The Two Lovers of Heaven: Chrysanthus and Daria A Drama of Early Christian Rome

ACT THE THIRD. Scene II. — The Wood. Enter Daria from the chase with bow and arrows. Daria. O stag that swiftly flying Before my feathered shafts the winds outvieing, Impelled by wings, not feet, If in this green retreat Here panting thou wouldst die, And stain with blood the fountain murmuring by, Await another wound, another friend, That so with quicker speed thy life may end; For to a wretch that stroke a friend must be That eases death and sooner sets life free. [ She stumbles and falls near the mouth of a cave. ] But, bless me, heaven! I feel My brain grow hot, my curdling blood congeal: A form of fire and snow I seem at once to turn: this sudden blow, This stumbling, how I know not, by this stone, This horrid mouth in which my grave is shown, This cave of many shapes, Through which the melancholy mountain gapes, This mountain's self, a vast Abysmal shadow cast Suddenly on my heart, as if 't were meant To be my rustic pyre, my strange new monument, All fill my heart with wonder and with fear, What buried mysteries are hidden here That terrify me so, And make me tremble 'neath impending woe. [ A solemn strain of music is heard from within. ] Nay more, illusion now doth bear to me The sweetest sounds of dulcet harmony, Music and voice combine:— O solitude! what phantasms are thine! But let me listen to the voice that blent Sounds with the music of the instrument. Music from within the cave. Song. Oh! be the day for ever blest, And blest be pitying heaven's decree, That makes the darksome cave to be Daria's tomb, her place of rest! Daria. Blest! can such evil auguries bless? And happy can that strange fate be That gives this darksome cave to me As monument of my sad life? Music. Yes. Daria. Oh! who before in actual woe The happier signs of bliss could read? Will not a fate so rigorous lead To misery, not to rapture?— Music. No. Daria. O fantasy! unwelcome guest! How can this cave bring good to me? Music. Itself will tell, when it shall be Daria's tomb, her place of rest. Daria. But then, who gave the stern decree, That this dark cave my bones should hide? Music. Daria, it was he who died, Who gave his life for love of thee. Daria. "Who gave his life for love of me!" Ah! me, and can it be in sooth That gentle noble Roman youth I answered with such cruelty In this same wood the other day, Saying that I his love would be If he would only die for me! Can he have cast himself away Down this dark cave, and there lies dead, Buried within the dread abyss, Waiting my love, his promised bliss?— My soul, not now mine own, has fled! Cynthia ( within ). Forward! forward! through the gloom Every cave and cavern enter, Search the dark wood to its centre, Lest it prove Daria's tomb. Daria. Ah! me, the sense confounding, Both here and there are opposite voices sounding. Here is my name in measured cadence greeted, And there in hollow echoes oft repeated. Would that the latter cries that reach my ear Came from my mates in this wild forest sphere, In the dread solitude that doth surround me Their presence would be welcome. [ Enter Cynthia with bow and arrows. ] Cynthia. Till I found me, Beauteous Daria, by thy side once more, Each mountain nook my search had well gone o'er. Daria ( aside ). Let me dissemble The terror and surprise that make me tremble, If I have power to feign Amid the wild confusion of my brain:— Following the chase to-day, Wishing Diana's part in full to play, So fair the horizon smiled, I left the wood and entered on the wild, Led by a wounded deer still on and on. And further in pursuit I would have gone, Nor had my swift career Even ended here, But for this mouth that opening in the rock, With horrid gape my vain attempt doth mock, And stops my further way. Cynthia. Until I found thee I was all dismay, Lest thou some savage beast, some monstrous foe, Hadst met. Daria ( aside ). Ah! would to Jove 't were so! And that my death in his wild hands had paid For future chastisement by fate delayed! But ah! the wish is vain, Foreboding horror fills my heart and brain, This mystic music borne upon the air Must surely augur ill. ( Enter Nisida. ) Nisida. Daria fair, And Cynthia wise, I come to seek ye two. Cynthia. Has any thing occurred or strange or new? Nisida. I scarce can tell it.  As I came along, I heard a man, in a clear voice and strong, Proclaiming as he went Through all the mountain a most strange event: Rome hath decreed Priceless rewards to her whose charms may lead Through lawful love and in an open way By public wedlock in the light of day, The son of proud Polemius from the state Of gloom in which his mind is sunk of late. Cynthia. And what can be the cause that he is so? Nisida. Ah! that I do not know, But yonder, leaving the Salarian Way, A Roman soldier hitherward doth stray: He may enlighten us and tell us all. Cynthia. Yes, let us know the truth, the stranger call. Daria ( aside ). Ah! how distinct the pain That presses on my heart, and dulls my wildered brain! ( Enter Escarpin. ) Nisida. Thou, O thou, whose wandering footsteps These secluded groves have entered . . . 9 Escarpin. Thou four hundred times repeated— Thou and all the thous, your servant. Nisida. Tell us of the proclamation Publicly to-day presented To the gaze of Rome. Escarpin. I 'll do so; For there 's nothing I love better Than a story ( aside, if to tell it In divine Daria's presence Does not put me out, for no one, When the loved one listens, ever Speaks his best): Polemius, Rome's great senator, whose bended Shoulders, like an Atlas, bear All the burden of the empire, By Numerian's self entrusted, He, this chief of Rome's great senate, Has a son, by name Chrysanthus, Who, as rumour goes, at present Is afflicted by a sadness So extreme and so excessive, That 't is thought to be occasioned By the magic those detested Christians (who abhor his house, And his father, who hath pressed them Heavily as judge and ruler) Have against his life effected, All through hatred of our gods. And so great is the dejection That he feels, there 's nothing yet Found to rouse him or divert him. Thus it is Numerianus, Who is ever well-affected To his father, hath proclaimed All through Rome, that whosoever Is so happy by her beauty, Or so fortunately clever By her wit, or by her graces Is so powerful, as to temper His affliction, since love conquers All things by his magic presence, He will give her (if a noble) As his wife, and will present her With a portion far surpassing All Polemius' self possesses, Not to speak of what is promised Him whose skill may else effect it. Thus it is that Rome to-day Laurel wreaths and crowns presenteth To its most renowned physicians, To its sages and its elders, And to wit and grace and beauty Joyous feasts and courtly revels; So that there is not a lady In all Rome, but thinks it certain That the prize is hers already, Since by all 't will be contested, Some through vanity, and some Through a view more interested: Even the ugly ones, I warrant, Will be there well represented. So with this, adieu.  ( Aside, Oh! fairest Nymph Daria, since I ventured Here to see thee, having seen thee Now, alas! I must absent me!)  [ Exit. Cynthia. What strange news! Nisida. There 's not a beauty But for victory will endeavour When among Rome's fairest daughters Such a prize shall be contested. Cynthia. Thus by showing us the value Thou upon the victory settest, We may understand that thou Meanest in the lists to enter. Nisida. Yes, so far as heaven through music Its most magic cures effecteth, Since no witchcraft is so potent But sweet music may dispel it. It doth tame the raging wild beast, Lulls to sleep the poisonous serpent, And makes evil genii, who Are revolted spirits—rebels— Fly in fear, and in this art I have always been most perfect: Wrongly would I act to-day, In not striving for the splendid Prize which will be mine, when I See myself the loved and wedded Wife of the great senator's son, And the mistress of such treasures. Cynthia. Although music is an art Which so many arts excelleth, Still in truth 't is but a sound Which the wanton air disperses. It the sweet child of the air In the air itself must perish. I, who in my studious reading Have such learnéd lore collected, Who in poetry, that art Which both teacheth and diverteth, May precedence claim o'er many Geniuses so prized at present, Can a surer victory hope for In the great fight that impendeth, Since the music of the soul Is what keeps the mind suspended. In one item, Nisida, We two differ: thy incentive Thy chief motive, is but interest: Mine is vanity, a determined Will no other woman shall Triumph o'er me in this effort, Since I wish that Rome should see That the glory, the perfection Of a woman is her mind, All her other charms excelling. Daria. Interest and vanity Are the two things, as you tell me, That, O Cynthia! can oblige thee, That, O Nisida, can compel thee To attempt this undertaking By so many risks attended. But I think you both are wrong, Since in this case, having heard that The affliction this man suffers Christian sorcery hath effected Through abhorrence of our gods, By that atheist sect detested, Neither of these feelings should Be your motive to attempt it. I then, who, for this time only Will believe these waves that tell me— These bright fountains—that the beauty Which so oft they have reflected Is unequalled, mean to lay it As an offering in the temple Of the gods, to show what little Strength in Christian sorcery dwelleth. Nisida. Then 't is openly admitted That we three the list will enter For the prize. Cynthia. And from this moment That the rivalry commences. Nisida. Voice of song, thy sweet enchantment On this great occasion lend me, That through thy soft influence Rank and riches I may merit.  [ Exit. Cynthia. Genius, offspring of the soul, Prove this time thou 'rt so descended, That thy proud ambitious hopes May the laurel crown be tendered.  [ Exit. Daria. Beauty, daughter of the gods, Now thy glorious birth remember: Make me victress in the fight, That the gods may live for ever.  [ Exit. Scene III. — A hall in the house of Polemius, opening at the end upon a garden. ( Enter Polemius and Claudius. ) Polemius. Is then everything prepared?— Claudius. Everything has been got ready As you ordered.  This apartment Opening on the garden terrace Has been draped and covered over With the costliest silks and velvets, Leaving certain spaces bare For the painter's magic pencil, Where, so cunning is his art, That it nature's self resembles. Flowers more fair than in the garden, Pinks and roses are presented: But what wonder when the fountains Still run after to reflect them?— All things else have been provided, Music, dances, gala dresses; And for all that, Rome yet knows not What in truth is here projected; 'T is a fair Academy, In whose floral halls assemble Beauty, wit, and grace, a sight That we see but very seldom. All the ladies too of Rome Have prepared for the contention With due circumspection, since As his wife will be selected She who best doth please him; thus There are none but will present them In these gardens, some to see him, Others to show off themselves here. Polemius. Oh, my Claudius, would to Jove That all this could dispossess me Of my dark foreboding fancies, Of the terrors that oppress me!— ( Enter Aurelius. ) Aurelius. Sir, a very learned physician Comes to proffer his best service To Chrysanthus, led by rumour Of his illness. Polemius. Bid him enter. [ Aurelius retires, and returns immediately with Carpophorus, disguised as a physician. ] Carpophorus ( aside ). Heaven, that I may do the work That this day I have attempted, Grant me strength a little while; For I know my death impendeth!— Mighty lord, thy victor hand, [ aloud. Let me kiss and kneeling press it. Polemius. Venerable elder, rise From the ground; thy very presence Gives me joy, a certain instinct Even at sight of thee doth tell me Thou alone canst save my son. Carpophorus. Heaven but grant the cure be perfect! Polemius. Whence, sir, art thou? Carpophorus. Sir, from Athens. Polemius. 'T is a city that excelleth All the world in knowledge. Carpophorus. There All are teachers, all are learners. The sole wish to be of use Has on this occasion led me From my home.  Inform me then How Chrysanthus is affected. Polemius. With an overwhelming sadness; Or to speak it more correctly (Since when we consult a doctor Even suspicions should be mentioned), He, my son, has been bewitched;— Thus it is these Christian perverts Take revenge through him on me: In particular an elder Called Carpophorus, a wizard . . . May the day soon come for vengeance! Carpophorus. May heaven grant it . . . ( aside, For that day I the martyr's crown may merit). Where at present is Chrysanthus? Polemius. He is just about to enter:— You can see him; all his ailment In the soul you 'll find is centered. Carpophorus. In the soul then I will cure him, If my skill heaven only blesses.  [ Music is heard from within. Claudius. That he 's leaving his apartment This harmonious strain suggesteth, Since to counteract his gloom He by music is attended. ( Enter Chrysanthus richly dressed, preceded by musicians playing and singing, and followed by attendants. ) Chrysanthus. Cease; my pain, perchance my folly, Cannot be by song diverted; Music is a power exerted For the cure of melancholy, Which in truth it but augmenteth. A Musician. This your father bade us do. Chrysanthus. 'T is because he never knew Pain like that which me tormenteth. For if he that pang incessant Felt, he would not wish to cure it, He would love it and endure it. Polemius. Think, my son, that I am present, And that I am not ambitious To assume your evil mood, But to find that it is good. Chrysanthus. No, sir, you mistake my wishes. I would not through you relieve me Of my care; my former state Seemed, though, more to mitigate What I suffer: why not leave me There to die? Polemius. That yet I may, Pitying your sad condition, Work your cure:—A great physician Comes to visit you to-day. Chrysanthus ( aside ). Who do I behold? ah, me! Carpophorus. I will speak to him with your leave. Chrysanthus ( aside ). No, my eyes do not deceive, 'T is Carpophorus that I see! I my pleasure must conceal. Carpophorus. Sir, of what do you complain? Chrysanthus. Since you come to cure my pain, I will tell you how I feel. A great sadness hath been thrown O'er my mind and o'er my feelings, A dark blank whose dim revealings Make their sombre tints mine own. Carpophorus. Can you any cause assign me Whence this sadness is proceeding? Chrysanthus. From my earliest years to reading Did my studious tastes incline me. Something thus acquired doth wake Doubts, and fears, and hopes, ah me! That the things I read may be. Carpophorus. Then from me this lesson take. Every mystery how obscure, Is explained by faith alone; All is clear when that is known: 'T is through faith I 'll work your cure. Since in that your healing lies, Take it then from me. Chrysanthus. From you I infer all good: that true Faith I hope which you advise. Carpophorus ( to Polemius ). Give me leave, sir, to address Some few words to him alone, Less reserve will then be shown.  ( The two retire to one side. Have you recognized me? Chrysanthus. Yes, Every sign shows you are he Who in my most perilous strait Fled and left me to my fate. Carpophorus. God did that; and would you see That it was His own work, say, If I did not then absent me Through His means, could I present me As your teacher here to-day? Chrysanthus. No. Carpophorus. How just His providence! Since I was preserved, that I Here might seek you, and more nigh Give you full intelligence Leisurely of every doubt Which disturbs you when you read. Chrysanthus. Mysteries they are indeed, Difficult to be made out. Carpophorus. To the believer all is plain. Chrysanthus. I would believe, what must I do?— Carpophorus. Your intellectual pride subdue. Chrysanthus. I will subdue it, since 't is vain. Carpophorus. Then the first thing to be done Is to be baptized. Chrysanthus. I bow, Father, and implore it now. Carpophorus. Let us for the present shun Further notice; lest suspicion Should betray what we would smother; Every day we 'll see each other, When I 'll execute my mission: I, to cure sin's primal scath, Will at fitting time baptize you, Taking care to catechise you In the principles of the faith; Only now one admonition Must I give; be armed, be ready For the fight most fierce and steady Ever fought for man's perdition; Oh! take heed, amid the advances Of the fair who wish to win you, 'Mid the fires that burn within you, 'Mid lascivious looks and glances, 'Mid such various foes enlisted, That you are not conquered by them. Chrysanthus. Women! oh! who dare defy them By such dread allies assisted? Carpophorus. He whom God assists. Chrysanthus. Be swayed By my tears, and ask him. Carpophorus. You Must too ask him: for he who Aids himself, him God doth aid. Polemius. What, sir, think you of his case? Carpophorus. I have ordered him a bath, Strong restoring powers it hath, Which his illness must displace:— Polemius. Sir, relying on you then, I will give you ample wealth, If you can restore his health. Carpophorus. Still I cannot tell you when, But I shall return and see him Frequently; in fact 'till he Is from all his ailment free, From my hand I will not free him. Polemius. For your kindness I am grateful. Chrysanthus. He alone has power to cure me. Since he knows what will allure me, When all other modes are hateful.  [ Exit Carpophorus. ( Enter Escarpin. ) Escarpin. All this garden of delight Must be beauty's birth-place sure, Here the fresh rose doubly pure, Here the jasmin doubly white, Learn to-day a newer grace, Lovelier red, more dazzling snow. Polemius. Why? Escarpin. Because the world doth show Naught so fair as this sweet place. Falsely boasts th' Elysian bower Peerless beauty, here to-day More, far more, these groves display:— Not a fountain, tree, or flower . . . Polemius. Well? Escarpin. But by a nymph more fair Is surpassed. Polemius. Come, Claudius, come, He will be but dull and dumb, Shy the proffered bliss to share, Through the fear and the respect Which, as son, he owes to me. Claudius. He who gave the advice should see Also after the effect. Let us all from this withdraw. Polemius. Great results I hope to gather: Escarpin ( aside ). Well, you 're the first pander-father Ever in my life I saw. Chrysanthus. What, Escarpin, you, as well, Going to leave me?  Mum for once. Escarpin. Silence suits me for the nonce. Chrysanthus. Why? Escarpin. A tale in point I 'll tell: Once a snuffler, by a pirate Moor was captured, who in some Way affected to be dumb, That his ransom at no high rate Might be purchased: when his owner This defect perceived, the shuffle Made him sell this Mr. Snuffle Very cheaply: to the donor Of his freedom, through his nose, Half in snuffle, half in squeak, Then he said, "Oh! Moor, I speak, I 'm not dumb as you suppose". "Fool, to let your folly lead you So astray", replied the Moor. "Had I heard you speak, be sure I for nothing would have freed you". Thus it is I moderate me In the use of tongue and cheek, Lest when you have heard me speak, Still more cheaply you may rate me. Chrysanthus. You must know the estimation I have held you in so long. Escarpin. Well, my memory is not strong. It requires consideration To admit that pleasant fact. Chrysanthus. What of me do people say?— Escarpin. Shall I speak it? Chrysanthus. Speak. Escarpin. Why, they Say, my lord, that you are cracked. Chrysanthus. For what reason?  Why this blame? Escarpin. Reason, sir, need not be had, For the wisest man is mad If he only gets the name. Chrysanthus. Well, it was not wrongly given, If they only knew that I Have consented even to die So to reach the wished-for heaven Of a sovereign beauty's favour. Escarpin. For a lady's favour you Have agreed to die? Chrysanthus. 'T is true. Escarpin. Does not this a certain savour Of insanity give your sadness? Chrysanthus. Were I certain as of breath I could claim it after death, There was method in my madness. Escarpin. A brave soldier of the line, On his death-bed lying ill, Spoke thus, "Item, 't is my will, Gallant friends and comrades mine, That you 'll bear me to my grave, And although I 've little wealth, Thirty reals to drink my health Shall you for your kindness have". Thus the hope as vain must be After death one's love to wed, As to drink one's health when dead. [ Nisida advances from the garden. ] Chrysanthus. But what maid is this I see Hither through the garden wending? Escarpin. If you take a stroll with me Plenty of her sort you 'll see. Nisida. One who would effect the ending Of thy sadness. Chrysanthus ( aside ). Now comes near thee, O my heart, thy threatened trial! Lady, pardon the denial, But I would nor see nor hear thee. Nisida. Not so ungallantly surely Wilt thou act, as not to see One who comes to speak with thee? Chrysanthus. To see one who thinks so poorly Of herself, and with such lightness Owns she comes to speak with me, Rather would appear to be Want of sense than of politeness. Nisida. All discourse is not so slight That thou need'st decline it so. Chrysanthus. No, I will not see thee, no. Thus I shut thee from my sight. Nisida. Vainly art thou cold and wise, Other senses thou shouldst fear, Since I enter by the ear, Though thou shut me from the eyes. Sings. "The blesséd rapture of forgetting Never doth my heart deserve, What my memory would preserve Is the memory I 'm regretting". Chrysanthus. That melting voice, that melody Spell-bound holds th' entrancéd soul. Ah! from such divine control Who his fettered soul could free?— Human Siren, leave me, go! Too well I feel its fatal power. I faint before it like a flower By warm-winds wooed in noontide's glow. The close-pressed lips the mouth can lock, And so repress the vain reply, The lid can veil th' unwilling eye From all that may offend and shock,— Nature doth seem a niggard here, Unequally her gifts disposing, For no instinctive means of closing She gives the unprotected ear. ( Enter Cynthia. ) Cynthia. Since then the ear cannot be closed, And thou resistance need'st not try, Listen to the gloss that I On this sweet conceit composed: "The blesséd rapture of forgetting Never doth my heart deserve; What my memory would preserve Is the memory I 'm regretting". When Nature from the void obscure Her varied world to life awakes, All things find use and so endure:— Thus she a poison never makes Without its corresponding cure: Each thing of Nature's careful setting, Each plant that grows in field or grove Hath got its opposite flower or weed; The cure is with the pain decreed; Thus too is found for feverish love The blesséd rapture of forgetting. The starry wonders of the night, The arbiters of fate on high, Nothing can dim:  To see their light Is easy, but to draw more nigh The orbs themselves, exceeds our might. Thus 't is to know, and only know, The troubled heart, the trembling nerve, To sweet oblivion's blank may owe Their rest, but, ah! that cure of woe Never doth my heart deserve. Then what imports it that there be, For all the ills of heart or brain, A sweet oblivious remedy, If it, when 't is applied to me, Fails to cure me of my pain? Forgetfulness in me doth serve No useful purpose: But why fret My heart at this?  Do I deserve, Strange contradiction! to forget What my memory would preserve? And thus my pain in straits like these, Must needs despise the only sure Remedial means of partial ease— That is—to perish of the cure Rather than die of the disease. Then not in wailing or in fretting, My love, accept thy fate, but let This victory o'er myself, to thee Bring consolation, pride, and glee, Since what I wish not to forget Is the memory I 'm regretting. Chrysanthus. 'T is not through the voice alone Music breathes its soft enchantment. 10 All things that in concord blend Find in music their one language. Thou with thy delicious sweetness [ To Nisida ] Host my heart at once made captive;— Thou with thy melodious verses [ To Cynthia ] Hast my very soul enraptured. Ah! how subtly thou dost reason! Ah! how tenderly thou chantest! Thou with thy artistic skill, Thou with thy clear understanding. But what say I?  I speak falsely, For you both are sphinxes rather, Who with flattering words seduce me But to ruin me hereafter:— Leave me; go: I cannot listen To your wiles. Nisida. My lord, oh! hearken To my song once more. Cynthia. Wait! stay! Nisida. Why thus treat with so much harshness Those who mourn thy deep dejection? Escarpin. Oh! how soon they 'd have an answer If they asked of me these questions. I know how to treat such tattle: Leave them, sir, to me. Chrysanthus. My senses 'Gainst their lures I must keep guarded: They are crocodiles, but feigning Human speech, so but to drag me To my ruin, my destruction. Nisida. Since my voice will still attract thee, 'T is of little use to fly me. Cynthia. Though thou dost thy best to guard thee, While I gloss the words she singeth To my genius thou must hearken. Chrysanthus ( aside. ) God whom I adore! since I Help myself, Thy help, oh! grant me! Nisida. "Ah! the joy" . . . . ( she becomes confused. But what is this? Icy torpor coldly fastens On my hands; the lute drops from me, And my very breath departeth. Cynthia. Since she cannot sing; then listen To this subtle play of fancy: "Love, if thou 'rt my god" . . . . ( she becomes confused. But how, What can have my mind so darkened What my memory so confuses, What my voice can so embarrass? Nisida. I am turned to frost and fire, I am changed to living marble. Cynthia. Frozen over is my breast, And my heart is cleft and hardened. Chrysanthus. Thus to lose your wits, ye two, What can have so strangely happened? Escarpin. Being poets and musicians, Quite accounts, sir, for their absence. Nisida. Heavens! beneath the noontide sun To be left in total darkness! Cynthia. In an instant, O ye heavens! O'er your vault can thick clouds gather? Nisida. 'Neath the contact of my feet Earth doth tremble, and I stagger. Cynthia. Mountains upon mountains seem On my shoulders to be balanced. Escarpin. So it always is with those Who make verses, or who chant them. Chrysanthus. Of the one God whom I worship These are miracles, are marvels. ( Enter Daria. ) Daria. Here, Chrysanthus, I have come . . . Nisida. Stay, Daria. Cynthia. Stay, 't is rashness Here to come, for, full of wonders, Full of terrors is this garden. Escarpin. Do not enter: awful omens Threat'ning death await thy advent. Nisida. By my miseries admonished . . . . Cynthia. By my strange misfortune startled . . . Nisida. Flying from myself, I leave This green sphere, dismayed, distracted. Cynthia. Without soul or life I fly, Overwhelmed by this enchantment. Nisida. Oh! how dreadful! Cynthia. Oh! how awful! Nisida. Oh! the horror! Cynthia. Oh! the anguish!  [ Exeunt Cynthia and Nisida. ] Escarpin. Mad with jealousy and rage Have the tuneful twain departed. Daria ( aside ). Chastisements for due offences Do not fright me, do not startle, For if they through arrogance And ambition sought this garden, Me the worship of the gods Here has led, and so I 'm guarded 'Gainst all sorceries whatsoever, 'Gainst all forms of Christian magic:— Art thou then Chrysanthus? Chrysanthus. Yes. Daria. Not confused or troubled, rather With a certain fear I see thee, For which I have grounds most ample. Chrysanthus. Why? Daria. Because I thought thou wert One who in a darksome cavern Died to show thy love for me. Chrysanthus. I have yet been not so happy As to have a chance, Daria, Of thus proving my attachment. Daria. Be that so, I 've come to seek thee, Confident, completely sanguine, That I have the power to conquer, I alone, thy pains, thy anguish; Though against me thou shouldst use The Christian armoury—enchantments. Chrysanthus. That thou hast alone the power To subdue the pains that wrack me, I admit it; but in what Thou hast said of Christian magic I, Daria, must deny it. Daria. How? from what cause else could happen The effects I just have witnessed? Chrysanthus. Miracles they are and marvels. Daria. Why do they affect not me? Chrysanthus. 'T is because I do not ask them Against thee; because from aiding Not myself, no aid is granted. Daria. Then I come here to undo them. Chrysanthus. Most severe will be the battle, Upon one side their due praises On the other side thy anger. Daria. I would have thee understand That our gods are sorely damaged By thy sentiments. Chrysanthus. And I That those gods are false—mere phantoms. Daria. Then get ready for the conflict, For I will not lower my standard Save with victory or death. Chrysanthus. Though thou makest me thy captive, Thou my firmness wilt not conquer. Daria. Then to arms! I say, to arms, then! Chrysanthus. Though the outposts of the soul, The weak heart, by thee be captured; Not so will the Understanding, The strong warden who doth guard it. Daria. Thou 'lt believe me, if thou 'lt love me. Chrysanthus. Thou not me, 'till love attracts thee. Daria. That perhaps may be; for I Would not give thee this advantage. Chrysanthus. Oh! that love indeed may lead thee To a state so sweet and happy! Daria. Oh! what power will disabuse thee Of thy ignorance, Chrysanthus? Chrysanthus. Oh! what pitying power, Daria, Will the Christian faith impart thee? ACT THE THIRD. Scene I. — The Garden of Polemius. Enter Polemius, Aurelius, Claudius, and Escarpin. Polemius. All my house is in confusion, Full of terrors, full of horrors; 11 Ah! how true it is a son Is the source of many sorrows!— Claudius. But, my lord, reflect . . . Escarpin. Consider . . . Think . . . Polemius. Why think, when misery follows?— Cease: you add to my affliction, And in no way bring me solace. Since you see that in his madness He is now more firm and constant, Falling sick of new diseases, Ere he 's well of old disorders: Since one young and beauteous maiden, Whom love wished to him to proffer, Free from every spot and blemish, Pure and perfect in her fondness, Is the one whose fatal charms Give to him such grief and torment, That each moment he may perish, That he may expire each moment; How then can you hope that I Now shall list to words of comfort?— Claudius. Why not give this beauteous maiden To your son to be his consort, Since you see his inclination? Polemius. For this reason: when the project I proposed, the two made answer, That before they wed, some problem, Some dispute that lay between them Should be settled: this seemed proper: But when I would know its nature I could not the cause discover. From this closeness I infer That some secret of importance Lies between them, and that this Is the source of all my sorrows. Aurelius. Sir, my loyalty, my duty Will not let me any longer Silence keep, too clearly seeing How the evil has passed onward. On that day we searched the mountain. . . . Polemius ( aside ). Woe is me! could he have known then All this time it was Chrysanthus? Aurelius. I approaching, where with shoulders Turned against me stood one figure, Saw the countenance of another, And methinks he was . . . Polemius ( aside ). Ye gods! Yes, he saw him! help! support me! Aurelius. The same person who came hither Lately in the garb of a doctor, Who to-day to cure Chrysanthus Such unusual treatment orders. Do you ascertain if he Is Carpophorus; let no portent Fright you, on yourself rely, And you 'll find that all will prosper. Polemius. Thanks, Aurelius, for your warning, Though 't is somewhat tardily offered. Whether you are right or wrong, I to-day will solve the problem. For the sudden palpitation Of my heart that beats and throbbeth 'Gainst my breast, doth prove how true Are the suspicions that it fostered. And if so, then Rome will see Such examples made, such torments, That one bleeding corse will show Wounds enough for myriad corses.  [ Exeunt Aurelius and Polemius. Claudius. Good Escarpin . . . Escarpin. Sir. Claudius. I know not How to address you in my sorrow. Do you say that Cynthia was One of those not over-modest Beauties who to court Chrysanthus Hither came, and who (strange portent!) Had some share of his bewitchment In the stupor that came on them? Escarpin. Yes, sir, and what 's worse, Daria Was another, thus the torment That we both endure is equal, If my case be not the stronger, Since to love her would be almost Less an injury than to scorn her. Claudius. Well, I will not quarrel with you On the point (for it were nonsense) Whether one should feel more keenly Love or hate, disdain or fondness Shown to one we love; enough 'T is to me to know, that prompted Or by vanity or by interest, She came hither to hold converse With him, 't is enough to make me Lose the love I once felt for her. Escarpin. Sir, two men, one bald, one squint-eyed, Met one day . . . Claudius. What, on your hobby? A new story? Escarpin. To tell stories, Sir, is not my forte, 'pon honour:— Though who would n't make a hazard When the ball is over the pocket?— Claudius. Well, I do not care to hear it. Escarpin. Ah, you know it then: Another Let me try: A friar once . . . Stay though, I have quite forgotten There are no friars yet in Rome: Well, once more: a fool . . . Claudius. A blockhead Like yourself, say: cease. Escarpin. Ah, sir, My poor tale do n't cruelly shorten. While the sacristan was blowing . . . Claudius. Why, by heaven! I 'll kill you, donkey. Escarpin. Hear me first, and kill me after. Claudius. Was there ever known such folly As to think 'mid cares so grave I could listen to such nonsense?  ( exit. [ Enter Chrysanthus and Daria, at opposite sides. ] Daria ( to herself ). O ye gods, since my intention Was in empty air to scatter All these prodigies and wonders Worked in favour of Chrysanthus By the Christians' sorcery, why, Having you for my copartners, Do I not achieve a victory Which my beauty might make facile? Chrysanthus. O ye heavens, since my ambition Was to melt Daria's hardness, And to bring her to the knowledge Of one God who works these marvels, Why, so pure is my intention, Why, so zealous and so sanguine, Does not easy victory follow, Due even to my natural talent? Daria ( aside ). He is here, and though already Even to see him, to have parley With him, lights a living fire In my breast, which burns yet glads me, Yet he must confess my gods, Ere I own that I am vanquished. Chrysanthus ( aside ). She comes hither, and though I By her beauty am distracted, Still she must become a Christian Ere a wife's dear name I grant her. Daria ( aside ). Venus, to my beauty give Power to make of him my vassal. Chrysanthus ( aside ). Grant, O Lord, unto my tongue Words that may dispel her darkness. Daria ( aside ). To come near him makes me tremble. Chrysanthus ( aside ). To address her, quite unmans me:— Not in vain, O fair Daria, ( aloud. Does the verdure of this garden, When it sees thee pass, grow young As beneath spring's dewy spangles; Not in vain, since though 't is evening, Thou a new Aurora dazzleth, That the birds in public concert Hail thee with a joyous anthem; Not in vain the streams and fountains, As their crystal current passes, Keep melodious time and tune With the bent boughs of the alders; The light movement of the zephyrs As athwart the flowers they 're wafted, Bends their heads to see thee coming, Then uplifts them to look after. Daria. These fine flatteries, these fine phrases Make me doubt of thee, Chrysanthus. He who gilds the false so well, Must mere truth find unattractive. Chrysanthus. Hast thou then such little faith In my love? Daria. Thou needst not marvel. Chrysanthus. Why? Daria. Because no more of faith Doth a love deserve that acteth Such deceptions. Chrysanthus. What deceptions? Daria. Are not those enough, Chrysanthus, That thou usest to convince me Of thy love, of thy attachment, When my first and well-known wishes Thou perversely disregardest? Is it possible a man So distinguished for his talents, So illustrious in his blood, Such a favourite from his manners, Would desire to ruin all By an error so unhappy, And for some delusive dream See himself abhorred and branded? Chrysanthus. I nor talents, manners, blood, Would be worthy of, if madly I denied a Great First Cause, Who made all things, mind and matter, Time, heaven, earth, air, water, fire, Sun, moon, stars, fish, birds, beasts, Man then. Daria. Did not Jupiter, then, make heaven, Where we hear his thunders rattle? Chrysanthus. No, for if he could have made Heaven, he had no need to grasp it For himself at the partition, When to Neptune's rule he granted The great sea, and hell to Pluto;— Then they were ere all this happened. 12 Daria. Is not Ceres the earth, then? Chrysanthus. No. Since she lets the plough and harrow Tear its bosom, and a goddess Would not have her frame so mangled. Daria. Tell me, is not Saturn time? Chrysanthus. He is not, though he dispatcheth All the children he gives birth to; To a god no crimes should happen. Daria. Is not Venus the air? Chrysanthus. Much less, Since they say that she was fashioned From the foam, and foam, we know, Cannot from the air be gathered. Daria. Is not Neptune the sea? Chrysanthus. As little, For inconstancy were god's mark then. Daria. Is not the sun Apollo? Chrysanthus. No. Daria. The moon Diana? Chrysanthus. All mere babble. They are but two shining orbs Placed in heaven, and there commanded To obey fixed laws of motion Which thy mind need not embarrass. How can these be called the gods— Gods adulterers and assassins! Gods who pride themselves for thefts, And a thousand forms of badness, If the ideas God and Sin Are opposed as light to darkness?— With another argument I would further sift the matter. Let then Jupiter be a god, In his own sphere lord and master: Let Apollo be one also: Should Jove wish to hurl in anger Down his red bolts on the world, And Apollo would not grant them, He the so-called god of fire; From the independent action Of the two does it not follow One of them must be the vanquished? Then they cannot be called gods, Gods whose wills are counteracted. One is God whom I adore . . . And He is, in fine, that martyr Who has died for love of thee!— Since then, thou hast said, so adverse Was thy proud disdain, one only Thou couldst love with love as ardent Almost as his own, was he Who would . . . Daria. Oh! proceed no farther, Hold, delay thee, listen, stay, Do not drive my brain distracted, Nor confound my wildered senses, Nor convulse my speech, my language, Since at hearing such a mystery All my strength appears departed. I do not desire to argue With thee, for, I own it frankly, I am but an ignorant woman, Little skilled in such deep matters. In this law have I been born, In it have been bred: the chances Are that in it I shall die: And since change in me can hardly Be expected, for I never At thy bidding will disparage My own gods, here stay in peace. Never do I wish to hearken To thy words again, or see thee, For even falsehood, when apparelled In the garb of truth, exerteth Too much power to be disregarded.  [ Exit. Chrysanthus. Stay, I cannot live without thee, Or, if thou wilt go, the magnet Of thine eye must make me follow. All my happiness is anchored There.  Return, Daria. . . . ( Enter Carpophorus. ) Carpophorus. Stay. Follow not her steps till after You have heard me speak. Chrysanthus. What would you? Carpophorus. I would reprimand your lapses, Seeing how ungratefully You, my son, towards me have acted. Chrysanthus. I ungrateful! Carpophorus. You ungrateful, Yes, because you have abandoned, Have forgotten God's assistance, So effectual and so ample. Chrysanthus. Do not say I have forgotten Or abandoned it, wise master, Since my memory to preserve it Is as 't were a diamond tablet. Carpophorus. Think you that I can believe you, If when having in this garment Sought you out to train and teach you, In the Christian faith and practice, Until deep theology You most learnedly have mastered; If, when having seen your progress, Your attention and exactness, I in secret gave you baptism, Which its mark indelibly stampeth; You so great a good forgetting, You for such a bliss so thankless, With such shameful ease surrender To this love-dream, this attachment? Did it strike you not, Chrysanthus, To that calling how contrasted Are delights, delirious tumults, Are love's transports and its raptures, Which you should resist?  Recall too, Can you not? the aid heaven granted When you helped yourself, and prayed for Its assistance: were you not guarded By it when a sweet voice sung, When a keen wit glowed and argued, When the instrument was silenced, When the tongue was forced to stammer, Until now, when with free will You succumb to the enchantment Of one fair and fatal face, Which hath done to you such damage That 't will work your final ruin, If the trial longer lasteth?— Chrysanthus. Oh! my father, oh! my teacher, Hear me, for although the charges Brought against me thus are heavy, Still I to myself have ample Reasons for my exculpation. Since you taught me, you, dear master, That the union of two wills In our law is well established. Be not then displeased, Carpophorus . . . ( Aside. ) Heavens! what have I said?  My father! ( Enter Polemius. ) Polemius ( aside ). Ah! this name removes all doubt. But I must restrain my anger, And dissemble for the present, If such patience Jove shall grant me:— How are you to-day, Chrysanthus?  ( aloud. Chrysanthus. Sir, my love and duty cast them Humbly at your feet: ( aside, Thank heaven, That he heard me not, this calmness Cannot be assumed). Polemius. I value More than I can say your manner Towards my son, so kind, so zealous For his health. Carpophorus. Heaven knows, much farther Even than this is my ambition, Sir, to serve you: but the passions Of Chrysanthus are so strong, That my skill they overmaster. Polemius. How? Carpophorus. Because the means of cure He perversely counteracteth. Chrysanthus. Ah! sir, no, I 've left undone Nothing that you have commanded. Carpophorus. No, not so, his greatest peril He has rashly disregarded. Polemius. I implicitly can trust you, Of whose courage, of whose talents I have been so well informed, That I mean at once to grant them The reward they so well merit. Carpophorus. Sir, may heaven preserve and guard you. Polemius. Come with me; for I desire That you should from my apartments Choose what best doth please you; I Do not doubt you 'll find an ample Guerdon for your care. Carpophorus. To be Honoured in this public manner Is my best reward. Polemius ( aside ). The world Shall this day a dread example Of my justice see, transcending All recorded in time's annals.  ( Exeunt Polemius and Carpophorus. ) Chrysanthus. Better than I could have hoped for Has it happened, since my father Shows by his unruffled face That his name he has not gathered. What more evidence can I wish for Than to see the gracious manner In which he conducts him whither His reward he means to grant him? Oh! that love would do as much In the fears and doubts that rack me, Since I cannot wed Daria, And be faithful to Christ's banner. ( Enter Daria. ) Daria ( aside ). Tyrant question which methought Timely flight alone could answer, Once again, against my will To his presence thou dost drag me. Chrysanthus ( aside ). But she comes again: let sorrow Be awhile replaced by gladness:— Ah! Daria, so resolved 13 ( aloud, Not to see or hear me more, Art thou here? Daria. Deep pondering o'er, As the question I revolved, I would have the mystery solved: 'T is for that I 'm here, then see It is not to speak with thee. Chrysanthus. Speak, what doubt wouldst thou decide? Daria. Thou hast said a God once died Through His boundless love to me: Now to bring thee to conviction Let me this one strong point try . . . Chrysanthus. What? Daria. To be a God, and die, Doth imply a contradiction. And if thou dost still deny To my god the name divine, And reject him in thy scorn For beginning, I opine, If thy God could die, that mine Might as easily be born. Chrysanthus. Thou dost argue with great skill, But thou must remember still, That He hath, this God of mine, Human nature and divine, And that it has been His will As it were His power to hide— God made man—man deified— When this sinful world He trod, Since He was not born as God, And it was as man He died. Daria. Does it not more greatness prove, As among the beauteous stars, That one deity should be Mars, And another should be Jove, Than this blending God above With weak man below?  To thee Does not the twin deity Of two gods more power display, Than if in some mystic way God and man conjoined could be? Chrysanthus. No, I would infer this rather, If the god-head were not one, Each a separate course could run: But the untreated Father, But the sole-begotten Son, But the Holy Spirit who Ever issues from the two, Being one sole God, must be One in power and dignity:— Until thou dost hold this true, Till thy creed is that the Son Was made man, I cannot hear thee, Cannot see thee or come near thee, Thee and death at once to shun. Daria. Stay, my love may so be won, And if thou wouldst wish this done, Oh! explain this mystery! What am I to do, ah! me, That my love may thus be tried? Carpophorus ( within ). Seek, O soul! seek Him who died Solely for the love of thee. Chrysanthus. All that I could have replied Has been said thus suddenly By this voice that, sounding near, Strikes upon my startled ear Like the summons of my death. Daria. Ah! what frost congeals my breath, Chilling me with icy fear, As I hear its sad lament: Whence did sound the voice?  [ Enter Polemius and soldiers. Polemius. From here: 'T is, Chrysanthus, my intent Thus to place before thy sight— Thus to show thee in what light I regard thy restoration Back to health, the estimation In which I regard the wight Who so skilfully hath cured thee. A surprise I have procured thee, And for him a fit reward: Raise the curtain, draw the cord, See, 't is death!  If this . . . ( A curtain is drawn aside, and Carpophorus is seen beheaded, the head being at some distance from the body. ) Chrysanthus. I freeze!— Polemius. Is the cure of thy disease, What must that disease have been! 'T is Carpophorus. . . . Daria. Dread scene! Polemius. He who with false science came Not to give thee life indeed, But that he himself should bleed:— That thy fate be not the same, Of his mournful end take heed: Do not thou that dost survive, My revenge still further drive, Since the sentence seems misread— The physician to be dead, And the invalid alive.— Chrysanthus. It were cruelty extreme, It were some delirious dream, That could see in this the cure Of the ill that I endure. Polemius. It to him did pity seem, Seemed the sole reward that he Asked or would receive from me: Since when dying, he but cried . . The Head of Carpophorus. Seek, O soul! seek Him who died Solely for the love of thee!— Chrysanthus. What a portent! Daria. What a wonder! Escarpin. Jove! my own head splits asunder!— Polemius. Even though severed, in it dwells Still the force of magic spells. Chrysanthus. Sir, it were a fatal blunder To be blind to this appalling Tragedy you wrong by calling The result of spells—no spells Are such signs, but miracles Outside man's experience falling. He came here because he yearned With his pure and holy breath To give life, and so found death. 'T is a lesson that he learned— 'T is a recompense he earned— Seeing what his Lord could do, Being to his Master true: Kill me also: He had one Bright example: shall I shun Death in turn when I have two? Polemius. I, in listening to thy raving, Scarce can calm the wrath thou 'rt braving. Dead ere now thou sure wouldst lie, Didst thou not desire to die. Chrysanthus. Father, if the death I 'm craving . . . Polemius. Speak not thus: no son I know. Chrysanthus. Not to thee I spoke, for though Humanly thou hast that name, Thou hast forfeited thy claim: I that sweet address now owe Unto him whose holier aim Kindled in my heart a flame Which shall there for ever glow, Woke within me a new soul That thou 'rt powerless to control— Generated a new life Safe against thy hand or knife: Him a father's name I give Who indeed has made me live, Not to him whose tyrant will Only has the power to kill. Therefore on this dear one dead, On this pallid corse laid low, Lying bathed in blood and snow, By this lifeless lodestone led, I such bitter tears shall shed, That my grief . . .

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