THE IMMORTAL LURE
Time: The antiquity of India.
Scene: Before the hermitage of Vishwamya and Rishyas, in a forest near the Ganges. It is an open space spread with kusa-grass and over-hung with trees—the hermitage itself being a cell constructed of earth and of hanging roots of the banyan, and having by it an altar before which lies a deer-skin. Glimmering lights and running water penetrate the shades, whose sacredness is soon disturbed by the appearance of Sunandi, wantonly compelling Koïl, with alternate harshness and wheedling, to enter with her.
Sunandi (peering about). The place, my jewel-bird! the place for it!
Under these boughs of peepul and asoka
The young saint dwells
With his restraining sire,
Singing the Vedas morning, eve and noon,
And they are gone somewhither now in the wood
To gather fruit for sacrifice, and flowers.
[With a leer.
But he, the boy, will soon return, my pretty.
Koïl (whom she has released). And you have drawn me from the city here
To break into his holy breast with passion?
To dance and sing and seize him?
I you have taught the wiles of winning men,
As the cobra-charmer teaches,
Must lure him from his saintly innocence,
And with the beauty I was born unto
Must tangle him?...
You, O Sunandi, are an evil woman,
To lead me to it!
Sunandi. And you talk as flies talk!
Who know not that the gods sow food or famine.
[Harshly.
I tell you that great Indra of the skies
Is wroth with us
And will not send us rain,
So wisest Brahmins vow—
Until this boy,
This saintly one, is brought unto the Raja!
Are we to die because not otherwise
Than with alluring now we can appease them?
[Leering again.
And why are women fair, my cunning Koïl,
But to tempt men then, when they seek to take us——
Koïl. Sunandi!
Sunandi. It is so, unwitted girl!
Be silent then
And do what I command.
[Wheedling again.
But it will be sweet doing, beamy Koïl,
For the young saint
Is fairer than the god-born,
His body like warm gold and lotos-lithe—
Made for the wants that tremble in your heart.
And when your eyes rest on him they will kindle
Like passion-stars.
Koïl. And burn away his peace—
Which is the pearl
Of sainthood thro all worlds!
Unless his father, strange and terrible,
And mighty thro austerities—one whose
Curse were as heavy as an hundred births—!
O let us trust it not! So young a saint
Should be the holy mate of solitude.
I would not have him gaze upon me so,
For he is innocent of love, nor ever
As yet has looked upon a woman's face.
Sunandi. Then may he loathe you if he does not! for
Only in woman's faces is there beauty
And who beholds not beauty is as dead.
[Starts.
But ha? 'tis he?
No, only parakeets,
Chattering as you chatter, idle girl!
Who ever were resistant to my teachings!
I tell you chirp no more these chastities!
If you come back to the Raja
And without him,
Know you what then will happen?
Koïl. I know not.
[Hears a voice.
Nor care not. I will return.
Sunandi. Stop, girl.
Koïl. I will not.
All others will I tempt, but——
Sunandi (holding her). Him will love!
[Rishyas slowly approaches, chanting.
And you were suckled at the breast of fortune
To be the first so fair a saint shall look on.
Use well your charms—and chain him with enchantment.
[Sees the girl is enthralled by the voice and goes into wood. Rishyas soon enters opposite, laden and singing:
Spirit of the risen sun!
Now returns the offering-hour.
Fruit I bring to you and flower,
Here receive them, O great—
[Breaks off, at sight of her, and the offerings fall slowly from his arms.
Koïl (as they gaze long and tremblingly).
O saint, is it peace with you, and is all well?
And have you roots and fruit enough for food;
And have you joy in singing holy Vedas
Here in this leafy-hearted hermitage?
Rishyas. O radiant one, yes—all is godly well.
But whence are you?
And whither do you go?
I have dwelt only here, and not before
Have I beheld so fair a vision fall—
Even from skies where wing the Apsaras.
Koïl. I am not fair, O son of Vishwamya,
[Timidly.
But I have come from very far away.
Rishyas (quickly). And I have offered you no laving-water
For hands and feet,
Nor any fruit and herbs!
Will you not sit upon this mat of kusa,
Or on this skin of the wild antelope,
And let me loose your sandals?—O sweet saint,
For saint so bright an one must be!—it will
Be dear to touch and tend you!
For in this place I have beheld no other—
Only my father,
Who is old and mighty
In meditations he would have me mind.
But you are fair as well. Will you not sit?
Koïl. No, pious one, it is not meet for me
To touch the holy water—yet I thank you.
Rishyas. Not meet for you? O, unto one who is
So beautiful, are not all things most meet?
Better are you, I know, than all the devas.
And tho for but a moment I have seen you,
I fain would follow
The holy vows you follow.
For you I would do all things. When I gaze
Upon you all my body is as fire
Upon the altar when I sacrifice.
Will you not eat or drink?
Koïl. Not at your hands.
But see, O holy one, here are rare cakes,
Brought with me from afar, and here is soma,
Sparkling and ready with divinity
To lift whoever drinks of it to joy.
Drink you with me!
Rishyas. O gladly will I; give it.
[Takes the flask; drinks deeply.
A wine of wonder is it and of wisdom,
For now it makes you seem even more fair
Than first you were.
O let me tend about you,
And let me wreathe your brow and limbs with flowers.
[Takes some and entwines them over her.
Koïl (trembling). And you are beautiful. So I will weave
Flowers upon you too. And see, and see,
O, Rishyas, see,
For I will dance to you—
The dance of all the dreamers in the world!
[Unbinds her body-cloth and begins to dance—slowly at first then more alluringly, as he follows her, marvelling. Then at length she stops close up to him and murmurs:
Does it not fill your heart, O Rishyas,
With longing?
Rishyas. Yes, yes, yes. And with desire,
I know not why, to lay my lips to yours!
Then life, it seems, would burst all ill that binds it.
[Instinctively; clasping her.
Oh this is sweeter than all other joys
Of holiness that I have ever known.
Your voice is like to piping of the koïls
That play in spring.
Koïl. And Koïl am I named.
Rishyas. And what is this I feel for you, O wise one?
In skies from whence you come, what is its name?
So pure are you that surely you can tell me?
Koïl. O holy one, the people call it love.
Rishyas. Then is love better than all other bliss
My father's meditations ever bring.
And I will seek thro all the lapse of lives
To hold you thus,
And have your arms about me,
As vines about the asoka clingingly.
Happy am I that you have found me out,
And never shall you leave me.
Koïl. No—for ever!
[More passionately.
But unto the city you shall go with me
And there with Brahmin rites be made my husband.
Rishyas. Which is—I know not what—yet will I be
Husband and more to you. For now it seems
That not the tiger in his jungle-might,
Nor any incarnation terrible,
Could tear you from me.
Koïl.Then come quickly, now,
And I will be for you a champa-flower,
Swung sweetly and forever to your breast.
And often will I dance for you and sing
And love you, Rishyas, as a deva-queen!
Come quickly, one is waiting in the wood
To guide us.
Rishyas. Yes, O yes! (remembering) But stay! my father!
First I will tell him I have won this wisdom.
Koïl. No, no!
Rishyas. Yes! (calls) Father! father!
Koïl (in terror). Rishyas, no!
But come, come with me quickly.
Rishyas (astonished). Do you fear?
Koïl. He is so old!... You guess not what you do.
Haste, or he will forbid.
Rishyas. You know him not.
For I will tell him you are a holier saint
To guide my steps,
Then will he bid me go.
Ho! father! ho!
Vishwamya (heard off). My son, you call? I come.
Koïl. O, I must flee—
Rishyas (dazed). I do not understand.
Koïl. Sunandi! Speak, Sunandi!—Ah, he comes.
[Vishwamya enters and seeing her stops amazed. Sunandi enters behind unseen. Deep suspense.
Rishyas (uncomprehendingly). Do you see, father, I have found one here
Holy, and fairer than the Apsaras.
And I shall follow her, she is some goddess.
For I desire only to be with her,
And she has taught me this desire is love.
O and I love her,
And tho yet I know
Not well what miracle love is in me,
Yet it is better than this hermitage.
For it has made me seem.... But what burns in you?
Vishwamya. My son, you are beguiled. Let go her hand
That leads you on to ruin. Do you not
Behold what manner of creature you so clasp?
Rishyas. Yes, yes—a deva!
Vishwamya. Deva! This is a woman,
And women like the wind are full of wiles,
And tempt saints to abandon Swerga's rest.
He who would rule his mind has naught with them.
Let go her hand and send her away.
Rishyas (amazed). Away!
Never shall she go from me and without me.
If women are evil, as you say, she is not,
Therefore she is no woman.
Vishwamya. O vain boy!
In passion's jungle! Break from her at once!
Rishyas. I will not. Her I worship, holily.
And she has given me a drink of heaven
That has diffused deity in my limbs.
Vishwamya. And death, and an eternity of births!—
These flowers (on his neck) and her feigning have bewitched you!
[Seizes them.
I tear them off and trample them to earth.
Koïl. Rishyas! Rishyas!
Rishyas. Be not afraid, my Koïl;
He is my father
And he knows you not,
For did he, he would clasp you, as I clasp.
Or it may be that he is little pleased
Because I find you holier than he.
O father, peace. Control your mind. Farewell.
I go with her.
Vishwamya. Beguilèd boy! you shall not.
Thro all these years I have not, from its lair,
Unloosed black anger.
But this evil one
And your desire to follow ways of flesh
Compel me. Come, come from her!
Rishyas. I will never.
Vishwamya. Then must I drag you—and drive her away.
[Strikes Koïl.
Away, lust-thing! away!
Rishyas. Oh, oh! Oh, oh!
[In horror.
A demon enters into you and dupes you
To strike her thus, a holy one. Restrain!
Vishwamya. No, tho I slay her!
Rishyas. Slay? O wickedness!
[Seizes up wood of sacrifice.
Must I beat off your hands?—Touch her no more.
Vishwamya. Wild-vaunting boy! the drink and this vile girl
Have maddened you. (To Koïl) Away!
Rishyas.Call her not vile!
Vishwamya. Viler is she than sin!
[Again strikes her.
Rishyas (uncontrollably). You do a death-deed.
[Falls on him with the weapon and fells him quickly to the ground—then recoils with a cry. The old man strives vainly to rise.
Koïl. Oh, oh!—what have you done!
Vishwamya (mortally hurt). Slain ... slain his father!
And lost enlightenment ... and peace ... forever!
[After a struggle, terribly.
But not to gorge upon the fruit of sin!
[Turning on Koïl.
The curse of bitter karmas be upon you!
May you be born a worm and crawl in slime,
A serpent thro ten score of lives, and slough
Your skin in hideousness and hate and horror!
Koïl. Oh, oh!
Vishwamya. At every death may you despair
Of ever acquiring merit!
Rishyas (terrified). Father!
Vishwamya (to him). Aye!
[His strength failing.
For love, blood guilty boy, the love which she
Has slipped into your heart, is the curse of the world,
The immortal lure of all the generations!
Your arms have ached with it about her body,
But know that in the city whence she came
All evil men feel in their hearts this ache.
And that you may escape from it, know this:
Not your arms, yours alone, have been entwined
About this poison-flower—but, perchance,
[Sinking back.
The arms of many.
Rishyas (starting painedly). What is it he means?
[With emotions he does not understand.
Koïl, what has he said?
Koïl. O let me go!
Rishyas. The arms of many? that can not be true?
[Tortured by half-born thoughts.
O, have I fallen into demon-snares?
Is beauty not the bloom of piety?
Speak.
Koïl. I would go!
Rishyas. Pain only darker pain!
Koïl (at length overwhelmed). I am not holy—nor am I pollution!
But only one sent hither—O, the gods
Bid us to sin, then fell us with calamity!
[Hurries weeping off with Sunandi, who has stood in terror. Rishyas stands dazed, then comprehension dawns upon him and he falls by his father's body in a storm of anguish.
THE END
MANY GODS
By
CALE YOUNG RICE
"These poems are flashingly, glowingly full of the East.... What I am sure of in Mr. Rice is that here we have an American poet whom we may claim as ours." The North American Review (William Dean Howells).
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"In 'Many Gods' the scenes are those of the East, and while it is not the East of Loti, Arnold or Hearn, it is still a place of brooding, majesty, mystery and subtle fascination. There is a temptation to quote such verses for their melody, dignity of form, beauty of imagery and height of inspiration." The Chicago Journal.
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A NIGHT IN AVIGNON
By
CALE YOUNG RICE
Successfully produced by Donald Robertson
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"The publication of a poetic drama of the quality of Mr. Rice's is an important event in the present tendency of American literature. He is a leader in this most significant movement, and 'A Night in Avignon' is marked, like his other plays, by dramatic directness, high poetic fervor, clarity of poetic diction, and felicity of phrasing." The Chicago Journal.
"It is a dramatically told episode, and the metre is most effectively handled, making a welcome change for blank verse, and greatly enhancing the interest." Sydney Lee.
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YOLANDA OF CYPRUS
A Poetic Drama by
CALE YOUNG RICE
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"It is encouraging to the hope of a native drama to know that an American has written a play which is at the same time of decided poetic merit and of decided dramatic power." The New York Times (Charles M. Hathaway, Jr.).
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T. P.'s Weekly says: "It might well stand the difficult test of production and will be welcomed by all who care for serious verse."
The Glasgow (Scotland) Herald says: "Yolanda of Cyprus is finely constructed; the irregular blank verse admirably adapted for the exigencies of intense emotion; the characters firmly drawn; and the climax serves the purpose of good stagecraft and poetic justice."
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"Here and there an almost Shakespearean note is struck. In makeup, arrangement, and poetic intensity it ranks with Stephen Phillips' work." The Book News Monthly.
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CHARLES DI TOCCA
By
CALE YOUNG RICE
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"It shows a remarkable sense of dramatic construction as well as poetic power and strong characterization." James MacArthur, in Harper's Weekly.
"This play has many elements of perfection. Its plot is developed with ease and with a large dramatic force; its characters are drawn with sympathy and decision; and its thoughts rise to a very real beauty. By reason of it the writer has gained an assured place among playwrights who seek to give literary as well as dramatic worth to their plays." The Richmond (Va.) News-Leader.
"The action of the play is admirably compact and coherent, and it contains tragic situations which will afford pleasure not only to the student, but to the technical reader." The Nation.
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NIRVANA DAYS
Poems by
CALE YOUNG RICE
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"Mr. Rice's note is a clarion call, and of his two poems, 'The Strong Man to His Sires' and 'The Young to the Old,' the former will send a thrill to the heart of every man who has the instinct of race in his blood, while the latter should be printed above the desk of every minor poet and pessimist.... The sonnets of the sequence, 'Quest and Requital,' have the elements of great poetry in them." The Glasgow (Scotland) Herald.
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"The ability to write verse that scans is quite common.... But the inspired thought behind the lines is a different thing; and it is this thought untrammeled—the clear vision searching into the deeps of human emotion—which gives the verse of Mr. Rice weight and potency.... In the range of his metrical skill he easily stands with the best of living craftsmen ... and we have in him ... a poet whose dramas and lyrics will endure." The Book News Monthly (A. S. Henry).
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DAVID
A Poetic Drama by
CALE YOUNG RICE
"I was greatly impressed with it and derived a sense of personal encouragement from the evidence of so fine and lofty a product for the stage." Richard Mansfield.
"It is a powerful piece of dramatic portraiture in which Cale Young Rice has again demonstrated his insight and power. What he did before in 'Charles di Tocca' he has repeated and improved upon.... Not a few instances of his strength might be cited as of almost Shakespearean force. Indeed the strictly literary merit of the tragedy is altogether extraordinary. It is a contribution to the drama full of charm and power." The Chicago Tribune.
"From the standpoint of poetry, dignity of conception, spiritual elevation and finish and beauty of line, Mr. Rice's 'David' is, perhaps, superior to his 'Yolanda of Cyprus,' but the two can scarcely be compared." The New York Times (Jessie B. Rittenhouse).
"Never before has the theme received treatment in a manner so worthy of it." The St. Louis Globe-Democrat.
"It needs but a word, for it has been passed upon and approved by critics all over the country." Book News Monthly. And again: "But few recent writers seem to have found the secret of dramatic blank verse; and of that small number, Mr. Rice is, if not first, at least without superior."
"With instinctive dramatic and poetic power, Mr. Rice combines a knowledge of the exigencies of the stage." Harper's Weekly.
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SONG-SURF
(Being the Lyrics of Plays and Lyrics) by
CALE YOUNG RICE
"Mr. Rice's work betrays wide sympathies with nature and life, and a welcome originality of sentiment and metrical harmony." Sydney Lee.
"In his lyrics Mr. Rice's imagination works most successfully. He is an optimist—and in these days an optimist is irresistible—and he can touch delicately things too holy for a rough or violent pathos." The London Star (James Douglas).
"Mr. Rice's highest gift is essentially lyrical. His lyrics have a charm and grace of melody distinctively their own." The London Bookman.
"Mr. Rice is keenly responsive to the loveliness of the outside world, and he reveals this beauty in words that sing themselves." The Boston Transcript.
"Mr. Rice's work is everywhere marked by true imaginative power and elevation of feeling." The Scotsman.
"Mr. Rice's work would seem to rank with the best of our American poets of to-day." The Atlanta Constitution.
"Mr. Rice's poems are touched with the magic of the muse. They have inspiration, grace and true lyric quality." The Book News Monthly.
"Mr. Rice's poetry as a whole is both strongly and delicately spiritual. Many of these lyrics have the true romantic mystery and charm.... To write thus is no indifferent matter. It indicates not only long work but long brooding on the beauty and mystery of life." The Louisville Post.
"Mr. Rice is indisputably one of the greatest poets who have lived in America.... And some of these (earlier) poems are truly beautiful." The Times-Union (Albany, N. Y.)
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original.
Punctuation has been corrected without note.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as follows:
Page 4: The changed to Tho
Advertisement for Song-Surf: PRICE changed to RICE