The Mortal Gods, and Other Plays

CHARACTERS

ACT I

Scene: Pelagon's garden, Athens. Wall, rear, shutting off street. Upper right, path to street gate. Upper and middle left, entrances to Pelagon's house. Lower left, path to a neighbor's dwelling. Lower right, path leading deeper into garden.

[Enter, upper left, Pelagon, Stesilaus and Lysander]

Lys. A gracious senate! If such welcome keys
The tune to come, then our ambassadry
Is concord's instrument, and we may bear
Fair music back to Sparta.

Ste. Tut, the smiles
Of Athens are as flying leaves, divorced
From the tree's heart, as apt to light
On vagrancy as merit.

Pel. Stesilaus
Bears hard as truth. Yet I was warmed to note
The council's greeting.

Ste. Ever Sparta's friend!

Pel. And friend of peace. The age no more can bear
The locked alarum of our rivalling States.
We must the groaning tussle bring to end,
Or ends the world.

Lys. 'Twas wisdom's cue you gave us,—
To say we had our Sparta's sovereign word
For Athens' terms.

Pel.   Ay, hold your embassage
Unstrictured, friends. In that lies flattery
Each lord will take to himself and thereon feed
A grace which will, in sort, come back to you.
What hour was fixed for answer? I lost that.

Lys. The last hour of the sun.

Pel. The crier stood
Wrong side of my good ear, and I'll not twist
To set the gossips nudging me to th' grave,
Robbed in a shrug of twenty grizzled years. [Looks about the garden]
Where's Biades? He's always trailing here,
Save in the tick of need. I'd have him bid
The ambassadors lie at my house. Lysander,
You'll be my suitor to your comrades? Say
We've heart and room for all.

Lys. For all, my lord?

Pel. And more!

[Exit Lysander]

Ste. My Sparta thanks you, Pelagon.

Pel. Nay, such an honor shall not pass me, sir.
Now where is Biades?

Ste. Your nephew, friend?

Pel. Ay, Stesilaus. Bar my blood in him,
He'll fasten on your heart.

Ste. Report has been
Too dear his friend. What buzz about a youth
Of twenty-five! Sir, Attica is mad
To give him captainship. In Sparta now,
The spurring callant would be kept in ranks,
And yoked with Prudence till he learned her jog.

Pel. In ranks! I see him! Well, just in your ear,
He sweeps a pretty curvet. With my wife
His slave, and Phania neck-deep in love,
He rides the very comb of my poor house.
If you would say to him, hold here or there,
I'd take it not amiss. But I do love him.
And now a bout with th' cook. The pest sends word
A double score of sudden guests are all
He'll have at table. Mine own table, sir!
Ha, there is Biades! He'll wait upon you.
Pray touch him as I've hinted. But no word
About our daughters, friend. We'll let that lie.

[Exit upper left. Enter Biades upper right]

Bia. Most noble Stesilaus, my heart greets you!

Ste. Greeting to Biades, whom Athens makes
Her general!

Bia. Would, my lord, this dignity
Were laid on senior years. Your Sparta's way
Is best,—to keep the cool, meridian bays
From youth-flushed brows. My moist and charmèd eyes
Spoke inward to my soul when they beheld
The ambassadors before the council, each
With staff unneeded, and gray locks that seemed
As wisdom's holy place.

Ste.   You sat with us?
I did not mark you there.

Bia. I kept in modest shadow,
Which is youth's fairest mantle,—though my rank
Moves back for none. But, sir, the Spartan elders!
Ah, might I see more men in Athens who
Thus honor age, and age that honors men!

Ste. Breathe that into your shrines.

Bia. The gods who smile
On folly young, must weep when reverend years
And wisdom part. Mayhap you've noticed, sir,
In my good uncle here ... a falling off.
I would not speak but that I know your eyes
Can not keep curtain when the blabbing sun
Makes it no secret.

Ste. Somewhat I have seen.

Bia. Somewhat will grow to much ere you take leave.

Ste. I fear it, Biades.

Bia. And yet, my lord,
Time has not carried him ahead of you
More years than half a score.

Ste. Tis t'other way.
I'm elder by that much.

Bia. Not you, my lord?
[Muses flatteringly]
The Spartan way is best. Was 't Pelagon
Led you to say you had full power to treat
With Athens?

Ste. It was he.

Bia. I thought it. [Sighs] Sir,
In the Athenian mind there dwells a child
No length of days can age. We do not grow
As Spartans. But our vanity's no dwarf.
Tops with the highest, you've some cause to know.

Ste. What of 't? Unlatch! unlatch!

Bia. The people, sir,
Always our rearward urge, knowing you've power
To assent to all they ask, will ask for more
Than all.

Ste. Think'st that?

Bia. In your brave time you've met
Athenians of the best. Didst ever know
One modest?—slow to ask for what he thought
His own?—or what he might by mere demand
Make his?

Ste. They are well stomached,—true. No doubt
They'll press us far.

Bia. They will. And if refused,—
Well, they are children,—and must bite and scratch.
With strutting rage, may pelt you out of Athens.
But why not say you are in part empowered.
And must return to Sparta with the terms
Before a vowed conclusion?

Ste. Late for that,
Young sir. The tongue we used to the Council
Must serve in the Assembly. We have said
We have full power.

Bia. To treat, not to assent.
That was your word.

Ste. Hmm! Now the cloud is off
The dunce's script, and I read clear why you
At twenty-five have Athens' voice to sail
'Gainst Syracuse.

[Re-enter Pelagon]

Bia. No word unto my uncle!

Ste. My brain will serve.

Pel. They've come,—your comrades,—all!
If honor now were substance, my poor walls
Would groaningly unroof and beg the sky
For room to embrace it! Go you, Biades.
Repeat my welcome, with increase of grace
Your tongue is rich in.
[Exit Biades, upper left]
Now the full time comes.
We'll speak of that that's centre of our hearts,—
Our daughters, friend. This is the hour that ends
A watch of twenty years.

Ste. A patient score.
So long your daughter has been mine, so long
Has mine been yours.

Pel. Like flower upon a stalk
Long nursed and tended, comes the end upon
This day of budding peace. You've had no whiff,
No hint untoward, that what we did had best
Been left undone?

Ste. Sir, what I do, I do!
When we changed babes not past their cradle sleep,
My mind then glossed the act with comment fair
As our unfructured hope. So does it still.
By Nestor, though I'm thitherward of prime,
There's none will say that with accreted years
I moult sagacity!

Pel. Eh, so! 'Twas well.
I've never doubted it. Here have I reared
Your Phania, Spartan-thewed, who now shall home
With Athens' gentle nurture in her veins
To hither yearn in blood of every son
She bears to Sparta. And you my Pyrrha bring
Back to her land to live a Spartan dame
Among Athenian mothers. So we feed
The unity we dream on,—quicken time,
Foresued, to give our tousing, touchy States
One civic heart.

Ste. Has Sachinessa kept
A secret tongue?

Pel. A nut not closer sits
About its kernel. And your wife, my friend?
What of Archippe? Did she hold for long
Against the exchange?

Ste. She did. Nor ever learned
To love your Pyrrha. For that cause,—and that
Our even trust might move with even faith,
Nor odds of grace to you,—I've stood her guard,
And made her comrade where a son might claim
The dearest post.

Pel. Good thanks, my Stesilaus.
From your wife's audit I'd not brush a doit,
But to the credit of my dame can set
A fairer sum. Æneas' curlèd lad
Lay not more dearly in his Dido's lap
Than your sweet Phania in the swaddling love
Of Sachinessa. Ay, she'll swear me now
That not to gain her own will she give up
Her foster darling.

Ste. Humph!

Pel. The little duck!
She has so chucked herself into my heart
'Twill put me sad about to oust her.

Ste. Duck!
When I lose Pyrrha, sir, that hour I lose
This good right arm!

Pel. [Meditative] Hmm! So!... Come, my friend.
The dinner's toward, and the host astray.
The love's deep-vouched that puts such duty off
For one more word. [Pauses as they move left]
We'll give no open voice
To our most dear concern till we have met
Our daughters.

Ste. [Gloomy] Met our daughters! Have it so.

[Exeunt upper left. Enter, middle left, Phania and Biades]

Bia. Come, Phania! The old cocks are off.

Pha. They're gone?

Bia. Good flitting too! I feared they'd perch till night,
Crowing the deeds of Stesilaus the Great
And Pelagon the Wise.

Pha. These Spartans! If
They'd rest their clubs without the door, our shins
Would give them thanks. Why are we so besieged?

Bia. Why, Phania, why? Because your father dotes
On dull and sodden peace that never was
Save in an old man's dream. We dine our foes!
The city must throw ope her gates, forsooth,
Lest the dear enemy should take some hurt
Scaling the walls! They'd bleed us as we sleep,
And Pelagon would vow the sword at 's throat
Were Sachinessa's dozing kiss.

Pha. Ho, hear
The captain speak! You go to Syracuse,
And not content? 'Tis well there's one cries peace.

Bia. What's Syracuse? To conquer Sparta,—that
Were warrior's work! Your father robs me of it,
Bringing the water where I set my fires.
But come! I've not made love to a soul to-day
Save ancient Sparta. Ha! it is an art
That should be spared such sweat. The Heavens mean
That I shall pull to yoke these two days left,
And love take beggar's chance.

Pha. Ah, but two days!

Bia. Come to our myrtle nook——

Pha. Nay, Sybaris
Might turn me out. That is her royal seat
When you'll play consort.

Bia. What, my Phania? Dour?
Does Creon keep away?

Pha. I'm not for him.
You know it, Biades.

Bia. But he does not.
Too oft I find him here.

Pha. And Sybaris
Comes out of count, knowing you like this spot.
Yon path is worn of every blade.

Bia. Her feet
Can be so cruel?

Pha. You love her still!

Bia. Nay, sweet.
Not for three days. Believe me, cousin!

Pha. Cousin!
Athene save us! See her now,—the plague!

Bia. By gentle Eros, Phania, we'll be kind.
I loved her once.

Pha. How tall she is!

Bia. Ay, moves
A very sylph!

[Sybaris comes on, lower right]

Syb. A fair day's greeting, friends!

Bia. We double it for thee.

Pha. My dearest Syb!
Do you turn snail, you keep your house so long?
Why, hours, I think!

Syb. Indeed!

Bia. Where lovers watch
The dial, that's an age.

Pha. Oh, so!

Bia. [To Phania] Do I
Not know?

Syb. An age? Ay, love grows old and fades in 't.

Bia. A thousand moons in journey o'er my love
Would leave 't no withered hour! By the fair soul
Of one who knows me true!

Syb. That is no woman.

Pha. A pretty oath!

Syb. But not a new one, dear.

Bia. Plead, Phania, dove! Let her not chide
Poor penitence on knee. In two days' time
I sail to war, yet stony Sybaris
Would break love's wings with doubt—put me aboard
With sighs to sink my ship——

Pha. Nay, Sybaris!
I'll vow him constant now.

Syb. Inconstancy
Once stopped for breath, and fools came with a chair.

Bia. No thaw in thee? Plead, Phania, sweet! Your lips
Are unimpeached where mine too oft have worn
Conviction's droop.

Pha. Forgive, dear Sybaris!

Bia. Ay, be my tongue! Tell her that as the bee
Betrays the honey-buds yet hiveward flies,
I've left all by-roads for the true home-path.

Syb. Then you have trailed all others stale. There's none
Left new but that.

Bia. Tell her when I have sailed
From Athens' eyes into the sun that eve
May skirt with blood——

Pha. No, no!

Bia. —to walk with you
The haven's brim, watching the waves that throw
The sea-heart there, and know that from my ship
Pulses a heart to love's dream-sandalled feet
As constant as the sea to Athens' shore.

[Sybaris moves relentingly nearer. Biades behind Phania, who sits on bench, leans to talk into her ear, but keeps his eyes tenderly on Sybaris]

Ah, tell her, Phania, sleep is slow to come
Where warriors bed, and unforgiven hours
Are thorny comrades for an age-long night.

Syb. Then here's my hand. Pray Pallas 'tis no fool's!

Bia. Yours too, my Phania! In one breath I seal
Judge and defender mine! [Kissing their hands]
Now with my ship
Will prayers go tendant, mending every sail
That storm may batter. Typhon, whirl the sea
To insurrection,—send her meekest wave
To crinkle round the sun, and hiss from Heaven
The mariner's port-star,—I shall be safe
While I have implorators fair as ye
To melt the gods!

Syb. Ah, Biades, thou must
Be loved or die. Is 't heart or vanity,
That's so insatiate?

Pha. Nay, you have forgiven!

Syb. But will not coo yet. Is that Creon comes?
[Looking to upper right]
You'll meet him, Phania?

Pha. He knows his way.

Bia. Has news!
I'll pick the pigeon. [Goes up right]

Pha. O, my Sybaris,
Thanks for this generous peace! But who could long
Be harsh to Biades?

Syb. Such steel's not in me.
I but stood off, a shadow of resolve,
To hear him woo me back. His coldest words
Are ta'en from music, but when warm in suit,
Then music sues to him.

Pha. Woo you? Didst say
Woo you? Couldst think—couldst dream—couldst let blind sense
So flatter?

Syb. Blind? Well, you've no eye to lend.

Pha. His words were all for me, and through my heart
Were sifted to your ears.

Syb. For you, my dear?
Now what a gosling 'tis!

Pha. Oh! Ask him then!

Syb. You'll beat that bush. I have no doubt in cover.

[Biades returns with Creon]

Cre. You'll not go out?

Bia. No, friend.

Cre. I warn you, sir!
It is your reputation left i' the street
That knocks for you.

Bia. 'Twill care for itself.

Cre. Nay, come!
Soon every ear in Athens will be crammed
Wi' the tale.

Syb. What tale?

Cre. 'Tis said that Biades
Was cap and spur to riot that defaced
The Hermæ yesternight.

Bia. Denosed, you mean.

Pha. O, do not jest! I tremble, Biades!

Cre. You must o'ertake the lie, my lord, ere winds
Be up with 't.

Bia. Let it fly, my Creon. When
Its wings are worn 'twill down for any heel
To trample.

Cre. Not this feather. It broods on the air,
And its dark issue makes eclipse your sun
Can push no beam through.

Bia. Sinon's pate has hatched
The ebon chick.

Cre. You're not far out. He wants
The generalship.

[Enter Hippargus, upper right]

Bia. Here comes a tongue to market.
Most purchasable, tho' neither cut nor dried.

Cre. The senate's messenger!

Bia. Greeting, Hippargus.

Hip. Greeting, my lord,—and I must lay command
On that, for you are charged on the instant to appear
Before the Council.

Bia. The instant? Cramped to that?
And what to do there, sir?

Hip. Give proof you touched
With no profaning and injurious hand
Our threshold gods.

Bia. Go gently back, Hippargus,
And tell the senators I pardon them,
Knowing they do mistake. They would not lay
So dull an antic on me, and this charge
Is meant for Bico, my fat monkey here,
Whom they may have for trial.

Hip. Spare such jest,
My worthy lord. A hundred tongues have sworn
You said in open street, nor cared who heard,
The guardian Hermæ might be nipped of ears,
And noses too, yet serve our pious turn,
Since they smell out no faults and citizens
Confess none.

Bia. Ah! Do they make wit a crime,
Who have no taint of its color? Say 'twere red
The senators would never be mistook
For woodpeckers. Gods! When they prate, I know
Athene's owl is stuffed, and her wise serpent
An old-year slough! Off now! Your pannier's full.
Trot and unpack.

[Exit Hippargus]

Cre. Out! Follow, and deny
This answer! Dare you, standing on the top
And slippery point of fortune, throw your cap
In Heaven's face?

Bia. Dare I do less? No, friend.
The Council fears me, and would see me down.
My power is in the people, who for gold
And merry flattery give me their love.
But now they're on the quibble how to turn,
To me or Sinon. I'll not let them see
My office brought to question, and myself
Outfaced by perjurers in Sinon's keep.
Nay, when they find I'm not the senate's groom,
But know myself, their pride will know me too,
And I shall go to bed as I rose up,
The Athenian general.

Cre. The street will bellow.
I'll listen to it, and pick interpretation
From 'ts roar. You'll come with me?

Bia. Though oracles,
On every curb and step, begged audience,
I'd not go out.

[Exit Creon]

Pha. Oh, me!

Bia. Why so? I'm not a hare
To jump because a leaf falls. Wag the hour,
And Pleasure wait on us! If she fill not
My cup to-day, I fear it must go empty
A good twelvemonth. There are fair maids
In Syracuse, but they'll peer on me through
A crimson lattice.

Pha. You'll not see them, sir!
Or break a thousand oaths! So oft you've sworn
No beauty out of Athens could persuade
Your eyes to worship.

Syb. Then the Spartan maid
Lodged here will let him sleep.

Bia. What maid is this?

Pha. Why, Pyrrha,—Stesilaus' daughter.

Bia. Here?

Pha. Ay, everybody's here.

Syb. I saw her leave
The chariot. Such clothes!

Pha. No clothes, you mean!

Syb. [In shocked aside] Just to the knees!

Pha. And open to the hips!

Syb. You say it!

Pha. And manners, none. I took her nuts
And sugared poppy seeds. She said she kept
No parrot.

Syb. Here's a guest!

Pha. And when I said
I lived on them——

Bia. My dainty!

Pha. —then she asked
If that made me so little!

Bia. Ay, they feed
To grow in Sparta. Breed but monsters there.
No arts, no grace, no soft and tendrilled speech
That creeps to ends of being and looks back
Exultant and afraid. They are not men,
But, wearing human port, would force on us
A beastly comradeship. Set me to woo
A toad bred in a ditch of Attica,
But not a maid of Sparta! Were she fair
As was Persephone when she drew the god
From nether earth, yet sprung from that hard soil,
I'd let her beauty pass.

Syb. Hist, Biades!
She's yonder.

[They look middle left, where Pyrrha appears]

Pha. I like the garden best when 't wears
Pale Cybele's gown. Apollo makes it harsh
In black and gold—Ah, Pyrrha! You have found
Our blossomy corner. Welcome to it, and know
My neighbor, Sybaris,—and Biades.

Pyrr. I greet you, friends of Athens.

Pha. Will you sit?

Bia. [Who has not removed his gaze from her since her entrance]
A walk! That was your wish.
I'll show the paths.

Syb. Nay, here's a seat.

Bia. There's Artystone's rose,
Brought from the Mysian stream——

Pha. She'll stay with us.

Bia. The ivory cup of Isis, where each night
Her one tear falls,—and flowers whose sisters blow
In walled Ecbatana.

Syb. Come, sit by me,
Dear Pyrrha.

Pyrr. I would see the garden.

Syb. [Rising] Would?
We'll guide you then.

Pha. Ay, who would dawdle here?

Bia. But rest a moment, Pyrrha. I mind me now,
That from this spot the eye may best o'ersweep
The full design. Yon mass of planes——

Pyrr. I'll walk
Alone. [Moves off, lower right]

Syb. Well!

Pha. Said I not?

Syb. Does nothing that
She's asked! And stares as though a woman's eyes
Were made to see with, when their chiefest use
Is not to see!

Pha. Crude as her Spartan rocks!

Bia. I'll follow.

Syb. Nay, she'd walk alone!

Bia. She's Athens' guest.
I'll not be rude, whatever lack in her
Provokes me to it.

Pha. Nor shall I, by all
The grace in th' world!

Syb. You shame us, Biades.
We'll go with you.

[Each taken an arm of Biades as he goes right. Pelagon enters, upper left]

Pel. Daughter, this way!

[Phania returns reluctantly. The others pass off, right]

Pel. My chick,—
Nay, I'll be brief. I know young feet would flock.

Pha. O, father dear, I'd please you first! [Kissing him]

Pel. Well, well!...
You've seen Lord Stesilaus?

Pha. Just a peek.

Pel. Nay, he's no bear.

Pha. He'll bite though. I know that.

Pel. Now, Phania, now! I have a reason, miss,
A most dear reason you should win the love
Of Stesilaus.

Pha. Love!

Pel. I mean, my duck,
A father's gentle love.

Pha. But, daddy, he's——
So tall!

Pel. He has a heart, my daughter.

Pha. Fum!
Are you so sure?

Pel. Find it the shortest way.
Remember he's your—hmm!—remember—hmm!—
That he's a man—as I am—and his pride
But April frost. Be as he were myself——

Pha. As you? Oh, dear! [Under his arm]
And must I cuddle so?
Nay, that's for my own fa-fa!

Pel. Little Phania!
I'll lose my pipit,—lose my bonny bird!

Pha. Lose me? O, never, daddy, never! I'm
Your pipsey, wipsey, umpsey, ownty own!

Pel. [Resolutely] Wait here. I'll send him by.

Pha. But, father, why——

Pel. Nay, that's my secret. Not for little birds.

[Exit upper left. Phania waits until he disappears, then turns flying, and vanishes lower right. Archippe and Sachinessa enter, middle left]

Sac. Blest be Athene, there's nobody here!
The house is overrun, and Pelagon
Has twenty shadows, one at every door.
Out, in,—in, out,—with ears like aprons held
For every whisper! Here we're safe to talk.

Arc. O, dearest Sachinessa, what's to do?

Sac. We'll go to Philon. If he says confess——

Arc. Confess? I'll never do it! I will take
What way he will but that, though 't be the one
Leads out of life. You do not know my lord!

Sac. Your Stesilaus is no god, Archippe.
I'll tell you that.

Arc. If it should come to him
We never changed our daughters! If he learns
That twenty years I've made him wear the hood,
His roof no more would shade me. Nay! Confess?
Oh, Sachinessa, I should lose him quite!

Sac. That could be borne, I think.

Arc. But lose my Pyrrha?
Be driven out from her? See her no more?

Sac. There, friend, you stir me. Such a piece of man!
To strike like that because a woman's wit
Has clipped his own! He's not suspected you
In all these years?

Arc. Not once. I've watched myself
As I were my own jailer, fenced my heart,
And made my love a thief that gave my child
No open looks, but by her bed at night
Stole comfort as she slept.

Sac. Not I, Archippe!
I've laughed above the snores of Pelagon,
Knowing my darling near, whom he thought far
As Sparta. Come! You're taller by a head
Than I, yet die with quaking. And I thought
Each Lacedæmon wife a lioness.

Arc. Ah, but their lords are lions.

Sac. Well, they've mane
Enough, but they'd not shake it in my face.

Arc. Will you confess?

Sac. Why, no. For Pelagon
Would play the spousal saint, sit on the clouds,
And with a piety intolerable
Forgive his perjured wife. What soul could bear it?
But I'll not part with Phania, know you that!

Arc. What then?

Sac. We'll go to Philon. How to keep
Our secret and our daughters,—that's a nut
To break the oracle's teeth.

Arc. If 't can be done!

Sac. It must be done, Archippe. Come,—I hear
A chatter. This way out.

[They leave, upper right. Biades, Pyrrha, Sybaris, and Phania enter lower right]

Pha. What of our garden,
Now all is seen?

Pyrr. Here gods should live, not men.
At every turn I seemed to lose the step
Of a departing deity.

Syb. We are content
With our Athenian lords, and seek no charm
To turn them into gods.

Bia. [Showing a locket] I've here a charm
Does more than that. This jewel webbed
In mystic rings—and set——

Syb. The Persian gem!
You promised me——

Bia. It is a magic stone,
That gazed upon by a true-minded maid——

Pha. [Securing the trinket] I'll see it, sir!
I've heard you vow your bride
Should wear this locket.

Bia. [To Phania] So she shall.
[To Sybaris] None else!
[To Pyrrha]
You hear my oath. Come, Sybaris, sit here
And, Phania,—come! You both shall peep at fate
Through a ruby portal, if your hearts be true.
Now fix your look——

Pha. We'll see the same!

Bia. Not so.
Each fortune's connate with the gazer's star,
And tinted as she dreams. Direct your eyes
With flawless constancy, or you'll see naught.

Pha. Not lift them once?

Bia. Nay, fasten every thought
Deep in the jewel's fire, till I have said
The Persian chant of welcome to the spirit
Whose magic you shall see.

Pha. A spirit? Oh!

Bia. But she is fair,—framed as divinity
For adoration.

Syb. She!

Bia. Lift not your eyes.

[Stands behind Phania and Sybaris and makes the incantation an ardent address to Pyrrha]

[Sybaris throws the locket at his feet. He turns and sees that she and Phania have risen and are staring at him]

Pyrr. [After a silence] I do not know this game. Will leave you to it.
[Exit, middle left]

Syb. And I'll go home! [Exit, lower left]

Pha. And I'll go tell my father!
[Exit, upper left]

Bia. And I'll go stand in th' donkey mart and bray
Till a farmer buys me! Witched, and by a Spartan!
Mad as the fleeing ass of Thessaly! [Exit, upper right]

[Curtain]

ACT II

Scene: The same as first act, a few minutes later. Phania in discovered in rear. Stesilaus walks frozenly back and forth, front, while she timidly advances and retreats.

Pha. [Approaching] I'm Phania, sir.

Ste. [Looks at her incredulously, then walks left, leaving her centre]
My blood and bone in that!
What dwarf-dish has she fed on? Ugh!

Pha. [Crossing] I've come
To walk with you. You like our garden, sir?
We've bulbuls in it,—and wee, visiting wings
From the unknown south. Can see them if you watch
A place I know. They dart like breathing bits
Of chrysoprase and sard o' the sun.

Ste. Humph! You
Are Phania?

Pha. [Braver] Troth, I am! Wilt see a nest—
So small as—that! Could put it on your thumb.
[Takes his hand]
I'll show you, sir. Don't you love little things?
They wiggle to the heart, my daddy says.
You love my daddy, don't you?

Ste. Ugh! Your—Ugh!

Pha. [Defensive] I love him,—yes, and all his friends. I do,
Though they're—so tall. I come just to your beard.
See now! [Leans against him]

Ste. Get off! You squeaking pewit! Ugh!

Pha. [Quiveringly] Have I displeased you, sir?

Ste. Displeased me? No.
You make contentment creep on honored bones
Far back as Lacedæmon's earliest grave
That opened for my house. You turn my blood
That's not yet earthed, and hot as Sparta's pride,
To drops that mutiny 'gainst their own succession
And beg to be the end. Displeased? Oh, no!
[Retires, rear]

Pha. Oh, sir——

[Fails, and goes off weeping, lower right. Enter, upper right, Biades and Creon]

Cre. But this confusion, many-throated,
Has single voice and warns articulate.
A treasonous tempest rises, and you stand
A god indifferent when you should bethink
Yourself most mortal. Vilest mouths puff bold
In Sinon's service. You must wax your way
To th' Council——

Bia. Nay, no bending there!

Cre. But——

Bia. Peace!
Here's Stesilaus! He's most heavy shipped.
What is aboard? And now comes Pelagon,
With 's threshing-tongue a-ready. Chaff will fly.

[Enter Pelagon, upper left]

Pel. What thinkst of Phania? Is she not a chick?

Ste. You've tricked me, Pelagon! What fubbery
Have you put on me?

Pel. Sir? Now, now! Why, friend!

Ste. That's not my daughter!

Bia. [Drawing Creon back] Whist!

Ste. I'll see my own!
My Phania! Not that bib,—that mewling piece,
With th' milk still in her mouth!

Pel. Speak so of her?
A bud in th' dew! A cherry next its leaf!
A pippin on the limb!

Ste. Not mine, I say!

Pel. If you repent you did beget her, sir,
I'll be your shift and own the curtained deed
'Fore man and Heaven.

Ste. That my child?

Pel. Yours, friend.

Ste. Would she had never left Archippe's lap
For Sachinessa's! Patience, cool my tongue!
But I've done better by your Pyrrha!

Pel. Soft,
Beseech you, Stesilaus! Here's no place
For trumpeting our secret. And brief time
Forbids it present voice. The hour is on
To hear the people's answer. Come, my lord.
Your comrades go before you. We're past late.

Ste. Friend Pelagon, though courtesy be pressed
To th' kibe, I'll urge you keep at home. 'Tis best
You be not seen in this. The lords, who know
You lean to Sparta,—and for that all thanks,—
Are pricked therewith to oppose us, when they else
Might voice us favor.

Pel. Ay, they know me, friend.
My eye sets them at guard. They feel it, sir!
Puts them on screw. Well, so,—I'll stay behind.
But let me set you forth. [Exeunt, upper right]

Bia. Is 't trick, or truth?

Cre. Touch me! A needle's point
Could find no spot amazement hath not taken!

Bia. Didst hear it Creon? Pyrrha an Athenian!
O, words of miracle, if ye be true,—
Friend, friend, I'm in a whirl upon a way
To use this strange unearthment for the good
Of Athens. You'll be silent. Creon?

Cre. Nay,
I think——

Bia. And now I've lost fair Phania!

Cre. Lost?

Bia. With Mars i' the dusk of this debated time,
The Athenian general may not wive himself
With Sparta.

Cre. True!

Bia. I might give up command,
And be no more my country's armored watch....
Nay, Attica is first! That's sworn. I'll plunge
The sacrificial knife deep as my love.
And now 'tis done. Ah, Creon, tend thee well
My gentle loss.

Cre. This sets thee o'er thyself!
O noblest bounty that in grace compeers
With emulous Heaven! What in me can pay——

Bia. No more of 't now. But what a secret this!
If 't solely were my own—

Cre. It is, my lord!
'Tis yours. I have no speech, no tongue for 't!

Bia. Thanks,
My Creon, thanks! And will you go once more
To th' street, where now it seems I have some need
Of loyal ears?

Cre. I serve you, Biades. [Exit, upper right]

Bia. Fast hooked, and feels no barb. If he'll lie dark
Till I would stir the waters.... Is it truth?
Pyrrha! Athenian born and Spartan bred!
By Mars and Eros! Here's a captain's bride!
There's flutter in me like a forest shook
With waking birds!

[Re-enter Phania, still weeping]

Bia. Why, Phania! Such a shower,
My kitkin!

Pha. Stesilaus sh-shook me so!
Called me a sque-e-aking pewit!

Bia. Ha! He did?
Well, listen to me, Phania. Come, look up.
[Lifts her chin]
A maid with little eyes should never weep.
Leave that to Juno orbs. They swim in sorrow
Like full moons in a lake, but beads like yours
Are only bright when dry. Shun grief as you
Shun mud. [Exit, middle left]

Pha. [Gasping] Why—Biades—he's gone!
He said——
Oh, oh! If I could die——

[Sobs with abandon. Enter Alcanor, upper left. He pauses before her. She looks up bewildered]

Alc. Ah, gentle star,
What shrouds thee in this rain? Yet thou'rt not hid.
Thy beauty shining on these clouds of pearl
Makes every drop that dies reflecting thee
A little, falling sun.

Pha. Oh, Biades said——
He said—he said——

Alc. If what he said so troubles,
Let me unsay it with a kiss that makes
Trouble forgot and dumb. [Kisses her]

Pha. [On his bosom] I'm not—I'm not—
Not ugly, sir?

Alc. O, dove of Aphrodite!
Earth stores her beauty in this single face,
That she may show one jewel to the skies
When gods boast they have all!

[Phania purrs comfortedly, then releases herself]

Pha. How dare you, sir,
Attack me? Who are you?

Alc. I do not know.

Pha. Not know?

Alc. Nothing of self or where I am.
It may be those are trees on giant guard,
And these bright peeping things are flowers' eyes,
And this is happy grass we stand upon,
And that blue watcher is the faithful sky,
But I know naught except my soul is yours,
O, maid-magician, in whose snare I lie
Kissing the net that binds me! [Kissing her fallen curls]

Pha. But you know
Your name!

Alc. Not in this world a minute old
That now I find me in, but in time past
I was Alcanor, Stesilaus' son.

Pha. O!—then—why—all is well! You're noble, sir!
My father will approve you.

Alc. Hast a father?
And art not magic-born? Then I perceive
I must go back and find my earthly wits.

Pha. Nay, he is Pelagon, your father's friend.

Alc. You're Phania, then!

Pha. [Giving her hand] I am.

Alc. No more than this?
No kiss?

Pha. [Very shy] You've had it, sir.

Alc. A phantom one!
'Twas in a dream, as two ghost-lovers meet
On an Elysian path. Too cold for earth!

Pha. [Touching her cheek] Nay, it is warm here yet.

[He takes her in his arms, and they withdraw lower right. Pelagon enters, upper right, in time to witness the embrace]

Pel. [Rousing from his horror] Her brother! Gods!
Whip me all hagglers! We have stood so long
At door of our confession that this shame
Gets by us. Phania and Alcanor! Oh!
No shuffling now! When Stesilaus comes,
The tale must out!

[Enter Pyrrha, middle left. She crosses, passing Pelagon, who retreats rear, unseen by her. She loiters right]

Pel. Here's opportunity
At beck. I'll follow. [Advances] Ahem! My daughter,——

Pyrr. Sir?
You seek your daughter? I will look this way.
[Goes farther right]

Pel. I must advance, and take her Spartan guard
With gentleness. My love, 'tis you I seek.

Pyrr. [Stiffly] You'd speak to me?

Pel. My little Pyrrha,——

Pyrr. Little!

Pel. I think of Phania. In my heart you both
Hold undivided place. Shall we not chat a bit,
My Pyrrha?

Pyrr. Kitchen maids do that, not men
Of State.

Pel. Nay, there's a time when one may cast
The civic garment and take household ease
In modest robe.

Pyrr. [Aside] A swaddling band would fit him!

Pel. You will not hear me?

Pyrr. I wait upon you, sir.
For if your hostship I forget, and leave
The fees of grace unpaid, I yet must know
You are my father's friend. Say what you will,
My lord.

Pel. That word undears me! Let your tongue
Breach colder custom and give me a name
That brings me near in love as Stesilaus.
Wilt call me father, Pyrrha?

Pyrr. [Retreating] You, my lord?

Pel. They've frozen her, poor child! Must blow more warm.
Indeed a father. Call me what I am,
For so I love you, Pyrrha.

Pyrr. Is it thus
The Athens sages talk?

Pel. Ay, we're not cut
Of ice as Spartans are. Here your poor heart
Shall know what sun is, and the Springs you've lost,
Betrayed without a bloom in frigid Sparta,
In Athens shall blow fair. You are amazed,
My sweet, but by this kiss——

Pyrr. [Giving him a blow] You goose-eyed goat!
I strike not at your years, Lord Pelagon,
But at your mind which has not come of age
And gives me elder right.

[Exit, middle left. While Pelagon is recovering, enter Stesilaus, upper right]

Pel. [Welcoming the interruption] You, Stesilaus?
So soon, friend, from the Assembly?

Ste. Late, sir, late!
More haste had been more prudence.

Pel. Why, why, why!

Ste. Where is your buttery nephew, Biades?
Who slips to the seat of question and melts all
Into one potch of folly!

Pel. But I'd know——

Ste. Why I am here, not there? A crater mouth
That calls itself a people hissed eruption
Into my face, and without bow I set
My back to 't, sir!

Pel. Blame me for all! I knew
I should not stay behind! The gods do know
I am the voice of Athens. 'Tis no pride
That speaks bare truth. I'll go——

Ste. Tuh, tuh!
A word with Biades——

Pel. But not too sharp,
My friend. He is of weight——

Ste. No sharper than
My stick! Then I set out for Sparta, where
The very ground knows Stesilaus walks!

Pel. And Phania goes with you?

Ste. Not if the chit
May corner in your kitchen! She's worth that.

Pel. You'll leave her here?

Ste. It will content me. I'll
Surrender both.

Pel. What? Both! Nay, your free heart
Shall not outdo my own.

Ste. You'll give me Pyrrha?

Pel. Friend of my soul, I will!

Ste. [Moved] Thanks, Pelagon.
She's dearer than my son. More like my blood.
Alcanor is too soft and woman-lipped.
Too much Archippe in him from his birth,
Nor blows could drive it out.

Pel. And mine own eyes
Have seen a cooing match between himself
And Phania.

Ste. Zeus! His sister!

Pel. While we speak,
The fated pair are yonder——

Ste. I'll get him home!
And leave the witch to you! Had I a doubt
To hold me back, this turn would be
Decision's point. She must stay here.

Pel. But how
Make answer to our wives? Our wisdom's nicked
Where it is tenderest if we confess.

Ste. What's to confess? I know my will and do it.

Pel. Ay, ay, you bear your wife in a sack, but mine
Is on her feet and goes her pace. Look yon!
They come together! A brace, and one of them
Would tie my tongue.

Ste. Tie water in a brook!

[Archippe and Sachinessa enter upper right]

Sac. We do not come to shame you, noble lords
And husbands, though we've that to bear which put
To honest ballad would uncrest your pride
And clip a reef or two from the tall sail
Of dignity.

Ste. Why, madam, this approach?

Sac. I walk, sir, in my garden when I please.

Arc. We have a suit, my honored lords, which you
May think full strange, remembering our prayers
Of twenty years ago.

Ste. What suit canst have?
If you must try the goose-step out of doors,
Go thank the gods for suiting you with me,
Who save you from all suit by hearing none.

Sac. Not hear us, sir? I'll catch you by the ears
And shake the pride-wool out, but you shall hear!
Suited with you! And then go thank the gods!

Pel. Why, Sachinessa, love! What you, duck?

Sac. This, Pelagon. When in that sad year gone
You took my child from me——

Pel. What? That again?

Sac. Not that, but this. I did not stay you then,
Being young in wedlock and my wit at cheep
In its first feathers. But this second time
When you lift up your hand to cut the bough
Whose root is in my heart, I'll speak so loud
That if your dull ear miss, I'll reach you yet
By way o' the stars that will cry back my wrong
When they so hear it.

Pel. You would beg for Phania?

Sac. I would. There is no source of love so great
As brooding care. That makes the mother, not
The childing pangs. Though she, from the first hour,
Will cherish what she must so dearly buy,
'Tis day by watchful day her swelling love
Is born. So I, as new days past, forgot
The child of my brief pain, and gave to one
That nestled in her place my care-born love.
Now you would strike again——

Pel. Sweet, by my soul,—
Nay, Sachinessa, dearest heart, be calm.
Your words have never in our mated life
Moved me as now. If Stesilaus yields,
And his stern will be broken by your plea,
I am content.

Ste. I'm so far moved, my friend,
That I will hear Archippe speak her wish.
Her love for Pyrrha will not match with that
Your wife bestows on Phania.

Arc. Ay, my lord,
I've never loved the stranger as my own,
But she is dearer than my own grown strange.
I see in Phania all my tender loss,
But it is lost forever. Give me, Pyrrha.
I have no other daughter.

Ste. Keep her, dame.
But make this weakness not your heckling ground
Where you would spar for favors. No more suits!

Pel. And, Sachinessa, hear the same from me.

Sac. You borrow feathers and I'll twitch 'em out!

Ste. [To Archippe] Lest you should badger, footed safe on this,
Know that my judgment's not earwigged by you
To this repeal, but now configures pat
To the act itself, that keeps a constant step
With our first purpose. Our intent comes out
With even edges, though reversed in face.
An Athens' maid shall be a Spartan mother,
And here shall dwell a dame of Spartan blood.

Pel. You hear it, Sachinessa. I'm not one
To throw my pack away in sight of home.
Come mud, come mire, I bear my judgment out,
As Athens knows.

Sac. I'll swear to it there's no man
I' the city better hides the sun with a sieve!

Ste. And secondly, my dame, know that I've won
My high contention that the laws of Sparta
Are best for brooding earth a godlike race.
For here my proof enroots in warmest life
That they can aggrandize the chalky veins
Of pampered Attica to ducts that bear
The red, unconquered sap of Lacedæmon.

Sac. So Pyrrha is your proof!

Ste. No question there.
A weak, Athenian babe grows up the pride
Of Sparta, while a budling of her own,
Nursled by Athens' soft and careless shift,
Scarce grows to woman's level——

Sac. Why, you puffed——
You pride-blown——

Arc. Come with me!

Sac. But such a bladder!
He'd top a flood into the second world
And wet but half his skin!

Arc. Nay, Sachinessa,
Our suit is won. No words! We'll haste once more
To Philon's shrine. For this dear joy I'll bend
A willing knee. Come, come!
[Draws her away, upper right]

Pel. [Capering] Could reel it now
Like school-boy 'scaped a whipping!

Ste. Shame! Your years
Will blush. [Goes left] Now Biades, and then farewell!

Pel. Ah, there's my mourning cloak! I'll go at once
To th' Council, and——

Ste. Vain labor, Pelagon.

Pel. Nay, I will stir them!

[Exit, upper right. Biades enters left. He is arrayed in a purple gown with long train held up by his monkey. A peacock fan swings from a girdle, and jewels dangle from his ears. He carries a scroll from which he reads as he walks, tittering over the matter. Stesilaus watches him curiously, then amazedly recognizes him]

Ste. Biades! Is 't he?
May eyes report it to a brain unshaken?
... Ho, sir,—or madam?

Bia. Did you speak, my lord?
Your pardon! I was buried here,—quite drowned
I' the honey of this tale. Sir, it suggests,—
But that's not it,—the style, so quaint, so pure,—
It plays with thoughts and leaves them bright as shells
The sea has polished to their curling edges.
You'll hear this line? 'Tis worth a pause. Eh, not?
You've never wooed the script? Ah, I forget.
War is the art of Sparta.

Ste. Are you man?

Bia. What's that to an artist, sir? Life in me packs
The germinal grain of all, and what may come
To birth and bloom, I leave to nursing Fate.
But you seem ruffled,—warm. Pray have my fan.
Then take my parchment,—sit you in this nook
And read of Corys and his water-nymph
Until the charm of an unhurrying world
Steals wave-like round you.

Ste. Olympus! Was 't this voice
That tripped my reason? Led my cautious years
To take instruction from a dizzened ape
And lose the cause they guarded? Was 't myself
So slubbered judgment——

Bia. Ah, must I believe
You honored my good counsel?

Ste. Good!

Bia. 'Twas good
For Athens. Ha, you slipped into the noose
As easily as my finger takes this ring.
A wondrous sapphire here. You know the stone?
This is from Egypt,—has the desert fire
'Neath Nilus' liquid smile. Is 't not a treasure?
But I forget. Your Sparta has no gems.
By Hera's belt, your country goes too bare
For this adornèd earth!

Ste. Come, Biades!
Throw off that gown, and with a captain's sword
Deny this folly!

Bia. Friend, 'tis not my hour
For exercise. Our moods, I see, would quarrel.
But here's my thornless world. You'll pardon me.

[Resumes walking and reading as before. Pyrrha enters, middle left, and stands watching him. He looks up and is struck motionless to find her eyes upon him. She comes nearer for a detached scrutiny, then crosses right]

Ste. Find me Alcanor, daughter. And this hour
We leave for Sparta.

Pyrr. I am ready, sir.