's sufferings behold, + And lone ascended to the palace roof. + She stood and wrung her hands, her weeping eyes + To heaven uplifted, while she thus express'd + The agitated feelings of her heart: + "O Thou, the First of Gods, who didst create + This world from night of darkness, and who gav'st + A heart to man! Whatever be Thy name-- + God, Jupiter, Jehovah, Romulus? + Or Abraham's God? Not of chosen few, + Thou art the Judge and Father of us all! + May I before Thee, Lord, with tears display + The feelings of my heart, and rend my soul? + What is the crime of this most peaceful man? + Why should He thus be barbarously used + And persecuted even unto death + By these inhuman and relentless men? + Dost Thou delight from Thine Olympus, Lord, + To look on suffering virtue? Is to Thee + The object sacred? To the heart of men, + That is not of humanity devoid, + It is most awful, wondrous, and endearing; + But He who formed the stars, can He admire + And wonder? No, far too sublime is He + To admiration ever scope to give! + Yet th' object must e'en to the God of Gods + Be sacred, else He never could permit + That thus the good and guiltless be oppress'd. + My tears of pity and compassion flow, + But thou discernest suffering virtue's tears + That flow in secret and to Thee appeal. + Great God of Gods, reward and if Thou canst, + Admire the magnanimity He shows." + + Peter, in deep distress, tells John he has denied his Master, then + departs and deplores his guilt. + + +_V.--The Day of Oblation_ + + Eloah welcomes the returning morn with a hymn, and hails the Day of + the Atonement, precious, fair day of oblation, sent by Love Divine. + + The Messiah is led to Pilate, and is accused by Caiaphas and Philo. + Judas, in despair, destroys himself. Jesus is sent to Herod, who, + expecting to see a miracle, is disappointed. After being treated with + derision, Jesus is sent back to Pilate, who seeks to save Him, but is + persuaded to release Barabbas. Jesus is scourged, arrayed in a purple + robe, crowned with thorns, and delivered to the priests, who cause Him + to be led to crucifixion. Eloah descends from the throne and proclaims + that the Redeemer is led to death, on which the angels of the earth + form a circle round Mount Calvary. Jesus is nailed to the cross. One + of the two thieves crucified with Him is converted. Uriel places a + planet before the sun to obscure the dreadful scene on Calvary, and + then conducts to earth the souls of all future generations of mankind. + + The Angel of Death descends to address Jesus, Who dies. The earth + shakes, the veil of the Temple is rent, the Old Testament saints are + raised. The converted thief dies. Joseph of Arimathea begs the body + of Jesus, and he and Nicodemus wrap it in spices and perform the + interment. Mary and some devout women meet in John's house, to which + Nicodemus brings the crown of thorns taken from the body at burial. + The interment is solemnised by choirs of risen saints and angels. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[R] Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock, who was born at Quedlinburg +on July 2, 1724, and died on March 14, 1803, was one of Germany's +most famous eighteenth century poets. While studying theology at Jena +University, he conceived the idea of a great spiritual epic, and +actually planned in prose the first three cantos of "The Messiah," +which he afterwards finished at Leipzig. These were published +anonymously in the _Bremische Beitraege_ in 1748, the remaining five +appearing in 1773. Although the poem perhaps lacks in unity of +conception and precision of style, it contains many noble passages +that are admitted by critics to mark a very high order of lyrical +genius. One of the chief distinctions of Klopstock was that he was +the real inaugurator of the emancipation of the German intellect from +the superficialism of French literary ascendancy. This distinction +was generously acknowledged by Goethe, who rejoiced at Klopstock's +success in first striking the keynote of intellectual freedom in +the Fatherland. Various odes, Biblical dramas, tragedies, and hymns +constitute his other works. The "Messiah" was translated into both +English prose and verse by G. Egerstorff, his work being published at +Hamburg in 1821. + + + + +GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING[S] + + + + +Nathan the Wise + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + SALADIN, _the Sultan_ + SITTAH, _his sister_ + NATHAN, _a rich Jew_ + HAFI, _a Dervish_ + RECHA, Nathan's _adopted daughter_ + DAYA, _a Christian woman, companion to_ Recha + CONRADE, _a young Templar_ + ATHANASIOS, _Patriarch of Palestine_ + BONAFIDES, _a friar_ + + + ACT I + + SCENE I.--_Jerusalem. A hall in_ NATHAN'S _house_. NATHAN, _in + travelling dress_. DAYA _meeting him_. + + DAYA: 'Tis he, 'tis Nathan, thanks to God, returned, + At last! + + NATHAN: Yes, Daya, thanks; but why "at last"? + 'Tis far to Babylon, and gathering in + One's debts makes tardy journeying. + + DAYA: Oh, Nathan! How near you came to misery; when afar, + The house took fire, and Recha, 'mid the flames, + Had all but perished. + + NATHAN: Recha, O my Recha! + + DAYA: Your Recha, _yours_? My conscience bids me speak---- + + NATHAN: See what a charming silk I bought for you + In Babylon, and these Damascus jewels. + + DAYA: I shall be silent. + + NATHAN: Say, does Recha know I am arrived? + + DAYA: This morn of you she dreamed; Her thoughts have only been with + you and him Who saved her from the fire. + + NATHAN: Ah, who is he? + + DAYA: A young knight Templar lately captive ta'en, + But pardoned by the sultan. He it was + Who burst through flame and smoke; and she believes + Him but a transient inmate of the earth-- + A guardian angel! Stay, your daughter comes! + + [_Enter_ RECHA. + + RECHA: My very father's self! Oh, how I feared + Perils of flood for thee, until the fire + Came nigh me. Now, I think it must be balm + To die by water! But you are not drowned: + I am not burned! We'll praise the God Who bade + My angel _visibly_ on his white wing + Athwart the roaring flame---- + + NATHAN (_aside_): White wing? Oh, ay. + The broad white fluttering mantle of the Templar. + + RECHA: Yes, visibly he bore me through the fire + O'ershadowed by his pinions--face to face + I've seen an angel, father, my own angel! + + NATHAN: A man had seemed an angel in such case! + + RECHA: He was no real knight; no captive Templar + Appears alive in wide Jerusalem. + + DAYA: Yet Saladin granted this youth his life, + For his great likeness to a dear dead brother. + + NATHAN: Why need you, then, call angels into play? + + DAYA: But then he wanted nothing, nothing sought; + Was in himself sufficient, like an angel. + + RECHA: And when at last he vanished---- + + NATHAN: Vanished! Have you not sought him? + What if he-- + That is, a Frank, unused to this fierce sun-- + Now languish on a sick-bed, friendless, poor? + + RECHA: Alas, my father! + + NATHAN: What if he, unfriended, + Lies ill and unrelieved; the hapless prey + Of agony and death; consoled alone + In death by the remembrance of this deed. + + DAYA: You kill her! + + NATHAN: You kill him. + + RECHA: Not dead, not dead! + + NATHAN: Dead, surely not, for God rewards the good + E'en here below. But ah, remember well + That rapt devotion is an easier thing + Than one good action. Ha! What Mussulman + Numbers my camels yonder? Why, for sure, + It's my old chess companion, my old Dervish, + Al Hafi! + + DAYA: Treasurer now to Saladin. + + [_Enter_ HAFI. + + Ay, lift thine eyes and wonder! + + NATHAN: Is it you? + A Dervish so magnificent? + + HAFI: Why not? + Is Dervish, then, so hopeless? Rather ask + What had been made of me. I'm treasurer + To Saladin, whose coffers ever ebb + Ere sunset; such his bounty to the poor! + It brings me little, truly; but to thee + 'Twas great advantage, for when money's low + Thou couldst unlock thy sluices; ay, and charge + Interest o'er interest! + + NATHAN: Till my capital + Becomes all interest? + + HAFI: Nay, but that's unworthy, + My friend; write _finis_ to our book of friendship + If that's thy view. I count on thee for aid + To quit me of my office worthily. + Grant me but open chest with thee. What, no? + + NATHAN: To Hafi, yes; but to the treasurer + Of Saladin, Al Hafi, nay! + + HAFI: These twain + Shall soon be parted: by the Ganges strand + I'll with my Dervish teachers wander barefoot, + Or play at chess with them once more! + + NATHAN: Al Hafi, + Go to your desert quickly. Among men + I fear you'll soon unlearn to be a man. [_Goes out_. + What? Gone? I could have wished to question him + About our Templar. Doubtless he will know him. + DAYA (_bursting in_): Nathan, the Templar's yonder, 'neath the palms. + Recha hath spied him, and she conjures you + To follow him most punctually. Haste! + + NATHAN: Take him my invitation. + + DAYA: All in vain. + He will not visit Jews. + + NATHAN: Then hold him there + Till I rejoin you. I shall not be long. + + + SCENE II.--_A place of palms. Enter the_ TEMPLAR, _followed by a_ + FRIAR. + + TEMPLAR: This fellow does not follow me for pastime. + + FRIAR: I'm from the Patriarch: he is fain to learn + Why you alone were spared by Saladin. + + TEMPLAR: My neck was ready for the blow, when he + Had me unbound. How all this hangs together + Thy Patriarch may unravel. + + FRIAR: He concludes + That you are spared to do some mighty deed. + + TEMPLAR: To save a Jewish maid? + + FRIAR: A weightier office! + He'd have you learn the strengths and weaknesses + Of Saladin's new bulwark! + + TEMPLAR: Play the spy! + Not for _me_, brother! + + FRIAR: Nay, but there is more. + It were not hard to seize the Sultan's person, + And make an end of all! + + TEMPLAR: And make of me + A graceless scoundrel! Brother, go away; + Stir not my anger! + + FRIAR: I obey, and go. + + [_Exit. Enter_ DAYA. + + DAYA: Nathan the Wise would see you; he is fain + To load you with rewards. Do see him--try him! + + TEMPLAR: Good woman, you torment me. From this day + Pray know me not; and do not send the father! + A Jew's a Jew, and I am rude and bearish. + I have forgot the maiden; do not make + These palm-trees odious where I love to walk! + + DAYA: Then farewell, bear. But I must track the savage. + + [_Exeunt._ + + + ACT II + + + SCENE I.--_The palace._ SALADIN _and his sister_ SITTAH, _playing + chess._ + + SITTAH: Check! + + SALADIN: And checkmate! + + SITTAH: Nay, nay; advance your knight. + + SALADIN: The game is yours. Al Hafi pays the stake. + + [_Enter_ HAFI, _who examines the board._ + + HAFI: The game's not over yet; why, Saladin, + Your queen can move---- + + SITTAH: Hush, hush! There, go, Al Hafi! + I'll send to fetch my money. + + HAFI: She hath never + Claimed aught of what you lose; it lies with me. + While we wait the treasure out of Egypt, + Your sister hath maintained the state alone. + + SALADIN: Was there none else could lend me, save my sister? + + HAFI: I know none such. + + SITTAH: What of thy friend, the Jew? + The town is ringing with the news of gems + And costly stuffs he hath brought home with him. + + HAFI: He would not lend to Saladin. Ah, Prince, + He's envious of your generosity. + That is the Jew! I'll knock at other doors. + + [_Exit._ + + + SCENE II.--_The place of palms._ DAYA _and_ RECHA _with_ NATHAN. + + DAYA: He's still beneath the palms. + + RECHA: Just one peep more. + + NATHAN: Don't let him see you with me. Best go in. + [_Exeunt_ DAYA _and_ RECHA. _Enter the_ TEMPLAR. + Forgive me, noble Frank. + + TEMPLAR: Well, Jew; your will? + + NATHAN: I'm Nathan, father to the maid you saved. + In what can I be useful? I am rich. Command me. + + TEMPLAR: Nay, your wealth is naught to me. + Yet, this, a coin or cloth for a new mantle, + When this is done. Don't quake; it's strong and good + To last awhile; but here it's singed with flame. + + NATHAN: This brand. Oh, I could kiss it! Would you send + This mantle to my daughter that her lips + May cling to this dear speck? + + TEMPLAR: Remember, Jew, + My vows, my Order, and my Christian faith! + + NATHAN: All lands produce good men. Are we our nation's? + Were Jews and Christians such ere they were men? + And I have found in thee one more who stands + A man confest. + + TEMPLAR: Nathan, thy hand; I blush + To have mistaken thee. We will be friends. + Hark you, the maid, your daughter, whom I saved, + Makes me forget that I am partly monk. + How say you; may I hope? + + NATHAN: Your suit, young man, + Must be considered calmly. Give me time + To know your lineage and your character. + A parent must be careful of his child. [_Enter_ DAYA. + + DAYA: The sultan sends for thee in haste. + + NATHAN: I'll go. + Knight, take it not amiss. + + TEMPLAR: I'll quit you first. + Farewell! [_Exit._ + + NATHAN: 'Tis not alone my Leonard's walk, + But even his stature and his very voice. + Filnek and Stauffen--I will soon know more. + + + SCENE III.--_A room in_ NATHAN'S _house_. RECHA _and_ DAYA. _A slave + shows in the_ TEMPLAR. + + RECHA: 'Tis he, my saviour! Ah! + + TEMPLAR: Thou best of beings, + How is my soul 'twixt eye and ear divided. + + RECHA: Well, knight, why thus refuse to look at me? + + TEMPLAR: Because I wish to hear you. + + RECHA: Nay, because + You would not have me notice that you smile + At my simplicity. + + TEMPLAR: Ah, no; ah, no. + How truly said thy father, "Do but know her." + Yet now I must attend him. There is danger. + + + SCENE IV.--SALADIN'S _audience chamber_. SALADIN _and_ NATHAN. + + SALADIN: Draw nearer, Jew. Your name is Nathan? + + NATHAN: Yea. + + SALADIN: Nathan the Wise? + + NATHAN: Ah, no. + + SALADIN: Of modesty + Enough, your words and bearing prove you wise. + Now, since you are so wise, tell me which law + Appears to you the better. + + NATHAN: Once on a time, eastward, there dwelt a man + Who prized a ring, set with a wondrous opal + That made the owner loved of God and man. + This ring he willed should ever more remain + The heirloom of his house; and to the son + He loved the best bequeathed it, binding him + To leave it also to his best beloved, + And forward so. At length the ring descended + To one who had three sons he loved alike. + To each in turn the doting father promised + The ring, and on his death-bed, sorely grieving + To disappoint two heirs, he had two rings + Made like the first, so close that none could tell + The model from the copies. These he gave + To his three sons in secret, and so passed. + The sequel may be guessed, the strifes, complaints-- + For the true ring no more could be distinguished + Than now can--the true faith. Each to the judge + Swore that he had the bauble from his father, + And called his brother forger. Quoth the judge: + "Which of you do his brothers love the best? + You're silent all. You're all deceived deceivers! + None of your rings is true, the true is gone. + Your father sought to end its tyranny. + Let each believe his own the real ring + And vie with others to display its virtue. + And if its power a thousand thousand years + Endure in your descendants, let them then + Before a wiser judge than I appear, + And he'll decide the cause." + + SALADIN: Even God Himself! + + NATHAN: Art thou, O Saladin, this wiser judge? + + SALADIN: Not yet have sped the thousand thousand years. + His judgment seat's not mine. Go, go, but love me. + + NATHAN: Hath Saladin no further need of me? + Perchance my stores might furnish forth thy wars. + + SALADIN: Is this Al Hafi's hint? I'll not disown + My object was to ask---- + + NATHAN: Thou shouldst have all + But that I owe a weighty debt to one-- + The Templar thou didst spare. + + SALADIN: I had forgot him. + + NATHAN: He saved my daughter from the flames. + + SALADIN: Ah, so? He looked a hero. Bring him hither; + Sittah must see our brother's counterfeit. + + NATHAN: I'll fetch him. For the rest, we are agreed. + + + SCENE V.--_The Place of Palms_. DAYA _and the_ TEMPLAR. + + DAYA: Knight, swear to me that you will make her yours; + Make both her present and eternal welfare. + Listen. She is a Christian, and no child + Of Nathan's. + + TEMPLAR: Are you sure of what you say? + + DAYA: It cost me tears of blood. She does not know + She is a Christian born. + + TEMPLAR: And Nathan reared + Her in this error, and persists in it? + Oh, it confounds me--go; and let me think. + + _[Exeunt_. + + + ACT III + + SCENE I.--_The cloisters of a convent_. ATHANASIOS _the Patriarch_, + _and the_ TEMPLAR. + + ATHANASIOS: Heaven keep you in your valour, good Sir Knight! + You seek my counsel? It is yours; say on. + + TEMPLAR: Suppose, my reverend father, that a Jew + Brought up a Christian child, in ignorance + Of her own faith and lineage, as his daughter, + What then? + + ATHANASIOS: Is this mere supposition, sir? + If in our diocese such impious act + Were done in truth, the Jew should die by fire. + You will not name the man? I'll to the sultan, + Who will support us. + + TEMPLAR: I'll to Saladin, + And will announce your visit. + + ATHANASIOS: Was it then + A problem merely? Nay, this is a job + For Brother Bonafides. Here, my son! + + [_Exit_ ATHANASIOS, _talking with the friar_. + + + SCENE II.--_A room at the palace of_ SALADIN. _Slaves bring in + money-bags to_ SALADIN _and_ SITTAH. + + SALADIN (_to_ Sittah): Here, pay yourself with that. + And look, I found + This portrait 'midst the heap of plate and jewels. + It is our brother Assad. I'll compare + The likeness with our Templar. Ah, who's there? + The Templar? Bid him enter. + + [_Enter the_ TEMPLAR. + + TEMPLAR: Saladin, + Thy captive, sire, who's life is at thy service! + + SALADIN: Ah, brave young man, I'm not deceived in thee. + Thou art indeed, in soul and body, Assad! + Came Nathan with thee? + + TEMPLAR: Who? + + SALADIN: Who? Nathan + + TEMPLAR (_coldly_): No. + + SALADIN: Why so cold? + + TEMPLAR: I've nothing against Nathan, + But I am angry with myself alone + For dreaming that a Jew could be no Jew. + He was so cautious of my suit that I, + In swift resentment, though unwitting, gave + Him over to the Patriarch's bloody rage. + Sultan, the maiden is no child of his; + She is a Christian whom the Jew hath reared + In ignorance of her faith. The Patriarch + Foredooms him to the stake. + + SALADIN: Go to, go to. + The case is scarcely hopeless. Summon Nathan, + And I shall reconcile you. If indeed + You're earnest for the maid, she shall be thine. + + + SCENE III.--_The hall in_ NATHAN'S _house_. NATHAN _and the friar,_ + BONAFIDES. + + BONAFIDES: The Patriarch hath ever work for me, + And some I like not. Listen. He hath heard + That hereabouts there dwells a certain Jew + Who hath brought up a Christian as his child. + + NATHAN: How? + + BONAFIDES: Hear me out. I fear me that I gave + Occasion for this sin, when I, a squire, + Brought you, full eighteen years ago, the babe, + The orphan babe of Leonard, Lord of Filnek. + He fell at Askalon. + + NATHAN: Ay so; and I, + Bereft by Christians of my wife and sons, + Received the infant as a gift from Heaven, + And made it mine. And now, belike, I suffer + For this my charity. But tell me now, + Was not the mother sister to a Templar, + Conrade of Stauffen? + + BONAFIDES: Let me fetch a book, + In Arabic, I had from my dead lord. + 'Tis said to tell the lineage of the babe. + + NATHAN: Go, fetch it quickly. [_Exeunt._ + + + SCENE IV.--_A place of palms._ NATHAN _and the_ TEMPLAR. + + NATHAN: Who hath betrayed me to the Patriarch? + + TEMPLAR: Alas! 'twas I. You took my suit so coldly + That when from Daya I had learned your secret, + I fancied you had little mind to give + A Christian what from Christians you had taken. + I thought to use my knowledge as a lever, + And so, not having you, I put the matter + In problem-wise before the Patriarch. + Suppose he find you out. What then? He cannot + Seize Recha, if she be no longer yours. + Ah! give her then, to me, and let him come. + + NATHAN: Too late! You are too late, for I have found + Her kinsfolk. Hark you, Recha has a brother. + + TEMPLAR: Well, he's the man to fit her with a husband. + Of thee and me she'll have no longer need. + + + SCENE V.--SALADIN'S _palace_. SALADIN _and his sister_, SITTAH, _are + talking with_ RECHA. + + SITTAH: Ah! I guessed it. + + RECHA: Guessed it? What? that I + Am Christian and not Nathan's daughter? + + [_She swoons_. + + SALADIN: What! + Whose cruelty hath sown this sharp suspicion + In thy fond heart? Ah! if there be two fathers + At strife for thee, quit both, and take a third. + Take Saladin for father! I'll be kind. + + SITTAH: Brother, you make her blush. + + SALADIN: In a good hour. Blushing becomes the fair. + But see, our Nathan's coming, with another. + Canst guess, sweet girl? Ay, when he comes, blush crimson. + + [_Enter_ NATHAN _and the_ TEMPLAR. + + Come, stickle not for niceties with him. + Make him thy offer, doing for him more, + Far more, than he for thee, for what was that + But make himself a little sooty. Come! + + [_Seeks to lead her to the_ TEMPLAR. + + NATHAN _(solemnly)_: Hold, Saladin; hold, Sittah! There's another + Whom I must speak with first--the maiden's brother. + + TEMPLAR _(bitterly)_: He has imposed a father on her, now + He'll shark her up a brother! Where's the man? + + NATHAN: Patience sir. + + SALADIN: Christian, such words as yours had never passed + My Assad's lips. + + NATHAN: Forgive him, Saladin. + Oh! Christian, you have hid from me your name. + Conrade of Stauffen is no name of yours, + But Guy of Filnek--mark. I tax you not + With falsehood; for your mother was a Stauffen. + Her brother's name was Conrade. He perchance + Adopted you? + + TEMPLAR: Even so the matter stands. + + NATHAN: Your father was my friend. He called himself + Leonard of Filnek, but no German he. + He had espoused a German. + + TEMPLAR: Ah! no more, + I beg, but tell me who is Recha's brother. + + NATHAN: Thou art the man! + + TEMPLAR: What, I? I Recha's brother? + + RECHA: My brother--he? + + SITTAH: So near akin-- + + RECHA (_offering to embrace him_): My brother! + + TEMPLAR: (_withdrawing_): Brother to her! + + RECHA (_to_ NATHAN): It cannot be. His heart + Knows nothing of it. + + SALADIN: What! not acknowledge + A sister such as she? Go! + + TEMPLAR: Saladin! + Mistake not my amazement. Thy Assad + At such a moment, had done likewise. + Oh, Nathan, you have taken, you have given-- + Yes, infinitely more--my sister--sister! + + [_Embraces_ RECHA. + + NATHAN: Blanda of Filnek! Guy! My children both! + + SITTAH: Oh! I am deeply moved. + + SALADIN: And I half tremble + At thought of the emotion still to be. + Nathan, you say her father was no German. + What was he, then? + + NATHAN: He never told me that. + But ah! he loved the Persian speech and owned + He was no Frank. + + SALADIN: The Persian! Need I more? Twas my Assad! + + NATHAN: Look in this book! + + SALADIN: Ay! 'tis his hand, even his. + Oh, Sittah, Sittah, they're my brother's children. + + [_He rushes to embrace them_. SITTAH _also embraces + the pair_. + + Now, now, proud boy, thou canst not choose but love me. + (_To_ RECHA) And I to thee am all I sought to be, + With or without thy leave. + + TEMPLAR: I of thy blood? Then all the tales I heard + In infancy were more than idle dreams. + + [_Falls at_ SALADIN'S _feet_. + + SALADIN (_raising him_): There's malice for you! Knew it all the time, + And yet he would have let me murder him. + Boy, boy! [_They embrace in silence_. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[S] Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, one of the greatest names in +German literature, was born January 22, 1729, at Kamenz, in Saxon Upper +Lusatia, where his father was a clergyman of the most orthodox Lutheran +school. After working very hard for five years at a school in Meissen, +he proceeded to the University of Leipzig, in 1746, with the intention +of studying theology, but he soon began to occupy himself with other +matters, made the acquaintance of actors, and acquired a great fondness +for dramatic entertainment. This sort of life, however, pained his +strict relatives, who pronounced it "sinful," and for a short time +Lessing went home. Later he proceeded to Berlin, and while there, +formed many valuable literary friendships, and established the best +literary journal of his time. "Nathan the Wise" ("Nathan der Weise") +arose out of a bitter theological controversy in which Lessing had been +engaged. It was written during the winter of 1778-79, and expresses +ideas and theories its author had already largely developed in prose. +Primarily the play is a strong plea for tolerance, the governing +conception being that noble character belongs to no particular creed, +but to all creeds, as set forth herein in the parable of the wonderful +ring. And thus it follows that there is no sufficient reason why people +holding one set of religious opinions should not tolerate others who +maintain totally different doctrines. Purely as a drama the play may +be disappointing, but regarded as a poem it ranks with the noblest +dramatic literature of the eighteenth century. The characters abound in +vitality, and some of the passages rise to heights of great splendour. +Lessing died on February 15, 1781 (see also Vol. XX, p. 239). + + + + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW[T] + + + + +Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie + + +_I.--The Betrothal and the Exile_ + + On the night when Evangeline, the beautiful daughter of Benedict + Bellefontaine, the richest farmer of Grand-Pre, was to be betrothed to + Gabriel, the son of Basil Lajeunesse the blacksmith, the two fathers + were engaged in discussing the reason of the presence of several + English war vessels which were riding at anchor at the mouth of the + Gaspereau. Basil was inclined to take a gloomy view, and Benedict + a hopeful one, when the arrival of the notary put an end to his + discussion. + + Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, + Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with brown ale, + While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and ink-horn, + Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, + And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. + Then the notary, rising and blessing the bride and bridegroom, + Lifted aloft the tankard of ale, and drank to their welfare. + Wiping the foam from his lips, he solemnly bowed and departed, + While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, + Till Evangeline brought the draught board out of its corner. + Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men + Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre. + Meanwhile, apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, + Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise + Over the pallid sea, and the silvery mists of the meadows. + + Pleasantly rose next morn. And lo! with a summons sonorous, + Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. + Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard, + Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones + Garlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. + Then came the guards from the ships, and entered the sacred portal. + Straight uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar. + + "You are convened this day," he said, "by his majesty's orders. + Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. + Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch; + Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds, + Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from the province + Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there + Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people!" + In the midst of the tumult and angry contention that broke out, + Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician + Entered with solemn mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. + Raising his hand, with a gesture he awed the throng into silence. + "What is this that ye do?" he said. "What madness has seized you? + Forty years of my life have I laboured among you and taught you, + Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another! + Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? + Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness?" + Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people + Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, + While they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!" + + Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day + Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farmhouse. + Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, + Came from the neighbouring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, + Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the seashore, + Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, + Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. + Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, + While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. + Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; and there on the + sea-beach, + Piled in confusion, lay the household goods of the peasants. + Great disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking + Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the confusion + Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their + children + Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. + So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, + While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. + + Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red + Moon climbs the crystal wall of heaven, and o'er the horizon, + Titan-like, stretches its hundred hands upon the mountain and meadow, + Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together. + Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, + Gleamed on the sky and sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead. + Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were + Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of + a martyr. + Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, + uplifting, + Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred housetops + Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled. + Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maidens + Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them; + And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion, + Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the seashore, + Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. + + With the first dawn of the day, the tide came hurrying landward. + Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking; + And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbour, + Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. + + +_II.--The Quest and the Finding_ + + The exiles from Acadie landed some on one coast, some on another; + and the lovers were separated from one another. Evangeline sought + everywhere for Gabriel, in towns and in the country, in churchyards + and on the prairies, in the camps and battlefields of the army, and + among missions of Jesuits and Moravians. But all in vain. She heard + far and distant news of him, but never came upon him. And so the years + went by, and she grew old in her search. + + In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware waters, + Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn, the apostle, + Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. + There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, + And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest, + As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. + There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, + Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. + Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, + Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him. + Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but transfigured; + He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent. + Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others-- + This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. + Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow + Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. + Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy; frequenting + Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, + Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. + + Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city. + Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm the oppressor; + But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger-- + Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, + Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. + Thither, by night and day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying + Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there + Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendour, + Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, + Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. + Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, + Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits would enter. + + Thus on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, + Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. + Sweet on the summer air was the odour of flowers in the garden; + And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, + That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. + And with light in her looks, she entered the chamber of sickness. + Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, + Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence + Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. + And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, + Laying his hand on many a heart, had healed it forever. + Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, + Still she stood, with her colourless lips apart, while a shudder + Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her + fingers, + And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. + Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish + That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. + On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. + Long and thin and grey were the locks that shaded his temples; + But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment + Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood. + Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit, exhausted, + Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness-- + Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. + + Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, + Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded + Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, + "Gabriel! O my beloved!" and died away into silence. + Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood; + Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, + Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and walking under their shadow, + As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. + Tears came into his eyes; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids + Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bed-side. + Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered, + Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would + have spoken. + Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, + Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. + Sweet was the light of his eyes; but it suddenly sank into darkness, + As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. + All was ended now--the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, + All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, + All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience; + And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, + Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank Thee!" + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[T] Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the best-known and +best-beloved of American poets, was born at Portland, Maine, on +February 27, 1807. The son of a lawyer, he graduated at Bowdoin +College at the age of eighteen, and then entered his father's office, +not, however, with any intention of adopting the law as a profession. +Shortly afterwards, the college trustees sent him on a European tour +to qualify himself for the chair of foreign languages, one result of +which was a number of translations and his book "Outre Mer." "Voices of +the Night," his first volume of original verse, appeared in 1839, and +created a favourable impression, which was deepened on the publication +in 1841 of "Ballads, and Other Poems," containing such moving pieces as +"The Wreck of the Hesperus," "The Village Blacksmith," and "Excelsior." +From that moment Longfellow's reputation as poet was established--he +became a singer whose charm and simplicity not only appealed to his +own countrymen, but to English-speaking people the world over. In 1847 +he produced what many regard as the greatest of his works, namely, +"Evangeline, a Tale of Acadie." The story is founded on the compulsory +expatriation by the British of the people of Acadia (Nova Scotia), in +1713, on the charge of having assisted the French (from whom they were +descended) at a siege of the war then in progress. The poem is told +with infinite pathos and rare narrative power. Longfellow died on March +24, 1882. + + + + +The Song of Hiawatha[U] + + +_I.--Of Hiawatha and His Battle with Mudjekeewis_ + + Hiawatha was sent by Gitche Manito, the Master of Life, as a prophet + to guide and to teach the tribes of men, and to toil and suffer + with them. If they listened to his counsels they would multiply and + prosper, but if they paid no heed they would fade away and perish. + His father was Mudjekeewis, the West Wind; his mother was Wenonah, + the first-born daughter of Nokomis, who was the daughter of the Moon. + Wenonah died in her anguish deserted by the West Wind, and Hiawatha + was brought up and taught by the old Nokomis. He soon learned the + language of every bird and every beast; and Iagoo, the great boaster + and story-teller, made him a bow with which he shot the red deer. When + he grew into manhood he put many questions concerning his mother to + the old Nokomis, and having learned her story, resolved, despite all + warnings, to take vengeance on Mudjekeewis. + + Forth he strode into the forest, + Crossed the rushing Esconaba, + Crossed the mighty Mississippi, + Passed the Mountains of the Prairie, + Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet, + Came unto the Rocky Mountains, + To the kingdom of the West Wind, + Where upon the gusty summits + Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis, + Ruler of the winds of Heaven. + Filled with awe was Hiawatha + At the aspect of his father. + Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis + When he looked on Hiawatha. + "Welcome," said he, "Hiawatha, + To the kingdom of the West Wind! + Long have I been waiting for you. + Youth is lovely, age is lonely; + You bring back the days departed, + You bring back my youth of passion, + And the beautiful Wenonah!" + Many days they talked together, + Questioned, listened, waited, answered; + Much the mighty Mudjekeewis + Boasted of his ancient prowess. + Patiently sat Hiawatha + Listening to his father's boasting. + Then he said: "O Mudjekeewis, + Is there nothing that can harm you?" + And the mighty Mudjekeewis + Answered, saying, "There is nothing, + Nothing but the black rock yonder, + Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek!" + And he looked at Hiawatha + With a wise look and benignant, + Saying, "O my Hiawatha! + Is there anything can harm you?" + But the wary Hiawatha + Paused awhile as if uncertain, + And then answered, "There is nothing, + Nothing but the great Apukwa!" + Then they talked of other matters; + First of Hiawatha's brothers, + First of Wabun, of the East Wind. + Of the South Wind, Shawondasee, + Of the north, Kabibonokka; + Then of Hiawatha's mother, + Of the beautiful Wenonah, + Of her birth upon the meadow, + Of her death, as old Nokomis + Had remembered and related. + Then up started Hiawatha, + Laid his hand upon the black rock. + With his mittens, Minjekahwun, + Rent the jutting crag asunder, + Smote and crushed it into fragments + Which he hurled against his father, + The remorseful Mudjekeewis, + For his heart was hot within him, + Like a living coal his heart was. + But the ruler of the West Wind + Blew the fragments backward from him, + Blew them back at his assailant; + Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, + Dragged it with its roots and fibres + From the margin of the meadow. + Long and loud laughed Hiawatha. + Like a tall tree in the tempest + Bent and lashed the giant bulrush; + And in masses huge and heavy + Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek; + Till the earth shook with the tumult + And confusion of the battle. + Back retreated Mudjekeewis, + Rushing westward o'er the mountains, + Stumbling westward down the mountains, + Three whole days retreated fighting, + Still pursued by Hiawatha + To the doorways of the West Wind, + To the earth's remotest border. + "Hold!" at length called Mudjekeewis, + "'Tis impossible to kill me. + For you cannot kill the immortal. + I have put you to this trial + But to know and prove your courage. + Now receive the prize of valour! + Go back to your home and people, + Live among them, toil among them, + Cleanse the earth from all that harms it. + And at last when Death draws near you, + When the awful eyes of Pauguk + Glare upon you in the darkness, + I will share my kingdom with you; + Ruler shall you be thenceforward + Of the North-west Wind, Keewaydin, + Of the home wind, the Keewaydin." + + +_II.--Of Hiawatha's Friends and of His Fight with Pearl-Feather_ + + The first exertion which Hiawatha made for the profit of his people + was to fast for seven days in order to procure for them the blessing + of Mondamin, the friend of man. At sunset of the fourth, fifth, and + sixth days Hiawatha wrestled with the youth Mondamin, and on the + evening of the seventh day Mondamin, having fallen lifeless in the + combat, was stripped of his green and yellow garments and laid in the + earth. From his grave shot up the maize in all its beauty, the new + gift of the Great Spirit; and for a time Hiawatha rested from his + labours, taking counsel for furthering the prosperity of his people + with his two good friends--Chibiabos, the great singer and musician; + and Kwasind, the very strong man. But he was not long inactive. He + built the first birch canoe, and, with the help of Kwasind, cleared + the river of its sunken logs and sand-bars; and when he and his canoe + were swallowed by the monstrous sturgeon Mishe-Nahma, he killed it by + smiting fiercely on its heart. Not long afterwards his grandmother, + Nokomis, incited him to kill the great Pearl-Feather, Megissogwon, + the magician who had slain her father. Pearl-Feather was the sender + of white fog, of pestilential vapours, of fever and of poisonous + exhalations, and, although he was guarded by the Kenabeek, the + great fiery surpents, Hiawatha sailed readily in his birch canoe to + encounter him. + + Soon he reached the fiery serpents, + The Kenabeek, the great serpents, + Lying huge upon the water, + Sparkling, rippling in the water, + Lying coiled across the passage, + With their blazing crests uplifted, + Breathing fiery fogs and vapours, + So that none could pass beyond them. + Then he raised his bow of ash-tree, + Seized his arrows, jasper-headed, + Shot them fast among the serpents; + Every twanging of the bow-string + Was a war-cry and a death-cry, + Every whizzing of an arrow + Was a death-song of Kenabeek. + Then he took the oil of Nahma, + Mishe-Nahma, the great sturgeon, + And the bows and sides anointed, + Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly + He might pass the black pitch-water. + All night long he sailed upon it, + Sailed upon that sluggish water, + Covered with its mold of ages, + Black with rotting water-rushes, + Rank with flags and leaves of lilies, + Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, + Lighted by the shimmering moonlight, + And by will-o'-wisps illumined, + Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled, + In their weary night encampments. + Westward thus fared Hiawatha, + Toward the realm of Megissogwon, + Toward the land of the Pearl-Feather, + Till the level moon stared at him, + In his face stared pale and haggard, + Till the sun was hot behind him, + Till it burned upon his shoulders, + And before him on the upland + He could see the shining wigwam + Of the Manito of Wampum, + Of the mightiest of magicians. + Straightway from the shining wigwam + Came the mighty Megissogwon, + Tall of stature, broad of shoulder, + Dark and terrible in aspect, + Clad from head to foot in wampum, + Armed with all his warlike weapons, + Painted like the sky of morning, + Crested with great eagle feathers, + Streaming upward, streaming outward. + Then began the greatest battle + That the sun had ever looked on. + All a summer's day it lasted; + For the shafts of Hiawatha + Harmless hit the shirt of wampum; + Harmless were his magic mittens, + Harmless fell the heavy war-club; + It could dash the rocks asunder, + But it could not break the meshes + Of that magic shirt of wampum. + Till at sunset, Hiawatha, + Leaning on his bow of ash-tree, + Wounded, weary, and desponding, + With his mighty war-club broken, + With his mittens torn and tattered, + And three useless arrows only, + Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree. + Suddenly, from the boughs above him + Sang the Mama, the woodpecker: + "Aim your arrow, Hiawatha, + At the head of Megissogwon, + Strike the tuft of hair upon it, + At their roots the long black tresses; + There alone can he be wounded!" + Winged with feathers, tipped with jasper, + Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow, + Just as Megissogwon, stooping + Raised a heavy stone to throw it. + Full upon the crown it struck him, + And he reeled and staggered forward. + Swifter flew the second arrow, + Wounding sorer than the other; + And the knees of Megissogwon + Bent and trembled like the rushes. + But the third and latest arrow + Swiftest flew, and wounded sorest, + And the mighty Megissogwon + Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk, + Saw the eyes of Death glare at him; + At the feet of Hiawatha + Lifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather. + Then the grateful Hiawatha + Called the Mama, the woodpecker, + From his perch among the branches, + And in honour of his service, + Stained with blood the tuft of feathers + On the little head of Mama; + Even to this day he wears it, + Wears the tuft of crimson feathers, + As a symbol of his service. + + +_III.--Hiawatha's Life with His People and His Departing Westward_ + + When Hiawatha was returning from his battle with Mudjekeewis he had + stopped at the wigwam of the ancient Arrow-maker to purchase heads + of arrows, and there and then he had noticed the beauty of the + Arrow-maker's daughter, Minnehaha, Laughing Water. Her he now took + to wife, and celebrated his nuptials by a wedding-feast at which + Chibiabos sang, and the handsome mischief-maker, Pau-Puk-Keewis, + danced. Minnehaha proved another blessing to the people. In the + darkness of the night, covered by her long hair only, she walked all + round the fields of maize, making them fruitful, and drawing a magic + circle round them which neither blight nor mildew, neither worm nor + insect, could invade. About this same time, too, to prevent the memory + of men and things fading, Hiawatha invented picture-writing, and + taught it to his people. But soon misfortunes came upon him. The evil + spirits, the Manitos of mischief, broke the ice beneath his friend + Chibiabos, and drowned him; Pau-Puk-Keewis put insult upon him, and + had to be hunted down; and the envious Little People, the mischievous + Puk-Wudjies, conspired against Kwasind, and murdered him. After this + ghosts paid a visit to Hiawatha's wigwam, and famine came upon the + land. + + Oh, the long and dreary winter! + Oh, the cold and cruel winter! + Ever thicker, thicker, thicker + Froze the ice on lake and river; + Ever deeper, deeper, deeper + Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, + Fell the covering snow, and drifted + Through the forest, round the village. + All the earth was sick and famished; + Hungry was the air around them, + Hungry was the sky above them, + And the hungry stars in heaven + Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! + Into Hiawatha's wigwam + Came two other guests, as silent + As the ghosts were, and as gloomy. + Looked with haggard eyes and hollow + At the face of Laughing Water. + And the foremost said, "Behold me! + I am Famine, Buckadawin!" + And the other said, "Behold me! + I am Fever, Ahkosewin!" + And the lovely Minnehaha + Shuddered as they looked upon her, + Shuddered at the words they uttered; + Lay down on her bed in silence. + Forth into the empty forest + Rushed the maddened Hiawatha; + In his heart was deadly sorrow, + In his face a stony firmness; + On his brow the sweat of anguish + Started, but it froze and fell not. + "Gitche Manito, the Mighty!" + Cried he with his face uplifted + In that bitter hour of anguish, + "Give your children food, O father! + Give me food for Minnehaha-- + For my dying Minnehaha!" + All day long roved Hiawatha + In that melancholy forest, + Through the shadow of whose thickets, + In the pleasant days of summer, + Of that ne'er-forgotten summer, + He had brought his young wife homeward + From the land of the Dacotahs. + In the wigwam with Nokomis, + With those gloomy guests that watched her, + She was lying, the beloved, + She, the dying Minnehaha. + "Hark!" she said; "I hear a rushing, + Hear the falls of Minnehaha + Coming to me from a distance!" + "No, my child!" said old Nokomis, + "'Tis the night-wind in the pine-trees!" + "Look!" she said; "I see my father + Beckoning, lonely, from his wigwam + In the land of the Dacotahs!" + "No, my child!" said old Nokomis. + "'Tis the smoke that waves and beckons!" + "Ah!" said she, "the eyes of Pauguk + Glare upon me in the darkness; + I can feel his icy fingers + Clasping mine amid the darkness! + Hiawatha! Hiawatha!" + And the desolate Hiawatha, + Miles away among the mountains, + Heard that sudden cry of anguish, + Heard the voice of Minnehaha + Calling to him in the darkness. + Over snowfields waste and pathless, + Under snow-encumbered branches, + Homeward hurried Hiawatha, + Empty-handed, heavy-hearted; + Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing, + "Would that I had perished for you, + Would that I were dead as you are!" + And he rushed into the wigwam, + Saw the old Nokomis slowly + Rocking to and fro and moaning, + Saw his lovely Minnehaha + Lying dead and cold before him; + And his bursting heart within him + Uttered such a cry of anguish + That the very stars in heaven + Shook and trembled with his anguish. + Then he sat down, still and speechless, + On the bed of Minnehaha. + Seven long days and nights he sat there, + As if in a swoon he sat there. + Then they buried Minnehaha; + In the snow a grave they made her, + In the forest deep and darksome. + "Farewell!" said he. "Minnehaha! + Farewell, O my Laughing Water! + All my heart is buried with you, + All my thoughts go onward with you! + Come not back again to labour, + Come not back again to suffer. + Soon my task will be completed, + Soon your footsteps I shall follow + To the Islands of the Blessed, + To the Kingdom of Ponemah, + To the Land of the Hereafter!" + + Hiawatha indeed remained not much longer with his people, for after + welcoming the Black-Robe chief, who told the elders of the nations of + the Virgin Mary and her blessed Son and Saviour, he launched his birch + canoe from the shores of Big-Sea-Water, and, departing westward, + + Sailed into the fiery sunset, + Sailed into the purple vapours, + Sailed into the dusk of evening. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[U] In 1854 Longfellow resigned his professorship at Harvard. +"Evangeline" had been followed by "Kavanagh," a novel of no particular +merit, a cluster of minor poems, and in 1851 by the "Golden Legend," +a singularly beautiful lyric drama, based on Hartmann van Aue's story +"Der arme Heinrichs." Leaving the dim twilight of mediaeval Germany, +the poet brought his imagination to bear upon the Red Indian and his +store of legend. The result was the "Song of Hiawatha," in 1855. Both +in subject and in metre the poem is a conscious imitation of the +Finnish "Kalevala." It was immensely popular on its appearance, Emerson +declaring it "sweet and wholesome as maize." If the poem lacks veracity +as an account of savage life, it nevertheless overflows with the beauty +of the author's own nature, and is typical of those elements in his +poetry which have endeared his name to the English-speaking world. With +the exception of "Evangeline," it is the most popular of Longfellow's +works. + + + + +LUCRETIUS[V] + + + + +On the Nature of Things + + +_I.--The Invocation and the Theme_ + + Mother of Romans, joy of men and gods, + Kind Venus, who 'neath gliding signs of heaven + Dost haunt the main where sail our argosies, + Dost haunt the land that yieldeth crops of grain, + Since 'tis of thee that every kind of breath + Is born and riseth to behold the light; + Before Thee, Lady, flit the winds; and clouds + Part at thine advent, and deft-fingered earth + Yields Thee sweet blooms; for Thee the sea hath smiles, + And heaven at peace doth gleam with floods of light. + Soon as the fair spring face of day is shown + And zephyr kind to birth is loosed in strength; + First do the fowls of air give sign of Thee, + Lady, and of Thy entrance, smit at heart + By power of Thine. Then o'er the pastures glad + The wild herds bound, and swim the rapid streams. + Thy glamour captures them, and yearningly + They follow where Thou willest to lead on. + Yea, over seas and hills and sweeping floods, + And leafy homes of birds and grassy leas, + Striking fond love into the heart of all, + Thou mak'st each race desire to breed its kind. + Since Thou dost rule alone o'er nature's realm, + Since without Thee naught wins the hallowed shores + Of light, and naught is glad, and naught is fair, + Fain would I crave Thine aid for poesy + Which seeks to grasp the essence of the world. + + On the high system of the heavens and gods + I will essay to speak, and primal germs + Reveal, whence nature giveth birth to all, + And growth and nourishment, and unto which + Nature resolves them back when quite outworn. + These, when we treat their system, we are wont + To view asm "matter," "bodies which produce," + And name them "seeds of things," "first bodies" too, + Since from them at the first all things do come. + + +THE TYRANNY OF RELIGION AND THE REVOLT OF EPICURUS + + When human life lay foully on the earth + Before all eyes, 'neath Superstition crushed, + Who from the heavenly quarters showed her head + And with appalling aspect lowered on men, + Then did a Greek dare first lift eyes to hers-- + First brave her face to face. Him neither myth + Of gods, nor thunderbolt; nor sky with roar + And threat could quell; nay, chafed with more resolve + His valiant soul that he should yearn to be + First man to burst the bars of nature's gates. + So vivid verve of mind prevailed. He fared + Far o'er the flaming ramparts of the world, + And traversed the immeasurable All + In mind and soul: and thence a conqueror + Returns to tell what can, what cannot rise, + And on what principle each thing, in brief, + Hath powers defined and deep-set boundary. + Religion, then, is cast to earth in turn + And trampled. Triumph matches man with heaven. + + The profoundest speculations on the nature of things are not impious. + Let not the reader feel that in such an inquiry he is on guilty + ground. It is, rather, true that religion has caused foul crimes. An + instance is the agonising sacrifice of sweet Iphigenia, slain at the + altar to appease divine wrath. + + "Religion could such wickedness suggest." Tales of eternal punishment + frighten only those ignorant of the real nature of the soul. This + ignorance can be dispelled by inquiring into the phenomena of heaven + and earth, and stating the laws of nature. + + +_II.--First Principles and a Theory of the Universe_ + + Of these the first is that nothing is made of nothing; the second, + that nothing is reduced to nothing. This indestructibility of matter + may be illustrated by the joyous and constantly renewed growth that is + in nature. There are two fundamental postulates required to explain + nature--atoms and void. These constitute the universe. There is no + _tertium quid_. All other things are but properties and accidents of + these two. Atoms are solid, "without void"; they are indestructible, + "eternal"; they are indivisible. To appreciate the physical theory of + Epicurus, it is necessary to note the erroneous speculations of other + Greek thinkers, whether, like Heraclitus, they deduced all things + from one such fundamental element as fire, or whether they postulated + four elements. From a criticism of the theories of Empedocles and + Anaxagoras, the poet, return to the main subject. + + +A HARD TASK AND THREEFOLD TITLE TO FAME + + How dark my theme, I know within my mind; + Yet hath high hope of praise with thyrsus keen + Smitten my heart and struck into my breast + Sweet passion for the Muses, stung wherewith + In lively thought I traverse pathless haunts + Pierian, untrodden yet by man. + I love to visit those untasted springs + And quaff; I love to cull fresh blooms, and whence + The Muses never veiled the brows of man + To seek a wreath of honour for my head: + First, for that lofty is the lore I teach; + Then, cramping knots of priestcraft I would loose; + And next because of mysteries I sing clear, + Decking my poems with the Muses' charm. + + This sweetening of verse with: "the honey of the Muses" is like + disguising unpalatable medicine for children. The mind must be engaged + by attractive means till it perceives the nature of the world. + + As to the existing universe, it is bounded in none of its dimensions; + matter and space are infinite. All things are in continual motion + in every direction, and there is an endless supply of material + bodies from infinite space. These ultimate atoms buffet each other + ceaselessly; they unite or disunite. But there is no such thing + as design in their unions. All is fortuitous concourse; so there + are innumerable blind experiments and failures in nature, due to + resultless encounters of the atoms. + + +CALM OF MIND IN RELATION TO A TRUE THEORY OF THE UNIVERSE + + When tempests rack the mighty ocean's face, + How sweet on land to watch the seaman's toil-- + Not that we joy in neighbour's jeopardy, + But sweet it is to know what ills we 'scape. + How sweet to see war's mighty rivalries + Ranged on the plains--without thy share of risk. + Naught sweeter than to hold the tranquil realms + On high, well fortified by sages' lore, + Whence to look down on others wide astray-- + Lost wanderers questing for the way of life-- + See strife of genius, rivalry of rank, + See night and day men strain with wondrous toil + To rise to utmost power and grasp the world. + + Man feels an imperious craving to shun bodily pain and secure mental + pleasure. But the glitter of luxury at the banquets of the rich + cannot satisfy this craving: there are the simpler joys of the open + country in spring. But the fact is, no magnificence can save the body + from pain or the mind from apprehensions. The genuine remedy lies in + knowledge alone. + + Not by the sunbeams nor clear shafts of day, + Needs then dispel this dread, this gloom of soul, + But by the face of nature and its plan. + + +PROPERTIES OF ATOMS + + Particles are constantly being transferred from one thing to another, + though the sum total remains constant. In the light hereof may be + understood the uninterrupted waxing and waning of things, and the + perpetual succession of existence. + + Full soon the broods of living creatures change, + Like runners handing on the lamp of life. + + Greater or less solidity depends on the resilience of atoms. Their + ceaseless motion is illustrated by the turmoil of motes in a stream + of sunlight let into a dark room. As to their velocity, it greatly + exceeds that of the sun's rays. This welter of atoms is the product + of chance; the very blemishes of the world forbid one to regard it as + divine. But the atoms do not rain through space in rigidly parallel + lines. A minute swerve in their motion is essential to account for + clashings and production; and in the ethical sphere it is this swerve + which saves the mind from "Necessity" and makes free will possible. + Though the universe appears to be at rest, this is a fallacy of the + senses, due to the fact that the motions of "first bodies" are not + cognisable by our eyes; indeed, a similar phenomenon is the apparent + vanishing of motion due to distance; for a white spot on a far-off + hill may really be a frolicsome lamb. + + Oft on a hillside, cropping herbage rich, + The woolly flocks creep on whithersoe'er + The grass bejewelled with fresh dew invites, + And full-fed lambs disport and butt in play-- + All this to eyes at distance looks a blur; + On the green hill the white spot seems at rest. + + The shapes of atoms vary; and so differences of species, and + differences within the same species, arise. This variety in shape + accounts, too, for the varying action and effects of atoms. Atoms + in hard bodies, for example, are mainly hooked; but in liquids + mainly smooth. In each thing, however, there are several kinds, + which furnish that particular thing with a variety of properties. + Furthermore, atoms are colourless, for in themselves they are + invisible; they never come into the light, whereas colour needs + light--witness the changing hues of the down on a pigeon's neck, or + of a peacock's tail. Atoms are themselves without senses, though they + produce things possessed of senses. To grasp the origin of species + and development of animate nature, one must realise the momentous + importance of the arrangement and interconnection of atoms. Wood + and other rotting bodies will bring forth worms, because material + particles undergo, under altered conditions, fresh permutations and + combinations. One may ask, what of man? He can laugh and weep, he + can discuss the composition of all things, and even inquire into the + nature of those very atoms! It is true that he springs from them. Yet + a man may laugh without being made of laughing atoms, and a man may + reason without being made of reasonable atoms! + + +EPICURUS AND THE GODS + + O thou that from gross darkness first didst lift + A torch to light the path to happiness, + I follow thee, thou glory of the Greeks! + And in thy footsteps firmly plant my steps, + Not bent so much to rival as for love + To copy. Why should swallow vie with swan? + Thou, father, art discoverer of things, + Enriching us with all a father's lore; + And, famous master, from thy written page, + As bees in flowery dells sip every bloom, + So hold we feast on all thy golden words-- + Golden, most worthy, aye, of lasting life. + Soon as thy reasoning, sprung from mind inspired, + Hath loud proclaimed the mystery of things, + The mind's fears flee, the bulwarks of the world + Part, and I see things work throughout the void. + Then Godhead is revealed in homes of calm, + Which neither tempests shake nor clouds with rain + Obscure, nor snow by piercing frost congealed + Mars with white fall, but ever cloudless air + Wraps in a smile of generous radiancy. + There nature, too, supplieth every want, + And nothing ever lessens peace of mind. + + +_III.--Of Mind and Soul and Death_ + + Mind and soul are portions of the body. While mind is the ruling + element, they are both of the nature of the body--only they are + composed of exceedingly minute and subtle atoms capable of marvellous + speed. Therefore, when death deprives the body of mind and soul, it + does not make the body appreciably lighter. + + It is as if a wine had lost its scent, + Or breath of some sweet perfume had escaped. + + Mind and soul consist of spirit, air, heat, and an elusive fourth + constituent, the nimblest and subtlest of essences, the very "soul of + the soul." It follows that mind and soul are mortal. Among many proofs + may be adduced their close interconnection with the body, as seen + in cases of drunkenness and epilepsy; their curability by medicine; + their inability to recall a state prior to their incarnation; + their liability to be influenced by heredity like corporeal seeds. + Besides, why should an immortal soul need to quit the body at death? + Decay surely could not hurt immortality! Then, again, imagine souls + contending for homes in a body about to be born! Consequently, the + soul being mortal, death has no sting. + + To us, then, death is nothing--matters naught, + Since mortal is the nature of the mind, + E'en as in bygone time we felt no grief + When Punic conflict hemmed all Rome around. + When, rent by war's dread turbulence, the world + Shuddered and quaked beneath the heaven's high realm, + So when we are no more, when soul and frame + Of which we are compact, have been divorced, + Be sure, to us, who then shall be no more, + Naught can occur or ever make us feel, + Not e'en though earth were blent with sea and sky. + + Men in general forget that death, in ending life's pleasures, also + ends the need and the desire for them. + + "Soon shall thy home greet thee in joy no more, + Nor faithful wife nor darling children run + To snatch first kiss, and stir within thy heart + Sweet thoughts too deep for words. Thou canst no more + Win wealth by working or defend thine own. + The pity of it! One fell hour," they say, + "Hath robbed thee of thine every prize in life." + Hereat they add not this: "And now thou art + Beset with yearning for such things no more." + + The dead are to be envied, not lamented. The wise will exclaim: "Thou, + O dead, art free from pain: we who survive are full of tears." + + "What is so passing bitter," we should ask, + "If life be rounded by a rest and sleep, + That one should pine in never-ending grief?" + + Universal nature has a rebuke for the coward that is afraid to die. + There are no punishments beyond. Hell and hell's tortures are in this + life. It is the victim of passion or of gnawing cares that is the real + victim of torment. + + +_IV--The World's Origin and Its Growth_ + + Not by design did primal elements + Find each their place as 'twere with forethought keen, + Nor bargained what their movements were to be; + But since the atom host in many ways + Smitten by blows for infinite ages back, + And by their weight impelled, have coursed along, + Have joined all ways, and made full test of all + The types which mutual unions could create, + Therefore it is that through great time dispersed, + With every kind of blend and motion tried, + They meet at length in momentary groups + Which oft prove rudiments of mighty things-- + Of earth, and sea, and sky, and living breeds. + + Amidst this primeval medley of warring atoms there was no sun-disk to + be discerned climbing the vault, no stars, or sea, or sky, or earth, + or air--nothing, in fact, like what now exists. The next stage came + when the several parts began to fly asunder, and like to join with + like, so that the parts of the world were gradually differentiated. + Heavier bodies combined in central chaos and forced out lighter + elements to make ether. Thus earth was formed by a long process of + condensation. + + Daily, as ever more the ether-fires + And sun-rays all around close pressed the earth + With frequent blows upon its outer crust, + Each impact concentrating it perforce, + So was a briny sweat squeezed out the more + With ooze to swell the sea and floating plains. + + +PRIMEVAL FERTILITY OF THE EARTH + + At first the earth produced all kinds of herbs + And verdant sheen o'er every hill and plain; + The flowery meadows gleamed in hues of green, + And soon the trees were gifted with desire + To race unbridled in the lists of growth; + As plumage, hair, and bristles are produced + On limbs of quadrupeds or frame of birds, + So the fresh earth then first put forth the grass + And shrubs, and next gave birth to mortal breeds, + Thick springing multiform in divers ways. + The name of "Mother," then, earth justly won, + Since from the earth all living creatures came. + Full many monsters earth essayed to raise, + Uprising strange of look and strange of limb, + Hermaphrodites distinct from either sex, + Some robbed of feet, and others void of hands, + Or mouthless mutes, or destitute of eyes, + Or bound by close adhesion of their limbs + So that they could do naught nor move at all, + Nor shun an ill, nor take what need required. + All other kinds of portents earth did yield-- + In vain, since nature drove increase away, + They could not reach the longed-for bloom of life, + Nor find support, nor link themselves in love. + + +SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST IN THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE + + All things you see that draw the breath of life, + Have been protected and preserved by craft, + Or speed, or courage, from their early years; + And many beasts, which usefulness commends, + Abide domesticated in our care. + + The protective quality in such animals as lions is ferocity; in + foxes, cunning; in stags, swiftness. Creatures without such natural + endowments of defence or utility tend to be the prey of others, and so + become extinct. + + +PRIMITIVE MAN + + Primeval man was hardier in the fields, + As fitted those that hardy earth produced, + Built on a frame of larger, tougher bones + And knit with powerful sinews in his flesh; + Not likely to be hurt by heat or cold, + Or change of food, or wasting pestilence. + While many lustres of the sun revolved + Men led a life of roving like the beasts. + What sun or rain might give, or soil might yield + Unforced, was boon enough to sate the heart. + Oft 'neath the acorn-bearing oaks they found + Their food; and arbute-berries, which you now + In winter see turn ripe with scarlet hue, + Of old grew greater in luxuriance. + Through well known woodland haunts of nymphs they roamed, + Wherefrom they saw the gliding water brook + Bathe with a generous plash the dripping rocks-- + Those dripping rocks that trickled o'er green moss. + + As yet mankind did not know how to handle fire, or to clothe + themselves with the spoils of the chase; but dwelt in woods, or caves, + or other random shelter found in stress of weather. Each man lived for + himself, and might was right. The stone or club was used in hunting; + but the cave-dwellers were in frequent danger of being devoured by + beasts of prey. Still, savage mortality was no greater than that of + modern times. + + +THE EVOLVING OF CIVILISATION + + When men had got them huts and skins and fire, + And woman joined with man to make a home, + And when they saw an offspring born from them, + Then first began the softening of the race. + Fire left them less inured with shivering frames + To bear the cold 'neath heaven's canopy. + Then neighbours turned to compacts mutual, + Desirous nor to do nor suffer harm. + They claimed for child and woman tenderness, + Declaring by their signs and stammering cries + That pity for the weak becometh all. + + The rudiments of humane sentiments sprang, therefore, in prehistoric + family life. Language was the gradual outcome of natural cries, + not an arbitrary invention. The uses of fire were learned from the + lightning-flash and from conflagrations due to spontaneous combustion + or chance friction. In time this opened out the possibility of many + arts, such as metal-working; for forest fires caused streams of + silver, gold, copper, or lead to run into hollows, and early man + observed that when cooled, the glittering lumps retained the mould of + the cavities. Nature also was the model for sowing and grafting. Those + who excelled in mental endowment invented new modes of life. Towns and + strongholds were founded as places of defence; and possessions were + secured by personal beauty, strength, or cleverness. But the access of + riches often ousted the claims of both beauty and strength. + + For men, though strong and fair to look upon, + Oft follow in the retinue of wealth. + + Religious feelings were fostered by visions and dreams; marvellous + shapes to which savage man ascribed supernatural powers. Recurrent + appearances of such shapes induced a belief in their continuous + existence: so arose the notion of gods that live for ever. + + Our navigation, tillage, walls, and laws, + Our armour, roads, and dress, and such-like boons, + And every elegance of modern life, + Poems and pictures, statues deftly wrought, + All these men learned with slow advancing steps + From practice and the knowledge won by wit. + So by degrees time brings each thing to sight, + And reason raiseth it to realms of day. + In arts must one thing, then another, shine, + Until they win their full development. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[V] To the Roman poet Titus Corus Lucretius (99-55 B.C.) +belongs the distinction of having made Epicureanism epic. Possessed by +a desire to free his fellow men from the trammels of superstition and +the dread of death, he composed his poem, "On the Nature of Things." +His reasonings were based on the atomic theory, which the Greek +Epicurus had taken as the physical side of his system. In natural +law Lucretius found the true antidote to superstition, and from a +materialistic hypothesis of atoms and void he deduced everything. +Against the futilities of myth-religion he protested with the fervour +of an evangelist. On the ethical side, he accepted from Epicurus +the conception that the ideal lies in pleasure--not wild, sensual +pleasure, but that calm of mind which comes from temperate and refined +enjoyment, subdual of extravagant passion, and avoidance of political +entanglements. It is appropriate that the life of this apostle of +scientific quietism should be involved in obscurity. The story of his +insanity, so beautifully treated by Tennyson, may or may not be true. +It is hardly credible that a work so closely reasoned was, as a whole, +composed in lucid intervals between fits of madness; but, on the other +hand, there are signs of flagging in the later portions, and the work +comes to a sudden conclusion. The translations are specially made by +Prof. J. Wight Duff, and include a few extracts from his "Literary +History of Rome." + + + + +JAMES MACPHERSON + + + + +Ossian[W] + + +_I.--Carthon_ + +A tale of the times of old--the deeds of days of other years. + +Who comes from the land of strangers, with his thousands around him? +The sunbeam pours its bright stream before him; his hair meets the wind +of his hills. His face is settled from war. He is calm as the evening +beam that looks, from the cloud of the west, on Cona's silent vale. Who +is it but Fingal, the king of mighty deeds! The feast is spread around; +the night passed away in joy. + + +"Tell," said the mighty Fingal to Clessammor, "the tale of thy youthful +days. Let us hear the sorrow of thy youth, and the darkness of thy +days." + +"It was in the days of peace," replied the great Clessammor. "I came in +my bounding ship to Balclutha's walls of towers. Three days I remained +in Reuthamir's halls, and saw his daughter--that beam of light. Her +eyes were like the stars of night. My love for Moina was great; my +heart poured forth in joy. + +"The son of a stranger came--a chief who loved the white-bosomed Moina. +The strength of his pride arose. We fought; he fell beneath my sword. +The banks of Clutha heard his fall, a thousand spears glittered around. +I fought; the strangers prevailed. I plunged into the stream of Clutha. +My white sails rose over the waves, and I bounded on the dark-blue sea. +Moina came to the shore, her loose hair flew on the wind, and I heard +her mournful, distant cries. Often did I turn my ship, but the winds of +the east prevailed. Nor Clutha ever since have I seen, nor Moina of the +dark-brown hair. She fell in Balclutha, for I have seen her ghost. I +knew her as she came through the dusky night, along the murmur of Lora. +She was like the new moon seen through the gathered mist, when the sky +pours down its flaky snow and the world is silent and dark." + +"Raise, ye bards," said the mighty Fingal, "the praise of unhappy +Moina." + +The night passed away in song; morning returned in joy. The mountains +showed their grey heads; the blue face of ocean smiled. But as the sun +rose on the sea Fingal and his heroes beheld a distant fleet. Like a +mist on the ocean came the strange ships, and discharged their youth +upon the coast. Carthon, their chief, was among them, like the stag in +the midst of the herd. He was a king of spears, and as he moved towards +Selma his thousands moved behind him. + +"Go, with a song of peace," said Fingal. "Go, Ullin, to the king of +spears. Tell him that the ghosts of our foes are many; but renowned are +they who have feasted in my halls!" + +When Ullin came to the mighty Carthon, he raised the song of peace. + +"Come to the feast of Fingal, Carthon, from the rolling sea! Partake of +the feast of the king, or lift the spear of war. Behold that field, O +Carthon. Many a green hill rises there, with mossy stones and rustling +grass. These are the tombs of Fingal's foes, the sons of the rolling +sea!" + +"Dost thou speak to the weak in arms," said Carthon, "bard of the +woody Morven? Have not I seen the fallen Balclutha? And shall I feast +with Fingal, the son of Comhal, who threw his fire in the midst of my +father's hall? I was young, and knew not the cause why the virgins +wept. But when the years of my youth came on, I beheld the moss of my +fallen walls; my sigh arose with the morning, and my tears descended +with night. Shall I not fight, I said to my soul, against the children +of my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the strength of my soul." + +His people gathered round the hero, and drew their shining swords. The +spear trembled in his hand. Bending forward, he seemed to threaten the +king. + +"Who of my chiefs," said Fingal, "will meet the son of the rolling sea? +Many are his warriors on the coast, and strong is his ashen spear." + +Cathul rose, in his strength, the son of the mighty Lormar. Three +hundred youths attend the chief, the race of his native streams. Feeble +was his arm against Carthon; he fell, and his heroes fled. Connal +resumed the battle, but he broke his heavy spear; he lay bound on the +field; Carthon pursued his people. + +"Clessammor," said the king of Morven, "where is the spear of my +strength? Wilt thou behold Connal bound?" + +Clessammor rose in the strength of his steel, shaking his grizzly +locks. He fitted the shield to his side; he rushed, in the pride of +valour. + +Carthon saw the hero rushing on, and loved the dreadful joy of his +face; his strength, in the locks of age! + +"Stately are his steps of age," he said. "Lovely the remnant of his +years! Perhaps it is the husband of Moina, the father of car-borne +Carthon. Often have I heard that he dwelt at the echoing stream of +Lora." + +Such were his words, when Clessammor came, and lifted high his spear. +The youth received it on his shield, and spoke the words of peace. + +"Warrior of the aged locks! Hast thou no son to raise the shield before +his father to meet the arm of youth? What will be the fame of my sword +shouldst thou fall?" + +"It will be great, thou son of pride!" began the tall Clessammor. "I +have been renowned in battle, but I never told my name to a foe. Yield +to me, son of the wave; then shalt thou know that the mark of my sword +is in many a field." + +"I never yield, king of spears!" replied the noble pride of Carthon. +"Retire among thy friends! Let younger heroes fight." + +"Why dost thou wound my soul?" replied Clessammor, with a tear. "Age +does not tremble on my hand; I still can lift the sword. Shall I fly +in Fingal's sight, in the sight of him I love? Son of the sea, I never +fled! Exalt thy pointed spear!" + +They fought, like two contending winds that strive to roll the wave. +Carthon bade his spear to err; he still thought that the foe was the +spouse of Moina. He broke Clessammor's beamy spear in twain; he seized +his shining sword. But as Carthon was binding the chief, the chief drew +the dagger of his fathers. He saw the foe's uncovered side, and opened +there a wound. + +Fingal saw Clessammor low; he moved in the sound of his steel. The +host stood silent in his presence; they turned their eyes to the king. +He came, like the sullen noise of a storm before the winds arise. +Carthon stood in his place; the blood is rushing down his side; he saw +the coming down of the king. Pale was his cheek; his hair flew loose, +his helmet shook on high. The force of Carthon failed, but his soul was +strong. + +"King of Morven," Carthon said, "I fall in the midst of my course. +But raise my remembrance on the banks of Lora, where my father dwelt. +Perhaps the husband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon." + +His words reached Clessammor. He fell, in silence, on his son. The host +stood darkened around; no voice is on the plain. Night came; the moon +from the east looked on the mournful field; but still they stood, like +a silent grove that lifts its head on Gormal, when the loud winds are +laid, and dark autumn is on the plain; and then they died. + +Fingal was sad for Carthon; he commanded his bards to sing the hero's +praise. Ossian joined them, and this was his song: "My soul has been +mournful for Carthon; he fell in the days of his youth. And thou, O +Clessammor, where is thy dwelling in the wind? Has the youth forgot +his wound? Flies he, on clouds, with thee? Perhaps they may come to my +dreams. I think I hear a feeble voice! The beam of heaven delights to +shine on the grave of Carthon. I feel it warm around. + +"O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence +are thy beams, O sun, thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy +awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and +pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone. Who +can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the +mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows +again; the moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou art for ever the +same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. + +"When the world is dark with tempests; when thunder rolls, and +lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and +laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain, for he +beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern +clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art +perhaps, like me, for a season; thy years will have an end. Thou shalt +sleep in thy clouds; careless of the voice of the morning. Exult thee, +O sun, in the strength of thy youth! Age is dark and unlovely. It is +like the glimmering light of the moon when it shines through broken +clouds and the mist is on the hills; the blast of north is on the +plain; the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey." + + +_II.--Darthula_ + +Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! The silence of thy face is pleasant! +Thou comest forth in loveliness. The stars attend thy blue course in +the east. The clouds rejoice in thy presence, O moon! Look from thy +gates in the sky. Burst the cloud, O wind, that the daughter of night +may look forth, that the shaggy mountains may brighten, and the ocean +roll its white waves in light! + +Nathos is on the deep, and Althos, that beam of youth. Ardan is near +his brothers. They move in the gloom of their course. The sons of +Usnoth move in darkness, from the wrath of Cairbar of Erin. Who is +that, dim, by their side? The night has covered her beauty! Who is it +but Darthula, the first of Erin's maids? She has fled from the love +of Caribar, with blue-shielded Nathos. But the winds deceive thee, O +Darthula! They deny the woody Etha to thy sails. These are not the +mountains of Nathos; nor is that the roar of his climbing waves. The +halls of Cairbar are near; the towers of the foe lift their heads! Erin +stretches its green head into the sea. Tura's bay receives the ship. +Where have ye been, ye southern winds, when the sons of my love were +deceived? But ye have been sporting on plains, pursuing the thistle's +beard. Oh that ye had been rustling in the sails of Nathos till the +hills of Etha arose; till they arose in their clouds, and saw their +returning chief! + +Long hast thou been absent, Nathos--the day of thy return is past! +Lovely thou wast in the eyes of Darthula. Thy soul was generous and +mild, like the hour of the setting sun. But when the rage of battle +rose, thou wast a sea in a storm. The clang of thy arms was terrible; +the host vanished at the sound of thy coarse. It was then Darthula +beheld thee from the top of her mossy tower; from the tower of Selama, +where her fathers dwelt. + +"Lovely art thou, O stranger!" she said, for her trembling soul arose. +"Fair art thou in thy battles, friend of the fallen Cormac! Why dost +thou rush on in thy valour, youth of the ruddy look? Few are thy hands +in fight against the dark-browed Cairbar! Oh that I might be freed from +his love--that I might rejoice in the presence of Nathos!" + +Such were thy words, Darthula, in Selama's mossy towers. But now the +night is around thee. The winds have deceived thy sails, Darthula! +Cease a little while, O north wind! Let me hear the voice of the +lovely. Thy voice is lovely, Darthula, between the rustling blasts! + +"Are these the rocks of Nathos?" she said. "This the roar of his +mountain streams? Comes that beam of light from Usnoth's mighty hall? +The mist spreads around; the beam is feeble and distant far. But the +light of Darthula's soul dwells in the chief of Etha! Son of the +generous Usnoth, why that broken sigh? Are we in the land of strangers, +chief of echoing Etha?" + +"These are not the rocks of Nathos," he replied, "nor this the roar +of his streams. We are in the land of strangers, in the land of cruel +Cairbar. The winds have deceived us, Darthula. Erin lifts here her +hills. Go towards the north, Althos; be thy steps, Ardan, along the +coast; that the foe may not come in darkness, and our hopes of Etha +fail. I will go towards that mossy tower to see who dwells about the +beam." + +He went. She sat alone; she heard the rolling of the wave. The big tear +is in her eye. She looks for returning Nathos. + +He returned, but his face was dark. + +"Why art thou sad, O Nathos?" said the lovely daughter of Colla. + +"We are in the land of foes," replied the hero. "The winds have +deceived us, Darthula. The strength of our friends is not near, nor the +mountains of Etha. Where shall I find thy peace, daughter of mighty +Colla? The brothers of Nathos are brave, and his own sword has shone +in fight! But what are the sons of Usnoth to the host of dark-browed +Cairbar? Oh that the winds had brought thy sails, Oscar, king of men! +Thou didst promise to come to the battles of fallen Cormac! Cairbar +would tremble in his halls, and peace dwell round the lovely Darthula. +But why dost thou fall, my soul? The sons of Usnoth may prevail!" + +"And they will prevail, O Nathos!" said the rising soul of the maid. +"Never shall Darthula behold the halls of gloomy Cairbar. Give me those +arms of brass, that glitter to the passing meteor. I see them dimly in +the dark-bosomed ship. Darthula will enter the battle of steel." + +Joy rose in the face of Nathos when he heard the white-bosomed maid. He +looks towards the coming of Cairbar. The wind is rustling in his hair. +Darthula is silent at his side. Her look is fixed on the chief. She +strives to hide the rising sigh. + +Morning rose with its beams. The sons of Erin appear, like grey rocks, +with all their trees; they spread along the coast. Cairbar stood in the +midst. He grimly smiled when he saw the foe. Nathos rushed forward, in +his strength; nor could Darthula stay behind. She came with the hero, +lifting her shining spear. + +"Come," said Nathos to Cairbar--"come, chief of high Temora! Let our +battle be on the coast, for the white-bosomed maid. His people are not +with Nathos; they are behind these rolling seas. Why dost thou bring +thy thousands against the chief of Etha?" + +"Youth of the heart of pride," replied Cairbar, "shall Erin's king +fight with thee? Thy fathers were not among the renowned, and Cairbar +does not fight with feeble men!" + +The tear started from car-borne Nathos. He turned his eyes to his +brothers. Their spears flew at once. Three heroes lay on earth. Then +the light of their swords gleamed on high. The ranks of Erin yield, as +a ridge of dark clouds before a blast of wind! Then Cairbar ordered his +people, and they drew a thousand bows. A thousand arrows flew. The sons +of Usnoth fell in blood. They fell like three young oaks, which stood +alone on the hill. The traveller saw the lovely trees, and wondered how +they grew so lonely; the blast of the desert came by night, and laid +their green heads low; next day he returned, but they were withered, +and the heath was bare! + +Darthula stood in silent grief, and beheld their fall! Pale was her +cheek. Her trembling lips broke short a half-formed word. Her breast +of snow appeared. It appeared; but it was stained with blood. An arrow +was fixed in her side. She fell on the fallen Nathos, like a wreath of +snow! Her hair spreads wide on his face. Their blood is mixing round! + +"Daughter of Colla--thou art low!" said Cairbar's hundred bards. "When +wilt thou rise in thy beauty, first of Erin's maids? Thy sleep is +long in the tomb. The sun shall not come to thy bed and say, 'Awake, +Darthula! Awake thou first of women! The wind of spring is abroad. The +flowers shake their heads on the green hills. The winds wave their +growing leaves.' Retire, O sun, the daughter of Colla is asleep! She +will not come forth in her beauty. She will not move in the steps of +her loveliness!" + +Such was the song of the bards when they raised the tomb. I, too, sang +over the grave when the king of Morven came to green Erin to fight with +the car-borne Cairbar! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[W] No ancient or modern work in the history of literature has +excited such wild admiration and such profound contempt as the "Ossian" +of James Macpherson. It was Napoleon's favourite work; he carried it +with him to Egypt and took it to St. Helena. Byron and Goethe and +Chateaubriand were also touched to enthusiasm by it. Its author--or, +as some still think, its editor--was a Scottish schoolmaster, James +Macpherson, born at Ruthven, in Inverness-shire on October 27, 1736. +The first part of the work, entitled "Fragments of Ancient Poetry, +Collected in the Highlands of Scotland, and Translated from the Gaelic, +or Erse, Language," was published in 1760; "Fingal" appeared in 1762, +and "Temora" in the following year. Doctor Johnson said of Macpherson: +"He has found names, and stories, and phrases, nay, passages in old +songs, and with them has blended his own compositions, and so made +what he gives to the world as the translation of an ancient poem"; and +this verdict is now confirmed by the best authorities. Nevertheless, +"Ossian" is a work of considerable merit and great historic interest. +It contains some fine passages of real poetry, such as the invocation +to the sun with which "Carthon" concludes, and it has served to attract +universal attention to the magnificent Celtic traditions of Scotland +and Ireland. Macpherson died in Inverness-shire on February 17, 1796. + + + + +CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE[X] + + + + +The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus + + +_Persons in the Play_ + + Doctor Faustus + Wagner, _his servant_ + Mephistophilis + Lucifer + The Emperor + Benvolio, Martino, Frederick, _gentlemen of the emperor's court_ + BRUNO + THE POPE + THREE Scholars, CARDINALS, LORDS, Devils, PHANTOMS, + GOOD _and_ EVIL ANGELS, _etc_., CHORUS. + + + ACT I + + +SCENE I.--FAUSTUS _in his study, reading a volume on necromancy_. + + FAUSTUS: All things that move between the quiet poles + Shall be at my command: emperors and kings + Are but obeyed in their several provinces; + But his dominion that excels in this + Stretches as far as does the mind of man. + A sound magician is a demi-god. + + [_Enter_ GOOD _and_ EVIL ANGELS. + + GOOD ANGEL: O Faustus, lay that damned book aside + And gaze not on it, lest it tempt thy soul, + And heap God's heavy wrath upon thy head! + Read, read the Scriptures--that is blasphemy. + + EVIL ANGEL: Go forward, Faustus, in that famous art + Wherein all nature's treasure is contained; + Be thou on earth as Jove is in the sky, + Lord and commander of these elements. + [_Exeunt_ ANGELS. + + FAUSTUS: How am I glutted with conceit of this! + Faustus, begin thine incantations, + And try if devils will obey thy hest. + + [_Thunder_. FAUSTUS _pronounces the incantation. + Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS. + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Now, Faustus, what wouldst thou have me do? + + FAUSTUS: I charge thee, wait upon me while I live, + To do whatever Faustus shall command. + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: I am a servant to great Lucifer, + And may not follow thee without his leave. + + FAUSTUS: Tell me, what is that Lucifer, thy lord? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Arch-regent and commander of all + spirits. + + FAUSTUS: Was not that Lucifer an angel once? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Yes, Faustus, and most dearly loved of God. + + FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that he is prince of devils? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Oh, by aspiring pride and insolence, + For which God threw him out from the face of heaven. + + FAUSTUS: And what are you that live with Lucifer? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, + conspired against our God with Lucifer, + And are forever damned with Lucifer. + + FAUSTUS: Where are you damned? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: In hell. + + FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that you are out of hell? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it. + Think'st thou that I, that saw the face of God, + And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, + Am not tormented with ten thousand hells + In being deprived of everlasting bliss? + + FAUSTUS: Go, bear these tidings to great Lucifer: + Seeing Faustus hath incurred eternal death + By desperate thoughts against God's deity, Say + he surrenders up to him his soul, + So he will spare him four-and-twenty years, + Having thee ever to attend on me. + Then meet me in my study at midnight, + And then resolve me of thy master's mind. [_Exeunt_. + + + SCENE II.--_The same. Midnight_. FAUSTUS. _Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS. + + FAUSTUS: Now tell me what saith Lucifer, thy lord? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: That I shall wait on Faustus while he lives, + So he will buy my service with his soul, + And write a deed of gift with his own blood. + + [FAUSTUS _stabs his own arm, and writes. At the summons + of_ MEPHISTOPHILIS _enter_ DEVILS, _who present_ + FAUSTUS _with crowns and rich apparel. Exeunt_ + DEVILS. FAUSTUS _reads the deed, by which_ MEPHISTOPHILIS + _is to be at his service for twenty-four years, + at the end of which_ LUCIFER _may claim his soul_. + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Now, Faustus, ask me what thou + wilt. + + FAUSTUS: Tell me where is the place that men call + hell? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed + In one self place; but where we are is hell, + And where hell is, there must we ever be; + And, to be short, when all the world dissolves, + And every creature shall be purified, + All places shall be hell that are not heaven. + + FAUSTUS: I think hell's a fable. + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Aye, think so still, till experience + change thy mind. [_Exit_. + + FAUSTUS: If heaven was made for man, 'twas made for me. + I will renounce this magic and repent. + + [_Enter the_ GOOD _and_ EVIL ANGELS. + + GOOD ANGEL: Faustus, repent! Yet God will pity + thee. + + EVIL ANGEL: Thou art a spirit; God cannot pity thee. + + FAUSTUS: My heart is hardened; I cannot repent. + + EVIL ANGEL: Too late. + + GOOD ANGEL: Never too late, if Faustus will repent. + + [_Exeunt_ ANGELS. + + FAUSTUS: O Christ, my Saviour, my Saviour, + Help to save distressed Faustus' soul. + + [_Enter_ LUCIFER. + + LUCIFER: Christ cannot save thy soul, for He is just; + Thou call'st on Christ, contrary to thy promise; + Thou shouldst not think on God; think on the Devil. + + FAUSTUS: Nor will Faustus henceforth; pardon him for this, + And Faustus vows never to look to Heaven. + + + ACT II + + SCENE I.--_Rome. Enter_ CHORUS. + + CHORUS: Learned Faustus, + To find the secrets of astronomy + Graven in the book of Jove's high firmament, + Did mount him up to scale Olympus' top; + Where, sitting in a chariot burning bright, + Drawn by the strength of yoked dragons' necks, + He views the clouds, the planets, and the stars. + From east to west his dragons swiftly glide, + And in eight days did bring him home again. + Now, mounted new upon a dragon's back, + He, as I guess, will first arrive at Rome + To see the Pope and manner of his court, + And take some part of holy Peter's feast, + The which this day is highly solemnised. + + [_Exit. Enter_ FAUSTUS _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS. + + FAUSTUS: Hast thou, as erst I did command, + Conducted me within the walls of Rome? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: This is the goodly palace of the + Pope. + + FAUSTUS: Sweet Mephistophilis, thou pleasest me. + Whilst I am here on earth, let me be cloy'd + With all things that delight the heart of man. + My four-and-twenty years of liberty + I'll spend in pleasure and in dalliance. + Now in this show let me an actor be, + That this proud Pope may Faustus' cunning see. + + [_Enter_ POPE _and others in procession_; BRUNO, + _nominated pope in opposition by the_ EMPEROR, _in chains_. + FAUSTUS _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS, _impersonating two + cardinals, are given charge of the condemned_ + BRUNO, _whom they liberate and dispatch magically + to the_ EMPEROR. _Subsequently, both being rendered + invisible, they amuse themselves at the expense of + the_ POPE _and his guests at a banquet; and then depart + to the_ EMPEROR'S _court_. + + SCENE II.--_Before the_ EMPEROR'S _palace_. BENVOLIO _at a + window. Enter the_ EMPEROR _with his train, including_ + FAUSTUS, MEPHISTOPHILIS, BRUNO. + + EMPEROR: Wonder of men, renowned magician, + Thrice-learned Faustus, welcome to our court. + Now, Faustus, as thou late didst promise us, + We would behold that famous conqueror, + Great Alexander, and his paramour, + In their true shapes and state majestical. + + FAUSTUS: Your majesty shall see them presently. + + BENVOLIO: Aye, aye, and thou bring Alexander and + his paramour before the emperor, I'll be Actaeon + and turn myself to a stag. + + FAUSTUS: And I'll be Diana and send you the horns + presently. + + [_Enter a pageant of Darius, Alexander, etc., being + phantoms. Exeunt_. + + FAUSTUS: See, see, my gracious lord! + + EMPEROR: Oh, wondrous sight! + Two spreading horns, most strangely fastened + Upon the head of young Benvolio! + + BENVOLIO: Zounds, doctor, this is your villainy. + + FAUSTUS: Oh, say not so, sir; the doctor has no skill + To bring before the royal emperor + The mighty monarch, warlike Alexander. + If Faustus do it, you are straight resolved + In bold Actaeon's shape to turn a stag. + And therefore, my lord, so please your majesty, + I'll raise a kennel of hounds shall hunt him so-- + Ho, Belimoth, Argison, Asteroth! + + BENVOLIO: Hold, hold! Good my lord, entreat for me! + 'Sblood, I am never able to endure these torments. + + EMPEROR: Let me entreat you to remove his horns; + He hath done penance now sufficiently. + + FAUSTUS: Being that to delight your majesty with + mirth is all that I desire, I am content to remove + his horns (Mephistophilis _removes them_), and + hereafter, sir, look you speak well of scholars. + + + SCENE III.--_A wood_. BENVOLIO, MARTINO _and_ FREDERICK. + + MARTINO: Nay, sweet Benvolio, let us sway thy thoughts + From this attempt against the conjurer. + + BENVOLIO: Away! You love me not, to urge me thus. + Shall I let slip so great an injury, + When every servile groom jests at my wrongs, + And in their rustic gambols proudly say, + "Benvolio's head was graced with horns to-day?" + If you will aid me in this enterprise, + Then draw your weapons and be resolute. + If not, depart; here will Benvolio die, + But Faustus' death shall quit my infamy. + + FREDERICK: Nay, we will stay with thee, betide what may, + And kill that doctor, if he comes this way. + Close, close! The conjurer is at hand, + And all alone comes walking in his gown. + Be ready, then, and strike the peasant down. + + BENVOLIO: Mine be that honour, then. Now, sword, strike home! + For horns he gave, I'll have his head anon! + + [_Enter_ FAUSTUS. + + No words; this blow ends all. + Hell take his soul! His body thus must fall. + + [BENVOLIO _stabs_ FAUSTUS, _who falls_; BENVOLIO _cuts + off his head_. + + FREDERICK: Was this that stern aspect, that awful frown + Made the grim monarchs of infernal spirits + Tremble and quake at his commanding charms? + + MARTINO: Was this that damned head, whose art conspired + Benvolio's shame before the emperor? + + BENVOLIO: Aye, that's the head, and there the body lies. + Justly rewarded for his villainies. [Faustus _rises_. + Zounds, the devil's alive again! + + FREDERICK: Give him his head, for God's sake! + + FAUSTUS: Nay, keep it; Faustus will have heads and hands, + Aye, all your hearts, to recompense this deed. + Then, wherefore do I dally my revenge? + Asteroth! Belimoth! Mephistophilis! + + [_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS, _and other_ DEVILS. + + Go, horse these traitors on your fiery backs, + And mount aloft with them as high as Heaven; + Thence pitch them headlong to the lowest hell. + Yet stay, the world shall see their misery, + And hell shall after plague their treachery. + Go, Belimoth, and take this caitiff hence, + And hurl him in some lake of mud and dirt; + Take thou this other, drag him through the woods, + Amongst the pricking thorns and sharpest briars; + Whilst with my gentle Mephistophilis + This traitor flies unto some steepy rock + That rolling down may break the villain's bones. + Fly hence! Dispatch my charge immediately! + + FREDERICK: He must needs go, that the devil drives. + + [_Exeunt_ DEVILS _with their victims_. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[X]: Christopher Marlowe was born at Canterbury in February, +1564, the year of Shakespeare's birth. From the King's School he went +to Cambridge, at Corpus, and took his degree in 1583. For the next ten +years, he lived in London; a tavern brawl ended his career on June 1, +1593. During those ten years, when Greene and Nashe and Peele were +beginning to shape the nascent drama, and Shakespeare was serving his +apprenticeship, most of the young authors were living wild enough +lives, and none, according to tradition, wilder than Kit Marlowe; +who, nevertheless, was doing mightier work, work more pregnant with +promise than any of them, and infinitely greater in achievement; for +Shakespeare's tragedies were still to come. That "Tamburlaine the +Great," the first play of a lad of twenty-three, should have been crude +and bombastic is not surprising; that "The Tragical History of Dr. +Faustus" should have been produced by an author aged probably less than +twenty-five is amazing. The story is traditional; two hundred years +after Marlowe, Goethe gave it its most familiar setting (see Vol. XVI, +p. 362). But although some part of Marlowe's play is grotesque, there +is no epithet which can fitly characterise its greatest scenes except +"tremendous." What may not that tavern brawl have cost the world! + + + ACT III + + SCENE I.--FAUSTUS' _study. Enter_ WAGNER. + + WAGNER: I think my master means to die shortly. + He has made his will, and given me his wealth, his + house, his goods, and store of golden plate, besides two + thousand ducats ready coined. I wonder what he means? + If death were nigh, he would not frolic thus. He's now + at supper with the scholars, where there's such cheer as + Wagner in his life ne'er saw the like. Here he comes; + belike the feast is ended. + + [_Exit. Enter_ FAUSTUS; MEPHISTOPHILIS _follows_. + + FAUSTUS: Accursed Faustus! Wretch, what hast thou done? + I do repent, and yet I do despair. + Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast; + What shall I do to shun the snares of death? + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Thou traitor, Faustus, I arrest thy soul + For disobedience to my sovereign lord! + Revolt, or I'll in piecemeal tear thy flesh! + + FAUSTUS: I do repent I e'er offended him! + Sweet Mephistophilis, entreat thy lord + To pardon my unjust presumption; + And with my blood again I will confirm + The former vow I made to Lucifer. + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: Do it, then, Faustus, with unfeigned heart, + Lest greater dangers do attend thy drift. + + FAUSTUS: One thing, good servant, let me crave of thee: + Bring that fair Helen, whose admired worth + Made Greece with ten years' war afflict poor Troy; + Whose sweet embraces may extinguish clean + Those thoughts that do dissuade me from my vow, + And keep my oath I made to Lucifer. + + MEPHISTOPHILIS: This, or what else my Faustus may desire, + Shall be performed in twinkling of an eye. + + [_Enter_ HELEN, _passing over the stage between two cupids_. + + FAUSTUS: Was this the face that launched a thousand ships + And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? + Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss! + + [_Kisses her_. + + Her lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies! + Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again! + Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air + Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars: + Brighter art thou than naming Jupiter, + When he appeared to hapless Semele: + More lovely than the monarch of the sky, + In wanton Arethusa's azured arms! + Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, + And all is dross that is not Helena. + + + SCENE II.--_The same_. FAUSTUS. _Enter_ SCHOLARS. + + FIRST SCHOLAR: Worthy Faustus, methinks your looks are changed! + + FAUSTUS: Oh, gentlemen! + + SECOND SCHOLAR: What ails Faustus? + + FAUSTUS: Ah, my sweet chamber-fellow, had I lived + with thee, then I had lived still; but now must die + eternally! Look, sirs; comes he not? Comes he not? + + FIRST SCHOLAR: O my dear Faustus, what imports this fear? + + THIRD SCHOLAR: 'Tis but a surfeit, sir; fear nothing. + + FAUSTUS: A surfeit of deadly sin, that hath damned both + body and soul. + + SECOND SCHOLAR: Yet, Faustus, look up to Heaven, and + remember mercy is infinite. + + FAUSTUS: But Faustus' offence can ne'er be pardoned; + the serpent that tempted Eve may be saved, but + not Faustus. He must remain in hell for ever; hell, Oh, + hell for ever. Sweet friends, what shall become of Faustus, + being in hell for ever? + + SECOND SCHOLAR: Yet, Faustus, call on God. + + FAUSTUS: On God, whom Faustus hath abjured! On God, + whom Faustus hath blasphemed! O my God, I would weep! + But the Devil draws in my tears. Gush forth blood, + instead of tears! Yea, life, and soul! Oh, he stays + my tongue! I would lift up my hands; but see, they + hold 'em, they hold 'em! + + SCHOLARS: Who, Faustus? + + FAUSTUS: Why, Lucifer and Mephistophilis. O gentlemen, + I gave them my soul for my cunning! + + SECOND SCHOLAR: Oh, what may we do to save Faustus? + + FAUSTUS: Talk not of me, but save yourselves and depart. + + THIRD SCHOLAR: God will strengthen me; I will stay + with Faustus. + + FIRST SCHOLAR: Tempt not God, sweet friend; but let + us into the next room and pray for him. + + FAUSTUS: Aye, pray for me, pray for me; and what + noise soever you hear, come not unto me, for nothing + can rescue me. + + SECOND SCHOLAR: Pray thou, and we will pray that + God may have mercy on thee. + + FAUSTUS: Gentlemen, farewell. If I live till morning, + I'll visit you; if not, Faustus is gone to hell. + + SCHOLARS: Faustus, farewell! + + [_Exeunt_ SCHOLARS. _The clock strikes eleven_. + + FAUSTUS: Oh, Faustus, + Now hast thou but one bare hour to live, + And then thou must be damned perpetually. + Stand still, you ever moving spheres of heaven, + That time may cease, and midnight never come; + Fair nature's eyes, rise, rise again, and make + Perpetual day; or let this hour be but + A year, a month, a week, a natural day, + That Faustus may repent and save his soul! + _O lente, lente, currite, noctis equi_! + The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, + The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd. + Oh, I'll leap up to heaven: who pulls me down? + See, where Christ's blood streams in the firmament! + One drop of blood will save me: O my Christ! + Rend not my heart for naming of my Christ; + Yet will I call on Him. Oh, spare me, Lucifer! + Where is it now? 'Tis gone. + And see, a threatening arm, an angry brow! + Mountains and hills, come, come and fall on me, + And hide me from the heavy wrath of Heaven! + No? + Then will I headlong run into the earth; + Gape, earth! Oh, no, it will not harbour me. + Yon stars that reigned at my nativity, + Whose influence hath allotted death and hell. + Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist, + Into the entrails of yon labouring cloud, + That when you vomit forth into the air, + My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths, + But let my soul mount and ascend to heaven. + + [_The clock strikes the half hour_. + + Oh, half the hour is past; 'twill all be past anon. + Oh, if my soul must suffer for my sin, + Impose some end to my incessant pains; + Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years, + A hundred thousand, and at last be saved! + No end is limited to damned souls. + Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul, + Or why is this immortal that thou hast? + Oh, Pythagoras' metempsychosis, were that true, + This soul should fly from me, and I be changed + Into some brutish beast! All beasts are happy, + For when they die + Their souls are soon dissolved in elements; + But mine must live still, and be plagued in hell. + Curs'd be the parents that engender'd me! + No, Faustus, curse thyself, curse Lucifer + That hath deprived thee of the joys of heaven. + + [_The clock strikes twelve_. + + It strikes! It strikes! Now, body, turn to air, + Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell! + O soul, be changed into small water-drops, + And fall into the ocean, ne'er be found! + + [_Thunder. Enter_ DEVILS. + + Oh, mercy, Heaven! Look not so fierce on me! + Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile! + Ugly hell, gape not! Come not, Lucifer! + I'll burn my books. O Mephistophilis! + + [_Exeunt_ DEVILS _with_ FAUSTUS. _Enter_ CHORUS. + + CHORUS: Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, + And burned Apollo's laurel-bough, + That sometime grew within this learned man. + Faustus is gone. Regard his hellish fall, + Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise, + Only to wonder at unlawful things, + Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits + To practice more than heavenly power permits. + + + + +MARTIAL[Y] + + + + +Epigrams, Epitaphs and Poems + + + + +_I.--Satiric Pieces and Epigrams_ + + + He unto whom thou art so partial, + O reader! is the well-known Martial, + The Epigrammatist: while living + Give him the fame thou wouldst be giving; + So shall he hear, and feel, and know it-- + Post-obits rarely reach a poet.--_Byron_. + + +MARTIAL ON HIS WORK + + Some things are good, some fair, but more you'll say + Are bad herein--all books are made that way! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Y] Martial (Marcus Valerius Martialis) was born at Bilbilis, +in Spain, about 40 A.D. He went to Rome when twenty-four, and by +attaching himself to the influential family of his fellow Spaniards, +Seneca and Lucan, won his first introduction to Roman society. The +earliest of his books which we possess celebrates the games associated +with the dedication of the Flavian amphitheatre, the Colosseum, +by Titus, in 80 A.D. Most of his other books belong to the reign +of Domitian, to whom he cringed with fulsome adulation. After a +residence in Rome during thirty-four years, he returned to Spain. He +died probably soon after 102 A.D. Martial's importance to literature +rests chiefly on two facts. He made a permanent impress upon the +epigram by his gift of concise and vigorous utterance, culminating +in a characteristically sharp sting; and he left in his verses, even +where they are coarsest, an extraordinarily graphic index to the +pleasure-loving and often corrupt society of his day. Martial had no +deep seriousness of outlook upon life; yet he had better things in +him than flippancy. He wearied of his long career of attendance upon +patrons who requited him but shabbily; and with considerable taste +for rural scenery, he longed for a more open-air existence than was +attainable in Rome. Where he best exhibited genuine feeling was in his +laments for the dead and his affection for friends. With the exception +of the introductory piece from Byron, the verse translations here are +by Professor Wight Duff. + + +ON FREEDOM OF LANGUAGE + + Strict censure may this harmless sport endure: + My page is wanton, but my life is pure. + + +THE AIM OF THE EPIGRAMS + + My satire knoweth how to keep due bounds: + Sparing the sinner, 'tis the sin it rounds. + + +ON A SPENDTHRIFT + + Castor on buying doth a fortune spend: + Castor will take to selling in the end! + + +TO A RECITER WHO BAWLED + + Why wrap your throat with wool before you read? + _Our_ ears stand rather of the wool in need! + + +TO AN APOLOGETIC RECITER + + Before you start your recitation, + You say your throat is sore: + Dear sir, we hear your explanation, + We don't want any more! + + +ANSWER TO A POETASTER + + Pompilianus asks why I omit + To send him all the poetry that is mine; + The reason is that in return for it, + Pompilianus, thou might'st send me _thine_. + + +ON A PLAGIARIST + + Paul buys up poems, and to your surprise, + Paul then recites them as his own: + And Paul is right; for what a person buys + Is his, as can by law be shown! + + +A LOVER OF OLD-FASHIONED POETRY + + Vacerra likes no bards but those of old-- + Only the poets dead are poets true! + Really, Vacerra--may I make so bold?-- + It's not worth dying to be liked by _you_. + + +A GOOD RIDDANCE + + Linus, you mock my distant farm, + And ask what good it is to me? + Well, it has got at least one charm-- + When there, from Linus I am free! + + +HOW A WET SEASON HELPS THE ADULTERATION OF WINE + + Not everywhere the vintage yield has failed, + Dear Ovid; copious rain has much availed. + Coranus has a hundred gallons good + For sale--_well watered_, be it understood. + + +THE SYSTEMATIC DINER-OUT + + Philo declares he never dines at home, + And that is no exaggeration: + He has no place to dine in Rome, + If he can't hook an invitation. + + +THE LEGACY-HUNTER CONSIDERS A MARRIAGE _de Convenance_ + + Paula would like to marry me; + But I have no desire to get her. + Paula is old; if only she + Were nearer dead, I'd like it better! + + +WIDOWER AND WIDOW + + Fabius buries all his wives: + Chrestilla ends her husbands' lives. + The torch which from the marriage-bed + They brandish soon attends the dead. + O Venus, link this conquering pair! + Their match will meet with issue fair, + Whereby for such a dangerous _two_ + A single funeral will do! + + +THE IMPORTUNATE BEGGAR + + 'Tis best to grant me, Cinna, what I crave; + And next best, Cinna, is refusal straight. + Givers I like: refusal I can brave; + But you don't give--you only hesitate! + + +TO A FRIEND OVER-CAUTIOUS IN LENDING + + A loan without security + You say you have not got for me; + But if I pledge my bit of land, + You have the money close at hand. + Thus, though you cannot trust your friend, + To cabbages and trees you lend. + Now _you_ have to be tried in court-- + Get from my bit of land support! + Exiled, you'd like a comrade true-- + Well, take my land abroad with you! + + +AN OLD DANDY + + You wish, Laetinus, to be thought a youth, + And so you dye your hair. + You're suddenly a crow, forsooth: + Of late a swan you were! + You can't cheat all: there is a Lady dread + Who knows your hair is grey: + Proserpina will pounce upon your head, + And tear the mask away. + + +PATIENT AND DOCTOR + + When I was ill you came to me, + Doctor, and with great urgency + A hundred students brought with you + A most instructive case to view. + The hundred fingered me with hands + Chilled by the blasts from northern lands; + Fever at outset had I none; + I have it, sir, now you have done! + + +APING ONE'S BETTERS + + Torquatus owns a mansion sumptuous + Exactly four miles out of Rome: + Four miles out also Otacilius + Purchased a little country home. + Torquatus built with marble finely veined + His Turkish baths--a princely suite: + Then Otacilius at once obtained + Some kind of kettle to give heat! + Torquatus next laid out upon his ground + A noble laurel-tree plantation: + The other sowed a hundred chestnuts round-- + To please a future generation. + And when Torquatus held the Consulate, + The other was a village mayor, + By local honours made as much elate + As if all Rome were in his care! + The fable saith that once upon a day + The frog that aped the ox did burst: + I fancy ere this rival gets his way, + He will explode with envy first! + + + + +_II.--Epitaphs_ + + +ON A DEAD SLAVE-BOY + + Dear Alcimus, Death robbed thy lord of thee + When young, and lightly now Labian soil + Veils thee in turf: take for thy tomb to be + No tottering mass of Parian stone which toil + Vainly erects to moulder o'er the dead. + Rather let pliant box thy grave entwine; + Let the vine-tendril grateful shadow shed + O'er the green grass bedewed with tears of mine. + Sweet youth, accept the tokens of my grief: + Here doth my tribute last as long as time. + When Lachesis my final thread shall weave, + I crave such plants above my bones may climb. + + +ON A LITTLE GIRL, EROTION + + Mother Flaccilla, Fronto sire that's gone, + This darling pet of mine, Erotion, + I pray ye greet, that nor the Land of Shade + Nor Hell-hound's maw shall fright my little maid. + Full six chill winters would the child have seen + Had her life only six days longer been. + Sweet child, with our lost friends to guard thee, play, + And lisp my name in thine own prattling way. + Soft be the turf that shrouds her! Tenderly + Rest on her, earth, for she trod light on thee. + + + + +_III.--Poems on Friendship and Life_ + + +A WORTHY FRIEND + + If there be one to rank with those few friends + Whom antique faith and age-long fame attends; + If, steeped in Latin or Athenian lore, + There be a good man truthful at the core; + If one who guards the right and loves the fair, + Who could not utter an unworthy prayer; + If one whose prop is magnanimity, + I swear, my Decianus, thou art he. + + +A RETROSPECT + + Good comrades, Julius, have we been, + And four-and-thirty harvests seen: + We have had sweetness mixed with sour; + Yet oftener came the happy hour. + If for each day a pebble stood, + And either black or white were hued, + Then, ranged in masses separate, + The brighter ones would dominate. + If thou wouldst shun some heartaches sore, + And ward off gloom that gnaws thy core, + Grapple none closely to thy heart: + If less thy joy, then less thy smart. + + +GIFTS TO FRIENDS ARE NOT LOST + + A cunning thief may rob your money-chest, + And cruel fire lay low an ancient home; + Debtors may keep both loan and interest; + Good seed may fruitless rot in barren loam. + A guileful mistress may your agent cheat, + And waves engulf your laden argosies; + But boons to friends can fortune's slings defeat: + The wealth you give away will never cease. + + +ON MAKING THE BEST OF LIFE + + Julius, in friendship's scroll surpassed by none, + If life-long faith and ancient ties may count, + Nigh sixty consulates by thee have gone: + The days thou hast to live make small amount. + Defer not joys them mayst not win from fate + Judge only what is past to be thine own. + Cares with a linked chain of sorrows wait. + Mirth tarries not; but soon on wing is flown. + With both hands hold it--clasped in full embrace, + Still from thy breast it oft will glide away! + To say, "I mean to live," is folly's place: + To-morrow's life comes late; live, then, to-day. + + +A DAY IN ROME + +(First Century A.D.) + + The first two hours Rome spends on morning calls, + And with the third the busy lawyer bawls. + Into the fifth the town plies varied tasks; + The sixth, siesta; next hour closing asks. + The eighth sees bath and oil and exercise; + The ninth brings guest on dining-couch who lies. + The tenth is claimed for Martial's poetry, + When you, my friend, contrive high luxury + To please great Caesar, and fine nectar warms + The mighty hand that knows a wine-cup's charms. + Eve is the time for jest: with step so bold + My muse dare not at morn great Jove behold. + + +BOREDOM, VERSUS ENJOYMENT + + If you and I, dear Martial, might + Enjoy our days in Care's despite, + And could control each leisure hour, + Both free to cull life's real flower, + Then should we never know the halls + Of patrons or law's wearying calls, + Or troublous court or family pride; + But we should chat or read or ride, + Play games or stroll in porch or shade, + Visit the hot baths or "The Maid." + + Such haunts should know us constantly, + Such should engage our energy. + Now neither lives his life, but he + Marks precious days that pass and flee. + These days are lost, but their amount + Is surely set to our account. + Knowledge the clue to life can give; + Then wherefore hesitate to live? + + +THE HAPPY LIFE + + The things that make a life of ease, + Dear Martial, are such things as these: + Wealth furnished not by work but birth, + A grateful farm, a blazing hearth, + No lawsuit, seldom formal dress; + But leisure, stalwart healthiness, + A tactful candour, equal friends, + Glad guests at board which naught pretends, + No drunken nights, but sorrow free, + A bed of joy yet chastity; + Sleep that makes darkness fly apace, + So well content with destined place, + Unenvious so as not to fear + Your final day, nor wish it near. + + +AT THE SEASIDE + + Sweet strand of genial Formiae, + Apollinaris loves to flee + From troublous thought in serious Rome, + And finds thee better than a home. + Here Thetis' face is ruffled by + A gentle wind; the waters lie + Not in dead calm, but o'er the main + A peaceful liveliness doth reign, + Bearing gay yachts before a breeze + Cool as the air that floats with ease + From purple fan of damozel + Who would the summer heat dispel. + The angler need not far away + Seek in deep water for his prey-- + Your line from bed or sofa throw, + And watch the captured fish below! + How seldom, Rome, dost thou permit + Us by such joys to benefit? + How many days can one long year + Credit with wealth of Formian cheer? + We, round whom city worries swarm, + Envy our lacqueys on a farm. + Luck to you, happy slaves, affords + The joys designed to please your lords! + + +THE POET'S FINAL RETREAT IN SPAIN + + Mayhap, my Juvenal, your feet + Stray down some noisy Roman street, + While after many years of Rome + I have regained my Spanish home. + Bilbilis, rich in steel and gold, + Makes me a rustic as of old. + With easy-going toil at will + Estates of uncouth name I till. + Outrageous lengths of sleep I take, + And oft refuse at nine to wake. + I pay myself nor more nor less + For thirty years of wakefulness! + No fine clothes here--but battered dress, + The first that comes, snatched from a press! + I rise to find a hearth ablaze + With oak the nearest wood purveys. + This is a life of jollity: + So shall I die contentedly. + + + + +PHILIP MASSINGER[Z] + + + + +A New Way to Pay Old Debts + + +_Persons in the Play_ + + LOVELL, _an English lord_ + SIR GILES OVERREACH, _a cruel extortioner_ + WELLBORN, _a prodigal, nephew to Sir Giles_ + ALLWORTH, _a young gentleman, page to_ Lord Lovell, + _stepson to_ Lady Allworth + MARRALL, _a creature of_ Sir Giles Overreach + WILLDO, _a parson_ + LADY ALLWORTH, _a rich widow_ + MARGARET, _Sir Giles's daughter_ + + _The scene is laid in an English county_ + + + ACT I + + SCENE I.--_A room in_ OVERREACH'S _house. Enter_ OVERREACH _and_ + MARRALL. + + OVERREACH: This varlet, Wellborn, lives too long to upbraid me + With my close cheat put on him. Will not cold + Nor hunger kill him? + + MARRALL: I've used all means; and the last night I caused + His host, the tapster, to turn him out of doors; + And since I've charged all of your friends and tenants + To refuse him even a crust of mouldy bread. + + OVERREACH: Persuade him that 'tis better steal than beg: + Then, if I prove he have but robbed a hen roost, + Not all the world shall save him from the gallows. + + MARRALL: I'll do my best, sir. + + OVERREACH: I'm now on my main work, with the Lord Lovell; + The gallant-minded, popular Lord Lovell. + He's come into the country; and my aims + Are to invite him to my house. + + MARRALL: I see. + This points at my young mistress. + + OVERREACH: She must part with + That humble title, and write honourable-- + Yes, Marrall, my right honourable daughter, + If all I have, or e'er shall get, will do it. + + [_Exit_ OVERREACH. _Enter_ WELLBORN. + + MARRALL: Before, like you, I had outlived my fortunes, + A withe had served my turn to hang myself. + Is there no purse to be cut? House to be broken? + Or market-woman with eggs that you may murder, + And so dispatch the business? + + WELLBORN: Here's variety, + I must confess; but I'll accept of none + Of all your gentle offers, I assure you. + Despite the rhetoric that the fiend has taught you, + I am as far as thou art from despair. + Nay, I have confidence, which is more than hope, + To live, and suddenly, better than ever. + Come, dine with me, and with a gallant lady. + + MARRALL: With the lady of the lake or queen of fairies? + For I know it must be an enchanted dinner. + + WELLBORN: With the Lady Allworth, knave. + + MARRALL: Nay, now there's hope + Thy brain is cracked. + + WELLBORN: Mark thee with what respect + I am entertained. + + MARRALL: With choice, no doubt, of dog-whips! + + WELLBORN: 'Tis not far off; go with me; trust thine + eyes. + + MARRALL: I will endure thy company. + + WELLBORN: Come along, then. + + [_Exeunt._ + + + SCENE II.--_The country_. MARRALL _assures_ OVERREACH _that the plot + on_ WELLBORN _succeeds. The rich_ LADY ALLWORTH _has + feasted him and is fallen in love with him; he lives to + be a greater prey than ever to_ OVERREACH. _Angered at + the information_, OVERREACH, _who has himself attempted + in vain to see her, knocks his creature down, mollifying + him afterwards with gold_. + + + ACT II + + SCENE I.--_A chamber in_ LADY ALLWORTH'S _house_. LOVELL _and_ + ALLWORTH _discovered. Having heard of the mutual attachment + of_ MARGARET _and_ ALLWORTH, LORD LOVELL _has assured the + latter that he will help bring it to a successful issue, + and that neither the beauty nor the wealth of_ SIR GILES'S + _daughter shall tempt him to betray_ ALLWORTH'S _confidence. + Enter_ MARRALL, _and with him_ SIR GILES, _who from what + he has seen of their behaviour at a dinner given by him in_ + LORD LOVELL'S _honour believes that_ LOVELL _wishes to marry_ + MARGARET _and that_ LADY ALLWORTH _is enamoured of_ WELLBORN. + _To further this latter match and to prosecute new designs + against_ WELLBORN _he has lent him a thousand pounds_. + + OVERREACH: A good day to my lord. + + LOVELL: You are an early riser, Sir Giles. + + OVERREACH: And reason, to attend your lordship. + Go to my nephew, Marrall. + See all his debts discharged, and help his worship + To fit on his rich suit. + + [_Exit_ MARRALL + + LOVELL: I have writ this morning + A few lines to my mistress, your fair daughter. + + OVERREACH: 'Twill fire her, for she's wholly yours already. + Sweet Master Allworth, take my ring; 'twill carry + To her presence, I dare warrant you; and there plead + For my good lord, if you shall find occasion. + That done, pray ride to Nottingham; get a licence + Still by this token. I'll have it dispatched, + And suddenly, my lord, that I may say + My honourable, nay, right honourable daughter. + + LOVELL: Haste your return. + + ALLWORTH: I will not fail, my lord. + + [_Exit._ + + OVERREACH: I came not to make offer with my daughter + A certain portion; that were poor and trivial: + In one word, I pronounce all that is mine, + In lands, or leases, ready coin, or goods, + With her, my lord, comes to you; nor shall you have + One motive to induce you to believe + I live too long, since every year I'll add + Something unto the heap, which shall be yours too. + + LOVELL: You are a right kind father. + + OVERREACH: You'll have reason + To think me such. How do you like this seat? + Would it not serve to entertain your friends? + + LOVELL: A well-built pile; and she that's mistress of it, + Worthy the large revenue. + + OVERREACH: She, the mistress? + It may be so for a time; but let my lord + Say only he but like it, and would have it, + I say ere long 'tis his. + + LOVELL: Impossible. + + OVERREACH: You do conclude too fast. 'Tis not alone + The Lady Allworth's lands; for these, once Wellborn's + (As, by her dotage on him, I know they will be), + Shall soon be mine. But point out any man's + In all the shire, and say they lie convenient + And useful for your lordship, and once more + I say aloud, they are yours. + + LOVELL: I dare not own + What's by unjust and cruel means extorted: + My fame and credit are too dear to me. + + OVERREACH: Your reputation shall stand as fair + In all good men's opinions as now. + All my ambition is to have my daughter + Right honourable; which my lord can make her: + And might I live to dance upon my knee + A young Lord Lovell, borne by her unto you, + I write _nil ultra_ to my proudest hopes. + I'll ruin the country to supply your waste: + The scourge of prodigals, want, shall never find you. + + LOVELL: Are you not moved with the imprecations + And curses of whole families, made wretched + By these practices? + + OVERREACH: Yes, as rocks are, + When foamy billows split themselves against + Their flinty ribs; or as the moon is moved + When wolves, with hunger pined, howl at her brightness. + I only think what 'tis to have my daughter + Right honourable; and 'tis a powerful charm, + Makes me insensible of remorse, or pity, + Or the least sting of conscience. + + LOVELL: I admire + The toughness of your nature. + + OVERREACH: 'Tis for you, + My lord, and for my daughter I am marble. + My haste commands me hence: in one word, therefore, + Is it a match, my lord? + + LOVELL: I hope that is past doubt now. + + OVERREACH: Then rest secure; not the hate of all mankind, + Not fear of what can fall on me hereafter, + Shall make me study aught but your advancement + One storey higher: an earl! if gold can do it. [_Exit._ + + LOVELL: He's gone; I wonder how the earth can bear + Such a portent! I, that have lived a soldier, + And stood the enemy's violent charge undaunted, + Am bathed in a cold sweat. + + + SCENE II.--_A chamber in_ SIR GILES'S _house. Enter_ WELLBORN _and_ + MARRALL. + + WELLBORN: Now, Master Marrall, what's the weighty secret + You promised to impart? + + MARRALL: This only, in a word: I know Sir Giles + Will come upon you for security + For his thousand pounds; which you must not consent to. + As he grows in heat (as I'm sure he will), + Be you but rough, and say, he's in your debt + Ten times the sum upon sale of your land. + The deed in which you passed it over to him + Bid him produce: he'll have it to deliver + To the Lord Lovell, with many other writings, + And present moneys. I'll instruct you farther + As I wait on your worship. + + WELLBORN: I trust thee. + + [_Exeunt. Enter_ MARGARET _as if in anger, followed + by_ ALLWORTH. + + MARGARET: I'll pay my lord all debts due to his title; + And when with terms not taking from his honour + He does solicit me, I shall gladly hear him: + But in this peremptory, nay, commanding way, + To appoint a meeting, and without my knowledge, + Shows a confidence that deceives his lordship. + + ALLWORTH: I hope better, good lady. + + MARGARET: Hope, sir, what you please; I have + A father, and, without his full consent, + I can grant nothing. + + [_Enter_ OVERREACH, _having overheard_. + + OVERREACH _(aside)_: I like this obedience. + But whatever my lord writes must and shall be + Accepted and embraced. (_Addressing_ Allworth.) Sweet Master Allworth, + You show yourself a true and faithful servant. + How! frowning, Meg? Are these looks to receive + A messenger from my lord? In name of madness, + What could his honour write more to content you? + + MARGARET: Why, sir, I would be married like your daughter, + Not hurried away in the night, I know not whither, + Without all ceremony; no friends invited, + To honour the solemmnity. + + ALLWORTH: My lord desires this privacy, in respect + His honourable kinsmen are far off; + And he desires there should be no delay. + + MARGARET: Give me but in the church, and I'm content. + + OVERREACH: So my lord have you, what care I who gives you? + Lord Lovell would be private, I'll not cross him. + Use my ring to my chaplain; he is beneficed + At my manor of Gotham, and called Parson Willdo. + + MARGARET: What warrant is your ring? He may suppose + I got that twenty ways without your knowledge. + Your presence would do better. + + OVERREACH: Still perverse! + Paper and ink there. + + ALLWORTH: I can furnish you. + + OVERREACH: I thank you; I can write then. + + [_Writes on his book_. + + ALLWORTH: You may, if you please, leave out the name of my lord, + In respect he comes disguised, and only write, + "Marry her to this gentleman." + + OVERREACH: Well advised. + + [MARGARET _kneels_. + + 'Tis done; away--my blessing, girl? Thou hast it. + + [_Exeunt_ ALLWORTH _and_ MARGARET. + + OVERREACH: Farewell! Now all's cock sure. + Methink I hear already knights and ladies + Say, "Sir Giles Overreach, how is it with + Your honourable daughter? Has her honour + Slept well to-night?" Now for Wellborn + And the lands; were he once married to the widow--I + have him here. [_Exit._ + + + ACT III + + SCENE I.--_A chamber in_ LADY ALLWORTH'S _house. Enter_ LOVELL + _and_ LADY ALLWORTH _contracted to one another. He has + told her that only a desire to promote the union of her + promising young stepson_, ALLWORTH, _with_ MARGARET + OVERREACH _tempted him into a seeming courtship of_ SIR + GILES'S _daughter. She has told him that her somewhat + exaggerated courtesies and attentions to_ WELLBORN _were + an obligation paid to one who in his prosperous days had + ventured all for her dead husband. To them enter_ + WELLBORN _in a rich habit_. + + LADY ALLWORTH: You're welcome, sir. Now you look like yourself. + + WELLBORN: Your creature, madam. I will never hold + My life my own, when you please to command it. + + LADY ALLWORTH: I'm glad my endeavours prospered. Saw you lately + Sir Giles, your uncle? + + WELLBORN: I heard of him, madam, + By his minister, Marrall. He's grown into strange passions + About his daughter. This last night he looked for + Your lordship at his house; but missing you, + And she not yet appearing, his wise head + Is much perplexed and troubled. + + OVERREACH (_outside_): Ha! find her, booby; thou huge lump of nothing. + I'll bore thine eyes out else. + + WELLBORN: May't please your lordship, + For some ends of my own, but to withdraw + A little out of sight, though not of hearing. + + LOVELL: You shall direct me. + + [_Steps aside. Enter_ OVERREACH, _with distracted looks, + driving in_ MARRALL _before him_. + + OVERREACH: Lady, by your leave, did you see my daughter, lady, + And the lord, her husband? Are they in your house? + If they are, discover, that I may bid them joy; + And, as an entrance to her place of honour, + See your ladyship on her left hand, and make curt'sies + When she nods on you; which you must receive + As a special favour. + + LADY ALLWORTH: When I know, Sir Giles, + Her state require such ceremony I shall pay it; + Meantime, I neither know nor care where she is. + + OVERREACH: Nephew! + + WELLBORN: Well. + + OVERREACH: No more! + + WELLBORN: 'Tis all I owe you. + + OVERREACH: I am familiar with the cause that makes you + Bear up thus bravely; there's a certain buz + Of a stolen marriage--do you hear? Of a stolen marriage; + In which, 'tis said, there's somebody hath been cozened. + I name no parties. + + [LADY ALLWORTH _turns away_. + + WELLBORN: Well, sir, and what follows? + + OVERREACH: Marry, this, since you are peremptory. Remember + Upon mere hope of your great match I lent you + A thousand pounds. Put me in good security, + And suddenly, by mortgage or by statute, + Of some of your new possessions, or I'll have you + Dragged in your lavender robes to the jail. + Shall I have security? + + WELLBORN: No, indeed, you shall not: + Nor bond, nor bill, nor bare acknowledgment; + Your great looks fright not me. And whereas, sir, + You charge me with a debt of a thousand pounds, + Either restore my land, or I'll recover + A debt, that is truly due to me from you, + In value ten times more than what you challenge. + + OVERREACH: Oh, monstrous impudence! Did I not purchase + The land left by thy father? [_Enter servant with a box_. + Is not here + The deed that does confirm it mine? + + MARRALL: Now, now. + + WELLBORN: I do acknowledge none; I ne'er passed o'er + Any such land; I grant, for a year or two, + You had it in trust; which if you do discharge, + Surrendering the possession, you shall ease + Yourself and me of chargeable suits in law. + + LADY ALLWORTH: In my opinion, he advises well. + + OVERREACH: Good, good; conspire with your new husband, lady. + (_To_ WELLBORN) Yet, to shut up thy mouth, and make thee give + Thyself the lie, the loud lie! I draw out + The precious evidence. (_Opens the box_.) Ha! + + LADY ALLWORTH: A fair skin of parchment. + + WELLBORN: Indented, I confess, and labels too; + But neither wax nor words. How? Thunderstruck! + Is this your precious evidence, my wise uncle? + + OVERREACH: What prodigy is this? What subtle devil + Hath razed out the inscription--the wax + Turned into dust? Do you deal with witches, rascal? + This juggling shall not save you. + + WELLBORN: To save thee would beggar the stock of mercy. + + OVERREACH: Marrall! + + MARRALL: Sir. + + OVERREACH (_flattering him_): Though the witnesses are dead, + Help with an oath or two; and for thy master + I know thou wilt swear anything to dash + This cunning sleight; the deed being drawn, too, + By thee, my careful Marrall, and delivered + When thou wert present, will make good my title. + Wilt thou not swear this? + + MARRALL: I have a conscience not seared up like yours; + I know no deeds. + + OVERREACH: Wilt thou betray me? + + MARRALL: Yes, and uncase you, too. The lump of flesh, + The idiot, the patch, the slave, the booby, + The property fit only to be beaten, + Can now anatomise you, and lay open + All your black plots. + + OVERREACH: But that I will live, rogue, to torture thee, + And make thee wish and kneel in vain to die, + These swords, that keep thee from me, should fix here. + I play the fool and make my anger but ridiculous. + There will be a time, and place, there will be, cowards! + When you shall feel what I dare do. + After these storms, at length a calm appears. + + [_Enter_ PARSON WILLDO. + + Welcome, most welcome; is the deed done? + + WILLDO: Yes, I assure you. + + OVERREACH: Vanish all sad thoughts! + My doubts and fears are in the titles drowned + Of my right honourable, right honourable daughter. + A lane there for my lord! + + [_Loud music. Enter_ ALLWORTH, MARGARET, _and_ LOVELL. + + MARGARET: Sir, first your pardon, then your blessing, with + Your full allowance of the choice I have made. + (_Kneeling_) This is my husband. + + OVERREACH: How? + + ALLWORTH: So I assure you. + + OVERREACH: Devil! Are they married? + + WILLDO: They are married, sir; but why this rage to me? + Is not this your letter, sir? And these the words, + "Marry her to this gentleman"? + + OVERREACH: I never will believe it, 'death! I will not; + That I should be gulled, baffled, fooled, defeated + By children, all my hopes and labours crossed. + + WELLBORN: You are so, my grave uncle, it appears. + + OVERREACH: Village nurses revenge their wrongs with curses, + I'll waste no words, but thus I take the life + Which, wretch, I gave to thee. + + [_Offers to kill_ MARGARET. + + LOVELL: Hold, for your own sake! + + OVERREACH: Lord! thus I spit at thee, + And at thy counsel; and again desire thee + As thou'rt a soldier, let us quit the house + And change six words in private. + + LOVELL: I am ready. + + LADY ALLWORTH: Stay, sir; would you contest with + one distraited? + + OVERREACH: Are you pale? + Borrow his help; though Hercules call it odds, + I'll stand against both, as I am, hemmed in thus. + Alone, I can do nothing, but I have servants + And friends to succour me; and if I make not + This house a heap of ashes, or leave one throat uncut, + Hell add to my afflictions! [_Exit._ + + MARRALL: Is't not brave sport? + + ALLWORTH (_to_ MARGARET): Nay, weep not, dearest, + though't express your pity. + + MARRALL: Was it not a rare trick, + An't please your worship, to make the deed nothing? + I can do twenty neater, if you please + To purchase and grow rich. They are mysteries + Not to be spoke in public; certain minerals + Incorporated in the ink and wax. + + WELLBORN: You are a rascal. He that dares be false + To a master, though unjust, will ne'er be true + To any other. Look not for reward + Or favour from me. Instantly begone. + + MARRALL: At this haven false servants still arrive. + + [_Exit. Re-enter_ OVERREACH. + + + WILLDO: Some little time I have spent, under your favours, + In physical studies, and, if my judgment err not, + He's mad beyond recovery. + + OVERREACH: Were they a squadron of pikes, when I am mounted + Upon my injuries, shall I fear to charge them? + + [_Flourishing his sword sheathed_. + + I'll fall to execution--ha! I am feeble: + Some undone widow sits upon mine arm, + And takes away the use of 't! And my sword, + Glued to my scabbard with wronged orphans' tears, + Will not be drawn. Are these the hangmen? + But I'll be forced to hell like to myself; + Though you were legions of accursed spirits, + Thus would I fly among you. [_Rushes forward_. + + WELLBORN: There's no help; + Disarm him first, then bind him. + + MARGARET: Oh, my dear father! + + [_They force_ OVERREACH _off_. + + ALLWORTH: You must be patient, mistress. + + LOVELL: Pray take comfort. + I will endeavour you shall be his guardians + In his distraction: and for your land, Master Wellborn, + Be it good or ill in law, I'll be an umpire + Between you and this the undoubted heir + Of Sir Giles Overreach; for me, here's the anchor + That I must fix on. + + [_Takes_ LADY ALLWORTH'S _hand_. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Z] Of all Shakespeare's immediate successors one of the most +powerful, as well as the most prolific, was Philip Massinger. The son +of a retainer in the household of the Earl of Pembroke, he was born +during the second half of 1583, and entered St. Alban's Hall, Oxford, +in 1602, but left without a degree four years later. Coming to London, +he appears to have mixed freely with writers for the stage, and soon +made a reputation as playwright. The full extent of his literary +activities is not known, inasmuch as a great deal of his work has +been lost. He also collaborated with other authors, particularly with +Fletcher (see Vol. XVI, p. 133) in whose grave he was buried on March +18, 1639. It is certain, however, that he wrote single-handed fifteen +plays, of which the best known is the masterly and satirical comedy, +"A New Way to Pay Old Debts." Printed in 1633, but probably written +between 1625 and 1626, the piece retained its popularity longer than +any other of Massinger's plays. The construction is ingenious, the +dialogue witty, but the _dramatis personae_, with the exception of Sir +Giles Overreach, are feeble and without vitality. + + + + +JOHN MILTON[AA] + + + + +Paradise Lost + + +_I.--The Army of the Rebel Angels_ + + The poem opens with an invocation to the Heavenly Muse for + enlightenment and inspiration. + + Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit + Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste + Brought death into the World, and all our woe, + With loss of Eden, till one greater Man + Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, + Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top + Of Horeb, or of Sinai, didst inspire + That Shepherd who first taught the chosen seed + In the beginning how the heavens and earth + Rose out of Chaos; or, if Sion's hill + Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed + Fast by the oracle of God, I thence + Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, + That with no middle flight intends to soar + Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues + Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. + And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer + Before all temples the upright heart and pure, + Instruct me, for Thou know'st; Thou from the first + Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, + Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss, + And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark + Illumine, what is low raise and support; + That, to the highth of this great argument, + I may assert Eternal Providence, + And justify the ways of God to men. + + Say first--for Heaven hides nothing from thy view, + Nor the deep tract of Hell--say first what cause + Moved our grand Parents, in that happy state, + Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off + From their Creator, and trangress his will. + + The infernal serpent; he it was whose guile, + Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived + The mother of mankind, what time his pride + Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host + Of rebel angels. Him the Almighty Power + Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, + With hideous ruin and combustion, down + To bottomless perdition, there to dwell + In adamantine chains and penal fire, + Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms. + + For nine days and nights the apostate Angel lay silent, "rolling in + the fiery gulf," and then, looking round, he discerned by his side + Beelzebub, "one next himself in power and next in crime." With him he + took counsel, and rearing themselves from off the pool of fire they + found footing on a dreary plain. Walking with uneasy steps the burning + marle, the lost Archangel made his way to the shore of "that inflamed + sea," and called aloud to his associates, to "Awake, arise, or be for + ever fallen!" They heard, and gathered about him, all who were "known + to men by various names and various idols through the heathen world," + but with looks "downcast and damp." He-- + + Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound + Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared + His mighty standard. That proud honour claimed + Azazel as his right, a cherub tall, + Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled + The imperial ensign.... + At which the universal host up-sent + A shout that tore Hell's conclave, and beyond + Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. + + The mighty host now circled in orderly array about "their dread + Commander." + + He, above the rest + In shape and gesture proudly eminent, + Stood like a tower. His form had not yet lost + All its original brightness, nor appeared + Less than an Archangel ruined, and the excess + Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen + Looks through the horizontal misty air + Shorn of his beams, or, from behind the moon, + In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds + On half the nations, and with fear of change + Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone + Above them all the Archangel. But his face + Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care + Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows + Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride, + Waiting revenge.... + He now prepared + To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend + From wing to wing, and half enclose him round + With all his peers. Attention held them mute. + Thrice he assayed and thrice, in spite of scorn, + Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth; at last + Words interwove with sighs found out their way: + "O myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers, + Matchless, but with the Almighty!--and that strife + Was not inglorious, though the event was dire, + As this place testifies, and this dire change, + Hateful to utter. But what power of mind, + Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth + Of knowledge past or present, could have feared + How such united force of gods, how such + As stood like these, could ever know repulse? + He who reigns + Monarch in Heaven till then as one secure + Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute, + Consent, or custom, and his regal state + Put forth at full, but still his strength concealed-- + Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall. + Henceforth his might we know, and know our own, + So as not either to provoke, or dread + New war provoked. Our better part remains + To work in close design, by fraud or guile, + What force effected not; that he no less + At length from us may find, Who overcomes + By force hath overcome but half his foe. + Space may produce more Worlds, whereof so rife + There went a fame in Heaven that He ere long + Intended to create, and therein plant + A generation whom his choice regard + Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven. + Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps + Our first eruption--thither, or elsewhere; + For this infernal pit shall never hold + Celestial Spirits in bondage, nor the Abyss + Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts + Full counsel must mature. Peace is despaired; + For who can think submission? War, then, war + Open or understood, must be resolved." + He spake; and to confirm his words, out-flew + Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs + Of mighty Cherubim. The sudden blaze + Far round illumined Hell. Highly they raged. + Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms + Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war, + Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven. + + The exiled host now led by Mammon, "the least erected Spirit that fell + from Heaven," proceeded to build Pandemonium, their architect being + him whom "men called Mulciber," and here + + The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim + In close recess and secret conclave sat + A thousand demi-gods on golden seats. + + +_II.--The Fiends' Conclave_ + + High on a throne of royal state, which far + Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind, + Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand + Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, + Satan exalted sat, by merit raised + To that bad eminence. + + Here his compeers gathered round to advise. First Moloch, the + "strongest and the fiercest Spirit that fought in Heaven," counselled + war. Then uprose Belial--"a fairer person lost not Heaven"--and + reasoned that force was futile. + + "The towers of Heaven are filled + With armed watch, that render all access + Impregnable." + + Besides, failure might lead to their annihilation, and who wished for + that? + + "Who would lose, + Though full of pain, this intellectual being, + These thoughts that wander through eternity?" + + They were better now than when they were hurled from Heaven, or when + they lay chained on the burning lake. Their Supreme Foe might in time + remit his anger, and slacken those raging fires. Mammon also advised + them to keep the peace, and make the best they could of Hell, a policy + received with applause; but then Beelzebub, "than whom, Satan except, + none higher sat," rose, and with a look which "drew audience and + attention still as night," developed the suggestion previously made by + Satan, that they should attack Heaven's High Arbitrator through His + new-created Man, waste his creation, and "drive as we are driven." + + "This would surpass + Common revenge, and interrupt His joy + In our confusion, and our joy upraise + In His disturbance." + + This proposal was gleefully received. But then the difficulty arose + who should be sent in search of this new world? All sat mute, till + Satan declared that he would "abroad through all the coasts of dark + destruction," a decision hailed with reverent applause. The Council + dissolved, the Infernal Peers disperse to their several employments: + some to sports, some to warlike feats, some to argument, "in wandering + mazes lost," some to adventurous discovery; while Satan wings his + way to the nine-fold gate of Hell, guarded by Sin, and her abortive + offspring, Death; and Sin, opening the gate for him to go out, cannot + shut it again. The Fiend stands on the brink, "pondering his voyage," + while before him appear + + The secrets of the hoary Deep--on dark + Illimitable ocean, without bound, + Without dimension; where length, breadth, and highth, + And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night + And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold + Eternal anarchy. + + At last he spreads his "sail-broad vans for flight," and, directed by + Chaos and sable-vested Night, comes to where he can see far off + + The empyreal Heaven, once his native seat, + And, fast by, hanging in a golden chain, + This pendent World. + + +_III.--Satan Speeds to Earth_ + + An invocation to Light, and a lament for the poet's blindness now + preludes a picture of Heaven, and the Almighty Father conferring with + the only Son. + + Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born! + Bright effluence of bright essence uncreate! + Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun, + Before the Heavens, thou wert, and at the voice + Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest + The rising World of waters dark and deep, + Won from the void and formless Infinite! + ............................ But thou + Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain + To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn. + ............................ With the year + Seasons return; but not to me returns + Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, + Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, + Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; + But clouds instead, and ever-during dark + Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men + Cut off. + + God, observing the approach of Satan to the world, foretells the fall + of Man to the Son, who listens while + + In his face + Divine compassion visibly appeared, + Love without end, and without measure grace. + + The Father asks where such love can be found as will redeem man by + satisfying eternal Justice. + + He asked, but all the Heavenly Quire stood mute, + And silence was in Heaven. + + Admiration seized all Heaven, and "to the ground they cast their + crowns in solemn adoration," when the Son replied + + "Account me Man. I for his sake will leave + Thy bosom, and this glory next to Thee + Freely put off, and for him lastly die + Well pleased; on me let Death wreak all his rage. + Under his gloomy power I shall not long + Lie vanquished." + + While the immortal quires chanted their praise, Satan drew near, and + sighted the World--the sun, earth, moon, and companion planets-- + + As when a scout, + Through dark and desert ways with peril gone + All night, at last by break of cheerful dawn + Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill, + Which to his eye discovers unaware + The goodly prospect of some foreign land + First seen, or some renowned metropolis + With glistening spires and pinnacles adorned, + Which now the rising Sun gilds with his beams, + Such wonder seized, though after Heaven seen, + The Spirit malign, but much more envy seized, + At sight of all this world beheld so fair. + + Flying to the Sun, and taking the form of "a stripling Cherub," Satan + recognises there the Archangel Uriel and accosts him. + + "Brightest Seraph, tell + In which of all these shining orbs hath Man + His fixed seat." + + And Uriel, although held to be "the sharpest-sighted Spirit of all in + Heaven," was deceived, for angels cannot discern hypocrisy. So Uriel, + pointing, answers: + + "That place is Earth, the seat of Man.... + That spot to which I point is Paradise, + Adam's abode; those lofty shades his bower. + Thy way thou canst not miss; me mine requires." + Thus said, he turned; and Satan, bowing low, + As to superior Spirits is wont in Heaven, + Where honour due and reverence none neglects, + Took leave, and toward the coast of Earth beneath, + Down from the ecliptic, sped with hoped success, + Throws his steep flight in many an aery wheel, + Nor stayed till on Niphantes' top he lights. + + +_IV.--Of Adam and Eve in Paradise_ + + Coming within sight of Paradise Satan's conscience is aroused, and he + grieves over the suffering his dire work will entail, exclaiming + + "Me miserable; which way shall I fly + Infinite wrath and infinite despair? + Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell." + + But he cannot brook submission, and hardens his heart afresh. + + "So farewell hope, and, with hope, farewell fear, + Farewell remorse! All good to me is lost; + Evil, be thou my Good." + + As he approaches Paradise more closely, the deliciousness of the place + affects even his senses. + + As when to them who sail + Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past + Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow + Sabean odours from the spicy shore + Of Araby the Blest, with such delay + Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league + Cheered with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles, + So entertained those odorous sweets the Fiend. + + At last, after sighting "all kind of living creatures new to sight and + strange," he descries Man. + + Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, + God-like erect, with native honour clad + In naked majesty, seemed lords of all, + And worthy seemed; for in their looks divine + The image of their glorious Maker shone. + For contemplation he and valour formed, + For softness she and sweet attractive grace; + He for God only, she for God in Him. + So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair + That ever since in love's embraces met-- + Adam the goodliest man of men since born + His sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve. + + At the sight of the gentle pair, Satan again almost relents. Taking + the shape of various animals, he approaches to hear them talk and + finds from Adam that the only prohibition laid on them is partaking + of the Tree of Knowledge. Eve, replying, tells how she found herself + alive, saw her form reflected in the water, and thought herself fairer + even than Adam until + + "Thy gentle hand + Seized mine; I yielded, and from that time see + How beauty is excelled by manly grace + And wisdom, which alone is truly fair." + + While Satan roams through Paradise, with "sly circumspection," Uriel + descends on an evening sunbeam to warn Gabriel, chief of the angelic + guards, that a suspected Spirit, with looks "alien from Heaven," had + passed to earth, and Gabriel promises to find him before dawn. + + Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray + Had in her sober livery all things clad; + Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, + They to their grassy couch, these to their nests + Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale. + She all night long her amorous descant sung. + Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament + With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led + The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon, + Rising in clouded majesty, at length + Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, + And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. + + Adam and Eve talk ere they retire to rest--she questioning him + + "Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet, + With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the Sun, + When first on this delightful land he spreads + His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, + Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile Earth + After soft showers; and sweet the coming on + Of grateful Evening mild; then silent Night + With this her solemn bird, and this fair Moon, + And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train; + But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends + With charm of earliest birds; nor rising Sun + On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, + Glistening with dew; nor fragrance after showers, + Nor grateful Evening mild; nor silent Night, + With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon, + Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet. + But wherefore all night long shine these? For whom + This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?" + + Adam replies: + + "These have their course to finish round the Earth, + And they, though unbeheld in deep of night, + Shine not in vain. Nor think, though men were none, + That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise. + Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth + Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep; + All these with ceaseless praise His works behold + Both day and night.".... + Thus talking, hand in hand, alone they passed + On to their blissful bower. + + Gabriel then sends the Cherubim, "armed to their night watches," and + commands Ithuriel and Zephon to search the Garden, where they find + Satan, "squat like a toad close to the ear of Eve," seeking to taint + her dreams. + + Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear + Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure + Touch of celestial temper, but returns + Of force to its own likeness. + + Satan therefore starts up in his own person, and is conducted to + Gabriel, who sees him coming with them, "a third, of regal port, but + faded splendour wan." Gabriel and he engage in a heated altercation, + and a fight seems imminent between the Fiend and the angelic squadrons + that "begin to hem him round," when, by a sign in the sky, Satan is + reminded of his powerlessness in open fight, and flees, murmuring; + "and with him fled the shades of Night." + + +_V.--The Morning Hymn of Praise_ + + Adam, waking in the morning, finds Eve flushed and distraught, and she + tells him of her troublous dreams. He cheers her, and they pass out to + the open field, and, adoring, raise their morning hymn of praise. + + "These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good, + Almighty! Thine this universal frame, + Thus wondrous fair--Thyself how wondrous then! + Unspeakable! Who sittest above these heavens + To us invisible, or dimly seen + In these Thy lowest works; yet these declare + Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. + Speak, ye who best can tell, ye Sons of Light, + Angels--for ye behold Him, and with songs + And chloral symphonies, day without night, + Circle His throne rejoicing--ye in Heaven; + On Earth join, all ye creatures, to extol + Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end. + Fairest of Stars, last in the train of Night, + If better than belong not to the Dawn, + Sure pledge of Day, that crown'st the smiling morn + With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere + While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. + Thou Sun, of this great World both eye and soul, + Acknowledge Him thy greater; sound His praise + In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st + And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st. + Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fliest, + With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb, that flies; + And ye five other wandering Fires, that move + In mystic dance, not without song, resound + His praise Who out of Darkness called up Light. + Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise + From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, + Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, + In honour to the World's great Author rise; + Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky, + Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, + Rising or falling, still advance His praise. + His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, + Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines, + With every plant in sign of worship wave. + Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow, + Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune His praise. + Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye Birds, + That, singing, up to Heaven's gate ascend, + Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise. + Hail universal Lord! Be bounteous still + To give us only good; and, if the night + Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed, + Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark." + So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts + Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm. + + The Almighty now sends Raphael, "the sociable Spirit," from Heaven + to warn Adam of his danger, and alighting on the eastern cliff of + Paradise, the Seraph shakes his plumes and diffuses heavenly fragrance + around; then moving through the forest is seen by Adam, who, with + Eve, entertains him, and seizes the occasion to ask him of "their + Being Who dwell in Heaven," and further, what is meant by the angelic + caution--"If ye be found obedient." Raphael thereupon tells of the + disobedience, in Heaven, of Satan, and his fall, "from that high + state of bliss into what woe." He tells how the Divine decree of + obedience to the Only Son was received by Satan with envy, because he + felt "himself impaired"; and how, consulting with Beelzebub, he drew + away all the Spirits under their command to the "spacious North," + and, taunting them with being eclipsed, proposed that they should + rebel. Only Abdiel remained faithful, and urged them to cease their + "impious rage," and seek pardon in time, or they might find that He + Who had created them could uncreate them. + + So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found; + Among the faithless faithful only he; + Among innumerable false unmoved, + Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified, + His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal; + Nor number nor example with him wrought + To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind + Though single. + + +_VI.--The Story of Satan's Revolt_ + + Raphael, continuing, tells Adam how Abdiel flew back to Heaven with + the story of the revolt, but found it was known. The Sovran Voice + having welcomed the faithful messenger with "Servant of God, well + done!" orders the Archangels Michael and Gabriel to lead forth the + celestial armies, while the banded powers of Satan are hastening on + to set the Proud Aspirer on the very Mount of God. "Long time in even + scale the battle hung," but with the dawning of the third day, the + Father directed the Messiah to ascend his chariot, and end the strife. + "Far off his coming shone," and at His presence "Heaven his wonted + face renewed, and with fresh flowerets hill and valley smiled." But, + nearing the foe, His countenance changed into a terror "too severe to + be beheld." + + Full soon among them He arrived, in His right hand + Grasping ten thousand thunders.... + They, astonished, all resistance lost, + All courage; down their idle weapons dropt.... + .... Headlong themselves they threw + Down from the verge of Heaven; eternal wrath + Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. + + A like fate, Raphael warns Adam, may befall mankind if they are guilty + of disobedience. + + +_VII.--The New Creation_ + + The "affable Archangel," at Adam's request, continues his talk by + telling how the world began. Lest Lucifer should take a pride in + having "dispeopled Heaven," God announces to the Son that he will + create another world, and a race to dwell in it who may + + Open to themselves at length the way + Up hither, under long obedience tried, + And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth, + + This creation is to be the work of the Son, who, girt with + omnipotence, prepares to go forth. + + Heaven opened wide + Her ever-daring gates, harmonious sound + On golden hinges moving, to let forth + The King of Glory, in his powerful Word + And Spirit coming to create new worlds. + On Heavenly ground they stood, and from the shore + They viewed the vast immeasurable Abyss + Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild, + Up from the bottom turned by furious winds + And surging waves, as mountains to assault + Heaven's highth, and with the centre mix the pole. + "Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou Deep, peace!" + Said then the omnific Word. "Your discord end!" + Nor stayed; but on the wings of cherubim, + Uplifted in paternal glory rode + Far into Chaos and the World unborn; + For Chaos heard his voice.... + And Earth, self-balanced on her centre hung. + + The six days' creative work is then described in the order of Genesis. + + +_VIII.--The Creation of Adam_ + + Asked by Adam to tell him about the motions of the heavenly bodies, + Raphael adjures him to refrain from thought on "matters hid; to serve + God and fear; and to be lowly wise." He then asks Adam to tell him of + his creation, he having at the time been absent on "excursion toward + the gates of Hell." Adam complies, and relates how he appealed to + God for a companion, and was answered in the fairest of God's gifts. + Raphael warns Adam to beware lest passion for Eve sway his judgment, + for on him depends the weal or woe, not only of himself, but of all + his sons. + + +_IX.--The Temptation and the Fall_ + + While Raphael was in Paradise, for seven nights, Satan hid himself by + circling round in the shadow of the Earth, then, rising as a mist, he + crept into Eden undetected, and entered the serpent as the "fittest + imp of fraud," but not until once more lamenting that the enjoyment of + the earth was not for him. In the morning, when the human pair came + forth to their pleasant labours, Eve suggested that they should work + apart, for when near each other "looks intervene and smiles," and + casual discourse. Adam replied, defending "this sweet intercourse of + looks and smiles," and saying they had been made not for irksome toil, + but for delight. + + "But if much converse perhaps + Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield; + For solitude sometimes is best society, + And short retirement urges sweet return. + But other doubt possessed me, lest harm + Befall thee.... + The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, + Safest and seemliest by her husband stays + Who guards her, or the worst with her endures." + + Eve replies: + + "That such an enemy we have, who seeks + Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn, + And from the parting Angel overheard, + As in a shady nook I stood behind, + Just then returned at shut of evening flowers." + + She, however, repels the suggestion that she can be deceived. Adam + replies that he does not wish her to be tempted, and that united they + would be stronger and more watchful. Eve responds that if Eden is so + exposed that they are not secure apart, how can they be happy? Adams + gives way, with the explanation that it is not mistrust but tender + love that enjoins him to watch over her, and, as she leaves him, + + Her long with ardent look his eye pursued + Delighted, but desiring more her stay. + Oft he to her his charge of quick return + Repeated; she to him as oft engaged + To be returned by noon amid the bower, + And all things in best order to invite + Noontide repast, or afternoon's repose. + O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve, + Of thy presumed return! Event perverse! + Thou never from that hour in Paradise + Found'st either sweet repast or sound repose. + + The Fiend, questing through the garden, finds her + + Veiled in a cloud of fragrance where she stood + Half-spied, so thick the roses bushing round + About her glowed.... Them she upstays + Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while + Herself, though fairest unsupported flower, + From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh. + + Seeing her, Satan "much the place admired, the person more." + + As one who, long in populous city pent, + Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe + Among the pleasant villages and farms + Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight-- + The smell of grain, of tedded grass, of kine, + Of dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound-- + If chance with nymph-like step fair virgin pass, + What pleasing seemed, for her now pleases more, + She most, and in her look seems all delight. + Such pleasure took the Serpent to behold + This flowery plat, the sweet recess of Eve + Thus early, thus alone. + + The original serpent did not creep on the ground, but was a handsome + creature. + + With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect + Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass + Floated redundant. Pleasing was his shape + And lovely. + + Appearing before Eve with an air of worshipful admiration, and + speaking in human language, the arch-deceiver gains her ear with + flattery. "Empress of this fair world, resplendent Eve." She asks how + it is that man's language is pronounced by "tongue of brute." The + reply is that the power came through eating the fruit of a certain + tree, which gave him reason, and also constrained him to worship her + as "sovran of creatures." Asked to show her the tree, he leads her + swiftly to the Tree of Prohibition, and replying to her scruples and + fears, declares-- + + "Queen of the Universe! Do not believe + Those rigid threats of death. Ye shall not die. + How should ye? By the fruit? It gives you life + To knowledge. By the Threatener? Look on me-- + Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live + And life more perfect have attained than Fate + Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot. + Shall that be shut to Man which to the Beast + Is open? Or will God incense his ire + For such a petty trespass?... + God therefore cannot hurt ye and be just. + Goddess humane, reach, then, and freely taste!" + He ended; and his words replete with guile + Into her heart too easy entrance won. + + Eve herself then took up the argument and repeated admiringly the + Serpent's persuasions. + + "In the day we eat + Of this fair fruit our doom is we shall die! + How dies the Serpent? He hath eaten and lives, + And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns, + Irrational till then. For us alone + Was death invented? Or to us denied + This intellectual food, for beasts reserved? + Here grows the care of all, this fruit divine, + Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, + Of virtue to make wise. What hinders then + To reach and feed at once both body and mind?" + So saying, her rash hand in evil hour + Forth-reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she ate. + Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat, + Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe + That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk + The guilty serpent. + + At first elated by the fruit, Eve presently began to reflect, excuse + herself, and wonder what the effect would be on Adam. + + "And I perhaps am secret. Heaven is high-- + High, and remote to see from thence distinct + Each thing on Earth; and other care perhaps + May have diverted from continual watch + Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies + About him. But to Adam in what sort + Shall I appear? Shall I to him make known + As yet my change? + But what if God have seen + And death ensue? Then I shall be no more; + And Adam, wedded to another Eve, + Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct! + A death to think! Confirmed then, I resolve + Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe, + So dear I love him that with him all deaths + I could endure, without him live no life." + Adam the while + Waiting desirous her return, had wove + Of choicest flowers a garland, to adorn + Her tresses.... Soon as he heard + The fatal trespass done by Eve amazed, + From his slack hand the garland wreathed for her + Down dropt, and all the faded roses shed. + Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at length, + First to himself he inward silence broke: + "O fairest of creation, last and best + Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled + Whatever came to sight or thought be formed, + Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet, + How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost! + Some cursed fraud + Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown, + And me with thee hath ruined; for with thee + Certain my resolution is to die. + How can I live without thee? How forego + Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined, + To live again in these wild words forlorn?" + + Then, turning to Eve, he tries to comfort her. + + "Perhaps thou shalt not die ... + Nor can I think that God, Creator wise, + Though threatening, will in earnest so destroy + Us, His prime creatures, dignified so high, + Set over all his works.... + However, I with thee have fixed my lot, + Certain to undergo like doom. If death + Consort with thee, death is to me as life. + Our state cannot be severed; we are one." + So Adam; and thus Eve to him replied: + "O glorious trial of exceeding love, + Illustrious evidence, example high!" + So saying she embraced him, and for joy + Tenderly wept, much won that he his love + Had so ennobled as of choice to incur + Divine displeasure for her sake, or death. + In recompense ... + She gave him of that fair enticing fruit + With liberal hand. He scrupled not to eat + Against his better knowledge, not deceived, + But fondly overcome with female charm. + + The effect of the fruit on them is first to excite lust with guilty + shame following, and realising this after "the exhilarating vapour + bland" had spent its force, Adam found utterance for his remorse. + + "O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear + To that false Worm.... + ... How shall I behold the face + Henceforth of God or Angel, erst with joy + And rapture so oft beheld? Those Heavenly shapes + Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze + Insufferably bright. Oh, might I here + In solitude live savage, in some glade + Obscured, where highest winds, impenetrable + To star or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad, + And brown as evening! Cover me, ye pines! + Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs + Hide me, where I may never see them more!" + + Then they cower in the woods, and clothe themselves with leaves. + + Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind + They sat them down to weep. + + But passion also took possession of them, and they began to taunt each + other with recriminations. Adam, with estranged look, exclaimed: + + "Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and stayed + With me, as I besought thee, when that strange + Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn, + I know not whence possessed thee! We had then + Remained still happy!" + + Eve retorts: + + "Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent, + Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me." + + Then Adam: + + "What could I more? + I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretold + The danger, and the lurking enemy + That lay in wait; beyond this had been force." + + Thus they in mutual accusation spent + The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning; + And of their vain contest appeared no end. + + +_X.--Sin and Death Triumph_ + + The Angels left on guard now slowly return from Paradise to Heaven + to report their failure, but are reminded by God that it was + ordained; and the Son is sent down to judge the guilty pair, after + hearing their excuses, and to punish them with the curses of toil + and death. Meantime Sin and Death "snuff the smell of mortal change" + on Earth, and leaving Hell-gate "belching outrageous flame," erect + a broad road from Hell to Earth through Chaos, and as they come in + sight of the World meet Satan steering his way back as an angel, + "between the Centaur and the Scorpion." He makes Sin and Death his + plenipotentiaries on Earth, adjuring them first to make man their + thrall, and lastly kill; and as they pass to the evil work "the + blasted stars look wan." The return to Hell is received with loud + acclaim, which comes in the form of a hiss, and Satan and all his + hosts are turned into grovelling snakes. Adam, now in his repentance, + is sternly resentful against Eve, who becomes submissive, and both + pass from remorse to "sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek." + + +_XI.--Repentance and the Doom_ + + The repentance of the pair is accepted by God, who sends down the + Archangel Michael, with a cohort of cherubim, to announce that death + will not come until time has been given for repentance, but Paradise + can no longer be their home. Whereupon Eve laments. + + "O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death! + Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? Thus leave + Thee, native soil? These happy walks and shades, + Fit haunt of gods, where I had hoped to spend + Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day + That must be mortal to us both? O flowers, + That never will in any other climate grow, + My early visitation and my last + At even, which I tied up with tender hand + From the first opening bud and gave ye names, + Who now shall rear ye to the Sun, or rank + Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount? + ... How shall we breathe in other air + Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?" + + The Angel reminds her: + + "Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes + Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound. + Where he abides think there thy native soil." + + Michael then ascending a hill with Adam shows him a vision of the + world's history, while Eve sleeps. + + +_XII.--Paradise Behind, the World Before_ + + The history is continued, with its promise of redemption, until Adam + exclaims: + + "Full of doubt I stand, + Whether I should repent me now of sin + By me done and occasioned, or rejoice + Much more that much more good thereof shall spring-- + To God more glory, more good-will to men." + + Eve awakens from propitious dreams, it having been shown to her that-- + + "Though all by me is lost, + Such favour I unworthy am vouchsafed. + By me the Promised Seed shall all restore." + + The time, however, has come when they must leave. A flaming sword, + "fierce as a comet," advances towards them before the bright array of + cherubim. + + Whereat + In either hand the hastening angel caught + Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate + Led them direct, and down the cliff so fast + To the subjected plain--then disappeared. + They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld + Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, + Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate + With dreadful forces thronged and fiery arms. + Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon; + The world was all before them, where to choose + Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. + They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, + Through Eden took their solitary way. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[AA] John Milton, the peer of Dante as one of the world's +master-poets, was born in Bread Street, London, on December 9, 1608, +the son of a well-to-do scrivener. Educated at St. Paul's School +and at Cambridge, he devoted himself from the first to poetry. The +"Ode on the Nativity" was written when the poet was twenty-one. His +productions till his thirtieth year were nearly all of a classical +caste--"L'Allegro," "Il Penseroso," "Comus," "Lycidas." Returning from +Continental travels in 1639, Milton became enmeshed in politics, and so +continued for twenty years, during which time he wrote much polemical +prose, including his "Areopagitica" (see Vol. XX, p. 257) and his +"Tractate on Education." After a spell of teaching and pamphleteering, +he served as Latin secretary to Oliver Cromwell, and was stricken with +blindness at the age of forty-four. Though poor by loss of office after +the Restoration, he was never in poverty. He died on November 8, 1674. +"Paradise Lost," planned in his youth, was actually begun in 1658, +finished in 1665, and published in 1667. The price arranged was L5 +down and L5 more on each of three editions, of which Milton received +L10, and his widow L8, the rest being unpaid. In English literature +"Paradise Lost" stands alone as an effort of sheer imagination, and its +literary genius is as haunting as its conception is stupendous. + + + + +Paradise Regained[AB] + + +_I.--The Forty Days_ + + I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung + By one man's disobedience lost, now sing + Recovered Paradise to all mankind, + By one man's firm obedience fully tried + Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled + In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed, + And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness. + + Having thus introduced his subject, the poet describes, on Scriptural + lines, the baptism of John, seen by Satan, "when roving still about + the world." The Fiend then "flies to his place" and "summons all his + mighty peers"--a gloomy consistory--warning them that the time seems + approaching when they "must bide the stroke of that long-threatened + wound," when "the woman's Seed shall bruise the serpent's head." They + agree that Satan shall return to earth and act as Tempter. In Heaven, + meantime, God tells the assembly of angels, addressing Gabriel, that + He will expose His Son to Satan, in order that the Son may "show him + worthy of His birth divine and high prediction." And the angelic choir + sings "Victory and triumph to the Son of God." + + So they in Heaven their odes and vigils tuned. + Meanwhile the Son of God ... + Musing and much revolving in his breast + How best the mighty work he might begin + Of Saviour to mankind, and which way first + Publish his God-like office now mature, + One day forth walked alone, the Spirit leading, + And his deep thoughts, the better to converse + With solitude, till, far from track of men, + Thought following thought, and step by step led on, + He entered now the bordering desert wild. + + Christ then, in meditation, tells reminiscently the story of His life. + + Full forty days He passed ... + Nor tasted human food, nor hunger felt, + Till those days ended; hungered then at last + Among wild beasts. They at His sight grew mild, + Nor sleeping Him nor waking harmed; His walk + The fiery serpent fled and noxious worm; + The lion and fierce tiger glared aloof. + But now an aged man in rural weeds, + Following, as seemed, the quest of some stray ewe, + Or withered sticks to gather, which might serve + Against a winter's day, when winds blow keen, + To warm him wet returned from field at eve, + He saw approach. + + This is Satan, and, entering into conversation adjures the Son-- + + "If thou be the Son of God, command + That out of these hard stones be made Thee bread, + So shalt Thou save Thyself, and us relieve + With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste." + + Christ at once discerns who His tempter is and rebuffs him; and the + Fiend, "now undisguised," goes on to narrate his own history, arguing + that he is not a foe to mankind. + + "They to me + Never did wrong or violence. By them + I lost not what I lost; rather by them + I gained what I have gained, and with them dwell + Co-partner in these regions of the world." + + Christ, replying, attributes to Satan the evils of Idolatry and the + crafty oracles of heathendom, which have taken the place of the + "inward oracle in pious hearts," whereupon Satan, "bowing low his gray + dissimulation, disappeared." + + +_II.--The Temptation of the Body_ + + Meanwhile the disciples were gathered "close in a cottage low," + wondering where Christ could be, and Mary with troubled thoughts, + rehearsed the story of His early life. Satan, returning to the council + of his fellow fiends, in "the middle region of thick air," reports + his failure, and that he has found in the Tempted "amplitude of mind + to greatest deeds." Belial advises that the temptation should be + continued by women "expert in amorous arts," but Satan rejects the + plan, and reminds Belial-- + + "Among the sons of men + How many have with a smile made small account + Of beauty and her lures. For beauty stands + In the admiration only of weak minds + Led captive: cease to admire and all her plumes + Fall flat.... We must try + His constancy with such as have more show + Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise." + + With this aim Satan again betakes himself to the desert, where Christ, + now hungry, sleeps and dreams of food. + + And now the herald lark + Left his ground-nest, high towering to descry + The morn's approach, and greet her with his song, + As lightly from his grassy couch uprose + Our Saviour, and found all was but a dream; + Fasting he went to sleep and fasting waked. + Up to a hill anon his steps he reared, + And in a bottom saw a pleasant grove, + With chant of tuneful birds resounding loud. + Thither He bent His way ... + When suddenly a man before Him stood, + Not rustic as before, but seemlier clad, + As one in city or court or palace bred. + + Here Satan again tempts Him with a spread of savoury food, which Jesus + dismisses with the words: + + "Thy pompous delicacies I contemn, + And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles!" + + The book closes with the offer of riches, which are rejected as "the + toil of fools." + + +_III.--The Temptation of Glory_ + + Finding his weak "arguing and fallacious drift" ineffectual, Satan + next appeals to ambition and suggests conquest; but is reminded that + conquerors + + "Rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave + Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote, + Made captive, yet deserving freedom more + Than those their conquerors, who leave behind + Nothing but ruin wheresoe'r they rove, + And all the flourishing works of peace destroy; + Then swell with pride and must be titled gods. + But if there be in glory aught of good, + It may by means far different be attained; + Without ambition, war, or violence, + By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent, + By patience, temperance." + + But Satan, sardonically, argues that God expects glory, nay, exacts it + from all, good and bad alike. To which Christ replies: + + "Not glory as prime end, + But to show forth his goodness, and impart + His good communicable to every soul + Freely; of whom what could He less expect + Than glory and benediction--that is thanks-- + The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense + From them who could return him nothing else." + + But, argues Satan, it is the throne of David to which the Messiah is + ordained; why not begin that reign? Hitherto Christ has scarcely seen + the Galilean towns, but He shall "quit these rudiments" and survey + "the monarchies of the earth, their pomp and state." And thereupon he + carries Him to a mountain whence He can see "Assyria and her empire's + ancient bounds," and there suggests the deliverance of the Ten Tribes. + + "Thou on the Throne of David in full glory, + From Egypt to Euphrates and beyond + Shalt reign, and Rome or Caesar not need fear." + + The answer is that these things must be left to God's "due time and + providence." + + +_IV.--The Last Temptation_ + + The Tempter now brings the Saviour round to the western side of the + mountain, and there Rome + + An imperial city stood; + With towers and temples proudly elevate + On seven hills, with palaces adorned, + Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts, + Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs, + Gardens and groves. Queen of the Earth, + So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched + Of nations. + + But this "grandeur and majestic show of luxury" has no effect on + Christ, who says: + + "Know, when my season comes to sit + On David's throne, it shall be like a tree + Spreading and overshadowing all the earth; + Or as a stone that shall to pieces dash + All monarchies besides throughout the world, + And of my Kingdom there shall be no end." + + The offer of the kingdoms of the world incurs the stern rebuke: + + "Get thee behind me! Plain thou now appear'st + That Evil One, Satan, for ever damned." + + Still the Fiend is not utterly abashed, but, arguing that "the + childhood shows the man as morning shows the day," and that Christ's + empire is one of mind, he, as a last temptation from the "specular + mount," shows Athens. + + "There thou shalt hear and learn the secret power + Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit + By voice or hand, and various-measured verse. + To sage philosophy next lend thine ear, + From Heaven descended to the low-roofed house + Of Socrates." + + Christ replies that whoever seeks true wisdom in the philosophies, + moralities and conjectures of men finds her not, and that the poetry + of Greece will not compare with "Hebrew songs and harps." It is the + prophets who teach most plainly + + "What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so; + What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities flat?" + + Finding all these temptations futile, Satan explodes: + + "Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor arts, + Kingdom nor empire pleases thee, nor aught + By me proposed in life contemplative + Or active, tended on by glory or fame; + What dost thou in this world? The wilderness + For thee is fittest place. I found thee there + And thither will return thee." + + So he transports the passive Saviour back to his homeless solitude. + + Our Saviour, meek, and with untroubled mind, + Hungry and cold betook himself to rest. + The Tempter watched, and soon with ugly dreams + Disturbed his sleep. And either tropic now + 'Gan thunder, and both ends of Heaven; the clouds + From many a rift abortive poured + Fierce rain with lightning mixed; water with fire + In ruin reconciled. Ill wast Thou shrouded then, + O patient Son of God! Yet only stood'st + Unshaken! Nor yet staid the terror there. + Infernal ghosts of hellish furies round + Environed thee; some howled, some yelled, some shrieked, + Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou + Sat'st unappalled in calm and sinless peace. + Thus passed the night so foul, till morning fair + Came forth with pilgrim steps, in amice grey, + Who with her radiant finger stilled the roar + Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the winds, + And grisly spectres, which the Fiend had raised + To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire. + And now the sun with more effectual beams + Had cheered the face of earth, and dried the wet + From drooping plant, or dropping tree; the birds, + Who all things now beheld more fresh and green, + After a night of storm so ruinous, + Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and spray, + To 'gratulate the sweet return of morn. + + Satan, in anger, begins the last temptation. + + Feigning to doubt whether the Saviour is the Son of God, he snatches + him up and carries him to where, in + + Fair Jerusalem, the Holy City lifted high her towers + And higher yet the glorious Temple reared + Her pile; far off appearing like a mount + Of alabaster, topp'd with golden spires: + There on the highest pinnacle he set + The Son of God, and added thus in scorn: + "There stand if thou wilt stand; to stand upright will task thy skill." + "Tempt not the Lord thy God," He said, and stood. + But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell, + And to his crew, that sat consulting, brought + Ruin, and desperation, and dismay. + So Satan fell; and straight a fiery globe, + Of angels, on full sail of wing flew nigh, + Who on their plumy vans received Him soft, + From His uneasy station, and upbore + As on a floating couch through the blithe air; + Then in a flowery valley set Him down + On a green bank, and set before Him, spread, + A table of celestial food.... + ....And as He fed, angelic quires + Sang Heavenly anthems of His victory + Over temptation and the Tempter proud. + + "Now Thou hast avenged + Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing + Temptation, hast regained lost Paradise." + + Thus they, the Son of God, our Saviour meek, + Sung victor, and from Heavenly feast refreshed, + Brought on His way with joy. He, unobserved, + Home to His mother's house private returned. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[AB] The origin of "Paradise Regained" has been told +authentically. It was suggested in 1665 by Ellwood the Quaker, who +sometimes acted as Milton's amanuensis, and it was finished and shown +to Ellwood in 1666, though not published till 1671. Neither in majesty +of conception or in charm of style can it compare with "Paradise +Lost," to which it is, as has been said, a codicil and not a sequel. +The Temptation, the reader feels, was but an incident in the life of +Christ and in the drama of the "ways of God to man," which "Paradise +Lost" introduced with such stupendous imaginative power. Much of the +poem is but a somewhat ambling paraphrase and expansion of Scriptural +narratives; but there are passages where Milton resumes his perfect +mastery of poetic form, under the inspiration that places him among the +selectest band of immortal singers. + + + + +Samson Agonistes[AC] + + +_Persons in the Drama_ + + SAMSON + MANOA, _the father of Samson_ + DALILA, _his wife_ + HURAPHA, _of Gath_ + PUBLIC OFFICER + MESSENGER + _Chorus of Danites_ + + _The scene is placed before the prison in Gaza_. + + + SAMSON: A little onward send thy guiding hand + To these dark steps, a little further on; + For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade. + There I am wont to sit, when any chance + Relieves me from my task of servile toil. + Daily in the common prison else enjoined me, + Where I, a prisoner chained, scarce freely draw + The air, imprisoned also, close and damp, + Unwholesome draught. But here I feel amends + The breath of Heaven fresh blowing, pure and sweet, + With day-spring born; here leave me to respire. + This day a solemn feast the people hold + To Dagon, their sea-idol, and forbid + Laborious works. Hence, with leave + Retiring from the popular noise, I seek + This unfrequented place to find some ease-- + Oh, wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold + Twice by an angel, if I must die + Betrayed, captive, and both my eyes put out, + Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze? + O worse than chains, + Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age! + Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct, + And all her various objects of delight + Annulled, which might in part my grief have eased. + O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, + Irrevocably dark, total eclipse + Without all hope of day! + O first created beam, and thou great Word, + "Let there be light, and light was over all," + Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree? + The Sun to me is dark + And silent as the Moon, + When she deserts the night, + Hid in her vacant inter-lunar cave. + + CHORUS: This, this is he; softly a while; + Let us not break in upon him. + O change beyond report, thought, or belief! + See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused, + With languished head unpropt, + As one past hope, abandoned. + Which shall I fast bewail-- + Thy bondage or lost sight, + Prison within prison + Inseparably dark? + Thou art become (O worst imprisonment!) + The dungeon of thyself; + To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou are fallen. + + SAMSON: I hear the sound of words; their sense the air + Dissolves unjointed ere it reach my ear. + + CHORUS: He speaks; let us draw nigh. Matchless in might, + The glory late of Israel, now the grief! + We come, thy friends and neighbours not unknown, + From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful vale, + To visit or bewail thee. + + SAMSON: Your coming, friends, revives me. + Tell me, friends, + Am I not sung and proverbed for a fool + In every street? + + CHORUS: Wisest men + Have erred, and by bad women been deceived; + And shall again, pretend they ne'er so wise. + In seeking just occasion to provoke + The Philistine, thy country's enemy, + Thou never wast remiss, I bear thee witness. + But see! here comes thy reverend sire, + With careful step, locks white as down, + OLD MANOA: advise + Forthwith how thou ought'st to receive him. + + MANOA: Brethren and men of Dan, if old respect, + As I suppose, towards your once gloried friend, + My son, now captive, hither hath informed + Your younger feet, while mine, cast back with age, + Came lagging after, say if he be here. + + CHORUS: As signal now in low dejected state + As erst in highest, behold him where he lies. + + MANOA: O miserable change! Is this the man, + That invincible Samson, far renowned, + The dread of Israel's foes? + + SAMSON: Nothing of all these evils hath befallen me + But justly. + + MANOA: True; but thou bear'st + Enough, and more, the burden of that fault; + Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying, + That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains; + This day the Philistines a popular feast + Here celebrate in Gaza, and proclaim + Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud, + To Dagon, as their god who hath delivered + Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands. + + SAMSON: Father, I do acknowledge and confess + That I this honour, I this pomp, have brought + To Dagon, and advanced his praises high + Among the heathen round. The contest is now + 'Twixt God and Dagon. Dagon hath presumed, + Me overthrown, to enter lists with God. + Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive + Such a discomfit as shall quite despoil him + Of all these boasted trophies won on me, + And with confusion blank his worshippers. + + MANOA: But for thee what shall be done? + Thou must not in the meanwhile, here forgot, + Lie in this miserable, loathsome plight, + Neglected. I already have made way + To some Philistine lords, with whom to treat + About thy ransom. + + SAMSON: Spare that proposal, father; let me here + As I deserve, pay on my punishment, + And expiate, if possible, my crime. + + MANOA: Be penitent, and for thy fault contrite; + But act not in thy own affliction, son. + Repent the sin; but if the punishment + Thou canst avoid, self-preservation bids. + + SAMSON: Nature within me seems + In all her functions weary of herself; + My race of glory run, and race of shame, + And I shall shortly be with them that rest. + + MANOA: I, however, + Must not omit a father's timely care + To prosecute the means of thy deliverance + By ransom, or how else. + + CHORUS: But who is this? what thing of sea or land-- + Female of sex it seems-- + That, so bedecked, ornate, and gay, + Comes this way sailing? + Some rich Philistian matron she may seem; + And now at nearer view no other certain + Than Dalila, thy wife. + + SAMSON: My wife! My traitress! Let her not come near me. + + DALILA: With doubtful feet and wavering resolution + I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson. + + SAMSON: Out, out, hyena! These are thy wonted arts, + And arts of every woman false like thee-- + To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray; + Then, as repentant, to submit, beseech + A reconcilement, move with feigned remorse. + + DALILA: Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson, + I to the lords will intercede, not doubting + Their favourable ear, that I may fetch thee + From forth this loathsome prison-house, to abide + With me, where my redoubled love and care, + With nursing diligence, to me glad office, + May ever tend about thee to old age. + + SAMSON: No, no; of my condition take no care; + It fits not; thou and I long since are twain; + Nor think me so unwary or accursed + To bring my feet again into the snare + Where once I have been caught. + + DALILA: Let me approach at least, and touch thy hand. + + SAMSON: Not for thy life, lest fierce remembrance wake + My sudden rage to tear thee joint by joint. + At distance I forgive thee; go with that; + Bewail thy falsehood, and the pious works + It hath brought forth to make thee memorable + Among illustrious women, faithful wives. + + DALILA: I see thou art implacable, more deaf + To prayers than winds and seas. Yet winds to seas + Are reconciled at length, and sea to shore. + My name, perhaps, among the circumcised + In Dan, in Judah, and the bordering tribes + To all posterity may stand defamed. + But in my country, where I most desire, + I shall be named among the famousest + Of women, sung at solemn festivals, + Living and dead recorded, who to save + Her country from a fierce destroyer, chose + Above the faith of wedlock bands; my tomb + With odours visited and annual flowers. + + CHORUS: She's gone--a manifest serpent by her sting-- + Discovered in the end, till now concealed. + This idol's day hath been to thee no day of rest, + Labouring thy mind + More than the working day thy hands. + And yet, perhaps, more trouble is behind; + For I descry this way + Some other tending; in his hand + A sceptre or quaint staff he bears, + A public officer, and now at hand. + His message will be short and voluble. + + OFFICER: Hebrews, the prisoner Samson here I seek. + + CHORUS: His manacles remark him; there he sits. + + OFFICER: Samson, to thee our lords thus bid me say. + This day to Dagon is a solemn feast, + With sacrifices, triumph, pomp, and games; + Thy strength they know surpassing human rate, + And now some public proof thereof require + To honour this great feast and great assembly. + Rise, therefore, with all speed, and come along, + Where I will see thee heartened and fresh clad, + To appear as fit before the illustrious lords. + + SAMSON: Thou know'st I am an Hebrew; therefore tell them + Our law forbids at their religious rites + My presence; for that cause I cannot come. + + OFFICER: This answer, be assured will not content them. + + SAMSON: Return the way thou camest; + I will not come. + + OFFICER: Regard thyself; this will offend them highly. + + SAMSON: Can they think me so broken, so debased + With corporal servitude, that my mind ever + Will condescend to such absurd commands? + Joined with extreme contempt! I will not come. + + OFFICER: I am sorry what this stoutness will produce. + + CHORUS: He's gone, and who knows how he may report + Thy words by adding fuel to the flames. + Expect another message more imperious. + + SAMSON: Shall I abuse this consecrated gift + Of strength, again returning with my hair, + After my great transgression!--so requite + Favour renewed, and add a greater sin + By prostituting holy things to idols. + + CHORUS: Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not. + + SAMSON: Be of good courage; I begin to feel + Some rousing motions in me, which dispose + To something extraordinary my thoughts. + I with this messenger will go along-- + If there be aught of presage in the mind, + This day will be remarkable in my life + By some great act, or of my days the last. + + CHORUS: In time thou hast resolved: the man returns. + + OFFICER: Samson, this second message from our lords + To thee I am bid say: Art thou our slave, + And dar'st thou, at our sending and command, + Dispute thy coming? Come without delay; + Or we shall find such engines to assail + And hamper thee, as thou shalt come of force, + Though thou wert firmlier fastened than a rock. + + SAMSON: Because they shall not trail me through their streets + Like a wild beast, I am content to go. + + OFFICER: I praise thy resolution. Doff these links: + By this compliance thou wilt win the lords + To favour, and perhaps to set thee free. + + SAMSON: Brethren, farewell. Your company along + I will not wish, lest it perhaps offend them + To see me girt with friends. + Happen what may, of me expect to hear + Nothing dishonourable, impure, unworthy + Our God, our Law, my nation, or myself. + + CHORUS: Go, and the Holy One + Of Israel be thy guide. + + MANOA: Peace with you, brethren! My inducement hither + Was not at present here to find my son. + By order of the lords new parted hence + To come and play before them at their feast. + I heard all as I came; I had no will, + Lest I should see him forced to things unseemly. + But that which moved my coming now was chiefly + To give ye part with me what hope I have + With good success to work his liberty. + + CHORUS: That hope would much rejoice us to partake + With thee. + + MANOA: What noise or shout was that? It tore the sky. + + CHORUS: Doubtless the people shouting to behold + Their once great dread, captive and blind before them, + Or at some proof of strength, before them shown. + + MANOA: His ransom, if my whole inheritance + May compass it, shall willingly be paid + And numbered down. Much rather I shall choose + To live the poorest in my tribe, than richest, + And he in that calamitous prison left. + No, I am fixed not to part hence without him. + For his redemption all my patrimony, + If need be, I am ready to forego + And quit. Not wanting him, I shall want nothing. + It shall be my delight to tend his eyes, + And view him sitting in his house, ennobled + With all those high exploits by him achieved. + + CHORUS: Thy hopes are not ill founded, nor seem vain, + Of his delivery. + + MANOA: I know your friendly minds, and--O what noise! + Mercy of Heaven! What hideous noise was that + Horribly loud, unlike the former shout. + + CHORUS: Noise call you it, or universal groan, + As if the whole inhabitation perished? + Blood, death, and deathful deeds, are in that noise, + Ruin, destruction at the utmost point. + + MANOA: Of ruin indeed methought I heard the noise. + Oh! it continues; the have slain my son. + CHORUS: Thy son is rather slaying them; that outcry + From slaughter of one foe could not ascend. + + MANOA: Some dismal accident it needs must be. + What shall we do--stay here, or run and see? + + CHORUS: Best keep together here, lest, running thither, + We unawares run into danger's mouth. + This evil on the Philistines is fallen: + From whom could else a general cry be heard? + + MANOA: A little stay will bring some notice hither. + + CHORUS: I see one hither speeding-- + An Hebrew, as I guess, and of our tribe. + + MESSENGER: O, whither shall I run, or which way fly? + The sight of this so horrid spectacle, + Which erst my eyes beheld, and yet behold? + + MANOA: The accident was loud, and here before thee + With rueful cry; yet what it was we know not. + Tell us the sum, the circumstance defer. + + MESSENGER: Gaza yet stands; but all her sons are fallen, + All in a moment overwhelmed and fallen. + + MANOA: Sad! but thou know'st to Israelites not saddest + The desolation of a hostile city. + + MESSENGER: Feed on that first; there may in grief be surfeit. + + MANOA: Relate by whom. + + MESSENGER: By Samson. + + MANOA: That still lessens + The sorrow and converts it nigh to joy. + + MESSENGER: Ah! Manoa, I refrain too suddenly + To utter what will come at last too soon, + Lest evil tidings, with too rude eruption + Hitting thy aged ear, should pierce too deep. + + MANOA: Suspense in news is torture; speak them out. + + MESSENGER: Then take the worst in brief--Samson is dead. + + MANOA: The worst indeed! O, all my hope's defeated + To free him hence! but Death, who sets all free, + Hath paid his ransom now and full discharge. + How died he?--death to life is crown or shame. + All by him fell, thou say'st; by whom fell he? + What glorious hand gave Samson his death's wound? + + MESSENGER: Unwounded of his enemies he fell. + + MANOA: Wearied with slaughter, then, or how? Explain. + + MESSENGER: By his own hands. + + MANOA: Self-violence! What cause + Brought him so soon at variance with himself + Among his foes? + + MESSENGER: Inevitable cause-- + At once both to destroy and be destroyed. + The edifice, where all were met to see him, + Upon their heads and on his own he pulled. + The building was a spacious theatre, + Half round on two main pillars vaulted high, + With seats where all the lords, and each degree + Of sort, might sit in order to behold. + Immediately + Was Samson as a public servant brought, + In their state livery clad. + At sight of him the people with a shout + Rifted the air, clamoring their god with praise, + Who had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. + He patient, but undaunted, where they led him, + Came to the place; and what was set before him, + Which without help of eye might be assayed, + To heave, pull, draw, or break, he still performed + All with incredible, stupendous force, + None daring to appear antagonist + At length, for intermission sake, they led him + Between the pillars; he his guide requested, + As over-tired, to let him lean awhile + With both his arms on those two massy pillars, + That to the arched roof gave main support. + He unsuspicious led him; which when Samson + Felt in his arms, with head awhile inclined, + And eyes fast fixed, he stood, as one who prayed, + Or some great matter in his mind revolved. + At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud, + "Hitherto, lords, what your commands imposed + I have performed, as reason was, obeying, + Not without wonder or delight beheld; + Now, of my own accord, such other trial + I mean to show you of my strength yet greater + As with amaze shall strike all who behold." + This uttered, straightening all his nerves, he bowed. + As with the force of winds and waters pent + When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars + With horrible convulsions to and fro + He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew + The whole roof after them with burst of thunder + Upon the heads of all who sat beneath, + Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests, + Their choice nobility and flower, not only + Of this, but each Philistian city round, + Met from all parts to solemnise this feast. + Samson, with these immixed, inevitably + Pulled down the same destruction on himself; + The vulgar only scaped, who stood without. + + MANOA: Samson hath quit himself + Like Samson, and heroically hath finished + A life heroic. + Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail + Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt, + Dispraise or blame; nothing but well and fair, + And what may quiet us in a death so noble. + Let us go find the body where it lies. + + I, with what speed the while + Will send for all my kindred, all my friends, + To fetch him hence, and solemnly attend, + With silent obsequy and funeral train, + Home to his father's house. There will I build him + A monument, and plant it round with shade + Of laurel evergreen and branching palm, + With all his trophies hung, and acts enrolled + In copious legend, or sweet lyric song. + Thither shall all the valiant youth resort, + And from his memory inflame their breasts + To matchless valour and adventures high. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[AC] "Samson Agonistes" (that is, "Samson the Athlete, or +Wrestler"), Milton's tragedy, cast in a classical mould, was composed +after "Paradise Regained" was written, and after "Paradise Lost" was +published. It was issued in 1671. No reader with knowledge can avoid +associating the poem in a personal way with Milton, who, like Samson, +was blind, living in the midst of enemies, and to some extent deserted; +and, like him too, did not lose heart on behalf of the life's cause +which, unlike Samson, he had never betrayed. As becomes a drama, it +has more vigorously sustained movement than any of Milton's works. The +familiar story is skilfully developed and relieved, and the formality +of the style does not detract from the pity and beauty, while it adds +to the dignity of the work. + + + + +MOLIERE[AD] + + + + +The Doctor in Spite of Himself + + +_Persons in the Play_ + + SGANARELLE + MARTINE, _Sganarelle's wife_ + LUCAS + JACQUELINE, _Lucas's wife, and nurse at M. Geronte's_ + GERONTE + LUCINDE, _Geronte's daughter_ + LEANDRE, _her lover_ + VALERE, _Geronte's attendant_ + + + ACT I + + Just when the day has been fixed for the marriage of Lucinde, daughter + of M. Geronte, she suddenly becomes dumb, and no doctors are found + skillful enough to cure her. One day Valere, M. Geronte's attendant, + and Lucas, the nurse, are scouring the country in search of someone + able to restore their young mistress's speech, when they fell in with + Martine, the wife of Sganarelle, a bibulous faggot-binder. Sganarelle, + who has served a famous doctor for ten years, has just been beating + his wife, and she, in revenge, hearing the kind of person they are + looking for, strongly recommends her husband to them as an eccentric + doctor who has performed wonderful and almost incredible cures, but + who always disclaims his profession, and will never practice it until + he has been well cudgelled. Lucas and Valere accordingly go in quest + of Sganarelle, and, having found him, express their desire of availing + themselves of his services as doctor. At first the faggot-binder + vehemently denies that he is a doctor, but at last--thanks to the use + of the persuasion recommended by Martine--he confesses to a knowledge + of the physician's art, is induced to undertake the cure of Mlle. + Lucinde, and, on being introduced at M. Geronte's house, gives proof + of his eccentricity as a doctor by cudgelling the master and embracing + the nurse. + + [_Enter_ LUCINDE, VALERE, GERONTE, LUCAS, Sganarelle, + _and_ JACQUELINE. + + SGANARELLE: Is this the patient? + + GERONTE: Yes. I have but one daughter; I should + feel inexpressible grief were she to die. + + SGANARELLE: Don't let her do anything of the kind. + She must not die without a doctor's prescription. + + GERONTE: You have made her laugh, monsieur. + + SGANARELLE: It is the best symptom in the world + when the doctor makes his patient laugh. What sort + of pain do you feel? + + LUCINDE (_replies by signs, putting her hand to her + mouth, to her head, and under her chin_): Ha, hi, ho, ha! + + SGANARELLE (_imitating her_): Ha, hi, ho, ha! I don't + understand you. + + GERONTE: That is what her complaint is, monsieur. + She became dumb, without our being able to find out the + cause. It is this accident which has made us put off the + marriage. The man she is going to marry wishes to wait + till she gets better. + + SGANARELLE: Who is the fool that does not want his + wife to be dumb? Would to heaven that mine had that + complaint! I would take good care she did not recover + her speech. + + GERONTE: Well, monsieur, I beg of you to take all + possible pains to cure her of this illness. + + SGANARELLE (_to the patient_): Let me feel your pulse. + This tells me your daughter is dumb. + + GERONTE: Yes, monsieur, that is just what her illness + is; you have found it out the very first time. + + SGANARELLE: We great doctors, we know things at once. + An ignorant person would have been puzzled, and would + have said to you: "It is this, it is that." But I + was right the very first time. I tell you your daughter + is dumb. + + GERONTE: But I should be very pleased if you could + tell me how this + happened. + + SGANARELLE: It is because she has lost her speech. + + GERONTE: But, please, what was the cause of the loss + of speech? + + SGANARELLE: All our best authorities will tell you that + it is an impediment in the action of her tongue. + + GERONTE: But, nevertheless, let us have your opinion on + this impediment in the action of her tongue. + + SGANARELLE: I hold that this impediment in the + action of her tongue is caused by certain humours, + which among us learned men are called peccant humours. + For as the vapours formed by the exhalations of the + influences which arise in the region of complaints, + coming--so to speak--to--Do you know Latin? + + GERONTE: In no sort of way. + + SGANARELLE (_rising in astonishment_): You don't know Latin? + + GERONTE: No. + + SGANARELLE (_assuming various amusing attitudes_): + _Singulariter, nominativo haec musa_, "the muse," _bonus_, + _bona, bonum, Deus sanctus, estne oratio latenas? + Quare_? "Why?" _Luia substantivo et adjectivum + concordat in generi, numerum, et casus_. + + GERONTE: Oh! Why did I not study? + + JACQUELINE: What a clever man he is! + + SGANARELLE: Thus these vapours of which I speak + passing from the left side, where the liver is, to the right + side where the heart is, it happens that the lungs, which + we call in Latin _armyan_, having communication with the + brain, which in Greek we name _nasmus_, by means of the + _vena cava_, which we call in Hebrew _cubile_, in their way + meet the said vapours, which fill the ventricles of the + omoplata; and as the said vapours--be sure you understand + this argument, I beg you--and as these said vapours have + a certain malignancy--listen carefully to this, I pray you. + + GERONTE: Yes. + + SGANARELLE: Are gifted with a certain malignancy + which is caused--please pay attention---- + + GERONTE: I am doing so. + + SGANARELLE: Which is caused by the acridity of the + humour engendered in the concavity of the diaphragm, it + happens that these vapours--_Ossabundus, nequezs, nequer, + potarinum, quipsa milus_. That is just what makes your + daughter dumb. + + GERONTE: No one, doubtless, could argue better. + There is but one thing that puzzles me. It seems to me + that you place the heart and liver differently from where + they are; the heart is on the left side, and the liver on + the right. + + SGANARELLE: Yes, that was so formerly; but we have + changed all that, and nowadays we practise medicine by + an entirely new method. + + GERONTE: I did not know that. I must ask you to + pardon my ignorance. + + SGANARELLE: There is no harm done. You are not + obliged to be as clever as we are. + + GERONTE: Certainly not. But what do you think, + monsieur, ought to be done for this complaint? + + SGANARELLE: My advice is that she should be put to + bed, and, for a remedy, you must see that she takes plenty + of bread soaked in wine. + + GERONTE: Why so, monsieur? + + SGANARELLE: Because in bread and wine mixed together + there is a sympathetic virtue which causes speech. + Don't you know that they give nothing else to parrots, + and that they learn to speak by being fed on this diet? + + GERONTE: That is true. What a great man you are! + Quick, bring plenty of bread and wine. + + SGANARELLE: I shall come back at night to see how + she is getting on. + + GERONTE: Just wait a moment, please. + + SGANARELLE: What do you want? + + GERONTE: To give you your fee, monsieur. + + SGANARELLE (_holding out his hand from under his + gown, while Geronte opens his purse_): I shall not take it, + monsieur. + + GERONTE: I beseech you. + + SGANARELLE: You are jesting. + + GERONTE: That is settled. + + SGANARELLE: I will not. + + GERONTE: What! + + SGANARELLE: I don't practise for money. + + GERONTE: I am sure you don't. + + SGANARELLE (_after having taken the money_): Is it + good weight? + + GERONTE: Yes, monsieur. + + SGANARELLE: I am not a mercenary doctor. + + GERONTE: I know that. + + SGANARELLE: Self-interest is not my motive. + + GERONTE: I never for a moment thought it was. + + [_Exit_. + + + ACT II + + Leandre, between whom and Lucinde a mutual attachment subsists, has + an interview with Sganarelle, at which he implores the latter's + assistance to obtain a meeting with his mistress, and tells him that + her dumbness is a mere trick--a sham illness which she has feigned + to free herself from a distasteful marriage into which her father + wants to hurry her. In consideration of a purse of gold which Leandre + gives him, Sganarelle introduces the young lover into M. Geronte's + house as his apothecary, and when Leandre asks whether it is not + necessary to know five or six long medical words with which to lard + his conversation, ridicules the notion, and says that a medical dress + is quite sufficient disguise. "I am resolved to stick to physic all my + life," says Sganarelle. "I find that it is the best line of all; for + whatever we do, right or wrong, we are paid, all the same. Blunders + make no odds to us; we cut away the material we have to work with as + we choose. A shoemaker, in making a pair of shoes, cannot spoil a + scrap of leather without having to pay for it; but in this business we + can spoil a man without its costing us a cent. The mistakes are never + put down to our account; it is always the fault of the fellow who + dies." + + [_Enter_ JACQUELINE, LUCINDE, GERONTE, LEANDRE _and_ SGANARELLE. + + JACQUELINE: Here's your daughter, monsieur. She + wishes to walk a bit. + + SGANARELLE: It will do her good. Go to her, Mr. + Apothecary, and feel her pulse, and I will consult with + you presently about her malady. (_At this point he draws_ + GERONTE _to one side of the stage, puts one arm on his + shoulders, places his hand under his chin, and makes him + turn towards him, whenever_ GERONTE _wants to see what + is going on between his daughter and the apothecary, + while he holds the following discourse with him to keep + his attention_:) Monsieur, it is a great and subtle question + among doctors whether women are easier to cure + than men. I beg you please listen to this. Some say + "no," some say "yes." I say both "yes" and "no"; + for as the incongruity of the opaque humours which are + found in the natural temperament of women causes the + animal side always to struggle for mastery over the + spiritual, we find that the inequality of their opinions + depends on the oblique motion of the circle of the moon; + and as the sun---- + + LUCINDE: NO, I can never change my feelings. + + GERONTE: Hark! My daughter speaks! O the great + virtue of physic! How deeply am I indebted to you, + monsieur, for this marvellous cure! + + SGANARELLE (_walking about the stage, wiping his + forehead)_: It is a complaint that has given me much + trouble. + + LUCINDE: Yes, father, I have recovered my speech; + but I have recovered it only to tell you that I will never + have any other husband than Leandre. + + GERONTE: But---- + + LUCINDE: Nothing will shake the resolution I have + taken. + + GERONTE: What---- + + LUCINDE: All your excellent reasons will be in vain. + + GERONTE: If---- + + LUCINDE: All your talk will have no effect. + + GERONTE: I---- + + LUCINDE: It is a subject on which I am quite determined. + + GERONTE: But---- + + LUCINDE: No paternal power can force me to marry + against my will. + + GERONTE: I have---- + + LUCINDE: You can make every effort you like. + + GERONTE: It---- + + LUCINDE: My heart cannot submit to such a tyranny. + + GERONTE: There---- + + LUCINDE: And I will sooner throw myself into a convent + than marry a man I don't love. + + GERONTE: But---- + + LUCINDE (_speaking in deafening tone of voice_): It + is no use. You waste your time. I will not do anything + of the kind. I am resolved. + + GERONTE: Ah! What a wildness of speech! I beg + you, monsieur, to make her dumb again. + + SGANARELLE: That is impossible. All that I can do + for you is to make you deaf, if you like. + + GERONTE: You shall marry Horace this very evening. + + LUCINDE: I will sooner marry death. + + SGANARELLE: Let me take this disease in hand. It + is a complaint that has got hold of her, and I know the + remedy to apply. + + GERONTE: Is it possible that you can cure this mental + malady also? + + SGANARELLE: Yes; let me manage it. I have remedies + for everything, and our apothecary is the man for + this cure. (_He calls the apothecary, and speaks to him_.) + You see that the passion she has for this Leandre is quite + against the wishes of her father, and that it is necessary + to find a prompt remedy for the evil, which will only + become worse by delay. For my part, I see but one + remedy, a dose of purgative flight suitably mixed with + two drachms of matrimony in pills. Go and take a little + turn in the garden with her to prepare the humours, + while I talk here with her father; but, above all, lose + no time. Apply the remedy at once--apply the specific + remedy. + + [_Exeunt_ LEANDRE _and_ LUCINDE. _Enter_ LUCAS _and_ + MARTINE. + + LUCAS: Your daughter has run away with Leandre. + He was the apothecary, and this is the doctor who has + performed the operation. + + GERONTE: Quick, fetch the police, and prevent him + from going off! Oh, traitor, I will have you punished + by law. + + LUCAS: You shall hang for this, doctor! Don't stir a + step from here! + + [_Re-enter_ LEANDRE _and_ LUCINDE. + + LEANDRE: Monsieur, I appear before you as Leandre, + and to restore Lucinde to your authority. We intended + to go off and to get married, but this undertaking has + given place to a more honourable proceeding. It is only + from your hands that I will receive Lucinde. I have + to tell you, monsieur, that I have just received letters + from which I learn that my uncle is dead, and that I am + the heir to all his property. + + GERONTE: Monsieur, your virtue merits every consideration, + and I give you my daughter with the greatest + pleasure in the world. + + SGANARELLE: Physic has had a narrow escape. + + MARTINE: Since you are not going to be hanged, you + may thank me for making you a doctor. It was I who + gained you that honour. + + SGANARELLE: I forgive you the beating because of the + dignity to which you have raised me, but be prepared + henceforth to show great respect towards a man of my + consequence; and remember that a doctor's anger is + more to be feared than folk imagine. + + + (MOLIERE: _Continued in Vol. XVIII_) + + + + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[AD] Moliere, whose real name was Jean Baptiste Poquelin, the +name Moliere not having been assumed until he had commenced authorship, +was born at Paris, January 15, 1622. Almost nothing is known of his +early life, except that in his fourteenth year he was sent to the +Jesuit College de Clermont, in Paris, and that later he studied law. In +1645 he suddenly appeared upon the stage as a member of a company of +strolling players, and later, through the recommendation of influential +friends, his company gained permission to act before the King. His +comedies soon placed him in the front rank of French dramatists, and he +is now regarded as perhaps the greatest of all comic dramatists. Of all +the learned classes that fell under Moliere's merciless lash, none came +so completely as the profession of medicine. This is especially the +case in "The Doctor in Spite of Himself" ("Lie Medecin Malgre Lui"), +which appeared in June, 1666, and in which Moliere himself played the +role of Sganarelle. + +The piece was originally acted with the "Misanthrope," but its +immediate and pronounced success justified its being put on the bill +alone. Both in conception and in motive the "Doctor" is frankly +farcical, yet the lines abound in delicious satire, and on occasions +melt from sheer buffoonery into graceful comedy. Moliere died on +February 17, 1673. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Greatest Books -- Volume +17 -- Poetry and Drama, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS, VOL 17 *** + +***** This file should be named 44640.txt or 44640.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/6/4/44640/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Matthias Grammel and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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