Circe

Whither now, fate-worn wanderer, whither tending

Thread’st thou the dim paths of this briery steep?

What region holds thee or perchance what guile

Lurks in its mazy folds, wouldst thou not prove?—

Ere to that dome ascending, where in foul sties

Thy luckless comrades grovel now and groan,

To swinish shape by the enchantress changed!

[As the god speaks he withdraws his hand and indicates the direction of the palace. Ulysses recoils slightly at the last words of Mercury.]

One only, so minded that in Circe’s song

He read the bane it glozed, did value well

His safety and proclaim’d their loss.—Whom thou

Aimest forsooth to rescue and redeem!

Rather methinks the porcine couch to share

With them and vanish from men, came not

Some guardian hand between.—But lo! there grows

An antidote—a good drug, that shall check

The baleful magic of her potions.

[Mercury pulls from the ground, moving aside the undergrowth which concealed it, a small plant and shows it to Ulysses.]

See!

Black at the root, milk-white the flower; ’tis moly:

So to the immortals known; of men, scarce found.

[Ulysses receives the herb from the hand of the god with an air of profound attention and a shade of wonder.]

Now may thy steps to yon weird mansion mount

And tread its halls unscathed, Ulysses, if

My mandate thou shalt heed and ponder well.

[Ulysses shifts his attentive regard from the plant in his hand to the speaker.]

Her song will thrill thee, but the transforming spell

Shall break before the potent herb thou holdest.

Undaunted wilt thou enter; nor be shamed

If thy quick pulses bound when Circe’s glance

Encounters thine, and the soft audible charm

Of low-voiced invitation laps thee round.

Thou may’st admire and still be master. Straight

With her own hand a fragrant wine-cup filling,

When by her side she thrones thee, she will proffer

And bid thee drink—it is the poison’d chalice.

Yet quaff thou undismay’d, Ulysses. Then,

So soon’t is swallow’d and thyself unchanged,

Her magic wand wielded in vain, draw thou

Swiftly thy sword and rush as if to slay

At the enchantress with high-threatening blade.

[Ulysses’ look of wonderment increases as Mercury pauses.]

The issue thou wilt mark. But let not pity

Nor the new spell of female blandishment

O’ercome thy senses or disarm thy hand,

Ere to its mastery yet once more she yields

And their true forms to thy changed mates restores.

Ulysses

O gracious Helper, it is thy spirit that guides

Where eye of mortal swerves: to whom full oft

We pour’d thank-offering at the banquet’s close.

Mercury

Who himself well bethinks, the gods assist.

Of drugs and arts uncanny mere human prudence

Compasseth not, Ulysses, sure defeat.—

But in her craft once baffled, ’tis with the woman,

No more the enchantress, thou wilt deal thereafter.

Nor are those powers to be despised, which oft

Compel a conqueror’s fealty and confuse

The sober aims of confident wisdom.

[While Ulysses again looks down reflectively at the plant he holds Mercury suddenly disappears. Ulysses, looking up and seeing the god no longer, throws a keen glance in the direction of the wall. He then tastes and swallows a morsel of the herb; and as he moves on and goes out at the Left with firm step the music of Circe’s song is faintly heard behind the scenes.]

IX

The same as Scenes II and IV. The banquet-hall. The common chairs have been removed. There are cups and a bowl on the table at the Right. The Enchantress and her three nymphs are in their usual places when the curtain rises: Circe sitting; Philinna and Thermia standing; Myrto seated at her wheel which she turns slowly. The attitude of the persons is one of expectancy. In a moment Circe, without turning her face, signs to Myrto with her left hand while with the right she draws the wand on the table nearer. The wheel ceases to revolve.

Circe

Now Thermia!

[Thermia throws open the door behind the dais. An instant later Ulysses enters, slowly but unhesitatingly, pausing as he stands on the platform exactly where Mercury stood in Scene II. His look is directed straight at the Enchantress. His right arm is crossed downward upon his breast, the hand under the mantle. A trace of wonder or fascination passes over his face on meeting Circe’s gaze, while a similar feeling of surprise is for a moment betrayed by her also. As she speaks she rises from her chair.]

Circe

Welcome, sir leader!

[Ulysses bows slightly. He does not remove his helmet.]

Thou art

Too far by thine own men outstripp’d, even though

Their famish’d weary members sought repose

Prompt and appropriate.

[Ulysses bends his look more sternly upon the speaker.]

Pray advance; and take

From our own hand, though proffer’d late,

Cordial refreshment.

[He moves slowly forward. Philinna draws well back the throne of Circe and presents the other one. With a gracious gesture Circe waves Ulysses toward the second throne. He passes in front of her and seats himself. She sits again, served by Philinna.]

Thy silence augurs much

Of rude unfriendly greetings and rebuff

Elsewhere.

[While speaking she fills a beaker from the bowl.]

But here are restful words and welcome

Right hospitable.

[Her right hand closes firmly over the wand, while with the left she presents the cup.]

So drink and be at peace!

[Still keeping his eye fixed upon Circe, Ulysses raises the cup to his lips and drains it. Immediately the gracious look of the Enchantress changes. Rising partly in her seat and bending forward, she strikes him smartly with her wand and holds it threateningly as she speaks.]

Circe

Hence to the sty! Go, join thy wallowing mates!

[Instantly, feeling that the potion has not harmed him, Ulysses springs erect, swiftly draws his sword and raising it aloft rushes upon the Enchantress as if to kill her. With a loud cry she starts back, causing the throne to slide away behind her; then dropping her wand she springs forward under the threatening sword-arm in suppliant attitude. Philinna, at first shrinking back in terror, directly as Circe falls at Ulysses’ feet follows her; and kneeling, shelters her mistress’ head with her right arm, while the left is raised in deprecating gesture. At the same time Thermia starts a step forward with her right hand lifted, the left pressed to her bosom. Myrto, after a first look of alarm, reaches behind her and throws open the Left rear door, where Mikkos appears. He seems excited. Myrto seizes his chain. At the Right rear entrance, Graea is seen glaring furtively into the room.—Circe speaks as Ulysses seems to hesitate to strike the fatal blow.]

Circe

What man art thou? What mortal hath this wonder

Unheard of wrought, these potions to abide?

For never, never did other lips unblighted

Press the drugg’d bowl, save thine!—Ah, yes; ’twas true:

Ulysses thou art, whom Mercury foretold,

From Trojan field thy lone bark homeward steering.

He, he hath found thee moly! And I thought

It were Eurylochus, whom his followers named;

The craven, the woman-hater!

[Ulysses lowers his weapon, still grasping it firmly. His stern look relaxes slightly as Circe and Philinna, kneeling, lift their faces to him with aspect softened to the expression of pleading. Thermia steps nearer, intently observing the scene; while Graea, entering the room, and Myrto, holding Mikkos’ chain, also move slightly forward. At this juncture all of the persons have come to form nearly a single group.]

Circe

O Ulysses!

Thrice valiant, thrice in wisdom proved, not thee

Would Circe in foul brutal shape behold;

But as thou art!—Return, return thy sword

To its safe cover!

[Ulysses steps back a pace, and Circe rises to her feet, holding the hand of Philinna who has risen first.]

What use have we for war,

Whom fate and fortune fashion’d to be friends?

[With deliberation Ulysses sheathes his sword, falling back still farther. Circe and Philinna move forward toward him.]

Thermia

Happy are they who find a friend in Circe,

Sir stranger!

[His countenance remains unmoved as he divides his attention between Circe and Thermia after a suspicious glance at Mikkos and Graea.]

Circe

Nay, doubt not, but be refresh’d!

[She signs to Thermia, who shows Ulysses to the throne which Mercury had occupied in Scene II. As he sits he doffs his helmet, which Thermia receives and hangs upon the wall. Circe resumes her seat. She speaks while Thermia serves Ulysses at the other table.]

And be thy mind at rest. No more of drifting

On the dark seas; sure knowledge shall illume

The pathways of thy homeward voyage, Ulysses.

[A pause. With troubled look he barely tastes what is set before him.]

Ah, weary heart! why thus

Sit’st thou all-speechless, tasting not the food

Set guileless by thy hand? Believ’st thou not

My plain assurance and changed mood? Dost hold

The word of Circe in no honor because

With cunning art she baffles and disarms

The unworthy false petitioner?

Ulysses

Fair Circe, dread enchantress, what true man

Could eat and be at comfort, whilst he knows

His trusty comrades lie imprison’d, bent low

To bestial habit?—Nay, if thy alter’d mien

Harbors indeed the good-will it portends,

Then first let me behold my men restored

To their own shapes. No falsehood stamp’d their errand,

Nor undeserving were they in themselves.

Circe

Deserve those well of their commander, who lose

His very name and tidings from their thoughts?

Ulysses

Another led them; and, the leader failing,

The follower who forgets may be forgiven.

Circe

Eurylochus wins slight mercy by that word.

Ulysses

Eurylochus won the birthright of the wary.

Circe

A father art thou to thy men, Ulysses:

Even as I guard with jealous motherly eye

The welfare of these nymphs. Nor hast thou long

To wait, ere the whole frolic throng shall make

My portals ring with greetings of their captain.

Not those alone whom we repress’d and punish’d

And for thy sake will pardon, but likewise they

Who tarry by the shore—for well I know

Wily Ulysses staked not all his forces

On a forlorn wild venture.—Nay, doubt not;

Even Eurylochus shall be reconciled!

Go, Graea; Myrto; seek the ship, and teach them

The way to find us. Leave not one unbidden!

Ulysses

Great Circe, I will trust thee; ’tis sore need!

By thy sage guidance, or in no wise, we reach

The desired haven.

Circe

[To Myrto and Graea who have hesitated as if awaiting further command. They go out at Right C, accompanied by Mikkos.]

Speed now! the shadow creeps

Well past the noontide mark. Away, away!—

Noble Ulysses, thou shalt soon behold them.—

But first, my Thermia, show our gracious guest

The bathing chambers, where by warm showers assuaged

His long sea-weariness may release him.

[Ulysses bows to Circe. He unslings his sword, which Thermia receives and hangs up near the helmet. She then conducts him out at Left 2. At the same moment when Ulysses puts off his sword, Philinna lifts Circe’s wand from the floor where it had fallen.]

Philinna

[Handing the wand to Circe, who receives it as it were unconsciously]

O dearest lady!

What chance, what change befalls us? O! how dared

That strange, still man to lift his dreadful sword

As if to kill you? Are his devices stronger

Than your own arts? O, how could you pretend

To cherish and befriend him!

Circe

Nay, Philinna:

I am not feigning. Oft had I mused and ponder’d

On Mercury’s warning and Ulysses’ name.

Nor did I dread his coming. But strange haps

Disturb’d my vision and I knew him not.

My potions could indeed avail no longer,

Their cure and antidote once found. Yet never

Into unworthy hands do gods resign

Their priceless secrets. No; I would not harm

A man so strong and wise! It is the first!—

Now go, Philinna, and lay my simples ready,

Which for the counter-charm I shall employ,

To change his comrades back.

[Philinna, who looks wonderingly at Circe and seems hardly to comprehend her demeanor, withdraws slowly, going out at Right 2. Circe casts a glance where Ulysses had gone out; then, looking down at the wand held loosely in her hand, soliloquizes.]

Yes, yes; there is

No falsehood on the lip, when the heart guides

To new unwonted utterance, though it seem

All former strains and strivings to belie.

His coming I fear’d not; I rather craved

To behold the promised visitor whose shrewd wit

Should test my powers of magic and perchance

Turn them (as hath befallen) from woe to weal

For him and his. Yet till I saw I doubted;

Nor knew, first seeing.

[She clasps her hands at her back, holding the wand behind her.]

O, there is a way

Surer than any drug, to bind wise hearts!

Wielding no wand of transformation, but

With fine invisible weapons to o’ercome

His might who seems to conquer; and reveal

What weakness lurks beneath. And Circe’s arts

(Which sooner aim to hinder than to harm)

Shall still fail not!

[Re-enter Thermia, who begins to put the table in order where Ulysses had been served.]

Fair Thermia, we shall need

Straightway new-garnish’d tables and the plenty

Of a redoubled evening banquet. Soon

That eager company, Myrto’s charge, will troop

Past porch and threshold to the expected board—

Not indisposed, I fancy, toward such welcome.—

Ay, forthwith, Thermia!

[Thermia sounds a whistle which hangs at her girdle, and other nymphs enter and proceed to deck the tables.]

Even our guest, their captain,

Will find his zest, when in good sooth he sees

His two ship-companies made one.—Ah, there;

Even now they come!

[A clambering and murmur are heard. The door leading from the porch flies open, and Ulysses’ company, headed by Philemon and Xenias, enter precipitately, though not in rude disorder, their faces beaming with the excitement of wonder and expectancy. Circe stands at her usual place, holding the wand with her hands clasped in front of her, and Philinna appears at the door behind. Thermia and her helpers desist from their task at the tables as the men enter, and draw back near the exits. The nymphs stand motionless and placid during the remainder of the scene, taking no part in the action and unnoticed by the other persons.]

Philemon

Madam, we’re a bit unceremonious, no doubt. But our errand’s an urgent one; and we encountered an invitation after a manner, if there be no mistake about it.

Circe

All ceremony shall be waived, good sir. What hap

Fosters this urgency?

Philemon

We’re Ulysses’ men, lady! come to seek him and deliver him—by your leave. He cast off alone when the leader of the other watch came back from here in such a blue funk; and he ordered us to wait for him by the ship. But we felt a trifle uneasy, after that yarn of snakes and fireworks Eurylochus spun for us, and followed to help. We’d nigh about made the top, when we met your two maids, ma’am, and the monkey. We knew they must hail from some witch-pen or other for certain, when we spied such a bunch of triplets, and we veered off a point or two at first; but the little black-eyed one—she as had the ape in tow—spoke us so fair and told such a straight story, how the commander was safe and sound and everybody happy up here, and you had sent specially to invite us, that we felt mighty encouraged to believe her and headed straight for the top again, while they went down to fetch Eurylochus;—especially seeing we had made up our minds—begging your pardon again, lady—to effect an entrance anyway.—But where is he?

Circe

Your entrance had been barr’d nowise, when once

You had named Ulysses—which your mates forgot,

And came to grief thereby.—But you shall see him.

There hangs his sword, his helm.

He comes; he has heard you!

[Ulysses enters at Left 2 behind the group of men, who turn quickly. His appearance is imposing, his dress brilliant.]

Circe

For me, I have another

Business to set on foot.—Philinna; ready?

[Philinna signs affirmatively, and as Ulysses greets his men Circe goes out at Right 2, Philinna remaining at the doorway.]

Ulysses

Xenias! good Philemon!

[All throng about their commander with hand-shaking and joyous exclamations.]

Philemon

’Tis you? You are here, sir?—and all right!

’Twas a true tale, then, by the great gods!

Ulysses

Ah, you see I slipt not.

Xenias

But it wasn’t long before we slipt after you! Mind you, sir, we didn’t wait for the summons.

Ulysses

’Twas a pardonable impatience, I acknowledge.

[A voice raised in sharp tone of command, followed by a sudden uproar, is heard behind the scenes. Circe enters quickly at Right C, with her wand raised high, which as she comes in she lowers and points backward. Both the rear doors fly open. In their proper persons the men who were changed to swine burst in abruptly upon the scene, one or two or three at a time, stopping and gazing about them with puzzled and amazed expression. They rub their eyes or tap their foreheads, till gradually recollecting themselves they recognize their situation. The restored men seem to have gained in comeliness; their faces are fresh, their clothing is new, presenting a contrast to the well-worn garments of the other party. Theron appears even stouter than before; his cook’s cap and dress are dazzling white. Elpenor, near him, has become sleeker, though no less slender than ever. All the men are serious; and the re-transformed exhibit profound emotion, weeping as they recognize their companions and the commander. The meeting is an occasion rather for action than for speech: its words are chiefly outcries and the ejaculation of familiar names. The throng becomes more calm and quiet when the Enchantress, who has herself been visibly moved, at length speaks, standing at the head of her table.]

Circe

Cease; cease, good men! Enough of tears! Yield now

To the bright hour; and from your much-tried hearts

Let present peace and comfort rub away

The black unhandsome stains of foul mischance.

Here stand ye face to face and hand to hand,

Unscathed, unconquer’d. Winds and wild seas and all

The weary thankless strain of laboring oar,

Duress and guile and hostile rude encounter,

Have but conspired to point you to the fairest

Of restful shores.—Ulysses, in good time,

After due respite, if thou cravest still

Some farther convoy, ’tis secure. But now

Mirth, pleasure, shall prevail.—Only there lacks

Yet one I would fain welcome, though himself

Of faint reciprocation.

Ulysses

Gracious lady, I am confident that Eurylochus will conclude to join us when once informed of our situation and finding himself left permanently alone.

Xenias

Belike he may take to the woods, your honor, when the triplets heave in sight.

Circe

O, Mikkos will manage that!

Elpenor

Eurylochus climbs trees.

Theron

Avast there! Mikkos is the monkey. Hast left thy memory in the hog-pen, boy?

Glaucus

[Who has been on the lookout] Sail ho! They are boarding the gangway already, ma’am.

[Enter from the porch Myrto, leading Mikkos; then Eurylochus; Graea behind him. The mate advances hesitatingly, but is closely followed up by the swine-maiden. As he perceives Ulysses and the men his expression is partly of relief, partly of shamefacedness. His alarm has not entirely left him, but he casts shy and suspicious glances toward Circe while Myrto speaks.]

Myrto

We have fetched him, my lady, though I believe he never would have been caught if there had not been three of us together. We found him down by the little bay where their ship is drawn ashore; and when he saw us he started to run into the water. But Graea waded out farther than he dared to go. Then he climbed up into the fig-tree; but Mikkos climbed up still higher, so he had to come down directly where I was standing close to the roots of it; although he seemed to fear me the most of all.

Elpenor

[Interrupting] You turn the whirligig.

Myrto

We had him between us now, where he couldn’t get away; and I assured him the captain was safe, and told him how we had just met a party of his companions and invited them for you. For all that he didn’t want to come; but Graea stood close behind him and kept walking until we got him here.

[The men do not laugh at Eurylochus, though some smile faintly, and Circe is visibly amused.]

Ulysses

[Seriously] Eurylochus, all is well. Be thyself again.

Bygones shall be bygones. There is naught to fear.

Circe

Indeed, sir, it is as your commander says. There is naught to fear; and all is well, now that you have deigned to make up the perfect number of my company, so the entertainment may proceed. The tables are ready garnished, waiting for the viands only. You shall all find seats.

[All the men except Eurylochus seat themselves in a quiet and orderly manner at both tables without discrimination of the two watches. Ulysses sits at the head of the table by the dais. Myrto and Graea have withdrawn to the back of the room. Circe, still standing, claps her hands and the nymphs at the exits disappear, to bring the courses.]

Eurylochus

You make occasional exceptions no doubt, madam; nevertheless I would take my oath upon it that that was once a man!

[He points at Mikkos, who, released by Myrto, has just jumped into his chair by Circe as she seats herself. The ape shows his teeth and begins to raise himself by the hands.]

Circe

[Laughing] That was a manful thinker once. Sit; sit, kind sir!

[The curtain falls as Eurylochus takes his seat near Ulysses amid a buzz of merriment.]

END OF FIRST ACT

ACT TWO

I

The back of Circe’s palace, late in the afternoon, one year later than the occurrences of the First Act. The back of the building lies toward the setting sun, whose declining rays are now intercepted and softened into shade by foliage and flitting clouds. The pale yellow walls and tall narrow windows and the one central entrance on this side are not obscured by vines and trailing plants, but cleanly sheltered by a lofty colonnade which runs the entire length of the edifice, with wide low pavement only a step higher than the lawn that borders it. The veranda-floor and the plinth are dewy with freshly sprinkled water. The green sward of the foreground is varied by flower-beds and dotted with luxuriant trees, a bower and seats near by. Here there is no fountain; but a streamlet, issuing from an archway at the Right corner of the palace, winds its way downward across the flowery slope. A peacock struts and spreads his fan in one of the open places. Some utterances of persons represented indicate that the situation affords glimpses of the sea.

There are no suggestions of witchcraft or magic in the present scene. Where the anterior façade of the palace seemed weird or uncanny, the rear elevation and its belongings wear rather an idyllic aspect.

The curtain rising discovers three couples severally grouped. Upon the veranda, at the Left, Circe and Ulysses are seated opposite each other at a small table, upon which are cups and a vase of flowers, while a nymph occasionally passes to and fro, serving them with wine from within. Circe is not attired as enchantress. She wears neither her black robe nor the coronal of pearls. The prevailing color of her Grecian dress is amethyst, and her hair is loosely confined by a narrow band of gold.—On the Right, at the farther end of the veranda, Philemon and Philinna sit side by side in confidential attitude.—Upon the lawn, in the foreground near the centre, far enough from the others to converse gently without being overheard by them, are seen Xenias and Thermia: the former seated carelessly facing sidewise toward the colonnade; the latter standing by a tall shrub, cutting flowers which she gathers in the fold of her garment.

Thermia

[Who stands with her back to the veranda]

If you will take a good long look, Xenias, just where you are looking now, you will see exactly why you and I are a whole lot luckier than some others I might name.

Xenias

How is that? What’s the mystification now, Miss Inscrutable? I see only what we see every day; and no great signs of bad luck about them yet.

Thermia

Of course we see it every day! And every day is making it worse for them, friend Xenias. Do you suppose they can keep this sort of thing up forever?

Xenias

Well, what if they can’t? I’ve no doubt the illusion is mighty pleasant while it lasts.

Thermia

And so much the more painful when it comes to an end—but you and I have kept our wits about us, Xenias.

Xenias

And have been uncommon good friends all the time, you mean, Thermia—Well, I admit it’s the best way. But they don’t think so.

Thermia

They think of nothing! But it will set them thinking, when the time comes for you to sail away.

Xenias

If that time ever does come! The commander has got to order it; and he doesn’t seem very likely to speak the word until your lady orders him. It’s true some of the lads are getting restive and tired of dilly-dallying, as they call it, here in this blessed island!

Thermia

Yes, and Graea gives me to understand that Eurylochus is going about secretly stirring them up and wants them to put on a bold front and demand that something shall be done.

Xenias

Ah, so? He hasn’t said a word to me or Philemon. I reckon he thinks Philemon and Xenias are in the same box.

Thermia

Eurylochus doesn’t know the difference, of course! I shall be sorry when you have to go, Xenias; I shall miss you sadly after you are gone. But it will simply kill Philinna.

Xenias

Well now, what if Philemon should take her home to Ithaca with him for his wife? He hasn’t got any Penelope waiting for him there.

Thermia

O heavens! And do you believe Philinna would ever leave Circe, or that Circe would ever let her go?

Xenias

And do you believe Philemon would ever leave Philinna behind, or that Philinna would ever let him go without her?

Thermia

Xenias, it’s a pity about them both—the greatest pity in the world! As for Circe, she really admires your captain; great men are scarce enough, she says; but Circe will never lose her head, even if Ulysses has lost his; nor will either of them be quite heart-broken, be sure. But Philinna! Philinna!

[Circe, who has been laughing merrily with Ulysses, claps her hands twice.]

Yes, now; here comes the music they feed on.

[Thermia begins to move away as Thrattis the lute-girl enters from the palace in response to Circe’s summons.]

Xenias

But stay, Thermia, and let us hear it.

Thermia

O, it will only be the same old songs! Besides, I have my vases to fill.

[She goes out round the Right corner of the building. Xenias settles himself in a listening attitude.]

Circe

About This Book

IX

ACT TWO

I