ACT V
Scene 1
Enter Kandaules, Thoas following.
Kandaules.
Where’er I go you’re hard at heels. What would you?
No heart to open speech with me, old man,
Because I was a trifle rough with you?
Speak—on with what you’d say. I’ll keep my soul
In patience and give ear though you should need
The length of time that turns a grape from green
Into the purple ere you’ve reached the end.
Thoas.
Sire, have I ever yet accused a man?
Kan.
No, Thoas.
Thoas.
Have I slurred a man’s good name?
Kan.
Why, surely not.
Thoas.
Or picked up heated words,
Such as wroth lips are like to drop on earth,
To fling them in your ear and fan their flame?
Kan.
Never.
Thoas.
Good; then I know at seventy years
I’ll not do what I have not done at twenty,
Since more than fifty years I’ve served your house.
Kan.
I know it, trusty henchman.
Thoas.
Earth brings forth
And ceases not, all one to her if kings
Be slain or crowned. She suffers not the trees
To wither out nor berries to run sapless,
And none the more she holds her fountains back
If one should chance to give her blood for drink.
Kan.
That’s true as well.
Thoas.
Ay, true. All would remain
As now, I think, so far as touches me.
For there’s the luck of slaves like us, that we
Fret little at a red moon in the heavens,
And that more coolly than the greedy dogs
Waiting in hope for tit-bits they may snap,
We watch the sacrifice nor ask in dread
If there be good or evil prophesied.
Kan.
Greybeard, what would you say?
Thoas.
Your father had me
Always about him, none the less if he
Went banqueting than if he took the field;
I dared not be remiss, to-day I reached
His goblet and to-morrow shield and spear.
I too it was prepared his funeral-pyre
And gathered up with my old stiffened fingers
His handful of white dust in the brown urn,
For such was his behest—and why was this?
Kan.
The grape is turned to red by now.
Thoas.
You’re like him,
Maybe—I’ve ne’er yet seen you draw the sword.
He drew it oft and gladly, nor at times
With any ground, I grant it if you will,
And yet ’twas good, maybe you’re fully like him;
God give his fate be yours.
Kan.
Is it not mine?
Thoas.
Who knows? I reckon in its end as well.
Forgive me, Sire; I have a laggard brain,
An understanding slow, and dull device,
Who calls me fool insults me not thereby.
But sturdy men have come to me ere now
To seek advice, and when I hemmed and hawed
They said to me:—“The simplest aged man
Who counts his seventy years and keeps his senses
Has greater wisdom in a hundred things
Than even the shrewdest who is still a youth.”
Well, then, I think I keep my senses still,
So hearken to me.
Kan.
Why, I do.
Thoas.
And ply not
The rack for reasons. Be not overhasty
To think me wrong, although I shut my lips,
Because a “why” of thus and thus much drams
Is lacking me when you would weigh my word.
It’s true enough, if birds refuse to fly
As pleases you, when questioned by your seer,
That you can launch a single shot from bow
And scatter them, as many have done in wrath.
But does the ill-luck they portended come
The less for that? Then do not say to me,
“What would you? He is valiant, good, and true!”
I know’t myself, nay more—would swear the same,
Yet all the more I speak my warning word:—
Be on your guard with Gyges!
[Kandaules laughs.
Ah, I thought it.
I tell you once again—be on your guard!
Yet take my words aright. I say as well
He’ll never stretch his hand to grasp your crown,
He’ll spend his very latest drop of blood
In your defence, and yet he is for you
More dangerous than all who yesterday
With looks and words were hatching to your hurt
Their plots. Oho, they’ll never do you harm
As long as he’s not here. Then get his riddance
Soon as you can, for if he bides much longer
And, wearing all the garlands he has won,
Goes up and down among them as he does,
There’s much can happen.
Kan.
That means?
Thoas.
Why, I see it.
They whisper and compare, they shrug their shoulders,
And clenching fists, have a sly nod with each other.
You’ve given them all too sore offence, and if
The Greek should feel some morning when he wakens
His step go sudden-stumbling o’er a crown
Set by some hand at night to catch his feet,
Should he still spurn it?—Is the man a fool?
He does not rob you of it, that’s enough.
Your heir he can be and your heir he will be,
His stars ascend, you do not dream how high,
Else would they mock him for a zither-twanger
And they’d believe, as I myself believe,
That only birds possess the songful throat
Whose claws are clipped by shears that know their work,
But now they deem him, since he’s apt at song,
If not yet Phoebus’ self, at least his son.
Kan.
That mazes you? Why, he has conquered them.
How could sheer mortal be their conqueror?
Thoas.
Still, still! Yet this much stands, he’s good and true.
Then hear my words and all may yet go well
Unless the gods should send a chastisement
And you next year make them and us at one.
[Enter Gyges.
He comes. Was this vain talk? Sire, do not smile.
’Tis just on walls saltpetre-crystals form,
Then wherefore not the salt o’ the time on me?
[He retreats into the background.
Kan.
You’ve touched my quick more nearly than you think—
Well, Gyges?
Gyges.
Sire, I have been seeking you.
Kan.
Not more than I’ve been seeking you. Say on,
What brings you here? You’re dumb and turn away.
Whate’er it be I have the strength for much.
Gyges.
Oh, had you but received my sacrifice!
Kan.
I ne’er will rue that thus I have not done,
But had it been received, what profit there?
That night suspicion inextinguishable
Took kindle in her bosom from your sigh.
But cease this feud of conscience. Where’s the man
That is a man and had not sighed like you?
Gyges.
No blessed day was that on which the King
Of Lydia first met with Grecian Gyges.
Kan.
I curse it not.
Gyges.
Your own hand had the power
To shield you from that couched and glowering tiger,
And I by launching my unwanted dart
Became not your deliverer from destruction
But robber of your master-shot.
Kan.
’Tis true.
I had him fully marked and was prepared,
But when I saw your eyes in eager glitter,
The glow upon your cheeks, the heave of breast,
I banished from my lips a quiet smile
And gave you thanks.
Gyges.
Ever this noble mind.
E’en when I dreamt not of it! Can I then?
Kan.
And the first glance told me another thing,
That should there come on me a greater peril
You’d do the deed again and make it braver.
And if it has not come you bear no guilt.
Gyges.
Sire, speak no more. ’Tis even as you say,
Against a single hair from off your head
I would have staked my blood—yet now—yet now—
So wills the curse, I must demand your life.
Kan.
My life?
Gyges.
Even so, if she is not to die.
The sun already dips to his descent,
And if your eye still sees the evening star
Then hers shall never see it, nevermore.
Kan.
Then if you kill not me she kills herself?
Gyges.
She does. How else could I stand thus before you?
Kan.
No other sacrifice requites her vengeance?
Gyges.
I offered her the dearest, but in vain.
Kan.
Ah, then she will refuse me even farewell!
Gyges.
I fear she’ll flee your face into the grave.
Kan.
No more, then. Take my life.—You start aback?
Gyges.
So willing with the gift?
Kan.
Who does a sin
Does penance too. Who smiles not in atonement
Makes no atonement. Am I known so ill
And held so light by you that such a word
Astounds, nay more, affrights you? Where’s my heart
That I should force her with her rosy fingers,
Too tender even for plucking of a flower,
To stretch them for a dagger and to prove
If she be skilled to find her heart?
Gyges.
This too?
Flinging the very garment’s shelter back
And offering breast yourself?
Kan.
I show the path
That’s nearest to the goal, and make it smooth
That when you stand again before her sight
There’ll be at least one thing in me to praise.
Here is the rushing fount of life you seek,
You have the key yourself, then ope the lock!
Gyges.
Not for the world!
Kan.
For her, my friend, for her!
[Gyges makes a gesture of refusal.
Nay, I bethink me now. You wished to-day
With your own hand to spill your youthful blood.
Maybe I too can muster will; then go
And take to her my latest-breathed farewell.
’Tis even as though I now were stretched on earth.
Gyges.
No, no! I came to fight.
Kan.
Oho, the pride!
In fight with me you cannot be defeated,
Eh, friend?
Gyges.
You know me better.
Kan.
That as well!
Should I be conqueror even there remains
No less the other. Is not that the scent
The aloe sheds? It is; so soon the wind
Carries it from the garden. ’Tis unclosed
Only when night is near. The time is come.
Gyges.
The ring—oh, oh!
Kan.
You mean ’twere better left
Unravished in its charnel? True it is.
Rhodope’s dread presentience was no lie,
Nor was your shudder empty monishment.
Not for a game nor the mad pranks o’ the fool
Its metal has been welded, and perchance
There hangs on it the whole world-destiny.
Methinks ’tis given me to dare the vision
Of time’s most ancient gulfs, and see the fight
The young gods fought with the hoar gods of eld.
Zeus, hurled aback full oft, comes climbing on
Toward the gold seat o’ the Father, in his hand
The sickle of horror, and behind him creeps
A Titan to the attack, sore-bowed with fetters.
Why is he not perceived of Kronos? Lo
He’s manacled and maimed and downward hurled!
Wears he the ring? Gyges, he wore the ring
And Gaia’s self had handed him the ring!
Gyges.
Then curséd be the man that brought it to you.
Kan.
And why? You did the right, and had I been
Made of your mould it had not worked its lure,
In silence had I given it back to night
And all would now be as it was erewhile.
Then seek not on the passive tool’s account
To bargain for my sin. The guilt is mine.
Gyges.
But ah, what guilt!
Kan.
How deep ’tis hers to say,
And keen I feel I have been sore at fault.
What strikes me strikes me only as is meet.
The plain word of my age-ennobled servant
Taught me a thing. One should not always ask
“What’s this or that?” but sometimes “What’s its import?”
I know for very truth the time is coming
When all will think as I do. Say, what virtue
Inheres in veils, in crowns or rusty swords
That is eternal? But the weary world
O’er things like these is sunken into sleep;
Things that she wrested in her latest throe
And holds to fast. Who’d plunder her thereof
Wakes her. Then let that man first search himself
If he be strong enough to hold her bound
When, jolted half awake, she lays about her,
And rich enough to offer her aught higher,
If she be loath to let her trinket go.
Herakles was the man, but I am not.
Too proud to be his heir in lowly mind
And far too weak to be his peer in deed,
I’ve undermined the ground that held me firm
And now its gnashing vengeance draws me down.
Gyges.
Nay, nay!
Kan.
’Tis thus nor can be otherwise.
The world has need of sleep as you and I
Need ours; she grows like us and waxes strong
When she would seem the prey of death and fools
Are moved to mirth. Yes, when a man lies prone,
The arms erewhile so busy hanging slack,
The eyes imprisoned fast and closed the mouth,
Whose lips are knitted in convulsive twitch
Retaining still perchance a withered roseleaf
As though ’twere greatest treasure—that would give
A sight to raise the laugh of him who wakes
And looks upon it. But were such a man,
Some being born upon a stranger star
And quite unwitting of our human wants,
To come and cry at you—“Here’s fruit and wine,
Arise, eat, drink!” What were you like to do?
Why this, unless you choked him, ere you knew it,
With a half-conscious grip and crushing hug,
You’d answer:—“This is more than meat and drink!”
And slumber calmly on until the morning
That summons not the one and not the other,
Nay, but all mortals into freshened life.
Just such a meddling mar-peace was myself.
Now I am caught between Briareus’ hands
And he will grind the insect that would sting.
Then, Gyges, howsoe’er the wave of life
May lift you (and be sure ’twill rear your fate
Still higher than you think) be bold of faith
And do not tremble even before a crown;
This only—never break the sleep o’ the world.
And now——
Gyges.
The sun goes down. The thing must be.
Kan.
Thoas!
[He takes off his crown.
Thoas.
What means this, Sire?
Kan.
I think you wished
To see me fight. Be glad, then, for I do it.
But this for payment—keep the crown in ward
And give’t to whoso of the twain survives.
(To Gyges.) If it be you, I grudge it not, and men
Will see it on your brow with joy—Come, come!
You say you’d never take it? Fie, oh fie!
’Twould only lapse upon a lesser man.
Gyges.
Sire, swear you’ll do your honest part in fight.
Kan.
’Tis mine to show her I’ll not lightly lose
So dear a loveliness. I swear it then.
And you?
Gyges.
She lives and dies with me. I must.
And though at every cut and thrust I’m thinking
“Liefer by far a kiss!” yet none the more
I’ll slack the force of any blow.
Kan.
Then give
Your hand for this once more.—Now be for me
A tiger. I for you a lion, and this
The wildwood where we oft have led the chase.
[They draw.
Gyges.
There’s one thing yet. Shame held it back. She means
To wed with me if you be overcome.
Kan.
Ah, now I understand her!
Gyges.
On your guard!
[A fight, during which they disappear to the left.
Thoas.
He falls! The last o’ the Heraclids is fallen!
[Exit in their direction.
Scene 2
The Temple of Hestia. Evening: torches are lit. In the centre a statue of the goddess. Rhodope appears from the right in solemn procession, with her Lesbia, Hero, and Karna.
Rhodope.
Karna, the funeral-pyre—’tis being built?
Karna.
’Tis built ere now.
[Rhodope paces into the temple and kneels before the statue of the goddess.
Hero.
She speaks of funeral-pyres
Instead of bridal-chambers?
Lesbia.
What, amazed?
There must be first one dead within this place
Or ever in this place there be a bride.
Hero.
I tremble, Lesbia. She questioned me,
When I was tiring her, if in our garden
Were growing poison-berries——
Lesbia.
What?
Hero.
And if
I might not go and bring her some of them,
For every one she said she’d give a pearl
Though there should be a hundred; but with speed
It must be done.
Lesbia.
And you?
Hero.
I answered no,
And thereupon she smiled and said, “I’m like
To think it. I shall show you them to-morrow.”
And yet I thought it strange.
Lesbia.
And strange it is.
Hero.
Thereon she sent me from her, but I spied
And saw her take a poniard fine of point
As though for test, no other word could name it,
And scratch her arm.
Lesbia.
Hero!
Hero.
’Tis true. There came
Red blood as well.
Lesbia.
Oh horror!
Hero.
Sooth it is
She honours equally with ours strange gods
We have no knowledge of; and so perchance
’Tis some dark rite.
Lesbia.
No, no! Where sounds the flute
And where the pipe? Who sings the song of Hymen?
Where is the band of dancers? I was blind!
She has gone forth to turn her home no more.
Queen, hearken to my prayer—relent!... And is
A feast prepared?
Hero.