Zet. Most worthy brethren, Senators of Cherson,
In great perplexity of mind and will
I summon ye to-night. The Lady Gycia,
Our Lamachus's daughter, sends request,
Urgent as 'twere of instant life and death,
That I should call ye here. What care can move
Such anxious thought in her, on this the eve
Of the high festival herself has founded,
I know not, but 'twould seem the very air
Is full of floating rumours, vague alarms,
Formless suspicions which elude the grasp,
Unspoken presages of coming ill
Which take no shape. For whence should danger come?
We are at peace with all. Our former foe
Is now our dearest friend; the Prince Asander,
Though of a hasty spirit and high temper,
Dwells in such close, concordant harmony
With his loved wife that he is wholly ours;
And yet though thus at peace, rumours of war
And darkling plots beset us. Is it not thus?
Have ye heard aught?
1st Sen. Zetho, 'tis true. Last night, a citizen
Sware he heard clang of arms and ring of mail
At midnight by the house of Lamachus!
2nd Sen. My freedman, coming home at grey of dawn,
Saw a strange ship unload her merchandise,
And one bale chanced to fall, and from it came
Groanings and drops of blood!
3rd Sen.
Two nights ago,
The ways being white with snow, I on the quay
Saw the thick-planted marks of armèd feet;
But, rising with the dawn, I found the place
Swept clean with care!
Zet.
Brethren, I know not what
These things portend.
Enter Gycia.
But see, she comes! Good daughter,
Why is thy cheek so pale?
Gycia.
This is the wont
Of women. Grief drives every drop of blood
Back to the breaking heart, which love calls forth
To mantle on the cheek. Sirs, I have come
On such an errand as might drive a woman
Stronger than I to madness; I have come
To tell you such a tale as well might fetter
My tongue and leave me speechless. Pity me
If I do somewhat wander in my talk!
'Tis scarce an hour ago, that in my house,
Drawing some secret panel in the wall,
I saw the long hall filled with armèd men
Of Bosphorus, and at their head—O Heaven,
I cannot say it!—at their head I saw
My husband, my Asander, my own love,
[Senators rise with strong emotion.
Who ordered them and bade them all stand ready
To-morrow night at midnight. What means this?
What else than that these traitorous bands shall slay
Our Cherson's liberties, and give to murder
Our unsuspecting people, whom the feast
Leaves unprepared for war? I pray you, sirs,
Lose not one moment. Call the citizens
To arms while yet 'tis time! Defeat this plot!
Do justice on these traitors! Save the city,
Though I am lost!
Zet.
Daughter, thy loyal love
To our dear city calls for grateful honour
From us who rule. In thy young veins the blood
Of patriot Lamachus flows to-day as strong
As once it did in his; nay, the warm tide
Which stirred the lips of bold Demosthenes
And all that dauntless band who of old time
Gave heart and life for Athens, still is thine.
In our Hellenic story, there is none
Who has done more than thou, who hast placed love,
Wedlock, and queenly rule, and all things dear
To a tender woman's heart, below the State—
A patriot before all. Is there no favour
A State preserved may grant thee?
Gycia.
Noble Zetho,
I ask but this. I know my husband's heart,
How true it was and loyal. He is led,
I swear, by evil counsels to this crime;
And maybe, though I seek not to excuse him,
It was the son's love for his dying sire,
Whom he should see no more, that scheming men
Have worked on to his ruin. Banish him
To his own city, though it break my heart,
But harm him not; and for those wretched men
Whose duty 'tis to obey, shed not their blood,
But let the vengeance of our city fall
Upon the guilty only.
Zet.
Brethren all,
Ye hear what 'tis she asks, and though to grant it
Is difficult indeed, yet her petition
Comes from the saviour of the State. I think
We well may grant her prayer. Though well I know
How great the danger, yet do I believe
It may be done. Is it so, worthy brethren?
[Senators nod assent.
Daughter, thy prayer is granted.
Gycia.
Sirs, I thank you;
I love you for your mercy.
Zet.
For the rest,
I counsel that we do not rouse the city.
'Twere of no use to-night to set our arms,
Blunt with long peace and rusted with disuse,
Against these banded levies. By to-morrow—
And we are safe till then—we shall have time
To league together such o'erwhelming force
As may make bloodshed needless, vain their plot,
And mercy possible. Meantime, dear lady,
Breathe not a word of what thine eyes have seen,
But bear thyself as though thou hadst seen nothing,
And had no care excepting to do honour
To thy dead sire; and when the weary day
Tends to its close, school thou thy heavy heart,
And wear what mask of joy thou canst, and sit
Smiling beside thy lord at the high feast,
Where all will meet. See that his cup is filled
To the brim; drink healths to Bosphorus and Cherson.
Seem thou to drink thyself, having a goblet
Of such a colour as makes water blush
Rosy as wine. When all the strangers' eyes
Grow heavy, then, some half an hour or more
From midnight, rise as if to go to rest,
Bid all good night, and thank them for their presence.
Then, issuing from the banquet-hall, lock fast
The great doors after thee, and bring the key
To us, who here await thee. Thus shalt thou
Save this thy State, and him thy love, and all.
For we will, ere the fateful midnight comes,
Send such o'erwhelming forces to surround them
That they must needs surrender, and ere dawn
Shall be long leagues away. We will not shed
A drop of blood, my daughter.
Gycia.
Noble Zetho
I thank you and these worthy senators.
I knew you would be merciful. I thank you,
And will obey in all things.
[Exit Gycia.
Bardanes, 1st Sen.
She is gone;
I durst not speak before her. Dost thou know,
Good Zetho, how infirm for war our State
After long peace has grown? I doubt if all
The men whom we might arm before the hour
Are matched in numbers with those murderous hordes;
While in experience of arms, in training,
In everything that makes a soldier strong,
We are no match for them. Our paramount duty
Is to the State alone, not to these pirates
Who lie in wait to slay us; nor to one
Who, woman-like, knows not our strength or weakness,
Nor cares, if only she might wring a promise
To spare her traitorous love. But we have arts
Which these barbarians know not, quenchless fires
Which in one moment can enwrap their stronghold
In one red ring of ruin. My counsel is,
That ere the hour of midnight comes we place
Around the palace walls on every side
Such store of fuel and oils and cunning drugs
As at one sign may leap a wall of fire
Impassable, and burn these hateful traitors
Like hornets in their nest.
Zetho.
Good brethren all,
Is this your will? Is it faith? Is it honour, think you,
To one who has given all, for us to break
Our solemn plighted word?
2nd Sen.
We will not break it;
We shed no drop of blood. The State demands it;
The safety of the State doth override
All other claim. The safety of the State
Is more than all!
All the Senators, with uplifted arms. Ay, Zetho, more than all!
Zetho. Then, be it as you will. See, therefore, to it;
Take measures that your will be done, not mine.
Though I approve not, yet I may not set
My will against the universal voice.
Save us our Cherson. For the rest I care not,
Only I grieve to break our solemn promise
To Lamachus's child. Poor heart! poor heart!
ACT V.
Scene I.—Outside Lamachus's palace.
Megacles, Lysimachus, Courtiers, and Citizens of Cherson.
Meg. Oh, this has been a happy day. All has gone admirably. Not a hitch in all the arrangements. Precedence kept, rank observed, dresses all they should be. I do not, I really do not think, though I say it who should not, that the Imperial Chamberlain at Constantinople could have conducted the matter better.
1st Court. Nay, that he could not, good Megacles. Let us hope that what remains to do will go as smoothly.
Meg. What remains? Doubtless you mean the banquet. That is all arranged long ago under three heads. First, the order of entering the hall; second, the order of the seats; third, the order of going forth.
Lys. Doubtless the last will arrange itself. Remember, the only order of going to be observed is this, that thou get thyself gone, and all the guests from Cherson gone, fully half an hour before midnight.
Meg. But, my lord, that is impossible; you ask too much. How long do you suppose it will take, at a moderate computation, to get one hundred men of ill-defined rank out of a room with a decent regard for Precedence. Why, I have seen it take an hour at the Palace, where everybody knew his place, and here I cannot undertake to do it under two.
Lys. My friend, you will get it done; you will waive ceremony. None but the Prince and ourselves must remain within half an hour of midnight, and the hall must be cleared.
Meg. Ah, well, my Lord Lysimachus, the responsibility rests with you; I will have none of it. It is as much as my reputation is worth. But if I do this, cannot you let me have a guard of honour of armed men to stand at intervals along the hall. I have been longing for them all day.
Lys. (angrily). Peace, fool! I have told you before we have no soldiers here.
[People of Cherson overhearing him.
1st Cit. Didst hear that old man? He believes there are soldiers here. Whence do they come? and why did the other check him?
Meg. Well, my Lord Lysimachus, if not soldiers, men-at-arms, and these there certainly are, and highly decorative too.
2nd Cit. I hate these Bosphorians. What if the rumour should be true? Pass the word to the citizens that they sleep not to-night, but keep their arms ready for what may come. We are a match for them, whatever may be their design. To-morrow we will probe this matter to its depths.
2nd Court. Depend upon it, there is no time to lose if we would forestall these fellows. But here comes the procession to the banqueting-hall.
[Citizens going to banquet two and two.
Meg. (with a gold wand). This way, gentlemen; this way, masters and mistresses; this way, Respectables!
[Accompanies them to the end of the stage towards the banqueting-hall in the distance. Returns to escort another party. Musicians, etc.
Enter Senators, two and two.
Meg. (bowing profoundly three times). Most Illustrious Senators! this way, your Highnesses; this way.
Enter Melissa and other Ladies.
(To Melissa) Fairest and loveliest of your adorable sex, your slave prostrates himself before your stainless and beatific feet (bowing low and kissing his fingers). Illustrious Ladies, I pray you to advance.
Lys. (with Courtiers standing apart). A good appetite, my friends. Enjoy yourselves while you may.
Bard. We are quite ready, my Lord Lysimachus. Are you not (with a sneer) for the banquet?
Lys. In good time, in good time. If they only knew.
[Aside.
Bard. (overhearing). If you knew all, my friends.
Meg. (returning). I pray you, most Illustrious Senators, to excuse the absence of a guard of honour.
Bard. Nay, nay; we are peaceful people, and have no armed men nearer than Bosphorus, as my Lord Lysimachus knows. There are plenty in that favoured State, no doubt.
Lys. (confused). What does this insolence mean? I would the hour were come.
Enter Zetho, with his retinue.
Meg. Your Gravity, Your Sincerity, Your Sublime and Wonderful Magnitude, Your Illustrious and Magnificent Highness, I prostrate myself before Your Altitude. Will You deign to walk this way?
Zetho. My lord, I am no Cæsar, but a simple citizen of Cherson, called by my fellows to preside over the State. Use not to me these terms, I pray of you, but lead on quickly.
Meg. I prostrate myself before Your Eminence.
Enter Asander and Gycia.
Meg. (returning). Noble Prince, will your Illustrious Consort and yourself deign to follow me?
Asan. Nay, good Megacles, will you and these gentlemen go first? I have a word to say to the Lady Gycia. We will be with you before the guests are seated.
Meg. I obey, my Lord Asander, and will await you at the door.
[Megacles, Lysimachus, and the rest, pass on.
Asan. Gycia, though we have passed from amity
And all our former love, yet would I pray you,
By our sweet years of wedded happiness,
Give ear to me a moment. It may be
That some great shock may come to set our lives
For evermore apart.
Gycia.
Ah yes, Asander—
For evermore apart!
Asan.
And I would fain,
If it must be, that thou shouldst know to-night
That never any woman on the earth
Held me one moment in the toils of love
Except my wife.
Gycia.
What! not Irene's self?
Asan. Never, I swear by Heaven. She was a woman
In whom a hopeless passion burnt the springs
Of maiden modesty. I never gave her
The solace of a smile.
Gycia.
Dost thou say this?
Is thy soul free from all offence with her,
If thou camest now to judgment?
Asan.
Ay, indeed,
Free as a child's.
Gycia.
Oh, my own love! my dear!
Ah no! too late, too late!
[Embraces him.
Asan.
I ask thee not
Counter assurance, since I know thy truth.
Gycia. Speakst thou of Theodorus? He loved me
Before I knew thee, but I loved no man
Before I met Asander. When he knelt
That day, it was in pity for my grief,
Thinking thee false, and all his buried love
Burst into passionate words, which on the instant
I as thy wife repelled.
Asan.
Oh, perfect woman!
[They embrace.
O God, it is too late! Come, let us go;
The guests are waiting for us. What can Fate
Devise to vanquish Love.
[Exeunt.
Enter two drunken Labourers of Cherson, bearing faggots and straw.
1st Lab. Well, friend, what kind of day has it been with you?
2nd Lab. Oh, a white day, a happy day! Plenty of food, plenty of wine, raree shows without end, such processions as were never seen—the very model of a democracy; nothing to pay, and everybody made happy at the expense of the State. I have lived in Cherson, man and boy, for fifty years, and I never saw anything to compare with it. Here's good luck to Lamachus's memory, say I, and I should like to celebrate his lamented decease as often as his daughter likes.
1st Lab. Didst know him, citizen?
2nd Lab. No, not I. He has been dead these two years. Time he was forgotten, I should think. They don't commemorate poor folk with all these fal-lals and follies.
1st Lab. Well, citizen, there is one comfort—the great people don't enjoy themselves as we do. Did you ever see such a set of melancholy, frowning, anxious faces as the grandees carried with them to-day? And as for the Prince and the Lady Gycia, I don't believe they spoke a word the livelong day, though they walked together. That is the way with these grandees. When you and I quarrel with our wives, it is hammer and tongs for five minutes, and then kiss and make friends.
2nd Lab. And fancy being drilled by that old fool from Bosphorus—"Most Illustrious, this is your proper place;" "Respectable sir, get you back there" (mimics Megacles), and so forth.
1st Lab. Well, well, it is good to be content. But I warrant we are the only two unhappy creatures in Cherson to-night, who have the ill fortune to be sober. And such wine too, and nothing to pay!
2nd Lab. Never mind, citizen, we shall be paid in meal or malt, I dare say, and we are bound to keep sober. By the way, it is a curiously contrived bonfire this.
1st Lab. It will be the crowning triumph of the whole festival, the senator said.
2nd Lab. But who ever heard of a bonfire on a large scale like this, so close to an old building? You know our orders: we are to place lines of faggots and straw close to the building on every side, well soaked with oil, and certain sealed vessels full of a secret compound in the midst of them. And just before midnight we are to run with torches and set light to the whole bonfire, to amuse the noble guests at the banquet.
[Irene at a window, overhearing.
1st Lab. Ah! do you not see? It is a device of the Senate to startle our friends from Bosphorus. The faggots and straw blaze up fiercely round the wall; then, when all is confusion, the substance in the sealed vessels escapes and at once puts out the fire, and the laugh is with us. Our friends from Bosphorus know what we can do in chemistry before now.
2nd Lab. Faith, a right merry device! Ha! ha! What a head thou hast, citizen! Well, we must go on with our work. Lay the faggots evenly.
Ire. (at the window above). Great God! what is this?
We are doomed to die!
Good friends,
Know you my brother, the Lord Theodorus?
I have something urgent I would say to him.
I will write it down, and you shall give it him
When he comes forth from the banquet.
[Disappears.
1st Lab. Good my lady. Her brother, too, she calls him. I go bail it is her lover, and this is an assignation. Well, well, we poor men must not be too particular.
2nd Lab. No, indeed; but let us get on with our work, or we shall never finish in time.
Ire. (reappearing). Here it is. Give it him, I pray, when he comes forth.
'Tis a thing of life and death.
1st Lab.
So they all think,
Poor love-sick fools!
Ire.
See, here is gold for you—
'Tis all I have; but he will double it,
If you fail not.
1st Lab.
Lady, we shall be here,
We must be here. Fear not, we shall not miss him.
Scene II.—The banquet hall.
At a table, on a dais, Zetho, Asander, Gycia, and Senators; Lysimachus, and Courtiers of Bosphorus. Magnates of Cherson at cross tables. Asander, Lysimachus, the Courtiers, and Senators seem flushed with wine.
Zetho. I drink to him whose gracious memory
We celebrate to-day. In all our Cherson,
Which boasts descent from the Athenian race,
Who one time swayed the world, there was no man,
Nor ever had been, fired with deeper love
Of this our city, or more heartfelt pride
In our republican rule (Lysimachus sneers), which free-born men
Prize more than life. I do not seek to bind
Those who, long nurtured under kingly rule,
Give to the Man the love we bear the State;
But never shall the name of King be heard
In this our Cherson.
Lys.
Archon, 'twere unwise
To risk long prophecies.
Bard.
Be silent, sir,
If you would not offend.
Zetho.
I bid you all
Drink to the memory of Lamachus
And weal to our Republic.
Lys.
Shall we drink
Its memory, for it has not long to live,
If it be still alive?
Bard.
It will outlive thee.
Thou hast not long to live.
Zetho.
I pray you, gentlemen,
Bandy not angry words.
Gycia.
My Lord Asander,
Thy cup is empty. Shall I fill it for thee?
Thou lovedst Lamachus?
Asan.
Ay, that I did;
And I love thee. But I have drunk enough.
I must keep cool to-night.
Gycia.
Nay; see, I fill
My glass to drink with thee.
Asan.
Well, well, I drink,
But not to the Republic.
Gycia.
Ah! my lord,
There is a gulf still yawns 'twixt thee and me
Which not the rapture of recovered love
Can ever wholly bridge. To my dead father
I drink, and the Republic!
Lys.
Which is dead.
Bard. Nay, sir, but living, and shall live when thou
Liest rotting with thy schemes.
Enter Megacles.
Meg.
My Lord Asander,
A messenger from Bosphorus, just landed,
Has bid me give thee this.
[Gives Asander letter.
Asan. (reading) "My Lord, the King
Is dead, asking for thee." Oh, wretched day!
Had I but gone to him, and left this place
Of sorrow ere he died!
Gycia.
My love, my dear!
Thou wilt go hence too late. I would indeed
The law had let thee go. Sorrow like this
Draws parted lives in one, and knits anew
The rents which time has made.
Bard.
Think you that he will live
To wear his crown?
Zetho.
Brethren, the hour is late,
And draws to midnight, and 'tis time that all
Should rest for whom rest is. (To Bardanes aside) We must consider
What change of policy this weighty change
Which makes Asander King may work in us.
Bard. (aside). Nay, nay, no change! He is a murderer still,
And shall be punished were he thrice a king.
Asan. Good night to all. And thou, good Megacles,
Thou wert my father's servant, take thy rest.
Go hence with these.
Meg.
I have no heart to marshal
These dignitaries forth. My King is dead;
I am growing old and spent.
Zetho.
Daughter, remember
Thy duty to the State.
Gycia.
I will, good Zetho.
I am my father's daughter. Gentle Sirs
And Ladies all, good night.
[Exeunt omnes except Asander and Gycia; Lysimachus and Courtiers by one door, then the Chersonites by another opposite.
Asan.
Dearest of women,
How well this fair head will become a crown!
I know not how it is, but now this blow
Has fallen, it does not move me as I thought.
I am as those who come in tottering age
Even to life's verge, whom loss of friend or child
Touches not deeply, since the dead they love
Precede them but a stage upon the road
Which they shall tread to-morrow. Yet am I
Young, and thou too, my Gycia; we should walk
The path of life together many years,
But that some strange foreboding troubles me.
For oh, my dear! now that the sun of love
Beams on our days again, my worthless life
Grows precious, and I tremble like a coward
At dangers I despised. Tell me, my Gycia,
Though I am true in love, wouldst thou forgive me
If I were false or seemed false to thy State?
Hast thou no word for me? May I not tell thee
My secret, which so soon all men shall know,
And ask thy pardon for it?
Gycia.
Say on, Asander.
Asan. Know, then, that soldiers sent from Bosphorus
Have long time hid within our palace here—
Long time before I knew, or I had nipt
The treason in the bud; and in an hour
Or less from when we speak, they will go forth,
When all the citizens are wrapt in sleep
After the toilsome day, and seize the gate,
And open to the army which lies hid
On board the ships without. They will not shed
The blood of any, since the o'erwhelming force
Will make resistance vain. I never liked
The plot, I swear to thee; but, all being done,
And I a subject, dared not disavow
That which was done without me. But I have forced
A promise that no blood be spilt.
Gycia.
Asander,
I have known it all, and have discovered all
[Asander starts.
Thy secret to the Senate! But I knew not,
Save by the faith that is the twin with love,
That thou didst follow only in this plot,
And wert unwilling; and I do rejoice
Thy hands are free from blood. But oh, my love,
Break from these hateful men! Thou art now a King,
Thou canst command. Come, let us fly together;
There yet is time! I tell thee that this plot
Is doomed to ruin. Ere the morning dawns,
All but the guilty leaders will be sent
Prisoners to Bosphorus, and thou with them.
I have gained this on my knees; but for the guilty
The State has punishments.
Asan.
Gycia, thou wouldst not
That I should break my faith? 'Tis a King's part
To keep faith, though he die. But when they have seized
The city, then, using my kingly office,
I will undo the deed, and make alliance
With Cherson, and this done I will depart,
Taking my Queen with me.
Gycia.
Then must I go;
I cannot live without thee.
Gycia.
Good night, my love; farewell.
Asan. Nay, not farewell, my love!
Gycia.
Ah yes, farewell!
Farewell! farewell for ever!
[Exeunt.
Scene III.—Outside the banquet hall. Darkness.
Gycia hurriedly descends the steps, closing the great doors of the banquet hall softly.
Gycia. I hear no sound within; the lights are gone,
And all the hall is dark. These doors alone
Of all the many outlets of the palace
Remain unlocked. There is not now a moment
To lose ere midnight comes, and here I hold
The safety of our Cherson. Oh, my love!
I could not tell thee all, nor recompense
Thy faith in me, since duty held me fast—
My duty which should also prove thy safety,
For now the solemn promise of the State
Is pledged to hold thee harmless, and defeat
The shameful plot I knew was never thine,
Without one drop of bloodshed. All my path
Shows clear as noonday, and I save our city
And those who with thee err in innocence,
Why do I hesitate? Yet does some dark
And dreadful presage of impending ill
So haunt me that I know not how to face it.
I dare not do it. I must stay with him,
Or bring him forth with me.
[Ascends the steps, throws open the doors, and finds all darkness and silence.
Asander! husband!
It is thy wife who calls! Come forth, Asander!
[Listens.
Nay, there is no one there. I cannot stay;
This is mere folly. I must keep my word;
There's not a moment's time, or all is lost.
Which is the key?
[Closes the doors and locks them with a clang.
I must go forth alone
To the Senate-chamber. I have saved our Cherson
And my Asander!
[Totters down the steps and exit hurriedly.
Scene IV.—The Senate-chamber.
Zetho and Senators; afterwards Gycia.
Zetho. What is the hour?
Bardanes.
It wants five minutes only
To midnight. Think you she will come?
Bard.
But would she keep it
If 'twere her lover's?
Zetho.
She thinks not that it is,
Nor should it be, indeed, were we but true
As I believe her.
Bard.
True! There is no truth
In keeping faith with murderers; they must perish
In the same net which they laid privily
Against a faithful city.
Enter Gycia, tottering in, with the keys.
Zetho. Hail, noble daughter! Thou hast saved the State.
I knew thou wouldst not fail us.
Gycia.
See, good Zetho,
The proof that I have done my part to you.
There are the master keys of all the doors
Within the palace. When I closed the last,
A few brief minutes since, there was no sound
Nor light in hall or chamber; every court
Was silent as the grave.
Bard.
Ay, as the grave
It is, or will be soon.
Gycia.
What mean you, sir,
I pray you? I am but a timid woman,
Full of foreboding fears and dread of ill,
And such a doubt doth overspread my soul,
Hearing thy words, I think I shall go mad.
Nay, Zetho, he is safe; I have your promise
Thou wouldst not harm him. An o'erwhelming force,
Thou saidst, should so surround them that resistance
Were vain, and ere the dawn they should go hence
Without one drop of bloodshed.
Zetho.
Ay, my daughter,
Such was the promise.
Bard.
And it will be kept.
[Bell strikes midnight.
Hark, 'tis the hour! An overwhelming force
[A red glare rising higher and higher is seen through the windows of the Senate-chamber. Confused noises and shouts heard without.
Surrounds them, but no drop of blood is shed.
All will go hence ere dawn.
Gycia.
Oh, cruel man,
And most perfidious world! Oh, my Asander!
To die thus and through me!
[A violent knocking is heard at the door.
Enter Theodorus in great agitation, and Irene, who throws herself on her knees, weeping. Gycia falls swooning in Zetho's arms.
Zetho. Whence cam'st thou, Theodorus?
Zetho.
Say, what didst thou there?
And what of horror has befallen thee
That makes thine eyes stare thus?
Theo.
Most noble Zetho,
When from the banquet scarce an hour ago
I passed, came one who offered me a letter
And bade me read. 'Twas from this woman here,
My sister, and it told of some great peril
By fire, which she, within the prison locked,
Expected with the night. Wherefore I sped
With one I trusted, and did set a ladder
Against her casement, calling her by name,
And bidding her descend. But no voice came,
And all was dark and silent as the grave;
And when I called again, the Prince Asander,
From an adjacent casement looking, cried,
"I had forgot thy sister. Take her hence;
She should go free!" And then, at her own casement
[Gycia revives and listens.
Appearing, he came forth, and in his arms
A woman's senseless form. As they descended
And now were in mid-air, there came the sound
Of the bell striking midnight, and forthwith
In a moment, like a serpent winged with fire,
There rose from wall to wall a sheet of flame,
Which in one instant mounted to the roof
With forked red tongues. Then every casement teemed
With strange armed men, who leapt into the flames
And perished. Those who, maimed and burnt, escaped,
Ere they could gain their feet, a little band
Of citizens, who sprang from out the night,
Slew as they lay. The Prince, who bore my sister
Unhurt to ground, stood for a moment mute.
Then, seeing all was lost, he with a groan
Stabbed himself where we stood. I fear his hurt
Is mortal, since in vain I tried to staunch
The rushing blood; then bade them on a litter
Carry him hither gently. Here he comes.
Enter Citizens, bearing Asander on a litter, wounded.