Circe

ACT ONE

I

A preliminary scene of mute action. The front of Circe’s palace at the hour just after sunset. The edifice is of variously tinted stone, a combination of several architectural masses. The windows of the building are tall and very narrow, overshadowed with creeping plants. Its main entrance, at the Left of the Centre, is from a massive porch with gargoyles of serpents at the corners of its roof. The porch is reached by a flight of wide, low steps; the doorway itself, low and wide, deeply receding and darkened by the ample foliage of overhanging vines. The palace faces eastward upon a smooth open court-yard enclosed by a wall of stone with spacious gateway at the Right. The entrance to the court at the Left corner of the building is inconspicuous. At the main gateway there is artificial representation of wolves and leopards as if tame and serving as watchdogs. Behind the court-yard wall rise large trees throwing deep shadows in the twilight. A fountain, dragon-shaped, with circular basin, is centrally placed in the court, that is just at the Right of the porch steps.

As the curtain rises, a humming sound as of a swiftly turned spinning-wheel is heard behind the scenes; and presently the music of Circe’s song (the words of which are sung in a later Scene) is played upon flute and violin. The fountain is playing, and its spray, rising and falling intermittently, gleams with a golden light, occasionally changing to a faint blue, and then becoming golden again. Some of the serpentine gargoyles are seen to sway and writhe like living snakes. A large ape emerges from a small window above the porch, stands upon its roof at first erect like a man, then poses upon all fours at the edge, trying to look underneath into the doorway, and remains in this position. A glimpse also is caught of the Swine-maiden, a tall, gaunt, witch-like figure robed in gray, trailing behind her a very long cowhide whip. Appearing suddenly from some place of concealment she passes furtively and silently, with long strides, across the Left corner and disappears behind the palace.

II

Interior. The banquet-hall of Circe’s palace. A long, low apartment, clearly but not brilliantly illuminated by torch-wood burning upon cressets in the rear, Right and Left. The walls and ceiling of the room are of neutral tint, light shades, but nowhere white; the decorations, of simple Grecian type. Two wide entrances at the rear afford glimpses of a back corridor dimly lighted; between these doors a large spinning-wheel of fantastic pattern stands near the wall. On the Right a curtained opening leads to the boudoir of Circe; and another door is situated further back on this side. On the Left, directly opposite the boudoir, is an entrance from an alcove or passage-way communicating with the porch; in front of it a dais or platform, raised one step higher than the floor of the apartment. Near another door far back on the Left stands a large sideboard or buffet showing the usual garniture. Between the boudoir and the dais, thus centrally placed but a little forward, are two large, low tables nearly square, standing end to end, but far enough apart to allow free passage between them, and showing clearly the spinning-wheel behind. Three tall armchairs or thrones stand, one at the end of the table on the Left, in front of the dais; another at the opposite end of the other table, by the entrance of the boudoir; the third at the left hand of the second throne, behind the table. There are numerous other small Greek chairs without backs. Each table is spread with a light brown cloth. Upon the table at the Right are several pieces of plate and a low spreading vase of flowers near its centre; a flagon and goblets upon the other table. As the curtain rises the music ceases, but the humming of the wheel is continued. Circe is seen seated upon the throne at the head of the table by her boudoir. Her slender golden wand is carelessly thrown upon the table before her. Her black robe she has pushed away from her shoulders over the back of her chair; but she wears her coronal of pearls confining massy black hair, with long, light, pearly veil depending from the diadem behind. Her tunic is of canary-colored silk; she wears crimson sandals, and a golden serpent bracelet encircles her left wrist.

Philinna, a blonde, of beauty comparable to that of Circe herself, but of the opposite type, in dress and in all other respects forming a contrast to the Enchantress, stands behind the throne at her mistress’ left hand.

The place of Thermia, a nymph of elegant figure and winsome expression, is behind the table on the Left, near the throne at its head by the dais.

Myrto, who has dark hair like Circe, but is of small stature and not marked by especial beauty, sits facing the Enchantress by the spinning-wheel, which, as she swiftly turns it, gives forth the melodious hum that fills the air when the curtain rises.

The predominant color of Philinna’s dress is mauve; of Thermia’s, azure; of Myrto’s, dark green. Other nymphs are drest in light gauzy material, never pure white. All wear Grecian costume.

As Circe turns toward her with a slight gesture, Myrto stops the wheel.

Circe

Hush, Myrto; prithee stay

Thy busy wheel awhile; I fain would listen

To the mere silence—if that be silence, when

Naught save the light-wing’d evening zephyr breathes

His soft sea-voices through the piny boughs

And the broad vine-leaf tinkles at the porch.

No footfalls patter now; our thirsty questioners,

After the sunset shadow falls, come not.

Truly ’twere vain, save by the day’s bright beam,

To seek my mansion on this bowery summit

Through tangled briery paths and copse-wood dim—

For the first time.

Philinna

Thou knowest well, dear lady,

No second coming, save in four-footed guise,

Thy hand vouchsafes them.

Circe

Ay, not twice the cup

For the same drinker need we pour.—And, Myrto,

Remembered’st thou to cull the herbs I named,

Wolf’s-bane and hemlock and the rest?

Myrto

Yes, lady.

Circe

And stored and sorted all?

Myrto

By the full moon

Each kind I pluck’d; then, crosswise laid, I dried them

On the black adder-stone what hour no cloud

The noonday welkin streak’d.

Circe

’Tis well. Right soon

I shall bruise more and brew their potions.

[After a brief pause] Ah!

Myrto; hast thou aught seen this season yet

Of moly plant?

Myrto

No sprig, since we dug forth

Those three and to their root put fire.

Philinna

O Circe,

What mortal can know moly? or, if found,

Might guess that straightening salutary force

Which its pale blossom suckles?

Circe

Little indeed

Know they or seem to reck, who find my door,

By the four winds or vague desire impell’d.

Not of the herbs alone, wherewith I work

Transforming magic, and of their antidotes

Is saving knowledge to human sense denied;

But the mere man in equal measure lacks

Perception of all that inner occult domain

Which on my mystic vision rises clear

And blends harmonious with material scenes.

Therefore, what mortals know I know more surely,

Crowning their wisdom with profounder lore.

How oft do they who come, while at this board

They swill and gloat, ere yet the damning cup

I proffer, boast large deeds and prate of what

They call experience—in the same breath imploring

Guidance, which I with gracious hand might lend,

Seem’d they but worthy. [Philinna nods assent.]

Thermia

Stands some one, Circe,

At the porch door.

Circe

Throw open; no mortal visitor

Descends so deftly on us.

[The door at the Left is opened by Thermia, showing a golden-gleaming light in the passage-way behind it. Immediately Mercury enters, standing as he first speaks upon the dais. His winged serpent-twined wand is brilliant with inlaid mother-of-pearl. Dewdrops glisten upon the wings of his cap and sandals. The mutual demeanor of Mercury and Circe is friendly, but not familiar. Neither makes show of deference toward the other. Mercury does not remove his cap. He takes no notice whatever of the nymphs.]

Mercury

All-potent Circe,

Hail!

Circe

Hail to thee, sir messenger! Be welcome;

Tarry and taste our cheer.

[Mercury seats himself upon the throne at the head of the table near which he stands. Thermia takes his wand and lays it upon the table.]

Circe

The nectar, Thermia.

[Thermia serves him from the sideboard and remains standing in attendance.]

Bring’st from the Olympian conclave, Mercury,

Tidings to us?

Mercury

Nay, nay; I do but pause

On my mid-errand’s flight a restful moment

At thy fair island-dome. Weary sometime

Falls even the airy stride of winged feet,

When at a stern omnipotent behest

They spurn the mountain’s serried brow, plunge down,

Skimming innumerable waves, and ride

From land to land the brindled ocean’s back.

But, Mistress Circe, this enchanted isle,

Topp’d by thy mansion, doth like a stepping-stone

Betwixt the shores of dawn and vesper lie,

At the convergent centre of all streams.

What roving bark shall miss it?

Circe

Sooner or later

’Tis true each wanderer this way passes; nor,

Our gate once spied and hospitable song

Heard trilling, turns he back.

Mercury

I am reminded,

Whereof I once made mention, again to speak.

Fail not to pour thy strongest draught, fair Circe,

When sage Ulysses heeds the languorous strain.

Circe

So said’st thou; I recall it. And some potions

Do stronger flow an hundred-fold than others.

Mercury

Even so one human counsel another o’er-tops

By infinite measure.—But ’tis time to speed

And set a finish on this world-spanning errand.

[Thermia hands Mercury his wand as he rises from the throne and steps upon the dais.]

Now for the star-strewn roadways of the sky,

By the dun cloud-edge, where fork’d lightnings fly.

Farewell!

Circe

Farewell, sir messenger! [Exit Mercury.]

Philinna

[After a pause] Dear lady Circe,

Wherefore for us at eve dost thou ne’er lift

Thy voice in sweetest song, like that whose spell

Binds the doom’d callers at the moaning porch?

So might we taste the charm and spare the bane.

Circe

O sit, Philinna, and mark you!

[Philinna seats herself in the throne near Circe. At the same time Thermia takes her seat upon one of the chairs at the other table, resting her left arm on the table.]

Circe

’Tis not at will those tuneful notes upwelling

Burst from this bosom’s prison, when once the joy

Of fierce enslaving mastery sets them free.

I see not his approach who draweth nigh,

Like the limed bird in cruel toils to stick,

And whom the poison’d chalice straight transforms

To brutal shape:—I do not see them come;

But by a sudden thrill inspired to sing,

With a strange consciousness of quicken’d power,

Then know I, and need not look.—Hath e’er one song

Fail’d of response, Philinna?

Thermia

Not one; O, never!

Myrto

How could it otherwise befall?

Circe

There be

Others in whom by native hap are planted

Some powers of vulgar sorcery: whom it profits

On magic wheel to lash the skewer’d wryneck;

Who their unlovely droning measures vaunt

To burst the clammy serpent in the mead,

Or from her seat pull down the horned moon.

But to their sordid craft my arts compare

As sunbeams to a sputtering pitchy torch.

When we the human prowler quell and tame,

We work illumination!

Philinna

Yet sometimes

They shine with princely mien. Even as Mercury

In face and stature were those two comely youths

Thou once didst change to wolves.

Circe

’Twas their true shape!

The godlike figure hath to mankind been lent,

Which they abuse to cloak an inner core

Of bestial motive. Therefore it is to scatter

Light over darkness, when my cunning drugs

Make the shell match the kernel. No longer then,

Once the true emblem on his visage stamp’d,

Doth the pretender with mock daring flourish:

Unmask’d, he slinks and cowers.—The most, indeed,

Are of mere swinish habit; and for them

The pointed snout suffices and rough hide.

But some—[With mock seriousness] Thou dream’st not, sweet Philinna,

How cruelly those same youths, but for my spell,

Had rent us both!

Myrto

[Gravely] Ay, true; didst thou not mark,

Philinna, what hungry looks they bent upon

The lady Circe, even while they drank? ’Twas not

The fragrant wine-cup drew them, but o’er its rim

Her neck they scann’d and watch’d the hand and arm

That reach’d the potion. So had they gazed on thee,

If Circe sat not by.

Philinna

Ah, Myrto; how

Could I the right herb choose and guide the beaker?

Or wield the magic wand!

Thermia

[Holding up her hands] O simple, simple!

Circe

[Warmly] Thy beauty and my love for thee, Philinna,

Are of a piece; both do transcend the limit

Of usual quality. For, without thee, I

Should seem to hover in a stale vacant world;

Whilst thou, arm’d with no wand or secret drug,

Unconscious and unskill’d, canst oft divert

The most admiring, ardent, rapt regards

Away from the famed Circe—deem’d forsooth

To win by her sheer woman’s charm not less

Than by shrewd arts. It is perchance the reason

Why thou art dear, because no studied guile

Can in thy breast find lodgement. Oft we crave

That in a friend which our own temper lacks;

And the two mingle to a more perfect being

Than either by itself.

[Laying her left hand upon Philinna’s right arm]

’Tis pure simplicity

Framed as a smiling goddess at my elbow.

Myrto

[Gravely] Dear lady Circe, may the gods preserve her,

Shouldst thou in turn e’er fail at her right hand

To sit with guardian thoughts.

Thermia

Nay, Myrto!

Stand we not all in like need of that shelter

And sweet assurement which no other hand

Than Circe’s can dispense? ’Tis the good spell

Her bright superior spirit weaves round us, lends

Fragrance and bloom to our sequester’d lives.

What, but for that enrichment, would import

Fair skies and shady bowers?—But these mock dangers

Are but the flounce and garnish of our pastime.

Your mighty men I find more vain than valiant.

Didst thou fear Mikkos, Myrto, in his former,

Native habiliment?

Myrto

[Laughing] O Thermia, he was terrible!

Thermia

And that sleek scrivener, who serves now as one

Of our gate leopards—was it a peril when he,

Before his lips touch’d the transforming potion,

Offer’d me marriage?

Philinna

But what is marriage, Thermia?

Thermia

It is as if a clever craftsman built

A cage round Circe and yourself, then lock’d

Its door upon you both and flung the key

Under the fountain.

Philinna

[Springing from her chair and drawing back behind it]

Holy Diana!

I should break out and fly like Circe’s peacock

Into the beech-tree by the spring.

Circe

[Laughing] O children, children!

How will ye all most learnedly discourse,

Where ye know least? There lurks indeed small peril

To your fair persons, but the danger hits

Your unsophisticated silly souls.

Some men there be, whose fervid, flattering words

Would fluster and bedazzle you, till all

This tranquil sweet companionship should vanish,

As the light puffy thistle-down dispell’d,

Leaving a weary lone unrest behind it.

It is my swift preventing magic catches

And tangles their approach. We are too quick

For them; nor shall they soon outspeed us.—Yet

My brother, the great magician, told me once,

That if a drug e’er fail’d me and work’d not

For any cause its proper due effects,

Then we stood liable to some counter-spell

Of similar assignment. And he cited

My cousin Medea’s strange unhappy story.

[To Philinna, playfully] So;

When the poor Circe faints, Philinna, thou

Wouldst fly off and desert her?

Philinna

O no! not

Without the cage.

Circe

[Laughing] No; I am sure

Whate’er befalls, Philinna will be faithful.

Thermia

[Seriously] She will indeed, my lady!

Circe

Of faith and love there is no dearth among us,

Though scant occasion offer which might put

A true friend’s temper to the test. For here

The spirit of petty jangling sits aloof

And common pastime smooths the tripping hours.

Its spice is in the hazard. It were indeed

A dull domain on Circe’s isle, flow’d not

The petulant human throng up to our door.

For fail’d we to suppress them, we ourselves

Might share that wearisome slow life which men

Owe to their fleeting, vain, unsteady loves.

O verily they should thank us!

[Circe leans back in her chair, playing with the wand that lies on the table. Then straightening up and looking across the room she claps her hands twice. Directly the lute-girl Thrattis enters at the Left corner. She stands leaning against the sideboard and strikes chords upon her instrument as prelude.]

Myrto

O Circe, may Mikkos dance to-night?

Circe

Yes, child.—Poor Mikkos! His dancing days were over

When first he sought us and became our patient.

Now they begin anew.

[She signs to Thrattis, who begins a dancing tune. Other music is heard in accord with the lute. Philinna and Thermia dance, not as partners, but singly, with Grecian or Turkish movement, passing round alternately between the tables and in front and behind them. Circe leans back and looks on with evident pleasure, beating time informally with her wand. Immediately when the dancing begins, Myrto runs out at the Right centre for Mikkos; but at the same time Mikkos darts in at the Left centre, drops into Myrto’s seat, and begins to turn her wheel. The ape wears a handsome collar with about four feet of light brass chain hanging from it. Myrto follows laughing, seizes the chain, and pulling Mikkos to his feet the girl and the ape dance, confining themselves to the back part of the room. Myrto’s dancing is similar to that of the other two nymphs, except that she does not display the same arm movements. Mikkos dances only as an ordinary trained simian might succeed in doing. Next, Graea the swine-maiden enters at the Right centre and joins in the performance. Her dancing, which she confines to the corner of the room opposite Thrattis, consists in snaky, gyratory movements, stooping and with long steps trailing her great whip slowly in circles upon the floor.—Presently Circe, drawing her black robe over her shoulders, still holding the wand, rises from her throne. The music ceases. Thrattis, Mikkos, and Graea disappear, and the three nymphs come to a standstill at about their usual places in the room.]

Circe

[To her nymphs] Thus merry our lives, through the whole endless round

Of blithe days and the placid restful nights

That top their radiance. How ye are blest, forsooth

Ye cannot know, because that bliss transcends

All ken and inquisition. It is some part

Of the vast natural world instill’d and moulded

In your fair forms divine, whereto small fleck

Of human taint hath fallen; but an ethereal

Kinship of cloud and fountain and wild wood

Thrills the translucent ichor in your veins.

O sweet immortal sisterhood!

Thermia

A mighty willow guards the meadow’s brink,

Where daisies shine and finches pause to drink:

Each year its lissome branches droop anew,

And on the straightest, smoothest shoot I grew.

Myrto

Deep in the forest shade black water ran:

Beneath its tide my babyhood began;

And while for strength these tiny knees did lack,

A bullfrog bore me on his bright green back.

Philinna

Down a sheer sunny cliff wild waters whirl

In tinted gleams of amethyst and pearl:

And where that dangling riband dots the sky,

From one soft gauzy filament sprang I.

[The curtains of Circe’s bower are drawn away, revealing some part of its interior and a nymph standing on either side. Circe moves slowly backward to the bower entrance; and her three nymphs move backward toward the several exits.]

Circe

[To the audience] There is a sleep that hath no need of dreams:

When of each waking hour the passage seems

A bird-flight under lovelier skies than those

Which dreamland fancy to the slumberer shows.

[The music of Circe’s song is again heard, and the drop-curtain falls while all are just disappearing. Philinna goes out at Right 2; Thermia at Left 2; Myrto at Left centre.]

III

A camp by the seashore just before sunrise. The ground rises at the back and Right, rough with shrubbery and rocks. A galley of antique build has been drawn upon the sand crosswise at the Left and there are glimpses of the sea on this side. The mast has been unstepped and a few long oars lean against the side of the vessel. There are other signs of a recent disembarcation. Articles of nautical and warlike use lie on the ground or hang upon bushes and rocks; wine-jars, cups, plates, etc. have been deposited. The forms of a numerous company of men are seen sleeping on the ground, wrapped in their blankets, here and there near the ship.—In the foreground at the Right centre a fire of small sticks is beginning to burn under tripod and kettle. Theron, the cook, is seen seated on the ground near the fire, washing strips of meat for roasting. From the low branch of a tree near him hangs the well stripped carcass of a deer, the hide and the head bearing large antlers in full view near by. Elpenor, the cook’s helper, is at work trying to make the fire burn.

Theron

Scratch together another stick or two of wood, youngster.

[Enter Glaucus at Right with a jar of water which he sets down near Theron.]

That will do for water, Glauc. Take a hand now and help the lad blow the fire a bit.

Glaucus

So I will, though I be a trifle blown myself, tramping up and down to that spring.

Theron

That’s where the commander pinked the deer yesterday, eh?

Glaucus

Ay, ay; the old man hasn’t forgotten how to let slip an arrow since we became water-dogs, for certain.

Theron

’Twas a crack piece of venison he fetched in and no mistake! There’s a strip or two left for breakfast; but I reckon we’ll have to make a soup of the hide for dinner—that is if other game doesn’t turn up. [He lays pieces of meat spitted over the coals.]

Glaucus

The soup’ll do them. They took solid meat enough aboard yesterday to last for a week’s voyage.

Elpenor

When I saw them eating, it made me think of father feeding the hogs up in Cephallenia.

Glaucus

They’re grunting yet. Just hear the beggars snore! And we turned in before sunset too.

Theron

The Pramnian’s responsible for that: we tapped four jars. It’s the same as keeled over that beastly hulk of a Cyclops.

Elpenor

The commander took a mighty round swig himself; I saw him.

Glaucus

Trust him for keeping his head level. Besides, he can carry more of the rosy than any three of us.

Theron

Pass over those barley spats, boy—ah! you’ve got them too wet, you monkey.—Say, Glauc, how would you like to see such a thing as a woman again, eh? [Theron grins and nudges Glaucus’ knee with his elbow.]

Glaucus

Well, you’re right; it is a long time since.

Elpenor

Wasn’t that a woman you saw at the last landing-place?—there where they smashed all the ships we had but this one.

Theron

What!—the giant’s daughter? Bless you, boy, that was a waddling mountain, not a woman!

Glaucus

You might throw your arms round her waist twice, Elpy, and never touch the tips of your fingers.

Theron

By the powers, she was a hogshead to tackle; ha, ha!

Glaucus

If there be female inhabitants of this prickly country, it’s to be hoped they’re not built after that pattern. But everything here wears horns, so far. [He taps the antlers of the stag.]

Theron

Well, we’re nigh about ready. Set those plates round in just a little order. Call ’em up, Elp! Take my knife here and hammer on that shield hanging by the tree. The sun’ll be on us shortly. One more jar of water, Glaucus. [Exit Glaucus.]

Elpenor

[Pounding on the metallic shield] Ding, dong! Cling, clang! Breakfast! Get up! Get up! Breakfast! Ding, dong! Cling, clang!

[The men rise one after another from their beds on the ground and adjust their garments, which look stained and weather-worn. Glaucus re-enters and pours water into several basins for the men to wash their hands. They gradually find seats on the ground near the fire and begin to eat, the cook and his assistant serving them informally. The conversation begins while they are dressing and getting ready, before they sit.]

Phorbas

[Looking around him suspiciously] I wonder on which side the sun rises in this blessed country.

Philemon

On the east side, maybe; leastwise it ought to come up opposite to where it went down yesterday.

Phorbas

Well, who remembers where that was? Split me if I do!

Glaucus

Avast there! the sun’ll peep over in a jiffy—by the spring yonder. [He turns his thumb backward to the Right.]

Phorbas

All the same we don’t any of us know where we are.

Theron

We’re supposed to be at the breakfast table now, lads. Fall to if you’ve got any appetite left over from yesterday!

Xenias

We’ve got more appetite left over than you have chops, cook.

Theron

Ay, every chop’s a sparerib this morning—except a few choice cuts here for the commander and the mate. They’re done now.

[He takes the meat from the fire into a platter.]

Here, young man; take ’em over to him round the other side of the ship.

Elpenor

[As he goes out] We’re going to have soup for dinner. [He disappears behind the vessel.]

Philemon

Look here, Theron; did you put the charcoal in these barley cakes before baking or after?

Glaucus

Pooh, pooh! Never mind the grit, man; it’s an aid to digestion. We’re lucky enough to have groats aboard, anyway.

Phorbas

We’re lucky to be alive! By Apollo, how I shiver when I think of that Æolian duffer and the cursed wind-bags he palmed off on us!

Xenias

’Twas worse than a hurricane on the wrong quarter when they blew up—took us straight back to the old boy himself.

Philemon

He was a windy humbug! You’d have thought, to hear him talk, we’d be back home in Ithaca inside of twenty-four hours.

Phorbas

And now we’re only here! Another cannibal island, I’ll bet my pile! Ye gods! I wouldn’t go up ten rods from the shore for a gold mine.

Theron

Well, the commander took a little walk yesterday and nobody ate him up. He didn’t make much of a report as to what he saw; but I’ve a notion he’ll say something about it to-day.

Glaucus

Sh—here he comes now! Mind your taps, men!

[Enter Ulysses and Eurylochus at the Left from behind the ship. The men finishing their meal salute without rising and arrange themselves comfortably and informally on the ground in a sort of circle looking toward Ulysses in the centre. Elpenor re-enters behind the two and sits down with the others. Eurylochus also seats himself upon the ground at the right hand of Ulysses. In appearance the mate is distinguished from the crew mainly by wearing fresher and less weather-beaten garments. Ulysses wears a helmet and carries his sword and baldric in his hand. He throws the weapon upon the ground, and as he begins to speak takes off his helmet, holding it swinging by its strap in his left hand while he stands and speaks. The rays of the rising sun now strike over the bank behind him.]

Ulysses

About This Book

ACT ONE

I

II

III