Chapter IV: Part 4

_Ful._ Alas, this is a day
Of sorrow indeed. I pray Minerva guard
Her feast from ill. [_Exit with letter._

_Agr._ Indeed I have little fear,
If he but read. Yet now, after this warning,
I must beware. ’Tis plain the people love me; 2939
They cheered me so. My escape will add to favour.

_Ful._ (_re-entering_). He waited at the gate, and with full speed
Runs with the letter.

_Agr._ Come; one business
Must now be not neglected; there’s poor Polla.
Bring pens and ink and wax: we will seal up
All her effects, and make an inventory
In proper form, and do whate’er we may
While we have time. Let us go see to it. [_Exeunt._

SCENE · 2

_A room in Nero’s villa. A table with papers. Enter
NERO, SENECA, BURRUS, and TIGELLINUS._

_NERO._

We have an hour: sit down, my lords, we’ll hold
A privy council. I have in my mind a matter
Touching the subsidies.

_BURRUS._

The day is good 2950
For market matters, ’tis Minerva’s peace:
The sword is sheathed.

_Ner._ (_to Servants_). Set light upon the table.

_SENECA._

To talk of subsidies hurts no man’s conscience.
What is the business, Cæsar?

_Ner._ I am vexed
By the complaints against the imperial household
In the gathering of tolls.—Here in these papers
Are weighty charges ’gainst Pomponius
Silvanus, and Sulpicius Camerinus:
Read them at leisure. But I ask you first
Whether there be not cause for discontent 2960
In present management?

_Sen._ ’Tis a deep evil.
But never was the empire better governed;
Nor is there more extortion now, I think,
Than ever was.

_Ner._ And were there no extortion?

_Sen._ Nay, while you farm the taxes there will be
Extortion still.

_Ner._ You all think that, my lords?

_Sen._ Ay, ay.

_Ner._ And so say I. You have my grounds.
Now hear my scheme, by which for once and all
I rid the empire of this blot. ’Tis this.
I will have no more tolls or tallages, 2970
Customs or duties levied: nay, not one
Through all the empire. I will make this present
To the human race: I say, their old vexation
And burden shall away.

_TIGELLINUS._

Magnificent.

_Sen._ ’Tis generously meant, most generously.
But is it possible?

_Ner._ Why not?

_Sen._ The treasury,
Eased of this sum, must fill the deficit
By other means. If you cut off the customs,
You must increase the tributes, rates, and rents.
If one shoe pinches, ’tis no remedy 2980
To stuff both feet in the other.

_Ner._ But my scheme
Has precedent; there was no tallage taken
Throughout all Italy for some six years
Ere Julius.

_Sen._ Ay, but he restored the customs
As needful.

_Ner._ Whence they seemed the price of empire.

_Sen._ Unjustly. In the times of greatest liberty
Consuls and tribunes have ordained new customs,
Which yet remain.

_Tig._ I praise the scheme.

_Ner._ (_to Bur._) And you?

_Bur._ Where look you then for revenue?

_Ner._ The rents,
We’ll have the rents. The land.... 2990

_Enter Messenger with Officer of the Guard._

Why, who is this?
Whence come you, man?

_MESSENGER._

Cæsar, from Anicetus.
He asks great Cæsar’s pardon ere I tell.

_Ner._ Thou’rt free to speak.

_Mess._ There has an accident
Befallen the Augusta’s yacht.

_Ner._ Hey! what was that?

_Mess._ At a lurch of the ship the awning fell and dragged
The Augusta overboard.

_Ner._ Speak, man, speak on.

_Mess._ We thought her drowned.

_Ner._ Ha!

_Mess._ But by the grace of the gods
She is escaped.

_Ner._ Escaped!

_Mess._ She swam to shore unharmed.

_Ner._ Thou wretch,
And comest thou here in thy master’s place 2999
To bate mine anger? Forth and send him hither.
Fly, or I kill thee.

_Mess._ Pardon, great Cæsar, pardon.
The Admiral follows and will straight be here.

[_Runs out._

_Ner._ (_aside_). Escaped! after such boast, escaped! I am lost.—
To have done this thing had tried me; to have attempted it
And failed is ruin.

_Sen._ (_aside from Nero_). What is this?

_Bur._ (_to Sen._) ’Tis clear
Cæsar knows what: and her escape not being
His pleasure tells us that ’twas not his purpose.

_Sen._ (_aloud_). Alas, alas!

_Ner._ What friend there cries Alas?
Who now stands by me? who will aid me now?

_Tig._ If Cæsar make his will but known...

_Ner._ Thou dullard!
I need the brains of them that know my will. 3011
Now is no time for parley. Seneca,
Speak what thou thinkest.

_Sen._ Cæsar, I am so much grieved that...

_Ner._ What’s thy pain
To mine? Speak, man!

_Sen._ Alas, what shall I say?

_Ner._ How hast thou guessed this thing without a word,
And yet hast not foreseen it?

_Sen._ Oh, is’t then true?
The letter false; the Augusta hither brought
But to be drowned!

_Ner._ See if ye know it not.

_Sen._ Let her escape belie thy guilty purpose. 3020

_Ner._ Why, nay, the failure damns a thousand-fold
More than her death—I am henceforth the man
Who would have killed his mother, and could not.

_Sen._ Alas, alas!

_Ner._ Hast thou no word but that?
Thou that hast ever warned me, ay, and gone
So far upon this path that thou hast sought
To dull the natural feeling which so long
Held off my hand, hast argued ’gainst repugnance,
Crying, ’tis she that is the guilty one, 3029
The dangerous one, there is no peace with her:
And now the day the thing thou hast foreseen,
Ay, and hast led me to, is done, thou’rt silent.
Hast thou no word?—Thou that wast ever ready,
Hast thou no word?—What strikes thee on a sudden
Dumb? Be my counsellor now that I need thee.
Speak now! Why, thou dost weep! surely thou weepest!
Burrus, what sayest thou?

_Bur._ This mischief, Cæsar,
Being thus arisen is the Augusta’s death.
Though I bewail the occasion, yet I say
’Twere most untimely justice to endanger 3040
The public peace for her whose life hath been
So long the shame of justice. Since the sentence
We know is just, and that necessity
O’errides the common forms, the less delay
The better. Let her die.

_Ner._ I thank thee, Burrus.
How were this best performed?

_Tig._ Now, if none speak,
I’ll say that Burrus, being the advocate
Of what is planned, and as pretorian prefect
Possessed of means, is fittest for the work.

_Bur._ Look not on me, Seneca, as if to say 3050
’Tis well; as if ’twere thy thought that my office
Covered this deed. I pardon Tigellinus,
That, unacquainted with a soldier’s honour,
He thinks it passable in time of peace,
Entering in private houses there to slay
Defenceless citizens. But that the guards
Would thus lay hands on one that bears the name
Of Agrippina, that they could forget
Their loved Germanicus, who would think this?
To such a deed they would not follow me, 3060
Far less another; and if Cæsar now
Look for it from me, lo, I here throw down
My prefecture to any man soe’er
Who durst with this condition take it up.

_Ner._ Nay, Burrus, I’ll not ask thee that. Thou’rt right.
And yet, if thou could’st do it— See here the man.

_Enter Anicetus in haste, Paris following._

Thou hast been my ruin!

_ANICETUS._

Pardon, Cæsar, pardon.
I am strangely foiled. Give me one hour, and yet
I’ll make amends.

_Ner._ If thou canst make amends,
Come hither, speak with me. [_They go aside to front._

_Bur._ Is the thing known?

_PARIS._

Ay ay.

_Ner._ (_to Anic._) What canst thou do?

_Ani._ I have set a guard 3071
Around her villa, fearing lest the people
Should force their way within, or she escape.
Give me the word and I will slay her there.

_Ner._ Fool, I can give no word. Think when ’tis done,
If I should punish thee less for that deed
Than for thy late misdoing. What is this?

_Enter Officer of the Guard. Petronius follows._

_OFFICER._

The Augusta, Cæsar, sends a freedman hither,
One Agerinus, with a letter.

_Ner._ (_to Anic._) Now
What to do?

_Ani._ Bid him enter: when he comes 3080
I am prepared. Lend me thy dagger, friend (_to Tig._).

[_Takes Tigellinus’ dagger._

_Enter Agerinus, who runs to Cæsar._

_AGERINUS._

Lo, Cæsar, I am sent...

_Ani._ Ha! where’s thy hand?
Ay, as I thought, a dagger well concealed
Under his cloak.

_Age._ Indeed, indeed, good sir,
I have no dagger.

_Ani._ How no dagger? See!
Had I not caught thee! Ho! the guard, the guard!
Take him to prison till he can be questioned.

_Age._ You do force treason on me. Cæsar! Cæsar!

[_He is borne off by Guards._

_Ani._ This villain having come, as he confessed,
From the empress armed, will Cæsar leave the enquiry
Now in my hands?

_Ner._ I do.

_Ani._ With me who will! 3091

_Tig._ I follow, lead the way.

[_Exeunt Anicetus and Tigellinus. Paris follows
them. Exit Nero within doors._

_PETRONIUS._

What will they go to do?

_Bur._ ’Tis thus: the Admiral
Has gone to kill the Augusta.

_Petr._ Gods forbid!
His orders?

_Bur._ Humph!

_Petr._ Why, men, what thing ye do!
He is shamed for ever.

_Bur._ Ay, and were’t not done
Were shamed no less.

_Sen._ Alas! ’tis true, ’tis true.
And thou wert right, Burrus; but dost thou well
Permitting this?

_Bur._ I see ’tis necessary,
And am not shamed to say I think the thing 3100
Itself is good. As for the motives, Seneca,
Ay, and the manner of it, to defend them
I shall not meddle.

_Petr._ (_to Sen._) And thou wilt take thy share?

_Sen._ ’Tis not my counsel.

_Petr._ ’Twill be held as thine,
And rightly, seeing that thou let it not.
I could have stayed it.

_Bur._ Nay, be not so sure.
And if thou could’st have let it, could’st thou too
Prevent the consequences?

_Petr._ But remember,
She is his mother. Oh, I thought him better.
Is it too late now think you, if I ran... 3110

_Bur._ They are there by now. Believe ’tis for the best.
If she should live but till to-morrow morn,
’Tis civil war. Consider what a party
Would stir upon the tale of Claudius’ death,
Or to revenge Britannicus. I say
There’s nought to gain.

_Petr._ Why, ’tis his mother, Burrus,
His mother. I’ll be sworn he had not dared
Thus to commit himself had I been by.
He that should be a model to the world,
The mirror of good manners, to offend 3120
Thus against taste!

_Bur._ If ’twere no worse...

_Petr._ Why, see,
There are a hundred subtle ways by which,
Had Cæsar done the thing, he had not been blamed.
This vulgar butchery displays to all
The motive, which so hurts your sense of right
That ye neglect the manner. Why, I say,
A just attention to the circumstance
Would hide the doing; but thus done, the doing
Proclaims the deed. And is’t not plain that ye
Must share the guilt? Seneca, look for that. 3130

_Sen._ ’Tis very well for you, Petronius,
To take upon yourself the criticism
And ordering of appearances, and say
’If aught goes ill, blame me.’ You lay your hand
On any object you mislike, remove it,
Replace it as you will, can please yourself:
Nay, you can blame their taste who are not pleased.
But he who deals with men, and seeks to mould
A character to that high rule of right
Which so few can attain, he works, I say, 3140
With different matter, nor can he be blamed
By any measure of his ill success.
His best endeavours are like little dams
Built ’gainst the ocean, on a sinking shore.
Nature asserts her force—and the wise man
Blames not himself for his defeat. For me,
Much as my soul is grieved, ay, and my pride
Wounded—tho’ yet, I thank philosophy,
I can be glad for that,—my hopes—for this
I mourn—my hopes blasted; yet, hear me say,
I take unto myself no self-reproach, 3151
Nay, not a tittle of the part of mischief
A vulgar mind might credit to my score.
I have done my best, and that’s the utmost good
A man can do; and if a better man
Had in my place done more, ’tis perverse Fortune
That placed me ill. Thus far I argue with you,
Who look on me askance, and think my heart
Is tainted; as if I would in such case
Do such thing, as—poison my brother at table,
Contrive to kill my mother: ’Tis so far 3161
From possible, that to my ears the words
Carry no sense: nay, and I think such crimes
May seem more horrible to other men,
Whose passions make them fear them, than to me
Who cannot think them mine. As for the rest,
I stand with you, and never from this hour
Shall mix with Cæsar more with any hope
Of good. Indeed I have hoped too long, and yet
The end has come too soon. 3170

_Re-enter Anicetus, Tigellinus, and Paris._

_Tig._ ’Tis done, ’tis done.

_Ani._ Where is Cæsar?

_Bur._ Within.

[_Anicetus and Tigellinus hurry within._

_Petr._ Paris, is it true?

_Par._ The Augusta lives no longer,
Most brutally and miserably slain:
Yet died she bravely.

_Petr._ And why wentest thou
To soil thy hand?

_Par._ I went not to take part:
But Fortune holding nature’s ruffians up,
I took their pattern.

_Sen._ Say, who did the deed?

_Par._ I’ll tell thee what I saw. As forth we went,
The coward Tigellinus, pale as death,
In needless haste foremost where was no danger,
Hurried us on so fast, that thro’ the street 3181
We scarce kept pace, but when he reached the wall
Of the garden, and saw there the soldiers placed
By Anicetus, knowing not their purpose,
He shrank behind. These men being bidden seized
The servants; then we entered, and with us
Came the centurion. Within the room
Sat Agrippina with a single maid,
Who seeing the Admiral’s sword fled past us out:
At which the Augusta called to her, ’Dost thou,
Fulvia, desert me too?’ Then to the Admiral 3191
She spoke. ’If here thou comest to enquire
From Cæsar of my health, know I am well,
Recovered from my shock, and little hurt.
But if, as your men’s looks would mean, ye are come
Deeming that Cæsar wills that I should suffer
The like I late escaped, know you mistake.
’Twas not of his contrivance, and my foe
In this is his.’ None answered, and awhile
Was such delay as makes the indivisible 3200
And smallest point of time various and broad;
For Agrippina, when she saw her lie
Fail of its aim, ventured no more, as knowing
There was no wiser plea; but let her eyes
Indifferently wander round her foes,
Counting their strength. Then looked I to have seen
Her spring, for her cheek swelled, and ’neath her robe
Her foot moved; ay, and had she been but armed,
One would have fallen. But if she had the thought
She set it by, choosing to take her death 3210
With dignity. Then Anicetus raised
His sword, and I fled out beyond the door
To see no more. First Tigellinus’ voice,
’To death, thou wretch!’ then blows, but not a groan;
Only she showed her spirit to the last,
And made some choice of death, offering her body,
’That bare the monster,’ crying with that curse,
’Strike here, strike here!’

_Sen._ Alas, poor lady,
Was that the end of thy unscrupulous, 3219
Towering ambition? Thou didst win indeed
The best and worst of Fortune.

_Bur._ Give her her due,
Such courage as deserved the best, such crimes
As make her death seem gentler than deserved.

_Enter Nero between Anicetus and Tigellinus._

_Ner._ My lords, ’tis done. Nay, look not grieved. There’s none
Suffers as much as I; all share the good.
And think not that to keep the world at peace
I grudge this sacrifice: the general care
I set before my own, and therefore bid
There be no public mourning, nay, to-morrow
We shall attend the spectacles and games, 3230
Appear as usual before the people:
Ay, and I partly look, my lords, to you
That I be well received. Good night to all!

ACHILLES IN SCYROS

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

_THETIS_ _Mother of Achilles_.
_ACHILLES_ _disguised as PYRRHA_.
_LYCOMEDES_ _King of Scyros_.
_ULYSSES_ _Prince of Ithaca_.
_DIOMEDE_ _compassion of Ulysses_.
_ABAS_ _servant to Ulysses_.
_DEIDAMIA_ _daughter of Lycomedes_.
_CHORUS of SCYRIAN MAIDENS._

_The scene is on the Island of Scyros, in the gardens of the palace._

_Thetis prologises._

ACHILLES

_THETIS._

The deep recesses of this rocky isle,
That far from undersea riseth to crown
Its flowery head above the circling waves,
A home for men with groves and gardens green,
I chose not ill to be the hiding-place
Of my loved son. Alas, I could not take him
To live in my blue caverns, where the nymphs
Own me for queen: and hateful is the earth
To me, and all remembrance, since that morn,
When, in the train of May wandering too far, 10
I trafficked with my shells and pearls to buy
Her fragrant roses and fresh lilies white.
Accurst the day and thou, ah, wretched Peleus,
Who forcedst me to learn the fears that women
Have for their mortal offspring: who but I,
Thetis, Poseidon’s daughter, who alone
But I of all the immortals have known this,
To bear and love a son in human kind?
And yet not wholly ill is the constraint,
Nor do I pity mortals to be born 20
Heirs of desire and death, and the rich thought
Denied to easy pleasure in the days
That neither bring nor take; tho’ more to me
Embittered with foreknowledge of a doom
Threatened by fate, and labour how to avert.
For to me, questioning the high decrees
By which the sweetly tyrannous stars allot
Their lives and deaths to men, answer was given
That for my son Achilles there was ruled
One of two things, and neither good; the better 30
A long and easy life, the worse a death
Untimely-glorious, which should set his name
First of the Greeks;—for so must seem to me
Better and worse, so even an earthly mother
Had for him chosen, tho’ for the right he died,
And conquered all the gods that succour Troy.—
But when I, thinking he must share my fear,
Showed him the choice, he made a mortal plunge
For glorious death, and would have straight gone forth
To seek it; but in tenderness for me,— 40
Whom without shame he honours, and in this
My love repays,—he to my tears consented
To hide him from his fate; and here he dwells
Disguised among the maidens like a maiden;—
For so his beauty and youth permit,—to serve
The daughter of the king of this fair isle,
Who calls him Pyrrha for his golden hair,
And knowing not prefers him o’er the rest.
But I with frequent visitings assure me
That he obeys; and,—for I have the power 50
To change my semblance,—I will sometimes run
In likeness of a young and timorous fawn
Before the maiden train, that give me chase
Far in the woods, till he outstrip them all;
Then turn I quick at bay with loved surprise,
And bid him hail: or like a snake I glide
Under the flowers, where they sit at play,
And showing suddenly my gleaming eyes,
All fly but he, and we may speak alone.
Thus oft my love will lead me, but to-day 60
More special need hath brought: for on the seas
I met at dawn a royal ship of Greece
Slow stemming toward this isle. What that might bode,
And who might sail thereon, I guessed; and taking
A dolphin’s shape, that thro’ the heavy waters
Tumbles in sport, around the labouring prow
I gambolled, till her idle crew stood by
To watch me from the wooden battlements.
And surely among them there full soon I saw,
Even as I feared, the man I feared, agaze 70
With hypocrite eyes, the prince of Ithaca,
That searcheth for Achilles: of all the Greeks
Whom most I dread, for his own endless wiles,
And for Athena’s aid. Him when I saw,
Lest I should be too late, I hither sped
To warn my son, and here shall meet him soon,—
Tho’ yet he hath not come,—for on these lawns
The damsels of the court are wont to play,
And he with them. Hark! see! even now. Nay, nay.
Alas! who cometh thus? Ah, by that gait 80
Crouching along, it is my persecutor,
Ulysses. Woe is me! I must fly hence.
Tho’ he should know me not, I fear to face him,
My hated foe, alert, invincible
Of will, full of self-love and mortal guile. [_Exit._

_Enter Ulysses from the bushes, followed by Diomede, who
wears a Lion’s skin._

_DIOMEDE._

We have made the circuit of the hill, and here
Into the gardens are come round again.
What now?

_ULYSSES._

Hush thou! Look there! Some one hath seen us.
He flies.

_Dio._ I see not.

_Ul._ Where the myrtle tops
Stir each in turn. He goeth toward the shore. 90
I must see him that seeth me. Bide thou.

[_Exit among the bushes._

_Dio._ Were I a dog, now, I might learn. Heigh ho!
Two hours and more we have wandered on this mountain,
Round and round, up and down, and round again,
Gardens, and lawns, meadows, and groves, and walks,
Thickets, and woods, the windings of the glades,
I have them all by rote. Each petty rill
We have tracked by rocky steps and paths about,
And peeped into its dank and mossy caves.
What sort of game should this Achilles be, 100
That we should seek him thus? Ah! back so soon?
What sport?

_Ul._ (_re-entering_). Well hit. ’Twas but a milk-white doe,
Some petted plaything of the young princess,
That fled our stranger steps.

_Dio._ And whither now
Turn we to seek Achilles?

_Ul._ Hark, Diomede:
My plot is laid and ready for thine ears.
Thou madest offer of thine aid; be patient,
And hear me.

_Dio._ I will hearken.

_Ul._ First, thou knowest
How since the day the Danaan kings took oath
To avenge the wrong done by the Trojan Paris 110
Against his host, the Spartan Menelaus,
One oracle hath thwarted us, which said
Our purpose should not prosper with the gods
Unless Achilles the young son of Thetis
Should lead our armies.

_Dio._ Certainly, so far
I am with you.

_Ul._ Next, when he was sought in vain,
Men looked to me; ay, and to me it fell
To learn that he was lurking in this isle
Of Scyros, in the court of Lycomedes. 119
The king denied the charge, adding in challenge,
That I might come and make what search I pleased;
Now mark...

_Dio_. I listen, but thou tellest nothing.
Why search we not the court if he be there,
Instead of this old hill?

_Ul._ ’Tis that I come to.
King Lycomedes hath been one of those
Who have held their arms aloof from our alliance,
On the main plea of this Achilles’ absence.
What if he play the game here for his friends,
And hide the lad lest they be forced to fight?

_Dio._ That well might be. And if the king would hide him, 130
Thy hope would hit upon him thus at hazard?

_Ul._ Call me not fool. Attend and hear my plot:
Nor marvel, Diomede, to learn that he,
Whom the high gods name champion of the Greeks,
Lurks in the habit of a girl disguised
Amid the maidens of this island court.

_Dio._ That were too strange. How guess you that?

_Ul._ My spies,
Who have searched the isle, say there’s no youth thereon,
Having Achilles’ age of sixteen years,
But is well known of native parentage. 140
Now Thetis’ son must be of wondrous beauty,
That could not scape inquiry; we therefore look
For what is hid, and not to be disguised
Save as I guess.

_Dio._ If this be so, thy purpose
Is darker still.

_Ul._ I lead thee by the steps
I came myself to take, slowly and surely...
And next this, that ’twere dull to ask the king
To help to find the thing he goes to hide:
Therefore the search must be without his knowledge.
’Twas thus I sent up Abas to the court, 150
Idly to engage him in preliminaries,
The while I work; my only hope being this,
To come myself to parley with the maidens;
Which to procure I brought with me aboard
A pedlar’s gear, and with such gawds and trinkets
As tickle girlish fancies, I shall steal
Upon them at their play; my hoary beard
And rags will set them at their ease; and while
They come about me, and turn o’er my pack,
I spy. If then Achilles be among them, 160
The lad’s indifference soon will mark him out;
When, watching my occasion, I’ll exhibit
Something that should provoke his eye and tongue.
If he betray himself, thou being at hand....

_Dio._ Why, ’tis a dirty trick.

_Ul._ Not if it wins.

_Dio._ Fie! fie!
In rags and a white beard?

_Ul._ No better way.

_Dio._ The better way were not to lose the hour
Hearkening to oracles, while our good ships
Rot, and our men grow stale. Why, you may see
Imperial Agamemnon in the eyes 171
Of all his armament walk daily forth
To take fresh note of sparrows and of snakes:
And if he spy an eagle, ’twill make talk
For twenty days. Would you have oracles,
Give me the whipping of the priests. Zeus help me!
If half the chiefs knew but their minds as I,
There’d be no parleying. I’ll to war alone
And with my eighty ships do what I may
’Gainst gods and men. Ay, and the greater odds
The better fighting.

_Ul._ Now ’tis thou that talkest. 181

_Dio._ Tell me then why we are prowling on this hill.

_Ul._ Excellent reasons. First that when I come
I may know how to come, and where to hide
From them I would not meet: and thereto this,
That if Achilles fly, he should not take us
At too great disadvantage: thou mayst head him,
Knowing the ground about, while I pursue.
He must not scape. But hark, ’tis time the plot
Were put to proof; already it must be noon; 190
And I hear steps and voices. Let us return
To the ship. If they that come be those we seek, ...
Hark, and ’tis they,—we can look back upon them.
I’ll be amongst them soon.

_Dio._ ’Tis a girl’s game.

[_Exeunt into the bushes._

_Enter Deidamia, Achilles as Pyrrha, with the chorus of
maidens._

_DEIDAMIA_ (_without_).

Follow me, follow. I lead the race. [_Enters._

_CHORUS._

Follow, we follow, we give thee chase. [_Entering._

_Deid._ Follow me, follow.

_Ch._ We come, we come.

_Deid._ Here is my home;
I choose this tree: this is the ground 200
Where we will make our play. Stand all around,
And let us beg the dwellers in this glade
To bear us company. Be not afraid,
(I will begin) sweet birds, whose flowery songs
Sprinkle with joy the budding boughs above,
The airy city where your light folk throngs,
Each with his special exquisite of love,—
Red-throat and white-throat, finch and golden-crest,
Deep-murmuring pigeon, and soft-cooing dove,—
Unto his mate addrest, that close in nest 210
Sits on the dun and dappled eggs all day.
Come red-throat, white-throat, finch and golden-crest,
Let not our merry play drive you away.

_Ch._ And ye brown squirrels, up the rugged bark
That fly, and leap from bending spray to spray,
And bite the luscious shoots, if I should mark,
Slip not behind the trunks, nor hide away.—
Ye earthy moles, that burrowing in the dark
Your glossy velvet coats so much abuse;— 219
Ye watchful dormice, and small skipping shrews,
Stay not from foraging; dive not from sight.—
Come moles and mice, squirrels and skipping shrews,
Come all, come forth, and join in our delight.

_Deid._ Enough. Now while the Dryads of the hill
Interpret to the creatures our good will,
Listen, and I will tell you a new game
That we can play together.—As hither I came,
I marked that in the hazel copse below,
Where we so oft have hidden and loved to go
To hear the night-bird, or to take unseen 230
Our noontide walks beneath the tangled screen,
The woodcutter hath been with cruel blade,
And of the tasselled plumes his strewage made:
And by the mossy moots the covert shorn
Now lieth low in swathe like autumn corn.
These ere he lop and into bundles bind,
Let us go choose the fairest we may find,
And of their feathered orphan saplings weave
A bowery dome, until the birds believe
We build a nest, and are come here to dwell. 240
Hie forth, ye Scyrian maids; do as I tell:
And having built our bower amid the green,
We will choose one among us for a queen,
And be the Amazons, whose maiden clan
By broad Thermodon dwells, apart from man;
Who rule themselves, from his dominion free,
And do all things he doth, better than he.
First, Amazons, your queen: to choose her now:
Who shall she be?

_Ch._ Thyself, thou. Who but thou?
Deidamia.

_Deid._ Where then were the play, 250
If I should still command, and ye obey?

_Ch._ Choose thou for all.

_Deid._ Nor will I name her, lest
Ye say my favour sets one o’er the rest.

_Ch._ Thy choice is ours.

_Deid._ If then I gave my voice
For Pyrrha?

_Ch._ Pyrrha, Pyrrha is our choice.
Hail, Pyrrha, hail! Queen of the Amazons!

_Deid._ (_To Ach._). To thee I abdicate my place, and give
My wreath for crown. Long, my queen, mayst thou live!
Now, fellow-subjects, hie we off at once.

_ACHILLES._

Stay, stay! Is this the privilege of the throne? 260
Am I preferred but to be left alone?
No guard, no counsellor, no company!
Deidamia, stay!

_Deid._ Thy word must be
My law, O queen: I will abide. But ye
Forth quickly, as I said; ye know the place.

_Ch._ Follow me, follow: I lead the race.
Follow, we follow, we give thee chase.
Follow me, follow.
We come, we come. [_Exeunt Chor._

_Ach._ I could not bear that thou shouldst strain thy hands270
Dragging those branches up the sunny hill;
Nor for a thousand honours thou shouldst do me,
Making me here thy queen, would I consent
To lose thy company, even for an hour.
See, while the maids warm in their busy play,
We may enjoy in quiet the sweet air,
And thro’ the quivering golden green look up
To the deep sky, and have high thoughts as idle
And bright, as are the small white clouds becalmed
In disappointed voyage to the noon: 280
There is no better pastime.

_Deid._ I will sit with thee
In idleness, while idleness can please.

_Ach._ It is not idleness to steep the soul
In nature’s beauty: rather every day
We are idle letting beauteous things go by
Unheld, or scarce perceived. We cannot dream
Too deeply, nor o’erprize the mood of love,
When it comes on us strongly, and the hour
Is ripe for thought.

_Deid._ I have a thought, a dream;
If thou canst keep it secret.

_Ach._ I am thy slave. 290

_Deid._ Suppose—’tis more than that, yet I’ll but say
Suppose—we played this game of Amazons
In earnest. What an isle this Scyros were;
Rich and wellplanted, and its rocky coast
Easy of defence: the women now upon it
Could hold it. Nay, I have often thought it out:
The king my sire is threescore years and more,
And hath no heir: suppose that when he dies,—
The gods defer it long, but when he dies,
If thou and I should plan to seize this isle, 300
Drive out the men, and rule it for our own ...
Wouldst thou work with me, Pyrrha, the thing could be.
Why shouldst thou smile? I do not say that I
Would rate my strength with men; but on the farms
Women are thicker sinewed; and in thee
I see what all might be. I am sure for speed
No man could match thee, and thou hast an arm
To tug an oar or hurl the heaviest spear,
Or wrestle with the best. Why dost thou smile?

_Ach._ When thou art queen, I’ll be thy general.

_Deid._ That was my thought. What dost thou think?

_Ach._ I think
That Fate hath marked me for a general. 312

_Deid._ Nay, but I jest not.

_Ach._ Then shall I forecast
And weigh impediments against thee? as men
Will in like case, who think no scheme mature
Till counsel hath forestalled all obstacles.

_Deid._ If thou canst think of any.

_Ach._ First is this,
Whence shall we get our subjects when our isle
Is peopled but by women?

_Deid._ Fairly asked,
Had I not thought of it. We shall import them 320
From other isles. Girl children everywhere
Are held of small account: these we will buy,
Bartering for them our fruits and tapestries,
And chiefly from the country whence thou comest;
For there I think the women must be taller
And stronger than with us.

_Ach._ And who will act
Persuader to the maidens of the isle
To banish all their lovers?

_Deid._ O Pyrrha, shame!
Man’s love is nothing; what knowst thou of it
To magnify its folly? ’Tis a mischief 330
To thwart our good: therefore I banish it.
A woman’s love may be as much to woman
As a man’s love can be. ’Tis reasonable
This, and no dream. ’Tis my experience.
When I am with thee, Pyrrha, I want nothing.
No woman sitting by her silly lover
Could take such pleasure from his flatteries
As I from thy speech. When thou lookest on me
I am all joy; and if ’tis so with thee,
Why need we argue? Tell me, when I am with thee
Dost thou lack aught, or wish I were a man? 341

_Ach._ In truth nay, but...

_Deid._ A wretched but: I know
What that would say; this thing cannot be done
Because ’twas never done. But that’s with me
The reason why it should be done.

_Ach._ I see.
Yet novelty hath no wear. Remember too
We must grow old. The spirit of such adventure
Tires as the body ages.

_Deid._ For that I think
I make the best provision. Nay, I have seen
Full many an old dame left in last neglect, 350
Whose keen gray eye, peaked face, and silver hair
Were god-like set beneath a helm of brass.

_Ach._ Here be the maids: ask them their mind at once.

_Deid._ Nay, for the world no word.

_Enter Chorus, with flowers._

Why run they breathlessly in merry fear?
What have ye seen? What now?

_Ch._ The king. Fly, fly!

_Ach._ Why should we fly the king?

_Ch._ A man is with him, and they come this way.

_Deid._ Who is it?

_Ch._ Nay, we know not.

_Deid._ What hath happed?

_Ch._ We went forth as ye bade, and all together
Ran down the hill, the straightest way we might,
Into the copse, and lo! ’twas as thou saidst; 362
The hazels are all felled, but on the ground,
That ’neath the straight trunks of the airy trees
Lies in the spotted sunlight, are upsprung
Countless anemones, white, red, and blue,
In the bright glade. Forgetting why we came,
We fell to gathering these. I chose the blue,
As ye may see, loving blue blossoms best,
That are content with heaven.

_2nd Speaker._ And I the red, 370
Love’s passionate colour; and the love in these
Is mixed with heavenly to a royal purple.

_3rd._ And I the white: whose praise I will not tell,
Lest it should blush.

_4th._ And I have mixed together
The red and white.

_5th._ And I the red and blue.

_6th._ And I the blue and white.

_Deid._ Well, but the matter.
What happened next, tell me?

_Ch._ (_1st._) Still at this game,
Like to a hungry herd that stops and feeds,
Snatching what tempts it on, we made advance
To the entrance of the combe; and then one cried,
Look up! Look there! And from the open brow,
Whence we looked down upon the sea, we saw 382
A great war-ship in the harbour: and one said,
She comes from Athens; and another, nay,
Her build is Rhodian: when as there we gazed,
Counting her ports, and wondering of her name,—
We heard men’s voices and beheld the king
Mounting the hill-side, with a stranger clad
In short Greek robes. Then ran we back to thee,
Ere we were seen, in haste; that we may hide, 390
And not be called within to attend the guests.

_Deid._ So did ye well, whoe’er it be, and best
If ’tis the prince of Melos, as I fear:
Who late my father said would come to woo me:
But he must find me first. [_Going._

_Ach._ I’ll be thine eyes
And take his measure. Let me lurk behind,
I’ll learn his height, the colour of his beard,
And bring thee word.

_Deid._ I pray, no beards for me.
Those that love beards remain. The rest with me.
Follow me, follow: I lead the race. [_Exit._

_Ch._ Follow, we follow. We give thee chase—
Follow me, follow— 402
—We come, we come. [_Exeunt Chor._

_Ach._ I wish I had had Apollo for my sire;
Or that old Cheiron, when he taught me arms,
Hunting the beasts on bushy Pelion,
Had led and trained me rather, as well he knew,
In that fair park of fancy and delight,
Where but the Graces and the Muses come.
For he could sing: and oft took down at eve 410
From the high pillar of his rocky cave
The lyre or pipe, and whiled the darksome hours.
Which would I had learned, to touch the stops and strings,
Nor only harked thereto: for nought he sang,
Whether of gods or men, of peace or war,
Had any theme of sweetness to compare
With my new world, here, where I am king, and rule
The sweetest thing in nature. Had I skill
To give translation to my joy, I think
I could make music that should charm the world.
O Deidamia, thou Queen of my heart, 421
I would enchant thee and thine isle. Alas!
How wilt thou learn thou art mine? How can I tell
And with the word not lose thee? Now this suitor
Threats my betrayal... He comes. I’ll watch. Yet not
With jealous eyes, but heedful of my fate.

[_Hides in bushes._

_Enter Lycomedes and Abas._

_LYCOMEDES._

’Tis folly and impertinence. I say it
With due respect unto the prince, thy master,
Who am as much his elder as the king
His father is. He ne’er would so have wronged me,—
The mild and good Laertes.—In this isle 431
Think’st thou ’twere possible a man should hide,
And I not know it?

_ABAS._

My Lord Ulysses, sire,
Bade me assure your majesty he came
More with the purpose to acquit your honour,—
Which suffers greatly in the common tongue,—
Than with a hope to find what he pretends
He comes to seek.

_Lyc._ Why should he come at all?

_Ab._ Taking your invitation in the sense
That I have spoken...

_Lyc._ Thinks he, if I chose 440
To hide the man in Scyros, that a stranger
From Ithaca could find him?

_Ab._ Nay...

_Lyc._ It follows
Your search can never quit my honesty,
Where I am held accomplice; but no less
Must put a slight upon my wits, implying
Me the deceived.

_Ab._ Your invitation, sire,
Covers that charge.

_Lyc._ My invitation, sir,
Was but my seal of full denial, a challenge
For honour’s eye, not to be taken up.
Your master hath slipped in manners: yet fear not
But I will meet and treat him as his birth 451
And name require. Speak we no more of this.
What think’st thou of our isle?

_Ab._ The famed Ægean
Hath not a finer jewel on her breast.

_Lyc._ Come, come! you overpraise us: there’s no need.
We Scyrians are contented.—Now we are climbed
Above the town to the east; and you may see
The western seaboard, and our other port.
The island narrows here to twenty stades,
Cut like a wasp; the shoulder where we stand 460
Is its best natured spot: It falls to the sun,
And at this time of the year takes not too much.

_Ab._ ’Tis strange how in all points the lie of the land
Is like our Ithaca, but better clothed.

_Lyc._ And larger, is’t not?

_Ab._ Past comparison.—

_Lyc._ What navy bring ye to the war?

_Ab._ Ah, sire!
We have no ships to boast of—with our own
Zakynthus, Cephallenia, and the rest,
Joining their numbers, raise but ten or twelve.

_Lyc._ And these your prince commands? 470

_Ab._ Such as they be.

_Lyc._ Tidings come slowly to us here. I pray you
Tell me the latest of your preparations.
The thing must drag: there was some talk awhile
Of coldness ’twixt the chiefs: ’twould be no wonder.
They that combine upon one private grudge
May split upon another.

_Ab._ Still their zeal
Increases: ’tis as fire spread from a spark.

_Lyc._ A spark? well—Menelaus. At this time
What numbers hath he drawn, and whence?

_Ab._ The ships
Number above a thousand: a tenth of these 480
Are sent by Corinth, Sicyon and Mycenæ;
Sixty are Spartan, and king Agamemnon
Provides as many as these all told together.
Then from Ægina, Epidaurus, Argos,
And Tiryns Diomede brings eighty: Nestor
Ninety from Pylos; from Bœotia
Come eighty; Phocis and Phthiotis each
Send forty; Athens fifty; and Eubœa
Forty; from Salamis Ajax brings twelve;
Oilean Ajax with the Locrians 490
Forty more; from our neighbours in the west,
Dulichium and Ætolia, eighty sail;
Again as many from hundred-citied Crete
Under the king Idomeneus, and nine
From Rhodes: All these, with others that escape
My hasty summing, lie drawn up at Aulis.
’Tis such a sight as, I am bold to say,
If but your majesty could see it, would move you
To make a part of the splendour.

_Lyc._ Nay, I have seen them.

_Ab._ Your majesty hath been at Aulis?

_Lyc._ Nay, 500
Nor yet at Aulis: but the tale thou tellest
Coming unto my ears a month ago,
Some of my lords and I one idle morn
Crossed to Eubœa,—’tis a pleasure trip,
On a clear day scarce out of sight of home—
We landed ’neath Œchalia by noon,
And, crossing o’er the isle on mules, were lodged
That night at Chalcis. The next day at dawn
I played the spy. ’Twas such a breathless morning
When all the sound and motion of the sea 510
Is short and sullen, like a dreaming beast:
Or as ’twere mixed of heavier elements
Than the bright water, that obeys the wind.
Hiring a fishing-boat we bade the sailors
Row us to Aulis; when midway the straits,
The morning mist lifted, and lo, a sight
Unpicturable.—High upon our left
Where we supposed was nothing, suddenly
A tall and shadowy figure loomed: then two,
And three, and four, and more towering above us:
But whether poised upon the leaden sea 521
They stood, or floated in the misty air,
That baffling our best vision held entangled
The silver of the half-awakened sun,
Or whether near or far, we could not tell,
Nor what: at first I thought them rocks, but ere
That error could be told, they were upon us
Bearing down swiftly athwart our course; and all
Saw ’twas a fleet of ships, not three or four
Now, but unnumber’d: like a floating city, 530
If such could be, with walls and battlements
Spread on the wondering water: and now the sun
Broke thro’ the haze, and from the shields outhung
Blazed back his dazzling beams, and round their prows
On the divided water played; as still
They rode the tide in silence, all their oars
Stretched out aloft, as are the balanced wings
Of storm-fowl, which returned from battling flight
Across the sea, steady their aching plumes
And skim along the shuddering cliffs at ease: 540
So came they gliding on the sullen plain,
Out of the dark, in silent state, by force
Yet unexpended of their nightlong speed.
Those were the Cretan ships, who when they saw us
Hailed for a pilot, and of our native sailors
Took one aboard, and dipping all their oars
Passed on, and we with them, into the bay.
Then from all round, where the dark hulls were moored
Against the shore, and from the tents above
A shout of joy went up, re-echoing 550
From point to point; and we too cheered and caught
The zeal of that great gathering.—Where man is met
The gods will come; or shall I say man’s spirit
Hath operative faculties to mix
And make his gods at will? Howe’er that be,
Soon a swift galley shot out from the rest
To meet the comers. That was Agamemnon’s,
They told me; and I doubt not he was in it,
And gave his welcome to Idomeneus,
And took him to his tent. On such a day 560
Our little boat rowed where we would unmarked:
We were but Chalcian pilots. So I saw
Whate’er I wished to see, and came away
Across the strait that night, and the next day
Was home by sundown.

_Ab._ All this could you see
Without the wish to join?

_Lyc._ I say not that;
For wish I did that I was young again.
Then, sir, I would have left whate’er I had,
My kingdom to another, for the pride,
Of high place in such war; now I am old. 570

_Ab._ But older men than thou have joined us, sire.
War needs experience.

_Lyc._ Concerning war
I am divided in opinion, Abas:
But lean to think it hath a wholesome root
Supportive to our earthly habit. I see
The noblest beasts will love to fight, and man
Is body as well as spirit: his mind that’s set
In judgment o’er those twain must oft admit
The grosser part hath a preponderant claim.
But I regret this, and my discontent 580
Puts me this question, Shall man never come
To a better state with his desire? What think you?
What if our race yet young should with the time
Throw off the baser passions, as I find
Myself by age affected? I know not...
I have a little statue in my house,
Which, if you look on’t long, begets belief
Of absolute perfectionment; the artist
Should have been present when man’s clay was mixed.
Prometheus, or whoever ’twas that made us, 590
Had his head turned with natural history:
All excellent contrivance, but betraying
Commonness and complexity. Well! well!
No need of my philosophies in Scyros—
War must have motive, and the men I rule
Are simple and contented with their lot.
None in my land would wish an atom changed:
Were even Achilles here ’twould be no wonder
If he had caught our temper.

_Ab._ All men witness
To thy good rule, O king: but in the wars 600
Fame may be won.

_Lyc._ Nor do I ask for fame.
Come that to whom it will; to Agamemnon,
To Ajax or Ulysses or Achilles.

_Ab._ To Achilles no: ’tis not in the gods’ grace
To succour pigritude. To him, a lad,
The prize of honour above all the Greeks
Was offered: by the poor effeminacy
With which he hath rejected it, he is judged
Meanest of all. But since we cannot win
Without him, we must have him. Little glory 610
To him, except to be Fate’s dullest tool.

_Lyc._ Maybe. Now come we on. I had thought to find
My daughter and her train. I’ll take thee round
Another way to the palace: thither no doubt
She is now returned. [_Exeunt._

_Enter Achilles from the bushes._

_Ach._ Villain, I thank the gods that sent thee hither.
But thou wast near thy death. Walk off secure,
Not knowing that I heard. _Effeminate!
The meanest of the Greeks!_ were he the best,
I’d slay him in this garment. Yet he is but 620
A tongue to troll opinion of me, a slave,
Fetcher and carrier of others’ tales, and doth
The drudgery honestly; for that I’ll thank him
And profit by his slander. Ay, so I’ll do—
Now in good time—I’ll get me a man’s dress
And meet them here, ere they suspect me:—or, stay!
I can outwit them better. I’ll take a boat,
Cross o’er to Aulis, like good Lycomede,
This very night, and there to Agamemnon
Declare myself; and men shall never know 630
How I was hid, nor whence I came.

_Enter Thetis._

_Th._ My son!

_Ach._ My goddess mother, welcome! yet I am shamed
That thou shouldst find me thus.

_Th._ How art thou shamed?

_Ach._ This dress. O thou canst help me: thou art ready
At every need. And here hath been a man
Who, thinking not I heard, spake to the king
Of thy Achilles with such scorn, that I
Should have leaped forth upon him in my rage,
And strangled him, but that he seemed to be
Another’s servant. 640

_Th._ Then thou hast seen them, son?

_Ach._ Who are they?

_Th._ Those I came to warn thee of;
Ulysses and his friends. Knowst thou ’tis they
Are come unto the isle to seek thee?

_Ach._ Ay.
But thou art ready to outwit their wile.
As thou didst bring me hither on that night
When all thy nymphs, assembling ’neath the moon
Upon the Achæan shore, bore me away
Across the sea, even so to Aulis now
Convey me secretly, and set me there,
Ere men know whence I come.

_Th._ What hear I, son? 650
To Aulis? to thy foes?

_Ach._ A thousand ships
Moored idle in the bay wait but for me:
And round the shore the captains of the Greeks
Impatient in their tents but call for me.
Be they my foes to speak or wish me ill,
’Tis only that I come not. I must go.

_Th._ There let them tarry till the sea-worm bore
Their ships to rottenness; or, sail they forth,
Let them be butchered by the sword of Hector,
Ere thou be snared to serve their empty pride. 660

_Ach._ But louder than their need my honour calls:
Hast thou no thought of this in all thy love?

_Th._ Who then is honoured more or more desired
Than thou art now? but they, if once they had thee,
Would slight thee, and pretend they were the men.

_Ach._ But those are honoured best that hear their praise.

_Th._ Is not high Zeus himself, holding aloof,
Worshipped the more? Let the world say of thee,
When these have perished, that they went their way
Because the son of Thetis would not aid them. 670

_Ach._ But if ’twere said because he feared to die?

_Th._ Fearst thou reproach of fear that fearst not death?

_Ach._ I fear not, but by proof would shun reproach.

_Th._ Men, son, are what they are; and thou art brave.
’Tis asked of poor and questionable spirits
To prove their worth.

_Ach._ I prove myself a coward.

_Th._ How! when it needed heavenly prayers and tears,
The force of duty and a goddess’ will
To keep thee back from death! when all the joys
That I have set about thee, and a love 680
More beautiful than Helen’s cannot hold thee!

_Ach._ Fate, that from men hideth her pitiless face,
Offered to me this kindness, that my will
Should be of force in predetermined deeds:
Allowing me to take which life I would
Of two incomparable lots; I ever
Leaned one way, the other thou; and still at heart
I hold to my first choice.

_Th._ O child of man,
Though child of mine, wouldst thou know wisdom’s way,
Learn it of me. If I had said to thee 690
Thou being a mortal shouldst love death and darkness;
For in the brief date of thy heedless term
’Tis vain to strive with evil: and since the end
Cometh the same, and at the latest cometh
So soon, that there’s no difference to be told
’Twixt early and late, ’tis wisdom to despair:
Then would thy tongue have boldly answered me,
And said, Man hath his life; that it must end
Condemns it not for nought. Are rivers salt
Because they travel to the bitter sea? 700
Is the day dark because the gorgeous west
Must fade in gloom, when the ungazeable sun
Is fallen beneath the waves? Or hath the spring
No charm in her pavilions, are her floors
Not starred, for that we see her birth is slow
Of niggard winter, and her blossoms smirched
By summer’s tyranny? Hadst thou said this,
And that Earth’s changeful pride, the life of man,
Is exquisite in such a quality
To make the high gods envious could they guess:
Then had I found no answer: but when I 711
Told thee of joy, and set thee in the midst,
That thou shouldst argue with me that ’tis best
To die at once, and for an empty name
Pass to the trivial shades; then must I fear
I have as thankless and unwise a son,
As disobedient.—Yet when first I taught thee
Thou gav’st me promise to be wise.

_Ach._ But never
Wilt thou then free me from my promise given?

_Th._ Not to thy hurt. 720

_Ach._ See now what shame I bear!