-7'THREE
CRETAN PLAYS
THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
EROPHILE
dil¿
GYPARIS
N,qr û ZË
.
THREE CRE,TAI{ PLAYS
THE SAC RIFICE OF AB RAHAM
EROPHILE and GYPARIS
ALSO THB CRETAN PASTORAL POBM
THE F¿IR SHEPHERD,ð.S,S
TR4N"!LAT{P FROM THE GREEK BY
F" H. MARSHALL, M.A.
Koraes Pro.fesor of Modern Greek, King's College
University of London
ÏÍ/ITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
JOHN MAVROGORDATO, M.A.
Exeter College, Oxford
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON : FIUMPHREY MILFORD
r929
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
ÄMEN HOUSE, It.c.4
LONDON EDINBURGE GLASGOW
LEIPZTG NEW YORK TORONTO
MELBOÙRNE CAPEÎOWN BOMBÀY
C&CÛTîÄ MADRAS SHANGHÁI
HUMPHREY MILFORD
?UBL¡SHER TO 1ts8
UNIVERSITY
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PREFACE
/T1HE present translations of the Sarifce of Ábraham,
L Erophile, and Gyparis have been made, in the case of
the two last, from the texts of K. N. Sathas published in his
I{pr1nrcòv @éarpov (Venice, tBTg)rt and, in the case of the first
from the text oi Emile fr'grina., pr¡t;.t
"¿
in his Biblir,1
tlt.èqae grecque vulgøire, vol. i, pp. 226-68 (paris, rBBo).
The line numbers in the translations correspond to those
of the original texts. One or two lines are occasionally
omitted; this is due to compression in the translation.
The translator has also derived much assistance from the
emendations to the texts of the Eroplrile anð, the Glparis,
published by the late Dr. S. Xanthoudidis in an arricle in the
Byzaatinisclz-Neugriecltisclze /øhrbüclterrvol. äþ gzi), pp. 7 j-
B
3, as well as from notes on different peints in the Gyp arls most
generously communicat'ed to.
'hirn by the same muchlamented
Cretan scholar. The:t¡-ansl¿tions are free, but
every effort has beeii made not to slnr over any points of
difficulty or to omit anything really essential to the meaning"
The translator's first aim has i¡een to give English readers
an opportunity of becoming acquainted with three typical
examples of the Cretan drama, and with this encl in view
he has tried to reproduce the spirit of the originals rather
than to attain to nice verbal accuracy.
He has to express his warm thanks to Mr. J" H. Lobban
of Birkbeck College, University of London, for reading
through the translation pf the Glparis and for suggesting
r The text of the Eroplzile, as published in the recent edítion of the play
by the late Dr. Xanthoudidis (Beileft No. 9 to the Byzanrinircl-Neug.ieclircle
Ja/trò,iicier, Athens, r9z8), came to hand too iate to be used by the
translator.
Printed in Great Britain
t
Vl PREFACE
various linguistic improvements, several of which have been
i1"p,:d: -His
greatest debt, however, is to his collaborator,
Yr. l. Mavrogordato, who, though in no way responsible
for the translations, has read them through aná con?ributed
numerous suggestions for their improvement.
The Introduction is largely based on two articles on
the cretan Drama, published in the Journal of Hellenic
Studies, r9z9, and the author of it wishes to express his
thanks to the council of the Hellenic Society for kindly
granting hirn permission to reproduce the tulk of thl
articles in question.
F. H. MARSHALL
LONDON,
June rgzg
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION TO THREE CRETAN PLAYS
T'HE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
EROPHILE
GYPARIS
INTRODUCTION TO THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS
THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS
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32+
326
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#rfii¡ltfiilk
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INTRODUCTION
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f N the history of Greek literature, as regarded by the
f general reader, there are two remarkable"intermisåions.
The first occurs when
'A.ncient Greek literature çomes to an
end with Lucian in the second century after Christ; or perhaps
in the fourth when the hexameter itself begin. to dirsoive
in the hands of Nonnus. The second breaik naturally
follows w,hen
-Byzantine literature is cut short by the falt óf
Constantinople__in r453*alter which it is commonly supposed
that hardly a Greek put pen to paper, save in tlie wäy
of'commerce or grammar, until the revolutionaty songs of
Rega¡ heralded íhe revival at the beginning of th" ilin.teenth
century. It is, however, one oF the fascinations of
Greek studies that they introduce us to a language that can
be traced in an unbrokän descent from Ffomer"to ihe present
day: and wherever the Greek language has been spoken the
art of literature has never quite þeriõhed, though-its traces
are sometimes rather faint and its beauties taîe. But for the
complete study of a language second-rate authors must not
be neglected where masterpieces are few and far between.
Unfortunately, it is only in-the last fifty years that scholars
have turned their attention to publication of the obscure
works that carry on the literary tradition ftom Byzantium
to Modern Gr'eece. Of theså authors 'of the'Turkish
period' the learned Sophocles in the introduction to his
Lexicon remarks (r86o): 'It is unnecessary to inform the
re1{e¡ here that, with very few exceptions, they are beneath
criticism.'r Thanks, howLver, to thä labours óf Sathas and
Legrand, Wagner and E,llissen, at the end of last century,
enough texts are available to enable us to study in its main
outlines the post-Byzantine descent of Greek litêrature. Not
. t çf. A. R. Rangabê, Littlrature nlo-ielllnigue (3erlin, tB77), p. zz,
'. . , de grossiers produits d'ignorance et de mauvals goût , . .', and the ironical
¡emarks of Koraes on the popularity of the ErotoÃri¡o¡.
B
2 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
the least surprising incident in that descent.tt tf" group of
Greek plays-whicñ make their appearance in Crete at the
end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth
centuries.
2
The descent of Greek literature from Byzantium to
Modern Greece 'üas a process in which the broad stream,
already beginning to run rather shallow, was broken up into
, t,r-b"r äf t*"ll channels. In the mountains, on the borders
of the Empire, and on the Greek mainland an unbroken
line of folk-songs was carried on th;oughoql the Turkish
period until out" of them arose the Epirote literary revival
*tri.tr preceded the Revolution. The Byzantine street son$,
as well'as the ballad sung on the frontiers by the wardens of
the marches, had fallen- naturaliy into the fifteen syllable
ballad metreIn
Scarlet town where I was born
there was a fair maid dwellin'a
metre that comes so naturally to European lips that it may
still be found on the broadsheets sold in the street by the
unemployed ex-Service man.z This form, the so-calledpolitiz
Leake (Researciø in Greece, p. roo) actually slggests that'tbe measure
of our old Ènglish ballads originJted, in all probability, among the Greeks'
(cf. also Tozer-, Re¡earcle¡ iz tie HigilanQ yf Turfre1, vol'-ii, p' 25.r., quoting
òr. Guest, History of Englìsà Rlitñn:). He was presumably thinking of the
English 'fourteenêr! which is the nearest thing in English
-to
the Greek
'political', as the 'fifteener' or 'poii¡icaf in English _t9o
.5i1f breaks up into
two lines (partiy because English is iess poiysyllabic)' The 'fourteener' in
English haimuih the same defects and beauties as the Greek'political'. Comparã
especially Chapman's translation of Homer and. Saintsbury's remaiks,
Historl'of Eøglisà Prondl, vol. ii, pp. ro8 f. The 'foulteener' becomes a
'politicalt when it requires a double rhyme: e'g. the apprentices'song in the
Kniglt of tlte Burning Pestle:
-Aná
let it nere be said for shame, that we, the youths of London,
Lay thrumming of our caPs at home, and left our custom undone.
Or the Eiizabethan popular poem, 9ir Martin Mar-?ezqle (r 59o):
' Such partial juãgéments in the Judge for whom-the Judge do favour,
Such Justice judge and judgeinents too, doth ofinjustice savour.
But note that the'political' being syllabic as well as accentual cannot drop
a final syllable as easily as the Er¡glish lfourteener' can acquire one.
INTRODUCTION 3
cal tserse (meaning common or bourgeois)r was adopted by the
learnedwriters and court p!e!s: 1t fi1s-t perhaps because'they
werc glad to recognize in it the iambic tetrameter catalectic
which-could be found in the ancient dramatists: afterwards
century, had a fenilizing influence on the compositions of
the people; and themselves received from the culture of the
Franks there established a stronger stimulus from Italy and
France than any they were abË to transmit to theii own
countrymen. Rhyme was added to their verse and chivalry
to their romancq and courtiers wrote love-poems that were
frankly modelled on popular ballads. Meaáwhile, however,
something entirely new rryas arising out of the social conditions:
a literature which was not inspired by the heroic
border, by the court, or by the illiteraie life of the mountains;
but which seemed to be written for an educated middle .
class. The new society naturally demanded a form of entertainment
which had been almost extinct at Constantinonle
as it had been in Imperial Rome-a serious drama. At
Constantinople there had been a meagre output of theological
exerðises and symbolic dialogu"', -or"'o, less connected
with the Liturgy; but the serióus theatre had been to
suchan extent overwhelmed bycircuses, races, and revues that
even the Greek names, as we know, of tragedy, drama, and
lome.dy had disappeared or lost their meãning.r But in a
Greek society imbued with ltalian culrure and súbsidizedby
western commerce a serious theatre was a necessity, and
native poets soon learned to produce plays for a sériors
audience, plays which althougfr- they are-frinkly inspired by
Italnn models are none the less genuine products of the
Greek spirit.
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3 See K¡umbacher, GetcÀicite der ó12. Litt.z, pp. 64+ff,
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L THREE cRETAN PLAYS
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Crete had been thrown in when Boniface of Montferrat
sold his perquisites to the Venetians in rzo4. The Cretans
are com-oniv saicl ta have been in a state of revolution for
7oo years : ind the Venetian period added a respectable
number of tumults to the annals of Cretan insurgs¡çs.+
Genoese adventurers, Venetian merchants, orthodox"ecclesiastics
and Jews, Greek _å'pyovrótrouÀot antd Greek peasants,
all made trouble: once at least (in i36z) it was the Venetian
coionists themselves who raised the familiar cry of Cretan
independence. But not till Candia surrendered tä the Turks
í2 1669 after.a. terrific siege of twenty-one years did the
Venetian administration of erete come tä
^n "nd-und
even
after that a few fortresses hung on tiil i7r5. It is clear that
in a period of 46 5 years rheie must hãvé been formed a
fairly-homogeneous society. And in Crete under the Vene_
tians it rvas a Greek society using the Gfeek language. The
Greek language increased-its voäburary as
"u"ri
riiins rangu.age
must.by adopting very numerous ltalian'wordí; but
lt ls a remarkable fäct that the Italian language or its venetian
dialect appears to have had no p"tr.tãn"ñt grammatical
or phonetic influence on the language spoken iã Crete.s
The Greek language, indeed,'wa! ofien written in what
are commonly called Latin characters, which it would be
more correct to call ltalian characteís, as each lettei of
course retains the value it has in ltalian. This fact in itself
only shows that the Greek language was generally adopted
by the venetian settlers, and t"hat"the extiemest ioncession
made by the islanders was to accept an obvious economy in
the use of o¡9 alphabet. Many wórks of the period, incíud_
ing,some of the plays which exist in manuscript, aré written
tn thts manner.Õ
+
lee Miller, Etsayt on tÀ¿ Latit¿ Orient, pp, r17-gg.
s See l-. 1L 'AvayvaørónouÀos,'Eníõpaørs
"4i
È*rrrn¡s èni r\v, EÀþvwiv, in the
'Enerr¡pìs êrarpeløe Bu(avrwãv Enouõãv, vol. ii, Athens, r925.
6 For the practice of writing Greek in ltalian cháraÉters seè Legrand's
INTRO DUCTION 5
This Greek society, which in spite of rebeilions and
discontents grew up in the island, had_a culture of its own.
ff," Ù.rrLr,ãwn litèrary monument of Venetian Crete is of
""rrr" the heroic romance Erotokriros, written by Vincenzo
'ðninuo,probablyabout r65o,which has thrilled the Greek
."""t".é äf th" eàstern Mediterran ean eyet since. Professor
ã,irv ."11r it 'a long and tedious romance saturated with
lalíuninfluence'.7 11 certainly has the slowness of a popular
"r,d.xp"nsive
film; but we might reply that it was not
lritten'for the entertainment of Professor Bury; and that the
same criticism might be appiied to Chaucer's Troilas and
òriseyde, if we did not considèr it as a prelude to the noblest
us" of English poetry. Before the Crete of the Erotokritos
a"nd of theãe plays was submerged at the end of the seventeenth
century by the Turkish morass, Venice had brought
ro the island'an-evident measure of commercial prosperity
and intellectual activity, although the population had falien
from çoo,ooo to 3oo,ooo. From Crete came Cyril Loukaris,
most famous of the few patriarchs who have ever
shown any inclination for reform. Crete in the sixteenth
century #as sending scholars, printers, and professors to
France, Italy, and
*Spain.
To- Spain ulto-f¡66 Yenice
to Rome, and from Rome to Toledo-went the young
Cretan Theotokopoulos (l 5+r-t6r4) who was destined to
become one of the greatest masters in the history of modern
painting.
' Might not a specifically modern Greek culture of permanent
value to Europe have developed in such a society
as this if a moderate- degree of peãce and stability had
allowed it to continue I It is with this consideration in view
that these Cretan plays are worth some study. There was
in Crete, a Greek cómmunity sufficiently cultured to demand
the performance of plays of the same general type as those
which were being enjoyed all over \Mestern Europe. Where
an established theatre existed there must have been a great
introduction to his edition of the Eroplile, in BiòliotÅègae grec{ae oulgaire,
voi. ii, pp. xci ff., and Xanthoudidis's introduction to Qoprouvîlos, p. 6.
7 Ronance¡ of Cliøa/r1 on Greek }oi/ (r9rr).
6 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
m,ânymore plays than the group at present accessible,B three
or wntcn are.Ïtere glven rn translation as specimens. Many
mgle may still lie hidden in the archives at venice.s Those
which have been published either at venice in th" ,"*r"rrteenth
century or by Sathas in r8?q are not masteroieces.
but they are outstanding achievem.áí. in;h;i"dy;i,ft;r;
9L..k literature, which tends to be rather orr"r*Jighted with
fo]!-gongs and other forms of popular arr. The l"'ng,r"g"-in
which they are writren,
"fter
äilåwance has b""; il¿: fb,
the numerous Cretan formations, provides a normal and
lively idiom,
.sugg..esting the posriËility of , ."-ørtrUl"
house as much unlike the elabõrately reitored palace of the
purists as it is unlike tlr"
"riúiilãUi
åil"pid"ted cottase of
Psichari, vlasto, and Pailis. It is a réti"r t.i find the p"rr?.tiv
natural spoken language applied to a thoroughly'sophisti_
cated theme; and the nãturäi beauties of the un"taúght'mind,
the lament-(m,oirológi), the love-song, and th"'prolr"ib,
adopted and refined by the conscious art of an educaied poet.
+
. Tþ" first play, ,{braham's Sarifce, stands in a class by
itself, as it is excluded by its subiect from the se.ula'r
theatre, yet shows a certain intellectual qualitv ,,vhich distinguishes
it from the ordinary productions of the relisious
d¡¿¡¡¿-¡¡ysteries, miracles, ór'moralities. For this rãuro'
it has received much more attention than the other plays.
A performance-of it was given in Athens on M"rcñ dg,
1929, apparently for the first time in Greece, thouEh a
D.ulch translatiotr byProfessor D. C. Hesselingwás prodiced
with considerable success in Holland in rgzolo
^
e T.herg are actuaiiy six piays extant: T/21:ia tou ,!øraam, Zenon, gtatÀis,
Glparíq EropÀìle, and Foriot¿nato¡. of thãse only one, the zenoi, fails to
¡ank as an original work.
. J John schmitt has some_ good remarks on ltalian and specifically venetian
influence on Greek poetry (as prevailing over F¡ench influence *ú"h
"pp""i,tn the clronicle of Morea) in his_essay on the Greek translarion of Bo..åË.iàls
Teseiàe, published in Psichari's /¡ude: de piilokgìe nlo-grecgue (paris, r sgzj.
to For an account of these performances see the upp""¿i* to a' poíuír,
edition of the play edited by Sophia Antoniadi (Athens,-r9zz). r I
INTRO DUCTION 7
tlbra/tam's Søcrifice \¡¡as supposed.to h,ave been first pub-
1i5hä at Venice-in r535. Legrand in his reprint professed
ii^Ñ; followed a cgVY of this edition, and. all subsequent
,iitrãriti"t-"""" Krumbacher-followed him in gi-vïlg
1-r";;;; the date of the editio princeps. But a copy of this
;åirir" has never apparently been seen. There l'as a susii.io,rr
gap of l3o years tiú the next edition in I668, anð'
ifni in"i"ditio.rJ foilowed numerously, constituting a direct
*",¿iti.,tt at Venice which was taken up in the nineteenth
;;;;t by popular editions3t.qy?and Athens'" There
ir ,lro'" manuõcript in St' Mark's library, the- same.manuscript
that contains the plays first published by Sathas, in
*friit, the play is given- with numerous but unimportant
rriì""r. in'Italian õharacters. In this version the play. is
axia tA35. It was tempting to suPpose that the editio
Þrinceps, perhaps transliterated into Greek characters (as
'*u. .å*nionly lhe case for publication) flom this very manu..riot,
*". t"âlly published not in 1535 but a hundred years
latei--the error 6eing not necessarily Legrand's but quite
nossibly that of the printer. In that case there was a further
Lì.t"rí to be explai¡sd-¿¡ edition of t 5 5 5 which is not
måntiohed at all
^in
Legrand's introduction but makes its
uoo""rrn." in his aþþa/atus criticus.'z No safe conclusions
.ãif¿ ¡" based ott'[h" shadowy existence of these early-
"áiiiá".,
or on the possibility, sufgested by the title-page of
teøg, túat it was rämodellel in iñyrye on an older original
in blánk verse;¡3 and the only certainty was that the play
:r The earliest editions in the British Museum areVenice 17r 3 Q37.i' 17
(e)) and I795 (8ó8 e. z8).
' ií e ,utiréí pìthetic üght is thrown, as some may like to think, on- these
and other inaciurâcies in- Legrand's editions by a passage in the preface to
lris third edition (Paris, rgoo) ofthe cretan pastoral iðylli'¡ eðpoq{t BooxonoûÀa
of which a translation ií apþended to the þresent volume. After recalling
the fact that thirty y"ars håv. elapsed since-his first edition of the poem he
proceeds to pay i ttibot" of gratiìude to his devoted wife who, as he now
äS".tiotrat"þ confesses, had learned to ¡ead and write the Greek characters
in order to íighten ,nd share with him so many years of assidu oas toi1' 'Ma
fenme transcliztait aøec une ¿xactitl¿¿e d'aøtant ?hts s1îPreilante (ce gui peut
tenòler paradoxal) qu'e//e ¡aaaii moiøs Ia langue!'
13 ouvïepévq ¡rèv'rioÀorólrv õà oriyav ó.rÀâtv. This title-page is quoted by
t,
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8 THREB CRE:TAN PLAYS
wasr. as Krumbach.. ,ry., 'not older than the sixteenth century'
when rhyme .u-å itrto fashion, that it showed stronø
Itaiian influen"ce, and that all the otÉer extant olays of thi?
Cretan g.royp (except the Zenon and the Fonoànìns which
from topicalãllusions seem to have been performed in 1669
during_ the siege of Candia), as well äs the Erolokritos,
co_uld be placed within the hundred years from i55o to
t6 5o.
The Tfusìa adds to the Biblical characters two maidservants
for Sarah, Ada andTamatr'+ and two men-servants
for Abraham (the 'two of his young men' w.hom Abraham
is said to have taken with him in Genesis xxii. 3), who bear
the pecuiiar names of Syban (Etiy.øav) and Soferi{íhi.h *.r"
only explicable as fantastic names intended to suggest an
Oriental-colouring,.as they.do not occur (on the ãithority
of Dr. M. R. James) in any known apocrypha, and could not
be traced in any of the religious or dramafic literature of the
period. They are not dumb attendants but play a consider_
able part in the action; into the mouth of Sbfer the Cretan
author puts those arguments of doubt or worldly wisdom
for the presentation of which Theodore Beza, in the olav
presently to be mentioned, introduces Satan himself in'ttrL
disguise of a monk.
That the Tlrysia'tras not written for the study but for
public presentation is clea¡ from a consideratiän of its
dramatic qualities. It has usualiy been said to fail naturallv
into two Acts of 544 and 6o9 verses respectively, but in thL
subjoined analysis I have suggested u ¿iui.lo'i irrto four
Acts which seems more approþiiate. There are undoubted
indications in the text of iome form of double staEe lan
inner or upper with a front, lower, or apron stage), ,i.li
".Legrand ¿nd- commented on by Xanthoudidis (ErotoÃr., p. cxx), and. by
P.ernot (Etude¡ de littlrature grec{ue moderze, ,9ì6, p. ,59i *ho,'i,o*.u"i
thought that wivot drÀoì could mean not u'ri},y-òd i.ts.r boi ,r.rr.s i'
'v_ulgar' Greek and saw no reason to doubt the
"*isterr."
of L.gr"nd', .urìy
editions.
.
t+ The names appe¿r to be taken at random from later chapters of Genesis
(xxxvi. 4, and xxxviii. 9ì. Th" Septuagint spellings 'lô,í anå @d¡rop become
"Avrø and T,i¡røp in the Tfuúa,
INTRODUCTION 9
has been seen lately in London in the Pltoenix revivals of
Elizabethan PlaYs'
One line-'and in the morning let us celebrate the feast
of this resurrectiol¡'t5-1¡7¿y be taken as suficient proof that
the play was intended for performance at the Easter festival,
of wnibh the sacrifice of Isaac lvas a recognized type or
'orophetic simiiitude'.
' TÏe Tlz1sia could not profitably be connected with the
rnysreries known to have been celebr ated at Constantinople ;'ó
,ád, ultholrgh most of its expositors from Legrand to Psichari
and Pernot had called it a Qéritable mlstère, it seems to have
no direct connexion with the two great classes of medieval
religious drama developing into the rniracles of saints and
the
-allegor ical rn or a li ti e s.' t
15 f Í3+i xai rò rayù và xápupev ro' åvd,øraor¡s r\v oxóþv,
16 As it is by Legrand (Biò/iotizègue grecgue vulgaire, voi. i, p. xxiv).
17 Neve¡theless, it would be wrong to ignore the French and English
mystery pìays dealing with the Sacrifice of Abraham. The French mystery
will be found in Baron James de Rothschild (Le Mìttàre du Vie/ Testament,
vol. ii), who alludes to our Greek play in his introduction (p. xxv). It may
be added that Baron de Rothschild points out how popular the subject of
Abraham's Sacrifice was for mystery plays from the ûfteenth century onwards.
The French Sari¡îce of
'{òralan, both in structure and length, presents far
nearer afinities to our Greek play than do the corresponding English piays
presently to be mentioned. The characte¡s introduced are God, the Angel
or Seraph, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, two named servants, Ismael and Eliezer,
andfigures of Pityand Ju.stice. Fromthe entrance of the Seraph i..nl. g7r3
of the cycie there are certain resemblances to the Greek play, which seem,
comparativeiy faint thoiigh they are, hardly accidental. The two named
servants in the French play, Ismael and Eliezer, while not taking much part
in it, propose like Syban and Sofer to go and search for Abraham and Isaac.
Sarah again is a iiving character, though she takes an íncomparably smaller
part than ín the Greek piay. She greets Abraham and Isaac on their safe
teturn, and Abraham then expredses in brief form that mistrust of his wife's
selÊcontrol which is dwelt on at length in our play. The nearest parallels,
however, between the French and the Greek plays are to be found in the
dialogue between Abraham and Isaac at the piace ofsacrifice, in the reluctance
ofthe father to slay and the son to die, and in Isaac's thought for his mother,
though it may be said that verbal similarities are not close.
As for the English mystery plays dealing with thê Sacrifice of Abraham
the foilowing works will be found specially helpful. (r) L. Toulmin Smith,
'Play of Abraham and Isaac' in'4ng/ia, vol. vii (1 s B4)" pp. 3 r 6 fi'. (published
IO THREB CRETAN PLAYS
It seemed to belong rather to the type produced in
F'rance and ltaly when ihe end of the true r:;.edieval,m'1steryr,
was at hand; when iearned authors began to invade the field
of popular poetr/r Lorenzo de' Medici writing a ra¿?retroioriorc
of Soi Giottanni e PaoÌo (t+Bg) and F'eo Belcari
(r+SS) an
'lbrarno
ed Isac; and when theology attempted to
at Halle); (z) the same, '4 Con.no1p/9c9
-B-ook
of tñe FifteentÅ.Ce(lur!,
pp. 46-69 (London, r886); (3) Rudolf Brotanek, Ein nìttelenglitclzes
-Mistiriun'on¡
einer Duóliner Handtcirift r897 (l) It may be said at once
that the English mysteries are far slighter than and inferior in interest to the
Greek. This may to some extent be accounted for by the fact that, with the
possible exception of the Brome version, they were not intended for perform.
ån."
"s
r.p"tàt" pJays, but form part ofa series acted by members ofdífferent
I trad.es guitdr itr ,r*tious towns.
There
a¡e six kriown English versions, all
i a;tr".inlg from one another, viz. one belonging td the-York g=roup (38o lines);
one to the TowneleyMysteries (zr3 lines); one to the Coventry plays (264
lines); one to the Chester plays (z8o lines); the Brome (East Anglian). play
of 4ó6 lines, and one fromã manuscript at Triniry College, Dublin, assigned
by Brotanek to a lr{orthampton origin, of some 37o lines.
'
There can be no doubt that the subject was a popular one in Engiand in
the early part of the fifteenth century' to which all these versions seem to
belong.' Th"y ar", though in a lesser degree in the case of the Chester,
Northampton, and Brome plays, rather dry and meagre, but certain definite
afinities with onr Greek piay can be detected. In the Towneley piay Isaac
resists and argues with Abiaham throughout, finally appealing to his mother's
love; in the Coventry play he utters iìo murmursr but asks for blessings and
forgiveness. The Greek play blends these two attitudes. In the Chester
veriion (printed by A. W. Pollard, Engliú Miracle Plait, pp. zr ff.)_there
is more õf hom¿n interest, family affection being strongl¡ accentuated; the
father shows griefand hesitation, and the boy dispiays natural touches, such
as his anxiety to avoid having his clothes (the festal raiment of the Greek,
cf. 1. 463) stained with his blood. The Brome version is the best. There
Abraham is throughout the agonized though conscientious father; Isaac is
the human boy, fearful of death and filled with afectionate thoughts for his
mother, though she is not actually brought upon the stage. The emotion of
Abraham and Isaac after the deliverance is vividly portrayed. One or two
passages, whe¡e there is some resembiance to Passages in the Greek play, may
be quoted:
Broun, rl. 17 5 tr.
rs^¡,c
Now I woid to god my moder were her on yis hyll,
Sche wold knele for me on both hyr knys
To save my lyffe.
INTRO DUCTION I I
¿a1tvre the beginnings of classical tra'gedy, as in Theodore
Råru't ,Lbraharn Søcrif'ant (t S5o). The works of Belcari and
8"" *"r" accordingly those most usually mentioned in conne*iotr
with the Cretan play, and the French work unão.rbt"dly
shows a number of remarkable coincidences of
sentiment, quoted by Pernot. But these could all have resulted
independently from an intelligent elaboration of the
biblical nariative, and perhaps, as Pernot himself suggests,
from a common tradition in the reiigious drama of the sixteenth
century; and it remained unnecessary to extend to
Crete the direct influence of a Calvinistic tragedy published
And sythyn that my moder ys not here'
I pray yow fader, schonge yowr chere,
- And kyil me not with yowr knyffe.
Gxrlr, li. 895 ft^'
rsÀÀc
My mother, would that thou wert here to see how I am tied,
'Would that I could have spoke to thee, and 'Thus I die' h¿ve c¡ied.
For I would have thy pardon ctaved, and farewell to thee said;
I wouid have clasped thee in my arms and kisses on thee shed.
So agaín, Br'ortc, il'. 264 ff.
I-wysse, swete fader, I am sory ,åt$fu" ro*,
I cry yow mercy ofthat I have donne,
And of all trespasse that ever I did move yow;
Now, dere fader, forgyffe me that I have donne.
Gnunr, li. 9o5 ff.
My father, if at arry time I erred as ís boy's way,
Forgíve thy Isaac now that he his last farewell must say.
Come, kiss me tenderly and grant thy blessing unto me;
Remember that in times gone by I was a son to thee.
The Dublin, or rather Northampton, play has been influenced by the
F¡ench. Here the two servants, though unnamed, are int¡oduced, and Sarah
is, for the only time in the six English versions, brought in as a speaking
character, She meets Abraham and Isaac on thei¡ return and welcomes them,
and Ab¡aham tells her all, and she thankfully asserts that 'God's wille be
fulûlled'. In this ve¡sion also Isaac has tender thought for his mother, and
dwells on her love and grief when he supposes that he must die'
It may be true that the Greek Bacrif ce of ,l òrøian differs from the ordinary
nystery play on the same subject in laying chief emphasis on family affection
and sentiment, but it seems to differ rather in degree than in kind, and it
might be suggested that the'Western and Eastern versions possibly go back to
a common ancestor, and that not uniikely a Greek,-F.H.M.
f2 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
at Geneya, although it may be noted that such an extension
might_have been authorízed by the fact that the patriarch
Cyril Loukaris (r S.7z-t637) s'tudied amongst other places
at Geneva. Actually.the.-Tl.ysia resembles tËe plays of B"lcaú
and Beza less in detail than in its characteris'tic ãeparture
from the medieval ruJsterJ, in which the chief interest is
religious..Theauthor.of the Th.lsia while accepting the facts
as set forth in the book of Genesis,ra treats them in"an edifying
and orthodox but strictly secular manner. It would be ãn
exaggeration to say that he rationalizes the stòry, or to compare
the attitude of F.uripides to Apollo in the
'Ion;
l:ut he
seems to accept the facts mainly as ã foundation for a study
of sentiment and characterrre and he evidently wrote for an
educated and humanistic audience.
^
The language, though easy, flexibie, colloquial, and full
of..Cretan.expressions, is not illiterate. Of #hat might be
calied the illiterate colloquial language as applied to Ëiblical
narrative we have an admirable exãmple'ijr the ooem of
another Cretan, George Choumnos, dated by Kruinbacher
j io9, sele_ctions from which have recently been edited by
Professor Marshall.ro The style and vocabúlary of the Tlrysia
are approximately those of the Erorokriros, which *", *rroih",
_
.1
Th.- -Genesis
story, probably a survival of some ancient ritual, hardly
lends.itself to the graces of humanistic reiigion. sir James Frazer ãoes not
mention. it iL the appendix_to his edition-of Apoilõdorus (Loeb classics)
'on putting Children on the Fire'; bur see Tie Gilden Boagi,'iv. r77,where
it ís connected with the worship of Moloch and the feaõt of th" þasso.,rer
(substitution of lamb for first-born)
19 See Psichali: 'l'auteur. tient-a mêler le plus d,humanité possible aux
choses divines . , . le poète laisse voir sa manièreioute terrestre detomprendre
J-e dram_e, p-ar u3 monologue d'Abraham qui ne s'incline pas tout åe suite
devant l'ordre divin. . . . Le poète cherche donc à résouåre un problème
purement humain. . , .' Yet it should be noted that there is definite moralizing
in Abraham's final speech.
_: ll/-Testament Leggnds ,..,by GeorgiosChumnos,... edited byF. H.
Vlarshalf ....
; t92.5..
(An
attemp-t to_,poþularize the results of theålogical
learning.' Perhaps it is unlair to call it illitèrate; bur the almosphere certa"inlv
suggests sinai rather than venice. [It is worth noting rhar choumnos folo#s
the biblicai narrative ciosely_ in describing Abraham's sacrifice, and that,
except perhaps in small details mentioned below, his poem does not aoneui
to have influenced the aurhor of the present drama.-É.H.M.1
INTRODUCTION 13
reason for placing it at the end of the sixteenth or perhaps
"t
th" beginning of the seventeenth century. Indeed, besides
iorr ot five ideitical lines the general resemblances of laniuus"
and rhythm adduced by Xanthoudidis in his edition
ãf tË" Erotoþritos are so remarkable that he went so far as
io declare that if it were not for Legrand's aileged edition of
r(j( he should suggest that the Tfusia was an early work
oíih" author of the EroTokriros, Vincenzo Cornaro."
5
It is therefore perhaps not an insignificant coincidence
that it lvas a search for lhe sources of the Erotoþritos which
led me to the works of Luigi Groto, sometimes called Cieco
di ÏJadria,r, among which was the biblical play Lo fsaclt,
the obvious but hitherto unsuspected source of the Tlrysia.
This play, which seems to be excessively rare, was first
published in'r ç86 iust after Groto's death,"i and since there
ïs not the slig-htesl doubt, as the subjoined summary will
show, that the Tlz1sia is directly modelled on the framework
of Groto's fsaclt., the strong suspicion, noted above, that
Legrand's editio princeps of 1535, and also his ghostiy
edilion of r555, rvere non-existent, becomes a practical certainty;
and iC may from norv onwards be accepted that the
Tfusiø',vas not published earlier than the extant manuscript
of r635.
Thii date would of course increase the probability of the
zr Xanthoudidís, ErotoÅr. (t9t 5), p. cxx. Ifthe ErotoÈritot could be dated
as early as r 5 50 at early work of the same author might still have been published
in r 535. But Xanthoudidis himselfwas inclined to place the Ero¡oÃrìtos
towards the end of the period r55o-ró5o, and I beiieve it u'iil be possibie
to show from internai evidence that it was almost certainly written in I645.
2? 'Which of your poetsl' says Lady Poiitick Would-be in Ben Jonson's
Vo/pone (íii. z), 'Petrarch or Tasso or Dantel Guarinil Ariostol Aretinel
Cíeco di Hadrial I have read them ail.'
¿: LO lSACH/Rappresentation noua/DI/LViGI GROTTO/CIECO
D'HADRIA/ALLA MOLTO MAG./& Reuer. Síg. Suor Orsetta Pi¡qii
Monacha in S. Lorenzo./Nuouamente posto in luce./[device]/IN VENETIA
/Appresso Fabio, & Agostin Zoppini Fratelli,/MDLXXXVI' The B¡itish
Museum press-mark is rr7r5. df. ró.
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T+ THREE CRE:TAN PLAYS
speculation put forward by Xanthoudidis, that the Tlrysiø
was an early work of Yincenzo Cornaro, who might well
have comménced poetry ten years before th" .o-poiition of
the Erotokritos by adapting the religious drama of Luigi
Groto.
The words ouv1e¡.,.évr¡ y.èv
-z.o,Àoló1ev lot z.o"ìo,tí] Ed, ørlyav
ó,¡r).ôw on the title-page of early editions of lhe Thlsia,
hitherto assumed to refer to an older unrhymed version in
Greek, are now of course seen to be a due acknowledgement
of the Italian's blank Yerse.
. O.n-e further point is to be noted which may have some
significance in this speculation. In r7r3 Antonio Bortoli,
a
-Venetia¡r.printer, produced for a Greek publisher â. new
edition of the Thrysia.'+ The editio ?rince?s of the Erotokritos
which ìrad.previously- circulated in mãnuscript, was produced
by the same printer in the same year.
-'We
shafi be
wise, in the present incomplete state of'our knowledge of
the literary relations between Venice and Crete, if we cõllect
fragments of this sort without trying to arrange them in a
preconceived pattern. One other such detail is-the fact that
in his pastoral plry Il Penrirnento ánaoroso (tSB¡) Groto introduces
a nymph with the name of Panurgia, ivhich is
obviously-a version of the Greek name Ilovópglborne by the
heroine of the Glparis.
6
The. Isach beg.!1s_ with a short prologue telling the audience
that they will be surprised to find-rhemselvés in Beersheba
instead of in the usual Arcadia, Susa, or Athens, and
l*i"g them to prepare for a short story from the
Bible.
Act I. Abraham is wakened by the Angel, given the usuai
abrupt command, and gets hurriédly out ãf bå. In Scene 2,
'¡rrith a lantern, he continues to express bewilderment aná
distress, but never doubt, and wonäers what sin this order
is intended to punish. Sarra wakes up just as he is hoping
zq This is the earliest edition in the B¡itish Museum.
INTRO DUCTION 15
"he worl't, and in Scene 3, after.much..imploring and argui'."";ï
íold the trouble. She immediately^concludes.that
:Ï;"'i: the penalty for that famous laugh of hers, explains
:ä;, l; wát ånly a iaugh of ioy,'s prays that the sentence may
iii.""i."¿ or that .ñe *"y-b" slain in her.son's place, and
r^ll" fainting to the ground. FIer two maid-servants, Ada
':;;{;^"r,?un out iÁ' alatm and carry.her to bed' A chorus
Zi*n1"a-^;idens concludes the act with frve stanzas about
the sorrowf-ul sttuatton'
""1;;- II. Abraham left alone after protesting his love for
fr;. rát ""¿
lamenting.his.fate resolves .to
put away human
T.rl"ãrr, and strong in divine love .calls
out his servants.
i;-ü;-;;'z the meã rrrtt out, bearing the nâmes which
;;r;l;d us in the Thlsia, Siban and Sofer; and- he bids them
|^ld" ,h;-"ss and toã¿ it with wood' Himself, he. says with
;;;" to human tenderness, will -see
about the lamb; and
i. ,,,"., prepare knife and fire before his wife gives more
,r""frf". thË Chotns recite or sing two stanzas echoing these
sentiments."-'À.i ttI. As Abraham enters ready to start, Ada ancl
Ti*", call out that their mistress is reviving' Abraham is
anvthing but pleased (l'ønnuntio, he says, ch'in,øltro tertp.o
Mi dorãbbe alleggrezza, ltor rni da noiø), and heartng his
iã-" -"trtioneã"by Sarra, who is agonized to find herself
still alive, he decidès to go in and comfort her. In Scene z
Abraham expounds the \{'ill of God and the duty of.obedience
and gråtitude to the rebellious Sarra; who is silenced
oniv when"Abraham proves to his own satisfaction that evil
is riecessary and that'we must all be thankfui that it is not
rmrch worse. She then makes him promise that before
slaying Isach he will make a special effort to obtain a respite
orät least a postponement;lie ¡ays he still has eight days.
Scene 3 . WhiÏe Saira still weeps Abraham wakes Isach and telis
him to dress himself quicklyl they are going off to sacrifice.
Isach asks his mothef why'she kisses him good-bye so tearfully.
We will soon retuin, says Abraham, telling Isach to
go ahead and the servants to follow. Scene 4. Isach asks
.¿5
A variation of Gen. xviii. r5:'Sarah denied, saying, I laughed not.'
I
I
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:
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'6 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
why they have made such an early and mournful start, and
is put off with brief answers by Abraham; who now telis the
servants to wait here, where the branches are too thick for
the donkey to pass, and Isach to take the faggots on his back
and go uhäud.'S."ne 5. The two servants"Siban and Sofer
Ieft ilone wonder whãt is up with the old peopie getting
up in the middle of the night and crying and groaning; but
instead of pursuing the inquiry they decide to find a sheltered
corner where they can lie down and go to sleep. The
Chorus, who have apparcntly followed up, sing a shbrt ode
to the effect that although ali is for the best, nobne could be
expected to keep a dry eye.
,A.ct IV. Abraham is saying it was all his own fault for
ever having asked for a son, when they arrive at the summit
and. Isach is asking why thLy n"ã to-éo*e such u long *uy]
and where the lamb is, and wanting to help build thã altar.
When the altar is ready he is told tolake hiicoat offand have
his h-ands bound, such being God's will. Abraham prays;
that for Sarra's sake, to whom he had iied sayine he haci eie.ht
days when he only had three, or für the inntcJnt boy'. .u?",
the sentence may be changed or else their parenial love;
or that God should kill the boy himself. Isach prays that if
he must die the years taken from him may be þivän to his
parents, and that they may have another son; hè wishes he
could say good-bye to his mother. It is no use) says Abraham,
you must return to immortal life and joy; you must die now
iike a flower cut down,by_the ploughlro' Turn your head so
as not to see fire or steel. Do not speak or I shali die. Behold
thy will, O Lord.
In Scene z the Angel appears to stay the sacrifice and
points out the lamb caught in a thicket, which comes up of
its own accord and is duly slaughtered. Abraham gives
thanks at some length, and when Isach suggests that-they
should return home as soon as possible, hé blesses him,
u6 This famous simile which passed from Virgii to Ariosto (Or/, Fur.
xviií. r53) is also found in the ErotoÃ.rìtos (iv. 1887) as well as in Groro,s
Hadriana (i. 3. 17z); ¿nd I have no doubt that search would produce further
specrmens.
IN:TRODUCTION 17
wishing him great increase and abundance. In Scene 3,
Èiban ãnd Sofer are discussing whether they should disobey
tÀe letter of his orders and go after him, when Abraham
^oo"urt,
expiains the cause of'his former sorrow, and sends
ib'f.r o" ahead to tell Sarra that all is well; and Isach is to
,id. ho-" on the donkey. The Chorus sing an ode on the
mvsterious and wonderful ways of the Lord, and decide to
1..iu.r, to the support of their mistress, who will now be
overcome with joY.
Á.ct V. Ada, who has been sent out to look for Abraham's
Darty) is wandering towards the mountains when she meets
'Sofer returning, and they decide to go back together and
break the good news to Sarra. Scene e. Siban tells Abraham,
who protests mildly, that his righteousness is really remarkable
and that the memorable history will long be adorned
with praise and with dramatic representation-(a ra??resennràssi
in ricclte scene l-o s?ettøclÌl mestl, e poì gioioso).
Scene 3. Sarca, after one glance at Sofer's glad face, isìetting
out again, joy having banished her weariness; and Ada call.s
out tñe other maid-servants to accompany her; when Abraham
enters and tells her to keep calm. Sarra continues unaffectedly
to rejoice over Isach; who interposes the remark
that this \Mas riot the first mark of God's favour in the family,
his own birth having been the result of a divine interference.
At this moment a messenger enters and informs Abraham
that his brother's wife Melcha has just presented him with
a son. A,nd now even Abraham is overjoyed at this crown of
blessings and plays up to Sarra's outpourings of reverent
gratitude, The Angel reappears, and announces God's promise
that sands and stars shall be fewer than their blessed
descendants; that man shall never be sacrificed again until
in due time the divine man, the only worthy victim, comes
down to earth; and that out of Isach shall come forth twelve
lribes. This trial, he adds, was only imposed in order that
faith might shine clear over all the eaith and be doubly
¡ewarded. Abraham says it was well worth it: and the Angél
tells the audience to gó home with a blessing and learn-to
obey and to suffer witåout murmuring.
c
18 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
7
If this brief but faithful summary of the fsaclt be compared
with the summary of the Th.lsia which follows, ancl
with Professor Marshall"'s translation, it should be possible
to form a fair estimate of the relation of the two plays. And
leSt any one should ever rise up and deciare that
-the
Tlrysia
wâs thb earlier of the two (and that Legtand really did see
an edition of r535), it should be noted at once that Groto
keeps much closéi'to an academic avera"ge of correct sentimeÅt
and much closer to the book of Genesis. It is not
oossible to believe for a moment that if he had been transÎatinE
or adapting the Greek he would have omitted all the
^^ni
originäl tãuches which give the Tfusia its literary
value.
The Isaclr is much longer than the Tlrysiø-with the 75
lines of prologue it numbers 116z6lines and the
.Tlt1sia only
r r 54-yet it seems much emptier, for the discussion is
drearv and the characters remain biblical dummies. There
canb'e no doubt, apartfromthe tell-tale names of Siban and
Sofer, that the two plays are structurally identical; but it
is the Greek artist who has added the poetry and humanity,
and his merit will not be diminished bv the discovery that
the Thlsìa was painted from an Ita\ia.n inodel. Entirely his
is the picture of the boy Isaac, with his talk of schoolmaster
and school-fellowsrand his pears in his pocket, andalive from
the minute he is woken up; and another Greek invention of
real value are the sceptical arguments of Sofer, which are
only secured by admitting the two servants into the secret
of the proposed sacrifice. Groto's only attempt at original
invention, Abraham's story that he had been given a time
limit of eight days, is merely silly, and so is Sarah's stipulation
that he should pray for a postponement. Nor is he more
h"ppy when he returns to the text of the biblical narrative
and tries to make a dramatic climax to his last act bv announcing
the birth of a son to Abraham's brother NuÉor,rz
whose wife Milcah, as we all know, was mother of that
,7 Genesis xxii. zo_4.
IN:IRODUCTION t9
^^^nrable îamrly 'Huz his firstborn, and Buz his brother,
;i;"Ii;""I the father of Aram, and Chesed, and}Jazo, and
iiiúll, ^"d
JidlaPh, and Bethuel''
B
Acr I. The Tfusiø is opened before daybreak by the voice
"f
i;; ã"g"1 who cails hbraham from'his^ sleep and, telis
ii".-,¡ut dod d"-uttds from him as a proof of his faith the
'-äiÀ." of his only son Isaac. The Angel was probably no
ä.rã "oi."
but an actrtal character present 9n th.e stage-a
'ÅJ^^a,tization of the Genesis version where it is the voice of
ä"ã ¡ti-r"lf which holds converse with Abraham' Abraham
;f ."i¿ without much preparation, but not more abruptly than
i"" c"n".ir, and with ä litlle more detail, that in place of lamb
;;;* his dearest boy Isaac is within three days to be made
ã-burnt-offering on top of a high mountain to be indicated,
lhat his faith mãy be florified in heaven. Abraham, ylo h
G.rreris, only'roie up-early in the morning and saddled his
Ãr'. now späaks frigñtened and bewildered, bewails the sudá.n'vi.itrtion
and ãsks if punishment is necessary and if .it
must fall on the innocent lãaac: as soon as he is fully awakened,
howevs¡-f6¡ here occurs one of the very few stage
direciions given in the text,zs 'Abraham rises from his bed
and prays õn his knees'-he apparentTy no longer questions
the immutability of the command; and prays that, since
tlrere can be no'reversal of Isaac's fate, at least he need not
himself sacrifice his own son and may be given strength to
obey. Now Sarah, waking up, asks Abraham if he is dreaming'or
with whom he is talking; and Abraham replies that he
is ãnly saying his prayers as aÃy miserable sinner should, and
tells her to turn o-ver and go to sleep. Sarah anslffers that it
is not the time for prayer; that she can tell from his voice
that he is in tears and distress; and that it is no time for her
to rest when she knows that he has 'such a bitter poison
in his mouth'. Abraham turns in despair to heaven at
this second blow, the necessity of telling Sarah, while she
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20 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
continues to urge him to teil her his trouble. 'for my flesh is
thy flesh and my heart is thy heart; thy sorrows áre mine
and mine the pains of thy heart'.
Abraham *urn, her io prepare herself and. make her
heart of stone) and Sarah prõmises to be silent and submissive,
'even if you were to tell me that Isaac is to die to-dav,.
-A.braham remarks silently that she has foretold what he häd
in his heart-a rather unnecessary underlining of the irony
-and
Sarah, who has now risen from bed, anã kneels at his
feet, once more implore¡ hjm, even in Isáac's name, to tell
her what is the matter. And Abraham teils her the command
to sacrifice Isaac, and, himself now stern and inflexible
orders her to p,ri u*uy all fleshly erief, for faith i-oli"3
blind obedience to the orders of heaien.'sarah breaks'into
a wild.lament,-which, as Pernot rightly points out, is a
veritable rno-irológi: '"Woe for the co-''urrd, woe for the
volce, woe for the desire of my heart, woe for the fire that
has burned me up, woe for thé trembling of my bodv. woe
for the knives and swords which have eniêred irito mí îeart
and made a hundred wounds in my entrails. . . . If'onlv I
had becom e deaf and blind in my olä age that my eyes mifnt
not see nor mine ears hear; to see and hear, my itrita, tiat
I am iosing you, will give me every hour a thous'and *o"nJ,
in my heart. . . . g mighty Judþe, turn armay even thine
algel an_d change thy purpose wñich thou haét to_day de_
clded._ Keep the sword of justice in its scabbard: take up
instead.thy loving kindness-which is full of grace; with tha?
jg4g" thou to-day our ills, and let our child"lio" ,ro* in our
old age; or give me death before he dies, neither suffer of
your grace that I should remain without him. Mv
strength is lost, my heart is struck, my soul is Eathered
'rimy lalt days have'come. . . .' At'thJ end
"¡
fir-ü;;;Ë;;:i
she caÌls. for help fainting, and Ada and Tamar, her two
hand-maidens, hurry in, with each a.couplet of diéma¡ and
carry their mistress either into an inner room or oossiblv
to the back stage whích is then iridden by curtains. ,q.'brunurå
now alone breaks into a more measu".d ]ament: he does not
dispute the decision, but, breaking down now that Sarah is
INTRODUCTION 2r
nvetcorre iaments that his heart is not of iron that he may
ã.,-his duty and only thank the Lord. 'But the flesh has it's
nirt u"d ciaims its own so that my suffering lirrrbs are scatf.ied
like smoke. The flesh which thou gãvest me, O my
Creator and Maker, suffer it to ease my woes. My desire
and my understanding are to serve thee, and to remedy the
i^uk" änd burdens of my flesh; not to stand and wait longer
Lut to do my duty and to give cheerfully what God has askéd.
Thy will, Lord, be done. . . .' Only at the end of this speech,
whån Abraham has by a purely human effort of will-made
up his mind to obey the voice of duty, does the Angel reapoLar
to confirm his decision, and gives him the verylensible
ädui.. to wake his son and go his way before Sarah.wakes up
again, Abraham calls his servants Syban and Sofer, whä
pTotest that something must be amiss, for never before have
ih"y se.n him up and dressed two hours before sunrise. lIe
bids them take a load of wood, saddie the beast, and make
the usual preparations for a sacrifice, except that there wili
be no need to take either sheep or goat; theÀ communes once
more with himself: 'This hand to-day must kili the child I
watched so that even the sunshine should not harm him:
this sword which I have sharpened is to cut a throat which
is more dear than my o\Mn. These fire tools's which I hold
in my hand will light a fire which is to burn my own heart.'
But just as he.repeats the ¡eed to go quickly and quietly,
while Sarah still lies in a faint, the voièe of Ada is
-hearä,
probably jn ,þ." inner chamber represented by the upper
stage, asking Tamar to run and tell her master ihe good news
that Sarah has opened her eyes and awakened from Hades.
Tamar accorclingly enters and tells him that her mistress
is awake but'weeping l]ke a girl', and will not speak to them,
but wants Abraham. She bids him come and-comfort her.
-A,braham remarks that he wìshes she had stayed in her faint:
now she wiil make more trouble and alarm the chiid. No
one had ever died of a faint !
The inner chamber norv appears and rre see Tamar supporting
her mistress, who is ðalling wildly for Abraha* und
z9 rupoloÀtxá-which is the modern word for tfire-arms'.
22 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
Isaac. Tamar comforts. her with a speech of remarkat,ly
dramatic irony: 'Lady be of good cheer, here is your son'
(who was still sleeping probably in a bed at her side in the
inner chamber); 'and the master is in the house too, you are
not alone; the child is in bed and sleeping without a c re)
and the master has put a sword in his belt, and is speaking
with his servânts and arranging his business, but as though
he has some thought to worry him.' Abraham on the lower
stage decides to go in (¡*éoo, i. e. into the inner room at the
back of the stage) to calm Sarah-and the following noble
scene between them takes place in the inner toom now fully
open to the audience.
Sarah is mourning her helplessness when Abraham
approaches and bids her sit by him on the couch, and with
a few iines of grave and tender commonplace seeks to calm
her into a spirit of patience and fortitude. She turns
wildly to him, wondering how he will have the heart
to sacrifice that innocent body, and if his eyes will not be
darkened when he sees Isaac struggling like a young lamb;
and how herself will have the heart ever again to heai a child
called by the name of Isaa.c ot a boy's voièe speaking to her.
Abraham's replies maintain the note of gravity and fõrtitude,
but naturaiiy the savage command does not admit much
variety in the defence, and he can only repeat that their
child, as much as their own bodies, spirits, and chattels, is
not their own but the Lord's-and anyhow it is no use making
it worse. Sarah continues her own rnoiroltígí: 'Nine
months I carried you my darling child in this dark and unfortunate
frame. Three years) my son, I gave you milk of
my breasts, and you were my eyes and you were the light
of my eyes. I saw you and you were growing up like a shóot
of a young tree, and you were increasing in virtue, in wisdom,
and in grace. And tell me, who knows even no\M what new
joy you are minded to bring me now that like thunder, like
a flash of lightning: Iou are to be lost and melt away; how
is it possible for me to live on without you, what heart or
what refreshment have I left for my old age i What great
joy we had together, man and wife, when God told us how
INTRODUCTION 23
,r.,u would be made ! Unhappy hous.e of Abraham, what
Lä", j.y was yours *þ"1 y?u: my little son, feil to the
:.;;;rä and were seen ! And how all joys are turned to
*;r"*, in one g^y,.^!d.^.ll good things.have scattered away
ii[. .i""¿r in the'air.' Abrahamvety shortly,.as one hardly
ir".,ì"e himself to.speak, says that there can be no good in
åãä"irg"," the sa-crifice bitterness and ungraciousness; and
irt""n $"t"tt, suddenly calm, continues :
-'Go,-my-good.man,
r;î." Co¿ wills it, and
"Yy.your
rMay be all milk and dew
"äã
Iton"yt go, and may God pity you, be sorry for you and
t.- uo"; sõ that voices that-are pleasant may speak with
.,^,, il"';. dav on the mountain.¡o And let me think that I
'^Li"i n""" 6irth to him and never saw him in my life; but
T *ur iolding a lighted candle and it went out.' Abraham
iells her to mãke hãste and dress Isaac, but she has another
å,rlU"trt of reproaches and pity whet she goes- to the bed
io wrk" the boy and recalls how happily she had put him to
ù.¿ th" night before. Abraham almoit scolds her for wakingthe
child ã'ith t"ut.' and after she has calmed to a mood of
bitt"r itotty, in which she invites the boy to Py! on holiday
clothes foi apatty ({rS,ív"ao), and-follow not his father but
his death (yé"pos), he tells her severely to be siient, to go away
and to stoþ theée lamentations (nøoirológiø). She repeats that
the child must be faultlessly dressed for he is invited to a
wedding in Hades (eis zôz {ô'7); bu! Abraham tells her to
bring him the clothes and 99 awayi her tears would be sure
to rùn down as soon as the boy got up and embraced her as
he always did, and the child had sense eno.ugh to notice.
Sarah ai last gives him the clothes: 'these they are þ9 P",
on every holidav and all were after him and admired him;
these arL they vihich are to be covered with bþod this.day,
and the chilä is to be slain by the hand of his father'.
'O Sarah, be sorry for me too,' protests Abraham,-'and keep
your tears for when I am gone'; and Sarah withdraws, but
itands watching them, A-braham _
consoling her with .the
reflection that God can, if he wills, raise up a man alive
¡o This iine is probably corrupt. Both 'øoüø¿ (plural) ,anð..
ofipepov are
inaccu¡ate: but peihaps accutacy was not to be expected in the circumstances,
2+ THREE CRETAN PLAYS
again out of the fire; which Sarah receives with the ambiguous
remark that those who have wisdom give consolation
to fools. At last Abraham calls Isaac to *uË" ,rp and be
dressed,-who naturally says, 'let me sieep a little lonþer', and
when called a second-time exciaims thai he will waËe ip all
right when it is time for school. Abraham once more äsk,
Sarah to with.draw,_teìls her.to go and piay, and wait till he
returrrs and till, if by any chanãe he retuins with Isaac, he
can comfort her. Sarah plomises to wait patiently--¿g
patiently as a prisoner waits for the knocking o" t i, dåor of
the executioner-and withdrar,vs into the innËr room. Abra_
ham calls Isaac again to come out for a holiday. Isaac says
he cannot understand why his mother has not ðome to dress
lig 1. usual, and why he has just seen her going sadly away.
Abraham.says she ha-s gone tð prepare fooãfor"their åxped'i_
tton, and tn answer to a further question, that they are going
to make sacrifice on a high mountain,
'beautiful'b"r
iJl'.?
a long way off. Isaac sa- s he will follow after seeins his
mother, who at this moment re-enters from the inner ioom
and te.lls him to go with her blessing; andwhen Isaac asks
uneasrly why _so
m?ny kisses, why her tears run down, and
why she touches him all over, teils him to go with a Eood
heart and her blessing. Isaac says, ,Mothei. at the
"i*i.('s rì¡v (e$ávrao,.v) I will get yórr- .o*"
"ool",
and'liiii.
branches offthe tiees with |"",rés that smell'sileet. and anv_
thing eise delightful that there is. And if the schoolmasiår
comes.looking for me tell him I will soon be back.' ,These
pearsr' says Sarah, 'I was given yesterday and I kept them
on purpose for you, my b9y. Pui them ii your pocÈet, ancl
eat them when you are thirsty. They
"r"'r*".1 as hánev,
take them and try.' But Isaaé ,uyr, ,'Mãrh;r,
*h;;;.i
sobbing and crying and will not bê quier I Aná whát trorible
are you thinking over ¿nd prophesying for me I It seems
strange, I have great distreôs: berhäps" I am Eoins un the
mountain and not coming down"again.' This ri"n. cTos.is the
first Act.
The Sec,rnd Act presents the journey to the mountain of
INTRODUC:IION zS
Ahraham,the two servants, and Isaac, with the ass laden with
*ãoð, fo, the burnt offering; it begins just outside the house,
lor Abraham is telling Ada and lfamar to look after their
rnistress while he is away. Then after a short dialogue, in
which Abraham explains to Isaac that his steps are sad
and slow as befits a sinner at a time of preparation for prayer
and sacrißce, comes a conversation in which the two servants,
Sofer and Syban, express their uneasiness. Sofer suspects
from Sarah's behaviour that the lamb to be sacrificed
î,s actually the boy Isaac, and urges Syban to go and inquire .
Syban does so, and after a first halÊhearted refusal Abrãham
aþr"e" to tell them e-verything, but first puts lsaac to sleepr
s[reading his cloak for him rlnder a wayside tree-probably
oì.t th. uþper stage. Isaac gladly consênts, being tired out
with 'what you call a few steps', and Abraham thèn tells the
two young men about the voice of the angel at midnight
commanding him to sacrifice his son. Syban expresses oãly
astonishment and horror, but Sofer argues at length that the
'voice of $9 a1gell was an evil dream sent to tempt him. It
is impossible for divine justice to err so strangely. God had
promised Abraham a fruitful seed, and miraculously caused
Sarah in her old age to bear a son: he had promised to multipiy
Isaac's descendants 'as the stars of heaven'::r could
Abraham believe that now in his oid age he was required to
sacrifice Isaac I Let him put away such dreadful lhoughts
which would gain him an unenviable name for ruthlessãess
and cruelty. All who knew him admired such a child, fair
and fine beyond his fellows: how could Abraham think of
spilling his blood and bringing such misery to Sarah i He
must change his course. Abraham replies that it 'was not
a dream, that God moves in a mysteriouè way, bringing good
out of evil and joy out of sorrow.
'We
are all His ilãves.
Not grief but joy was his now, that God should have chosen
3t In Genesis (xxii. r7) this particular promise-ós roùs å.orépas roî
oúpavoû-is only made after the sacrifice. lIt may be remarked that Choumnos
also gives this promise òefore the sas¡ifiçs-¿¡ the time of Ishmael's mocking:
Mà. roû¡o o' €vav rd,ooopat, tis r' d,orpa và, rþ|Jvet
rò onéppa oou xaîlpepwóv, oJôè zoøôs dCil@.-F.H.M.]
t+
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z6 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
him rather than another to make such a gift. He must care
nothing for the pangs of the flesh,' the tongues of men, or
Sarah's tears, thinking only to please God, whom no mind
could hope to understand. .
Finally Abraham teils the two
young mèn to wait here, while himself will go on to make
the sãcrifice with Isaac, whom he sees already stirring in his
sleep. He calls Isaac, bids him take up the wood; they will
leave the servants here by the path and will go on without
them, for the reward of sacrifice is for them alone.
This ends the Second Act. Abraham and Isaac probably
come forward on to the lower stage, leaving Syban and Sofer
on the upper stage, where Isaac has just been sleeping.
Probably á curtain falis hiding the upper stage, or else
Syban and Sofer go out at the back.
The Third Act which now opens presents the most difiìcult
task for the dramatist, but he faces it as usual with
compiete simplicity, and without using any illegitimate
means to increase the pathos of the situation.
The scene is the same as at the end of the last act near
the top of the mountain, and as in the last act the characters
arc again supposed to be and perhaps areactually represented
as still climbing up the mountain side-as appears from a
comparison of lines 749 and 7 57 where they finally arrive
at the place of sacrifice. As the scene opens Isaac is asking
his father: 'the tools for making firer:a sir, you carry in your
hand, and the sharp knife is girded at your thigh; I am
carrying the faggots which we shall need; but where is the
lamb or the ram for the sacrifice I' To this question Abraham
answers, 'Do not trouble, my little son, the rams and
the lambs are up on the mountain top, and I will take what
I ¡¡¡¿¡¡'-a rather remarkable departure from the wellknown
'the Lord will provide' of Genesis which has been
closely followed in the preceding questions. Isaac remarks
that now they have been journeying for three days it is time
for rest and refreshment, and Abrahamrafter a few lines of
ironical pity, spoken aside, announces thattheyhave reached
3? See note 29.
INTRO DU CT ION 27
*he nTace of prayer. Isaac asks what he is muttering and
t:*;; aboút, änd Abraham tries to escape the question
i;:írffi*he must busy himself.with prayerãnd.with buildil,
th" ãlt^t. Isaac, however, rnststs that the tlrtng. J.oD .or
Ï1.ä'i;î- an altar is fr;s business-a device by which the
ÏijäiiË,, departing again from the text of Genesis,æ in:::ä;'rÉ"
pätho.." It" nearly overcomes even Abraham's
iålåi"u*' ,itd h" prays for étrength and hopes he may be
-"'.,l.,tred for his weakness and humanttv' rsaac meanwnlle
fÏi;;;;;ki;; ";á
now calls out, 'corne, mv dear fathet,
Ïä ;;; if you liÈe the altar; only the iamb is wanting to p't
i,ii¡'" *i¿rt of it. Do see that everything is finished to-day
i:;''T r" want and long to go back to my mother" Abraham
liri.ftát ,, his chanå anä blurts outi 'Son, breath of my
iC- lrot will not return any more; you have- seen your
Ï;lhå;?rr the last time and yo,rt onh"ppy. father''. .After
Io"r.'r first exclamation Abraham goes on qutckly and" klsses
"r
tt. Ui"¿t the boy's hands and feet' Isaac now says nothtng
ãLout God but starts off by the curious remark that hts
f;;h", will set up a terrible examp.le for the world; and how
.ää^ fr" p"tsibly want to give påin to.what he-.has.always
;ilti;hJJr;d'lov.d? Ab"raham says it is God's will, and
;.I;-hit son to pity him. Isaac' h9.we¡'9r,-is-still unable to
.ärå., God with'his relations with his father, and again
;di;; mercy 'even if he has sometimes had a faulC, and
*h"" Abrahám repeats the well-known command 'our
ivir.t"t ot¿ers', IsJac changes the subject, asking if his
mother knows; and having béen briefly answered, he recalls
;i;tdt and wiih a new uãderstanding' his mother's grief at
oartiJs. how her poor heart stirred anä struggled iike a bird
in theïand of the butcher. Now he begs his father to tie
-fti*
¡g'lttty lest he too should struggle.'S1i"ti his,will and
turn a[ainst his father's hand; andwith that hand he asks
his fatier to bless him, and not without tears' Abraham
blesses him and bids him be glad; that when he enters
33 Genesis xxii. 9 'and Abrah¿m built an aitar the¡e '- ' '' fChoumnos
r¡akes the building ãf the aitar the joint work of father and son:
rà trjÀa xovoptiøaoq ã'$touot r\v torlat' F'H'M']
I
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,li
t: :
il
lir
rìl
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;,
:
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28 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
heaven his biood may rise up in witness before his Saviour,
yh",.: the. angeis rejbice anà glorify and bear their wings.
,A.ncl he wishes that he could .ã-. ioo through the fire a'nd
enter into that rest. He bids Isaac waste no time b't say his
prayers. Isaac after a pitiful cry, 'w-hither do you invite me,
my father, to come anä kneeì l'To what wedding or feasting
would you bid me come giadly l' kneels down anã prays. HË
prays to God for an easy death, to his father that-he'should
kiil him, if he must, lovingly and with a caress; and if
possible not burn his body. To his mother, farewell, and
love, and may heaven make her heart a 'stone of enduránce,.
Turning again to his father, he asks to look him in the face,
to kiss his hand; asks him not to strain the roÞe too tiEht.
Asks him to comfort his mother: to give his- clothes,"his
papers, the little box he kept them in, and everythinE that
is his in the house to his little friend Elìseek, und,if po-ssible
to think of Eliseek as his own child. 'I havsnothinÅ else to
say or expìain, only farewell to friend and kin. FatËer who
þqgui me, how can you not pity me I O, my Maker, help me.
Motherwhere are you l' 'Do not .ryorri, mvchild. ór voil will
kill me,' says Abraham; 'Be brave änd beai the pâin.1 Lower
your eyes, look down on the ground, that we may do the
will of our Lord and saviour. -Bend
your head u tittl., *v
dear son, do not look at me, it hurts you. Behold *u ô"aa
sacrifice!' At this.moment.the Angêl speaks (presúmabli
entering at- the_ back) and bids Abrãham put iìb the knife
in its sheath, blesses him and his family får his'faith. ;r;_
mises to Isaac fruitfulness as the leaves'of th" tr.", und'th.
stars of heaven; and. then (being more sophisticated than the
Angel. of the Lord jn
.Genesis,lx'ho only says, .now
I tr;;
that thou fearest God') remembers thát ioá, f.o* *Ào*
nothing is hidden, might have known all the iim" tn" raitir
that was in Abraham's heart, and accordingly explains thar
this trial was made in order that the rest of"trie wårld ;i"h;
know his faith and take him as an example. Abraham ;i?;rather perfunctory thanks, and asks pity for ,h" *."Ir?..ã,
and hesitations of his own and sarah's hlmanity, weak.rers"s
not of their understanding but of their flesh. Íi" t";r;;;;;
INTRO DUCTION 29
,ntie Isaac and bids him give thanks for the blessing of
ir.ritfulness, and kiss the earth; then sees 'the ram caùght
in a thicket', and while Isaac gives thanks, saying that lhe
siadness which his tongue cannot express is written in his
lr"urr, goes to catch it, and returning sàcrifices it with prayer
and thãnksgiving and blessing and exhortation. Isaac is
thinking of his mother and that they must hurry back to her.
Abraham agrees: but first they must find the two servants
and send one of them to run on ahead 'and cry out to Sarah
from afat off "glory be to God and thanks, Isaac is saved
and the ram it is that is slain" '. So ends the Third .{ct.
The Fourth Act opens with the two young men, Syban
and Sofer, talking together in the front of the stage. Syban
is saying that although Abraham told them to wait there till
he returned, they should on this occasion disobey, and go
to find out what is happening to their unhappy master, who
would be likely to kill himself if left alone after the sacrifice.
Sofer reaclily agrees when, 'who are these', he exclaims,
'coming this way, and are they laughing or crying I It is
indeed Abraham, and can it be Isaac who follows behind?'
Then he breaks into a shout of praise and joy. At this
moment Abraham and Isaac enter on the upper stage at the
back. Abraham with a quick greeting, 'happily met, my
servants, Iet us rejoice', telis Syban to go quièkly and find
Sarah, and call out from afar off, but with a pleasant voice
so, as not to frighten her, and as soon as he comes in sight
of her to laugh, and let her know that the child is alive
Syban ans\Mers that he requires no explanations-he knows
all that is necessary of the good news; and Sofer adds that
they too will iose no time on the way, for their return to the
house will be very different from their setting out. The
curtain falls shutting out the upper stage, ãnd at this
moment who should appear but Ada, who enters alone on
the lower stage) and now comes down to the front. She is
wandering up the mountain and has not yet seen them.
\\rhat paih shall she take, she asks herself, úp hill or down
dale, or straight up the mountain side, in her search for
l!
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3O THREE CRETAN PLAYS
Abraham and Isaac. She is tired out; but Sarah is overcome
body- and_ soul, and will be dead by the morning if they are
not found. But who is this who cömes running and laughingl
Is it Syban, and has he gone madl Syban enters and
asks Ada what brought her
-here
I Does she bring bad
¡sìI/s f-¿¡d without waiting for .an answer teils her that the
master and the child have,-as he puts it, 'won a complete
victory', and have sent him on with the glad tid_ings. Ada
after a word of thanks, says she has come to tell Abraham
that Sarah is at the last gasp and can hardly survive. But
how fared Abraham to win ? Syban says he has no time to
stop and talk: if she wants to hear she must follow and keep
.rpïith hi*. So saying he probably withdraws with her to
the upper stage, for just as he is saying that she cannot walk
fast enough and he will have to leave her-=-Sarah herself
enters on the lower ltage, supported by Tamar. She can go
no farther, and asks Tamar to seat her by the wayside where
she can watch the path and ask any passers-by ifthey know
anything about this dreadful mystery. But already, she says,
her instinct tells her good news is on the way: she feels a
little relief like air and coolness round her heart. Tamar
suddenly calls out to her mistress, 'Do you hear something
like a shout that echoes over there by the spring I Do you
see a man running yonder by the cypress i' 'That is our
man,' answers Sarah, 'be quiet and let me listen, I cannot
quite make out what he is caliing.' Tamar is sharper of
hearing and gives her mistress thè customary greeting on
the reception of good news-'huppy hearingS+-'rhe ðhild
is with him and he" cries tidings of þiéat joy.'l'Ah ! the beating
of my heartr' says Sarah, 'till lie comes near me!' Syban
enters frorn the upper stage also announcing himself in the
customary claim for the reward of good news.¡s The child
Isaac is here near by and all the trialõ and weepings are overpast.
Sarah exclaims with joy that the mountáin of murmuring_has
become aplain, and breaks into cries of thanksgiving
and inarticulate joy. She asks them to lift her up anð sup--
port her, she wants to go and meet her boy, her soul is goirìg
34 ralôs rò õéy9qxes. 35 rà ouyXøplxn pou.
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INTRODUC:|ION 3r
^,,r Then Isaac s¡1s¡3-rlvfother, here is your child, ail
ïil.a *ir¡¡oy-whom God has raised up from the bottom of
iir" "ur,tt.'Do
yo" not speak to.me ? Po you not smile at
*^) .Arrri do vou not caress mei Âm I not lsaacr motnerl
';i:;', ;;; Lná* me ? The past is go.ne by, and the things
lnâi *í.r" written have melted awaf t.the weeping has ceased
"'"ã tne ffials are over. Let us be glad this day of days, for
ii- .o*" from death (ð.nòròvÇ6qv) ánd they have brought me
A|îi "ti"".'
Sarah at läst and quietly says, 'My son, let me
;;;;u arms round you and kiss ybu; and iet me-go.and
lir*Lih" Lotd whoiaved you.'. As she turns to Abraham
*îo itu. iust entered he gieets her with words which can
å"ìu ¡" iranslated, 'What did I tell youl':o -Enough,
he
ããdr, of kissing and embracing. Let 9s go and.give thanks
*irh'h.utt and voice. Let us go and spend- this. night .tn
iluy"t, and in the morning we will keep-.the holiday 9.f lh"
iesúrrection. And with another twenty lines of mora¡zrng
and praise he brings down the curtain.
9
The Eroplzile can be more easily classified: it is an F.lizabethan
traeedy of love and blood. It was first published at
Venice in-r637, after the author's death, and the prefäce
records the ãdventures of the manuscript. The author,
George Hortátzis, a Cretan, is said to have written it in the
Rotrrãi. tongue wíth Italian characters' :f!9
"yl"s.cript
fell
into the haãds of a native of Zante, Philip Flarérìs, who
handed it to a Cypriot priest to be transiiterated into Greek
for the printer.
'The native of Cyprus, however, not only
transliteiated it but in iqnotance-or disgust of the Cretan
idiom emended it and improved it out ãf uti recognition'
F'ortunately the publish"r óf th" second edition, a Yenetian
printer from ¡anina, handed the text for restoration to the
iibrarian of Si. Mark's, Ambrose Gradenigo, who, being a
patriotic Cretan, not onÍy restored the play to its native idiom
tut wrote a ver'y sensibie and aggressive preface against all
36 rl ooô êÀeya 's ròv repaopêvov |pfivo;
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32 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
blundering 'correctors' who confound and destroy the raciness
of the living tongue. For every tongue, says he, rejoices
tn its proper idioms. This accounts for the fact that the
Cretan flavour of the ianguage is more pronounced than in
th,e Tlrysia though not so broád as in the þastoral plays. The
second edition $676) was reprinted six yearc 7àter, and a"
copy of this reprint was used by Sathas in r\7g.zt An incomplete
manuscript in ltalian characters was also published
by Legrand (i B B r).:e
The play was probably written in the first decade of the
seventeenth century: possibly before the Erotokritos to which
it shows some noticeable simiiarities" It is actually a tragedy
composed on the same theme as the happily-ending romànce
of EVonkritos-¡hs faithful love of
"
youttr'of miniãterial but
not royal rank for a king's daughter, their secret marriage,
Lis victory in war and tournãment, and discovery.
*irt
Eropltíle the fact that the hero Panaretos is actually himself
the
-son of a conquered king but conceals his royal blood
until it is too late seems to 6e inserted only to inérease the
ironic bitterness of his not being allowed to enjoy the reward
of constancy. The play is said to be indebded in some
{eg^reeto
vârious ttilian tragedies pubiished in the Tatter
haif of the sixteenth century:ú partiðularly to the Orbecche,
reputed to be the 'best and blooäiest'+o of ihe nine tragedies
s7 There are copies of the ró37 and t67z editions in the Britísh Museum
(868. c. 4r, and 868. b. 3o).
zt Biò/iotiègue grfffie øalgaìre, vol. ii, pp. 335 ff. There is anorher
manuacript ofthcplay atN{unichrcollated bywJgner ari,.l tlesuribetl by Dursi¿u.
rl
llhe plays most usually mentioned ar. G. B. Giraldi, Oròeccñei produced
Ferrara r54r, printed at Venice r583 (Hesseling and Bursian).'See
fir¡ther, K. Dieterich, Ge:cå. d. ò12. u. neugr. Litteraturz, p. Bz. Tiissino,
Sofonisòa, Venice, rózo (Sathas). Antonio Camelli da Pisioja, Filostraîo e
lryfl":-Venice, r5o8, performed Ferrara, r499 (Sathai). Mondella,
Iif/e, Yerona, r58z (Leake). Francesco Bozza Cindiotto, îedra, venice,
t578 (Sathas). The plot of îilosh-ato e Pamf/a shows some remarkable
simiìarities, and is itseif de¡ived from Boccacc{o, Decamerone, Fourti Da1,
First No,el:'Tancredi Prenze di salerno uccide I'amante della figliuola-e
mandale il cuo¡e in una coppa d'oro, laquale messa sopresso acqua arleienata,
quella si bee, e cosi muore.'
+o Enclclopaediø Britannica, 8.5o4a, The opening scene of Oràeccie,
INT'RODUCTION jg
of G. B. Giraldi. The fact is that owing to a prevailing turt"
for atrocities dramatic authors all over Westein Europ? were
comp.eting in the task of making an audience shuddlr; and.
'on similar- sub_Jects or occasions', as Coleridge remarked,
'some similar Thoughts must occur to differeit personsi.+r
Dainty dishes of ladies hands and hearts and mansred rovers
baked in a^pie were served up by playwrights whJhad never
heard of Seneca's Tlt1,estes.
-'Thère'*u."no
limit', as Mr.
William A.rcher pointed out, 'to the horrors which'the con_
temporaries,of Shakespeare could introduce into their plays,
not only with impunit¡ but with applause.'+, r r
Italian audiences of the period were not only difficult to
thriil but were so r$patient of intervals (in which tr¡e may
sympathize) that a Flórentine dramatist+¡ had initiated a custom
of intercalating a second play between the acts of the
first, possibly as_a substitute for ihe tragic choruses of the
ancient drama. In our Cretan plays, thrä of which are fur_
nished with such intermedial enteitainments,4* the interlude
is abeady in a state of degener¿¡le¡-¿ ceriain measure of
rathet mechanical and operatic dialogue, with songs and
mu.sical accompaniment from behind tñe scene, servirig only
to introduce a balle-t or morris-dance (rnorescø). Theïnter'ludes
in the Eropltile have the interest àf presentinE a ballet
or operatic version of incidents drawn from Tasrã,s Gerusaleyne.
Liberata (published r5B r)-the enchanred garden
ot Armrda and the final capture of Jerusalem. The ð'edica_
tion by_ George Frortatzis io John fufoúrmouris should not
be overlookecl. It is graceful ãnd has many lively touches_
in which_the goddess Nemesis.carls_up the Furies with their iighted torches,
ca'hardly be unconnecred with the-scene at the end orri..ïnir¿ À.f in
Eroplzile.
+
'{nnotatìons
to lVarton, qu_oted by J. Drinkwater, ,{ BooÈ,¡for BooÈnteø,
p Tie Olà Drama an¡l Íle-New, p,'+6.
a3 Grazzini in his Ge/o¡ia (tSio) according to Hesseling; Sathas also
relers to Buonarotti's Tazcia ir6i"i. The G"elotìa, u pror""-.o*.dv. has
choral interludes, or 'madrigaisl of pii.rt.rr"r,
"t;;íd åt;; ;;J;í¿d:++ 8tatlfu, EropÀìle, and îortounaio¡. In the Bíatlt¡s th" t*o'int.rt"d;;;;unconnected, one beinE an
^episode
from the Trojan war (as ur" rlt øo.inthe Fortounato.r), the otier frãm contempor.ry Cåt".
3+ THRBE CRETAN PLAYS
painters who add gold to finish their pictu¡s5-¿þs thouåand
names in Cre"te distinguished foi letters, virtues, or
wealth-the ugly girl who paints þs¡ f¿ss-¡he critics-and
the ooet's ambitions and dreams.
Che Prologue is spoken by Death-, Xó"pos, who appears
in his bare bãnes, wiih thunder and lightning, carrying a
s6yfþs-p¿rt of the apparatus of horror so dear, as has been
alieadv rioted. to the äudience of the time. Not, however,
on accäunt of ihe slightly comic touches (he tells the audience
not to be frightened': hé has not come for tþem), but owing
to the limitãd vocabulary and clumsy style there is little
doubt that this Prologue, as well as the Interludes are by
another hand.cs The play itself shows that Flortatzis,
thoush not superior to ihe manners of his time-he introcluce!
a Ghoständ a flock of demons in the very manner of
the minor F-lízat:,ethans-was an educated poet with a
flexible style and a knowledge of the classical Gre*_ tragedians,
pròbabty reflected frbm that of Seneca, llhat he
was, however,-inexperienced as a dramatist, that it was
p"rhup. his first play, we may infer, I think, from the fact
ih"t it'r"solves itsålf into a series of duologues. His tragedy,
I believe, must have been prepared for the stage by the
addition of prologue and interludes from the pen of a professional
hatk. îhe short odes sung by the Choruö of
Maidens attendant on the heroine, who themselves take
part in the action, are certainly the work of H.ofiatzis. They
äre extremely literary in manner, though not over-conceited,
and are writien in the metre of the ltafian turza rima (iambic
trimeter catalectic, with triple rhyme) as nsed by Dante.+6
+5 It is surprising that Bursian (Sathas P. "Ç'),
anil Xanthoudidis see no
difference in ityle between the interludes and the play. A r9{erencg o{ 1665
to Hortatzis speaks ambiguously of a certain Katzaropos which might be the
name of a colÎaborator, (Sathas, p. vr¡'rLegrand, p' lxxxvi), but is more probably,
as Xanthoudidis suggests, to be identifiedwith Katzouròot,a character
in a newly discovered farce.
+6 lamtic t¡imeters are rare in Greek popular PoeÍI; but there is a very
beautiful song from Parga (?olitis,'4rc)'oyal, rl7) and one song in Passow
(5zo), in some versions of which (52r, 5zz,5z3) the metre may be-found
Èi"ut ittg up into two iines. The same iambic line, in rhymed couplets, is
used in-thð Eöpop$T BòorconoûÀa, another Cretan poem, published in t627,
INTRO DU CTI ON
IO
35
PaníLretos the young hero, when the play opens, is, we
øather, very unhappy: and as soon as his friend and brother!n-ur^to,
Karpóphoros enters he tells him all we need to
know of the story of his life. He himself was the son of a
neishbouring king,+8 and his father having been killed in
batile he has been brought up in this palace of Philógonos,
King of Memphis, where he has not only risen to honourable
position but fallen madly in love with the king's daughter
'Erophile. After the war against Persia, in which hoping to
be liilled he had only won additional distinction, the lovers
had declared their passion, had exchanged rings, and been
secretly married. Now he is unhappier than ever, torn by
remorse, fear, andjoy, and his very good fortune making
him fear the worst. Yet rather than part from his Erophile
he would have all his limbs cut up into little pieces-a
rather crude passage of Sophoclean irony with an explicit
statement of the jealousy of the Gods (which Professor
t. A. K. Thomson says is the 'current theme of Greek
"tragedy'). In the rwo råmaining scenes of the Act we learn
from conversation between the King and his chief Counsellor
that the King is anxious to see his only daughter
Erophile married and that two wealthy monarchs from
neighbouring countries have just sent embassies to sue for
her hand. The Chorus sing a short ode to Eros-faintly
a translation of which is given at the end of the present volume; and in the
oral version of this, taken down in Chios (Kavdùdm¡s, Xnxà'AváÀexra, r9go),
a similar break-up, or break-down, of the mode¡n Greek iambic may be
observed, It is curious that the 'politicaf in Engiish an d the ¡enariu¡ in modern
Greek seem to have a special tendency to break up into two lines. But of
course the 'political' also b¡eaks up in Greek under the influence ofsong and
dance, See especiaiiy E. II. Kupnriô4s, zà natì¿t. roô õexanevraauÀÀáBou
(Athens, r9z3), who traces the formation of, e.g.a trochaic quatrain from
the break-up ofa'political' and the insertion ofrefrains.
+z His 'billy dear', in the language of the Scottish Border: see the ballad
of Bewick and Graeme (Child, z r r).
+8 W. Martin-Leake, Resertrcies in Greece, pp. t17 ff., in giving a fairiy
fuii account oî the EropÀile, expiains Tsertsa asDnrdze, the capital of Upper
Egypt*on what authority it is not clear.
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36 :THREE CRETAN PLAYS
reminiscent of the zlntigone and of Seneca's Hippol1tus-and
pray him to bring to a fortunate conclusion this business of
ihe royal suitors which aTready fills them with undasincss.
The First Interlude opens with a chorus of Devils who
tell us that the hosts of heaven, not content with casting
them out, are noIM gathered at Jerusalem in order to destroy
'our devoted friendé the Turks, and redeem our'enemies the
Christians'. Fortunately their great general Rinalclo has
been enticed away by Armida and will soon be here. They
have been instructed, after building this garden of love anä
pleasure, to turn themselves into guardian wild beasts, sweet
singing birds, or lovely nymphs. F{ereupon Rinaldo and
Armida enter in a cloud-and after a little fascination scene
the devils in the guise of lovely nymphs (rcopøoiåes or
zepdiôes) return, vow allegiance to them, disarm Rinaldo,
attire him suitably in a dissolute looking robe and a gaþ
land, bring in fruit, water, and wine, and dance round the
lovers while music sounds from behind the scenes. In
order to empty the stage Armida invites the whole party to
her house as it is getting late. The last part if not thè whole
scene is really a ballet or, rnrresca, the formal dialogue, as in
an opeta, being only explanatory.
Act II. Scene r. The King declares his great love for his
daughter, but she must be married. He will send his faithful
friend and minister Panaretos to talk to her nicelv and make
her decide which of the two suitor Kings she will marty.
Scene z. Erophile and Nurse discuss the situation. Erophile
bewails the unhappy fate of princesses, while Nurse
scolds and comforts alternately. Erophile tells of fearful
dreams that haunt her, with fears of her father, her lover
being thrown to the lions, herself in a dark forest, walls
dripping blood and her maidens fleeing from her, a stormy
sea smashing her boat, the ghost of a dead King rising to
drag her awaft a kite swooping down on two amorous doves.
She sends Nurse to fetch Panaretos to a conference.
INTRO DUCTION g7
Scene 3. Nurse alone, in a speech of considerable force,
complains that the world is out ofjoint, and that Kings are
"u"n
mot. unhappy than ordinary people.+r
'Whoever
dãubts
has only to look at our own King; after a life of 'battles and
bitterness, envy'war, and deaths', fresh trouble, Erophile's
fault, is in store for him. But here comes Panaretos lðoking
bowed and changed.
Scene 4. Panarctos says fine dust is not scattered by wind
quicker than hopes of men by Fate: but if it thinks to rob
him of his Erophile it is mistaken-he would sooner die.
The King asks his faithful counsel on two suitors for the
hand of Erophile. How quickly is he paìd for his offenceif
offence it was ¡e leys-¿¡d love is pãradise enow. Nurse,
who has been listening, exclaims thal it is not paradise but
misfortune and hell-and, having discovered
-herself,
she
gives him. the message from Erophile. He replies that the
King has just sent for him from the camp, presently he will
come to her. But how likes she these suitõrs I Is she sorry to
Ieave me I [This sudden doubt is a good touch.] Nurse
admits that she sits weeping and sigñing-but then, she
adds, all maids weep when suitors come to take them away.
'Go,' says Panaretoi; 'I wili soon be with her.'
Scene 5. Panaretos, alone, reflects that whoever has once
gnjo.y,ed riches, s_unlighq cold water, or
^
girl's love will
hardly want to- live without them. Himsãlf enjoyed all
these, and now fears to be left poor, blind, thirstyr ãnd loveless.
It would have been better. not to know these joys at all
than to lose and remember them.
Scene 6. The King enters, saying that this wedding is
more important than anything else; and after greetings from
Panaretos goes on to refer to 'all these blðssings-of our
$¿¿¡s'-werds of very definite Hubris. 'F'ortunã indeedr'
says Panaretos, 'can hardly reward you suficiently for ail
49 róoor ,\oyto¡roi rcaì ¡óoa Báoav' dÀÀa
péoa's rà voûv ras xanotxoûv, nóoa xøxà peydÀa
o$aÀí(ouv's tofi xapõÉs rave, róoa xparoîv yao¡réva
mi9r¡ pè rà $opép,ara rà rapaXpuoø¡réva , . .
ì
t.
38 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
your noble labours.' ''What \&ars w'e have seen,' says the
King, 'against the Kings of Persia and the East, as. no o-ne
knoiís bãtter than you öho l"d my armies.' 'Indeed,' replies
Panaretos, 'so that they still live in fear and tlepblilg"
'And now,'explains the King, 'they both sue for friendship
and want me tó give my daug"liter in marriage to one of them'
But she say. shJwill nåver lãave my side.' Þanaretos hastens
to declare'that her rvish is very natural and right' 'I"'
(rolo^e\-' savs Philogonos, 'but'it is good for her to be
ìn"rri"á to slch great"Kings.' 'They arJnot so very mighty,'
argues Panaretoã, 'and thãt is why they seek out the conn"îion
for their own advantage.' But the King cuts him
short. 'Enough: I did not aãk f9r yoyr opinión. I only
want you to ta"lk over Erophile and get her tõ choose one of
these suitors.'
Scene 7. Panarelos left alone bewails his unþappy plight
and sees no solution but death. But first he will hear what
Erophile says about it.
TÏe Chorus sing a short and rather beautiful ode about
the Golden Age anã the King's ill-omened pride.
The Second Interlude. A girl dressed as tr'ortune introduces
Rinaldo enthralled by Aimida to two Knights (rcopaÀÀ¿éoo¿)
who have come to take him back to the anmies before
Jånísalem. She gives them her goldenwand which can prevail
ãgainst Armidais magic ; but they must not taste food or water.
"
The Knights hav-ing told her 1o wlit at the ship where
they will soõn reioin heÌ with Rinaldo, Fortune sententiously
vanishes,
"
song is heard from within, and two devils in the
likeness of nymphs meet the Knights anci invite them to
disarm and give-themselves to rest, refreshment, ancl love.
The KnightJrecognize and repel_them asdevils, whereupon
other nymphs apþear and the Knights drive them off the
stage in thè first pãrt of a formal ballet.
Ã.s the second part of the ballet six maidens.appear and
strew the stage
-with cushions, carpets, and flowers.5o
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INTRO DUCTION 39
R inaldo and Armida enteî) and Armida explains that she has
ià-ii^""him to sleep alone while she visits one of her nymP!-s.
ñinul¿o thus conveniently alo¡e lies..*9*n to sleep while
-Ãnr
"rd
music5r are heard from within. The song is a
ío^ítt", ye rosebuds' (probably from the ltalian).
o
Th" knights decide to wake him, but first have a lnzresca'
with two firé-breathing beasts, failing with their swords, but
Littine them with the magic wand. They wake Rinaldo and
cail hím back to battle. Rinaldo tears off garlands and robes
i¡ dirgrrst and goes off with them. Armida returns and
findinã Rinaldo gone breaks into lamentations and curses
ind, frÁally calls ñer devils to destroy the garden. The destruction
of the garden with fire and orpén,'ra5a closes what
must have been á tremendous transformation scene.
Act III. Scene I. Erophiie, alone, declaims a show piece
about the thousand bitternesses and the thousand delights of
iove.
Scene z. Panaretos and Erophile protest their mutual love
andloyalty, in spite of which fears assail them. They arrange
to continue their talk in her room iater.
Scene 3. Panaretos, alone, explains at great length howhis
honour rooted in dishonour stands-ending with prayers to
Aphrodite and Eros.
Scene 4. The Ghost of the King's brother rising from
cruel and darkest Hades explains that he had once been
rightful King of trgypt, but failing to put his brother Phiiogõnos
out of,the way (as was the royal custom), that brother
Philogonos had murdered him and seized the throne.
Legrand's manuscript (in Itaiian characters) has'ghoreugodas'(i.e. yopetlyovras
-the
Greek word in Italian script appearing as the equivalent of an
Italian word in Greek script. See also infra, note 53'
5r Tlie direction fot tmusic' is oovdpe. Had the word ¡rouocrt) disappeared
Iike rpaygöio I
52 orpénnaseems to have been a technical term, perhaps for stage thunder.
So at the end of Act III the Fu¡ies summoned by the Ghost run about the
stage (ø/ra) with theír torches xal orpenná.pouor.
+O THREB CRETAN PLAYS
Scene-5. The King, alone, passes across the Stage uttering
yords of exaggerated Huúrii and pride, on his way to see
Erophile about the required marriage, his only remaining
care, while the Ghost calTs Zeus to witness the heavenoffending
words of Pride.
Unlike the Ghost of Flamlet's father he does not cali on
any human agent to 'revenge his foul and most unnatural
murder', but prays to Zeus for justice and to Pluto for fire
from Hades. The fire is to symbolìze the doom hanging
over the palace-'¡¡adness, sorrows, tortures, weeping and
death'. Three Furies promptly appear and run about the
stage with torches and uproar before being ordered back to
their 'sulphurous and tormenting flames' by the Ghost. Then
the Chorus recite an irreproachable ode about the lust for Goid,
the blessings of Povertyt and their fears for this Royal House.
The Third Interlude. Armida announces that she has
come to help the Turkish army in order to avenge herself
on Rinaldo. Two Turkish generals (called in Legrand's
MS. Adrastos and Tisaphernos) quarrel in their eaferness
to do the fighting for her. The King of Jerusalem, So-iyman,
says they shall both fight for her in order to destroy Rinaldo,
and a third Turk joins in swearing to slay him.-We
are now transferred to the Christian head-quarters,
where Godfrey, exhorting his army to the capture õf Jerusalem,
suggests that four champions should-challenge the
Turks on the wall while himself watches from the camp.
Rinaldo gladly accepts the suggestion; he and his companions
go into battle, he adds, as others go to a picnic; and
they promptly execute a rnoresca oî provocatioñ which is
accepted by the Turks showing a shield from the walls.
Four Turks then sally out and after a jOint rulrescasl are duly
slain; and Rinaldo
"þp"urr
in order io give thanks for thä
victory.
Act. IV. Scene r. Nurse, as usual in a state of vociferous
s: In this interlude and others either in Sathas's text or Legrand's the
direction for the dance is given ín the fotms popeorávro, Topeíyovrøt oÍ
yopeúovres, nai(ouv r\ popéoxa or yopetiyovras r\ popêoxa,
INTRODUCTION +l
despair, is accosted by Counsellor, from whom we learn incidêntally
that Nurse's name is Chrysónome; we expect that
she is going to be the one who will let out Erophile's guilty
secret: she surprises us instead by telling Counsellor that
the King has abeady, somehow, heard about the secret marriage
of his daughter and is nearly mad with rage. Panaretos
is c"losely impriõoned, and Erophile insulted ind disgraced.
They decide that Nurse must comfort Erophile while Coun*
sellor tries to calm the King.
Scene z. Counsellor utters some reflections on the power
of Love, on still waters running deep, and on the King's
lolly in bringing up together two such comely young persons
without expecting an outbreak of Love.
Scene 3. The furious King tells Counsellor how he foliowed
Panaretos to Erophiie's chamber in order to have
more talk with her, and there found them hand in hand.
Counsellor persuades him to listen to Erophile who is seen
approaching.
Scene 4. Erophile enters and humbly begs the King to
hear what she has to say. FIer request is supported by
Chorus and by Counselloi" fThus in-this scene îór the first
time there are four speaking characters on the stage.] Erophile
beginning humbly and quietly argues that we were all
born naked and Kings rose by their virtues. The virtues of
Panaretos were recognized and rewarded by the King himseif:
why should he not be made a King I A husband rich
oniy in virtue and wisdom is more easily ennobled than one
clestitute of virtue and understanding. The King asks if
she could not have found a virtuous man of kingly rank, one
of the two royal suitors for example. Erophile says neither
of them has eier done anything. 'Th" Kinþ grossly remarks
that where riches are, virtue, charm, and wisdom will always
be found. Erophile argues respectfully that in that case
there is a very easy and obvious way of ennobiing Panaretos.
The King unsw"ir so savagely that the Chorus"exclaims at
his crueliy-(þ¡f what elsã .ä,., yol, expect from a tyrant'l
+2 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
E,rophile continues to argue and then appelþ- to his pity,
his
-memories
of love foî her, his only child, named in
memory of her dead mother. Her pleaé move the Chorus
and Counsellor to tears and they think the King must bc
relenting. But when he raises hid head after- her finai appeai
it is to
-tell her savagely to be gone, for she is no longer
daughter of his not irr.tt slave. Erophile calls on her dead
motãer and on the Chorus, who fall õn their knees, but the
King telis them to go àway, and Erophile departs with her
maidens in fear but with dignity.
Scene S. Counsellor left alone with the King tries to
calm him, and having failed but got permission to speak,
arf{ues that Erophile- was certainly wise to prefer to two
Ki-ngs who had ãlways been enemies of the country, their
invaiions still fresh in memory, the man who had iepelled
them. The King explains that it was precisely to end these
enmities that he wanted this marriage- Counsellor develops
argument of the hostility of the two suitor Kings, and then
inã long speech elaborates further arguments in defence of
Panaretõs:- his kingiy descent; the uncertainty of wealth;
and Erophile will rr"rÉly kill heiself if Panaretos is executed.
He recalls the achievements of Panaretos when the country
rras at mercy of the enemy; the very buildings of the city
would ask you to spare their deliverer; mercy is never regretted.
TÉe King luietly dismisses hiá, and ihen sends for
Panaretos in his chains, and the executioners.
Scene 6. The King left alone calls Counsellor an old fool,
meditates his revengã, and decides to leave trrophile alive to
suffer by the death of Panaretos.
Scene 7. Panaretos is brought on in chains; the King
greets him with savâge sarcasm) and then reviles him as 'a
mean child of mean descent'. The Chorus now present
utters a faint ptayer to Zeus. Panaretos confesses his fault,
his subjection by Love, and then reveals his secret: he is son
of Thrasymachos, the l(ing of Tsertsa, who was defeated
and killed by the same enemies as afterwards attacked Philo-
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INTRODUCTION +3
sonos. The King refuses to believe it, although Panaretos
3ø"rr proof, uttdhu. him dragged off to exeiution. The
Choruö sing an ode to the Sun, fr'nal|y praying him to hide
his beams aãd send thunderbolts and lightnings down on the
King's palace,
F'ourth Interlude. Godfrey with Rinaldo is exhorting his
armies to a further battle before the walls. When the signal
is given a herald comes out and says his master proPoses
unãth"* combat of four champions on either side. He promises
if the Christians win to surrender the city: if the Turks
win, the ehristian armies are to withdraw. Godfrey accepts
the conditions and withdraws as usual, promising that if
Rinaldo and his companions win he will return and enter the
citv as a conqueror.
the champions come out and 'play a moresc¿t with
arms',s4 and the Turks fall. Godfrey gives thanks, Solyman
comes out with the keys of the city and his treasury. Cg4frey
accepts the surrender, saying that_solyman.shall be his
friénd anã not his slave, and restores ail his armies and possessions,
for the conquest of the city was all they wanted(A
remarkable example of generosity considering the cir-
cumstances.)
Act V. Scene r. The Messenger denouncing this accursed
house can hardly bring himself to tell the Chorus,
who are anxious to share his grief. At last he begins: in
darkest depth of Palace where kings have been wont
secretly to make human sacrifice Panaretos has been done
to deaih. He then elaborates with many similes a description
in Senecan manner of the torture and fainting, and
frnally of the death and mutilation of Panaretos.. The palace
rockéd: pictures of the gods (ei",íues). averted their eyes.
His bodf '!vas torn to piðces: some pieggl were given to
lions, others kept by the King for Eiophiie. The Chorus
apostrophizes Death and Love.
54 naí(ouv rfi popêoxo Pè r' ãPPa,
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++ THREE CRETAN PLAYS
, . The lVlessenger seeing the King thinks it better to leave
nrm a clear stage.
Scene z. The King enters 'rr¿ith those who bear the limbs
of Panaretos'. He dismisses them, wishing to speak alone
with his daughter. 'Noy uT I tking.' He ãenies-the theory
that Kings õhould be kind; Kings" rule by fs¿¡-r6ds¡i¡¡
dum meiuant'. Vengeance is tlie only iure for shame;
bloodshed and ruthlessness the sign of a heart full of honour.
'But here comes my disgraced and cruel daughter.'
Scene 3. Erophile enters talkingwith Nurse, fearing the
\.vorst and preparing to be parted from her for ever.
- She
!op"._ to be buried with Panaretos, and says farewell to her
dear Nurse and foster mother, asking her'to look after her
maidens. Meanwhile the.King re-aiks that they are a long
time coming, s9_ye must imag-ine him at the othér extremity
of th9 stage. Whgn he sees-them weeping he wonders íf
they have heard of the death of Panaretos.-And Nurse remarks,
to comfort Erophile, that the King is looking. quite
calm and satisfied. Thè King greers her
"with
ironiJal iove
and dismisses Nurse, and Erõphile feels more afraid than if
darkness overtook her alone in a wild forest. The King,
however, begins with feigned kindness: however urrgry Ìì'"
had been at first he had decided to forgive: he had bien to
tell the man, whom he had even decidãd to tuk" for a sonin-law,
and had iearned for the first time that he was the son
of King Thrasymachos. This is also news to Erophile.
The.l(ing goes on: he has decided to forgive her as nå na¿
forgiven him, to give him to her for a ñusband since she
wanted him. A,nd that she might know how kindlv he felt
toward her, he hacl brought hei a present, the things in this
basin, a rich qi^ft. Ergphile bows down humbly graíeful, and
accepts the gift 'with all her heart'. Come und take them
says'the.Kin!; don't be afraicl, yo" *iiib;d.itgñ;ã.
"E;;:
phile still fears, but at last lookô and screams; Trhor" mutilated
head is that I The King has to rell her it is thar of her
lover, cut off with his own-hand. There foiiows a scene,
showing Senecan infl'ence, thu near".i
"tp;;;;h i;lir;
INTRO DUCTION +s
olay to sticltorrythia, in which the King and Erophile exLtting"
couplets, Erophile weeping over the basin, the King
tellinã her lt is what she deserves, aud, at the end of the
,cenelthat the more she weePs the better will he be pleased;
and so he leaves her.
Scene 4. Erophile, alone, utters a long speech in which,
after calling her father a beast, she rather ridiculously addresses
the various mangled remains, lips, hands, and heart
of her lover; in a number of metaphors contrasts her brief
happiness with the \Moe to which she is now reduced; and
nialtv decides to kill herself; and does so, with the knife
which was left in the basin, after calling thrice on Panaretos.
Scene 5. Her maidens enter with the Chorus, looking for
her, and lift up her lifeless body-in words *h!g!t seem very
simple and wêlI 'chosen after the last scene. Why has she
killed herself I The Chorus points to the head of Panaretos.
The Maidens find three linès to express their sorrow with
some beautlr when Nurse enters to ask why they are weeping
and wailing. She soon joins the lament when she sees and
hears the ðause; and utters a piteous rnoirol,lgi promising
soon to join her lovely mistress whose baby she had hoped
to dandie. The Choius tell her to be quiet; they see the
King coming and have decided that he must not live any
long"er. Nulse rather characteristically is horrified at the
ideã, and tells them to put away this thought of vengeance.
Scene 6. The l(ing asks why they are weeping; and who
killed Erophile. 'This knife and this', answer the Chorus,
pointing to the basin. 'Jlhe King is sad to lose his child, but
älud h"".uys to lose his shame,"for without honour-. The
öhorur r"-ind him that his kingdom is left without an heir
and that forgiveness was brought into the world for sin.
The King un".*"r, rather nobl/that this does not apply to
Kings, añd that his own name and honour are his heirs: and
thaithe Chorus had better not try to give him any lessons.
At this Nurse asks him humbly to forgive her and, falling on
her knees, makes to embrace his feet and suddenly seizes
+6 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
them and throws him to the ground, and calls the other
women. The Chorus rush on him and cling to him to kill
him. onlv EivinE him time to call on his servants and soldiers.
T'h"i kili him, and the ghost of his brother rises to
stancl over his dead body, which it had been waiting to see.
In a short final scene (though it is not separately numbered)
Nurse takes the lead, saying enough of death on death; and
callinghim now notwicked but unhappyKing. The maidens
at thJinstruction of the Chorus bear away the bodyof Erophile.
The Chorus drag out of sight the body of the King
änd moralize: how foolish are they who call themselves
fortunate, for wealth, glory, and honour are only a shadow,
a bubble, and a flame.
II
It is a relief to turn from this gloomy tragedy to the third
and last specimen of the Cretan drama. ilhis is the Glparis,
which is-what the Italians first called a 'pastoral tragicomedy'.
The first perfect example of this mode, inspired
bv the dialosues of Theocritus and the pastoral romance of
I-long,rr, waí the
'{minta
of Tasso, firstþerformed in r573
and þublished in r 58 r. But it was the Pastor Fido of Guarini,
appearing in r59o, which captivated Europe with a sensuous
piðture õf graceful shepherds and shepherdesses talking
ãbout love in the landscape of an imaginary Arcadia. The
Pastor Fido was followed by many translations and (if one
may talk about a flock of shepherds) by a flock of imitadoÅs.ss
In England the modè produced the loveliest of
them all, Fletcher's FøithJ'al Eheplrerdess' which presented
as it was by the 'Phoenix' some years ago showed how much
dramatic beauty can arise from a series of iyrical pictures
without any action at all.
ss The chief dates are:
Ámìnta, f¿vola boschereccia, performed r573, printed r58r.
Il P¿¡tor Fido, tragicommedia pastorale, performed r 5 8 5, printed i 59o.
'{lceo,
lavola pescatoria, written r58r, printed r582.
Tie Faìtñful Siepierdess, l'6ro.
Tie 9ad 8Àepierd, 164r.
There are undoubted reminiscences of the Pa¡tor Fìdo in the Glparis.
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DUCTION +7
The characteristics of the mode were of course a certain
amount of satire of Italian .6u¡¡ lifs-\Mhat John Addington
.iu-otrdr called 'a study of contemporary feeling in Italian
.ácietv'-set in a purely imaginary classical landscapc. Bcn
iãn.o'n remarked that'Guariñi keept not decorum in making
Éheoherds speek as well as himself could'.s6 Guarini's
iálló*"tt lost even that contact with reality, and olly emfroidered
the idyllic raptures of a fairy Arcadia, which have
in f^rt become proverbial. The anonymous authorsz of the
G,tþaris, howevär, in writing a pastoral tragicomedy for
(r:"t", transferred the scene from Árcadia to Mount lda, and
g"u" ih" theme of hopeless love redeemed at the last moment
Bv divine interventión to real Cretan shepherds and shephårdesses,
The play, inspired. as it was by the Italian
fashion, borrowed numerous lines and expresstons trom
C,r"riní, from Tasso's Árttinta and ,1more Fuggiti'tsor,as well
as from Ongaro's ,/.lceo, the play whi5h substituted fishermen
for shãpherds and was aêcordingly nicknamed the
,Lrninta bagnåto. But the author seldom copied. .
Hg. Pt"ferred
to rewrite an episode in his or^/n manner, as he dtd for
instance the famous incident of the desperate lover's appeal
tà E.ho, and her comforting advice, which both Guarini and
Alceo hád taken from the Õreek anthologv.S8 More important
is the fact that he certainly improved on his models
56 Ben Jonson's own essay, Tie 8ad Siep/terd,is open to the.same objection;
his shephärds talk about Heliodorus, Longus, and Eustathius; except that
there is'also plenry oftalk about cheese; and his extremely-scholarly shepherds
are balancedt by ihe sporting talk of Robin Hood and his huntsmen, by the
landscape of dherwoåd Foiest and by the witch, of ?aplewick. .
All that
Shakespeare wanted of the pastoral he put into the wood near Athens in
,{ Mìd¡unner Nigàt't Drean.
57 Dr. Xanthoãdidit hut pointed out that Act III, 1- z r z, makes it probable
that the author was a native ãf Rétimo, for the names Kédros and Kouloúkanos
are those of mountains in that district (see 812. Neugr' Jairó', vof ii, p',8o)'
The close imitations of the Gyarfu to be found h the Fede
'lmoro¡a
ol Antonios
Pándimos, performed ãi n¿timo in r6r9, make-it probable that the
date of the ptay shãuld be placed about r6oo.-[F. H. M.]-
58 Åntà. Plon. t5z 'Ayù $iÀ,a, po| ouvxaralveoóv n,-Tí;
'Epô xoploxas' ó' õé y'où {rÀeî.-ÞrÀeî. . . .
and so on.
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48 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
by giving his pastoral a real contact with the soil.sg His
characters are no Arcadians, but Cretan boys and girls with
Cretan ¡¿¡¡1ss-p¿nórea, Athorisa, and Alexis, the"old man
Yannorilis and the old woman Phrosfne, while Gy'paris himself,
the faithful shepherd of the títle,'bears a'åame well
known in modern Crete.6o One bearer of it was a rather
curiously neglected; and even refers to it-and
as a tragedy-in conjunction with two others of the Sathas
collection, as being of small signiÊcance.6z
There are two alternative þrologues, which may be an
indication that the play was io pJpular that it had to be
revived and fitted with a fresh piolägue. Bur I think it is
more likely that the first, spokèn b1i 'the Goddess of the
Comedy', apparcntly Artemis, was ðomposed by the poet
sc The plot in outline ís, as sathas has pointed out, to be found in one of
the.pastoral p.oems of Andreas
_calmo (putlished in r553). There ar. ev.n
verbal simila¡ities. sathas is inclinecì to think that both cãlmo and the author
o{ the-Glparis d¡9w- frgm the same source, an older Greek poem, which has
been lost.-[F.H.M.l
6o Sathas quotes an N. G. Gyparis from a conrenìporary (ig77) news_
paper report.
& rrotpevtrcà Kptjrqs, in Ae(txoypaþrxòv àpyeîov rfis pém1s xa. véas 'EÀÀnv¿xôs
vol. 5, Athens,_ l9 r 8. The translaror would aiso gratefuiiy acknowledge'heip
given by Dr. Xanthoudidis in correspondence.
^6¿
''w"eniger bedeute¡d sind die li¡etischen Tragödien zenon, stathis und
Gyparis, die Sathas mít der Erophiie veröffentlic-ht hat.'
INTRODUCTION +g
with his comedy as first written: the second, spoken by a
god who is called Zeus tsut is apparently meanr tó be Apoilo,
i¿ho addresses himself with exaggerated gallantry to thä fair
ladies of the audience and desiiibes raiher facätiously his
wfortunate adventure with Daphne, must, I think,'have
been written by request for the public performance, and
probably by another and less literate hand. No doubt then,
är trow, theatrical managers were unwilling to believe that
any work as it came from the poet's hand wãs quite what the
public wanted.
T2
A.ct I. Gyparis, in despair for hopeless love-his sighs
will burn up the woods and his tears poison the grassmeets
Á.lexis who is surprisgd to find the gay Gyþaris as
sorowful for love as himself. After a comþarison-of sorrows,
Gyparis confesses that his is a snowy forehead, sapphire
eyes, a¡d the accordant red lips, marble arms, crystálIine
neck, silver breasts, and golden hair, combined with a
serpent's heart and a Nereid's character; and, further questioned,
says the cruel girl is Panórea, daughter of Yannoúlis.
He bewails her power over him and her cruelty
which for four years no\M he has failed to soften.
A.lexis says that time and words are all-powerful. 'You
can hope. My case is worse for I am aftaid to reveal my
iove.' Gyparis says he can enjoy her sight, song, and company.
Alexis argues that Gyparis can at least give his cruel
girl pleasure by his tears ! Gyparis answers that to see her
rejoice in his sorro\M only increases it. Alexis explains that
his own division between fear and love is worse than
Gyparis's straightforward weeping. Gyparis answers that
fire cannot quench fire. '{/exis:
'Then why do you go on
weepingi' Glparis: 'Because I hope for help: but please go
away-I want to speak to this old woman alone.' Álexis:
'I will, but let us meet again to tell each other of our griefs.'
Phrosfne
enters, an old woman, who also begins to speak
of the sorrows of love: she went through all the thousand
fires and woes of iove when she was a young girl: but even
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50 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
now ìühen she sees a good-looking young man she wishes
she could be young aigainl Glpalii:'I öe the proverb is
f¡us-wþ¿t you learn young you never forget!' Pltrosltne:
'But they say rhere is'an oId'shepherd herË at the W'hite
Spring who ."tt r¡/ork magic and make old women young
aþain".' Glparis: 'She must-be mad.' Phroslae:.'If I bäcomË
young again. . . .' Gl?lris:'Like a smoky old chimney.''P/zrol1ne":'It
must be--Gyparis.' Glparis: ''FIave you se;n
Panorea?' Phrosyne: 'Night and day I have been after her.'
Glparis:'But only yesterday I met her in this very valley
\4'i¿h Athousa, -and she was more beautiful than ever, aná
I told her so.' Pltroslne: '-What did- she sayl' Gyþaris:
'Nothing, but-she looked. . . .' Phroslz¿: 'Nevei mind,'I wiil
speak to her first, and if my words fail, let her see what my
magicwill do.' G1pøris: 'I have two orihree thousand sheei
with silver bells-all are yours if you make her end mv suiferings.'.
Plrrosyne:'You-shall keäp your flocks and aámire
them with your Panorea. I onlj' want a cup of milk.'
G1pøris: 'Milk, cr_eam, cheese, saúsages, and erierything in
our cottage you shall share.' So thev part on Eo'od t.i-.
with ma'y. assurances of service. Phrósyïe, left a"lone, utters
a rcmarkable discourse on the true naiuré of women, who
are really entirely given up to the pursuit of men !6s
Act II. Yannoulis, an old shepherd (father of panorea)
alone, delivers a long _tirade in'the ali.i"pfr*i;;;;;r1
against rüomen and old wives in particulär. with manv
curious words. He thanks God thai he is wídowed. Urr'_
fo-rtunately he has a daughter with a mad passion for running
off alone in the woods tó hunt. He is in-perpetual fear thaot
some shepherd of the thousands in love witir her may find
her alone and do her harm. f'Spoil her for me', i"e. pievent
her making a profitable marriãgè !]
6: This sounds almost like the preface to Man an¿ gilþernan: ,The pretence
that women do not take the initlative is part of the farce. wlry, tri" *lràià
world is strewn with snares, rraps, gins anã pitfalls for the captuíé
"¡r";;twomen.'
IN':TRODUCTION 5I
Panorea enters complaining bitterly that she has allowed
a wounded deerto escape into the woods. Her father begins
lo scold her for her mountain-running way.s. She asks inno.-entlv
what he wanted her for. He replies furiously that
ih" "*..
are waiting to be milked. Surely, she says, you
åidn't expect me to do the milking with you I Whereupon,
in a delifihtful speech, he compares her unfavourably with
Ler d"ar mother who was working all day-spinning, rveavine,
carding wool, winnowing,-milking, cheese-making!
ShT runs abãut the hills all day without bringing home so
rnuch as a hare. Mind she doesn't fall into the snare of some
shepherd.
P^nor"^ declares she has brothers all round in the mounmins
to protect her if she calls, and with her bow and
ârrolvs she is not afraid of wild beasts. Her father tells her
to stop boasting and come and milk the flocks. Panotea
tells him coollylo go and milk them himself: she will wait
for her companion oithe chase, Athousa, and if he has something
nice for their supper they will sing to him afterwards.
Yanãoulis promises milk and cheese and biscuit if they a1e
not late home. As soon as she is alone Panorea says she is
tired out: washes and drinks at the spring and lies down to
sleep while waiting for Athousa.
Gyparis enters ãnd compares himself to the wounded deer
with" Love's arrolv in his
-breast.
Seeing Panorea asleep he
tries to calm and collect his senses; approaches, tells us orìce
more of his passion, apostrophizes in sgme prgtly conceits
the biessed g"rass on wliich shè rests, and is plucking up, has
fust pluckeð up courage to kiss her when she wakes, and
äriu"'. him awiy with åreats of violence from her brothers.
Gyparis begs her to follow the example of nature and let
him enjoyJlittle fine weather îor a change. It_is time-after
four yeäri that she should at least throw him a glance of pity.
Beauty was given to woman in order to inspire love; and
where'after all will she find a better loverl
'Where,
answers Panorea, will she frnd any one to give
her more trouble I His intentions, says Gyparis, are strictly
honourable. Panorea with remarkable straightforwardness
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i! 52 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
and simplicity says she does not want to get married: let hirn
find another bride among the three huîdred fair rnaidens
on lda. 'Faithful love likl q!ne,' says Gyparir, ,d"..rr"*
a
better reward than death.' 'pleáse i"il ,åä,' ,áy, funoiã",
like Patienge ; 'I cannot tell what this love
'^^y'b"., ;Þ;;;_
diser' says Gyparis, 'when two hearts love as oåe; fire .,"h"n
one loves and the other hates.' Panorea tells him it is no
use hoping that she will ever love. Gyparis weeps and beEs
her to look at him. Fanorea is getting angry. ñot for hZr
urg.t
"ol
cruelty, says.Gyp¿ris, will hì-s loie'grow less, but
only, rt^her.beauty fade. Panorea hopes his-eyes may fall
out before her own hair does-that he muy ,rärr", ..ä h".
ugly-and decides to go and wajt down ai the ,h".pfoiå.
she is no soo-ner goner ùhen Athousa her friend r"r"ri5,
""ifinds Gyparis weeping on the ground, and listens itit.
$)rputs.qr"y: .to the Sun to hide his beams, and then to
f-ou:,.,1.\iTg
him^to trring Panorea to see his grave when he
has krlled himself'; the, apostrophizes the loiely world, all
woods, plainsr.and hills, trees aïd grass, .u.r"., ,irr.r, änà
streams; next the heavens,and the suñ; the moorr,'.orr.oiutiãn
by night; the stars which were hostíle at his birth /v.t l.,o
thanks them for he found more pity and kindness ù;h;than in his mistress); rhe shephårdesses of rdu rr" ärËr-io
mourn him, with a rnoirológi;^his_friends to rejoic"
"i nìi
release. His mother, fathei, and brothers to IJve hi, ;[_tress, and if she ever marries to love her husban¿ u, unoìt
",Gyparis; his. flocks ro throw away their silver b"iË;;;mourn^for him; his pipe he hangs bn the sweet tu"..i,
"nàthen after a last perórätion to hi"s love in hislrly ;;;t;ilì.
janguage,, calls on his good sword to help h"im'; anä thrice
rnvokes the name of Panorea-\r/hen Athousa' grasps his
hand. 'Let me kill myself,'says Gyparis. Athour"-;¿rii'iir":
in a style o.f her own which ."gg"'.t. * littf" pipl;;;;;ä:
na.tured.voice, that she has ovãiheard everyËhinn-nË-t*
said and has hopes that Pano¡?a yay relenr.' ih;, h;";;lrrile conversatlon abolrt suicide for love. Athousã finallv
persuades hlm to pur up his sword, promising to .o.u[ìå
Yanorea on his behalf. she hopes to
-bring
off"the niarriage
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INTRODUCTION 53
this very dayl .Gyparis^will.go with her to the sheepfold
where Panorea is to be found.
Act III. Phrosyne, the old woman, is telling Panorea
that she has heard from Athousa about Gyparis wanting to
kill himself; 'what would they have said àbout you if- he
had!' Panorea is not impressed, and Phrosyne goes on to
preach to her _the blessings of lawful marriage: the qualities
åf Gyparis, who owns thiee thousand sheepi his weälth, his
.on.lun.y, his good looks. Panorea says she will love
Gyparis and want him for a husband, when the rivers run backwáid.,
the birds live in the sea, and the fishes come to feed
on Mount lda. No, she bears him no iil will, but she does
notwant to get married. Pltroslne: 'Your lovely face adorned
by the heavens must not be allowed to die like a rose flowering
in the wilderness.' IJnfortunately Phrosyne in her defeñce
of marriage cannot keep up this poetic'level and falls
back on the argument from birds, beasfs, fishes, and plants,
all subject to the power of Love. You will grow old.- Time
flies like a bird, and flowers once withered by winter storms
will not bloom again. 'Look at me who was once as beautiful
as any shepherdess on lda, and be warned in time to leave
chiidren to inherit your beauty.' Pønorea: 'I know no
pleasure but the chase.' P/rroslne: 'If once you have known
the pleasures of Love you will always be sorry for the time
lost.' Pønoreø: ''When I do you will see the stars fall.'
Phroslne: 'I was like that once. But a young man tamed qre
with his fs¿¡s-¿¡d then. . . . So one day I expect to see you
in the arms of Gyparis and your bow änd quiver hung'up
behind your bed!' Panorea remains incredulous, and Phrosyne
next dwells on the wealth of Gyparis: 'other shepherdesses
will work for you, while you with Gyparis go
hunting or take your pleasure in the shade, in the meadows,
down at the sheepfold or up in the sno\Ms. Panorea laughs
at her, ancl Phrosyne's last shot is a threat: 'Aphrodite wiil
give Gyparis some other pretty girl and leave you with an
old man.' But Panorea walk's offrefusing to hear any more.
Phtosyne having failed with words, resolves to try hei witch-
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craft,.and þ the mixing of beans in her magic cauldron will
soon have Panorea run;ing after Gyparis; 6ut she wiil first
speak to her father.
Yannouiis enters looking for a goat which has strayed
from the fold. He falls into talk witã Phrosyne (who in her
youth was no better than she should be), and they tease each
other about gro\Ming old without gro\^/ing wiser, with a good
many coarse jokes, and, in a scene which must have 6een
popular, outdo each other in comparing the infirmities of
old men and old women, while Yannoulis becomes rather
amorous, recalling good times past. Phrosyne protests that it
is better to forget them, and at last remembers to askhim about
Gyparis. Yannoulis explains that he cannot understand his
daughter?ariorea's unwillingness to marry such a good husband
as Gyparis. He will sþeak to her about it oäce more
and severely. They go off together to his sheepfold, Yannoulis
cl:ciding to leave his lost goat to its fate, farrying behind
only to speak some lines thãt close a scene of rerãarkable
comic realism.
Alexis enters alone, telling us that the love in his heart is
like a river in flood. He is s-ill suspended betweenîear and
desire, and tells us s9 a_t great lengttr. At last Athousa enters,
speaking to herself of the cruelty of Panorea and the unhuppy
fate of the lovelorn Gyparis. Ffer remarks give Alexis
courage to speak to.her; they tllk a. littl-e- of the timé (midday)
and place (the spring), and .Alexis tells her of a shepheiá
who loves and is ready to serve her ceaselessly and faith?ully:
he describes his owntase as that of a friendbf his on who's"
behalf he appeals to her. She tells him that he pleads in
vain-she never wants to marry. At \Mhich he fallsìenseless
to. the ground.o+ She is much distressed and sprinkles him
with water from the spring. FIe revives and ðonfesses his
love. Athousa is very soriy-she always thought he was
quite safe; but finally she alþws him to accompaãy her if he
promises not to talk about Love"
-
6+. Compare with this episode the corresponding ore in Tle Fair gåepÅerdett,
translated in the Appendix.
INTRO DUCTION 5.5
",A,ct iV. Yannoulis, alone, is regretting his old age which
has deprived him of the enjoyments of youth. Panorea and
Athouia enter from the chase, Athousa telling Panorea she
did quite right to take no.notice of Gyparis'. 'Men are.all
the sãme, pursuing us all the time with one object, our dishonour.'
Panorea says that if she did want love, that of
Gyparis is faithful enough. But Athousa says they are aii
intänstant and worthless (iike Kallistos who deserted Eroohile).
At this Yannoulis breaks in with a furious scolding
Lsainst the stupidity of girls who think all men are at their
iå"t utr¿ will not g"i -"ñi"d when they can. 'Please excuse
me,'says Panorea, 'but I never want to get married as I have
oftán t'old you;' and Athousa agrees with her. Yannoulis
simply doei not believe it: they-are just coquetting, and if
the m'en change their minds. . . . At another calm denial from
his daughter he loses his temper and threatens to beat them
both. They leave him still grumbling at the curse of children,
especially daughters.
In the ne*t scené Gyparis is discovered with Alexis in
lamentation. 'To-day i"t no shepherd sing, no Nereides
dance; let the sun fall, the rivers run blood, come floodr come
frre, and every sigh become a ravening lion.'
Phrosyne iries to calm their competition of lamentation,
and tells- them to cease, for they are no\¡¡ come to the Cave
wherein dwells the Nereid who will tell them their fortune,
good or ill, in love, and what they can clo to be delivered.
They ask Phrosyne to speak for them for the Maiden is diflìcult'of
upprou.h.ue She goes up to the cave and prays to the
Nymph,'ì*ho, u.r.*erinfr by
"'.hoittg
the last *ätd of each
question, says they must sacrifice to the Goddes-s-AP-þtodit".
Gyparis himself approaches, and asking whlt wili be
his loveti requital, is givên the answer 'Love'. Alexis then
wants to askäbout hiifair Athousa, but Phrosyne says that
thatis enough for one day--andhere comes from the Tempie
6i Sathas prints JVr.pdiôc with a capital. But it is probably used here as it
is later in thè same scene only in the sense of a pretty girl, although a little
later again lÈepdiôa is the Nymph or Fairy who dwells in the cave'
66 Ar*' elvar fi xópr¡'trpormpó^
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56 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
ll-: l:1.:, of.Aphrodite; tet them teil him their troubtes,
but not torget to mention that they will give abundant pre_
sents, because the,price of priests like eîerything else'has
gone up nowadays !
The- Priest .ó-.s out of the Temple complaining that
piety is lost from among men; three'months'have õassed,
withou^t a worshipper app"roaching the shrine of the G"ãà-..r.
-8oth Gyparis and ,A.lexis kneel- at his feet askins to be
released from their sufferings, while phroryrr"
"ãar-
fr.,.
couplet-he-must not let the- Goddess lose .ú.n r.u¿" ,"rvants.
The Priest makes them ¡ise up and repeat th.ir'.om_
pj"ini: of unrequited.love; and theri pruy. å the Goddess
,:T"r1tng
tn the.thrrd heaven,,aT ull powerful on earth, to
lelp,
tw"o
.|e:er.vrng lovers and humbie two maidens, who
boast ot their immunity. Gyparis and phrosyne ioiá in a
respoxse, as well as Alexis, whb reminds the CâA¿ã.s ofhe,
own ìove for Adonis.68 The priest thinks th"i, prav", hã,
been heard and tetls tl* hurriedly t" È"""f
-ã#;;h;
the Goddess herself, with her .or, Éror, comes out of the
shrine. Their prayers have been h"ard:'thís verrrãàrìrr.ì,
Iove sha.il be requited: her son is sent off at onée to'shoot
the stubborn Eirls with his arrov/s and fiil them with rove and
boldness. The priest, tt. i*o';;;iilrp",",ïä'pñ,;ä'"
arrange that the honour of the GoddeåJ's o.r.ÀnJ ;;;¿;;-ance shall be rewarded by regular and
"rïiù;;;tr:íi;;.an d fai thful service. The'prie"s t *itnáru*.
-i"ìã'ir,ã',"-rî
L
l: y-"."t the.garden. l.eft alone the lovers,.joi.e ,"d Ã;i;;to lose no time in finding their shepherdËsses to see the
change worked in them by"the Goddeås.
Act V. Eros himself is discovered alone and speaks a sort
of prologue to the last iA.ct, *ti.¡r-.úo*, p.r:iruf.-riig;;
67 Cf. Tasso, ,lmare Fuggitioo;
Scesa dal terzo cielo
68,Eoù,,o' n*^orull itî 'u:n:i iî ff*:;i¿,r'åya$rtxoû oou roû ðpopSou, npíyou liprà. ròv $aor,
r'årla,y'es eis rò úørepov rô zélos ,oi ò¡"op$ras ror,
rc'ëxa¡tes ãv1t¡ xóxruva rò at¡ta rofi rcàpôrâ. ,or.
INTRO DUCTION 57
reminiscence or at least reminds a reader of a parabasis of
Aristophanes and a chorus of Sophocles. FIe defends himself
and his beneficent power over Gods and men, and describes
his dwelling in the brows or the eyes of beautiful
maidens, rvhence he shoots his arrows, the golden arrows
with which he has just subdued the two shepherdesses,
Panorca and Athousa, who now come forward. Panorea
describes the symptoms, a sudden feeling of pity for Gyparis,
then the sudden onset of love, anð asks advice from Athousa,
who of course is herself burning with love, since early in the
morning Alexis came so sweetly into her heart; he-r heart
aches añd she reaiizes oniy too well the sufferings of Alexis
whom she longs to embrace. They must go and find their
swains-when Phrosyne enters, coming to see what change
Love has wrought in them. She begins by congratuiating
them on their rélease, for says she, Gyparis and Alêxis have
taken an oath to ûnd other loves and never to speak to them
againl Panorea, coming straight -to
businessr says she åas
béen thinking over Phrosyne's advice, and has decided to
marry Gyparis if Phrosyne will arrange it, and if he -will see
her fathei. Phrosyne says it is too late now, and teases
Panorea who has to implore in humiliation. Phrosyne to
herself exclaims at the pówer of Love, the slayer of the hard
hearted, the disposer o-f maidens, the scourge of the wilful,
and when Panorea asks what she is muttering about says she
is thinking of Panorea's words about the fishes coming to
feed on Mount Idalas
Panorea weeps and threatens to kill her'self, and Athousa
hastens to point out that she herself deserves no such punishment
as Pãnorea, because Alexis only told her of his love
to-day.. Phrosyne is still unrelenting when Yannoulis
comes ln.
Yannoulis is still raging that his daughter will not wed
the only shepherd, tho rich and love-lorn Gyparis,_ who is
likely to take-her without a big dowry. In the good old times
dowries were not expected-but now ! (Gyparis being in
love will be glad to take her in nothing but a shift!) He asks
6e See Acr III, ll. 57 tr
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58 THREE CRETAN PLAYS
Panorea if she has come to her senses. Panoteaansrffers that
she has decided to do as her father wishes. Yannoulis is
pleased and forgives her and turns to Athousa: why will
not she too marry her Alexis I Athousa says she has decided
to foilow the example of Panore a, if Yannor,rlis will treat her
as a daughter and arrange matters for her. Phrosyne tells
him it is ão use: the youiþ men have vowed to haveîo more
to do with them-and whoever loses his chance . . . !
Athousa and Panorea in despair and Yannoulis in sympathy
all exclaim 'if this is true l' and at last Phrosyne ðoni-esses
that it ought to be true, but actually they are more in love
than ever, biinded and like birds caught in a net. Panorea
and Athousa endure still more heart
-flutterinEs
as Gyoaris
and Alexis come in looking for them, and wãnderinf'how
they will find them._ [In _thìs final scene six characte]s (all
except the Immortals and the Priest) are assembled on ihe
stage.] Yannoulis.calls them to come and arcange the marriage
and take their brides; and after greetings ãe formally
bestows Panorea on Gyparis. The twã loveis clasp hand's
and are betrothed, and then it is the turn of Alexis to take
Athousa and receive the old man's blessing; 'if it is a dreamr'
says he, 'may I never wake up'. Yannoulls invites them and
lhrg-syne to the weddin-g to-be blessed by the priest of the
Goddess, down at the fãrm, to which all the shepherds of
Ida will be invited. Two oxen shail be slain and the rejoiclngs
.will last five- or six months. Phrosyne adds her þlad
blessing,.for.she loves them like a mothêr. Gyparis tãkes
Panorea by the hand:
'Fland in hand let us go and enter into our house, O you
fortunate woods and clõstering trees with green br.anJhes
and blossoms laden; and you ðool grasses aãd chill waters
of the fountain; you sweetest birds-beautiful to me beyond
nature; and you temple of the holy Goddess, who aie all
witnesses of my joy and give me my heart's requital; since
I can give you no other thanks but words alõne, I pray
heaven, the sun and m_oon and stars, the night and the äaybreak,
which are overflowing with -grace,
tõ grant you thät
no wind or mist, no rain or sno\ry fall ever on thesè places;
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t INTRO D U cTI ON 59
neither shall the shepherds ever lead their flocks to eat the
or^*. of this meadow; that it may always be cool and green
ãná Ro*"ty, beautiful and most fresh and sweet smelling;
tÀat the mäid"ns may look on you and the young rlrcn rnay
honorr you, to make garlands here and lovely nosegays' ln
lo" I t"uí" you, for I gõ now to make an end of my sufferings,
'^Åd
^y
pains shall hãve their reward.'
--'Ït
JnÌv remains for Alexis to bid the shepherds of lda,
voung attd old, rejoice with thern without envyrand) lf they
iorr",-hop. for the like felicitY.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
E. Legrand: Bibtiothèque grecque aulgairervol. i, Paris, r8,8o; vol' ii,
P'aris, r 88 r.
K. N. Sathas: Kpnrt"t<òv ïéarpov, Venice, I879'
H. Pernot: Etuàe; de littérature grecque moderne, Paris, r916"
D. C. Hesselingz Histoire de la littérature grecque mlderne) yaÍts)
r92+.
K. Ktí*t*.her : Byantìni sche Litteraturge schirhte, München, r 897'
S. Xanthoud idis :' Eparó rcprros, Candiar,!9 I 5'
î. pri.tturit Un Mystère'crétóis du *Vi"ìiècl" lp"ze de Paris,
- April I5), I9o3.
W' Muiti"-i,ãake:kesearthes ìn Greece, London, rBr4'
*C. Bursian: Erophile, I/ulgärgriechische Trltadi.e. von Georgios
Chortatzes aui Kreta- Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der neusriechischen
und der italiänischen iitt"rutur, Leipzig, rBTo'
S. Xa'nthoud idis: Mtí p rcou'Avr ø-¡v lou @ u o rcóìou Ø o pr ouv ô"r os, Athens,
r922.
W. Míller: Essays onthe LatinOrient, Cambridge, rgzr' .. . ,
S. Xanthoud idii: A rcp0 <,tr t'xà eis rà. Kpr¡r t'rcà 3 pá' paru (ßyzantmt s c hNeugri
e chische J ahr bücher, ii)- Berlinr .t 92.1 :
N. A. Bås : 'Ep-{Ðr\ y.eøo,tl.llvtx\ rpaycpõíæ, Athens, r9z6'
i.
Xã",fto"¿
idis' | í
Ept;,'úiþ t p"y,põl"'Te<' pylou Xopró:rþ ( r 6oo)'
Athens, r928.
* I know this only from the ¡eferences of Legrand, sathas, and Krum-
bacher.
I
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SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
'ii
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
ANcrr,.
AeneHervl.
S¿ne¡¡.
Isaac.
SysaN and Sorrn. Servants to Abraham.
Ap¿ and Teu¿n, Maids to Sarah.
Norr.-The Dramatis Personae are not included in the Greek
edition, nor are there stage directions, except in a very few instances.
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THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
ANGEL
Awarr, O Abraham, awake! Rise, stand upon thy feet.
To hest I bring from heaven above to listen it is meet.
Awake, thou servant of High God, awake, thou loyal heart,
For it is time that care-free sleep should from thine eyes depart.
Lwake, O Abraham, to hear what is His will to sayr 5
'Fore whom the angels prostrate fall and trembling homage pay'
This very day our God requires sacrifice to be made,
Worthy and free from stain, and on thyself the charge is laid.
That sacrifice is not of lambs or things of vile estate;
The sacrifice that He requires of thee is truly great' ro
It is the only son thou hast, the darling of thy heart,
With whom as sacrifice thy God commandeth thee to part'
Yea, thee, O Abraham, in place of lamb or e'en of kid
Thy God young Isaac's tender frame to sacrifice doth bid"
So rouse him quickly from his sleep that he with thee may go 15
Unto a lofty mountain-height which I to thee will show.
Ascend that mountain zeaiouslp and when thou reachst its head,
Slay thou thy son and burn with fire; thou must not shrink in dreadHasten,
and wake thy child from sleep, and take him on thy way¡
See thou fulfil with zeal the task which I upon thee lay. 20
Stay not, O Abraham, nor think this hest again I'll bear;
Weep not, and murmur not at all, for that our God will hear.
Within three days it is enjoined this offering be madeSuch
is the order, and on thee command is straitly laid.
Thou thy Creator's word hast heard, thou must not from it shrink; z5
Rise up and go thy way, nor stand trembling upon the brink.
Away with wavering of mind, away with doubt and fear,
And let thy faith, so that it reach the heights of heaven, shine clear.
.{BRAHAM
Ah me! A trembling seizes me, through dizziness I shake,
I know not whether I'm asleep or whether I'm awake. 30
What hest, O Angel, hast thou brought unto me from my Lord
Enthroned on high ? I have no strength to carry out His word.
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64 SACRIFICE OF. ABRAHAM
p_King of kings, what thing is this which these mine ears do hear,
What burden this which Thou hast bid me in my old age bear I
How can mine eyes look on this thing or my hanã do thã deed, 35
How can my body muster force which trembles like a reed I
Ah me ! However can my will daring like this display,
How can I make my heart like lion's my only son tL sluy I
How can I at him 'fore my feet, like kid when startled, iook,
Like calf which piteously lows, or fish which writhes on hook I +o
Is this the blessing which Thou gavsr to Sarah and to me,
That never we distress or pain or curse in life should see I
Sarah no longer was of age that she could child conceive,
How could she, weak and old, such powers from nature's hand receive I
Yet unto her I entered in, and she a child conceived, 4s
And thus was by a law divine Nature herself deceived.
An{ we believed, poor simpletons, this did our burden lift,
And that the child would live and grow, the child which was Thy gift.
But now what cause hath T}ree impelled Thy purpose thus to .h"ãg.,
And made Thee kindness take avray and,-.uih ,g"ìr.rt
us to range I 5o
My Lord, have pity upon me and mark my bittãr tear,
Leave me not without any ruth the ills ofage to bear.
If a requital must be given for anything I'vã done,
Let it to Abraham be given, not to his guiltless son.
Yy 9t{, send on me poverty, weakness of bodp care, j5
If,only from this sacrifice this son of mine Thou,lt spare.
My flocks and herds are numerous, my riches eys¡feq/Na¡
not in all the world for wealth mine equal do I know.
Let all the riches f possess away from me beta'en,
If only from this sacrifice lfhine hand Thou wilt refrain. 6o
Yy 9"{, I pray Thee Abraham of wealth and life deprive,
If only Isaac Thou wilt leave, to serve Thee, still alive.
_O_.do
n9t utterly blot out the joy which thrilled my frame,
Yh"-l in the world my son appeared and inro being came.
For if I have committed sin or guilt of crime do beãr, 6 5
The penalty for these my crimes Isaac should ,r.u", ,hu...
Unhappy house of Abraham, what curse hath on thee lit!
\Mhat storms and tempests round thee rage, what shadows on thee sit!
My-wi,fe_r to. misery foredoomed, is sleeping safe and sound,
And of the danger nothing knows which compasses us round. 7o
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SACRIFICE oF ABRAHAM 65
O let me from here haste away that she may nought perceive,
Lest taking stone she smite herself and thus her life she leave.
Let me go on my way and make the vow my God commands,
For all the secrets which the heart hides deeþ He understands.
[Exir ANcnr..
('lùraham rises from his bed, and falls on his Ènees and prays:)
O Lord, since those commands of Thine no alteration know, 7 s
Which unto me Thy Angel brought, descending here below,
Since the command which Thou hast made must still unaltered be,
And change of mind admitteth not, with pity list to me.
Take Isaac from me, let him not with me here longer live,
But do not thus his sire command the death-stroke him to give. 8o
Death is the portion of all flesh, we all with him must meet;
From him we never can escape however fast our feet.
But do not ask a hapless sire to take the slayer's part,
O Thou Creator of the world, though Thou our Master art.
I know that I have often erred, and am deep-steeped in sin; 85
But these my errors and my faults can from Thee pardon win.
But if this hest can by no means an alteration find,
Put daring in my heart, and strength of will into my mind,
That Isaac as a son of mine I may no longer know,
For I have flesh to feel a pain, a heart to suffer woe. 90
Give strength, my God, for upon me Thou didst this order iay,
That I may the impossible make possible to-day.
Grant, though I see him as he burns, I yet may shed no tear,
Grant that this sacrifice its full accomplishment may bear.
SARAH
O Abraham, O Abraham, what meaneth this thy cry ? gs
Art dreaming, or of slumber reft in wakefulness dost lie I
Draw near, and tell me what it is which thee such pain affords;
who is it that with thee thus speaks I what purport have these words I
.A,BRAHAM
My wife, no dream at all I dream, but words from my mouth fall;
I make my prayer to God above Who gives commands to all. roo
Being a guilty sinner I with p(ayer would Hirn appease;
To our Creator I bend low, falling upon my knees.
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66 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
So start no.t into wakefulness, from restlessness refrain;
It is yet night, so turn thee now to slumber once again'
It is not now the hour of prayi:i#;", talk is this thou keepst ? ro5
Thy broken accents witness all too clearly that thou weepst'
I see thy tongue is parched and dr¡ thy look is dark with woe,
Thy very g"i! ,t thou dost move' argues some bitter blow'
It ii no iime that I should lie and calmly take my rest¡
I would draw nigh to thee and hear.what troubles so thy breast. rro
It is no time to take one's eâser no time to lie abed,
For bitter poison, Abraham, upon thy mouth is shed'
.ABRAH,q.M
One trouble sore hath laid me low, and now there comes its mate;
'Tis hard to reckon which of these two troubles is more great.
If with the one I could not cope, how shall I bear the twainì ns
What will her feelings be when I this thing to her make plain I
O Lord, Who gavst me this command, give to Thy servant aid;
O let Thine anger cease, remove the burden ilhou hast laid.
SARAH
O Abraham, 'tis not the time to bury in thy breast
Thy secret thoughts, for thy deep grief stands in thine eyes confessed.
Heavy and bitter needs must be the thing which thou hast heard. rzr
Then shrink not back, and do not fear to me to speak this wordSay
on-at least it may be that I thee some comfort show,
E'en though beyond that comforting my counsel may not go.
Come, soften thee at this my prayerr thy hardness put awayr n5
And lay command upon thy tongue this matter to display.
Thy flesh and my flesh are but one, our hearts in common beat;
Mine are the pains and sufferings which in thy heart do meet.
That for which with , r,.'"*"åå$å1iou eagerly dost yearn,
Thou wilt, poor wife, ere ho long time see and by suffering learn. r3o
But ere the deed be done, that thing I venture not to tellt
For what thy mind and temper are I know but all too well.
Thou into much ado wilt fall, if I this thing make clear,
And when I think to tell thee it, my mind shrinks back in fear.
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SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 67
Come, promise me thou wilt not faint or take away thy life; r35
No matter what the thing thou hearst, thou wilt not stir up strife.
If thou wilt make thy heart as stone so that it feels no pain,
Then from the teiling what I hide I will no more refrain.
SARAH
Come, tell me of it, as thou love unto thy wife dost bear;
Tell me, and shrink not back in dread, and bid a truce to fear. r4o
For thou wilt find I humbly list and never utter cry)
No, even though thou tellest me fsaac to-day must die.
ABRAHaM (aside)
Poor wife, true prophecy is this thou utterest from thy bed;
My secret has by thee been found even ere it is said.
(Senau enters Asxa,tltw's room.)
S.{RAH
Behold me, Abraham, on my knees, bidding thee pity take, r+5
And tell me, for my heart as hard as any stone I'll make,
And listen with a patience mild to all that thou shalt say;
Never will I resistance make, but humbly thee obey.
The more thou sayest that this thing weighs down thy heart like lead,
The more my reasoning powers thou makst me lose for very dread, t5o
And all the more my heart is stirred and is with longing thrilled
To learn what is that heavy woe for us to be fulÂlled.
Na¡ I would beg of thee, stand not with lips so tightly sealed,
But, as thou wouldst in Isaac jop keep it no more concealed.
Know then our Lord CreatoJä#ili order on me laid rj5
That our son fsaac should to Him a sacrifice be made.
He has ordained (and to this thing there can be no denay),
That I should kill him, and when slain on blazing akar lay.
With my own hand He wills that I this sacrifice fulfil,
And that this Eucharist take place upon a lofty hill. t6o
Therefore, as v¡oman wise, chase out bitterness from thy heart,
Chase out (for this to fl.esh belongs) all grief and sorrow's smart.
For this is ordinance of God, Who all creation guides;
He by this test who servants true and faithful are decides.
As woman wise, console thyself, to grief give not free rein; 165
W'hate'er thou sufferest, from thanks to God do not refrain.
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68 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
His order's laid on thee and me, from us He claims our son;
So let us cry whate'er betide 'lfhy will, not ours, be done'.
Our child is not our own to keep, but rather His alone;
He asks that child-His right to claim who ventures to disown I r7c
Ah! Bitter news thou u,,"r".rï"#åt pangs do rend my breast!
I am as though burned up with fire, with shuddering possessed.
Alas ! ye sword and dagger-strokes which have struck to my heart,
And dealt me hundred wounds which in my inmost vitals smart !
How can I still endure to live, how can my life remain tj 5
When I thus hear that speedily my son is to be slain I
Would that in my old age I had become both deaf and blind,
That I could neither eyes to see nor ears for hearing find,
That I could neitle. ,L" ,,o, hear, my child, how tiee I lose,
And thus to thousand hourly wounds entry to heart refuse! r8o
For how can I this news receive and keep my powers of mind,
How can I these fell tidings hear and still remain resigned I
O Judge Supreme of humankind, restrain Thy bitter wrath,
Thy purpose turn aside, and change the sentence Thou givst forth.
The sword of Justice once again within its sheath now place, r8j
And take instead compassion mild dowered with such comely grace,
And judge therewith the woes which us encompass round to-day,
And grant, as comfort in our age, our child alive may stay.
Or else, ere that my child doth die, unto myself death give;
Let not Thy majesty decree that I without him live. r9o
My powers have wilted quite away, my heart seems like to die,
My life's force is all shrivelled up and my last hour is nigh.
O give me aid; my strength is gone and my soul ebbs away;
The tale of all my years is told, my life no more can stay.
(9he swoons. Enter Ane andTawax.)
.{DA
Ye servants, gather to our aid in this our crisis dread; r95
See our good mistress how she lies, as though she were now dead.
TAMAR
Say, why without a cause she hath thus fainted right away;
Her face with pallor overspread doth coming death betray.
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SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 69
So let us lift her from the ground and bear her to her bed,
For soon she will be ta'en from us and numbered with the dead. zoo
[ãxø Sanau, with lØ.atos,
.4,8RÁH¡,M
,A,las! for all my miser¡ alas! for my ill lot,
Alas, for my unhappy age which this poor son begot!
For sorrow follows sorrow's train and woe on woe is heaped,
And on the torment gone before another yet has leaped.
Sentence on fsaac wâs pronounced that he should lose his life, zos
And now again it is decreed Abraham must lose his wife.
I thought it all along and said: 'If I tell her this thing,
I lose her, nor can her at all from self-destruction bring.'
Would that mine eyes were veilèd o'er or that my ears were blocked,
Or that my heart were made of iron, since in this strife I'm locked.
For then I could not see this woe, nor feel at all my pain, zrt
But I should render thanks to God, nor from my task refrain.
But the flesh too must play its part and claim in this its share,
So that my limbs like drifting smoke are scatterçd here and there.
O my Creator and my Lord, by Thee I am possessed zr5
Of flesh; O in this hour of trial grant that this flesh have rest!
All my desires and all my thoughts on serving Thee are bent,
Grant me from weakness of the flesh and from its weight relent,
llhat I may hesitate no more my debt in full to pay
And carry out with zealous heart aÌl that my Lord can say. zzo
What is Thy will, O Lord, and what is Thy command be done;
Let not Thy servant from Thy word or from Thy ordinance run.
It was lfhy grace which gave him me, Thy grace takes him away,
lfhy grace doth all that fair in life and goodly is display.
(Re-enter Awcor.)
o Abraham in thine old age ,ri,"iJJo"*, ne'er resign, a2s
The child that God has given thee is now no longer thineNay
not thy child alone, but eke the frame that holds thy life,
Thy house, thy property, thy wealth and she who is thy wife.
A Lord and Master over thee thou hast Who gives commands,
The One Who knows all secret things and the heart understands. z3o
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70 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
llherefore no longer dally here. Ac, for the hour goes by;
Thy trusty sword which serveth thee gird upon thi righi thigh.
l"iT:".jhy servanrs, that they may thy o.å"r, ,tii.tl! t."pi
And kindle fire to bear with thee and wake thy chitd frorr, ,ié"p.
So ere that Sarah rouse herself and thy deparrure see, 4s
Hasten with all the speed thou canst, forth on thy jáurney fee.
Syban and Sofer, faithful ,h."ii;Tütumbers drive away!
A service from you both I claim; hasten, shorar no delay.
Be zealous to perform my hests, for God srirs up my mínd,
That I, for what He orders me, quick execudo; find.
(Enter Sys¡.N and Sonnx.)
Master, we both of us are n.:":"#il:is thy cause of zeal,
That thou, with utterance so sad, dost maké to us appeal I
What seryice rouses ,h": ljt: this I Why must thouïaste display
Why art thou waked and fully dressed two hours ere breuk of dai
Never before have we thee seen so soon aroused, we deem;
J
Some message of an ill import has stirred thee, ii would see-.
The cause of haste and stir
"fiJlr"'iiÏ"o time to revear;
The ponderings within my soul f must for now conceal.
'Tis yours with zealousness to do all that which I command;
You it behoves that at my word ready to act ye stand. 2So
T"\". y: now faggots, bind them up to kindle ihe fire's glow,
And lade a beast therewith, for we on a long jo,_,.r"y goi
For- I have purposed unto God a sacrifice to make,
" And
with myself I will my son as my companion take.
Come hasten now and show your zeal. Here is the sack, behold! 255
To our Creator sacrifice we'll make as we were told.
S), master, dost nor *t"" ."','J;;;1nu, *" to thy ford hie,
That thence we may from out thy flock som" victím meet sípply;
That, since this sacrifice to make, thou sayest, thou art bid, '
We may thee bring from out that pen a lámb and ram und kid I "ao
240
245
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SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 7I
,4BRAH.{M
Mv faithful servantsr though we're called to sacrifice to*day,
Tú.." is no need of lamb or ram or kid to make display"
Yours is the task to issue forth; the victim is my care'
I know myself whence I can lamb for sacrifice Prepare'
lûxeunt SnnveNrs.
Let me now take my knife with edge so keen, my trusty blade, zo5
Let me assume a lionts heart and hand of iron made'
Let me take instruments of fire and go upon my way:
I see that time is passing on and brooks not of delay'
Let me depart ere Sarah can arouse herself againt
And with tutcries once more renewed inflict on me new pain' 27o
For this my hand must needs to-day strike down unto his doom
That child, off whom I kept the sun lest it should spoil his bloom.
His is that throat f now must cut with newly-whetted knife,
Yea him must slay who is to me more loved than mine own life"
These instruments of fire, which now I in my right hand bear, z7 5
will light that blaze which rnust consume one than my soul more dear.
No time is it to linger now, for the hour presses on;
The will of God and heaven ordains I sacrìfice my son'
That son f must now go and find and quickly rouse from sleep,
And tell him he with me must needs companionship keepr z8o
That we with haste upon our road may both together fare,
And carry out that task which God by Angel did declare'
Let this same service now be done without uproar or cryt
While my wife Sarah on her bed still in her swoon doth lie'
.4DA
Tamar, I mark our lady has her consciousness rçgained: i+s
Y"r, sú" has opened now.her eyes which were by s'\¡/oon enchained'
Run then witÈ speed and carry to our lord these tidings fair,
Tell him our lady has new risen from Hades, as it were'
(Enter Tanran.)
T,AMAR
My master, be not so cast down, from care thy heart release;.
Tú"t s*oor, which had our lady ta'en of late, e'en now doth cease.
And fain she is to rise from bed and come and visit thee; 2gr
But she is with a trembling seized and weeps like child, I see'
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72 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
We ask her to declare the cause wherefore she sighs and weeps,
But word she never speaks to us, but only listeniig keeps.
she turns now here, she turns now there, ás tho,rghìhe was distraught.
It seems she waiteth for some news untowa.d tã be brought. "z96
My master, hasten; linger not, come speak to her a worcl,
That thou to her in this distress some comforr maysr atroid.
lÛxit Tdvex.
This servant thinks that sh" nrliffitidings which wil me preaseThat
sarah is fiom swoon ç6¡¡s ¡qund-and yet this does but t.us..
For she will only to the boy the secret dread reveal, 3or
And hamper this my task severe and greater torment deal.
O would that she a longer time in that her.swoon had lain;
For never yet has mortal man by a mere swoon been slain !
O would that I the boy had ta'en and got off safe and sound, 3o5
And that she then and only then had from her swoon come round !
My mistress, ptuck up heart *ltiåt, regain thy mind,
Chase away these thy sighs and groansr'andã new counsel find.
Recover reason's force, fear not) no longer wail and weep;
Away with all thy words of grief and from them silence Ëeep. 3ro
SARAH
Na¡ leave me to that death to which I was to-day so nigh_
O Abraham, O Isaac, where are yel Where do ye hiei
Upon what road will he that is my darling boy now tread I
Into what country strange has he, my eyes-, bright light, been led I
]V,fr
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lhe loy is here, and master roo; thou art not lonely left.
The boy still lieth on his bed and sleepeth free from care.
Our master standeth with his knife giided in belt, and there
Now speaks unto his men, and thus his business áoth impart_
Although he'd seem to have some thought which brings distress of hearr.
Grief for my son, grief for *;iË:i*ether i¡r me strive; 3zr
Sarah's distress, the tears she sheds me unto Hades drive.
SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 73
Let me go in and seek her out and comfort her sad heart,
And still her cries ¿¡d ¡þsn-'¡is time-I must take my depart.
(Annanarvr enters San¿:r-'s room,)
Ah me! I have no body's t"*"]"åiitt my strength is lorn. 3zs
The cause thereof is that great grief with which my heart is torn.
My feet are weak, f cannot stand, through dizziness I fall;
I have no powers of mind to God to utter prayer at all.
,4BRAHAM
My well-belovèd wife, thou must not like some child behave.
The ills which we do suffer here our Master to us gave. yo
Draw near and seat thyself by me; thou must not weep and wailPoor
wife, thy weepings a.rd iaments will thee no whit avail.
ilhe son whom we begat is not our own with us to stay;
Him unto us our Lord has given and now will take away.
Unhappy lady, to what end dost thou lament and weep ? sss
Thou dost but torture me, and thence wilt no advantage reap.
It is no time to make lament, Sarah, my daughter dear;
For consolation it is time and day of patient prayer.
SARAH
O what an awful mystery 's this-what suffering, what woe !
They will, my child, thee unto me nought but mere ashes show! 34o
Ah me ! How canst thou have tire heart such guiltless frame to kill ?
'Will
not the horror of the deed thee with great trembling fill I
Art willing that o'erdarkened be the bright light of thine eye,
Art wiliing 'fore thy face to see thy son expiring lie I
However will thy heart endure to listen to his cry, 3+5
When 'fore thine eyes like writhing lamb his hapless body die I
Alas! my child, who ever didst my lightest word obey,
Upon what road, into what place will they lead thee away ì
Na¡ thy fond parents will for thee ever be yearning found,
As every month and every week and every day comes round. 3 jo
Alas ! Upon my inmost heart a trembling needs must fall,
W'hene'er I hear the lips of men a child by thy name call.
My son, how can it be that I from thee such parting bear ?
How can I voice of other lad, and not thine own voice, hear I
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7+ SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
My child, how canst thou have the heart to part like this from me i
No parent eyer had a child by half so wise as thee. 3s6
My son, I vow that so long time as life with me shall stay
I will this tongue to other lad suffer no word to say.
Na¡ these mine eyes shall e'er be kept fastened upon the ground,
And to-day's tidings deeply fixed in memory shall be found. 36o
ABR,{HAM
Sarah, inflict no more such pain and suffering on my heart;
Make me not in my old age play this wretched, slavish part.
Seek not my purpose firm to scare and make it backwards bend,
Lest I take arms and slay myself and thus to life put end.
Collect thy wandering wits, amend such sinful words as these, 365
For I assure thee suchlike words never our God can please.
Why is it that thou dost resist, and weepst, nor rest wilt take I
Remember, 'tis of God's commands that thou dost question make.
Our child, our bodies and our goods, yea all of our life's powers
Belong to our Creator God, not one of them is ours. 37o
Nay, this and this alone I pray) as I before Him goThat
He may grant this sacrifice allay His anger's glow.
I will not linger any more, I will no longer stay;
To wake my son and rouse him up, I now must go my way.
S¿,RAH
Nine months I bore thee, darling child, hidden within my womb, :75
Yea, in the dark of this poor frame and in this body's tomb.
For three long years, my son, with milk my breasts did thee supply
Thou wert to me my sole delight, the apple of my eye,
And as thy frame then grew apace, like to a branch of tree,
Increase of virtue, judgement, grace there likewise I did see. 38o
Come, tell me now, what joy is that thou wilt on me bestow ?
Like thunderclap or lightning flash thou'lt into nothing go.
How is it possible that I apart from thee should live I
What confidence or what relief to old age shall I give I
What joy was on us both bestowed-on husband and on wife, 38i
When God did tell us we should thee beget and have new life!
Poor house of Abraham, what joy for thee that time was found,
When thou, my little son wast born and fellst unto the ground !
SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 75
And now that joy has turned to grief within-a single day'Ñow
ull tì'tat's fairr like scattered clouds in sky, has passed away ! 39o
ABRAHAM
Let us not think on things like these, for he is doomed to die;
Thv tears will him no *lhit avail nor ought of good supply'i'hil;;iy
J.tt our God annoy) and ¡o thanks will He feel
For this Jur sacrific", since Hé heart's secrets can unseal'
io¡rnirt every sigh a,td groan, chase away bitter thought' 3gs
And render thânki unto à'ur Lord for what He's on us brought'
SARAH
lfhen go thy way, my husband dear, since this is God's good will'
e"a
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ú tftå'tftf road with dew and milk and honey fill!
Mav He on thee some pity take and listen to thy cryt
ìü;; ;ñ;lt o' tr,ut niú tå-day some message sweet supply! 4oo
So iet mã vow I never bare and never saw my child' .But
was by some wax-taper lit and then put out beguiled'
ÁBRAHAM
Well, put thy sorrow on one side, and hasten him to dress'
A"d uå thou biddest him farewell, on lips imprint caress'.
io *uL" him ready speedily, dress him and him forthsend' 4o5
À.,d *uy He Whá guu" tn'it command His comfort to thee lend'
lTheY enter Isl.i'c's room'
SAR.AH
Look! Here 's the light I once beheld, which was sweet life to met
fufi*
"f.r,
wher"wiih my Lold ordains I nevermore shall see'
U"r" ir'tnát lighted taper which thou.soon wilt turn to dark'
H"." i, that bãdy *hi.h thot' seekst in death to lay out stark' 4ro
He lies there lik! a little lamb, like little bird he sleeps'
À.rd on the cruelty of his sire, it seemsr.complainings heaps'
.
Look on this child oi thine so s*e"t, child to misfortune bred;
How more than e,er before his face with pailor is o'erspread!
See how in helplessness he lies and on his face shows fear' 4r5
As though h" tirt".t"Jto thy words and m¿rked that death is nearl
Mr;;;fi;g child, it ,t"*' ihut thou some bitter dream must see'
ÁÍ¿ ,nr. iî *hy ihou liest bowed 'neath load of misery'-
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whén I put thee to bed, thy face look cheerful wore'
;;; i äÉ"lf felt joy of heart greater than e'er before' 42o
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76 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
I stood and proudly watched thy face as sleep o'er it did steal,
I could not keep mine eyes from thee, nor my great joy conceal.
I fell asleep myself, my child, with heart all filled with cheer;
Greater to me than any man's
^y
joy did then appear.
And now, what is the cause wherefore thou'rt willing me to leave 425
Thus as one blind to grope about and in black torment grieve I
ABR.{H¡,M
Nay, do not by thy weeping's sound this fearful thing reveal
Unto the boy-by doing this thou'lt death unto him deal.
In silence rouse him from his sleep, and this thy wailing sta6
Dress him with tender care, and then thy farewell to him say. +3o
But who could face and heart.:::#, that he could still conceal
Such awful secret as is this, and not by look reveal I
Awake! my darling son, by me reared with the fondest care;
Thou'rt going on a little spree which they for thee prepare.
Put on, for journeying on this road, thy holiday attire; $S
(,lside.)
Thou followest in train of Death, and not in train of sire.
('tloud.)
O child, obedient to my will, my blessing I thee give;
('tside.)
For, by thy death that's coming on, I too shall cease to live.
(.4/oud.)
My heartfelt blessings, O my son, attend thee on thy way,
Before thee ¿nd behind they'll go, wherever thou dosr stray. ++o
,4BRAH¿.M
Be silent, weep not) do not speak, Sarah, I thee implore.
Away, depart from out this room, and hinder us no more.
Rouse not the child from out his sleep with words rhat can but grieve,
But make thy heart as thing of iron and lamentation leave.
SAR.4,H
There, I am silent! Abraham, suffer me him to wake; ++s
Let me but dress the lad and gay with best apparel make.
It is as though to wedding-feast in Hades we now came;
Let me him deck in best attire that he may find no biame.
SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 77,
ABRAHAM
Yes, thou mayst bring his little clothes, but here thou must not stayI
will not that thine ears should hear what the lad's like to say. 4so,
For, Sarah, thou wilt ne'er have strength to hoid out 'gainst that painr,
When thou dost see him rise from bed, thy grief thou'lt not refrain.
Thy tears will run so fast that they the very ground will reach;
It needs must be that they the child, who's wise, the cause will teach.
The poor lad, once he's roused fromsleeprwill thus his lesson learn, 45f
And hang upon thy breast and to embracing thee will turn.
And when he sees thee there, his arms around thy neck he'll throw,
And then, for sure, thou wilt betray the cause of this thy woe.
So go, I beg thee; see that those his clothes are to me broughtf
mean that holiday attire which I for him have bought. 460'
fSanau goes out, and returns with the clothes-
SARAH
These are the garments r,r,'hich, poor lad, he wore on festal days,
Which others envied in their hearts, and yet could not but praise.
These are the garments which to-day must fouled be with bloodstainr.
Since it is fated that the lad by his own sire be slain.
ABRAHAM
O Sarah, pity on me take and cease from words like these, +6s
Cease weeping now-When I am gone, canst weep if that thee please..
But to weep over God's command, what profit will that bring ?
Body and soul thou wilt but vex by doing of such thing.
Begone, I say! I must set eu¡-¡þs time doth onward press;
Let me but wake him silently and him in quiet dress. 47o'
SARÂH
I go apart to place retired; let him be waked from sleep.
I would one moment hold him fast and kisses on him heap
.ABRAHAM
lfhen, Sarah, go. This matter must rer,nain now in God's hand.
iVlaybe He'll raise him from the dead-yet who can understand I
E'en from the fire of sacrifice He can him living bear;
Angels for Him His service do and what He wills prepare.
475
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78 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
SARAH
Alack, alack! What cause is there that thou shouldst hasten so I
Those who are wise upon us fools some comfort should bestow.
lÛcit Slrneu.
ABR4,HAM
O Isaac, Isaac, wake from sleep! Mine own dear child, awakel
Awake, arise, put on thy clothes, and then my blessing take. 48o
Who is this here I \À/ho speaks i. r- t Who rouses me I Let be.
I'm drowsy and with sleep bemused, and yet you would wake me.
ÂBRAHAM
Wake up, my darling child. 'Tis I, thy father, who thee call;
I break thy slumbers, for on thee a pressing task must fall.
ISAAC
O wake me not, leave me alone; I'm having such sweet sleep- +s5
'Tis still deep night, so let us please lie down and slumber keep.
Rouse me not thus, my sire, as thou wouldst live and joy in me;
Torment me not) suffer me yet to lie in slumber free.
enxeuaw (asìde)
f see that more than e'er before him drowsiness besets;
Perchance he feels his end is nigh, and that is why he frets. 4go
('!loud.)
Awake, my darling child; we will to garden go awayi
We will a sacrifrce there make, for 'tis a festal day.
ISAAC
Ah ! my sweet father, would that thou hadst left me sleeping here,
I should have waked when it was time that I for school prepare.
ABRAHAM
Sarah, come pray and, offer up petition for our sake, 4gs
And make thy heart as hard as stone when we departure take.
So wait for our return again, and if it chance he live,
I'il come with Isaac, and we twain will thee our comfort give.
(Re-enter SanaH.)
SARAH
With heart that loudly beats I will your coming back await,
As anxiously as those in gaol, loaded with chains, their fate, 5oo
SACRIFICE OF A.BRAHAM 79
When they the knock on prison door expect with tortured mind,
lfhinking to see the gaoler come their arms behind to bind,
And deal them out a savage blow and take their life awaySuch
are the spasms of the breast which I expect to-day.
With such wild beatings of the heart I shali that blow await, 5o5
Thinking to hear from lips of men tidings of bitter fate.
[,Eøir SanaH.
ABRAHAM
Come, let us go, my son, no more linger, as thou wouldst live'
For pastime issue forth to-day, and cheer to thy heart give'
ISAAC
lfhough I think much with all my mind, I have no power to guess
Whatls the reason why Mama is not here me to dress. 5ro
Never hast thou dressed me before; it irks to dress a bo¡
But Mother ever did me dress with laughter and with joy.
And now whatever is the cause that Mother has me left ?I
saw her to her chamber go with heart of lightness reft.
ABRAHAM
She doth but now the food prepare upon our road to eat; srs
She will our portion now make up of bread and wine and meat'
ISAAC
But tell me, Father, whither thou art purposing to fare ?
Shall we not early to the house return and take food there i
.4BRAHAM
W'e go to make a sacrifice at some spot far awayt
Upon a lofty mountain-top; the place is fair and gay. 5zo
And that is why thy mother seems to thee disconsolate;
I told her we would bide afleld, she should not us await.
ISAAC
My father, go upon thy way, I'll follow on behind'
Erä I set out upon rny way I would my mother find'
fErir Annenana.
(Isaac enters Sl.r.l*t's roorn-)
SARÂH
My darling child, my confidence and all my hope's in thee; 5/5
Túoo art my comfort and my life-with thee my blessing be'
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8o S,A.CRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
ISAAC
Dear mother, these thy kisses do but fill me with much woei
My eyes with tears are running o'er and as twin rivers flow.
What sudden sorrow has thee seized I Thou weepst and hast no peace.
From finger-tips to crown of head thy fondlings never cease. 53o
SARAH
My son, nought vexes me at all, so set thy mind at rest;
Thou mayest to the mountain fare and pray there with good zest.
ISAAC
Mother, I'm going on a spree, apples to bring to thee,
And gather branches with their leaves from sweetly scented tree.
And if I find ought else that's fair, for thee I'll bring it home. j35
But if my teacher ask for me, tell him I'll quickly come.
SARAH
Nay, 'tis but yesterday that these wild pears they gave to me,
And them, my darling child, I've kept in readiness for thee.
Put them within thy bosom's fold, and, if thou thirst, them eat.
lfake them and taste them; thou wilt find they are as honey sweet. 54o
ISAAC
My mother, wherefore dost thou sob and weep and restless art I
lfell me, what evil dost thou see that's coming on my part I
For it is all so strange to me and causeth me much care.
Maybe the mountain I ascend, but never homewards fare.
(Re-enter Aanairau.)
ABRAHAM
Let us depart, my darling lad, and sray not dallying here; s4S
To-day we go that we may find all that is good and fair.
Thy mother has some grief of þs¿¡¡-¡þs¡sfore away she keeps;
She sees that we are going out, and that is why she weeps.
Ada arrd Tamar, close the doors and to your mistress hie.
She has more need than e'er before now of your company. 55o
Let her not be alone, but see that ye with her remain,
For she hath some anxiety which causeth her much pain.
TAMAR
With all the powers of mind we have and every force of word
lJnto our lady we will strive some comfort to afford.
SACRIFICE oF ABRAHAM 8¡
ISAÁC
What is the hurry, father de¿r, to go before it's light; 5Ss
why should we not stay still at .home until the sun shine bright I
The Lord our God charged
'å:i;ii, to so at break of day.
And there upon that lofty hill my vows to Him to pay.
He bade me thee companion take to see thar offeringLade,
That on the pattern of my life thy life should too be laid. 560
So I set forth, as thou dost see, obedient to His hest_
Who of the secrets of His mind, my child, can be possessed I
lThey set oat.
Come, tell me, father, a.d_ due äXiin, in this thy answer show,
Why dost thou mutter to thyself, as thou thy way dost go I
As I look.ol ùy facer. f mark thy countenånce is chan-ged; 565
Thy speech is low, andr,as it were, is with thick sobs deänged.
Thy feet areheavy, and thy look is darkened as with cloud]
O tell me whar's the misery that doth thy heart enshroud ?
Together r¡/e pursue our road as though we had one mind,
ilhat we together what is fair and beautiful may find. 57o
With heart that is as light as air and gay my wåy I t.uce,
But thou, f see, art bowed with woe and hást u io*r,.uri fr...
Tell me, my father, I thee beg, what is it grieves thy heart;
L_et us together share that grief, O let me iuke *y prrt,
Thlt,I may lighten that dull weight which tortuieth thy mind, 575
And then but little pain is left or none at all thou'lt find.
Great is the sacrifice r must åXiåäo to-day,
And I must take deep thought before o'er thut Í hru. to say.
'lfis time for earnest prayer and flow of bitter tears for sini
For this perchance the sinner will from God a pardon win. 5go
Such causes then must unto me this weight of ponderings lend,
And therefore with much heaviness my iteps I-onward ãend.
Syban, I see that Abraham i, plt"",äå in thoughl and woe.
We, that we question him again, oi." ,rror" m-ust nigh him go.
¡i
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8z SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
It is not right we look upon that face with grief downcast' 585
And do not ask him in what grip of sorrow he's held fastFor
since we hold ourselves to be his servants loyal and true,
It is our duty him to ask what danger is in view.
So, Syban, call him now aside, and ask him of his pain;
Seek to relieve his heavy grief, and let him comfort gain, 5go
While I the little lad wilt draw a moment on one side,
And thus to Abraham for {ree speech occasion meet Provide.
For, if I heard aright the word which now our lady spake,
Uttering her words aside with tears, the lamb is here to take
For this his destined sacrifice upon a lofty hill- sgs
Methought I heard that word, but pray that I misheard such ill,
SYBAN
What words are these thou utterest ? Who could such thing surmise,
That Abraham must Isaac needs offer as sacrifice ?
For one that listened to thy speech would surely understand
That Abraham thinks that he has the lamb within his hand. 6oo
That he no other lamb doth seek than fsaac, who'd believe I
Nay, that no rnortal tongue would say, no mortal mind receive.
SOFER
O King that rulst the heavens above, may this Thy pity move,
O may this thing I Syban told nothing but falsehood prove!
Syban, go to him, question him, and test what I did tell, 6o5
And thus thou'lt learn if these my ears are sound, and I heard well.
SYBAN
My master, be not vexed if I to question thee am bold,
For, as a favour, I by thee would of this thing be told.
Unbosom that which troubles thee, O let thy lips this tell,
For when men speak in hour of need, then others listen well. 6ro
It is still night, and so the lad may take rest by the way,
And thy tongue freely to us thralls can what it wishes say.
Let it reveal its secret things, that we may all this know;
{Jse us, if help thou findest here-yea, even to death-blow.
ABRAHAM
Syban, that which now troubles me, it boots not to confess 615
To you to-day, for by your help I can frnd no redress,
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SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
Since for repentance of this deed there now is left no place;
Ye must as witnesses be found my boy's wedlock to grace.
B3
SYBAN
O God, and may not servant then his master's troubles learn,
A servant honourable and loyal, whose heart doth o'er him yearn? 6zo
Thou knowest consolation is the balm of every woe;
He that applies it to his wound will healed of his sore go.
ABR,{HAM
My heart is moved by these thy words, mF tongue to say is led
Whatare the black clouds of distress which over me are spread.
This very day or very soon the news must needs him reach, 6"5
At this or other hour; then why not instantly him teach I
But I must Isaac first from here aside a little bear
That he may lie and sleep, lest he what my lips utter hear.
My son, if thou feelst weariness, to lie down it were best
Beneath this little tree, and there awhile to take some rest. 4o
Look, I put under thee my cloak, because the ground is cold;
See what a lovely bed it makes if thee therein I fold.
ISAAC
Dear me! How tired I have become with these few steps I've made;
Let me lie down and take some sleep within this cloak they've laid.
llseec sleeps.
ABRAH,4M
My servants and my children dear, I will to you unmask 6ss
The thing ye seek, for that I see ye with heart faithful ask.
Last night, at midnight hour, I heard the voice of Angel cry
That they require my son l¡1 þs¿vsn-\Mhich means that he must die.
That end must be accomplishèd by such aheavy stroke,
lfhat no man since the world began has heard such sentence spoke. 64o
For God gave order that this hand of mine must his life take,
And burn him up with fire when slain, full sacrifice to make.
From this there can be no appeal, and so this very day
As sacrifice unto my God I must mine own child slay.
Thus now my secret ye have learned, so question me no morer 6+5
For hindrance and not help ye give; ye but increase my sore.
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84 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
And so there ties nor e,en *o*ì,tijitace for pity then I
Thou tellest us of thing which ne'er was hearà in world 6f ¡¡s¡_
That father should deal out ¡6 sq¡-þis dearest thing-death's fate,
And be the slayer of his child without offence or hatJ. u ro
It is a great and grievous deed, and whosoe,er it learn
To meet thee out much blame for such a crime will surely burn.
ABRAHAM
No, there ís no appeal from this; ,twas
God Himself who bade
In place of lamb or kid the child by me be victim made.
Master, bethink thee well *nriÏlüt, deed that thou wilt do, 6ss
If thou the slaughter of thy son unjustly carriesr through.
Think well if thou didst hear arìght, collect thy force o"f mind;
That this was idle vision or ill dream thou then wilt find.
O Abraham, sure it was dream, and not an angel's cry,
It was but phantasies of night which thee with tortuies try. 66o
How is it possible rhat our Crearor such an ill_
So strange a thing should e'er desire, for Justice is His will I
How could those scales of Justice true, which ar with fairness weigh,
In this turn false, and to the side of rank injustice swayl
e
Tl,ut thou shouldst children's children r." oui Lord did iromise make,
However can it be that He herein His promise break I 666
When Sarah barren was and old, and nature,s time was past,
It seemed impossible that she should bear a son at last_
At that time God His blessing gave and ye both power gained,
A_nd Isaac ye begat and thus a longed-foi son obtained.
"
67o
Nature was all with trembling seized to see such wondrous sight_
And now that son thou'lt ,u.iifi."; how can such thing U" ,igt t t
Rememberest not rhat at that time the promise -r, thã" givå
That fsaac's seed should multiply as are the stais of heavãn I
Thatall should to him homage pa¡ and all account him great, 6¡S
And that the clouds of heaven their dews shourd rain to ¡t.r", irir'rtutá ¡
And now thou deemest that our God his sacrifice demands,
When thou art old and past thy strength and thy need greatást stands ?
It{ay,
what thou purposest in heart, cãst straighiwuy frã* thy mind,
Lest at this crisis of thy life thee condemnatjon find. iro
SACRIFICE oF ABRAHAM 85
A truce to plans of such a sort, cast away such a sin;
Thou must not, to thine old age come, the name of murderer win.
A child that guiltless is of fault against thee, never sla¡
For fear lest men that thou art sire unpitiful wiil say.
Strangers
and relatives alike, whoe'er the child behold, 6sS
Love hìm, because they him more wise than any other hold.
One who such beauty, worthiness and virtues rare can boast
Is destined sure one day to be commander of a host.
How canst thou then him suffer thus to welter in his gore,
,A.nd give such wealth of misery to her who thut sorrlor"l 69o
She ever will against thyself feel bitterness of heart;
So, master, never let thyself assume this hateful part.
Neyer with Sarah, I thee pra¡ enrer on such altrife,
Let not such terror, when she hears, fasten upon thy wife.
Let not her call thee ruthless sire, unfeeling unto pain; 6g5
Change thou the course on which thou trèadst, und fro* this paih
refrain.
ABRAH¿,M
Sofer, in saying things like these thou dost thyselfaccuse;
Thou understandest not what mean these woids which thou dost use.
Thou errest when thou sayest this was but an idle dream;
How can the orders of our Lord and God to thee thus seem I 7oo
How ca¡ a mortal man resist what is our God,s command I
Or who is there who rightly can His secrets understand I
How can a man what He decides on lofty throne e'er know,
Or how His awful judgements hear, when set on earth below I
For.out of evil issues good, and joy comes out of pain, 7o5
And man must never wanting be, if He a thing ordui.r.
He asks us for our son, and he remaineth His own still;
I and his mother and the lad are servants to His will.
No pain at all thereat I feel, but rather joy it hold,
That God once more His love has shown in time when I am old. 7ro
He from the rest has c\osen me as one more fit than they;
When He a presenr thls demands, dost wish I say Him nay I
If be that flesh must feel some pain, then must it patierrt be;'
Reason must understand the cause, for it doth cleàrer see.
The tongues of men may if they list cail me a heartless sire; TrS
Let me but do with faithful heart whate'er our God ,"quir..
86 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
If to hís mother this appear an ill-if she shall grieve,
Yet with the passing of the days this grieving will her leave.
Weeping and pain I ne'er regard, f count them as of nought;
Every desire I have unto the pleasing God is brought. 7zo
It is to test like this He doth His faithful servants call,
He Who is found in every place and far exceedeth all.
fnto God's mysteries what mind, what intellect can pry I
What mortal power can ever reach unto a thing so high I
O would that I of my free will the sense had to desire 7zs
This thing which at my hand the King of All doth now require!
Sofer, dost then now counsel me that I should backwards run,
And leave the sacrifice on which I am thus bent undone I
Nay, turn to other mind and thought; myself I feel no pains,
For I will speedily fulfil all that my Lord ordains. 73o
To all the errors of the flesh I bid a long farewell;
I nothing save my Judge account, I'm ever 'neath His spell.
Do thou now sit with Syban here; together with the lad
I'll go unto that lofty hill, as my Lord God me bad.
There I will slay him and consume with fire, and thanks bestow :735
On God with cheerful heart and ga¡ and pay Him what I owe.'
I will now go and wake the lad; see restlessly he lies,
As though he seeks to find me out, and as one peevish cries.
Arise, my darling child, and now from thy long sleep awake;
'Tis time to lift these faggots up and with thee bravely take. 74o
llfe now unto the hill must go, so raise them, walk thy wap
And let us leave the servants here beside the path to stay.
For thou and I must sacrifice offer unto our Lord,
And thus to us, and us alone, there will be given reward.
fSvran and Sosnt. remain behind. Asn¿Heira and fsdec
ascend the hill.
ISAAC
Father, the instruments of fire I see in thy hand lie, 74s
And the sharp knife of sacrifice is girded on thy thigh.
And I myself the faggots raise, e'en as our need requires,
But where's the lamb and where's the ram the sacrifice desiresl
¿.BRAH,{M
My little son, be not distressed; up in the mountain-brake
Are kids and lambs, and I from these what I desire can take. 7 so
SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 87
ISAAC
Three days we have been toiling on, three days we onwards go;
,Tis time'that we should stay our steps and some refreshment know.
,ABR,{IIAM (aside)
Mv son, too soon thou wilt in soul a palsied terror find,
TIiy ,"átotl will be clouded o'er and tempest-tossed thy mind'
Thou
art no'vl¡ eager we should come unto our journey's bound, 755
But soon in hideousness of death thou'lt gasp upon the ground'
('tloud.)
Behold the place which we have sought, the place longed for in prayer;
fsaac, throw down the faggots nowr for'\áe at last are there'
ISAAC
What was it that thou spakst asidei so that I could not hear ?
Why dost thou wipe thy sweating brow and weeP a bitter tear ? 76o
.{BRAHAM
That which thou askest mer my child, I presently will sap
But let me fi.rst withdraw a while that I to God may pray'
And I for coming sacrifice an altar will provide,
But till I have the same prepared, sit thou a while aside.
ISAAC
I see that thou art tired out, with weariness fordone; 765
Leave me that tiring task to dorr for that is due from son.
¿.BRAH.tM
My son, my son of loving heart, I ever in my eld
Háv" fou"á thee staff on which to lean, have thee my comfort held'
And while thou grewest in my house, from thee life's breath I drew,
And thee in every bitterness as my right hand Ï knew' 77o
Thou wast mine aid in weakness' hour, thou didst relieve my caret
And now, as 'twere, with thine own hand thou dost thy tomb prepare'
O Lord, grant unto me to-day the power to move aright,
For I go forward at this hour to wage a cruel fight'
O be not aîgry.' if I weep and utter bitter cry' 775
For human u'* *":i:;1;äïï,i:il:;:"red lie
BB SACRIF ICE OF ABRAHAM
ISA.4C
II
Come, my dear father, and behold whether the altar ,s
fair;
All that is lacking is a lamb for us to offer there.
Hasten, that all accomplished be upon this very day,
For to behold Mama once more I long to get away. 7Bo
My son, rhar ârr tife-breath ,:"å::;i", witt thou returni
Thy wretched sire and mother ne'er thou'lt see, though thou dost yearn.
What dost-thou say, my f*h.. iÏii How my hearr,s rent in two;
A flame of blazing fire has scorched my body through and through!
My son, now render thanks ,:"å:ãlT. matter what thy fate, 78j
For it is time that secret thing thou askst for to relate.
Come, hold out those thy hands that these my kisses may there dwell,
Ere that I bind them with a cord and say mf last farewËll.
Now is the time and now the hour in which f must lose thee,
Since for this destined sacrifice thou the fair lamb must be. 79ô
stretch out thy hands and those thy feet-those little feet ,t..tch too.
Which naughty deeds, as is boys' way) were never known to do.
My sire, example horrible ttouittîtr,e world display,
If thou dost not rhy remper check and turn it othËr #ay.
Is_there no pity then for this thy child soft-nurtured found, 1gs
]Vho, as thou seesr, is now bowed down, abasèd to the ground I
Is this the pastime which thou namedst, was this that gäden fair,
which on that festal da;' just passed thou saidst thou wJuldst pr"pár. I
[11e
not these. eyes, *li:|, as thou seest, like a full river fltw,
This tender bod¡ which like reed shakes when the winds do blow, aoo
The power to turn thee from thy plan, thy purpose to rerange,
To make thee recognize thy child and thy grim project.tu,igåt
Where are thy fond embraces gone I ArË they no more to nãd t
Have¿ll thy tender nurturings passed clean uway from mind I
Slall I no more upon my brow those loving kisses feel, 8o5
which thou at sleeping hour alike and waking didst túere seal I
My father, hast thou reared me up to burn me thus with fire,
That I, like lamb or kid, with head cut from me should
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My son, the Ruler of the world ordains this thing to be,
That I must in this place thy limbs with fire consumèd see. 8¡o
Forgive me, O my darling son, forgive thy sorrowing sire;
It is not my free will, but what our Master doth require,
ISAAC
Father, canst not for me thy child to feel some ruth be brought ?
Banish, I pray thee, such a plan as this from out thy thought.
If I have e'er offended thee, be other sentence found; 8.5
Let me not moan like stricken beast and writhe upon the ground.
ABR.{HAM
My child, unto this service us our Master doth ordain;
He knoweth all my tortured heart, he knows my bitter pain.
Nay rather, for what He commands let us our thanks bestow,
Let us not grieve Him by complaints which we by utterance show.
IS,{AC
But does my mother know this too, has she too in this part I 8zt
O why did she not me enfold within her loving heart I
ABRAH4.M
Yea, she doth know it too; we both herein are in accord;
Each of us must abide thereby, for it is our God's word.
ISAAC
Ah me! I recognized too well how that my mother grieved BzS
When she took leave of me, how fast her loving bosom heaved,
Just as before the slayer's hand some fowl doth throb in fear,
When it perceives the sharp-edged knife unto its throat draw near;
So throbbed her miserable heart when she to me then spake,
And poured her kisses on my face her leave of me to rake; 83o
When she embraced me in her arms and kissed me in my bed,
It seemed as though some poison fell on lips and mouth was shed.
For all too clearly I perceived she was weighed down with woe,
That I should be the lamb and thou wast Death to lay me low.
Bind me, my father, with close bonds; sta¡ I'll thy teacher be, s3s
Lest, when I writhe beneath the knife, some touch I lay on thee.
Let me not at my parting hour fall into such a sin)
Let me not 'gainst my will such guilt to lay on mv soul win.
gO SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
Isaac would rather from that hand with which thou him dost bind
As loving son from loving sire to-day some blessing find. 84o
So bless me from thy heart and thus to me thy kindness show¡
Let thine eyes overflow with tears and pity thus bestow.
.ABRAHAM
Blessing from heart, my son, attend on thee where'er thou art,
Yea in this hour of agony when thou must take depart.
Both of us now fulfil command by God upon us laid; s+S
In this our parting 'tis from Him we must expect our aid.
With zeal His pleasure thou shouldst do, so make thy final prayer,
And with goodwill bow down thy head and for death-stroke prepare.
Bewail not this thy loss of youth, weep not o'er life thus ta'en;
Nay rather, my dear child, in death thou wilt new joy obtain. 85o
My darling son, thou'lt have that joy in parting with thy breath,
For thou wilt be the heir of wealth and bliss through this thy death.
And when thou comest unto Heaven, they'll open thee the gate,
And thou wilt 'fore our Saviour pass through martyr's sufferings great.
The blood that has been spilt from thee will rise before His face, s55
And at His footstool every day for worship thou'lt have place,
E'en there where Angels hymns of joy and triumph ever raise,
Where they stand ready to take flight or honour Him with praise.
O would that I could quit my life when thy soul from thee flies,
That I, to share thy peace and rest, might to the heavens rise! 86<:
O would it had been God's command that I should with thee go,
And hand in hand with thee conjoined enter in that fire's glow!
But He in His great grace has.asked for thee and only thee,
And destined that in sacrifice thou smoke and ashes be.
So come, my son, and linger not, utter thy final prayer.. s6J
Lean thou thy head upon that block thou seëst over therel
IS.A.4C
Ah ! to what place thou callest me, my sire, that there I kneel !
To what pastime and wedding-feast thou biddst me come with zeal!
(He Èneels and prays:)
Thou Unseen Power, Thy mercy give, Ruler, Thy pity show;
O God, Who art so merciful, comfort on me bestow. 87o
Be kind unto my parents now and their old age sustain;
O grant me life that I their help and comrade may remain.
SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 9I
But if it be that for our sin we do deserve no grace,
Is there to-day for easeful death by Nature's hand no place ?
Wilt not the closing of these lips and eyes to sire entrustt 875
May he not for my corse dig grave and cover it with dust ?
Must then this throat of mine be cut asunder with the steel I
Must I at moment of my death shudderings of terror feel I
My father, since there's no appeal, no pity for my pains,
And since the Judge of all the world this end for me ordains, 88o
A singie favour I thee beg when I near parting standt
I pray thee do not cut this throat with savage, cruel hand.
But with a gentleness and ruth and tenderness me slay,
And let thine eyes behold my tears and list to what I sa¡
That I may gaze into thine eyes and see if thou dost yearn, 885
And whether fsaac as thy son thou recognizest learn'
And when thou seëst how 'fore thee I tremble like a sheep,
Soften thine eagerness of mind, restraint o'er thy wrath keep.
O be not willing this my life with cruelty to take,
O do not cast me on the fire and thus me ashes makel 89o
If thou must slay me, do not add this torment to my death,
For fear my mother, when she learn, take a:way her own breath.
It may be she will have the strength this death of mine to bear,
But this knife cuts away her life, if she my burning hear.
My mother, would that thou wert here to see how I am tiecl, 8g5
Wôuld that I could have spoke to thee, and 'Thus I die' have cried.
For I would have thy pardon craved and farewell to thee said;
I would have clasped thee in rny arms and kisses on thee shed.
My mother, never more wilt thou rouse me from bed and dress,
Wilt never tenderly me wake and give me thy caress. 9oo
I leave thee now, thou dost me lose¡ I'm gone like melted snow,
Or like a lighted taper which is quenched when winds do blow.
May He Who gave thee this command, thee consolation give,
And cause thee with a heart which will endure like stone to live.
My father, if at any time I erred as is boy's way, 9o5
Forgive thy Isaac now that he his last farewell must say.
Come, kiss me tenderly and grant thy blessing unto me,
Remember that in times gone by I was a son to thee.
How canst thou with that hand of thine this throat to cut endurel
How canst thou thus thyself from me to separate inure ? gro
il
lr
il
I
ll
92 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
The boon that I have asked from thee, grant unto me this day,
For this one time to fsaac's words thy-fill attention pay.
!-.1 î^.
behold thee eye to eye, draw from its sheath ,ty t nif.,
Hold^forth thy hand, let me it kiss, ere that it tuke my iife.
My father, tighten not rhe cord, Ioose it a little, pl.uå", 9r5
Hasten me not) but let me stay just for a while
'ui
,^r..'
That hand which oftentimes to me such render fondlings brought,
Has. never to expect such deeds as these to-day me taugñt.
f3$ ttr.at rh-ou mayest bear in mind these woids whicÈ now f sa¡
I kiss thee fondly and the charge of Mother on thee lay. "rro
speak to her, comforr her, and stay with her while she draws br."thAnd
tell her that with cheerfulness I go to meer my death.
W'hate'er of mine is found within the house wherein we live,
All this unto my little friend Elizeék thou'lt give_
My-clothes and parchments, whether these aìe written on or plain,
And eke the little box I had that it might them contain; ' -í"e
For-he. of like age is to me and true companion bound,
And him a kind'and tender friend at schòol I eyer found.
And do all that doth in thee lie, yea every effort make,
As if he were a son of thine, Elizeék to iake.
Nought else have I to teÌl to thee, no other charge to lay;
93o
9:1y",î
each. and every friend my farewells thou lilt saf.
My father, thou didst give me life; wilt thou not pity me t
O my Creator, lend thine aid; mother, I call on thee.
My child, do not thus cry r,.Jå,.åiJffu. I,u not sustain.
Be patient, and as best thou canst deep hidden keep thy pain.
K-eep thine eyes fastened on the grou.rt, that we muy tfruì futfit
what is the Lord our God's command'and do our sa¡,iour's wil.
p bow thy little head adown, my son who art so fair.
Look not ¿t ¡¡s-¡þ¿¡ pains. O God, the sacrifice is here.
(Enter ANcnr..)
O Abraham, the knife ,rrr,,, aåïTll",ur* into its place;
The grace the,Angels have is e'en surpassed by thinå o*, gr*...
Y"y j"y be thine, O Abraham, and mäy thy path be sound]
For faithfulness like unto thine *u, ,.u., i" *u" found.
935
9+o
SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 93
O Abraham, great is thy faith and great has been thy zeal, 9+s
To-day on thee and on thy son has set the crown and seal.
Great is the victory thou hast from this fight borne away,
Nor hast thou suffered things corrupt to lead thy mind astray.
Untie these bonds from off the boy and leave him to go free,
No longer doth the Lord require this sacriÊce of thee. 95o
O faithful servânt, good and true, thou man so full of grace,
Thou tower that in the love of God hast firmly rooted base,
The Lord hath recognized the zeal displayed by thee in life;
All blessing rest on thee, the child, and also on thy wife.
As many as are stars in heaven or leaves upon a tree, gss
So many shall the offspring born from out thy sons' sons be.
For the Creator hath beheld thy mighty faith to-day,
And He would fain to other men that faith of thine display.
For nought that's hid or buried deep can ev€r 'scape God's eye;
He knoweth well the heart of each and every place doth spy. 96o
And this which He upon that feast now passed ordained for thee
Had purpose that thy witness should be plain for all to see,
That they might from thee pattern take and their Creator praise,
And by their eager zeal their acts to thy example raise. lExit ANcnr.
.ABR¡.HAM
O King of heaven, Who by Thy power the {.Jniverse dost guide, 965
And knowest well what passions in the hearts of men reside,
Great is the mercy which Thou hast to-day shown unro me.
Let my offence against Thy grace by Thee forgiven be.
If for a while I shrank in fear to sacrifice my son,
That sin through weakness of the flesh and not of will was done. 97o
And if his hapless mother grieved and let fall tears of pain,
Hers was but mortal's grief and should forgiveness thus obtain.
As for the rope wherewith he's bound, I will it straight untie,
And this my son whom I would slay will now kiss tenderly.
My child, now I have loosened thee, go and thy homage pay gI s
'llo Him Who that thou shouldst be blest and fruitful be did say.
Kneel down, and humbly kiss the ground and on thy Maker call,
Who first ordained this sacrifice, and then did it recall.
Lo! I behold a ram amid the boughs of yonder brake,
Which the Lord's grace instead of thee as victim bids us take. 98o
;l
:r
il
9+ SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
Our Maker has bestowed this gift on us in hour of need,
Let us not from the hill descend save firsr this victim bleed.
So now I go with joyful heart, and will that victim take,
And in thy stead and speedily sacrifi.ce thereof make.
ISAAC
Lord of Sabaoth, blest be Thou, I glorify Thy name, 985
Without Thy wiil no leaf from tree parted to earth e'er came.
That joy which of itself my tongue no power hath to declare,
Which my own knowledge is too weak unto Thee to make bare,
Search for within mine inmost heart, and there Thou'lt written find
All joy to Thee I fain would say from out my depths of mind. gso
ABRAH,{M
Behold the ram, my darling child, with feet so closely bound;
Him have I taken-thus for thee exchange to-day is found.
So now I slay him, that thuswise sacrifice be complete,
That he mere cinders may become and ashes, as is meet.
Come near that I may blessing give, for thou my life's breath afti ggs
My child obedient, receive benison from my heart.
My earnest blessings rest on thee and on thy sons' sons too,
And may the fear of God by thee ever be kept in view.
All that He ordereth of grace, and all that is His will,
From that thou never must depart, but shalt that hest fulfil. rooo
So shail He multiply thy goods, thy substance and thy wealrh,
If thou art of a humble mind and zealous for thy health.
ISAAC
O mother mine, what message sweet is waiting thee to-day!
Thou wast laid in a deadly swoon, when 'fareweli' thou didst say.
Hasten, my father, with all speed; act, lest it be too late. roo5
Who knoweth whether with a knife she 's wrought her own death-fate I
Let us no further this glad news to her to bear delay,
For, as it were, it will on her honied refreshment lay.
Let us move on with zealous ffÏ:i:i never wair at all.
But first it fitting is that we the servants hither call, roro
That they may feel a thrill of joy in frame ersr chilled with grief,
Seeing they wept as I thy death and held firm this belief.
,!ì
:r
,i
ì
å
I
SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 95
Let us now straightway send to them and summon them with speed,
And quickly to thy mother bear these tidings in her need.
Let one with loud cry shout from far 'Glory to God be given; ror5
The ram is slain instead of him, Ibaac from death is riven'.
lExeunt.
SYBAN
It is not frt that we should stand thus without thought or care;
Let us go see what has befall'n those hapless ones out there.
For we should go and seek them out, as on the hill they stay:
Herein the orders of my lord I can no more obey. r.o2o
He bade us keep our station here until he should return;
Let us go seek that hapless sire whose heart with grief doth burn.
For if he hath his own child slain and sacrifice there made,
'Tis meet that many words of cheer should now on him be laid.
If he remaineth quite alone, we must self-slaughter fear. rozs
Know well, such miserable fate of child he cannot bear.
SOFER
Let us away with right goodwill, thy plan doth please me well.
But stay-Do those who come this way there weep or laugh I Canst
tell I
'Tis Abraham I yonder see. Who follows him behind I
'Tis fsaac, Syban, is it not I From voice the truth I'il find. ro3o
O King of heaven above, to Thee honour and glory be!
Hast Thou saved fsaac from his death, that child of destiny I
O Abraham, a joyous lot awaits thee in thy eld,
Thanks to thy faithfulness of mincl which to its purpose held !
(Enter AsneHeÀ4 and Isadc.)
ABRAHAM
Fair meeting this, my servants true! Let us together joy, \o3s
And hymns of praise to thank our God and sing His name employ.
Up ! Syban, go with all thy speed, and raise good-omened cry,
Such as will Sarah free from fears and in nought terrify.
And when thou seëst Sarah, laugh; from afar let her know
That the boy lives, and in this thing God doth just judgement show.
96 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
SYBAN
Na¡ no interpreter I need her with good news to greet. ro4t
I know well how ro teli my tale, crying it in the stieet.
[Erø SvnaN.
SOFER
Let us too hasten on our way, lest we be here night-bound;
llhe house which we in sorrow left far other will be found.
lExeunt omnes.
What road, what path, shoulcl t ilrl.n out, what level plain or dell,
'llhat I for Abraham should seek and eke his child as well I rc46
Shall I the level ground o'errange or to the valleys strap
Or in my search unto the tops of lofty hills make way I
My feet, now add unto your strength and quickly walk about,
And you, my knees, bend to your road that ye may seek them out.
For Sarah is now like to cast body and soul awa¡ ro5r
For that as sacrifice to God they mean her son to slay.
And if another morn shall pass and she ne'er see them come,
They will but find her a dead corse when they rerurn back home.
But who is that who runs and laughs and such wild joy doth show,
And beckons to me with his hands and seems me well ro know I ,oje
'Tis Syban, or one like to him; alone he homewards fares.
Either he has gone mad, or else some goodly news he bears.
(Enter Svnaw.)
SYBAN
Ada, what chance has brought thee here unto this lonely place,'W'ith
bitterness and sorrow's tale written upon thy face I ro6o
O can it be that Sarah 's dead and thou hast brought the news I
But I bear other tidings which will all with joy infuse.
My master and the lad to God have homage duly done,
And in this bitter fight to-day victory in full have won.
And me they have sent on before that I these tidings bring, ro65
Tidings which with the sound of joy and hope and comfort ring.
ADA
Lord of all power and of might, thou Ruler of the earth,
Praise to llhy mercy's grace be given, for Thou hast brought to birthil
Ëi
lil
SACRIFICE OF ABRA}IAM 97
Beyond all expectation's hope for Sarah tidings fair,
W'hen terror for her son was like her life from her to tear, ,o7o
When I was seeking Abraham the bitter news to give
That she was at her last breath's gasp and had no hope to live.
Come, Syban, tell me this; stand not as one that's lost his mind.
How was it in such bitter fight Abraham could victory find ?
SYBAN
This lonely path is not the place such tale to tell to thee; roTs
But if thou wouldst the story hear, walk on and follow me.
Na¡ thou hast not the strength. I go, thou must awhile here stay.
When there are tidings good to tell, they brook not of de\ay.
lExeunt.
SARAH
O put thy hand beneath my arm. Help me to gain my feer,
And set me down beside the path, that I may view rlte street, ro8o
That I may ask all those f see and all the puss"rs by;
Perchance they can some way resolve this awful mystery.
Poor Tamar, listen, for my heart would seem to me to say
That news which brings some comfort's balm is now upon its way.
My inmost being, as it were, enjoys a little ease, ros5
And round my heart there 'gins to blow cool and refreshing breeze.
T¿,MAR
My lady, echoing in the well there is a cry. Dost hear I
lEnter Sy¡¿¡¡.
Dost mark one running-there, I mean, to yonder cypress near ?
SÁRAH
It is our servant. Hold thy peace that I may listen well.
What he doth cry to us, as yet I cannot clearly tell. rogo
TAMÁR
Mistress,
I h1p.py hearing 's thine ! for sure thou'lt see thy boy.
Fair are the tidings which he brings; he utters cries of jóy.
S¡,RAH
Ah mel How fast my heart must beat until he cometh near.
What are the tidings, grave or gay¡ my servant will me bear I
Ë¡:¡r¡rl:tii*
üT4Êr$*
&iþii'rtfiÍk
98 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM
SYB.4N
Mistress, give me good news' reward; thy child will soon appear;
He who to thee is life itself and comfort is now near. rc96
Thy pains and torments, all thy tears of bitterness and woet
To-day are no\ry' turned into jo¡ and streams refreshing fow.
Now must our friends together come and all our kith and kind
That they may welcome Isaac back, who life from death did find.
For here is Isaac near at hand, here is a wealth of joy' rror
Open thine arms and clasp therein thine own sweet darling boy.
SARAH
W'hat message hast thou brought to me, thou messenger so dear I
Now will the mountain-height of woe as smiling plain appear.
Glory in Highest unto God and peace upon the earth; rro5
Thou hast Thy loving-kindness great for Abraham brought to birth.
Thou hast too pity shown to me to-day in my old age,
In that Thou dost my torments heal and pangs of heart assuage.
O God of mercy, pitiful, the air with praise I fill;
Ever in earth and heaven alike accomplished be Thy will. rrro
I cannot wait in patience here, I cannot stay behind;
If I go not and meet my boy I shall take leave of mind.
lEnter AsneH¿M and fsdec.
See, see! My darling doth approach; m)'spirit's like to fail.
It seems my heart to bear such joy as this can scarce avail.
O hold me in thy arms, my child, e'en as I wilt and bend; rrrs
Let be. From my excess of joy I feel my life will end.
ISAAC
Dear mother, I thy child am here, all full of joy and mirth,
For God has raised me up again from lowest depth of earth.
Wilt thou not speak to me or smile, wilt thou not fondle me I
Motirer, dost not thy Isaac know I Ah me! that cannot be! rrzo
What has been writ is clean wiped out, the past is gone and o'er;
The days of tears are at an end and torments are no more.
Let us rejoice the live-long day, let us to mirth resort,
Seeing that I return from death and to new life am brought.
SAR.AH
Let me embrace thee, O my son, and give thee kisses sweet. tt2s
I will now go and with my thanks the Lord W'ho saved thee greet.
w
SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM 99
.{BRAHAM
My wife, what then said I to thee, when thou didst weep of late ?
But thou didst censure me, I ween, and of my hardness prate.
He that hath confidence in God and trusteth in His name
Must never that he makes depart from out His will proclaim. rr3o
Stop these embracings, on thy child thy kisses cease to pour;
Raiher give thanks to God from heart, and Him with praise adore.
Let us go in and offer prayer throughout the liveJong night,
,A,nd let us Resurrection's feast observe at morning light'
Let us our homage unto God with fèar and trembling pay, rr35
With fasting and with praye\ for He the curse has ta'en away.
What mind, what knowledge or what breath could ever such strength
know
As unto God to pay in full the thanks which we Him owe I
Burnt offerings are of no avail, nor tapers bright nor thrones;
No, not if we on altar cast all that the wide world owns' tr4o
Whate'er thou givest unto God, be it heart's sacrifrce;
tlhe giver's purpose He regards and not the present's price'
So let us go-myself, wife, son, and all with one accord,
That we may offer our heart's thanks unto our God and Lord.
For this great joy which we have seen upon this very day rÍ+5
llribute of glory unto our Creator God we pay.
O may the Lord of Heaven have honour and glory's meed,
For Fi" ne'er into bitter strife will me His servant lead.
Glory and worship wait on Thee, my God; let angels raise
Their hymns to Thee, and let the Saints Thy name for ever praise.
My Father and my Lord, to Whom no mortal may draw nigh, rr5r
My Maker and my Moulder, W'ho controllest earth and sky,
Thee will we hymn and keep in mind, as age succeedeth age¡
Thy praise until the end of time will e'er our thoughts engage'
END
HZ
gTIHdOì{A
EROPHÍ LE
A TRAGEDY
BY GEORGIOS HORTI.TZIS
DEDICATION
TO THE MOST NOBLE AND EXCELLENT GENTLEMAN
IOANNIS MOIJRMOURIS
A MOST WORTHY ORATOR
ccoRclos sonrÁTzrs
As painters with a frame enclose of fair and glittering gold
fiJit pi.,ttes, when these finished are, and thus their work enfold'
Ãr¿ ,ft"" in a conspicuous place these pictures hang for view,
That all may see u.rd pr"is" their art and give it honour due;
h ,u.h wiså those who bring to end some labour of the mind' 5
Ere that they give it to the world, are eager first to find
So*. g."u, ánã worthy man to whom to dedicate their toil,
That tirey may use this selfsame man (as jewellers a foil)'
That all iho it"ut his name may long to oPen out the page
And see the verses which are writ, and thus their minds engage' ro
Therefore, since me the restless force and yearnings of my heart
Have drivån to this task and forced to the creator's part,
Impelling me this tragedy to write in hope to set
A worthy monumentr I would the work before not let
pæ, f-tít my hands, ere with a name I could that work adorn 15
Of noble worth, tha,t from that name the work might ne'er be.torn'
That this same name might with its charm the minds of men invite
To gazeupon the work i've made and joy win from the sight'
Aniwith ìt. po*". might hold fast bound every detractor's fling'
Soothing the flaming oÌ my faults, each carping critic's sting' 20
So out of thourund pãttont dowered with an abundant grace,
By virtue famed or ietters' art or else by wealth and place,
t
t
ro4 EROPI{ÍLE Dedication
Who shine as do the stars of heaven in Crete from end to end,
And shed on her thei¡ lustre bright and old-time brilliunce le,_,å,
E'en as in those far distant timei when Minos held his ,*ul, ' zs
And Crete him as her overlord deemed honour to obey,
Jhee
have I singled out from all, most noble Moúrrr'ourir,
]hoy gator: for thou art full of good and worth, I wis,
To deck this work of mine witha'Í with honour from túy name.
That.it by reason of thy qrac-e may gain its fill of fä;;.'
"-"'"'
30
But though I ardently ã"sired this'prìrpose to make good,
A thousand ponderings arose to cheik my hardihood]
One said to me it \¡¡as nor meer that I shäuld seek to deck
,A,_building low and hideous, thar was but as a wreck,
With hangings glittering with gold, or rry with rouie to hide 3s
lfhe defects of ill-favoured maiã and charLs therewiih p.""ia..
Anorher that I had no right so base a gift to send
IJnto one dowered with mind so great]u.,d to the dust to bend
An intellect that seeks the stars. Ãrloth., said to me
ïlgr seekest, as I think, to reach the main of a yasr sea 40With.tiny stream befouled with mud, which sure will soon run dry
And disappear while it is still to its oín fountain nigi¡.,----
--'^ "'r
lfhus did I stand for long time swayed by waveringîf the mind;
$)' j udg.*.nr moved now here, now therá,
".,d
coulã ," ,.ri_pi"." nra.
fg1
days and days I sought in vain fir- purpor. ro atain, +sEither to do what I desiied or else fro* thut abstain.
I"r, u: my wishes prompted me, I bend to make the gift;
I see thee set aloft, but yer, when I thy nature sift,
I ï,r.1therein
a pìty mìld and kindness without báund,
å:d o-f the haughtiness of men in thee no trace l,ve found_ 50That haughtiness in darkness set, which gives nor warmth nor lishrBut
wraps what is around in groom and bïnds -ìrn rä"|å',r*'#il.'lfheref-ore in humbleness I beg y_our Excelle".y,;;;;'Èç
r¡¡ç ùrórrr!
With cheerful counrenance ro-t;ke what in yoú, härd, I place,
This tiny gift, and as a boon ro me this favo'ur give,
r '--,
j5
I^:::l':lqi^thy
no-trleness and worrh udorr,"Jit éhu,r". *uy tiu".'
ùo slnce I have adventured me upon so vast a sea
In bark so frail and small, I pruyihrt thou my pilot be,
T}r"lt-:lt aid I may riá_e through the hurricane,s feil blast,
.¿\nd to the haven which I seek bring my ship home at last. 6o
il
il
ili
tt
tl
0i
I'l
¡lì
il)i
Dedication EROPHÍLE ro5
For all the winds of heaven that blow and storms which 'gainst me fight,
And all the billows which swell high, never will have the might
To drive me upon rocky ledge or do me other harm,
If thy bright face as guiding-star will lend to me its charm.
The daring thought I had in mind to give gift worthy thee; 65
But though I've missed the mark, and this my gift unworthy be,
Set that to Fortune's count; do not impute it to my will,
For, I assure thee, highest hopes ever my mind did fill.
But Fortune was it who those hopes dashed, and when fain to fr.y,
I tried to soar aloft on wings to Helicon on high, ro
She cut those wings at earliest start, and I fell to the ground,
-And in desire alone was f, as at first, wealthy found.
"So sh.; in place of confidence and hope and iromised goal,
(For me she ofttimes seemed to raise unto the very Pole)
Now builds me gardens in the air and castles on the sands; 75
The vision fair which rose by night, by day mere wreckage stands.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
PeNÁnnros. A lover.
KeRpórnonos. His friend.
PHrrócoìros. King.
Coursnr,ron of the king.
EnopuÍr.n. The king's daughter.
CnnysóNour, Her nurse.
Gnosr of the king's brother.
Cr¡otus ofwomen.
Dn¡r,ro¡,ts,
Messn¡lcnR.
M¿ron¡qs in attendance on the king's daughter.
lfhe scene of the tragedy is laid in the counrry of Egypt.
PROLOGUE sPoken bY CHAROS
My countenance so wild and grim and veiled in pitchy dark,
The scythe T carry in my hand, my bon-es all bare and stark,
l¡he thinders which so oft do roar, the lightnings which forth break'
Opening the ground, and seeming from the-depths of hell to-make
A'roadl-alt these alone, without the aid of speech, full well 5
To those who look upon me here to-day my nature tell'
Yet none the less I have desire for easing of my mind
To tell you clearly who I am that you my powers may find'
I am thät one whom all mankind hate with a deadly hate,
And that I am dog-hearted, blind, and pitiless relate' ro
For I am he who when I list hurl suddenly to death
Kings and the great ones of the earth, and take away their breath
Froà rich and poor impartially, from master and from slave,
From young and old, from great and small, from lively and-from grave,
Fromïis. rnd fools-from every sort that is of human kind, 15
Whether they be in flower of youth or grip of years confined'
Glories and honours I blot out, oter names a veil I cast,
And friend frorn friend I separate, and reputations blast'
The angry heart I dominate, the schemes of men I change;
Their hãpes I scatter to the winds and all their plans derange' 20
And wheresoe'er my eyes are turned, blazing with bitter ire,
Whole towns sink iÀto wrrck headlong and continents expire'
where are rhe kingdoms of the Greeks ? where are the lands of Rome
So wealthy onc. ut-td powerful ? Where now is fled the home
Of arts und sci"rrc"s ? Where now will you those glories find zs
Of famous Athens-famous once for arms and powers of mind I
'W"here
is the mighty Carthage now, and where those warriors great
Of Romel Whãre'now the wealth which these once brought unto
their state ?
Where now is Alexander's fame and all his warrior's might ?
'w'here now the caesars'glories which the world once filled with light I
All these are shattered by *y hand and through me come to-nought, 3r
They are but dust and áshei now and to neglect are brought'
Theiefore I count those fools indeed who think by toil or art
They can defy my hand and e'en prevent it from its part
r oB ERO P H ILE Prologue
Of bringing to an end their names, by writing idle tale, , 3s
Or can by doing of some deed, or true or false, prevail.
More foolish still I those account who immortality
Woo by the making of base gain or heaping fee on fee.
For all thele are by me destroyed and take their wings for flight,
All these by time and passing years are blotted out of sight. 4o
Where is Chaldaean's lettered lore, and where are those who sought
For immortality by pen, and all their powers brought
To write the history of the wars which were waged by mankind,
Or those who scattered their great wealth like chaff before the wind I
Where now the greatness, where the wealth untold of that huge town
Which with her royal sway controlled Semiramis did own I +6
Come tell me, where are now those men for height of wisdom famed I
Those rulers strong who with their rod myriads to slavery tamed I
But since no more on earth they're seen) no trace of them is left,
One name at least, come mention me! are they of that bereft I jo
Tell me, who were they who did raise what men 'colossi' name,
Who gathered mountains and thereout half finished that great frame
The lfower of Babel called I Who built, toiling by night and day,
Those pyramids which still are seen standing in their decay I
Vain toil! One name of many tell from all that famous band, 55
lfhat we may see if, as they deemed, they could immortal stand !
Nay, all alike by common fate are vanished from the light;
Hades their names and bodies too has buried out of sight.
But what need is there I should cull examples drawn irom far
And ancient times, which from ourselves so much removèd are I 6o
Come tell me, where is seen to-day full many an honoured friend,
Your loyed ones whom ye held so dear and faithfully did tend I
Where are those lovers of your place who sauntered up and down,
And sprinkled musk-leaves in the streets and perfumed all your town I
And where are they who on their lips the honey-dew did lay, 65
And in their frolics had the power to turn night into day I
Poor wights! lfheir dwelling is the pit, all silent is their cry;
Their naked souls flit o'er the earth, they dust and ashes lie.
Yet spite these warnings none there is who pondereth in mind
That he too, ere long time, must needs to Hades passage find. 7o
They live as if they were to be the heirs of earth for aye,
As if no thing that world contains their whims could satisfy.
ú
!:l
Prologue EROPHÍLE ro9
O wretched above measure they! They cannot e'en perceive
How fast their days are minishing, how fast the years them leave !
For yesterday is past and gone;,the day before is fled, 75
And but a spark of light mid gloom can by to-day be shed.
Ere that an eye can ope and shut, on victim I descend,
And without pity I that man straight to his doom do send.
The light of beauty f put out, I pity not the fair,
No reck have I of savage heart, of humbleness no care. 8o
Those who fly from me f o'ertake, who seeks me I repel;
Oft uninvited I arrive as guest at marriage bell,
And bride and bridegroom, old and young alike away I bear;
Revel I turn to funeral train, and laughter into tear.
Instead of pastime I bring gloom, instead of singingo sobs, s5
And the grim purpose of my mind my heart of pity robs.
The whiteness fair of flesh through me foulness of earth infests,
The face I blot out in deca¡ the sweetl¡scented breasts
I on a sudden make the home of worms that therein breed;
Daily my hand is firm resolved to ruin's train to lead go
Houses and families therein, kingdoms and worlds alike.
For so heaven's justice is fulfilled-with equalness to strike.
Yet spite of this, I bid you all whom chance assembles here
To put from out your hearts to-day the slightest thrill of fear.
For not in quest of you by Zeus have I been hither sent; gs
On making prey of you, your sires or children f 'm not bent.
For it is writ in heaven's book that many years ye live,
And that these years shall wealth enjoy and honours richly give.
But I am come unto this high and noble palace-gate
(A place of such surpassing bliss in the world's estimate) roo
To deal out death, as you shall see, ere this day pass away,
Unto the king that dwelleth here and eke his daughter slay;
To lay his glory in the dust, and then his realm to place
In other?s hand, for all the crimes which his foul rule deface.
Yes, and a soldier slay I too, the sole remaining shoot ro5
Left in the world of other king, whom battle did uproot.
And what I do is to be done atZeus's strict behest,
For Zeus will never let a deed of Right unfinished rest.
Therefore ye must expect to take here grief within your heart¡
With tears in eyes ye will again to your own land depart. rro
r ro EROPHf LE prologue
I say 'your own landt, for ye are not now, as ye believe,
fn Crete, but it is Egypt's land that doth your feet receive.
This city famous Memphis is, throughout the wide world known
For its great pyramids which rise with stone piled upon stone.
By Zeus's favour are ye come suddenly to this land, rrj
That 'fore the eyes of
"ach
and all a wärrrirrg dread may standThat
by his death Philógonos may you with terror fill,
And that the hatred of Unright may through your being thrill;
That warned by other's fall ye may abide in your estare,
Seeing how oft prosperity is overthrown by fate. r2o
O plans of men, ye go awryi judgement, thou losest eyes,
O hopes of men, ye are but dupes and end in bitter sighs.
This king'has hopes of joyfulness, on wedding sets his mind;
tO Fortuner' cries he, othou
to me hast proved thyself too kind.'
And yet-the bitterness of woe will soon him overpower, rzs
And maidens'weakly hands with blows will bring him to death's hour.
So ifjn this wise kings who rule the wide world with their sway,
So often find that humbly they my bidding musr obe¡
Who amongst lesser folk can hope to reach unto the goal
Of glor¡ wealth and honour, though theyseek these with their soul I
Poor drrpes! What ye snatch runs awayi that which ye grasp takes
flight, r3r
Your gathered store is scatrered far, your building sinks from sight;
Your glory's snuffed out like a spark, your wealth in which ye tiust
Is whirled away, e'en as the wind scatters the gathered dust;
Your name is blotted out as though 'twere written in the sand r35
Which the sea covers with its flood, or in the dust on land.
But now I leave you, for I see the General from the gate
Comes fs¡¡|¡-s's¡ he whom pangs of death in sharpest form await.
END OF THE PROLOGUE
ACT ONE
SCBNE ONE
P¿NÁnnros speaÈs alone
ito think that these my sufferings have so o'erwhelmed my heart,
That heart, which stricken is to-day so sorely with love's smart,
That it amid refreshment's dews no place for joy can find,
And frercer flame than e'er before burns up my tortured mind !
How can it be that rays ofsun in noonday heaven set 5
For these poor eyes oi mine can nought save murky gloom beget ?
How is it that the blaze of heat can nought produce save snow)
How is it that fresh water cool withers the flowers which blow I
Did ever love returned ere now so strange a work effect
As to make lover's heart on nought save bitterness reflect I to
W-hen the fierce sea has sunk to calm or stormy battles cease,
The sailor's cares pass into joy, the soldier's heart has peace'
The man who lovès, when he has ta'en the herb of love's desire,
Finds all his tortures pass awayr his passion's pains expire'
Why is it then that I can do nought save to heave my sighs 15
In midst of all my cause of joy and utter bitter criesl
But what of all is worst is this-I cannot yet believe
That I dwell in a paradise, nor my fair gifts receive'
A treasure have I in my breastr but just as though 'twere lost,
To find it I turn here and there, with restless yearnings tossed' 2o
At splendour of the sky I gaze where beauties shine so bright,
And then my light turns into dark and blinded is my sight"
My lady of such noble birth and of such comely charms,
Sweetly consenting as I longed, yields herself to my arms'
Yet spite all this the crushing weight that hath my heart oppressed z5
Ne'ei leaves me room to entertain this sweet refreshing guest'
I know not how, but I still stand swayed betwixt peace and strife;
And mingled bitterness and joy at once possess my life'
But I must everr as it seems, hemmed in with torment got
For what my error is, and how I've fallen, well I know' 3o
I'm doomed to lodge within my breast a thousand ravening beasts,
And each of these, lodged there, upon my tortured heart-strings feasts'
Ir
:
.,1
.i;
:
:
..;
TI2 EROPHÍLF
T.lre peace f
,ve
won is destined of, ,o ,u* to battle,s fray:
'/ct One
trT ,î:î1 i:X;::ï
..it¡,. tr," _"lär,i åi..",,,ing tormeít s.,y. . . .
wil;;;;#'JiifflJ,""ïä"3ïï*îi::,fl:?.,.' ss
That thing which up .,.* i,?";id;^T;."" this very hourTo tell to him ro ease my mind; ¡
^äii" f,.f f have pow.r.(For he has understara;r'g
fr.rr'r"jäå ä'irnr"r friend)By some wise counser ."i?; pr;;;äå*"d state tá mend. 40
SCENE TWO
pe¡,rÁnrtos
and KenpórgoRos
The fruits of virtue ."., ,riiilo""rÏotïiìn
And on porr.rrior, ãf ,i,*"-nri.r' .r.n r"l,'ri
""i.otJ"î""tNo man exists who is not fain å"";;; I"ã *."1,r, to find,And in respe* thereof to srand ;lÀ"r;;; ail mankind.But by desire alone h
By thát ,r.;; ;;;';.,"'l":ïtr íffJ,':,:h.f,i;n',:,,
height; 4s
The ladder whereby you must .iirrrb i, *rought by zealand pain;It is not gift of Foitúr,e,s h""dr, ;;;ìrö;* maintain.The light of sun, the span
"¡hiääi{,å'rr."ro sitver moon,The earth, the air. th" shore of se;,Ësä l, is true, are boon toGranted by poweiof z"*, b;;; *iii.i,lwith might and mainAlone can hope to Êlory's r,"igi,i *ã ;.".;;;, ," atain.The man who cu."Ërs i, ,"d;ruJ';;'îä think to rise,Bur of a cerrainry wilt such lù-;ä.; ïi ï;;r".
w.ise are the words r":r,-..#iäî:ù!,'Í:ln,"rhardrabour,s
pain 55No man on earrh .rr, .u., h"p"."d";L;;;. ro ga¡n.
r am alone in saying,nt,, #ååäïälî",ur,,Seeing panáretos this
,raised
," ,".rr'rîgi'lr,ur.,That Fate has lifted him.utoft unï"_ iìl'*lr,, a¡r,Nor toit as day succeerleth d% ;;;yä'nl'ï,iru., ,ur". 6oI sought him in his house
"nal.o.r,.ä ,ü;;; the Daystar,s lishtHad with its rays begun to make rhe frri;, i."rir"n bright,
I
l
I
rl
:
t:
i:
!
i
i
l
:j
]
.:
rl
l{
:
¡
t
t
I
I.l
Scene Tuto EROPHÍLE
He, as his custom is, had risen and gone upon his way
Unto the business of his lord attention due to pay.
II3
p¿NÁnnros (aside)
It is the slavery of love and bitter care and thought, 69
And other business none which me have here so early brought.
, r¡npópgoRos
How is it possible to find a better man than this,
Or one of favour from the king who more deserving is I
As I can judge, of honour's place none can morè worthy be.
Let contradiction stand aside and jealousy far fr.eel 70
But lo! he's here. . . . Panâretos, I bid thee right good hail!
p¿NÁnnros
Thy noble self, my friend, may ne'er a thousand blessings fail !
r¿ntópuonos
Panâretos, iffrom thy face I draw conclusion true,
The troubles which weigh down thy heart are all too plain to view.
I judge that thou full deep art plunged in anxiousness and gloom, 75
And restlessness within thy mind never found larger room.
r¿Nánmos
Plungecl am f, as thou seest in truth in deepest depths of woe,
And seas of torment which defy measuring round me flow.
So great that trouble that I fear we close to parting stand,
Ancl that untimely death for me is all too close at hand. 8o
renpóp¡lonos
Panáretos, my brother dear, such end far distant be!
May these my eyes, I pray the gods, never such evil see !
But since thy kindness and thy grace have so surpassing.proved,
(Albeit that in my estate I am so far removed
From thy high station), that thou hast made me thy brother dear, 85
And, as I ween, I to thine eyes a faithful friend appear,
I am emboldened-do not on my boldness, I beg, frown,
To ask the cause of this great woe which doth so weigh thee down.
For as thy friend I will essay to lift thee from thy woe,
And, just so far as in me lies, to lighten thy grief's blow. 90
tr+ EROPHÍLE ,{ct One
Karpóphoros, my heaït u.,,, ;ilï;::t,r",, kindness knows.And that *y r..r.,* ¡.,*.", *i,iii"'*y't*ast repose
Than in mfsetf; on this
".;;r; iîî."ína. in thee,
And trust thee that thou wilt;";ïJnå faithful ever be.And yet f can but evermore the torrures of my mind ssKeep down and leaye them in ,¡" ..ìioiÀy poor heart confined.
f3..!f *f brooding.o'er the fault i"i" ,ir" -lrich I fellMy light is darkenå and in ;";k;ã;;y thoughts I dwel.
T_:':t
t wìsjl it possible ,tr,.u..f, illd open wide¿rno my poor frame within its depths, as in a tomb, should hide. roo
-Mv
friend' *n" *TÍ""y::"--"î¡.'
'rthat fault repents,ìfhen Justice towarrrs.the faulr h. Ji&i* reaso' furl rerents.He should ser down his error's bil;;;;;"Dame Forrune,s count-And comfort win, in that the ,i" ."".;;;;;."rt;;;;;;: " .-",'u
p¿nánnros
As I have heard, each man on earth doth his_ own fortune make, ro5And as he purposeth in heart,
",
g;;;;;ua *;tt tuk",
Fortune o,er ri fe n",n. o"*.: *:Jrïï,oå u"n.. unrord.But this we will in leisure h;.;;gråi.i'f.rg,t unfold.For since men say that bosom frierilîön each a body whole-Yet live as thousir they_were but one insepJrrbl" ,oul, ,rro
I beg, since in *1" ruitífurr,i#;îr",;:i'rr". you see,You tell to me that autt of yourr;;;rhorgh it chance to be.
fi ii:.ïå'* :j.hil;; I U*','U'rJ;:r;""
Thy
words that rinE .^*^^^-:1::.-"t"t
o;'*ñî;ä;i:J"f üåli;ä"¿;ff :l:,,i:.f iî:,:ï';,".u,,,,uCause me without reserve of feár
"li
¡rr.lï lîy *y h"".t,And to reveal the mioh_ty tt i,rg *1,"r.; , ärr.O my parr.I need not say ,o th."",Ii."p;f"r;;. ä" #,Tl* I shail teil,,For that thou art the faithiu'est.iiliä;i'know fu, wer. t2ô
Scene Two EROPHf LE
r¡rpópnonos
rr5
Ére that thy secret issue from my lips, ere e'en in thought
f to ,rroth"t what thou sayest can to reveal be brought,
I pray that I may lose my tongue and every power of speech,
en¿ if,r, the eaith may p^rt in twain and suck me in that breach.
p¿NÁnrtos
Well listen to the tale I tell'
renpópnonos
Speak on; whY dost thou turn vs
That face of thine now here now there, ere I thy message learnl
p¿ì,rÁnrtos
Mv lips must tremble ere that they the message can begin;
Túey-fain would dumb remain and no utterance for such tale win.
The'beams and water and the lime these palace walls which bind
Ears for the hearing ofour words and tongue for speech can find' r3o
i.ffi i*:xi;:åïi?:*',::ä'*îîäî.'"",iniå',01"","0
renrópnonos
1'he more thou showest how thou fearst, the more desire I feel
That thou the cause of this same fear wilt soon to me reveal'
pa¡¡Ánnros
Karpóphoros, my brother dear, I wâs not five years oldr-
-
.'35
(That from the very start to thee my fort_une's tale be told)
ùh"tt by the grace of God above I was first hither brought,
And this fair pãlace of our king thereby to know was taught'
And now whose son I was to thee, and thee alone, I tell,
For that thy loyal faithfulness I know surpassing well' r4o
renpór¡ronos
I know that thou art son of king, for that all men can read
Clear from thy acts; thy bearing too cannot but show thy breed'
So oftentimes I have thee praised in secret in my breast,
Because thou didst not with thy lips reveal this to the rest'
p¿r,.rÁnnros
The secret I was strictly charged buried in heart to hide r45
By him who brought me¡ but since first this palace did provide
Fôr me a home, the king as though child of his own I were
Did show such love to mer and such a tender father's care,
r2
:¡
i1
,l
I
116 EROPHíLE ¿,) ON,
That he enjoined tha-t I should pass the years of boyish growth
K::n_:j:,:*^:._lfophí1.,
tilr the;ñ';;,." we reached both r5o\rur grown estater and this though he knew¡rot my parents, name,And was alone of thisr*r.._,fr* ifr"* Tsertsa came.But Erophíte, who with me hal õ;ä of years,
showed to me rove no ress ,rr"" ,rtåi -iJ.i sister brother bears,And was with me companion f"r"d ;;;er_of work or play, rsjWhether we did abide in tour. o, ir liJguro"r, ,..uy.And wheresoeyer in th.e town ,, ,fr-*"ii.?d forth she went,No other hand than mine in h.* ;;iil; to hold consent,As up and down the streets she paced¡
""ã
tf,i, was cause of oainUnto my comrades. nor could ti,.y rá* i.d"ó;.;;J,",'',uoBut when we had ieached gr;*;å;;r'"0 .ru,¿ not without stainon honour, as before, ir,.Ër. ;;;;ì:äip remain,
Then the king parted u_s,-""d g;;";'r;;'g.ìirr"hi.t, us beset,Albeit that from time to time i¡re in th"'puiur" *.t.
The_ king was wise i. *h","hT;fi1ïî:". ofr seizes youth, rósAs fire does brushwood, and ,h. ti;;;;;ri-., ,t.* without ruth.
l:.,. TI
o
",póph
oros,,,n,"JäåffJllri.r
",,,u.a,Durrr or us were wrth greatcr love than e,er before imbued.
Do not account the th:..-
r¿nrópr¡onos
And rovers r;; *;,;ïåä,'ixii;3f.,äi,Íï,,ì.J...,, .,o
swiftly our feelinss cl
p¿nÁnaros
L:
À
"
J itu, äi i il il";,;:'i**1Ji:å::îî, îlT : îî J.d
es i re,
Such as in previous time had
"";;;;;;;oi"o ,, with its tìame,Such as our hearts had never known
"",iiifr", moment came.
I.* J
begin to u,,¿.,*,,,aïìlfåi,'n1lî,r*"rse tends; rj,Now I perceive the end ,. *r,i.ü-y"rr'ä..iil*¡.ding bends.
, j
K-arpóphoros, the rale,..r.,, ",Íiiåiäe fire orLoveMy inmost being suddenry aia tr,"" tdi;;';.""".
Scene Two ERO P H f LE try
I strove with all my powers of mind at first to quench that flame,
Before it irresistibly my being's whole o'ercame. ¡8o
But all my labours were in vain, because, I know not how,
That fire into my inmost heart its sudden way did plough.
It took from me my reason's force and I could find no rest,
Save when of presence of my love I found myself possessed.
renpóp¡loRos
A man will find it task severe quick to uproot a tree, r85
Which in well-watered spot has once grown to maturity.
But task severer far it is to uproot a young man's love,
When it is planted firm and long: such a love to remove
From out its place would need in sooth a master's powerful hand;
And to speak truth, the man who could free himself from such band
W-ould be acclaimed by all the world as one that's truly great, \gr
And fortunate beyond compare men would account his state.
But of a truth, Panáretos, I even this foretold,
And what I've now heard with my ears as like to come did hold.
For tender glances of the eyes ever desire beget, rgs
And for Love's entry to the heart a sweet enticement set.
And when that Love has once his seat taken within the heart,
{t is beyond a mortal's power to make him thence depart.
paNÁnnros
I know this to be true; for when Love's outbreaks I would quell,
I found the heat the fiercer grow, the blaze of fi.re more fell. zoo
And Érotas, whom I did seeÈ to chase forth, back returnecl
With rage redoubled, and again my inmost being burned;
And for my deadly wound he would no healing herb suppl¡
So that I thought that of my pains I should of surety die.
But in the meantime, as thou knowst, there rose the Persian war, 2os
And by the orders of the king command supreme I bore
Over his armyi thus was I compelled in my despite
Thither to go where my great lord commanded me to fight.
Bethink thee then how great the woe that did my poor heart grieve,
When, without farewell word, my love's fair face I had to leave. zro
I deem no soul with such fell pain is from the body driven,
As that which seized me when I was from my dear lady riven.
.
.i
t,
I
il
rr8 EROPHILE
"!ct one
yo fram.e,
Karpóphoros, f'm sure, is with such spasm torn
In that dread hour when from its seat th" breath of tife is borne.
As she was when her eyes beheld me marching fu,
^*uy,
"""'"'"r,
And knew that I to disiant place far from her"sid" *rriárruu,
{]though the one to orher yãt had not the p"ir, ..u"ui"ã
'-t)
Yhi:h wrung our woundeã hearts; itìuy ås yet therein concealed,
For fear had struck timidity into our falíering mind,
--)
And neither could for theii desire free dechãtion dnd. 2zo
reRpópuonos
f"nrl:,_or, my brother kind, hard is the thing f hear,
And if I say 'tis past belie{ thou musr y.t wi'th *. b.r.,
Because the burning fires of love
" -u.r'but ill conceals;
fn sooth the more he seeks to hide, the more he them ,"rr"*ls.
How can it be that a maid's heart should be afire
^ndbtuir, zzs
And yet that conflagration should no trace of smoke e,"r ráse?
Who can believe it tale of truth that maiden in her mind
Should such a warfare waged by love and such fierce strivinss findAnd
yet Ìrer lips should be fast-locked and withou, r"r"¿ ,.",""ìrl'
And could from utterance of love and cry of woe refrain I '
4oSo for thysel{ couldst thou amid such burning rortures live,
And yet no sign of all the woe that tortured tiee forth give ?
p¡NÁnn.roS
Wise men their passions.from men's-eyes most deeply hidden keep,
And when rhey're suffering in their hãarts, s*'.s ioih.r, riprìpiilp.
-\
th.at b ylf she eyer strãve, being ,o *ír. of heart,
No sign of all the secret pain that tãre her soul to impart.
And I, full well aware.that I no healing balm could find,
Did think it well that till I died I shoulã my rongue fast bind.
But that which she was fain to hide, I coulá nor"but surmise,
forr- "u¡r¿
time that we.two met, 'trvas writ in tf,or. fui, .yå . 24o
She looked at me with pity,s glance and with a mien so kinã,
ft seemed that she some healing herb for her distress would find.
1"9 I fgr -y part felt nowjoy and now foreboding,s pain,
Seeing that I the loss of such fair beauty must sustain.
A thousand times I me resolvecl to makå excuse to bide, z+5
That still for me angelic charm her fair face might právid.;
-J
SreneTwo EROPHÍLE II9
A. thousand times when I the need of my king brought to mind,
I thought it better far that this my body should death find
Than that I should renounce the task which had to me been given;
So in this wise I found myself with boundless torment riven. 2so
But in the end I bowed to fate; from her I made depart,
Pierced through and through with torments fierce in marrow, mind
and heart.
My body to fulfil the king's behests I thus resigned,
And to endure the thousand pangs which fate to me consigned.
<¿npóenonos
Just as no joy the heart of man with such deep transports moves, 255
As when to some great service done reward commensurate proves,
Given by the world¡ so never man will feel such bitter smart
As when he by the fates' decree from his true love must part.
p¿NÁnnros
Karpóphoros, such parting thou shouldst not as smart acclaim,
But rather it as death and that the bitterest shouldst name. z6o
So many ótars on clearest night thou wilt not in heaven spy,
So many fishes in the depths of ocean do not lie,
So many flowers upon the meads never will there be found,
Nor will so many songs of birds within the brakes resound,
As were the torments of my heart from morn to dewy eve, 26s
Or were the sighs which oft I did from my poor breast upheave.
I had more torment from myself and a far bitterer strife
From that great love which I did bear as secret of my life,
Than that I waged against my foes; at last, since end of pain
Nowhere I could before me view (for what I did sustain z7o
I knew full well that I must bear in secret in my heart
And never could my loye-born pain to other soul impart),
I then resolved to meet my end, and single-handed go
Into the mêlée of the fight and reck not ought of blow,
In search of death. But Fortune seemed 'gainst me to have a spite
And ever to direct my arm victorious in the fight. 276
A thousand times I nerved my heart my sword from sheath to bare
And ruthlessly with my o\¡¡n hands my life away to tear.
A thousand times I purpose held no nourishment to take,
That thus I might more speedily my way to Hades make. z8o
r2o EROPHÍLE ¡lct One
#1.:fr:"ltles
I groaned atoud and dizzy wirhmy pain
lvry.tongue from speaking bitter words like th.r. .lrld not refrain:
"Tis hope that makes thã husband-un iolp.nd long a"yi;" ,.if
'
And plant his trees and cast his seeds wide-äattered o,er the soir.
'l['is hope that to the sea in ships t¡" *ilo. ,.rrdeth down, 28 s
*:f}:.-i. flj., his daity.,,k i., d;;;;, r,. *uy drown.
nope too the labourer inspires and aids him in hís pain,
The general ro the battleþes in f,op" oiuio"ry,s gain.
'Tis hope which maketh eiery you,Ë ,o luiijr lou" with maid,
ili;J'$Ë';iï,î:,:î;:t,* ti:*ïr[;"""'"' 2s.
*11 L, f cannor quench the flame kindteJby love,s desire.,
Âno rnen my eyes became-afount, waters floied as from well,And all my limbs, though living yet, *"r" piurrg.d deep down in hell.
r¿npópHoRos
How many pains and tortures fell thou dost in man,s heart place, 295Thou traitor Love, such that th.r" *."r.ro. or., now other face!
But when we had returned ,-l*a:îiished was the war)
j1 triumnh grear unro.ou. luid,
"ì,a ""." "fi;n'
j"rui ""'',
"t
l: !:*,t.: of my tady's face, her *i;;;;*p"ssionate
ìi^",:.^T:.fow
by the loss of love her heart was desolate. 3oorrow great my joy was those, and those alone, can fully know
Within w'ose heart the flamås w'ich are ìit Uy tr,. i.í"_'g;'gr...But since I must then needs set out in touìney part to take,
Which 'rwas rhe king,s commancl that *" ,f,"llå in our citi make,(For that we had witi.victory."*.;;j';;n us h.nour gr.eat, 3osAnd I a name of proud report had gained in ev"ry state),
f passed first to her bowerìnd tt.r='upor, *, t rr.", f tfi,And humblywith such words as th.så *y ih" of love did tell:'O royal maid, so dear to me, with p..rl.J, leauty blest,
Among all maidens in the wtrld ho"ou*ã uboue th" ,.st, 3roSince I have eyer as your slaye and faithful servant true
r'rone nothlng saye at your command, nothing apart from you,I judge it would unfitting be if I to táurr"y-_.r,,,
Save first I spake a wordwith you ,,ra *o', fro* you consent.
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SceneTwo EROPHíLE tzr
,A.nd so, my Queen, all earnestly consent from you f ask, 3rS
And give to me that hand so dear ere I go to my task;
For without aiding of that hand no good thing can I do,
Whilst I yet live, nor honour's deed perform apart from you.'
These words once uttered, I beheld that fair face change its hue
Not once or twice; and as the sea you may have chanced to view, 3zo
When sometimes it upon the shore with gentle impulse knocks,
Although no breath of wind it feels or any tempest-shocks,
In such wise softly she that breast, which of musk sweetly smelt)
Struck once or twice, that breast to which the wound of love was dealt.
raRrópHonos
Just as the winds do raise the sea and mighty swellings make, 325
And on a sudden lift the waves so they in anger break,
In such wise do the words she hears fall from a lover's tongue)
E'en spoken softly, stir the heart of maid with passíon wrung.
lfhey make that passion higher rise, and more they stir that heart,
If with due care they are composed and framed with comely art. 33o
p¿Nánn'ros
I framed them with no art àt all, but my tongue only said
The words to which it was by guide of the heart's passions led.
She uttered a deep sigh and said 'That favour which I showed
Erstwhile when we together were cannot now be bestowed,
For that were an unseemly deed; but, an thou lovest me, - 335
Panáretos, thou present must at this same tourney be,
And, as thy wont is, thou must fight and fight victoriously.'
So saying, she drew nigh to me, and then this amulet,
Which I now carry, she took offher neck and round mine set. 34o
KARPOPHOROS
A precious gift was that indeed, and greater love she showed
Thereb¡ I think, than e'er before she had on thee bestowed.
p¿NÁnnros
As on a tree long parched with drought the branches then begin
To sprout with green, and than before a sweeter scent to win;
It puts forth wealth of fruits and flowers, and multiplies it roots, 34s
And upwards to the heights of heaven aloft its head it shoots,
When it receives a copious flood; e'en so then love began
To stir with hope my hapless heart, and through my being ran,
r2z BROPHILE ,{ct One
When I first heard such kindly words from out her lips forth shoot,And when these in my inmost heart took ever deeper root. 3so
?:j :::1".urney's étrife.to yin m¡ uioo.y iaiü.;"'1ìnd Joy I gave unro my friends and bitterneÅs to fo"l
'
lt.:h:u, I deem, rememberest. But from this theme f turn;
It ill beseems from a man's lips too *u.h of r.lf to learn.
r know it weu without,r{,;:i{iä:ïlo,o see rhee do 355lVlore stirring deeds upon'that field than
",., A.hill., kn"w.
llhe memory_of those deeds abides; full well we undersrand
That it was thou who then chased out the foeman from our land.
But when rhat tourner fi"t,,iîYäiî¡gl,wly r teft my arms,
And once again I soug.ht
le]ie.i
in Erophlie,s charms. 36oI knelt before her and I said: ,My
euäen, ii *"r. not fitThat glory in this tourney won on me alone shourd sit.
l['he prizes should to thy-grace fall, for i-k;.* but too well
Jhal¡i-ctory to me was givy by *"glri,rr" ly th";rüi.'But if those prizes t'u:
ùi brought .J tuf1t
"* ar thy feer, 36sMy mistress, as by iustice' law wãuld hu; ;"",_, ,ign, ánJiL.,,I do that not, b"ó",rse su.ch things ¿. ,ro, ¡.¡, a maicl;
Instead thereof let my whole roui".,d;;;;..r" be laid
*n¡tterfg tomy princess; for at thy sligÍrtest sign
i::^,::il ild
bdl |m prepared to'Had"es to reãign., 37oöur when she to the wo¡ds I spake was fain to mãke r"pl¡
rt
]|1 !9ve-god with his hand ,t
"
,no... ,pr""O o,", her face did dveWith blush of red; and after that she i" J.h *ir" ;;;;,^'
uru qye
And from her lips most pitiful ,,r.h ,.."t ofreshment ran,
That I departed with mtre joy than
"1".
fär" t fat. s1s.But.th.at same joy with.its desiies o"ly f;;rh;;rtures spelr.
I cried that Fate had willing b..., ruJh ; ñ;; gift to give
Only because she knew thaã I shouid,;;;;;:"rr. to live.
But Aphrodite's son who seeks ,rtr" ,"ru"ni, à ,.quit.
And for the toils that they endure ¡.r,o*i o, them delight, a8o
l:f"::r_::::_,.":p*d m¡life u"a u¡.*"ujl in vain,
trur granted me a fit reward for my love,s pains to gain.
SceneTwa EROPHÍLE r23
' KARPóPnonos
I fear me that to-day of great events I'm like to learn;
Two who are lain to join in one no more to labour turn'
p¿NÁnnros
Long tale it were to thee to tell of everyvow and oath 3st
W¡icn to fair issue in our love at end did bring us both'
But I could wish in a few words, belovèd friend, to tell
How 'twixt myself and my fair love that matter then befell'
For in the telling I should win a little ease of heart'
But words now fail me, and I know not how the tale to start' 3go
And when I would beginning make, my speech soon dies away;
My tongue turns dumb and utters not the words that I would say'
r¡npópr¡onos
If I can trust the words I heatrPanâtetos my friend,
The faithful love which ye two bore had not unguerdoned end'
p¿NÁnotos
Thou sayest soothi but first of all the ring and lovers' oath, 3gs
which were between us both exchanged, plighted our wedding troth.
But thou must understand that straightr as from that very hour,
Much bitterness and torment fierce my reason's force o'erpower'
For then my eyes which had at firsr blindness from love received
W'ere on an insiant opened wide, and all too clear perceived +oo
That, spite the passion which I felt, without the king's goodwill
I could-not with his child the rites of marriage e'er fulfil'
My days were darkened and my nights were heavy with my fears;
Ever was I companion close to sighing and to tears'
That thing which at the first seemed like to gladden all my heart, 4o5
Can now nought save repentance keen and tortures fell impart'
And truly if the deed would not have harmed my maid teluved,
I would iave straightway with my sword my wretched life removed.
For e'en the broadãst strlams on earth, though they in thousands rol1,
Can never wash away my sin or make my error whole' 4ro
The thing which griåves me most is this-that for so great a sin
It is not possible an end to find or pardon win.
And so two passions I do bear together fast combinedA
love which never limit knows and a remorsefui mind'
I
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rz4 EROPHÍLE lct One
These without rest between tiremselves do strive and toil and fight ar5To keep me fast in torture's grip and hord *e;;;;;iffii;i;:Loye wishes me ro see the gifi *¡,i"t, h. ho, given is gooã:"^"'
* :ll9
fair beyond
"o*þr.,
princess of rãyat bloöî_T':Ti
*orthy service true, thar I should bu.,irh paú,
/\nd Joy as much as f can jo¡ flgm grief my heart iefán . 4roBut limitless remorse to mã iácails -], d..as unkind,
And makes me ,Traitor,'call
myself í"nd ,Man
of faíthless mind,.
T:ï_91
.: day fear without bounds within my heart ir sets,
.¿\nd never torture wrung a man like that which me besets.
The fear perchance the Èing will learn and me of surety sla6 +25Or, if he learn it not, he.soãl
.*uy give my maid uway'
r
'
I.n marriage to some mighty ki"g. .l . I síand and poider deeo
*iO r,r?, that I may meer my dãath and .igh ;Jg;;;;Jä.".Áarpóphoros, as best thou canst, lend me thine aid io_dry,
--r
And tell me by what means f can make these pains purr'u*^y. 43o
panáreros, irwhat is done ;:iï:,ï:î,ao,",
A-rrd.could the past be brotted out from underneath the sun,
ffr brother, I would thee advise r.u.. a ão this deed.
But since that deed has once been done, for fretting is no need.
*.:..*. avails not, nor can all the tears tho¡ sheddst prevail 43sOf things which have
lqen -done
one jot ,o-1.rr.., the whole tale.
Therefore, my dearest friend, herein tËou ,t oul¿rt some .o*A.iirrO,And in dris hour of need, as erst, use all thf po*.r, of mincl.
Thou.shouldest ponder that nought else it'is saye heayen and fatellhat have brought thee and her'alike irrio you. presenr stare. 44oFor never deed like that, I deem, is i.rto n.í.,g brought,
,Unless
by hand of those two powers that same deed has been wrought.lfhou shouldest ponder that iike'.. trrou uri;i;;Jffiirruu*'And e'en though fortune unro thee has once upp."í"j
"., g'."a,Thou hast no cause at all therea, ,. øfl l"io despair, 44sBut rather hope that blessings gr"o, ,t ou ;n ,iy ,urn wilt share.
Fortune is but a fickle jacler-aãd *h.., ; man doth think
ü""1î^:,:j":o:.,
ctepths of woe r,. .uri or ru."ty,i,.,k,
ùnc rarses hlm to boundless bliss, as in thine o*n .rår"Thou mayesr of this trurh a cl.u. .x"*pl. Jnt"*plut.. 45oil
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Scene Two EROPHÍLE r2S
Thou art by birth, as thou didst now confess, of kingly race,
Ancl Fortune brought thee, stranger, down unto this present place.
Little by little she raised thee in favour of the king,
And to a greatness shared by none in this wide realm did bring.
And she who has secured to thee these other blessings great, 4ss
Now makes thy head to touch the stars as Erophíle's mate.
llherefore away with bitterness and play a hopeful part;
Think all thy blessings will endure, and so be of good heart.
If thou hast erred, that erring is common to humankind;
A man that is without a fault thou ne'er on earth wilt find. 46o
And all more frequent are the faults of love, which sudclenly
Deceives us all and from a man maketh his wits to flee.
pa¡ráRnros
'Tis just because f too have been deceived that I thus sigh,
And as a traitor to my lord myseif I thus decry.
AIas! Who is there who shall hear of this my boundless fall 46s
Who will not me a cowardly wight and a base traitor call ?
r¿npóp¡¡onos
The man who knoweth how a heart is all consumed with fire,
How it is tortured, when it is stricken with love's desire,
That man, I sa¡ if he hath ought of jutlgement, will not dare
To utter evil against thee or one ill word prepare. 4To
Thee therefore over what is done nowise to grieve I bid,
But counsel thee, as best thou canst, to keep the matter hid.
Leaye thou the business as it stands, and it will pass away,
For with the passing of the days nothing unchanged will stay.
PANARBTOS
Deep in recesses of my heart wiil I this thing concea\ 47 s
But time, as it moves on its wa¡ each secret will reveal.
Since Fortune is a fickle thing, I fear me she will show
Envy at my good hap and say that I too prosperous grow)
Ancl into such a pit profound of torment will me lead,
That I therefrom, Karpóphoros, shall never raise my head. 48o
How fortunate in very truth mankind should that one call
\Mho never yet a single stroke of luck has known at all.
For since he knows that this good luck will leave him in the end,
He eyer must to misery and torment his neck bend.
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T26 EROPHTLE
renpópr¡oRos
Tell mer.Panáretos) on thy life, canst thou this ?ady leave,
Or would departure from ir"r sþht thee of thy life L"."ro" I
lct One
485
4go
495
500
505
5ro
How is it possibre ,r,", r**.äliffirä its sour be renr,
And yet' when of that sour bereft, still to live on consent r
How could it be that fish deprivej of water, bird of air,
Should still their daiþ life .Ër"-, their nature,s force r"p"ir I
l:î,¡n." could t if o,lc" I w"rå from my dear lady ta,ån,
lvly hberty upon the earrh, or e,en my life sustain I
'Twere better far my limbs should bË to thousand pieces torn
r han that my eyes lose sight of her and I live on forlorn !
wetl the', if thou ,hy.r"dy,:iäió,"åi:lo,
"r,du,"
to reave,
What boots it now with, thy ,"*orr" thy being thus tò gri""L I
A truce to these untimely woes, again i suy tJ the",
And look to heaven,s help, and the"n a gooj
"r,d
thou wilt see
Unto this tale of blessings which for thJe is well begun.
The earnest that thou hast in hand will to full pa1äent run.
Karpóphoros, thy words .- Ji ::åälr' ur, ror¿ have given
Unto my heavy-laden heart which is with torment riven.
I .¡oy me that I have ouÇoured
_the-thoughts within ,r,y *ind,
And that in thee, whate'er befall, I shall"a helper find.
My,in¡euect
_my
speech, ,,,;iÏfiî::îd my very sour
And all that I possess of power_to itree I give the whole
To aid thee in this work. But those *ho
"o
close friendship keep,
As we twain do, it ill beseems words upon words to h.up.'
^---',
Karpóphoros, thou rovst *. iåiï;î,, uu,, werr r know,
And all my hopes are set on thee under this heavy blow.
I, *: ":*
to the camp to see what there the soldiers do,
And after rhis another rime we will this thing review.
well go.thy_ way, and,t ."*î-"T",i3åî.,,". wilr we see
How this affair may yet be broughr to issue good for thee.
Scene Three EROPHf LE
SCENE THREE
Krr.tc ¿np Couxsn¡,r,on
t27
COUNSELLOR
B'en as a prudent husbandman zealously gathers in 5r5
His fruits into his store-house barn ere winter doth begin,
And then he ûnds he hath no lack, but sleepeth free from care,
And reputation as wise man he winneth everywhere;
No less should kings the coming time e'en ,, ih"i, own time ey% szo
And what comes after with their mind just as the present try,
That they themselves and eke their realm may thereby live for aye.
For we have heard in ages past of thousand wealthy kings,
Who dowered were with all the power which wealth to monarchs
brings;
And many monarchs our own eyes have seen of such a kind, szs
W'hose kingdoms straight when they did die were scattered to the
wind,
For that they took no heed or care with the mind's eye to scan
What would fall out when they were dead and future ages ran.
KING
Counsellor, well thou knowest this, that it has been ury lot,
Save Erophíle, to have had no child by me begot. 53o
Therefore she ever is to me as apple of my eye,
My consolation and sole hope upon which I rely.
And if it be that till to-day unwedded she remain,
Albeit that so many kings have sought her hand to obtain,
The reason sole is that my heart is scorchèd up with pain 535
At thought that these eyes should behold her out of my sight ta'en.
But now that old age claspeth me, and her the years have brought
To time whereat her hand is ripe in wedlock to be sought,
It seemeth to me meet and right that I should search now make,
And speedily, for worthy king who her as bride will take. S+o
And so, since envoys have arrived, on this same errand sent,
Who monarchs twain of great estate and riches represent,
I will that all ye counsellors forgather and with zeal
And careful judgement hold debate, and after that reveal
|-i
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tz8 nROp¡1ff,n /ú Ane
Which of the two ye beter think, that I your aid may use, S+s
And counselled by you I may thus a brid-egroom for her choose.
So, to this end great honour for these
"ruo1o
twain prepare,
My Counsellor, as though the kings themselves here piesent were.
And now I go that for this thing my daughter I may find,
And 'gainst the wedding as to choicã of husband sound her mind, 55o
For it seems fitting unto me) my Counsellor, that so
Ere she make choice from our the twain she should the matter know.
Albeit that these two are kings of such a high estate
That nowhere in the world ye'll find monarchs more truly great.
My lord and master, *"
"-rr""i;åti"ui." at morning light 5j5
Together with the other thralls of thy realm, as is right;
And
with sage counsel, as we are by loyal duty bound,
We will advise, that to thy weal the matter may redound.
SCENE FOUR
couNsELLoR (alone)
Now if the fortunate had power the goddess to hold fast,
And could o'er Fortune's circling wheel a rope to bind it cast, 560
Again, if Fortune did not like a wheel round spinning gor
And daring wights who sit aloft send crashing down below,
Men would to-day have called our king than other kings more great,
And would have deemed him than the rest of men
^oi"
fo.t.,nãt..
But since some fate the things of earth seems upside down to turn, 565
And raises poor men to a height and doth the wealthy spurn,
It is not seemly till one sees the end to utter praise)
To call men fortunare at start, or in the middle phase.
For as the higher you a man sitting aloft do spy,
Or as his head unto the height of heaven seems more nigh, s7o
The more.'tis likely you will see his honour downward ãrash,
lfhe more 'tis likely he his head, where stood his feet, will dash.
The more you see him in the grip of torturings hãld fast,
And deeper into poverty and into misery cast,
Thg 1o1e
you may expect he'll be to topmost ladder raised ¡ S7S
And find him of a cheerful mien and for good fortune praised.
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Scene Four EROPHÍLE r2g
For this, as I have said, I do not hold of much account
This king's great power, nor esteem his riches' great amount,
But rather do I pray to God his fortune so to bend,
That she may never to his hurt her wheel's orb backward send. 58o
And since his daughter of his wealth will the sole heiress be,
To partner worthy of herself may he her mated see!
For she is too of noble birth and sprung from kingly line,
And all the virtues hath which can a maiden's life refine.
CHORUS
Love, who oft amid the greatest
And the fairest wits art found,
Thou the small ones of earth hatest,
And for wondrous power renowned,
Hast such deadly weapons' might
That thou all men bringst to ground.
For the snares thou settst delight
And such pleasure give the ta'en
'I'hat he loves their very sight.
Though fierce as lion that's victim slain,
Yet each man welcometh thy blow
And desires to feel the pain.
Not mortal men alone do know
What the might is of thy hand,
But those thy golden arrows go
Borne swiftly up to heaven's land
With daring and powerful aim,
And in Zeus'heart do come to stand.
They that heart so sorely maim
That he leaveth his throne on high
For earth, with face no more the same.
By thee in bounds fixed doth li'e
The sea, and earth her place doth keep
And heaven's dome hangs for aye.
585
590
595
6oo
6o5
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r30 EROPHf LE
For thee each plant its leaves doth steep
In grçen, and each tree upgrowth makes,
Flowers puts forth and fruit doth heap.
No beast so wild e'er hides in brakes
Or fish in sea, but it feels
Thy mighty force and thy wound takes.
Thy sway the eyes of woman seals,
And her beauteous snow-white face
Thy prevaìling power r"v.áh.
All day long from place to place
Thou flittest-now on golden hair,
Now on coral lipts s'q¡eet gracet
Now in silver bosom's lair.
Oft'tis thy pleasure limbs to view
As they wither full of care,
Or eyes downcast and bathed in dew
Of tears, that tlose who chance to cry
For love, as do lovers true,
May thee as unjust judge decry,
And that joy account more dear
Which love thereafter will supply.
So Panáretos with care
Thou hast filled, and torn with pain
He with his head bowed down doth fare.
But since he's granted to obtain
So fair reward for service done,
Treasure so great, such peerless gain,
Guard the maid he has won,
Keep her safely and banish harm,
So that he no danger run.
For these envoys with fell alarm
Have filled my heart and bitterness.
Nor can I my breast disarm
-4ct One
6¡o
6t.'
6zo
6rs
63o
63s
Stene Four EROPHf LE
Of trembling and in heart's recess
I do feel a wasting fire,
Torture in limbs, in face distress,
My mind is with forebodings dire
Rent, as in wood benighted,
Lest she accept what they desire,
And by sire's threats affrighted
Take husband at the hest of king.
O Love-god grant that this be righted
(For great issue it will bring);
Avert, I pray thee, this alarmi
Let not heaven do this thing
Which for our lord would work fell harm.
¡3r
6+s
6so
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END OF ¡,CT ONE
64o
K2
INTERLUDE
DnnaoNs, Anlvrroa, RrNaloo, and lÚ'e¡oxr¡s. One Demon speaÈs
to the others.
DEMON
Ye spirits which from heaven above are banished into hell,
fn torment there as my compeers in slavery to dwell,
I deem that each of you full well doth bear in mind to-day
That he with me in glory's light in heaven once did stay
Aloft; but in the deadly fight which was at that time fought, j
Which both ourselves and all the gods to bitter conflict brought,
We found that Fortune on our band did lay such baneful spell,
That she with shame that knows ,,o bound did hurl us down to hell.
In place of brilliant day and light shed by the pure sun,s blaze,
In place of shimmering sheen bestowed by thousand star-lit rays, ro
We stand to-day as in the tomb; the murk of hell us claims,
And tortures us with countless fires and scorches us with flames.
But something more than this I tell¡ listen to His desire,
Who suffered His own son in death to our hurt to expire.
He came, and straightway us to spoil did storm the gates of hell, 15
And left us by ourselves in fires of torment there to dwell.
Victor He then returned on high, with honours richly dight,
And there He stands continually, circled with glory's light.
But why should I thus call to mind our anciènt sufferings'tale,
And by that telling once again make old-time woes prevail I zo
Let bygones be bygone, and let us rather fix our mind
In close attention on the things which here to-day we find.
How He doth strive and use all means by every art He can
To lead victorious in His train all that are known as 'man'.
Ye see that 'fore Jerusalem, mustered in close arrap zs
His captains loyal in thousands stand by passion led away,
And seek to blot our faithful friends, the Turks, from gff the earth,
And give again our Christian foes of liberty rebirth.
Had it not been for loyalty of one fair trusty maid,
Of their cleliverance no hope at all had with them stayed. 30
Interlude EROPHÍ LE rg3
For she into the parts of East with one sole purpose camet
That she the overweening plans might of these Christians tame'
For by the power dominant of dazzling beauty's lure
She hath between the captains sown dissensions now past cure'
Quarrels between them she has roused and enmity's dread snare, 35
Sã that they each for other strife and sudden death prepare.
And above all she has by these youthful enticements tamed
The strongest of these warriors and most for courage famed.
'1fis of Rinaldo that I speak and of his bravery tare,
Who is 'mongst all for prowess famed and grace beyond compare' 40
On him alone their hopes are setr for him they still endure,
His courage them with hope to raze the walïs of Zion doth lure.
Thanks to the daring of his hand thousands are orphans left;
By him, as by a raging lion, all Palestine is reft.
He is the man, to speak in briet who destined was the Cross 45
To plant upon Jerusalem and work our utter loss'
But she has kept him from the war, and they together stand
From morn to eve in dalliance, fast held in lovers' band'
But that the Christians may no more their leader lost regain,
And thus the cause for which they strive may wreck complete sustain'
lfo these far distant bounds hath she impelled us all to {a,vs- 5r
You and myself-that we herein a garden may PreParei
That in this garden she may keep him hidden from men's sight,
So that no other eye but hers upon his lair may light,
And there she may him close enfold within her loving arms, 55
And keep him held in great delight and with a thousand charms'
So just as soon as ye have built the garden in this place,
My comrades, see that one and all we forthwith change our face.
Some of you must wild beasts become that we may act as guardt
And see that feet of other men do not tread down its sward. 6o
And others must change into form of birds that sweetly sing,
That so we may by countless charms him to subjection bring.
And others shall become fair maids and seek with might and main
lfhe man on whom we've set our mark in thraldom to retain.
Let none of you when chance affords refrain for him to set 65
Dances and other forms of sport, enticement to beget'
But lo! I see a cloud; therein is the enchantress fair'
It is the maid, and with her too Rinaldo doth appear'
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13+ EROPHÍLE Interlude
Let us from hence remove ourselves and quickly stand aside
And change our face, and so for both reception-fit provide. 7o
(Therewith a cloud descends, and AnwtDA andRrNALDI appear.
?å¿ DrtroNs depart. Anuro¿ speahs:)
ARMIDA
These are the lovely spots, my soul and my sweet heart's delight;
The garden and the kingdom fair I spake óf are in sight.
Here is a goodly world of quiet, a world that all deôiie,
That offers rest from struggles fierce and from men,s bitter ire.
ft is a paradise eterne for any man alive,
In which he can from stress and toil in sweet refreshment thrive.
It is the sporting-place oflove, affection's garden-nest,
Where maidens will resort for play and Neieids for rest,
My loved Rinaldo, it is here that I would have thee dwell,
Winter and summer lulled to rest by Fortunè's kindly speil,
Enwrapped in countless sweet delights and. {ar."*orrld fro. .ur"
And vain anxiety which charm and youth in men impair.
And as thou ever werr to me my light, my sor.rl, my eyes,
Yy g-"ty hope in life, whereon my fond heart iesting lies,
S.o wilt thou once again my lord and honoured ,ou"õign t",
And all this wide and beauteous place, which I now hãld in fee,
\üill ever pay thee homage due, and as a humble thrall
Will at all times receive thy laws obedient to thy call.
75
8o
85
9o
95
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.:Armida, of att beaute.", ,'ridr*:i:i;.r, far in face,
_Sgeing
that I a captive stand in service to thy grace,
No change of fortune I desire, no crown by myseli worn
Y"."ld ev_er pleasure give to me should it my brow adorn.
If riches I should seek or rest or sweet refreshment's grace,
All these mine eye would find enclosed within thy geitle face.
And from thy dewy arms' embrace and from thy scãnted breast
I every morning win delight and gain a perfect rest.
As often as those kisses sweet from thy dear lips I steal,
My limbs are ser in Paradise and all iti charms I feel.
I_count myself the peer- of Zeus and guide the earth and sk¡
Whene'er I to the loveliness of thy fair breast draw nigh.
:l
¡oo
F
Interlude EROPHÍLE r35
And when I listen to the words which fall from thy dear lip'
. -:i
k.ro* that no man such sweet draughts from Fortune's cup can slp'
ïh"r"fo.", rny mistress, I wilt be your-loving.servant true)
Ãn¿ niu" myíelf at your behest whöleheartedly to you'
Ñ;;*, my líf", as thou dost urge, will I thy master be' ro5
ir¿ tá, Ñ"t"iá whom I love, let me thy service see'
ARMIDA
Mv loved Rinaldo, through my ears a thousand dews distil'
¡i¿-ift.r" refreshment gù" *y heart and it with nurture fill'
ïf,.r" *.t¿t of thine ,J t*".ily spoke my strivings but revive'
Ãnd ..ru" the more to keep thL flame of burning love alive' rro
ätr. ,ft""gn my stricken heart would fain its tale of love confess'
Mv lips Ãy yéurttings of desire avail not to express'
i"irr"" k"äp sitettt¡ iut thou canst within my eyes detect
irly
i"'rÀi"g's frres lit by thy light which mirrored they reflect'
'
(Hereuynn she þisses him and says:)
Rinaldo mine, thine eyes to me do promise-Paradise' rrs
Àn¿ fro- thf lips to í""d my frame-sweet honey doth arise'
g"i fookt I å"" *y Nereids here; with joythey overflo'ff'
At the right momént are we come, for, as
lhey
ers-t did go
Without our company bowed down with gloomy faces.sad'
S" ,t" ,tt.y now in merry mood and beyond measure glad' r2o
(Hereupon enter the DouoNs transformed into 'l4aidens'
and one sals to Anvuoe:)
Mv gracious mistress, whom to find we have so long aspired'
wít;; pt;t;nce has ú"." by thy slaves so. ardently ¿ssired'
, -,
At lengih thou art come to thy place, at length"tho".?tt
ltltu-Ti,
That tÏrou the comfort of thine eyes and dew from them derrveo
fVtry.r,-giu" again, as thou didst ónce to us thy promise make' r25
for, *irîi.,g tËee, we have much griefendurèd for thy sake'
- "
iiitit,ipon they bow doun and'-þiss her feet' and Anl'r.wa' says:)
Lotìgi.,g I
'had
exåeeding great, I! ryid¡ns
dear to me'
Thai I ägui" you one and all should with mine own eyes see'
n* f *i"gtt, åot by any means from lingering refrain'
For I,
",ã
L"arrrrled, desired great treasure to obtain' r3o
Ñ;.r;y dear maidens, was it given to win this gift so raret
Thiá youth so dear and unto me precious beyond comparet
¡,
i.
\36 ERO PHf LE Interlutte
S¿ve
îith the passing of long time, ro govern you and me
And all your garhered wealtñ and store-s .u", io hold in fee.
This dallying-ye musr forgive, for it has brought much gain r35
And wealth abundant; from to-day this youth is to obtañr
Rule o'er us; therefore I you bid ått t uált¡ as is meet,
Approach.him as your king, and print yo,rrïisses on his feet.
Receive him now as is his due, ,.rd honours to him pa¡
And give good heed that ye do ne'er from what h. oíá.r, ,truy. r4o
o what unmeasured burrt ofj[flTiLoro worthy mare,
What consolation,s sweerest balm our heárt doth .árrt"*ilut.!
For on that countenance.of thine, by beauty's orv" turraïuJ",
Fair Aphrodite's son as though by påinter'sïand is laid.
Our ponderings of soul thou guiãsi unto erernal rest, Í+5
And all our past anxiety with joyfulness is blest.
Therefore as unto our true king and master here we vow
The loyalest of services, and as io thee we bow,
We offer unto thee the keys that lock the inmost seat
Of our whole being, and do bend and humbly kiss thy feet. r5o
(Ifereupon they Ãiss his feet, and Fitweroo says:)
My maids, ever devoted tr"" i:i:ilant wlr I be
To you as long as life shall last; and thus I thankfully
4_:.:p, your proffered welcome and your gentle greeiing kind,
Yhj:h, as your presence h91e I ."u.i,, Lã" u.uîti.,g nîa. '
And in rerurn f yield my lifb and^all my mind u,r,i tTrought, r j5
+nd:u+ small powers as I have from nature wìth me fåugl,,,
-J
As offering to your kind-hearts and to your fair desires,
'Q---'
Ready at all times to perform the dceels your need ,.quir.r.
These
1:*r, Ty tord and *^,i;i:ithou mayest ray aside,
For strife and battles rhese our lands, thou'rt nna, wiít ,rlli prooia..
Jî ,lî. fair places rhere are found tirroughout the live_lons äuu ,u.
Nothing bur marriage feasts and joyr, rrot.-hing lu, ,po., unã iü,
'"
With speed, my maidens, from his iimbs that'armour bright removeAnd
put on him the raiment gay of jollity and love.
-Ò--- 'v¡¡¡v'!'
i
:
Interlude ERO P Hf LE 47
(Hereupon amid morris-dancing they bring him a throne, and he
seats himself. They remoae his armour, and then bring him
gal apparel and a garland, and put them on him, all accom'
panied wìth morris-dancìng. While thel undress and dress
him, these verseÍ are heard, sung wìthin:)
Fortunate should those youths be called' with favour rich endowed
Above all others in the world, who are by fate allowed 166
As boon surpassing measurement to cast aside that thought,
Which o'er their mind a tyranny that ne'er finds rest has brought,
And who are suffered their whole soul to steep in love's delight,
Ând find therein refreshment's joy and recreation's light. r7o
Who pour tireir kisses on fair maid, by her are kissed in turn,
And for their faithful love receive a faithful love's return.
For no such happiness to man is given by fortune's grace
As that bestowed by maiden's kiss and by her fond embrace.
(Hereupon enter other maidens with morris-dancing, bearing fruits,
water, and wine, and Axwnnl. says:)
From traversing so long a road thou must with thirst be dry; 175
So, Master, now refresh thyself, and in my compatly
Bedew thy lips with draught.
RIN.ALDO
Indeed, I thirst from heat ofsun
And am from travelling long road with weariness fordone.
(Hereupon they both taÈe fruits and eat and drinfr, and then these
songs are heard within:)
What other bliss within the world is found by mortal man
Like that he feels, when, free from toil and torments'pain, he câr r8o
Possess the love of maiden fãir, won by his service true,
And thus that maiden at his side through days delightful view I
ARMIDA
Nereids, let us together pass with dances on our way
Homewards, lest we till evening fail in this spot dallying stay.
MAIDENS
Companions, as our mistress bids, let us from hence departr r85
For it is right we should perform her hests with joy of heart.
'Hereupon the! de?art dancing, and the frst interlttde comes to an end.)
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ACT TWO
SCENE ONE
The K;:sc speafrs alone:
The man who never had a child, as I do well perceive,
Cannot the meaning of true love into his heart receive.
The tears that Erophíle sheds, tears that affection show,
Have caused mine own eyes with a flood of tears to overflow.
O daughter mine so dear to me, câst in such lovely mould t S
Whom I, as is both meet and right, love with a love untold,
Compared with thee my kingdom's pride I hold of no account,
I nothing reck of treasury nor of my wealth's amount.
'Tis thou alone, my daughter dear, 'tis thou alone, I sa¡
Who makst me stand girt round with bliss on every passing day. ro
How earnestly she begged of me to keep her by my side,
Until the day of death should us, a lovirìg pair, divide.
But need there is that I should see her wedded ere I die,
For this alone will give relief to my anxiety.
But since her heart is so distressed, to-day I will her send r 5
Panáretos, who ever was to us a trusty friend
And faithful servant; for 'tis he who knows surpassing well
These kings, and of their power and state a true report can tell.
So he will some fair way contrive that she her ear will lend,
And choose that one from out the twain whom he shall recommend.
But, for myselt between the two no difference I see; zr
One rival o'er the other no advantage hath for me.
SCENB TWO
EnopnÍr.e andNvpsx
NURSE
My darling princess, I know well that thou hast understood
The thing whereof I spake to thee¡, therefore I think it good
To say no more on this account; only I would advise 2s
That thou shouldst end-and speedily-the thoughts which in thee rise.
Scene Two EROPHILE
rROPHíLE
\39
l\4y nurse, it may not be that I again the tale tell o'er
Oi c"u..r which have made this man' as I did say before,
Ifhan any other wight on earth morê frtting as a' rnatei
This very day thou heardst my lips the tale in full relate. 30
And since thou all didst hear and all didst understand, I pray
Give me some other counsel good or death upon me lay'
NURSE
My lady, counsel I thee give-that ere the world shall learn,
Túy lou" like weakly spark thou quencl and let it cease to burn'
poi if the king once hear of it, then all the powers above 35
That guide the majesty of heaven will nought avail thy love.
To err is common to mankind, but wise man when he errs
Correction of his fault unto his judgement good refers.
EROPHILE
Error in no wise did I make when I resolved to take,
My nurse, in wedlock youth like him; but I shall-error-.make, 4o
If ihat same gift which at his feet one moment I let fall,
I, like some foolish giddy girl, back to myself recall.
NURSE
That thing which thou didst offer him was not thine own to give,
For at the bidding of thy sire and not thine dost thou live'
And so, my lady, with good right thou canst the gift withdraw, +s
For never, as thou deemst, was that thine own to give by law'
It is an act unjust and one for which nought can atonet
To give unto another man the gift that's not thine own.
rropnÍln
Alas! How evil is my lot! \tr'hat use my wealth so great ¡
What boots it that I have been born into this royal state I 50
Of what avail are all the charms my beauty can inspire,
If others are to hold in hand the keys of my desire I
What if I rule a thousand towns and many slaves and lands,
And men do listen to my words as to a god's commands I
What joy from all that I have named can my heart ever see, 55
Unless I too possession have of my own liberty I
For as things stand to-day, I deem I should not any lass,
However poor and weak she be, without great envy pass;
ffi
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r+o nnOpgf f n ¡lct Two
Since others'wills must o'er mine own and o'ér my life prevail,
My kingdom I hold slaver¡ my lordship but a jail. 6o
It is a law that o'er his child, ä,"rlTrn"rld hold swa¡
And rightly men condemn that child who would not thus obey.
And so, my lad¡ for thy weal ponder awhile in mind,
And thou wilt learn thy passion's force keepeth thy judgement blind.
But when that judgement eyes regains, then wilt ihou fuily see 65
It fits not honour man to wed who servant is to thee.
nnop¡¡fr.n
ft is not possible, nor yet fo¡ my good name is't fit,
Even for greater cause rhan this, my plighted trorh to quit.
And so, if thou dost wish that I should still consent to iiv.,
Thou must unto this deed of mine no opposition give. 70
NURSE
Alas! unhappy gitl, thou wilt herein a death-stroke deal
By this thy work which now in part thou dost to me reveal.
But I would have in fuller wise the matter 'fore me laid,
That I, so far as in me lies, may lend to thee mine aid.
nnop¡rf¡,n
That which thou hast already heard sufficeth thee ro learn ,/s
My state¡ to telling more thereof my mind would not return.
For from the speaking tongue holds back and from the thinking brain,
Through shame of my unhappy state they tremble and refrain-.
O what a bitter lot is mine, rroffig.a in deadly gloom!
For living longer in the world for me remains no room.
rnopnfr,n
My nurse, a truce to cries and tears; give thou thine aid to mei
Seek thou a means whereby to stop this cursèd embass¡
NURSE
The heavens I pray to lend thee aid in this thy hour of need,
That they may ho-ld thy father's eyes from seeing of thy deed.
But as for me, I faint with fear, and I forebode in mind
Some mighty evil cometh on and me will surely find.
8o
85
Scene Two ERoPuf r-n
nnop¡rf¡,s
\+I
I to the heavens pray likewiser even as thou dost pray.
For something seems-f know not what-my inmost heart to slay.
That passion which erstwhile with love and longing made me yearî)
Doth now to boundless fear and to a mighty trembling turn. go
NURSE
When things have once been done, a man of wisdom will not try
Long-drawn-out sPeeches and complaints in vain to multiply.
Rather he wilt some remedy seek out for the disease,
Ere that another greater ill upon the sufferer seize.
rnopnfr,n
What are these ponderings of thine I My dear nurse, blame me nott 95
For thou thereby dost torture me and helpest not one jot.
Sufrcient are the sufferings lhat compass my poor heart,
Sufficient too the tears and sobs that rend my soul apart,
Sufficient is my boundless fear to take my life away;
Thy blame should not add weight unto the forces which me slay.
'oo
NURSE
Fears ever with unseemly love companionship maintain;
Remorsefulness that is but vain follows on in their train'
nRopHÍr,n
My love for my Panáretos never ill-matched I'll call,
Nó, not as long as life shall last; remorse will ne'er at all
Fight with my judgement; nor can f, e'en in thoughq contemplate
That I shall say I've done ill-deed by choosing him for mate. ro6
For if it be his graêes have nowhere on earth a peert
How shall the deed which I have done remorse's fruit e'er bear I
NURSE
What other cause then can it be that makes thee humbled go,
That bows thee down and bends thee low as beneath terror's blow I
nnopnír,B
I start at shadows, shrink from dreams; I fear, and many a spell, rtt
A thousand fearful shapes from heaven, a thousand signs from hellSigns
old and new-flit round about, and, as they torture met
I ãeem that I encompassed am with hosts of misery.
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r+z EROPHÍ LE ,{ct Two
A thousand threatenings of fate fill me with terrors dire, rr5
And in my breast a throbbing heart and floods of tears inspire.
In the long watches of the night me thousand visions wakl,
And seem my heavy*laden heart in fragments small to break.
I ofttimes dream thar they my spouse snatch from my loving arms,
And with a hard and cruel þs¿¡¡-¡¡þseding my ulärms_- 'r2o
Throw him into a den of lions. . . . Another-time f seem
To walf along a darkened path, and following my dream,
Methinks I am alone, enclosed with trees anJ thíckets dark,
And wild beasts compass me about and make of me their mark.
At other times I see rhese walls sweating from end to end rzs
To my great terror with blood-dropr; o., me rhese drops they send,
And smear me o'er and sprinkle me and me with gore åefiler'
So that my maidens fee-straightway and leave me-as thing íile.
At otirer times I seem alone in" a frail bark to sail,
And angry billows ieap at me and threaren to prevail. r3o
And when I deem that'neath those waves I am about to sink,
Or else on rocks be dashed, f wake, shuddering upon the brink.
sometimes from our the line of tombs where our-kings buried lie,
A shadowy form appears and straighr towards myself ãoth hie,
And raving with an anger fierce he drags me f.åm *y pl*c., r35
And seeks to cast me from the light to dãrkest cavern,s space.
NURSE
_{l' Erolhíle, these thy fears are but an idle thing
Nor should theyr. if thy mind is sound, to thee aÃoyance bring.
For dreams are clreams, and 'tis but cares which ofien them bãget
In tirecl brain, and in that brain nightmare and anguish set. " ,oo
Sometimes these dreams as fair appear, sometimes ìurpassing ill,
And therefore they the sleeper,s mind with hope or t.rro, fill.-
nRopr¡Í¿¡
But dreams too often for the one whom they with fears torment,
A blow that destined is to fall and suffering represenr.
Now listen to a dream which I did see but yesternight, 4s
llhat thou mayst know, and knowing share with -ã*y deep atrright.
Methought I saw two turtle-doves of form surpassing fair,
e
Who did their nesr amid the boughs of lofty tree prepare.
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scene Two EROPHÍ LE r+3
So lovingly and tentlerly they billed and.cooed away'
ïnu, "uãft
the other tale of love was telling, you might say'.
r5o
g"; ¿"*" upon them in their joy there swooped a hungry kite'
Á"¿ i" between the loving pair with angry. heart did light'
;;d ""
a sudden snatched the o¡re from other; with his claw
ft" ,"rr, that one, and him devoured with an insatiate maw'
g,r, ,lt" remaining one this loss such bitter grief did give r55
ll",r, ,n" desired iot e'en an hour beyond that time to live'
¡rr¿ to her beak into the depths of her own-heart she plunged'¡"ã
f", the loss of her true iou" h"r own life straight_expunged.
Tir" ,".rot of that dream from sleep awaked me in affright'
Årr¿ I ttru" spent this day in grief born of that awful night' 16o
i^'k;.* that tite *y futh"r is; therefore I shake with dread,
fo, -" two are those turtle-doves of which the blood was shed'
NURSE
Mv precious mistress, Gocl forfend that this should ever be'
iÏri i t*tt iil with
"y.s
of mine should ever live to see !
But if so be that heaven wills to work harm on thy fi'ame' '65
I oruv thrt in myself it first will quench its anger's flame'
ãiii"." *ftat ias been done is ãone, let not thy grie{.prevail'
F;; t; the healing of this work a balm will not thee fail'
b;i.; thing, lik""to this have been, and were by judgement healed'
Ã"a ly goàd;,rdg"-ent issue fait lor this will be revealed' r7o
Panáråto"s I know is wise and fit with ills to copei
if,"t"fot" that he will find to-day a fair road I can hope
To check these envoys for the
'lóntt;
then will we lend our aidt
À,t¿ ,t o,, for any fuiure hap needst never be afraid'
gur .h*t" away'a\l bitterness and the dull weight of 3r¡r t75
Ã"ã i., ,fty stiicken heart for \Ã/ound some comfort's balm prepare'
EROPHÍLE
Mv nurse, I'd have thee know that thou by comfort of thy speech
iï. ut, oi healing for my heart so sorely maimed dost teach'
üì"" rt"t, co*po"r.d my mind distraught¡ it is full clear to me
ihut in thee r¡¡ith the iullest right I loving mother see' ¡8o
So go *td seek Panáretos; this message to him bear:
ïtti, I shall be within my bower and will await him there'
4r
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14+ EROPHíLE ,lct Tuto
For,we.together may some path that leads from trouble find,
And heip each orher ere some new disaster rack our mind.
SCENE THREE
7å¿ Nunsc speaÈs alorce
SceneThree EROPHÍLE r+5
Iil'ho with a drudge's toil must go and earn his daily bread, zrs
Than change the lot of his own life and take a kins's instead.
But if he thinks my words are falser then let him his eyes turn
And view the lot of our own king and what his hap is learn.
Then will he see 'mid what torment till now his life is passed,
And from that past his future chance of rest he may forecast 22o
,A,nd respite from his woesi and if example from our king
He takes, the lesson thuswise learnecl he may to others bring.
Battles, disputes and jealousies and deaths and endless strifeThese
to his bitterness of soul have occupied his life.
And when at length he deemed that now he'd won his way to rest' 225
See r¡¡ith what bitter stroke of fate he is to-day clistressed.
O hapless master, can it be that, when thou comst to hear
Of Brophíle's fault, thou wilt thy life consent to bear ?
For in the inmost depths of heart I well this comprehend
That this their secret cannot stay hidden unto the end. 23o
For when a thing but once has been by the sun's rays revealed,
That matter cannot by those rays again be kept concealedAnd
when men, wishing ought to hide, vainly essay that task,
They nought effect but in the end the secret to unmask.
But lo! I see Panáretos; he at right time appears; 235
Although his eyes are bent to ground and altered face he wears.
I
If I. desire my mistress should Ïif"n.*.,U not lay ras
A violent hand, then ¡eeds must I reproaches put away.
Needs musr I lend a hand thereto thii embassag" to ,ptil,
For when a great fire flìngs irs flames, hard it is-these to f:oil,
As they are flung now here, now there; so is it with a hearí
Where love has multiplied itself and played a royal part. r9o
It is not possible such love from its sårt'to roor out,
No, though one seek it to o'erpower and with threáts turn about.
O things of earth, how ye to-day go on a track forlorn!
I judge it better for a man that ire had ne,er been born,
For needs must be that as he makes journey upon life's road, r95
Trouble should him o'ertake ere he ãoth råach his next uboá".
llhe rich and powerful and the poor and men of low esrate
Must, as I see, impartially bow to decrees of fate.
And Fortune, who so fickle is, in this doth constant grow,
fn
tirii ro every man alike she deals some heavy blori. '
.oo
But this I mark-that ever she makes it her chiefest aim
The power of kings, as best she can, at every turn to maim.
Alas ! How many ponderings and torments iith them dwell
And rack their minds; what evils grear compass the citadel
of their poor hearts; what mass oi.ur" and multitude of woes zo5
Their robes of stare magnificent and decked with gold enclose.
And yet the rest of humankind these torrures noug:ht account
And reck'ot rhat their heart is dipped arI day in tËrror's fount.
Those fools proclaim them in the worlcl moie fortunut" urrd gr.ut
Than all the rest of humankind, no matter what their state. zlo
But if a man well pondereth the torment of their mind,
The cares which harass all their life, then will he qui.Ély find
That lot sf 6¡þs¡s-¿ny lot-is better than their fate,
r
And say that he would rather choose the meanest man,s estate,
SCENB FOUR
Pe¡¡ínnros azl Nuns¡
peuÁnnros
I judge a storm of mighty wind cannot with such great ease
This way and that the dust disperse which from before it flees,
As Fortune hath the power, and that with little toil and pain,
To scatter, when she lists, the hopes which mind of men sustain
She, the hard-hearted one, did make me Erophíle love,
Ancl caused me first the happiness of love's delight to prove.
Now on a sudden she has turned her face and from me ta'en
My love, that I heart-misery and torment fell may gain.
But she deludes herself, if she thinks I will long endure,
For in untimely death I would far rather find a cure,
I,
240
i
745
r+6 EROPHÍ LE ,ht Tuto
And I would sooner evermore suffer the pains of hell,
Than without her I love consent in this world still to dwell.
xuxsx (aside)
His words reach not my eari I will unto him nearer go
In hope that I his ponderings of mind may better know. 2so
PANARETOS
Two envoys from two mighty kings have come to seek her hand,
And unto one of them our king as I now understand,
His daughter fully purposed is to give to be his mate,
And he would know which of the two is fitter for this state.
Therefore he hath with urgency summoned me here to-day, zss
That I, as eveT heretofore, true counsel may display.
Nvrcn (aside)
Of those envoys he has heard word, and that is why I see
His countenance so changed and marked with signs of misery.
r'¿tqánnros
O what a bitter fortune's mine, how hard of heart is fate!
How quickly I the due reward of my fault conremplate ! z6o
Albeit they will have no right to call it 'fault' or 'sin'
Who of the thing which I have done by chance the knowledge win.
For neither gold nor yer the fear of men led me
^way)No favours of a king nor lust of piace caused me to stray.
It was the passion for fair maid and beauties of her face 26,
Whiclr such a blazing fire of love in my poor heart did place,
And caused my error) if indeed error I can that deem,
Which to my mind a wedlock pure and without stain did seem.
He must indeed as blind be blamecl, who, seeing a fair maid,
Is on the beauty of that sight to feast his eyes afraid. z7o
And whosoe'er upon that sight doth gaze without desire
To take his joy thereof, I think can ro no wits aspire.
But I account him reft of sense and fool beyond òompare
Who, when a maiden's charms to him are offered, doth not dare
To take the joy that to him falls and proffered Paradise, 275
And on his lady turns his back, and what she grants denies.
xvrcn (aside)
The pains of hell, misfortune great thât passion thou shouldst call,
Nor shouldst thou that desire of thine Paradise deem at all.
Scene Four EROPHf LE
P,ANáRETos
r+7
,i.i,
:¿
ì¡ìri.
'l
l
a
Ì
It surely v/as my lady's nurse the words I heard who spake;
if," ;,lLott fibies olmy heart with trembling palsy shake' z8o
NURSE
'Twas Erophíle who herself did bid me seek thee out,
Panáretos, ìhat with all speed I should thee turn about
Urr,. t
"t
¡"wer, and maÈe thee tell which of those monarchs twain'
ffho r.n, their åmbassage' that her they might in wedlock gain'
Is better, that theleby th" *uy the better of-them take' 285
ã.,a ,poít" of him, ii,n bl"ttit-tg from us all and' heaven, make'
PÁNÁRETOS
Go tell her that I come with joy' But just now I return
F-- o.r, the camp where I iluu" been; the king himselft I learn'
Su*rnon"d *" to ih" city now, that I should straightway hear
Whot i, his bidding; ,ooå u, I return from him, I fare zso
With all the speed'I can comman{ and will my lady see'
That I *ry giu" her counsel true with perfect loyalty'
gri t"ff *., ãotlt this embassage find favour in her sight
What thinkst thou I Doth sheieem to grieve or seem to show delight ?
Is her heart sore at leaving us ?
""i:" she often sighs, 2ss
And sits in grief and is as though buried in deep surmise'
Therefore ithink that she is pained at thought that she must go'
.
But who the secret thoughts which lie within her heart can know !
Panåretos, thou'lt find it is the wont of maids to weept
whelt ¡nen are sent to seek their hand, and yet deep silence. keep' :oo
But in the end they give consent) and pleased withal remain
With their good fortin", that they are by man in wedlock ta'en'
But I depañ, that T to her may tell what you reply'
p¿uÁnptos
Well, go thy way' and say I'll seek her bower presently'
lïfiI :L*
tÌ
'iil
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'11',!
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, :t¡,
:i!
r+B EROpHf LE ¿tct Two
SCENE FIVE
P¿wánrros speaÈs alone
The man who never,, n,r,,äiirii,?i,rn or riches known 3os
With poverty lives on content, and a {air life doth own.
J
One who is blind from birth ne'er needs to sit in light of sun,
Nor, if he fain would sit in dark, to gloomy câvern run.
One who has water ne'er enjoyed, d-rawn fro* u deep cool well,
Will never-miss it, nor of n"ed of such refreshment tell.
---'
,roAnd one who never ro the heart of maid his way did make
Can feel no touch of bitterness, though she another take.
But who, when trained in riches, schãol, to poverty can fall,
And not feel torment every hour his wretchåd h."it rppuli'
What man on earth, *-h".,
_b:î
with eyes, if blindness liiirr urruil, 3r5Will not, as long as life shall last, larnént us mourners wail I
W'hat man to whom a well ,s
aoid .tr.u-, at need refi.eshment give,
will, if those streams are ta'en away,be abre still ;"ii;;J^"''"' "'"
What man can e'er the affection lose of a fair loving maid,
And not desire that he straightway within the tomb- be laíd I 3roI with refreshment suted -ai, with bliss my cup o,erflowed,
My body thanks unlimited to Fortune's kindness owed.
I !":, of crysral warer clear gave me its cooling wealth,
Refreshed me when I wearied was and led me È-uck to health.
T*: :u"r.
in single forehead set flooded me o,er with lighi, 3zs
f"d ,L" dark night became for me as at rhe noonday trîgfri.
A maid that was more nobly framed than others ofî.. Iîincl,
To match whose beauty in ihe world no other maid you,d find,
S.et
3ll-]re.r
hopes upon myself and all her loye,s delight,
----)
And all da¡ tong held me in thrall, enrrancèd with îei sight. 33o
And now behold I stand aghast, slLuddering on dung"r,, biink,
JJ
l9r fe3r my fortune change hei face u,rd å" i., ,uin sirk;
,
T:ij"':ilt':jl:"ll be left, poor, btind and parched witl thirst,
lnd.lhfo-uqh the losing of the maid I love remain accursed.
r
But if this loss was fixed, for me as my appointed lor, 33sI had been better far without the sight oiäy., begot,
¡¡l
Yes, I had better far been brind, beTter uá p"..î.á with thirst,
And day and night for warer begged as one tiat is accursed;
--)
Scene Five EROPHÍLE ï+9
Better the Love-god first had dipped the arrows of his bow
In poison, when he set himself to deal me fatal blow, 34o
For then I should have died at once' or it had better been
That he with bitter wrath 'gainst me had so inspired my queent
That the fair maid would have herself assumed the slayer's part,
,{nd thus have brought unto an end the sufferings of my heart,
Than that she should so kind have proved, as to bestow on me s+s
More than my tongue had dared to ask or I had hoped to seet
And then have proved so pitiless as to take from my lip
The cup of sweetness when I had therefrom ta'en many a sip,
So that I through the livelong day do nought but weep and sigh,
And often as I think thereon for death's release do cry. 35o
At times her tender look I see) at times her kindly mien,
Which me from saddened heart and thoughts of bitterness would wean.
At times her sweet words I recall which carried such great grace
That they could make the sun stand still in heaven and stay his race.
At times again her fair sweet laugh which ever power had 355
To ease my heavy-burdened heart of Bain and make it glad.
At other times that kiss of hers, which for a moment's space
Opened the gates of Paradise and filled the heart with grace.
When I recall all these and feel that they are fled away
I marvel that I seize not sword my wretched life to slay' 360
O God, my body suffer not such torture to endure,
But rather take my life, and thus effect a lasting cure.
But lo! I see the king approach; I pity thee, poor heart,
For fire and sword this very day on thee will play their part.
SCENE SIX
Kwo and P¿¡¡Ánnros
KING
So great desire doth urge me on, so eagerly I burn 365
To bring to pass this marriage rite for which my soul doth yearn)
That I can never any rest of mind or body take
Until of that I have at heart accomplishment I make.
Therefore I must all other work than this lay on one side,
And make pursuit of this alone, and for this end provide. 37o
Lt:l:t
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r5o EROPHíLE ,lctTwo
But lo! Panáretos is here; he hath my word obeyed,
On one more zealous to perform commandment ne'er was laid.
PANARETOS
Most honoured sovereign, well met! A thousand blessings fall
On thy exalted head !
KING
For this purpose I did thee call,
Panáretos, that thou mightst hear how my good fortune's hap 37s
In my old age a thousand gifts showers daily in my lap.
p¿uánnros
The wise of men and all who are forward in virtue's race
By fortune are endued with joy and given heart of grace.
Thy Majesty e'er since the time that thou wast born on earrh
Hast not expected to receive her gifts save by thy worth. 38o
But thou dost seek to find her our by treading virtue's road,
And in return for noble toil to have her gifts bestowed.
KING
Of many wars and quarrels fierce with Persia could I tell,
And with the kings likewise who to the east of Persia dwell.
How many in these conflicts.sore on either side were slain, 385
How many places were laid waste, how many cities ta'en,
Both mine ¿nd theirs-no other man than thou could better know,
For thou didst ever at the head of my hosts deal a blow,
And thou art he who did the hordes of foemen backward drive
l["o their great shame in sudden flight and save our town alive. 39o
p¿Ninnros
I know this and recall it well, and right glad I abide
lfhat I could make them feel the powers which in thyself reside"
They lremble with the fear of thee, and now no longér dare
As at the first from out the bounds of their own realm to fare
ilhat they may make assault on us! nay rather, they await 3gs
W-ar from ourselves, and as before in past time contemplate
With trembling great disaster like to come on Persian land,
And ever in confusion dark with mind perplexed they stand.
KING
Well, I have hope that soon these trials and quarrels will have end,
And that the blaze of war will now no more our realm offend. 4oo
scene sìx EROPHíLE r5r
por envoys twain have hither come and have their offers brought,
ît ut t tá one or other king should give my child, thus sought)
To be his wife and partner true' as is by law ordained,
That thus with me ás with fair friend â peace may be maintained'
And so these envoys for her hand now to my town are comet 4o5
And wait, my answer thereunto that they may carry home'
Ñon" oth", issu" cutt there be than that I give my child
To one or other; thus my age will win an evening mild'
But when I told her this to-day, forthwith she'gau to weep'
And said she ever at my side was fain her place to keep, +to
That she, as daughter âutiful, might her fond service give
Ã, long Á i., th""*orld this framã of mine should chance to live.
PANÁRETOS
She does what every child would do who duty's call doth own'
Ànd all the more since she the care of mother has not known'
Therefore on thee and thee alone her love is anchored fast; +r5
A grievous thing to her it seems to be from thee far cast'
KING
It seems indeed; but she and I must this our lot abide'
Fo, of kings such as these it is fair hap to be the bride'
p¿NÁnnros
I see no neecl at all that thou thine enemies of late
Shouldst suffer thus a child of thine to take to them as mate' 42o
ln"y f"* and tremble, since they are.lesser.in power than thee;
Hence they are .og", fo, this cause allied with thee to be'
KING
Enough. . . . I did not call thee here that thou shouldst me advise'
But fdesire that thou for me this service shouldst devise:
My daughter will we summon here, and thou shalt with her speakt 4'5
Ancl then with all the powers thou hast with coaxing words must seek
To win her that .h" gìv" consent one of the twain to wedi
For that she married luinst her will, this never must be said'
PANÁRETOS
What thou commandest must be done in this way or in that-
('!side)
Alas ill-fated hopes of men' how often ye fall flat! +3o
.1
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r52 EROPHf LE ¿tct Two
SCENE SEVEN
P¿Nl.nnros speaÃs alone
O wretched souls that in the murk of gloomy regions dwell,
which ever are burned up with fires which issue forth f.o* h.ll,
Ye now will hear of fires lit greater by far than these
And tortures set by side of which all others are but ease.
My.Master, being fain to see his Erophíle wed, ßs
Hath chosen me as go-betu¡ss¡-¡þs partner of her bed_
Me and none other for this task, that while I draw my breath
f may endure in monsrrous shape a hideous living death.
Tormented heart and mind that is to scattered fãgments torn,
O tortured brain, that can no rest obtain from burõens borne, 4+o
Devise, I pray you, for my feet the road which least will gali
And show me where the precipice slopes gentlest for my fã[.
l9r y. the purpose of the king so firmly fixed do find,
lfhat.nothing which can e'er be done will make him change his mind.
Nothing can serve or intervene that purpose to dela¡ "
o*,
And so
1of
life on slender thread's suspended, u, *"r, ,"y.
For, as I see, no other hope remains tã save that life
But that which resteth on the love shown by *y fairest wife.
But if the terror that she feels of sire."ur" Ír"r ao ruy
She'll wed the one or other king and me to throw awaS 45o'What
other aìly than death's seli can I call to my aid
To rid me of this slavery so cruelly on me laid i
Entreaties will accomplish nought, and t.urc will not prevail,
Cajolings are of nothing worth and arms will not avaii
To bring about the thing which I desire with longing great_ 4s5
That I should be as heretofore my lady's only mate.
So death and death alone remainr. . . .'Thir, ,t i, if I can gain,
Will put an end unto the strife that r"nds my heart in ,*uIr,.
'
Thus-death I promise you the end of all *y *o", must prove¡
For if the heavens and my .fate permit that i my love 46<
Should lose, then better far it were for me to lose my breath
And once for all find resting-place in the kind *rms ãf d.uth.
This resolution firmly fixed my mind has therefore ta'en.
.But to the maiden whom I love I first must access gain,
r53
465
:
Scene Seven EROPHÍ LE
To find out better if she still on me her favour bend,
Ãn¿ ufr"t that, as I have fixed in heart, I will make end'
CHORUS
How fortunate the lot of man,
How full of grace was his haP
Then, when in his allotted sPan,
The earth Poured into his laPt
Without the knowledge of a wound,
The fruits which did him round enwrap'
Then were nor laws nor kings found,
No arms were carried in men's hand,
Nor wars nor fears stood around'
In common theY enjoYed the land'
Such joY was that of men on earth,
So gladsome this haPPY band,
That 'twas an age of golden birth
They called the time with full rightt
And blessed the gods with heart of mirth'
For Pride had not Yet come to light,
Born from realm of Hades black,
To mar the face of nature bright'
Of joY and bliss was no lack'
The sweets of haPPiness men knew,
Nor on Pleasure turned their back
In eld or in Youth's fresh dew,
For out of Pride no bitterness
Nor rank weeds of Poison grew'
Blessèd the maid who could confess
She'd given the keYs of her desire
To a fair Youth to Possess'
For without fear of father's ire,
Without a hamPering bond,
To crown of love she could asPire'
+70
475
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485
49o
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r5+ EROPHfLE
What each one longed for with heart fond,
That on which his will was set,
He could win without toil or pain,
Without distress or hindrance' let.
For he from shafts of Love could gain
State where rest and pleasure met.
Since from Hades where she'd lain
Cursèd Pride came issuing out,
Eyes are dim with floods of tears.
With name of honour wrapped about
She stands, and greater torments bears
Than does plague, there is no doubt.
As over sea and land she fares,
She bringeth battle and strife,
And to the world confusion dire.
She doth enslave freedom oflife,
She takes sweetness from desire,
And where she goes envy is rife.
This Pride, I see, will aspire
To scatter 'mongst us trouble great
And many roots of bitterness.
For she doth so implicate
Our lord's mind that he our mistress
Will perforce with a king mate;
If heaven will not in her distress
Lend her a helping hand to-day,
Then her light will surely fail.
O Zeus, thy might for her displa¡
Let thy pity her avail
And her lover, that from harmts way
They both to safety may set sail.
lct Two
500
505
5ro
515
520
525
DND OF ACT T\ryO
SECOND INTERLUDE
,{Enter ø M¿rpnN representingFonrur'¡n'. Tzo¿ K¡crcHTSt ARMTDAt
:\Lt"Et u 'il;;;;.,
ind' t*o
"Mo'ou*t' Fonru*n speøfrs:)
FORTUNE
Generals, within this place
19*
t1"' Rinaldo doth abide'
#;rpp"i uf e."tia' i" atrígntt from morn till eventide'
N^',oht recks he that he thu' ih" flo*t' of youth and prime must wastet
;f;il;;il;f it" it content save pleasure
lought
to taste'
i;t,,bäil'ñ", *'gi" arts have iaid on him a chain' s
ä"'.ftrrî" ¿eeds of ñigh emprise is learning to disdain'
But since on both of yio tnå task by heaven has been laid'
And ve so far from ö;" et"li ry: the long iourney made'
fi;.?;;;;.;ítu;;* o" ¡'i"L of danger sreat,he stands'
ilä'J.",il;äy it"Jrtr* back obedient to commands' ro
Let nothing that ye ;";;;t ;""'.nothing that here ve find'
Though *"rry,"""g" sights'ye *ill '""'
with terror fill your mind'
For all these shapes Jf;;i;Jt u'"
"ought
but false phantasies'
Which from Armid'" *ugit spells-só powerful-arise;
And these d."ad rhap.ì;hf;;i'ñi* witt its pure gold.o'erraid
.,
r5
Has in times past,
^
y" ft""" tt"ard' to harm quiie strèngthless made'
But above all things å"ti" tttit-"o"ght must ye drink or eat;
' ö.i"t"rtj" in" àfu distilted and poisoned is the meat'
;;;;il ni.utao, th"f th"r"by wiîl seek you to enslave'
l;å i¡ r ,rt
"
tr't-, ín"t' t'o *o'" my rod has power to save' 20
KNIGHTS
O maiden of most noble mien' well have. we marked thy speech'
And will in hour Jä;;;o*'."tult what thou dost teach'
So now return unto thy úark' and thou wilt surely see
R*indao, ere the evening passt come in our company'
FORTUNE
Me, as you see, mankind doth cull now Fortune and now Fatei 25
lFhose who once il;; '""tt
ugui" to find me all too late'
('{t this point she
'toni'hes
from tleir sisht' and irnmediately these
,ong, ori heard from within:)
il
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156 EROPHÍLE Second Interlude
He the dull weight of anxiousness and cares must lay aside,
For whom-this garden of delight fair shelter will proíide.
He musi his heart s,lch schooling give that he wiil take by hand
l[-he pleasures of desire which starid daily at his commanã. 30
(Enter hereupon lz¿,¿ D'øo¡,rs in the liþenes.r a;f MaronN s and stand
beþre the fto¿ KNrcH.rs antl oie says:)
Ye honoured soldiers, fair above all measure is your lot,
l:,!l ye have to-day been led
"",o
,f,i, ¡tirsful spot,
Whj* on your hearts bestows all joy and sweet ,.fr.shrr,.r,t,s gifts,
And into pleasure and delights youririals and torments lifts.
o Your
arms for coming to these'lands at first did cause prouid", 35But these same arms with conscience crear ye now may throw aside.
For those who hither .o*j?r:
straight in íove,s great force .r,rollld,
A-s servants loyal to that Chief's coÃmands and cu"ptains bold.
Yryl 9":" grasses beautiful, with every flower låigf,t,
Their.limbs may resr, encompassed ,ou,id *i,h thrilrs of sweet clerieht.
And that far distant age whiih men a[ call the ,g;.-f g.ii;"
"-'^ó''
,
Will here again and, here alone the dwellers, hearts enfold.
(The other MaronN sa7s..)
That Queen of BeautS who 'mongst men hath a far greater fame
For.her-surpassirig beåuty's lure thän any other dame,
{n qni¡ fair region of d_elight holdeth h., swuy to_day, 4s
And thousand forms of pleasure showers o, ,í,or. *írä h., ob.y.
-'
So since your hap has brought you thus into our company)
Refuse not no\¡¡ with us to come that you our mistress sáå,
Fo^r.she will give you of her joys ul,a áll rhat orher store
Uf deep delights which pleasure lends to those who her adore. 50But first of all, my captains, come, and if it is your will,
1.".d
,: this well, and of its streams refreshing iake your fill.
And pluck and eat those fruits which are *iti;., thís gurd.r, s.t,
That ye may all the weariness of your long road forg.i
---1
These honeyed *",o,,illi,Lî:il:ä1,30*.,,, of your face 55Cannotr- O demons, hide from us. the depth, of yol, aiig;..
-- r:
So now by virtue of His power which uli of you ,o dreadl
'Fore which in exile to the romb of Hades fe once fled,
Second Interlude EROPHf LE r57
We charge you quit this place forthwith and travel down to hell
with all your compeers, and once more amid its torments dwell. 6o
(Hereupon the DnwtoNsf'ee, and others come in their own proper
shape, and the KNrcsrs dritte them auay in a morris-dance,
and one of them saYs:)
O powers of hell and torments' home, in what deceptive guise
Yeoftentimes on earth appear and thus delude men's eyes!
(Hereupon.izø M¿rpnn s cnme out and carr! une a carpet and
'
onofht, cushions, and spread them before the well and throw
fowers upon them, dancing all the while. Åfter that they go
in, and Á**too and Rtr,tl;';oo crme out, and Ar'rraloa rays")
ÁRMIDA
My loved Rinaldo, thou that art my soul, and my heart's light,
I éannot lay me down hereon, though it were much delight'
And take my fill of sleep just now, wrapped in thy loving arms, 65
That these my limbs refreshment find and pleasure in thy charms'
For, as I hear:, one of my maids su$ers from sickness soret
And, it is like, from that sick bed she will arise no more'
Thus, my dear heart, against my will I must now go awayt
And with the powers I have to her my fond attention pay' 7o
So lay thee down and take thy rest, and I thee promise make
I wiù return and speedily thee from thy slumber wake'
RINALDO
Do as it seemeth good to thee, my life and heart's desire,
Although, when parted from thy side, my body's parched with fire'
(Hereupon Anntro¿ departs, andFttN¡tpo lies doutn and sleeps'
'!nd
then these songs are heard chanted within:)
Behold the rose at early mornr as fresh with dew it blows 7 5
upon its stem, and its fair blooms their sweetest scents disclose.
Hãw fair appear its buds, as pure and perfect in their grace
As a youngtender maid that's sprung from great and ancient race'
But as the day wears on its way and nigh to evening draws,
Its petals spréad themselves and grow, obeying nature's laws' 8o
Little by little it clecays ancl its fair beauty sheds,
And lover heedeth it no more; no maiden it besteads'
Ê
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11
i5B EROPHÍLE Secontl Interlude
E'en so the flowers of youth are quenched anð, fall into deca¡
And never unto man return when they have had their day.
Therefore the roses of each day, ere shades of evening fall, s5
Hasten to gather while ye may) ere they lose scent at ali.
Pluck ye the roses of desire and as true lovers burn,
And, ioving faithfully yourselves, claim ye that love's return.
(Tåe KurcHrs sal:)
Why stand we idle t \ÄIhy should we thus further time delay ?
Comrade, we both of us with speed should move from hence uwuy, 9o
And go and wake him'
KNT.HT
W-ell then go; I follow in thy train.
But lo ! two beasts, to us destro¡ are rushing on amain.
Let us against them fearlessly together make our stand,
For I have hope they will be hewn in pieces by our hand.
(Irereupon /å¿ K¡r¡cr¡rs fght with the beasts in a morris-dance, antl. zahen
they cannot lverclme them, the nne sals to the other:)
Comrade, these beasts which with us fight are demons, as we see, gs
That we o'ercome them with our arms is thing which may not be.
so touch them now with Fortune's rod that straight they may fali dead,
Or that they may on instant flee, and give us peace, thus fei.
(Hereupan he touche¡ thern with the rod, and they straightwal, fall dead,
and the KNrcHrs apþroach Rrner,no and sajt:)
See what fèll power o'er mortal men the arts of magic hold!
This man beyond all other men in battle's toil was bold; roo
The whole world trembled at his look; but now exiled he sleeps
Love's slave, and of his former self he now- no memory keeps.
4*?k., Rinaldo, speedily; this slumber chase away,
Which o'er thy frame by magic arts hath gained such potenr sway!
(Hereupon Rrru¿r.oo uafres and says:)
Where am I I What is ,hi, I iJiiilrt so- r do dwell
Wrapped in oblivion's siumbers in what is but living hell!
Alt who believe in name .f CillÏff to Him homage pay
Are round Jerusalem in arms, fighting for Him to-day,
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Second Interlude EROPHÍ LE r5g
find thou, Rinaldo, art outstretched, lulled by relaxing charms,
On this green grâssy sward, enwrapped in fair Armida's arms' rro
The whãle *orld ,rnder battle's weight to-day doth groan and sweat
But cannot stir thee from thy sleep. . . . W'arrior, canst thou forget,
O'erpowered by a womants lure I Can magic arts confound,
Or fears to trembling turn thy frame, keeping it terror-bound I
Arouse thyself; our army's call summons thee to the fight- iis
Thy presence in the battle-line would Godfrey's eyes delight'
.
Goádfortune doth await thee there; for thee the conflict's end
Cries out, that there, as at the start, thy presence victory lend'
That this unhallowed faith thou mayst once and for all destro/,
,A.nd, as is will of highest heaven, triumph o'er it enjoy' r2o
(Hereupon RrN¿roo strips himself, and
-throws
away Anwroe's gar'
*ritr. He tears in pietts her garlands and robes, and then says:)
Ye garments that to me spell shame, raiment that is accursed,
I hu"rl you down and trample you and leave you thus dispersed'
Y" ,*""t complainings, fondlings which too often lent your
charms,
Quarrels with beauty's lure combined, twinings of lovers' arms,
Ve sighs half-uttereä, and ye tears so bitter-sweetly shed,
^ . t25
Ye wirds and laughs, thou kiss of lips that seemed on honey fed,
Ye magic arts of pot".tt power used by a beauteous maidAll
ye úuu" *", as is too plain, in this drear desert laid'
Ani tlo* I givå my thanÈs to heaven th7t I once more am free,
That into *irt u boundless sin I have bèen drawn I see' r3o
llo you, good knights, for this your toil I thanks unmeasured pay,
'tihot for ttty sake unto this spot accursecl ye've come to-day'
Let
us from h".tc" take speeãy flight, that she may not perceive,
She who has held me as her slave, and stay us ere we leave'
KNIGHTS
Thy counsel that we haste away we to the full approve, r35
Bui threats of hindrance on her part can us in no wise move'
For there's another greater Power which far exceeds her might,
And suffers not thosã magic spelis she weaves our mind to affright'
(Hereupon lå¿ KNrcnts depart øilå RrN¿loo' and then Atwror.
comes and saYs:)
I
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t6o EROPHÍ LE Second Interlude
¿,RMIDA
With all the speed I can command and with ¿ loving zest
I hie me back to taste the sweets of my Rinaldo's breast. r4o
A thousand times upon his lips I will my kisses seal;
A thousand times throughout my limbs the thrills of love I'll feel.
But stay! What are these garments torn which on the ground lie
, strewn I
Who has these wild beasts that I see here into pieces hewn I
These garments my Rinaldo's are; these all too well I know; r45
My limbs are with a shuddering seized; that he has fled they show.
But these were spirits who the form of wild beasts had them ta'en;
In what wise or by whom could such as these have e'er been slain I
Some power that greater is than mine, by magic arts attained,
Has slain them, and has made them fall, and thus my treasure gained.
Alas! he's gone, albeit I him with such cunning hid, r5i
And thought that I was evermore of his companions rid.
Ah me ! Rinaldo, thou to me cruel and ungrateful artWhen
didst thou ever meet with ill or mischief on my part I
What tortures have I given thee, that thou hast me thus left rj5
So secretly, and fed away anð. thus my heart bereft I
But I make promise that where'er thou art I will thee find,
And punishment on thee inflict-justly-with raging mind.
All these fair beauties of my form and this wide kingdom's bound
Shall as reward to him be given, whoever can be found 16o
To cut thy head from off thy neck and bring it unto me.
But why delay I ? This great sin should forthwith punished be.
Ye clemons dark of Hades' realm, who have for me this close
And garden for my pleasure built, hasten and with your blows
Destroy them utterly, and leave the whole place desolate. r6s
Hasten and make pursuit of him, and take me as your mate.
(Hereupon the Dnwoxs fy in withfre and noise, and destroy the garden,
and then lift Axvno.- and depart.)
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END OF THE SECOND TNTERLUDE
ACT THREE
SCENE ONE
ExoYuíl-r, speaÈs
Laughter and tears and joys and grieß are all together sown,
And as one crop you see them born and to their fullness grown.
Therefore it is they turn about, and one takes other's place;
Who laughed at morning ere the eve to tears will change his faCe.
And so I see it is with me; the joy I erst did show s
Will change to sorrow measureless and to excess of woe.
For I now tlembling stand with {ear as though I had to make
The passage of some stormy sea or traverse some wild brake. . . .
O wicked Fate that art to me a foe, accursèd Fate,
What sufferings at the hand of Love received can I relate! ro
When have these wretched lips of mine had rest from sighs and groans,
When have they ceasecl from uttering bitter laments and moans ?
When have these eyes of mine from tears one moment had respite I
When have I rest received from them or closed them in delight ?
When I was yet a little lass love's slavery f knew, r j
And all the ills which from him come and torments round me grew.
All single-handed every hour with Love I had to fight,
And never dared what I endured to bring from dark to light.
A thousand times he pierced my heart, a thousand times I strove
To banish him this way or that lest he my heart should move. zo
A thousand times I, as it were, did fili my ears with lead
To keep his sweet enticements out and free myself from dread.
I thousand times paced to anci fro ancl sought a path to find
Wherein I could refreshment seek to cool my burning mind.
But he could hold me well in check as captain skilled in fight, zs
And day and night as doughty foe would make display of might.
Sometimes I saw him arms in hand, sometimes without his bow
In guise of friend, and that a friend most deeply loved, he'd go.
At times he'd show a kindly mien, at times a scowling face,
At times clisplay a soldier's might, at times a childish grace. 30
At times he'd torment cruelly, but often he would show
The sweetest consolation's balm and fondlings dear bestow.
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162 EROPHÍ LE áct Three
A thousand precious promises he'd every day supply,
And thousand gardens fair for me he'd build aloft in sky.
A thousand joys he'd pairit for rne to give my soul delight, 3s
And ever 'fore my eyes he'd hang a thousand beauties bright.
My difrculties he'd remove and give me daring mind,
And sweetest converse me to school and counsel he would find.
Therewith he won a victoryr and I became his slave,
And o'er my miserable heart I him full empire gave. 4o
lfherefore I did myself account a rÿondrous happy maid,
And to the credit of my liíe a thousand blessings laid.
But now I see he's traitor turned and what he named love's life
So falsely hath proved nothing else but battle's endless strife'
But look! I see Panáretos; his looks his grief disclose i 4s
From these 'tis clear that he by now the bitter tidings knows.
SCENE TWO
Pe¡,tÁnrtos and ExoPni.tn
PANáRETOS
When lightnings flash and thunders roar, and the strong storm winds
blow,
And to the shore the angry waves with a wild crashing go,
The rolling bark upon the sea now here now there they shake,
As with a mighty din the floods of heaving waters break' 50
Then is it that the captain good is known; to pilot strong
For skilfulness is homage paid and honours great belong.
For by the art of sailor's craft trophies o'er sea are raised,
And he who guides the vessel's helm is for his cunning praised.
So I too with a right brave heart Fate's tempest-shock will meet, 55
Since it has suddenly conspired to sweep me oS my feet.
I will not bow to death's decree, without I effort make
To fight against it best I can, ere life from me it take.
E¡.opHÍr.B (aside)
Alas! What is it that I hear! Shall I then now be told
That new misfortune has arrivecl and will be linked to old I 6o
r¿NÁRnros
But 'tis my lady, as I see, yonder towards me fares;
Her face is bent unto the ground, her eyes are thick with tears.
Seene Two EROPHÍ LE t63
O Love, how many are the trials thou causest me to know,
/,nd yet f cannot but to thee my thankfulness forth show;
For she with her sweet eountenanee doth compensate eaeh pain, 65
E'en as the sun with his fäir light earth's beauties doth sustain.
The turtle-dove when thunders roar and rain without a rest
Descends from heaven, leaves the fields and flies unto her nest;
So, iady, wh¡ when tempest sore doth thus our fortunes shake,
Dost thou from shelter of thy bower hither thy passage make I 70
Why art thou come upon this day ? Thy face is dark with pain,
And with its misery doth rend my wretched heart in twain.
EROPHILE
In every sore trial of mine, in every bitter wound,
Panâretos, save in thyself I've never comfort found,
Save in thy noble countenance and in thy manly mien, 7 s
As I know well that thou thyself hast ever clearly seen.
This is the cause for which I've come, only to let these eyes,
That now so humbly on thee rest, a littie ease devise.
p¿NÁnnros
O Princess, who my mistress art) my courage and my hope,
I judge that never tongue of man could with the telling cope 80
Of all the misery which has to-day assailed my heart,
Nor coulcl another thing on earth comfort thereto impart
Save this thy countenance alone; and as the thirsty deer
Doth with an eager panting to the running stream repair
That he may drink and be refreshed, in such wise, mistress mine, 85
These eyes have panted sore to see those loveiy eyes of thine,
That thou from out my heart shouldst chase its heavy weight of pain,
And I thereby of cheerfulness full measure might regain.
But ere I came, my lord and king summoned me with much speed
To go ancl meet him; this behest I had forthwith to heed 9ô
As coming from my king, and thus I could not conìe to thee
At once, as thy dear nurse did bid, what time she met with me.
rnopsír,¡
What meant this urgent summons ?
pewÁnrros
Yet my lips shrink back with fear
From opening to tell the tale of all we have to hear.
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16+ EROPHÍ LE ,!ct Three
Two envoys, ladS for thy hand they to the king have brought, ss
And he has told me he's resolyed (Alas! my heart woe-fraught!)
To make thee wed; and for that he has seen thee sad at heart
(As thou thyself hast heard him sa5 my own life's better part),
That I to thee enticing words should speak he hath me sent,
That thou thereby shouldst give to this marriage accursed consent. roo
So when this fatal word I heard, ladp thou well canst think
Into what blaze of burning fires my wretched heart did sink.
Na¡ death itself and slavery I call not such a woe,
As is that bitterness of pain which I now undergo.
For death to misery brings end, and even slavery ¡o5
As time moves onward in its course may turn to liberty.
But this my pain which tortureth me whilst in the world I live
Will, even after I am dead, in Hades torment givei
And never shall I there below alleviation find,
But still the memory of my woe will wring my tortured mind. rro
nnop¡¡ír,n
Each man on earth who is in love hath every cause to fear
And start at shadows; but for him is consolation near
When he beholdeth that his love with him is as one soul,
And that his frame and hers are knit inseparably whole.
That I do love thee well, thou knowst, and confidence on earth rr5
Can from no other source for me be biought unto the birth.
It is upon thy noble mind, upon thy boundless grace,
Upon thy strength, thy conduct firm, thy wisdom, that I place
As on foundation strong my love, and in my inmost heart
I have that noble building set, surpassing in its art. rzo
And thus it is that in this world nought can this building wreck
Save death and death alone; and still that ardent love will deck
With greater beautp as I trust, our souls in realm of hell,
For with most faithful love e'en there we shall together dwell.
Ah me! I would that I could ope for thee my inmost breast, t2s
And show thee how deep-planted there my love doth ever rest.
So hadst thou said, Panáretos: 'IJnless I meet my death,
From thee, my love, I'll ne'er be torn awa¡ while I have
breath.'
Scene Tuo EROPHf LE
p¿NÁnnros
r65
Although, my mistress, with my eyes I cannot see thy heart,
And how I am therein enshrined, yet with a painter's art r3o
The eye of mind can well portray the se-cret of thy soul
-.
And what is in thy face enwrapped can like a scroll unroll'
But my poor heari can by no means-its trembling lull to rest
Ái,f,"*it t that what it l,oves so well *ly !. snatched from its breast.
I'm likJa miser who his hoard has hidden in strong place, r35
And ever feels a thousand doubts through his brain surging racet
And with anxiety is torn that men this place mayÍnd
And snatch u*^y fro* out his grasP the darling of his mind'
Alas! If other ior the sake of paltry treasure-hoard,
Can never to his heart the peace of restfulness afford, t4o
How can it be that I from feat and trembling should have peacet
Or from the thought that I should lose thy peerl,ess beauty cease I
Nay I have fear eien of the sun and every wandering star,
Lest, us they gaze, my mistress, on thy bearrties from afar,
They may í"ítt ¿á*" and ravish thee and leave me thus forlorn' 45
Moie mié"rable than any wight that ever yet was born'
EROPHíLE
Na¡ no such beauty is in me and no such comely face;
It is-thy love that my þoor self with comeliness doth grace'
Yet wúether fair or ioul to view, Panáretos, I be,
This frame of mine is for thee born, for thee and only thee' r5o
P.{N.4RETos
Never, my princessr water could with its streams fire alla¡
As these ihy words have power to drive my bitterness away' ,
Yet, mistress mine, by thaisame love which'gan with childhood's years'
And, grown to full, a loyalty invincible now bears,
\ /hi;È'both of us by its tttong force inseparably detains,. ' r5t
And both our bodies with love's bond unmeasurable chains,
I straitly charge thee, never let the king so conquer thee,
That thou wilt let this love for me from out thy memory flee'
rnopr¡Ílr
Alas ! I cannot find what cause I ever to thee gave,
Panáretos, that thou shouldst.doubt my love for thee, and have 16o
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ú6, EROPHILE ,!ct Three
su.ch terror in thy mindr- as thougl'r this thing thou didst nor know,
Jþt I on. thee my mind and soul and all ,rrf h.urt bestow.
O. Love, since my lord's eyes are blind, and have no power to see
That with the fuilest powers of soul I love him faithfull¡
One of thy-shafts in poison dip, and shoot it to my breast, r6s
So that it pierce my inmosr heart, and thus it stu.rd co'f.sr.,l
By
Ty untimely death that I remain his loyal mate,
And only for my love to him meet this my death ánd fate.
pauÁRnros
N-aI, let this fate upon me fall, if I have any fear
A.bout that-love, my Nereid, or if I know ntt clear r1o
That not e'en death can ever cause this love from me to swerve
Or think that it can the desire of any other serve.
But why I know tro¡-yet some cause firis me with nameless dread
That this which I so closely grasp may soon from me be sped,
And that this thing which should to me grear consolation give 17s
And was my life's hope, will ere long *ãk" -" with terår live.
en opnÍr.e
It is the message which to us so suddeniy they brought_
Panáretos, let us with grief not be so overwråughtr"
For that same heaven which at first did join us with one band
will see that as companions close we .u"i*o." shall stand. r'o
\Vraf that heaven, the sea, the earth, the airs rhat round me pla¡
The sun that shines aloft so briglt, the stars, the night, th" day, "
May put tìremselves in arms and stancl against *" ui *y foes,
If e'er desire for other man this heart oimine enclose.
But since we thus conversing here no longer may remain, 1g5
Co.me to my bower and^seek me there, that we some way may gain
Whereby these envoys for my hand may find themselv", i" få;i,
For all else after thar can we set fairly without toil.
I go, and see thou dally not.
p¿NÁnnros
And r wiu come with ,o..o,,Xtiî1yåff,tf.i:ll-una,, obey. ,eo
Scene Three EROPHÍ LE' :'67
SCENE THREE
P¿¡rÁnnros sPeaÞs alone
The sun's bright orb in gloom so dark-, ne.ver catl leave a place'
#t,",, he frorã out the riorld of clay withdraws his shining face'
¡t *y-iáft Nereid leaves,my heari plunged in profoundest gloom'
When she my company dotir quit and from my- side gives room'
Ñ;;¡r" the iintei i,., the sky collect so many clouds' -
res
il.; she with gathered tåmpest's pall the sun's bright orb en-
shrouds,
As are the pond'rings which within my mind are born and sway
My;;"i"; soul twixt hopes and fears now this and now that way'
Aíd of,"r,,i*es these chung" about and cannot take frrm root;
ïi'f." l*fi"g winds they hoitile shafts each 'gainst the other shoot' zoo
ó,.r" rho*, ä m" th" ráitnr"t love of this my maid so dear'
Ã,r¿ ,r,uL.t a thousand thrills of joy within my heart appeari
Anoth., doth declare to me 'Fickle is womankind
And never faithful to their word" and thereby slays my mind'
It",ft.. says to me that I must needs my master dread' zos
f'o, if n" h'eat of what I've done, I am as good as dead'
e"o,ft.. bids me confi.dence in my true service showt
Fo, ,,".d. must be my lady will reward on this bestow'
A,loth", full of daririg cries that I my hopes should set
U;;; ;.;;.ength oimy- right hand and confidence beget' 2ao
À'tho.,rrnd say"'Departîo'i ht'"', a thousand tty '4.!-t9"-]^'.,^
A,td th,rs a thtusanã changing thoughts within my mrnd resroe'
And so it is I suffer what no mortal man yet bore'
For with this torment which I feel my heart
ts wrung to lts core'
Linni ¿",ft for me darkness beget, and wealth but beggary' 2r5
Reieshing streams do parch me upr.and. joy means mtsery'
i-iL"
"
t,.i"g tower I hrmly stand, but like a reed I shake'
i" ìtt" sameîreath I laugh and cry, I dare and yet I quake'
i *rfL as in a garden fair", yet am in gaol confined'
i'å iffi i" tti. t u'¡ou''áoo'"d, anã yet I fear the wind' 22a
I tread on top of no,*t";t whtti, and yet the depths I plumb
Of evil fate and to the extreme of misery am come'
Nav. what is worst of all, amid the surge of tortures fell
i'tiJt"ï,trtln the glories bright of Paradise to clwell'
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t68 EROpHf LE ,lct Thre"
O evil Fate, thou thrice accursed, why dost thou pleasure find zzs
Without respite for evermore thus to iorment my mind ¡
al T ^,,^ l^¡ -^-^ ---L - rrv !vyL, *L ¡¡urrc wr(J rore nts eyes thls my example bear.s
E'er hope for long with thee in joy to live and free from cares,
For.thou alljoyousness beflecksiwith weeping and repine,
And dost refreshing water with a burning fir"-co*birr.. z3o
O Aphrodite whorn f serve, who whilst ï still was boy,
Didst thy son's cup-ef p-ois91 full_give to me to
"ijoylA draught which such refreshing.*"ãt, did temper and"refine,
ft seemed to me that what I d.ar,k was nectar all divine_
9: *: thine eyes with pity rurn, rallyrny fainting mind, 23s
That I may courage for my heart aná kntwledg."fo, brui, find.
And grant to me an easy road, for my escape some lvay)
lfhat I to check this embassage some'hindå nce may array)
*:1 lh: their cursèd project foil, thereby to stiil túe puii'
Wh]ch Erophíle and myself frorn it murt .,."ds .ustuirl. 24o
And if I have against my lord in ought ofiended, see
How strong thou art, how fair *y lãu", and pity give to me.
SCENE FOUR
The Guosr of the K:.:l,c's brother speafrs
Scene Four EROPHíLE úg
Mountains and plains I now espy and now in vision clear
The walls of Memphis-town so famed for its great might-appear,
The seat of my unhappy sire, which to my portion came,
Sole cause of that untimely death which snatched away rny frame !
In this high palace was I born, and in this house was bred, z6t
A house on which above the rest fortune her honours shecl.
And while I was but still a lad, I joyed in great delight,
And beyond that of other boys my lot was gay and bright,
The while I walked upon this land and entered in this gate, 265
And sat aloft upon this throne; thus in my royal state
My ears did listen oft to words of praise, for 'tis the hap
Of kings that others them as 'twere in robe of honour wrap.
But O how false the show of things! Fortune's a fickle jade'Twas
in this very place that she an end of my life made, 27o
And of my children's ¡66-¿¡d this was not by foeman's art,
But by my brother's wrought, that man most pitiless of heart,
Who now stands free from care, and rules o'er this wide realm to-da¡
And o'er this city of renown and mighty po'tqer holds sway.
We both were of one mother born, one father us begat, 27 5
One town did see our growing years, we in one palace sat.
Now though throughout our kingdom's realm this custom held its
sway,
That when sire died, then brother should his other brother slay,
That thus the elder without care should keep his rule in peace,
And every cause of strife throughout our empire's bounds should
cease, e8o
Yet I, thougÌr I the elcler was, did this same custom break,
Nor from my brother, as was wont) essayecl his life to take'
And when he bade me o'er my hosts give him the sole command,
I these, as unto brother loyal, entrusted to his hand'
So f, poor fool, within my mind did the fond hope sustain, 285
That I with him o'er this wide realm as mônarch should remain'
Ye empty thoughts of humankind, ye conficlences vain,
Why have ye not for your own selves example from me ta'en I
I thought to grow to mighty powel', increase of wealth to bring,
Nay, the whole world seemecl to my mind an all too little thing. 29o
But that great hope which the world's bounds in expectation passed
Was sudclenly in tiny piace shut up by death at last"
From realm of Hades f
.am
come, with dark and gloom o,erspread,
Since Pluto leave hath given me tá view the light t.-hut
,,
,h.d'
,
!¡' ,!" bright orb of day; nor yer my eyes have power ro see 245
The beauties of this brilliant *o¡a wniå¡ lie suriounding me,
For they have been to.nothing save the gloom of durkrrlr, tåi,_,.d,
for 1an
the dazzling light of sun by theå be yet sustained.
öut though these eyes have not the power of clay to see the lishtr
er can my senses in earth's scents and sweet aii take delight. " 'rro
O world, thou art so fortutrate, a spot so blessed ,ritf, grn.?,
' -r'
A paradise for those who live, u jurity longed_for plo.""
By us who thee have lost, because *å .urrio, ugoir, find,
Whene'er we wish it, that old bliss which we h"uu. o,rJ resigned.
l:, i{ they do not me.deceiu:,
T_y
eyes begin to see zss
The shinirrg light that is revealed úy,n. sun''s majesty.
-"
t7o EROPHÍ LE ¿lct Three
For me my brother, knowing nought of gratitude, one day
Within these very palace-walls with his own hand did slay.
No reason had he save that thus the kingdom would be riven z9s
p¡6¡¡ ¡¡s-¡hat kingdom which the grace of Zeus alone had given.
And with me at the selfsame time he hurled down to their death
My children twain of tender age loved more than my own breath.
But the unkindest cut of all, which gave to me more pain
Than sharpest swordstroke, was that next my wife was by him
ta'en 3oo
And made the partner of his bed; O God, how couldst thou see
IJnmoved from heaven's height this act of matchless cruelty I
By her as wife he but one child-a daughter-did beget,
And that same child will him to-day with grief and pain beset.
For so the heavens give command, and Zeus' high justice wills, 3oj
W'ho evermore for deeds of crime the penalty fulfils.
But if so be that penalty he puts off for a space,
And to the sinner to repent doth give some days of grace,
Yet he remembers in the end, and cometh in his might,
That thus when men but least expect he may their errors smite. 3ro
And so it is that he to-day will work the bitterest woe
Upon Philógonos and deal to him a deadly blow,
llhis very day on which he thinks he stands at height of bliss
And doth no honour, that has e'er fallen to monarch, miss.
But that the sword may pierce his heart with e'en a sharper blow, :rs
His daughter's love and what it means his own eyes him will show;
For he will see her clasped within her lover's arms, and groan,
And o'er a fate, that all ill fate surpasseth, he will moan.
And this young lover's death with it his daughter's death will
bring
Yea, and in no great time himself will to destruction fl.ing. 3zo
This is the sentence that by Zeus is passed upon them all,
And news thereof has eyen now reached unto Hades' hall,
And this such joyousness infused, so filled me with delight,
That all the pains of hell, it seemed, passed suddenly from sight.
And Pluto, knowing what just joy I felt within my heart, 3zs
Gave leave to me that from below I should for here depart,
That these my eyes should feast to-day upon this slaughter great,
And so I might thereby my soul with greater pleasure sate.
Scene Four EROPHÍLE r7r
But look! 'Tis he who issues forth. I tremble at his sightI
fear that wound which in my breast he dealt with all hís might 33o
May open once again and spra¡ as then, a fount of gore,
And that this blood will fill this place âs once it did of yore'
SCENE FIVE
Kwc and his brother's Gsosr
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Of all the joys wherewith the heaven and nature's mighty power
Have deigneä as with some robe of state the race of men to dower,
None is irore fair to view, nor yet more worthy to obtain Ys
Than strength of daringi this I judge to all men must be plain'
For nothin[ else exists which them more speedily doth lift
To
heightJof splendour or on them bestows great honour's gift'
'Tis thìs which has the forests felled and from them timber made
For ships, and these has on the seas'wide watery highways laìd' 34o
'Tis thl which bridges rivers o'er and mountains high ascends,
'Tis this which into foreign lands with mighty forces wends'
'Tis this subdueth the stronghold and crushing victory gai1s,
'lfis this alone which honour gives and hoards of wealth obtains.
This laughs at feer and of the power of Hades recketh nought' 345
He who þost"tt.t it alone is unto true life brought'
This me did lift to kingly power and suffer me to set
Upon my head a royal crown and golden coronett
A"d *uá" me with much honour lord of Egypt's wide estate,
So that no mau on earth as I can be as fortunate' 35o
Victory, wealth, honours every hour are multiplied for me'
And many joys within my house and in my heart I see'
One singíe care within my breast disturbed TJ¡
peace of mindMy
daulhter's marriage' Now I see that this my fortune kind
Aócomplithes, and that indeed in a far better wise 355
Than jer I áeemed it possible; so that I must surmise
That no good fortune upon earth with mine can equal be,
And neve-r power 'mongìt humankind matching mine own you'll see'
But I to Erophlle go' the brightness of my eyes,
Myself to teli her what fair lot of marriage 'fore her lies' 360
r72 EROPHf LE
GHOST
¿{¡t ?hree
O Zeus, who art aloft in heaven, lend an attentive ear
From thy seat whence thou all beholdst, and these high boastings hear.
O linger not, but speedily on him thy justice show,
For whíle thou lingerest his pride ever rhe worse doth grow.
E'en now and henceforth work on him the bitterness of death, 36s
And may this triumph be the last he feels whilst he draws breath.
Do thou, O Pluto, out of hell a mighty fire upraise,
As thou didst promise, and therein from end to end letblaze
Anger and torments, murder foul, and weeping's mournful sound,
And may this palace from to-day be levelled to the ground. 37o
(Hereupon three Fvntns come forth utith lighted torches and rush uith
noise from one end of the stage to the other ønd søy:)
What other work dost,tou or¿lïåTu
GHOST
Return again apace
Below into the murk of hell and into torment's place,
o race fr, *"u|.i:ilTT,g., ø, a*.,
O cursèd lusting after gold,
For you full many to death came, 37 s
Unjust wars arise untold,
And guarrels countless for your sake
O'er mankind their fell empire hold.
May your name to Hades take
Flight, and never raise its head, 38o
Terror among men to make.
Some dernon was it who you led
Upwards into the world of men,
And from you was poison bred.
For pity ye abhor, and when 385
Ye come, justice flees apace.
Fairness and beauty ye nought heed,
Scene Ffue BROPHf LE
For you in heaven is no Place;
But here uPon earth Ye breed
Restless strife in the human race,
And brethren into wars lead.
Friend through you denieth his friend,
And children hate to fathers bear.
Love's pleasures to Pains desceúd
Thanks to you, and ofttimes we hear
Lovers' groans which the heart rend'
O blessèd PovertY how dear
Thou art, who dost invite sweet sleep
Upon the bed thou visitest;
In what delights fair dost thou steep
lFwo loving heartsi with what rest
Thou dost their mind refreshèd keep'
Nor will a word like this arrest
Thine ears bY Poor man sPoken:
'This man is not mY Peer, his looks
No kingly race betoken.'
But him and him alone he brooks
Whose love shines forth unbroken'
lFhere ambition breeds no strife,
There no jealousies arise
To make burning hell of life.
They no fetters for liPs devise,
But ipeak freelY man to wife
Whai loving heart to tongue supplies'
O wealth accursed, what friend to thee
Is not like a maddened hound
ifo self, to guestsr to familY I
What miser contentment found
In wealth ? \ü'hat limit did he see
Set unto his heaPèd gold-mound I
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395
400
405
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r7+ EROPHfLE
END OF .ACT THREE
¿lct Three
+25
430
435
440
With justice doth heaven feel rage
Against such men, and make its aim
Them in torment to engage.
Their wealth, their kingdom it doth maim,
It blotteth our from off the page
Themselves and their swollen iame,
But ere they go down into hell,
They a thousand torments bear;
Of tears their eyes are made a well.
Philógonos, thy crimes cry clear
For vengeance, they are so fell.
And hæven and justice this declare,
Who soon reward due will send
For all thy deeds done on this earth,
And make thy neck 'neath torments bencl.
Thy riches, which have their birth
In blood and plunder without end,
And thy might are nothing worth.
But in this danger threatening thee
Alas ! I view my lady caught,
And I weep of tears a sea.
To thee, O Zeus, I make resort,
All humbly on bended knee.
Let not this house to what I fear be brought.
THIRD INTE,RLUDE
(Sor,vnaaN King of Jerusalem, AxvrtD$1hree TuRrs' Goornnv'
azl Rrner.oo.)
ARMID'T
O most exalted king, let this to thee no great thing be'
ilä;;*u*id; ñ; din of war mv presence here dost see'
+il; ;;;ib"t,-woman born, do herã-expose
Pv.lif"'.
And for my country *"d *y faith take.part in this thy strife'
ili; irughter of a king' and fitted.to bear arms' s
Ëj"J;tË *no i, borrr'q,r""n should shrink from war's alarms;
il;i-,; *uo t i'grr'ip loves io hold ever full ready stands
i; f"ii;; on,,r,ä" å""d' u"¿ arts which kingly rule demands'
f* *"lf we understand that sword and sceptre are bestoweo
On selfsame man that * *" tread both king's and warrior's road' to
My hand is strong enough tá deat a wound upon the foe'
-iii .h";; it,"* r'ã*
'r'"î"r¿
and make their blood in streams to flow'
Ñ;t"it t,;;ly on this day ìn arms I've.ta'en the field'
iì;; il;""ã this did I í"to this warrior-passion vield' äl;;;-"il
tememberest I have full manyChristians ta'en' 15
Å"ãìf.å* f" bonds inio thy hand deliverãd thou didst gnil' .
And, as thou knowes', tft"ít fast shut in prison were detained'
iTä'rîlit'ärr[.r, attg""n's depths were one and all enchained'
iä;;;.;tr"¿ ni"*ão had not many soldiers brave
il;;;. their death, and thus availed those prisonels to save' 20
ü;ñ nitrldo *átt itto'' knowst; the very name has dread
Ë"*ärt ,ittã,,gt'o"t d;;;;;t'á's bo"tds his daring deeds to spread'
"I.; ñ who Jithout pity's ruth has dealt me deadly harm'
Ñ;;
-h;";
i yet ta'en å'"i o"" jot of vengeance with this arm'
And these fell deeds .r rrir rtr"" *" witt greater madness thrilled, '5
il;t,h desire o,ermastering to be avenged have filled.
viî,ttti rt in the heavens plic"d itrlt vels1nce I shall find'
F.,r- that th"v sinn"" bri"g to
"ttd'
I welido bear in mind'
ffi.""d;åtis i" mv huid and in my mightv bow'
Tn thiq mv sword
""ä'ihb;y;pt"'
tú* th"ey'will lay him low'
. 3o
;;J
".,
íf it should chance that one from out thv numerous rtost
Can áf such nt*"'r"i''î'"ùii-or u'* and valour make his boast'I
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176 EROPHíLE Third Interlude
That he Rinaldo's head wili take and give it unto me,
Then with a gift surpassing great he shall rewarded be.
For he mine own hand shall receive, and eke much treasure take, 35
If he shall ask it-this great gift I vow I will him make.
As witness to this I the heavens do call and thee, O king,
My honoured sovereign, that this gift without delay I,[ úring.
Maiden,let ne'er th" h.u,,".lr;ttt:JÏ;rrow to be ra,en
From out thy quiver that thereby such ruffian may be slain. 4o
For heart ofbase-born) such as his, should n.ver bå thy goal,
Nor should one of esrate like thine deign from ¡i* to i"l. áll.
That noble hand of thine should ne,er away from man life take,
That hand which has the power the dead from Hades'realm to íake.
Thou errest, O Nereid fair, in yielding to thine ire, 4s
In thinking that from rhee can fall a punishment so dire.
For punishmenr from hand like thine is but excess of grace,
And every heart would fain a shaft winged by thy bori
"*Lru.".Let other's sword to this base wight deal our ; fatal blow,
And let some other at thy feet his bleeding head lay low. 50
I vow that I myself will be the seryant of thy rage;
So mayest thou thy burning ire and anger fell
"rirl"g..I promise thee I'll take his head, and thar this ,rry ãuy,
And without fail pluck out that heart which coulä no iuth display.
A'd who arr thou *h. 'fbr"T;TTJriiro*o thy words so right ? 55
Who doth thee, as a man of mark, summon unto this fightl
Nay, other man can here be founcl who will real deedJdisolal._
Not empty boasts like thine-and of these deeds will nothing áy.
I deem that spoken *..0.tåïî;:är surpassed by deed,
And I thereto, save this my king, no other witness need. 6o
But as for thee, f swear that ere in this wise thou hadst spoke,
I woulcl have stopped thy lips this day and thy glib uttãranóe broke
From idle prating evermore, had not, as thou doit see,
Our honoured king been here to-day and shared our company.
(Hereupon the Kwc maÈes them hold their peace, and then says
la Annaroa..)
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Thirtl Interlude EROPHí LE r77
KING
O maiden born of ¡i'oble râce) while great thy beauty's light, 65
Not less the daring of thy heart and courage in the fight.
,til-orthy art thou that these men here for thee should rage and strive,
And all who know thee, though they be the mightiest men alive;
And, when thou biddest, they should straight thy greatest foemen face,
And for thy sake all readily their life in danger place. 7o
So see that this ye do whene'er the hour of duty callFor
this alone make strong your arm and nothing else at all;
If for the sake of this fair maid ye will such vengeance take,
For your own selves by this same deed ye will much profit make.
Ye well remember how of us he many soldiers slew, 7s
And how by reason of his might misfortunes daily grew.
Ye know how he, and he alone, made tame our savage land;
What desolation was therein wrought by his single hand.
So thus 'tis fitting that ye all should fight him might and main,
Until from him ye by your arms his life away have ta'en. 8o
And he who does this deed shall have the favours of the maid,
And, as f vow, my own gifts too shall upon him be laid.
FIRST TURK
I promise thee that I to-day will go with him to fight,
And as a gift his bleeding head shall at thy feet alight.
SECOND TURK
And I no less make vow to thee, my lady and my queeni s5
The might that in my arms resides shall well by thee be seen'
THIRD TURK
And we the others, e'en as these, will never respite give,
Nor will we suffer for an hour this faithless man to live.
ARMIDA
Tlhe mighty power of all of you is full well known to me'
And I have confidence that soon Rinaldo's corse I'll see.
SOLYMAN
The sounds of footsteps reach mine ear, of armèd men the hum.
Generals, I must with you again unto the city come,
9o
r78 EROPHÍLE Third Interlude
And when we see the enemy advancing to the fight,
Ye too will issue forth that I may keep you in my sight.'
(Thereupon Goprnry comes and says:)
GODFREY
Each man must part in battle take and ne'er his might relax, gs
And none must suffer by default the foemants power to w¿x.
Rinaldo, all the thanks that I can pay thou canst now claim,
For that thou with thy single arm didst this wild country tame,
For now can we with better hope this city great assail,
In confidence that with our arms ü¡e may oter it prevail. ¡oo
Ye know that He who first inspired this rhought within our
heart,
That we should join in this campaign, doth aid and rake our part¡
He wills that this great company which into slavery fell
Shall of their liberty regained by your great efforts tell.
He wills the Holy Sepulchre again to be set free, ro5
That Christians may resort thereto and worship reverently.
Therefore it now doth us behove to battle for His sake,
And of our hearts a fount of blood, no less than He, to make,
Who did His blood so freely shed that He might us release
And cause our abject slavery at devilish hands to cease. rro
Let four of you move out from hence and to the walls draw nigh
And challenge other four to come and ñght for vicrory.
No fear of all the rest of us their bosoms shall engage,
But freely and without alarm they may the battle wage.
Unto the tents f wend my way, and, thence we can have sight rr5
Of each man's bearing-how he will conduct himself in fight.
RINALDO
My lord, turn on thy wayt for none ever so free from care
Or light of heart on pleasure bent did into garden fare
As we unto this battle go. So God defend the right,
And issue such as Him shall please bestow upon this fight! tzo
(Hereupon Goprnny departs, andRtNtroo and his companions
have a morris-dane e, and maàe sign to the wølls, and lhen the
Tunrs put out a shield.)
' r The MS. assigns these lines to Rinaldo.
Third.Interlude EROPHíLE ryg
RIN,ALDO
Tþey have put forth a sign to show that they do leave their walls
And" mean to come unto the spot where gage of battle calls'
(Hereupon fo¡zr Tunrs come out and in play of morris'fghting the
Turtxs fall slain, and RrNar.oo ra1s.')
RINALDO
O Christ, to thee alone to-day be praise and honour given
For this our victory, and may those who to death are driven
Into the hearts ofall the rest inspire such panic fear 125
That they may never venture more against us to draw near'
(Hereupon Rrrarpo and his comþanions depart, and tå¿ DnvIoNs
cnme and remn)e the slain, and the interlude ends')
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ACT FOUR
SCBNE ONE
Nunse and Covvsntton
Scene One EROPHÍ LE 18¡
Knowest thou not what is b"fril;1i this ill-fated house,
O Counsellor I Or art thou fain these hapless lips to rouse
To tell the tale, and with that tale again to make them burn 25
With fiercer fires than e'er before when they to it return I
Alt I have heard is ,h*.-d;;".it":iiom monarchs twain
iHuu. p.opositions brought whereby ihey're eager to obtain
Our Erophíle's hand. But this should rather cause thee joy
Than fill thee with a deep torment and bitterness' annoy. 30
NURSE
But 'tis another greater thing which draws from me lament;
For Erophíle, as I fear, will to her death be senr.
COUNSELLOR
Thy words distractions manifold have scattered in my mind,
But the true story to unveil no means can yet I find.
Therefore I beg thee earnestly, as thou dost hope to live, 35
Of the whole matter, as it stands, a brief recountal give.
Since the whole matter is too nilïi:r all the world to see,
It seemeth not that from one's friends it should now hidden be.
The overmastering power of love Panáretos has led
\À/ith Erophíle without leave and secretly to wed. 40
This e'en to-day the king has heard, I know nor in v/hat wây,
And now his rage and passion can no limit's bounds obey.
But like a roaring lion he walks in lonely majesty,
And threatens that these two their deaths in bitterest form shall see.
COUNSELLOR
Alas, Chrysónome, what tale is this which now I hear! 45
This news which thou hast given me my heart in twain doth tear.
NURSE
O Counsellor, I know not why amid such bitter pain
And torment which I feel to-day my limbs me yet sustain.
For I have lost my powers of mind and all my reasoning's art)
And, as it were, a two-edged sword has pierced my inmost heart, 5o
NURSE
In such great fear and such torment rny way I onward wend,
I know not whither I do turn or where my footsteps bend.
I flee-but whither shall I hide or whithei shall I go I
I know not, wretched that I am, where to escape the blow!
Ah me! And wherefore, O my fate, hast thou my tortured life
For so long time imprisoned kept in this drear world of strife I
9I *tty have I not lost my sight, so thar these eyes at leãst
Might from this multitude of woes to-day have been released I
COUNSELLOR
i\4en say that great confusion reigns within the palace walls,
And, as they've heard, upheaval dire disturbs those royal halls.
So I am come that I may leam what causes this have wrought.
But lo! I see Chrysónome; her face is all distraught.
Alas ! what terror 's in -y h""i,:Ïuy nropr,n" a."r,
Because thy father doth remain so pitiless, I hear.
what means this I I .'",'","r:f,,ii,j::ä," to her more nigh,
That I may ask her what 's rhe cause of this her bitter cryf
'
NURSE
But why should I stay standing here, why flee I not away !
Why do I not by any path my eyes can spy out srray I
But oh ! ill-fated is my lot; how can I leave alone
My Erophíle o'er her hap of misery to moan I
COUNSELLOR
What is the carrse, Chrysónome, that thou dost sigh uåd *..p,
And dost upon thy lips the name of Erophíle keep I
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r8z EROPHÍLE tlct Four
Since for my Erophlle's grief I suffer bitter woe,
And for myself I utterly bereft of hope do go,
Seeing that all who hear this thing will of a surety say
lfhat I in prompting her thereto likewise my part did play.
But I, so witness be the Heavens and He Who guides the world, J5
By Whom the secrets wrapped in depths of each heart are unfurled,
Only to-da¡ and that to my unmeasured sorrow heard
Of this unseemly thing, and of this wretched tale had word.
COUNSELLOR
Alas! Whoeyer would have thought that such a modest maid,
One in such mould of nobleness and gentle manners laid, 6o
Would have indwelling passionate love and flames of hot desire,
And yet in the blirìd hearts of men suspicion ne'er inspire I
To what mind would have e'en in dream ever this thought
occurred
That, though so wise, Panáretos could have so grossly erred I
NURSE
O Counsellor, the hand of Fate ofttimes doth seize men's mind, 69
And in entanglements like these its judgement fast doth bind,
So that it can its former peace and honourable rest
With ills of every shape and form and bitterness invest.
lfherefore I charge thee on thy life look not upon their sin,
But see to it that if thou carìst a helping hand they win. .7o
COUNSELLOR
My God I call to witness this, that as my powers extend,
I will not fail unto them both a helping hand to lend.
For one as other I do love, and both, as I may sa¡
f nurtured in these arms of mine. But thou dost on me lay
A task severe. Of temper hot and passionate is my lord, 7 s
So that in business such as this I fear to speak a word.
Yet think I not that he will dare ought against them to do,
Unless he shall have first received some counsel from me too.
And then I will find out some way whereby to lend them aid,
Whereby this savage wrath of his may into calm be laid. 8o
But tell me of Panáretos ? Has he as yet some deed
On him of cruel vengeance wrought I
Scene One EROPHÍLE r83
NURSE
Fast bound with careful heed
He keeps him in a dungeon's cell, loaded with heavy chains,
And none that he can speak a word.aecess to him ottuinr.
And bursting into passionate rage he thousand insults heaped s5
On Erophíle, and as though he were a madman leaped
On her and all her robes did rend; so great appeared his ire,
That oftentimes it seemed that she would at his hand expire.
But terror-struck I fled away, lest me that anger burn.
But now I feel within myself that I must there return. 90
For, Counsellor, it may not be I leave her to her fateMy
Erophlle, in such woe, when she is desolate.
COUNSELLOR
To Erophíle then return; cast all thy fears aside,
For thou to her in this distress thy comfort musr provide.
And tell her from myself that, though the king now greatly rage, gs
I deem that I shall yet frnd power that heavy wrath to assuage.
NURSE
Counsellor, listening to thy words, I will her comfort bear,
Although I tremble to return and in my heart feel fear.
COUNSELLOR
Well go thy way and with good heart; and if I by my death
Could ought avail them, know I would in no wise spare my breath. roo
SCENB. TWO
Cou¡¡snrr,on ø/az¿
COUNSELLOR
No man on earth, as now I see, is with such wisdom dowered,
That he the passions of a man to fathom is empowered.
For words that are but framed to lie, expression feigned on faceThese
o'er the passions of a man and o'er his thoughts mask place.
How gentle was her mien, with what humility encased, ro5
What noble bearing hers to whom love's error has been traced!
What mighty warrior was he, what fame the world him gave,
Who now entangled is by love and proved to be his slave!
,f
rfi
I
il
{
{
f
l;
tl
$
t8+ EROPHÍLB ,lct Fottr
Well is the proverb said by men thar in the fairest field
Fell vipers hide, and savage lions are but too oft concealecl, ¡ro
And that those rivers which with srreams ail caim most silent run
The traveller, who fain would cross, with greatest fear shourd shun.
But if these two have been at fault in that which they have done,
I deem the king yet greater fault and greater blame has won.
For just
1s -though
his daughter had nought of a woman's mind, rrs
As though he had no knowledge of the feelings there confined;
As though he knew nor what great fires are kindled by the speech
Which falls fiom ygung man's lips, nor what lessons ñs eyes do teach
A young maid's mind; that furthermore no mortal man has skill
To save her from the power of love, when once that love doth thrillHe
suffered them to meet at will, at any time o{ day, rzÍ
And thus to do the thing they did he offered them free play.
If maid of noble birth and with a peerless beauty dight,
Bred-amid royal wealth and all that can a heart i.U[f,t,
So often under the same roof without restraint can meet rz5
A youth endowed with comely form and him so freely greet,
He is a fool who thinketh that therefrom will ne'er the flame
_O-_f
love burst forth, and with its heat of both scorch up the frame.
We know that Loye is on the watch and ever on his båw
He hath his arrow ready strung to deal at man a blow. r3o
And they who have a heart of stone are few, and rarely found
Are .they who are with strength endued to iurn aside that wound.
And therefore, when the fire is there and ready to be fed,
It ill befrts that on that flame brushwood shouid be o'erspread.
l:, þ! the king I yonder see; his wrarh doth overflow__ r35
I feel a shivering in, my limbs, nor would him nearer go.
SceneThree EROPHíLE r85
Let none henceforth ol humankind expect ought fair in life,
For evil he'll receive for good, and for his love but strife.
Behoid Panáretos, to whom the tenderest care I showed !
What ill return for all that good has he on me bestowed !
But I do thank the heavens above that I have found a way r45
Whereby I may in fitting wise reward his crime to-day.
But in good time I in this place my Counsellor behold,
That to his ears my tale of grief and bitter fate be told.
COUNSNLLOR
My most exalted king, if it is granted servants true)
Who give obedience to their lord and pay him service due, r5o
llhat they, when bitterness o'ertakes their master, this should learn,
And then, so far as in them lies, sorrow to ease should turn,
Tell me this bitter sorrow which has so much changed thy face,
For well thou knowest thou wilt not thy confidence misplace.
o Counsellor of faithful n"^r, ,Ïîåy companion dear, iij
Methinks this cause of bitterness should be to thee made clear,
That thou to-day mayst be informed what ill return has made
Panáretos for those fair gifts which I on him have laid.
And how my daughter, just when I thought all my cares would cease
On her account, and now at last my anxious heart find peace, 16o
Has given me such shame of mind that f no more can look
Straight into eyes of fellowmen or meeting with them brook.
couNspLLoR
Bitter the prelude, and ere this thou bringest to an end,
I cannot but forebode, my iord, grief to my mind thou'lt lend.
KING
Then listen to me, Counsellor, and thy best pity show, 165
lfhat thou a little mayst relieve my wretched heart of woe.
For my unbounded misery has so o'erthrown my mind,
That reason's power is lost to me, my senses I've resigned.
COUNSELLOR
Never should any grief have powerr however great the blow,
The wisdom of your Majesty from its firm seat to throw. r7o
llhat wisclom should as heretofore thror'rghout the world be known
As far surpassing wisdom which by others can be shown.
THIRD SCENE
KlNc and CouNsnr,r.oR
O Faith, in what place of ,n" , ålì*o"u.t thou concealed to-da¡
For ne'er-to any man on earth dost thou thyself ciisplay!
In what far eastern clime art thou I What åxile-spoi of W.rr,
Hast thou, to punish us, resolved to make thy plaËe of rest I r40
r86 EROPHILE
KING
My Counsellor, this grief I bear is not â. common woe.
Know well, f never yet in life have met with greater blow.
rn fear unmeasurabt" L,r"¿"TiÏtfft:",i, tare await,
For no misfortune cân there be that is as this so grear.
scene Three EROPHÍLE f87
KING
When me they sawr they were confused and to great trembling fell,
And straight the countenance of both its aspect changed as well;
And, being suddenly surprised in this their act of sin, zos
Th"y sought for it a covering, as best they could, to win'
g,ri '*i,"tt"rttey saw that by .ro *""t" they could that act conceal'
ift.y f"ff upon their knees, that thus they might their fault reveal
More fittingly before me bowedi they h9led. that thus perchance
I might to ih"ttt for their offence forgiving hand adva.nce' zrQ
COUNSELLOR
Alas! What boundless pain and woe my heart within me bears!
Wouldthatfromh"aringthisdreadtalgdeafnesscouldstopmyears!
KING
Thou canst imagine how I fared before I tell the tale;
My feet as heavy were as lead, darkness mine eyes-did veil'
i,'ftollgttt that íwould slay myself or I would make a dash' 2t5
My Cãunsellor, against thé wail and let my head there crash'
But then unwilling I became my life to cast awayt
Ere that I could unto the pair in full my vengeance pay'So
I gave orders that my g,lutds should this foul traitor tâke;
And îow I hold him i" tii.t ward, and clear to him will make 22o
That it to him far better were that he had ne'er been born'
Or that some manr ere he came here, his life had from him torn'
But ere unto him Î do o.rght, I first have summoned thee
(And I believe *y *.rr"rig"rs m-ustloï ut thy house be),
rr-- cThat
thou the service I r.{uir" shouldst hear, and means shouldst find
Whereby I may such u"ngËunt" wreak as shall please all mankind' zze
COUNSELLOR
That which my master doth not know, his servant cannot teach:
gui ,i,t." it pleaseth him to let my counsel his ears reach'
i *itt .ro* ,i."1 *y heart and ca"se it daring course to seek',
¿n¿ ¡.u." my feelíngs and my tongue-that it may freely.speak 23o
That whichr'I deeml will unio thãe the greatest credit bring'
If to Panáretos and to thy child thou'lt do this thing'
KING
Speak then. Why stanclst thou staring thus I lEnter EnorHfrr'
¿{ct .Four
17s
,l
KING
!_._:i"g
the many tears that coursed adown my daughter's face
(That wicked child who has on me to-day bróught such disgrace),
When I did tell her that my will had now me fümly led
LJnto a fixed resolve that she Tvithout delay must wed, r8o
I thought perchance that she did grieve because ofparting near,
And this was cause why on her cheek there stood ã bitt., t.ur.
Therefore f sent Panáretos that he a word should speak
And draw her to consent to wed. Through nature's rearm now seek
And see if thou canst find therein anorher fool like me, rs5
And judge if this which he has done I suffered fittingly!
COUNSELLOR
Na¡ be not moved so overmuch; for never couldst thou fear
That things could come unto this pass-thar is to all men clear.
KING
I feared it not; but, now I see, my head in shame I bend;
It needs must be that I must bear the fortune Fate did send. rgo
But-afte¡ he had gone, I thought it best her there to seek,
And following after, with the maid myself a word to ,p.uk.
So I set out, and all alone I to her bower went near
In silence, and without a word the curtain that was there
_99*Ii"g the doorway I drew back. Alas my wretched state! lss
would that I'd lost the sight of eyes or been itruck clown by Fut"i
I found them seated on one throne, talking without restraini.
But, Counsellor, what's worst of all, thou must this image paint:
Each clasped the other's hand in love and without
"ny
sÀu*"!
Thou canst imagine how I then was tortured in hell,s flame! zoo
COUNSELLOR
O sight of bitterest shame! I deem that at that sight accursed
ilhe heart of any man would have to thousand fiagments burst!
r88 BROpHf LE ,!ct Four
COUNSELLOR
My lord, f yonder see
My lady coming with bowed head¡ I'm torn with agony.
KING
Out on it! Ne'er again I willed that I with her should meet. 4s
lfell her to turn, lest this my wrarh blaze out with greater heat.
COUNSELLOR
Nay, list to what she has to sah as thou thy life dost love,
My honoured master and my lord; then, as thy thoughts thee move,
Do that which seemeth good to rhee to her that is thy child
And to thy hapless servant whom error has so beguiled. 24o
KING
Not that T may her pity give, I'll hear what she will speak;
But from the bitter tears she sheds I will refreshment seek.
SCBNE FOUR
EnorHfrr, KrNc, Cou¡qsnr,ron, and Cnoxvs
rnornÍrn
-{}t
sir", although perchance this name my lips should not let fall,
Nor should I, wretched that f am, again thee father call,
For that great error I have made (as it to thee may seem)
Has caused thee me a child of thine never again to deem.
But if so be that tears of grief have ever won a place
Within the heart of raging man, or touched with pity's grace,
Then I do beg these humble tears which fall in floods from me
ld.ay yet some pity's meed avail to-day to find from thee.
O suffer me what I would speak to thee to tell to-da¡
For then this fault of mine was not surpassing great, thou'lt say,
O Zeus,cause him ro tist toh;iï:; let her words find grace
Which humbly she will speak ro him; for pardon be there place.
COUNSELLOR
As thou wouldst live, in silence calm attention to her pa5
My lord and master.
Non. pr.ullrlr. rr, her say her say.
245
250
I
I
255
Scene Four EROPHÍLE I8g
rnopr¡fu,n
Albeit none whose self-control his passion bears away
Can in the moment of his rage fair justice' laws obey,
Yet none the less thy wisdom great ahd goodness of thy heart
(Although I see thy boundless rage in no wise doth depart) z6o
Do give me boldness to begin despite my bitter pain,
Nor will I what I have in mind freely to speak refrain.
My sire, I own that when I thus Panáretos did wed
fn secret without thy consent, I was to error led.
I recognize it and confess, and now of that repent, z6s
And this, and this alone, with grief to-day doth me torment.
And yet, my lord, if but a while thou'lt cease from bitter ire,
Methinks that this my act will thee rather to praise inspire.
KING
'Praise' dost thou sa¡ thou wretched girl, for that thou daredst to take
A thrall of mine unto thy bed and shame for me to make ? "7o
Alas ! my heart, why art thou not asunder torn, and why
My hapless breath dost thou not fail, my wretched life not fly I
nnorr¡Ír,r
My lord, the anger that thou showst for this thing is not right.
Nay, chase away thy bitterness, put thy rage out of sight,
That thou mayst listen to my tale, for he who harboureth rage 275
Hot in his heart, he in no task with justice can engage.
I will not say it, for thyself better knows this than I,
That all of us upon this earth unto one Father cry;
That Nature, when she brought us forth, framed us in nakedness,
Showing that men from other men no difference possess. z8o
Thus each one must his virtues use and seek as best he can
fn whatsoever way he may to outstrip his fellow man.
And so it is that wisdom's power and courage mixed with grace
Alone in this world have availed to bring to kingly place.
But now that times are different, and fortune doth mankind 285
Prevent from recognizing worth and wisdòm's power of mind,
No man there is who as of yore honour receives for worth,
And merit, as we see, doth walk naked upon the earth.
But if Dame Fortune, that to us has now so hostile proved,
W'ere not with spite against all such as display merit, moved, zgo
rgo EROPHíLE ,{ct Four
If she with justice would decide who should with wealth be dowered,
lFhen she Panáretos with world's whole empire had empowered,
Which prize unto his virtues fair and to his wits should fall,
Whereto no other witness than thyself I need to call.
For though, since he was bur a lad, he was in thy house bred 2gs
As thrall to thee, yet thou thysel{ by thine own knowledge led
Of all the graces, yirtues, wits, which thou in him didst see,
Didst give him over all th¡l realm a general's master/r
And that despite his youth.
KING
Right well her leman knoweth she!
enopHírr
Then what offence in me is found, if one so full of grace 3oo
I have now chosen for myself and given husband's place I
Why holds he not a royal rank I Or who should us now let
That we should not him instantly as lord o,er wide lands set I
My father, thinkst thou not that one born in a low estate,
Yet with abunclant grace imbued, were better for a mate 3oj
lfhan were a king, who though he o'er rich realms doth hold his sway,
Yet may a spirit poorer than the meanesr man's display I
Better it weré indeed, my lord, better it were that he
Whom I have chosen for my mate should in wealth but weak be,
Than that the wealth we have should be scattered to no effect 3ro
By man whom as a spouse for me mere fortune did select,
One who was but in name alone with kingly state equipped,
But of true wisdom and the gifts of virtue was quite sripp"d.
For kingly name that we obtain-this stands
"l
our command,
But virtue's gifts to cultivate, this lies not to our hand. 3r5
KING
Tell me, hadst thou not better far have taken thee for mate
One who possesses at one time virtue and kingly state I
when was it that thou heardst that rhese who ior thy hand have sued,
Being of kingly state, were not with virrue,s touch imbued I
nRopHÍr,n
P1t who, my lord, of either heard that he possessed one grace 32o
That he as suitor for my hand could take a worthy plaðe I
Scene Four EROPHíLE I9r
KING
Where wealth is present, there likewise virtues and graces dwell,
And riches ever amongst men a mind of wisdom spell.
rnopuÍr,n
But no my lord; mere riches ne'er argue a noble mind,
Nor without wits in wealth alone wilt thou true wìsdom find. 325
The world doth honour wealthy men and calls their vices grace,
And what it hates within its heart, it lauds to heaven's place.
For flattery creates a glace where no grace can be found,
And fear puts bridle in the mouth and curbs the free tongue's soundBut
if so be that o'er thy mind wealth has such powerful sway, 33o
The remedy lies in thy hands, as I have said to-day.
If thou dost will it, then thou canst thy servant so upraise
llhat none will in the world of men attain to greater praise'
KING
Nay, such a thing can never be! For who on earth hath power
A iparrow with an eagle's might or hare with lion's to dowerl 335
EROPHíLE
Thou canst, my father, if thou wilt; for since thou hast save me
No child to-clay in all the world, suffer him still to be
My mate, and with thy blessing too, as I have given my hand.
IFhen may he rich and powerful as mighty monarch stand
By thy creation; so shall he, raised to this high estater 3+o
O'ertop in might all other kings whose history we relate.
And if so be without thy leave I him as husband chose,
Set down this error to my youth and fate which no law knows.
I never knew fate hinder youth lI setf-destruction bent:
But on his head he'll see by me such kingly honours sent 3+5
That men shall say it had for him a hap far better been,
If he in this world's bounds not once thy face had ever seen'
cnoxus (aside)
O cruel verdict, uttered by a man of cruel heart!
And yet what else than this could one expect on tyrant's part ì
EROPHILE
Both of us in your hands repose¡ my lord, you now can do 35o
To me and him whatever thing seems good and fit to you'
ii
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rgz EROPHíLE ict Four
But yet this I do beg of thee as daughter and as thrall,
The service which Panáretos-poor wretch-did thee, recall,
And then the sin, if sin there be, in me alone thou'lt find,
For never one such thought as this could enter in my mind, 3 js
That I should ought abase myself by raising him on high;
lfhe sun, I ween, will never harm take to himself thereby
That he his light upon rhe dark places of earth besrows,
But râther for this deed leceives praises where'er he goes.
But if thou willest not this thing, I would recall to thee 36o
That I am still thy only child, ill-fated though I be.
Let this count some\.vhat in thine eyes, and let this thought avail
To-day o'er thine excess of wrath with victory to prevail.
But if so be that thou art vexed, because thou deemst my sin
Which I have done will for myself a harmful issue win, 36s
Think now that my poor self this deems not harm, but e'en a gain,
And let my heart from such fond thought pleasure at least obtain.
For pleasure of a truth it gives, ancl this same hearr doth hold
That he who o'er her heart keeps sway brings her a bliss untold.
KING
Such thing as this is only done by those of maddened mind, 3To
For these oft in their senseless act a câuse of pride can find.
But if so be that this fond thought has done thee any harm,
For thee and me I'll vengeance wreak, I promise, by this arm.
rnop¡¡Í¿¡
My sire, since reason's arguments are banished by thine ire,
And thus no thought of seemliness can e'er thy mind inspire, 3Is
By those sweet kisses and by those fond blessings on my head,
Which once upon me, when thou heldst me in thine arms, were
shed
Each day as thou didst rear my youth-for, tender infant left,
I was in earliest years of all a mother's care bereft;
In memory of her thou calledst me by the selfsame name, 3Bo
And oft her image in mine own to find thou couldst proclaim;
By that same joy which thou receivedst the momenr when thine ear
Did first, when uttered by *y lips, the name of father hear,
By that name which when uttered can refresh the weary heart,
And in its dearness is above all others set apart, 385
'"' Scene Four EROPHf LE r93
The name of child-that name I say which life to sire can give,
And equal power hath in it to make him cease to live,
Forgive the fault that I have done, and let me fully see
That, howsoever great the sin I have committed be,
Yet still thy pity and thy love can o'er that sin prevail, 3go
And may the passions which thine heart enrage to quench avail.
Fiercer than cruel lion is he, Jil:t";:pity feel,
And let these words so suppliant to his fierce heart appeal.
COUNSELLOR
My inmost soul for her complaints such a deep pity bears,
lFhat these my eyes cannot keep shut the flood-gates of their tears.
I ween the king must likewise weep; for to lift up his eyes 396
He ventures not, but best he can he would those tears disguise.
¡norsÍr,r
O turn, my lorcl, upotr thy life, turn unto me those eyes,
Which by excess of anger held ne'er from the ground arise.
O turn thee; grant me one sweet look, that like the clouds which flee
Before the wind, those fears of mine may likewise scattered be, 4or
Those fears which from my wretched mind have taken half its wit
And caused me, though I'm still alive, to go down to hell's pit.
But if so be that from thy hand I cannot favour know,
Let me, that I may kiss thy feet, before thee bend me low, +os
That I to-day may meet my death as though I were a slave
(And not thy child, O worthy king), whom purchase to thee gave'
KING
Neither as child, nor yet as slave will I thee keep near me;
So rise and quickly get thee gone, and from my pr€sence flee!
CHORUS
O let thy tears still faster flow, redouble these thy prayersr 4ro
For e'en a rock the water's power by constant dripping wears.
EROPHÍLE
O Erophíle, mother mine, O name of memory sweet)
Why art thou not alive to-day that me thou mightest greett
Though with but groans and pity's sighs' and humbly mightest fall
At my lord's feet, and falling there on him for mercy call, +Ls
!:
.l
t9+ EROPHÍLE 'lctFour
And let thy tears in piteous fount so run and that spot drench,
That they the fierce flame of his wrath might by their flowing quench.
But since that mother, now cold earth, Hades below doth hide,
And listens there to my complaints with hers set side by side,
Do you, my maidens, in her stead now shed your tears for me, 42o
And humbly crave that from my lord I may some pity see.
CHORUS
O might it be, my lord, that we by falling on our knees
Could find a way whereby we should thy bitter wrath appease)
And that our tears which we thus shed our lady might avail,
And o'er thee, to take pity on her griet might yet prevail. +2s
KING
Nay, Iabour ye in vain no more) your breath no longer waste.
Rise up from thence with all your speed, whither )¡e came from haste.
Do thou rise too and go thy wayrand be assured of thisThat
neither he nor thou your due and just reward shall miss.
EROPHILE
Ladies, let us go on our way; our labour is in vain; +3o
From heart that is as hard as stone pity we'll ne'er obtain.
cHoRus
Dear queen and mistress, if from speech we may judge of the heart,
Bitter the verdict which he hath determined on his part.
But know this well, thou canst rely on us in life or death,
We will thy faithful comrades be, so long as we draw breath. $s
nnopuÍr,¡
Alas! my maidens, how I feel a quaking in my heart,
That e'en to-day my love and I for Hades must depart!
O my loved mother, thou at least wilt give me pardon's grace
For this my sin which I have done, and at thy side make place
For me within the realm below, that I may stand with thee, 44o
And we, as we are one in name, in sorrow one may be,
SCENE FIVE
Kl:tc and Couwsnr.r.on
KING
My Counsellor, what thinkest thou I Diclst ever daring find
In woman equal unto this I
Scene Fiae EROPHÍLE ry5
COUNSELLOR
An equal power of rnind,
Freely to speak the truth to thee, I never saw as yet.
Forgive ¡þç '¡a¡e¡d-¿nd if so be thy patience will thee let 445
List to my speech, then I have hopes thou too wilt that confess,
And wilt in no wise on thy thrall thus wreak thy bitterness
And on thy daughter; rather thou, I deem, wilt give to-day
Consent unto the act wherein they did the heavens obey
As instruments of that high power and not of their free will, 4so
And thus a thing of blessing wrought and not a thing of ili.
KING
Counsellor, for these lying words which thou to me dost use
See that I do not as with them with thee too patience lose.
Thou wouldst the night turn into day, as though I were but blind,
As if thou too wouldst say to me that I have lost my mind 4ss
And am but fool and outworn man.
COUNSELLOR
My lord, I know full well
Thy wisdom great; thy knowledge wide it boots not to forthtell.
And thou on thy part knowest well that f am passing true,
And till to-day no lie from me has come within thy view,
I deem thou'lt say; so bridle strong I pray thee now to lend +60
Unto thy rage and ire, and to my words attentive bend
Thine ears; for rag% as'twere, the eye of intellect makes blind
And raiseth angry sea that swells and boils within the mind.
KING
I pray the heavens recloubled wrath and madness to bestow
On me to-dap and with fresh heat my anger make to glow, +6s
That I upon this pair may wreak such vengeance as I will,
And thus my heart, as I desire, with sweet refreshment fill.
COUNSELLOR
My lorcl, I beg thee for a while abate thy heavy wrath,
And suffer thus thyself to hear the plea I would put forth;
Then if I do not to thine eye and judgement make it plain +7o
That this thy chilcl a better plan than that thine own has ta'en
In choosing out Panáretos and not one of those kings,
Whose offers for her hand e'en now this embassy thee brings,
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196 EROPHíLE ,{ct Four
Then let me, who in saying this thine honour had in mind,
To glut thine anger, death in shape of thousand torments find. +T s
When this thou provesr, Counr"Tïf I'[ say that deer can fly,
Soaring unto the heights of heaven o'er ridges of the sky.
COUNSELLOR
Yet only give me leave that I to thee may freely speak.
Speak on; I will with patience nIT"*n* thou to say dosr seek.
COUNSELLOR
My lord, two kings who in the past long wars with thee did make,
Are now desirous thar as bride they should thy daughter take; 48r
And these at one time in league joined in common did engage,
And 'gainst thy city with great hosts an angry war did wage.So
vast the seas of blood which were of thine own subjects spilled,
So many were the torments fell with which thy land was filled, 485
That wheresoever we do pass we still hear groans and tears,
For still the memory of that time our hapless country bears.
But she their wooing did reject, and for her husband chose
The man who chased them from the land and stayed their murderous
blows, 4¡i9
A'd stopped their plunder's lust and quenched that awful blaze of fire
By the great strength of his right arm which-knowledge did inspire.
I ask thee once again, dost thou not tlìink he wrought much gãod ?
Nay, but I see thee filled with rage for. this his hardihood.
Why dost thou not unto these wars unjust attention turn I
Why dost thou so disturb thy mind and with such passions burn, 495
Because thou hast not made these kings thine own, nor canst bestow
llhy child into the hand of man who ever was thy foe ì
KING
Nay, this is that which above all allows my mind no peaceFor
I had hopes that I should make battles and wars to cease
In this wise once for all, and leave as offering to my folk 5oo
By this her marriage at my death relief from conflict's yoke.
So then thou dost believe,
'"t"iTi:ü:l'"" th.r" very hands
Which have in pasr so ruthlessly shed blood throughout thy lands,
Scene Fiae EROPHÍ LE ry7
And will in future shed more blood, that they may vengeance take
For those whom they themselves have lost, will e'er with thy folk make
A lasting peace, and give them rest who are their deadly foes ? 5c6
Or thinkest thou that for thyself a calm serene thus grows ¡
Nay, sooner far I'll deem that snow will into fire be turned
Than e'er believe that by such means a lasting peace is earned.
Ah me! It seemed that when I heard the rumour of such plan, 5ro
lfhat I thy kingdom's length and breadth with searching eye did
scan,
And fain was I to say to thee that, when this thing they hear,
Thy other counsellors will soon as hinderers appear.
Foi much I feared that they for us were laying marriage snare'
And did thereby for all of us entanglement prepare) 5r5
In hope that by this artifice they might from us obtain
lfhat which by open force of arms they ne'er could hope to gain'
Good gift no man has ever yet received at hand of foe,
Nuy ralher, when he him perceives bending his forehead low,
Suing for peace and asking for friendship and amity, - 52o
He witt bã stricken with more fear and from his friendship flee'
Far better were it if thou chose one as thy daughter's mate
Who could avow that from thy hand he took his kingly state'
Than one who would on sudden snatch thy kingdom as a foe
In thy clespite, ¡ror would himself thy daughter's husband show, 525
But rätheiwould without relent thee vex and plague each day,
And e'en the end of thy dear life to compass would essay'
It fitting is that in thy eld thy body should have rest,
Not toráenting; thai peacet not strife, should be its honoured guest'
KING
The man who walks about in fear ancl starts when shadows fall, ßo
He ne'er can do a worthy deed nor honour win at all'
COUNSELLOR
But yet, my lord, the man who still refuseth to have fear
Of dangerr'when there's cause to think that terror draweth near,
Full many times doth find himself caught in deception's net,
And if he still retain his life is with remorse beset' 53t
But, putting this aside, reflect that shouldst thou rather choose
Vengeance upon Panáretos, then thou wilt surely lose
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r98 EROPHÍLE ¿{ct Four
Thy-kingdom utterly; for if thou dealest him death-bloq
My honoured sovereign, then thou mayst this of suretF kno*,
Thy daughter will take her own life, and then thou'lt iruu" ,ro h"i.
Thy kingdom to inherit. Thus herein dost thou prepare S4r
For thyself too a speedy end, for without doubt thou'it find
Remorse for this which thou hast done will overwhelm thy mind.
My Master, follow my advice, and suffer wisdom's sway
ifo rule the madness of thy wrath; for shouldst thou hei obey, s+s
Thou'lt feel such comfort in thine hearr that thou wilt bl.r. t'1," hou,
In which thou didst this man with full and free forgiveness dower.
B_ut.if this-thought disturb thy mind, that he from ùngly line
ï3,h -"g,.
descenr, yet knowledge grear and noble bearñrg fine
Match him with any king. But who can make avowal c-lear j5o
That him, as sprung from kingly stock, no royal mother bare I
But thou wilt tell me noble blood without *.ãlth nought avails,
And, as a rose without its leaves, no odours sweet exhales.
O worthy king, the wise of men one without riches born
Of more accounr esteem if him virtues of life adorn, Srs
llhan one who is with riches dowered and born to kingly power,
If he is bare of virtues' grace and excellence's dower.
For though a man possess much wealth and riches hold in store,
This great abundance is not fixed nor held for evermore.
akf* take wings unto themselves and fly to others'hand; s6o
Thi-s way and that they ebb and flow like waves upon the strand.
And thus it is that Fate ofttimes rich men to beggary brings,
And poor men sometimes we behold raised to thãstate ofÍíngr.
But since thou art possessed of wealth, do as thy daughter said:
P: yi.", ancl let his poverty by thee to health be fecl. s65
My lold, O can it be that this by thee has been forgot,
How bitter \¡/as our fortune then, how desperate wai our lot,
When we the enemy beheld encamped around our wali,
And no more hope of liberty remained to us at all,
{g¡ not,1 single man that hour appeared unto our sight S7o
Who willing was to issue forth and with those foes io fight.
B_ut this Panáreros, inspired solely by honour's thought,
Had no regard at all of death, and recked his life as norrght,
Casting it down to hazard's choice, and single-handed cJne
To fight that foe who 'gainst our land brought up devouring flame,
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That therewithal he might our lives with blazing fit'e consume 576
And take away thy kingdom's might and send thee down to doom'
He rushed so âercely on his foes and scattered them in flight
That men believed the war-god's self was come down to the fight,
Or that some other powerful aid was come to thee with speed, 58o
Such a redeemer he was proved in that thine hour of need'
I look around on these our walls, our gâtes and columns high,
Our theatres, statues of the gods and fanes that soar to sky;
It seems to me they weep and tears commingle with mine ownt
Remembering that'twas thanks to him they were not overthrown,
And utter wãrds like these: 'W'e pray, joining with all thy land, 586
That thìs poor youth receive to-day some mercy at thy hand!'
For it is meet and right since he did pass through such a flame
For sake of them, and from that flame issuing victorious came,
That for the sake of them and us Your Majesty to-day 59o
Your wrath and deadly passion's blaze should will to put away'
And like a king worthy the name mercy on him bestow
And pardon gùe for youthful fault which thus has laid him low'
My làrd, I bãg thee by thy life this pardon to provide,
For if thou once consent wilt give this wrath to lay aside, Sgt
In after time thou wilt such joy for this thy kindness feel
That it will thee 'gainst memory of former suffering steel,
And thou w-ilt own that happiness past measure thou hast won,
In that thou hast the right to call a man like this a son'
KING
Counsellor, of these words of thine I have full knowledge ta'en¡ 6oo
With firm resolve I have pronounced my sentence on the twain'
And on this matter I thee bid not to renew thy speech,
For I to thee at other time plainly my will did teach'
Return unto thine own abode and leave me here alone,
That I o'er my ill fate may weep and make my bitter moan' 6o5
(Hereupon få¿ CouNsBr. Lol,- de?arts' and the KrNc søys:)
My trusty soldiers, bring to me this.man whom foul crime stains'
E'ån as tt" is ;tt prison bound, loaded with heavy chains'
- .
And with him cause those too to comer the ministers of death'
Who justice serve and ruthlessly from miscreants take their breath'
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200 EROPHf LE
SCENE SIX
KtNc alone
t4ct'Faur
KING
Old age my Counsellor has robbed of surety of his wits, 6ro
And he relates mere idle tales, as at his ease he sits,
Deeming that with these tales my mind he will so lead astray
Thr! -l
for crime surpassing great will vengeance throw awäy.
But if he that believes in heart, I judge him mad to be,'
An{ I myself had been, I deem, a greater fool than he, ó,5
Had I e'en listened to his words, for f have never known
A man in this world who with sucir folly is oyergrown
lfhat he, with words and tropes content) was willing to dismiss
It'he day of vengeance when it came for insult such ãs this.
But since it all too little were for such a monstrous deed 6zo
Death without rorment to appoint for him as fitting meed,
I in my mind am conning o'er a torture so refined,
As never was ere this, I deem, wrought upon humankind.
To-day I will make manifest to all the world my might,
llhat all, as long as my life lasts, my anger may affright, 6rs
For since the shame that he has wrought surpués., human ken,
He shall not miss a penalty beyond description's pen.
But what shall I unto my base and wretched daughter do I
S_rll I my miserable hand with my child's blood bedew,
llhat blood thar 's drawn from my own veins ! yes, before God,
I should! 63o
But if without her blood I can make this my vengeance good
On her, were it not bemer far to leave her with her lif", To
live that life in bitterness 'mid torment's endless strife I
Yea, this doth better seem to me than end unto her pain
To set for eveq if I grant her death's release to gain. 6s5
I deem that when she sees his limbs dead ancl ,rurrder hacked,
Her inmost heartstrings will be torn and with felr torture racked.
She will desire her death and weep and utter bitter cr¡
And feel remorse while she shall live, nor benefit thereby,
This is the fashion then whereby I will *" o"ng.un.. tåk" 6+o
To-day on him and upon her for their great error,s sake.
r'l
Scene Sìx EROPHÍLE 2or
For if a man who injured is for second injury wait,
Then in the end there lies in store for him a bitterer fate.
But lo! I yonder see them bring in heavy chains that hound;
I burn with rage and shuddering freeze, beholding him thus bound.
SCENE SEVEN
Krxc, CHonus, and Pdní,Bnros in chains
KINC
W'elcome, my worthy son-in-law; all hail to thee, I say. 6+6
In fashion fair I will fulfil thy wedding rites to-day.
Tell me, wherefore dost thou thine eyes keep fastened on the ground ?
Is then in thee for very shame no confidence now found I
Thou thankless one, without respect or courager this false show 65o
Of liumbleness will ne'er on thee a benefit bestow.
lfell me, thou boy of base estate and sprung from parents base,
Did I then rear thee in my house and throughout all this place
Raise thee to higher pitch of power thah any other wight,
That I in such reward as this forsooth should find delight? 6ss
CHORUS
Zeus, grant him grace that he may give wise answer on his part,
And, if it may be, soothe thereby that fierce and savage heart.
peNÁneros
With thy hand thou clidst rear my youth, lifting me to high place,
And many honours thou didst give to mer my lord, of grace,
And ever I felt gratitude, and gave thee thanks as due, 66o
And ever, as my po\¡¡ers availed, served thee with service true.
f erred, for this I must confess, and conquered victim fell
Unto the might of Love, for he doth bring under his spell
All men that live. Yet never I betrayed thee to thy foe,
Nor thought to steal thy realm and it on other to bestow, 66 5
'lfwas youth and beauty, tenclerness and kindness therewith blent
Which moved my heart, and low before the Love-god's feet it bent'
But since my fortune's hap withal hath blought me to this Passt
I will to thee declare to-day what father's son f was,
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2oz EROPHÍ LE ¿lct Four
That thou mayest know that after all it was no monstrous thing 67o
lfhat I should thus admit Love's sway, being a son of king
And mate with child of other king since we two did reside
For so long time beneath one roof from morn till eventide.
Know then that me the wealthy king of Tsertsa's land begot,
Thrasy'machos, and with thyseif he once shared friendship's lot. 67s
But Fortune willed that he should be in battle's strife laid low
By foes which were both thine and his, and perish 'neath that
blow.
And this same Fortune did me bring beneath thy house and hand,
That I should die upon this da¡ as well I understand.
But since thou hast a kingly power (and this full well I know), 68o
And thy name published far and wide through ail the world doth
8or
Thou canst upon me execute whatever is thy will
And on thy child; yet if thou this thy vengeance must fulfil,
Would that the foemen in that fight with my sire had thee slain,
And that the hands of these same men had thy chiid captive ta'en.
CHORUS
Great is the thing which our ears hear, and yet we hold it true, 686
For in his bearing many à trait of kingly worth we view.
KING
How oft soe'er thou sayest this, thy words are nought but lies.
Thy birth did never from a king or kingly stock arise.
But with such lies as these, I ween, thou hast the mind beguiled
Of Erophíle, and deceived that thrice accursèd child. 69,
Nay rather, I believe that thou wert by some foe begot,
Who was great mischief fain to work on mine and my child's lot,
And thee like viper poisonous I reared within my breast,
lfhat I might learn that enemy is ne'er a friendiy guest. 6sg
r¿NÁnnros
I speak, O king the very truth, and if so be thou'r't fain
Witness that this Thrasy'machos my father was to gain,
And sign thereof, I will the same produce this very day.
KING
Wretch, I will not one single hour grant thee for this display!
Scene Seven EROPHÍ LE 2o3
p¿NÁr.nros
At ieast, my master, call to mind that I alone went out 7oo
Ofttimes against thy cloud of foes, and victory brought about.
KING
Each service that thou hast performed its full reward shall gain,
I promise thee, and that reward this moment thou'lt obtain.
Seize him, my Generals; follow me, and lead him on this way,
That we may him for what he's done at double rate repay. 7os
CHORUS
Such is his rage of anger fell, so great his blaze of wrath,
That he of surety means his life this instant to cut off.
My God, do thou Thine aid him give, for others nought avail
Against the hands which threaten him as helpers to prevail.
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CHORUS
O gracious orb that floatst so bright
Aloft with splendour in sky,
And on the world bestowst thy light,
Decking with thy majesty
The heaven and earth as thou dost go
With march infallible on high.
When thy face down here below
fs not seen, thy creatures on earth
Are refreshed with rain and snow.
But when thine orb hath its rebirth,
Thou scatterest the snow, and fields
Fillest with flowery mirth,
Multiplying their fruitful yields,
Creating all kinds of gem.
Thy hand its sceptre ever wields.
Thou makst a glorious diadem
Of diamond, ruby, pearl;
With our eyes we can behold them.
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2c+ EROPHf LE
Even if the earth enfurl
Things in depths, there passeth thy light.
All things that 'fore thine eyes do whirl
Are the products of thy might,
Or by thee grown and multiplied,
And cannot perish from sight.
O shining sun, there still reside
In memory our past dire woes,
And their chill terrors abide.
ft seems as if each river flows
(As we saw once in our land)
With waves all bloody as it goes.
What time the enemy did stand
'Fore our walls, no hope remained
To our monarch of helping hand;
Yet us in need our God sustained,
Seeing that might of captain great
For us the victory obtained.
Alas for that man's wretched fate!
What boots his conquest of our foe,
For he's become Love's slave of late;
Our lady's love hath laid him low.
Just when he seemed ar height of grace,
He's shrivelled up with that glow.
And now fast bound in dungeonos place
By wrathful king he must fear
A cruel death that comes apace..
O Sun-god look upon my tear,
In pity darken thy light,
Or grant that it its fires bear
Elsewhere; let cloud hide from sight
Thy rays, or thunderbolt let fall
And this palace o'erwhelm in night.
¿{ct Foar
735
740
745
750
75s
730
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Scene Sewen EROPHf LE
With thousand flashes aPPal
Our king's mad heart that he will fear,
And this youth from death recall.
With awful thund'rings make him veer
His plans so evil unto love,
A fond sire to daughter dear
And to her lover let him Prove.
205
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INTERLUDE, F'OUR
GoorRev, RrNaloo, Mtssnncnn, and Sorywex
GODFREY
My valiant soldiers, as ye see) but little toil remains;
Small is the hindrance which us from mastering the town detains.
For of their valiant warriors a handful now is left,
And in the circuit of their walls many a breach is cleft.
And so to-day each one of you must ponder in his mind
Wlrat mighty cause has driven us that we should leave behind
Our lands, our children, our abodes, and all that we hold dear,
And to this distant country's bounds should these our bodies úear,
My worthy captains, not to gain great riches are we come;
Not for a pleasurable time have \¡¡e thus left our home, r
But that we should the Sepulchre of Christ our Saviour frec,
And many brothers of our faith present with liberty.
'Tis this which has us hither brought, 'tis this whith has us driven
So oft into the battle's din where with the foe we've striven,
All for the sake of Him Who came down to the earth to die, r
That we no more in thraldom held as slaves ro death should li!.
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Ever as victors we came forth; in honour now again
Shall we come forth and o'er our foes new victory obtain.
Only of this we must beware-that we must never fail
To see that what to-day beseems our honour must prevail. 20
My soldiers, be resolved on this, that by your conscience, light
Guided, ye do the best ye can in this our coming fight.
For so our toils shall have an encl, and our vows be lull paid,
And these our arms in order fair above the tomb be laid
Of Christ, who of His own free will His body for us gave zs
That He might win new life for us and victóry o'"r t*h" gruv".
Then-do- I promise you that ye will win rewaid urrd gruJ"
For all the toils ye've undergone, both here and in hãven's place.
See tojt then that ye now give a proofofhardihood,
Anq
¡f ry eyes have ever man seen proving warrior good, 30
And battling 'gainsr the foeman's lines with alr his mìght and main,
Let him on this day too display thar courage once agaiã.
Fourth Interlude EROPHÍ LE . to7
RINALDO
Each man of us should strive to do in battle many deeds,
And show that these same deeds to do few are the words he neecls.
Therefore we promise make'that with as few words as we can 35
We will for thee our captain bold go into battle's van
With daring and with courage great) and fight with might and main;
And so I hope that we return with glory back again.
GODFREY
Then take your places in the line, and give the signal clear,
That ye may to the deadliest fight ye ever fought now fare. 40
(Hereupon they sound the signal for battÌe.)
RINALDO
Lo ! I behold a gate is oped, and now a man I see
IJnarmed, who doubtless bears some word unto our company'
GODFREY
Let us take stand that we may list to what he has to speak'
It seems to me he cometh here an armistice to seek'
MESSENGER
Within our city there are found four warriors of might, 4s
W'ho are right fain to issue forth and with Rinaldo fight,
And with those others of your band who erstwhile battle gave
And of their life-blood did deprive four of our soldiers brave'
So if these men they conquer too, then will our lord our town
(And this he swears on oath) without a battle make your own' 50
Èut if so be, as he doth hope, his warriors victory gâin
Ancl in the conflict issue fair, as they desire, obtain,
Then thou on thy part 'gainst my lord wilt never battle more,
But wilt forthwiih from out our land thy numerous hosts withdraw.
GODFREY
Return with speed upon thy wayrand say unto thy lord
- 55
He may his warriors quickly send according to his word'
And ifÎe conquer me, I will in freedom leave his place,
And to my land with all my troops quickly my steps retrace'
But if his soldiers lose the fight' he must the town bestow
On me forthwith, for fear lest he suffer a heavier blow' 6o
Rinaldo, and ye warriors bold, who are to me so dear,
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2og EROPHILE Fourth InterÌude
Your zeal and valour irr'*y
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so wondrous great appear)
I know ye are so strong ofarm that I brook no dena¡
And must the weight of this great strife upon your shoulders lay.
It ill beseems that I should say or call unto your mind 65
What ye should do, for that indeed superfluous ye would find.
Unto this battle I you send with blessings on your head,
And may the grace of Christ our Lord in this fight you bestead.
lVlay He fresh glory win through you, and may rhose, who remain
Now in captiyity, be freed and liberty regain. To
So on one side I will withdraw, that wirhout any {ear
Our foemen, to take up this gage of battle, may appear.
And when, as f of surety hope, they are by you o,erthrown,
Then I return, and triumphing make entry in the town.
As with great confidence and ;ä:i:""s set out ro-day
Unto this battle, trusting there our valour to display,
So do I offer prayer to God that He will us sustain,
And grant that each may o'er his foe a victory obtain.
(Thereupon they go and dance an armed morris, and the Tunrs
fall, and Rrnar.oo sa7r..)
Forever may the name of Christ of glory gain its meed,
Since by your courage I behold His holy tomb thus freed.
My soldiers, for your bo,,,.,dl.rorotoil*i,i,.n ," have spenr to-day
I all the thanks which I can give fully to you do pa¡
And I must with you share your jo¡ for this is only meet,
Seeing that the whole world must lay its tribute at your feet.
Upon you fame immortal will by all men be bestowed
For the surpassing strength of arm and valour ye have showed.
RINALDO
This victory hath through thine own good forrune been obtained,
My lord, and thus by thee alone that glory should be gained.
GODFREY
Why dally they to bring the keys that we may these receive I
Perchance they think that by some trick they may our minds deceive.
(Hereupon they maÈe the enemy a signa/, and Sotyrvtdv cnmes uut
with the others and say:)
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Fourth Interlude EROPHÍ LE zog
SOLYMAN
Godfrey, I clearly see that all our labours are in vain; 9r
Nor blows nor arms will e'er avail our city to maintain
Against that which the heavens commandi so thus I bend me low
And homage do unto thy might, as my victorious foe.
Here are my city's keys, and here behold another key gs
Which locks the riches held in store in my great treasury.
Let this same treasure and ourselves, who thus are captive ta'en,
Of thy great merit and thy might be the reward and gain.
Yet in thine hour of triumph I would beg thee ne'er forget
lfhat thou wast born a man, and art with mortal's fate beset. roo
Let this my downfall and the fall of this unhappy place
E'en now and ever present be as warning 'fore thy face,
That thou shouldst not be merciless unto thy captured foe,
For thou thyself mayst one day {all beneath no less a blow.
GODFREY
O Solyman, it is my wont ever fs ¿çf ¡þuswiss- ro5
Mercy to show to humbled men, the haughty to chastise.
All ye my foes do know this well, lessoned in battle's heat,
And from my wont, be now assured, f never will retreat.
So raise thy bocly from my feet, cast aside every fear.
I will that thou henceforth as friend, and not as foe appear. rro
Thy wives, thy slaves, thy children, all thy treasure I give thee¡
Let all thy soldiers furthermore a present from me be.
W'here'er thou wishest thou art free all these with thee to take;
As for myself I'm satisfied the town mine own to make.
SOLYM.4N
I pray that by the heavens above thy fame may e'er be spread, rr5
lfhat they may ever on thy name immortal glory shed,
For that thou wearest such a grace, that even every foe
Doth honour thee and wish for thee a long life here below.
My lord and master, to give o'er the city let me go,
For it is time to drain the cup of last and bitterest woe. rzo
END OF THE FOURTH INTERLUDE
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ACT F'iVE
SCENE ONE
M¡ssn¡¡c¡n and Cuoxus
MESSENGER
O thrice accursèd dwelling-place, O house o'erwhelmed with woe,
Why dost thou not deep sunk in sea to thy destruction go I
O ancient lair of cruelty, thou home where murders dwell,
Thou school of bitterness and pain, of tears a very well,
Why is the heaven not enraged and earth with trembling ta'en, 5
Or how can Zeus thee to destroy his anger now refrain ?
Why do the murky clouds not fall and take away thy light,
And from the eyes of men to-day not blot thee out of sight ì
In what wild brake did ever dwell, or to what cavern came
Wiid beasts so fierce and pitiless I Nay, beast's too good a name- ro
For those hard-hearted wretches here who in thy walls are peut)
They have no pity felt for man nor ever knorÃ/n relent.
who is it that here weeps ,"0:t;l,iho is it that thus fills
lfhis house with groanings and laments, and darkens it with ills ?
Some matter of surpassing grief must give him cause for tears, r5
That he it 'pitiless' thus calls, and for this feels no fears.
MESSENGER
O sun, why givest thou to-day thy light unto this land,
Why dost thou not with head bowed down and face o'erdarkened
stand I
Alas! The times are full of woes, of bitterness and chill;
How can the heavens unmoved remain and look upon such ill i zo
CHORUS
My friend, why dost thou sigh and groan and bathe thy face with
tears ?
Why dost this house call pitiless and feelst therefor no fears I
If thousand times as -"", ,.ffiä;.tïir"" hairs on head
My mouth accursed possessed, these would but little me bestead.
Scene One EROPHÍ LE zrr
Or if my speech were framed of iron, full utterance of my pain, 2s
Ye maidens dear, though much I strove, I could no wise attain.
Na¡ lend me now your counsel's aid, and tell me how I may
The sight which my poor eyes have seên best to recount essay.
CHORUS
Tell us as best thou canst, if 'twere e'en but a little word,
That we with thy surpassing grief may weep in full accord. 30
MESSENGER
If this my breath in telling it were not in my breast pent,
If senses did not fail because my heart 's with anguish rent,
Then ye would be o'ercome with grief at what I should unmask,
And, why I could such horrors tell, you would hereafter ask.
But what my eyes perforce endured to see, this thing I fear s5
Your ears will never steel themselves, if it be told, to hear.
For it is of such mighty woe that it could quench the blaze
Of sun in noonclay splendour bright and darken the rnoon's rays.
CHORUS
ilhy silence is to us torment, thy dallying our sore
Ðoth nought but double. . . . Tell thy tale and torture us no more. 40
MESSENGER
Within this palace' deepest depths, far hidden from the eye
At base of yon high soaring tower where none can bottom spy,
In places which are far removed and plunged in murky gloom,
Where llever rays of sun can pierce or light can find a room,
There is a savage place whereto our kings have all been taught- 45
Both this and those who've gone before-themselves to make resort
And offer secret sacrifice, whenever need arose,
To angry Pluto of men's lives, nor yet the deed disclose.
So there our king Panáretos-unhappy wretch-had led,
And there he tortured out his life, and there he left him dead. jo
So fell a death, I ween, was ne'er by mortal ears yet heard,
And sufferings direr never could by mortal frame be feared.
CHORUS
A bitter prelude to thy tale; but tell the end I pray
Of all that thine eyes did behold; omit not ought to say.
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MESSENGER
When the king, as I have described, came to this wretched place 55
Of which ye häve just heard, forthwith' with passion on his face,
He took his seat upon a throner and then his henchmen led
Panáretos before their lord; his heart was fully fed
And teemed with bitterness and gall, and with a poisonous hate
He turnecl him and beheld the man, then smiled as there þs 5¿¡s- 66
But e'en that smile was harsh as when the snow-clouds are piled
high'
And gloäm alike in East and
'W'est
o'erveils the face of sky'
And if a pale sun issues forth, his rays give out no heat,
So he wht turns and looks thereon knows he'll ill weather meet.
But soon that smile died out and changed into malicious look; 65
His face was altered in a flash and new expression took,
As he Panáretos addressed with words which thus did sound)
Wt it" he like eagle there did stand with feet and wings fast bound
Bv little boys in bonds so fast that he no more can fly,
B'rrt to their mercy is exposed in awed humility:
4f,o,, dog I thank my
-God
that thou before mine eyes-dost stand,
That I *-y u"rrg.urrae, as I list, upon thee.can command'
But what fell tortures on thy frame can I deal out to-day,
Whereby for thy great criml to me I may full vengeance pay I Why
art thou ntt"of thousand lives and thousand frames possessedr 75
And why do not a thousand souls lie hidden in thy breast,
That thÉse, thou miscreant, I may take in torment one by onet
For this thy single life my rage sufrceth not alone''
And saying this, in all his ire a mighty blow he dealt
Upo., úis iace, which such a shame before had never felt, 8o
Fi" o, six tiÁes with all his power and with his sceptre's weight'
And then he turnedr and once again upon his throne he sate'
Thereat Panáretos exclaimed: 'Ne'er did I this believeThat
all my toils on thy behalf such payment would receive'
But, thou áistrustful, savage man, I bid thee this thy rage 85
In all thy cruelty against thy child and me.engage'
But if so be thai heaven is just, it never will delay*
No, not an hour-on our behalf full vengeance to array''
E'en as a fire grows fiercer if a nran upon it throw
Fresh fuel anJ branches torn from trees, and ruddier is its glow, go
Scene One EROPHÍ LE zr3
And to the heights of heaven black smoke rises in column tall,
And sparks shoot out, and shooting out, around its circle fallSo
fiercer grew the kingts mad rage, more savage was his wrath,
As he his ear did lend unto these words which he put forth.
His face with crimson was suffused, his eyes shot forth a glow 95
Of thousand fires; the words he spake a boundless wrath did show.
His heart it seemed more savage was than any heart of beast,
And as for us who stood around, our trembling never ceased.
!['hen cried ]re out exceeding fierce: 'My servants one and all
Stretch him upon the ground, and there with blows unnumbered
maul !
t roo
As hounds, when hunger presses them, and they behold their prey,
Stand straining at the leash and wait the time to dash away
With mighty bayings, longing all to seize him with their jaws,
And in their eagerness of mind each one the other paws;
In such wise did those cruel sl¿yss-¿nd hounds one might them callfn
haste upon Panáretos rush forthwith one and all. ro6
One smote him on the face with fists, another on the head,
Another smote him on the back, another tgan to shred
His clothes, and left him lying there all-naked on the ground;
They dealt him all the tortures which by men have e'er been found.
One trampled on his throat and one beat him upon the feet, rrr
One seized his arm and twisted it to tear it from its seat.
One beat his shoulders, others too upon the soles him flogged,
Another with a piece of cloth his groans' free passage clogged.
From top to toe you thus beheld his snow-white flesh turn black, rr5
As they with blows innumerable his tortured frame did rack.
The ox-hide whips wherewith they flogged were dripping with his
gore,
And as they rose and fell ourselves bespattered more and more;
And oftentimes f saw these whips fail broken to the ground,
As though e'en they to smite his frame too pitiful were found. 12o
But for the king f never saw him trace of pity show,
But rather he did leave his throne and leaped with joy below,
Saying: 'My well-belovèd thrallsl /e servânts of my heart,
In this mF vengeance, as is meet, to the full play your part.'
And ten times o'er he them relieved, that with a greater might rz5
On that unhappy frame their blows should thus redoubled light.
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2r+ EROPHfLE lct Fiue
But since he could no more hold out against that cruel pain,
He turned all icy cold, nor could his consciousness retain.
No movement of his limbs was seen, and fully they believed
That the poor wretch had at their hands his death-blow now received.
So they their beating then gave o'er, and the king drew anigh, r3r
And tiren, believing him a corpse, remorsefully did cry,
Because with those fell buffetings his life was ta'en, he feared;
Like madman he paced to ar.rd fro, and 'gan to tear his beard.
CHORUS
lloo late his pity-useless then this onset of remorse. r35
MESSENGER
Na¡ thought of pity had no place in my long speech's course.
But wherefore felt he ,ni, *."i,ili"t
MESSENGER
Because that body dead
Could ne'er again, as he desired, be with fresh tortures fed.
Alas! thou heart of ruthless iron, how couldst thou dare to look,
Horv couldst thou torture to inflict otr such a body brook ? 14o
MESSENGER
But he-for not yet from those blows was he quite fully dead,
But fallen into swoon; not yet his latest breath was fledRecovered
for a space and said: 'To spare me is no need,
But let thy ruthless nature still upon my body feed,
E'en as it doth desire. But yet, if Justice dwell above, î45
Then will the gods at least of this my wrong avengers prove.'
Whereat the king with greater rage told them to seize his rongue,
And cut it out and trample it, when to the ground 'twas flung.
And after this my ears did hear him 'Erophíie'sa¡
When those dogs flung unto the earth the tongue they'd cut
^way.
r5o
And next his eyes he had removed, and bade them take them up
And forthwith place them thus removed within a golden cup.
He handled them with greatest joy, and on them gazed his fill,
And afterwards cast them to earth and trampled them at wili.
Scene One EROPHÍ LE 2rs
And stiil his joy the greater grew' more savage his commands; t55
He bade them next to cut away the wretched creature's hands'
So when he'd done what ye have heard, he nigh unto him drew,
And straight) to utmost range of height, his hands uplifted flewt
And down he plunged the sword he held into his vitals deep,
And slew him without any ruth; yet while he breath could keep, 16o
He uttered like a lion a roart and from his lips there came,
Not once or twicer a sound which seemed his Erophíle's name,
Though spoken but in groans; for since his tongue \¡¡as cut a\Mâyt
Ithro,igh g.our,r and groans alone he'd power that name beloved to say.
But thãs" who touch of pity felt and his great passion knew, t65
Marked well that he those latest groans for Erophíle drew'
CHORUS
A heart of stone for sure has he who words like these can hear,
And yet not let o'erflowing tears within his eyes appear'
MESSENGER
As rose which has been cut away anå parted from its tree
In pallor withered right away ye oftentimes may seet . r7o
I., s.,ch wise was thal glorioui face with pallor overspread;
His body, shorn of all its groce, lay in their hands quite dead.'
Th.
to*". I saw shake fiom its baser the walls sway to and fro;
The dead made moan and earth did yawn and open far below'
The very pictures of the gods vrere seen-to turn awayt 175
That tháy might not behold the sight of cruelty's display'
CHORUS
To tale that tears the inmost heart, and fraught with bitter end
For that unhappiest of men, to-day our ears we lend'
MESSENGBR
Think not that we are of the end of this cruel tale possessed;
Ye now must steel your ears that they may listen to the rest' r8o
CHORUS
What! Does not death put final end to suffering and woe I - Men
say that death is soothing herb which heals each bitter blow'
MESSENGER
An end it brings indeed; but those who hear of body's pain,
Renew their gi"ief and are oppressed with torment once again,
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216 EROPHÍ LE ,tct Fiae
When they behold the living hands of men of pity reft r85
Mangle afresh the hapless frames that they in death have left;
E'en as my eyes-Ah ! woe is me-beheld that cruel king
Hapless Panáretos's corse piecemeal to fragments bring.
CHORUS
llell us, upon thy life, my friend, what yet remains ro hear,
For cruelty that equalled this ne'er reached before our ear. rgo
MESSENGER
When he beheld that he u¡as dead, forthwith he made a srarr
fnto a thousand fragments small that frame to hew apart.
lfhe head he cut off, and the heart he seized and plucked out whole,
And with his hands he set that heart within a golden bowl.
But what besides did yet remain of that póor mangled frame rgs
He gave unto his lions, that none should seek in pity's name
To bury it beneath the earth; those lions with ravening jaw,
Quarrelling fiercel¡ it devoured and hid it in their maw.
But what he had first set apart from out that body reft
He covered with a veil, and that he closely guarded left. zoo
For this, as he was heard to say, he would as present give
To Erophíle, for the sight would make her cease to live.
CHORUS
Panáretos, ill-fated man! Ladp how cruel thy fate!
How bitter is the present which thy taking doth await!
How will thine eyes endure the sight, thy hands the gift receive ? zo5
Na¡ needs must be that it forthwith will thee of life bereave.
MESSENGER
My honourable ladies, thus Panáret6s's f'¿¡sA
fate thrice wretched-ye have heard my lips to you relate.
llhat end I with mine own eyes saw to my unmeasured woe,
So that by reason of my grief my tears like founts did flow. 2ro
CHORUS
O bitter Death, why art thou fain without a touch of ruth
Ever to tear asunder those whom Love joins in their youth I
\d'hy is he ever friend to peace, and thou a friend to strife,
Why dost thou eagerly destroy the sweet gifts he gives life,
Scene One EROPHILE 2t7
And toil with might and main that sweet to bitterness to turn) 2r5
And every home lhere love doth dwell to overthrow dost yearn I
With long and patient toil and with cozenings none can pen
Love seeks to join and knit in one the parted hearts of men,
So that two héarts a single whole become and bodies twain,
Though living separate in the world, a single soul obtain' 22o
No other forcã in nature's realm can hinder them to mate
Save thee, O Death, with thy ill mind and thy unpitying hate'--
lùnter Kwc.
MESSENGER
My ladies, yonder doth that hard, dog-hearted king aPPear,
So let us haite away lest he find us together here'
My eyes cannot again endure that monstrous sight to see; 225
Lét
"t away-for-fear that they be blinded utterly !
SCENE TWO
KtNc with those who carry the limbs of P¿NÁnrros
KING
Put that uPon this seat, and all return unto your place,
For I wouid with my daughter speak alone and face to face'
For hither have I su*motted her, no matter'where she be,
For she with her own eyes this gift which she deserves must see' 23o
Now reckon I myself a king, and now I can proclaim
That with the foice of my right hand I've blotted out my shame'
I judge that now Panáretos doth full and clearly see
Tiutt-ho.,o,rr of a king by all must well regarded be'
And if so be they ur" ,roi blind, all other men who dwell 45
Within this palace must henceforth his bitter end mark well,
And marking it will in their hearts tremble as doth a reed,
For that thJmocking of a king to end like this will lead'
Some say forsooth thát every kingshould-only kindness show,
And neíer, whatsoe'er the deed, his wrath on it bestow
"
2+o
And above all these men assert' that if he fain would be
Beloved of other men, he should with full attention see
That none can an occasion frnd which causeth him to fear-
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':2r8 EROPHÍ LE .{ct Fìae
But to mine eyes far otherwise the right course doth appear.
I deem it is the fear of kings which keeps them safeand sound; 2+S
Without that fear f reckon nought of worth in kingship 's found.
f care not if they bear me hate, so long as they have fear
Throughout my kingdom; for as twins born of one womb appear
Kingship and terror, and the rwain musr needs go hand in hand.
lfhe man that makes not other men tremble at his command, zso
Let him aspire not to rhe name of king but rather slaveAnd
then let him await all shame that ever world men gave.
I say again'tis fear alone which guards the kingly state;
Where fear is not, no man can e'er of kingly power prate.
lfherefore the more I joy that I fulfilled a worthy part, 255
And that i¡r time of -y åta age I firmly ser my hlu.t,
And
stood out before
"tl
ttt" world as king in more than name,
And showed that none could venture e'er my honour to defame.
But verily a fool I'd been if I had lent an ea.r
Unto my Counsellor's advice, and willing been to clear z6o
Panáretos, that treacherous man, and left him to go free
Of punishment for that great shame which he had wrought for me.
As though I had not understood, being more wise than he,
lfhat vengeance for'a deed of shame is the sole remedy,
And that the shedding of men's blood and taking of their lives 26i
Is hall-mark of a heart wherein the name of honour thrives.
But lo! I see my daughter ç6¡¡s-1þ¿¡ girl quite reft of shame;
f ween that she will see to-ðay how I defend my name!
SCENE :THREE
EnoruÍm, Nunsn, and Kwc
rnopuÍrn
My nurse, I feel my wretched limbs as 'twere cut from my frame;
My mind ¡sm¿i¡s-se great my woe-not as erstwhile the same. z7o
My inmost parts are rent and torn, my spirit faints and faiis,
My body shakes lìke bed of reeds blown by the winter gales.
lfhe pains of death lay hold on me, my forces break and bend,
And ever more and more I fear, looking unto the end.
scene Three EROP Hf LE 2r9
NURSE
My mistress, grieve not overmuch; the king but summons thee z7i
In haste like this, because he wills thee instantly to seet
That he may his forgiveness grant for that which thou hast done'
Since well hå k.,ows ihe threads of îate cannot be backwarcl spun.
¡RopnÍr-e
But by Harmódis why sent he message of such import
(And ihan this man I never knew one of a viler sort), z8o
That he on us a sentence had decreed surpassing ill ?
Ever since this man spake to mer terror my heart doth fill'
My spirit is all fled away' I cannot speak at all,
eti¿ if I two steps forwards go, four steps I backwards fall'
My nurse and mother, tell me this, shall we two parted be I 285
Carl be that each the other will on this day no more see ì
For well I know within myself that I this day must die;
How can I bear to leave thåe here and from this world to fly I
Loved nurse, who art to me as dear as is my own life's breath'
As thou hasí loved me upon earth, I pray thee love in death' 2go
My name that is só sweei to thee thou wilt in memory keep'
erl¿ *itt o'er my untimely death sometimes with pity weep'
NURSD
W'eep not, my daughter; my princess, to speak thus thou must ceaset
For without ur-,y ,""ro., due thou breakest my heart's peace'
Ere that thou såëst what will be; as thou dost hope to live, 295
I pray thee let thy mind no more such grim forebodings give'
EROPHiLE
My nurse, I tell thee I shall die; and if 'tis willed by fate'
Bu.y *itúi" the selfsame tomb myself and my love-mate'
And l"t our hapless bodies thus so all unjustly slain,
As mingled drrst i., Hades' realm their common rest obtain' 3oo
E'en as \¡/e two on eârth above lived as one single soul'
And knit by love one common will shared as united whole'
And as thoí once with thy sweet milk didst give me suckt I pray
Shed o'er my body dead no less thy bitter tears to-day'
So now my last kiss I bestow' I have no more to say- 3os
I must to ihee, my nurse beloved, my final greeting pay'
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2zo EROpHlf,n lct Fizte
:r-:Nc (aside)
What is the matter they talk o,er and dally to draw nigh I
Some way, I ween, whereby they may deceive, to find they try.
Ah me! How these wo.d, *hi.ilÏñåT ,o.ror, cut to my.inmosr heart;
I can no more restrain the tears which from my eyes äo start. 3ro
My daughter, I thee promise make that we wiil .u", ,tuy
Companions in this world above or where Death holds hi, ,*uy.
For.I will never, lady mine, endure to hear thy death
And still behold the light of sun, drawing my living breath.
nnor¡rÍr,n
Nap my dear nurse, I pray thee here continue still to live, 3r5
That to these maids, as erst to me, thou confidence ,rruyrt giu..
NURSE
My daughter, be assured of this, that I to Hades' hall
Will pass before thee.
r.wc (aside)
How the tears of both of them fast fall !
Perchance Panáretos's fate has ere this reached their ear.
NURSE
wâs our king's own voice which I just now did hear.
my daughter, cease thy tears, smooth out thy troubled
Methought ít
Quick, quick,
face
Scene Three EROPHÍ LE 22r
Give place, Chrysónome, from us, and draw awhile aside;
I will not that our talk should food for other ears provide!
nnopHÍ¡-n
Depart, my nurse beloved, from hence; yet do f tremble more
llhan it benighted in some brake, myself alone I saw.
KING
Albeit that thy boundless fault, my daughter, on this day ßs
Upon my soul a heavy weight of care and pain did la¡
Although my mind was darkened o'er and my heart burned with fire,
And I declared my bitter wrath 'gainst thee would ne'er expire,
Yet none the less as I thought o'er the unutterable woe,
llhe pain unfathomable I had received from such a blow, 3+o
If I had to my purpose held and ta'en from thee thy life,
I judged it best to kindness'balm to turn that bitter strife.
I have resolved to leave my wrath and no revenge to take,
And him, who did commit this fault, my son-in-law to make.
And so I went unto that place where he was closely bound, 34s
And there I him awaiting death by cruellest torture found'
But I with loving-kindness great told him that he had won
Complete forgiveness at my hand for all that he had done.
And he revealed to me a thing I ne'er had heard before,
That him Thrasy'machos's wife in royal lineage bore. 35o
O would that I long time ago this thing had heard men sa/'
For then unto such bitter rage I ne'er had given way.
rnorr¡Í¡,¡
In very truth, my lord, he ne'er had told me such a thing,
Which, as I hear it, to my mind doth gre^t amazeñent bringNot
for that he is son of king, for none could have such grace 355
Who was not of a royal descent and born in kingly place,
But that he for so long a time that secret ne'er revealed,
And humbly walked upon the earth, keeping his state concealed.
KING
My daughter, it is so in truth, and I do thank my fate,
That it has brought to me a son born in this kingly state. 360
Wherefore f summoned thee to me that thou mightst pardon win,
E'en as on him I had bestowed forgiveness for his sin'
To cheerfulness, thy rufled locks in order fair replace.
For, as I see, the king himself puts on a cheerful mien;
He waits for thee with look of joy; my mind from care f wean.
enopuÍrn
'Tis even thus with the fierce waves of angry troubled main; szs'w'hen
they do drown a man, they sink and fiom their surge refrai.,.
'
Dury just now r aid ,.."i*?t Í^,ffX/, çe¡¡¡¡¿¡dSo
I am here; in readiness to learn thy will I stand.
In right good time thou art ,rrt;Jäi1, daughter wen beloved,
Who never to thy sire's behests hast disobedient proved! 330
ü1ii
z2z EROPHÍ LE ,!ct Five
So thus the thing thou didst I thee forgive in my despite,
And he shall, as thou dost desire, thy husband be of right.
And to this issue which of my freewill had ne'er been seen, 36s
My fortune helper shall appear, thy love the go-between.
So that this pardon which I grant better thou mayst believe,
I ask thee for the love of me as present to receive
The things which in this vessel lie. Therefore, my child, fl¡aw ns¿¡Accept
the gift, for rich indeed this present will appear. 37o
rnop¡rÍr,t
My lord, I could not of thy love a greater token find,
Than that which at this very hour hath stirred my depths of mindThe
thought that f upon this day have thy forgiveness won
For that immeasurable wrong which I to thee have done.
Yet none the less in humbleness my head I bow down low, 37 s
And with full heart accept the gift which thou dost thus besrow.
Thou doest what child dutiful ,ätffi, ever bourld;
So will my blessing evermore resting on thee be found.
Draw nigh unto thy present then¡ the veil from it remove,
Take that which in it is enclosed; let it well-guarded prove. 38o
Why dallyest thou, my daughter dear I . . . Take them, be not afraid,
For by the taking of these gifts with joy thou'lt be repaid.
rnop¡rÍ¿¡
My heart against my breast loud beats, my eyes I dare not iift;
They're seized with shrinking at the thought of looking at this gift.
My hand refuses to be moved that it the gift draw near; 395
As though it were some poisonous snake to touch it it doth fear.
(She lifts the weil.)
Alack! alack! What's this I sss-u/þ¿¡ miserable sightl
Whose is this bleeding head which me startles with deep affright I
KING
It is the head of thy fair love, cut off by mine own hand,
As right, thou child unnatural, and duty did command. 3so
nnoruÍm
Alas! thou gift unmerciful, thou gift with horror fraught!
f must, as ï gaze on this sight, with madness be distraught.
SceneThree EROPHÍLE 223
KING
It is a gift well merited and payment right-indeed
For all"that honour which thou deemedst for thy sire fitting meed'
EROPHÍLE
So this is thy belovèd head, Panáretos, my lord, 3gs
And this thy head all drenched with gore is given as my reward !
KING
'Tis even so; rejoice therein, thy tenderness display,
And, if thou pitiest it, with tears wash thou its stains away-
EROPHíLE
These are his own dear hands, alas! My sire, thy wretched child
tlhou hast with this unseemly gift which thou hast made beguiled'
KING
Unseemly was the deed that thou on thy part didst to me; +al
But I on my part have done nought but seemly deed to thee.
nnopnÍr-B
My heart, why art not rent in twain I Mine eyes, how can ye see
Unfalt'ringly to-day this act of awful cruelty I
KING
E'en as m! eyes did look upon mine own o'erwhelming shame, 4o5
When I this vengeance on thee take, thine eyes must do the same'
EROPFTILE
What is this other thing I see I Methinks it is his heart
Which never from itself allowed mine image to depart!
KING
,Tis it. Now therefore from thy breast pluck out likewise thine owt],
And join it unto his, if thus thou o'er his heart makst moan' 4ro
EROPHILE
Ah me ! With what a blaze o{ fire my vitals are possessed !
My sire, what piercing blade of sword hast plunged into my breast!
KING
The same sword which did wound myself has thee too likewise slain,
E'en as is right and just; this thought within thy mind retain'
EROPHÍLE
why diclst thou not slay me the firsr I Tell me, as thou wouldst live,
Why was it needful this fell sight unto my eyes to give I +16
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22+ EROPHÍ LE ¡{ct Five
KING
Why didst thou cause me on thy part such bitter shame to know
In this brief time that I have left here on this earth to go ?
EROPHILD
O face that art so sweet to me, O head with honour blest,
Where do the other remnants now of your slain body rest I 4zo
KING
They have unto the dogs as food been given, to lions a prey.
It was not frtting that the earth should covering on them lay.
EROPHILE
Alack, alack! What word I hear! O soul wilt thou not take
Departure from my wretched frame; my heart, wilt thou'not break I
KING
To me shall not this word I hear a joy redoubled lend | +25
Will not my head in triumph to the,heights of heaven ascend I
EROPI{ILE
My sire, I see that thou canst find thy joy in these my ills¡
My bitter woe thine inmost heart with sweet refreshment fills.
KINC
Yes, know this well, the more I see thy heart with anguish torn,
The greater is the triumph's joy which in my heart is born. +3o
Weep on thy fill, and may this flood of tears be never checked;
I pray the heavens that by thy grief thy very life be wrecked.
Gaze on the features now so fair of this thy much loved mate,
And render all the thanks thou canst unto thy kindly fate
Which thee with husband worthy thee and ttry birth'did provide, +:5
And that thou mayest freely weep, turn by thyself aside.
SCENE FOUR
Exop:c-íra alone
rnopuÍr-n
My sire . . . By why should I thee thus as father still acclaim,
Why should I not thee rather beast that knows no mercy name,
Seeing that neyer beast more fierce did the wild forest own,
And heart more cruel than a lion's thou hast unto me shown I 440
Scene Four EROPHÍLE 225
Thou beast, more savage than wild beast that eyer yet was bred,
Why hast thou not my humble life too numbered with the dead I
But that from which thy hand, although it was so cruel, abstained,
Shall by myself, although it be against thy will, be gained.
For this one thing can by no means permitted be by fate, 4+s
That I should live a single hour parted from my love-mate.
My partner d"ar, so sweet to me, my comfort and my light,
In what dread guise dost thou now lie presented to my sight!
Canyet my frame keep hold on life and still life's pleasures seek,
Can my eyes still behold the day, and can my lips yet speak I 45o
My love, it was from thine own heart that I drew my life's breath,
And now the marring of thy limbs sends down my life to death.
Alas! These eyes of mine their gaze from thee now turn aside,
For men have made thee such, that sight of thee must be denied.
Panáretos, my master dear, where now thy lovely face, 4ss
Where are thy many beauties fled, and where thy matchless grace I
Where are thine eyes that sweetly looked I Where is that cruel sword
Which has cut out and blinded them, my partner so adored I
Ah mouth that once so kindly smiled, where every perfume met,
Thou fount of virtues, and thou place where every slveet was set, 46o
Why is it that those lovely lips are silenr once for all,
And can no more on thy true slave, thy Erophíle, call I
Why do they not recite my pains, and cannot e'en a word,
One tiny word of comforting for all my tears aford I
But thou art now of tongue bereft, so how canst to me speak ? +6s
A word of comfort for my pains I must all vainly seek.
Thou canst not o'er my woe complain, thou canst not say 'My
love,
For thee, and thee alone, this frame the pangs of death did prove!'
And as for you, ye hands so loved, what ruthless hands could dare
You from the hapless frame to which ye once belonged to tear I 47o
Yes hands, which should, if right had might, the weight of sceptre
holdWhich
giving laws to all on earth the world should now beholdWhy
is it that ye cannot seek and grasp these hands of mine I
Why must I your fond touch upon my breast and heart resign I
For ye to them had given rest and ease from all their pain, 4Ti
And caused them from this fluttering wild a little calm to gain.
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226 EROPHÍ LE '{ct
Fiae
And thou, brave heart, that stronghold where was guarded Love's
desire,
What fierce lion was it thee assailed, and with a cruelty dire
Tore thee, all bathed in thine own gore' from out thy breast's firm
seatt
And caused my wretched eyes that sight of terror full to meet I 4so
O heart so fondly loved by me, thou sweetest of all hearts,
In name of love thou didst for me endure so many smarts.
Whilst thou wast living thou on tears and sighs and groans wast fed'
And then from out thy place thou wast with violence plucked out
dead,
That I might see with mine own eyes imprinted on thy frame 485
ilhat name which thou didst love so well*thy Erophlle's name.
Alas my F¿tel Thou dost for me a bitter lot provideThat
I in such a little space widow should be and bride!
My evil Fate, thou hast to me proved a beguiling foe,
lfhou hast indeed brought me adown to end of bitter woe! 4go
What bitterness thou'st made me feel, what monstrous deed to see !
Thou unto me hast nothing given but pain and misery'
where are those hopes thou didst hold forrh, where is that bliss fore-
told,
Which thou forsooth didst prophesy that my eyes should behold I
Thou promisedst me a wealth of joy, yet loadest me with woe; 495
Holding out hopes of life and easer thou dost but death bestow.
Thou showedst me ablaze of sun; I hoped for weather fair,
But soon the sky was clouded o'er, foul weather did appear.
Thou settedst at the first a crown of gold upon my head,
And then it into serpent turned, whose poison left me dead. 5oo
Dews of refreshment thou distilledst, but these too poison gave,
And hoping sustenance to findr I'm brought unto the grave.
The gates of Paradise didst ope, but through these gates I'm led
Unto the nether deeps of hell, and there on tortures fed.
A vision false thou gavedst me, and like a dream 'tis gotle, 5o5
Like grass of field it is dried up, like withered rose forlorn;
Like lightning flash it's passed awayrit's melted like the snow;
It's scattered like a cloud or dust when the strong breezes blowMy
sufferings din-¡inish nought, my miseries ne'er fail,
And to eternity of woe my torments will prevail. 5ro
Scene Four ERO P H f LE 227
Bur that my weight of su#ering still heavier may grow,
My tortures have not yet the power my life to overthrow.
Yet that which so much suffering has not the power to do,
That deed my hand and sword combined as one will carry thror¡gh.
To Hades these will send me down, and let my cruel lord 5r5
Take pleasure in the joys which him kingship and world afford.
My breast oppressed with bitter woe, my heart of hope forlorn,
Far better had it been that I had ne'er on earth been born;
Far better had it been indeed that these poor eyes of mine
Had never once the rays of sun beheld or seen him shine. 5zo
Thy spirit, O Panáretos, sweet partner of my life,
I beg my spirit to receive, the spirit of thy wife.
Let both of us in selfsame place stand, thougir it be in Hell;
For e'en in torment we shall find Paradise, I know well.
Panáretos, Panáretos, Panåretos, my life, S2s
Help me in my distress; receive the body of thy wife.
(Here she taþes the sruord, which is in the bowl, slays herself, and falls
dead. thortly after her maidens come, seeÈing her.)
SCENE FIVE
Maronr.is, Cironus, azl Nunse
MAIDENS
Let us go forth, that we may of our mistress somewhat hear.
But who is this that's lying dead, here at our feet, so near I
Alack! What is it that I seel My mistress, is it thoul
Whai ails thee that thou liest here, with death writ on thy brow ? 53o
My princess, speak a word to us. Raise thyself to thy feet.
llurn thou thy silvern face that we may greet thee, as is meet.
Alas, she's slain herself! Help us) strangers, to bear this blow!
CHORUS
O lift her up, and speedily. Why dost thou dally so I
MAIDENS
Seëst thou not, she's slain herselfl Her hand still grasps the sword
Which deep into her very heart its savage way has bored. fi6
Alas! Unutterable woe, evil that knows no bound!
O ladiesr lend your aid that I a little turn her round.
Q2
$
zz\ EROPHÍLE '{ct
Five
Ill-fated mistress, why hast thou thyself thus done to death,
W-hat cause so great that thou to-day hast ta'en a,way thy breath I 54o
CHORUS
Markest thou not the cause of this I It is this severed head,
Panáretos's, which with such deep streams of gore has bled.
This only is the cause!
MAIDENS
O youth, who wast so full of grace,
Panáretos, who to the world gave beauty by thy face!
O mistress kind and pitiful, to us so passing dear, s+s
Why hast thou thus the hearts of all to-day to grief laid bare I
NURSE
Ladies, what is the cause why ye make this ado and weep I
Why are ye.so o'ercome with grief and loudly wailing keep I
CHORUS
Seëst thou not, Chrysónome, dost not our mistress mark ?
Thou askest why we make ado, though she in death lies stark ? 55o
NURSE
Alas! my Erophíle dear! Alack, alack, alack!
Ah me ! Unutterable woe !
CHORUS
Hold her and keep her back,
Else she wiil surely slay herself.
NURSE
Alas ! my daughter dear,
With what an evil dawr-r for me to*day's light did appear!
My mistress, tell me what's the cause that thou thyself hast slainl
For that thou liest dead, this sight is to my eyes too plain. 5s6
CHORUS
Seëst thou not within this bowl the severed hands here placed
Of what was once Panåretos, and here his head defaced ?
NURSE
This then must be the cause why she herseif has likewise slain;
'Twas but to-day she said she had this resolution ta'en. 560
CHORUS
O hand of king so pitiless and ne'er to kindness bentt
Why hast thou this day to death's realm these two fond lovers sent ?
Scene Fiúe EROPHÍLE z2g
NURSE
Alas! my Erophíle dear, f would that from my eyes
Now darkened o'er two fountains full of water might arise
-lo wash away the stains of blood that there surround thy heart. 56g
And after that is done no less I will on mine own part
Unto myself with this my hand deal out a ruthless blow,
As thou didst to thyselt and thus unto my death will go.
Alas, my Erophíle loved, shall then such beauty be
Consigned to Hades I Must we it mere dust and ashes see I slo
Shall then those locks gold-tinted fall from off that comely head I
Shall those blue eyes, like sapphires bright, dissolve in earthy bed I
Shall that fair face and those fair hands as a pure marble white
Become mere food to feed the worms, my daughter, my delight I
Alas ! my Erophíle dear, shall Hades' realm thus thrive 57 S
Upon thy beauties, though of these thou wilt the earth deprive I
\{-ithout thy presence thou must leave the sun's orb darkened o'er,,
And all the world in blackness plunge and cause it sorrowing sore.
On gladness thou death-sentence layst, for this must needs to-day,
My Erophíle, with thyself to Hades pass away. 58o
Ah me! What heavy weight of woe and bitterness is mine!
How through thy loving act beguiled and cheated I repine!
I thought to kiss thy marriage-crown when placed upon thy head,
But no\¡¡ I tremble thee to touch by thy selÊslaughter dead.
I hoped to take into my arms the child which thou shouldst bear, 585
And rear him tenderly-nay more, to see that same child's heir,
And I am burying thee this day, and with thyself thus slain
lfhou from my miserable frame its life no less hast ta'en.
Alas ! What wealth of torturing that dream laid on thine heart,
That evil dream which thou to me didst on this day impart! Sgo
How well thou knewest its import and of me tookst thy leave,
And kissedst me as though thou didst o'er some fond mother grieve.
But I make promise that with thee I will to Hades fare,
To be for thee a faithful nurse and servant even there,
When I have buried with thy corse, my mistress, what remains 595
(How little!) of Panáretos-for Fortune so ordains.
CHORUS
Chrysónome, I see the king*that heartless q¡¡¿¡çþ-d¡¿trys near.
So cease thy wailings; for a plan I will e'en now prepare
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z3o EROPHÍ LE z{ct Fiz.te
Whereby he shall no longer live. But let him come anight
For him we with the sharpest pangs that death can give will try. 6oo
NURSE
Nay, ladies, nayl leave it to heaven its own revenge to win,
Never yourselves on day like this enter on such a sin.
CHORUS
ft were a sin that such a wretch another hour should live . . .
But he is here; so to thy tears thou must a truce now give.
SCENE SIX
Krrsc, Nunsn, MaronNs, and C:r.or.;s
Great sounds of weeping I do hear-and for that traitor too 6o5
Who justly has been put to death. Why make you this ado,
Ladies, and one to other pour your lamentations loud,
As though each one before her set beheld her own death-shroud I
CHORUS
My lord, it is because we see our mistress tfore us dead
And Fate has us to look upon this sight of misery led. 6ro
KING
And who has caused her death ?
CHORUS
The things thou seest and yonder knife
Wielded by her own hand, my lord, have ta'en from her her life.
KING
And 'fore your eyes slew she herself I
CHORUS
Nap when we came, we found
Her lifeless corse before our eyes outstretched upon the ground.
KING
One who has wrought an evil deed must e'er expect to find 6tJ
An evil and untimely end, wherever he's confined.
The thought that I have lost my child with grief my mind must bend,
But for that on this day thereby my shame is brought ¡6 s¡dScene
Sìx EROPHÍLE 231
At this I must rejoice so much that I reck nought of pain;
Nay rather, more than e'er before I filled with joy remain. 6zo
Foi sundered once from honour's name wealth doth not help at all,
Nor can we those who are content to dwell with shame e'er call
Alive in this world.
t"t *rllf:;;:r.", Majesty's wise mind
Lays down as sentence can from men no contradiction ûnd.
tlhat were not possible nor fit. Yet this to me a sin 6"
Appears-that others save thy child such heritage should win
As is thy glorious kingdom's might, and I have heard it said
lfhat for this cause, and this alone, pardon was born and bred
That sinners might with it be dowered¡ ¿nd pitiless are they
By men acclaimed who for a sin pardon will not display. 63o
KING
Perchance this might be said with truth for men of common state,
But never for a king who is beyond all others great'
But though my child inheriting my kingdom you'll ne'er see,
Yet will my honour and my name an heir full worthy be.
So hold your peace, for otherwise I solemn promise make qs
(For not from you as from schooldame will I such lecture take),
That I will send you down to Hell your mistress there to reach,
And thus in other strain to say your wise saws will you teach.
NURSE
Humbly, as far as in me lies, down at thy feet I fall
And beg your Majesty, as is duty of lowly thrall, 64o
To grant me pardon for the words which I did speak of late;
For ltwas my grief, and this alone, which did that thing dictate.
('!t this point she kneels and pretends to embrace his feet to kiss
them, but she holds them tight, and throws him to the ground'
Then she calls on them all to rush in and slay hin.)
CHORUS
My comrades, hasten with me all; we will together make
l["his man of men most merciless for Hell departure take!
(.!t this point they all rush in and fasten on to him')
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232 EROPff ff,P ¡lct Ffue
KING
Help me, my servants, hither haste to me, my captains brave! 6+s
They smite me without ruth and send my life down to the grave.
(rtt this point they Èill hìm. Hereupon the Guosr of hís brother comes
out and stands ower him and say:)
GHOST
I stood and waited to behold thy wretched body's endNow
shall thy soul in company with me to Hell descend,
That tortures on thee, as is due, forever may be laid,
And thou for thy great villainy in full mayst be repaid. 6so
Nunse, Marorns, and Cnopvs
NURSE
Ladies, no further cruel deed work on him out of spite;
For it sufrces that ye thus a death with death requite.
CHORUS
Nay, he is cruel and pitiless who thinketh that the truth,
And for this which we do to him feels e'en a little ruth.
Scene Six EROPHÍLE 43
(Hereupon her maidens lift her up, and go in with tåe Nunsa,
and the Crionus of women remains; as they recite the verses
below roritten, thel drag the K::l.c withìn, and disappear
frorn view.)
.. CHORUS
, Ah ! How unfortunate are they, what very fools they seem,
Who, while they still walk here below upon this earth, yet deem 67o
That they are fortunate and can aloft to heaven fly,
Because around them they see wealth and glory's light espy.
For all the blessings of this world and all the wealth it holds
Are but a shadow which this life of misery enfolds,
Or like a bubble on a stream, or like a blazing fr,re, Ø s
.. W¡i.h as the higher shoot its flames, the sooner wili expire.
ENÐ OF THE TRAGEDY
NURSE
O king who art more hapless far and more unfortunate
Than any man or any sire, no matter what his state.
To-day thou to the heayens didst fy and graspedst with thy mind
At every honour and good luck thou and thy child could find.
And yet misfortune thee surprised and death laid hold on thee,
And set thine honour in the dust and made thy glory flee.
CHORUS
Why stand we idle any more, why wait we further here I
Let us forthwith unto the bower of our poor mistress fare,
That there we may her funeral make with every sign of woe,
And that there fail no rite which we have power to bestow.
But as for this vile heartless wretch, as he lies, let him sta¡
lfhat he, as is most justly due, be left for dogs a prey.
Lift her, my maidens, tenderly with all the care ye can.
My eyes, unto misfortune born, what sight is this ye scan!
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DRAMATIS PERSONAE
YÍranrsrr a young man in love with Panórea.
Ar.rxrs, a young man in love with Athoúsa.
PanóRna, a young girl.
Aruoúse, a young girl.
YaNwoúr,rs, an old man, father of Panórea.
PHnosÍNn, an old woman.
AtnRoorrn, a goddess.
ÉRoras, her son.
Maca, a Nereid.
Or.o MaN, priest of Aphrodite.
Pnor,ocuns, spoken by the GopoBss oF THE Corunpy and by Znus
(or rather Arorr,o).
The scene is laid near Mount lda in Crete, about 16oo.
¡ This spelling has been adopted throughout the transiation as a guide to
pronunciation.
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PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY THE, GODDESS OF
THE COMEDY CÍP¿RTS
Courvr it not such a strange event) my honourable lords,
That you are gathered here to-day upon these grassy swards
All suddenlp for, if you think, the cause in me you'll find;
My purpose is of one and all to entertain the mind.
But as I look, I seern to see that you your breathing catch, 5
As eagerly you wait agape my utterance to snatch.
For right it is that I for you should enterrainmenr make,
And what is fair and ravishing unravel for your sake.
For though you might not think it so, a goddess great am I,
Albeit that my dress is coarse and hunrress-like i ply ro
My bow, and o'er my shoulders far my scattered locks are borne,
And men as simple shepherdess from Ida might me scorn.
To me alone the pov¡er is given o'er all the earth to spread
Joys and deiights, from others too to take away rhe dread
Of sorrow, suffering and pain, and ease their aching heart rj
Of all the bitter stings of fate and soften their life's smart.
In other times it was my lot with greater men to dwell,
And of the noblest of mankind I many a tale could tell.
Of many a town I was the guest) was ever present found
At marriage-feasts, at junketings, or ar work's daily round. 20
Never a man I suffered there to stand with features glum,
But all were merry as a bell, no matter what might come.
For one and all, both young and old, on each and every day,
Were bent on mirth, and every sort of pastime and of play.
All the good things they had in store, they strewed with liberal hand
'5
With right good will, as nature's gifts are scattered o'er the land.
As all men with the lights of heaven in equal share are dowered,
'Mongstallalike-a common s¡s¡s-¡þs fruits of earth were showered.
Quarrels, disputes, and mutual strife, of these they nothing knew,
But free from cares and folly's bane in peacefulness they grew, 30
Until they reached a ripe old age unmarred by envy's toothA
happy life those ancient men enjoyed in very sooth!
48 GY P AR IS prologue
But times have changed; I know not how, entered the love of self,,
And men became the slaves of gold, of passion and of pelf.
In train of these there followed close a host of carking cares; 35
A thousand torments wrapped in one, medley of hopes and fears.
'Each for himself and his own hand' was order of the day;
They grasped their own with grip of iron, and others made their prey.
Hence followed tears and bitter strife, miseries without end,
Disasters manifold were seen) and wars and death did blend. 40
So fain was I from these to flee, e'en as from blaze oî frre,
And take my dwelling in the heights or to the woods retire,
Far, far removed from din and cries, which strife and envy spellAye,
and of torments greater far than these my tongue could tell.
My home is now with shepherd wights, a race of nobler breed, 4s
And there from morn to dewy eve to cheerfulness I lead.
Now am I found at marriage feast, and now at merry sport,
Such as on Icla's heights abound, where youths ànd maids resort.
The woods we range in hope therein to chase the fallow deer
Onborne in swiftest flight, or else the wild goat roaming there. 5ó
Much toil indeed you there will find, but grear the joy thus bought.
So now imagine we've returned assembled from such sport.
Our looks are wearied, but each one upon his face betrays
The satisfaction of the chase, though bought with toilsome days.
And thus returned from thickets dense, nolv at our ease we sit St
lfo view the marriage of two maids, with ceremony fit.
Untamed of heart you will them see, but by their mien and skill
I vow they will the minds of all with longing for them fill.
I promise you a sight of joy ancl entertainment great)
I promise what your ears will hear will you with pleasure sare. 6o
Therefore I beg you hush your talk, if you have ought to say,
And with attention rapt to lend your ears to me to*day.
For if you full attention pay I promise you delight,
And when you homewards wend your way you'll talk about this sight,
Which on your honourable selves Mount lda hath bestowed- 65
This will afford you theme of talk upon your homeward road.
You'll witness be, as I have said, of twofold wedding joy,
Fulfilled with ceremony due and bliss without alloy.
Before you part you'll have the sight of Aphrodite's grace;
You'll see how she will send her boy-like her so fair of face- ro
prologue GYPARIS 49
For those two maidens to make search, and when he them has found,
To shoot an arrow to their heart and bring them to the ground,
That therewithal he may abase their haughtiness and pride;
In place of harshness in their hearts kindness will then preside.
When he has set within their breast the scorching of love's ß,ame, 75
Then will these maidens two â new unlooked for passioq tame.
Tormented with the pangs of love of their own will they'll burn,
And quickly with affection's fire towards their lovers turn,
Whom erstwhile they with high disdain so scorned ând cast away'
That each alike with his own hand was fain himself to slay. 8o
The cause of this high miracle was Aphrodite's might,
Who, with her son, these maidens' hearts with all her power did smite,
And make them change their bitterness and cruel thoughts of scorn,
And of this change that I have told these wedding joys were born'
But lo! a lover cometh forth, and tears are in his eyes;, s5
'Tis Yíparis the love-lorn swain, if rightly I surmise.
'Tis he i¡ ¡¡u¡þ-¡sw listen well and you shall quickly hear
How great the longing is of those who lovers' pains do bearSo
now I wish long life to youi Yíparis has reached the well,
There he'll begin with his own lips his tale of woe to tell. 90
PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY THE GOD ZEUS
(or rather Aeor.r.o)
How great the love I bear to your my honourable dames,
My highborn maids, whom beauty's self with all her graces frames;
How much I prize your persons fair, with loveliness bedight,
Each one of you can reckon well in gazing on this sight
\Mhich I have furnished for your sake and granted you to see) 95
Seated at ease and from all care and pangs of heart set free.
Such entertainment rich and rare no mortal upon earth
Could of his own unaided powers have brought unto the birth.
But now methinks the time is come my nature to declare,
That I may pleasure thereby give and entertainment fair' roo
I am that one who without rest go rolling through the sky
And to the heavens and the earth daily my light supply'
'Tis I that foster growth on iand, without me nought is made,
Nothing can thrive apart from me, nothing without my aid.
I
z+o GYPARIS Prologue
Without me nought in its own grâce can in perfection stand, ro5
For, as you seer all plants and blooms and fruits of every land,
lfrees great and small by me have birth and to perfection grow,
By me are carried to their prime all things that men's hands sow.
These with the beauty of their garb adorn the whole wide earth,
From these a thousand sweetest scents spring to their lovely birth. rro
Not oniy what the eye can see, as on the land it rests,
But also what the earth conceals deep hidden in her breasts
Canby my power alone exist; thus every priceless gem,
The gold of beauty paramount, the pearls whose circlets hem
Fair ladies' necks, those rings I see with richest jewels beset, rr5
That in their thousands glitter here, these nothing can beget
Save me and me alone; all things that ocean's depths comprise,
All things that heaven holds aloft before men's wondering eyes,
The stars that glitter in its floor, the moon with silver light,
lfhese wondrous tr€asures are all mine, and mine by maker's right. ."o
But, maidens, if you would by signs my nature better know,
Turn not to view the violets and flowers that round you blow,
Turn not to fruits nor to the trees; let each the s¡þs¡ vis\¡/Your
heads with crowns of golden hair will give you answer true,
And tell you that'tis I alone those goiden locks bestow r2s
And deign to make those beauties rare around your persons grow.
I am that sun which shines so bright; no matter what the care
With which a maiden seeks to hide the charms which she doth wear
By this means or by that needs be that I shall spy her grace, '
Whether she stand at open door or lurk in secret place. r3o
At least I must detect the gleam when golden hair is spread,
Or mark the fall of drying locks o'er snow-white shoulders shed.
But since I stand before you here bereft of my bright rays,
I know full well with wonderment you must direct your gaze.
Ladies, it is not as you think; those rays of mine are there, r35
But you have quenched them with the blaze of this your beauty rare.
The brightness of your face and eyes, the brilliance of your grace
In murk of darkness have suficed my splendour to efface.
Nay more than that, you dart at me a thousand scorching fires
So that my heart all shrivelled is and withering expires. r+o
Thus I, who of my own sole right, fire on the earth bestow,
Within my breast, because of you, find thousand fires aglow.
¡
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Prologue GVPARIS z+r
But now f must the cause explain why you are mustered here;
So dames of peerless beauty list whilst I rhe cause declare.
A maid of fair maids fairest tarrþy morrals Daphne hight 4s
came ro this earth and sojourned here with wondrous teauty dight.
How great that beauty was my tongue ventureth not to tell,
o
Enough to say it made me leave the heavens here to dwell.
f came to earth, and at her feet I threw myself her thrall,
With all my po\l¡ers of utteranc_e I begged her hear *y
"uíl
r jo
And pity take upon my pain; if words do not her moíe,
Then let my countless groans and tears my deep affectián prove,
But she was hard and pitiless and fled from my å.rir";
All that she deigned bestow on me were torments, scoffs and ire.
Since ev-ery day I saw her will harder and harder grow, rsj
At last I purposèd to take what she would not best-ow.
One day I chased her far aparr into a shady dell,
Where, as I deemed, I could effect what Í desiied full well.
When lo! she turned her eyes to heaven and cried .Lend
me thy aid;
Y_e gods protect my chastity, succour a helpless maid,. t6o
Ah me ! what marvel then befell, straightway her feet take root
Doyl in the earth, above, her hands far sepårated shoot,
And branches sprout forth far and wide, and leafy ciusters grow,
And in an instant a whole tree its form complete doth shori.
ll-hus changed, she still was Daphne called-the bay now bears her
name, 165
which first appeared for sake of her'; then I o'erwhelmed with shame
Back to my native heaven returned, e'en there to suffer pain
Deep in my inmost heart, nor yet can I thenceforth refåin
From_visiting (as each year comes) this lower earth again,
lfhat I may press her in my arms and by that bay-tree-kneel, r7o
whose leaves sweet-scented from that time as ïreath my'forehead
seal.
Thus is it I am here to-day-alas! my bitter lotTo
carry out my wonred task at thai sad-memoried spot.
So. when to-fda's slopes I came, it chanced I heard *"r, ,uy
Thattwo-fold marriage of two maids would here be s.., to-d"y. ,75
The brides are shepherd-maids of birth; for this I've su*åo.,.à
Iou¡
That ye too 'mid these mountain heights may this twin marriage view.
¡
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2+2 Gv P ARIS Prologue
For Aphrodite's self will come to Pseloritë's height;
Her purpose is to send her son that with a love-god's might
For ihese two maidens'sake he may.shoot forth his powerful dat'ts, r8o
And, launching arrows from his bow, unite the loverst hearts.
And other entertainment too I promise you will see
That in these thickets will befall-a pastime rare 'twill be.
But now I take my leave of you, for Yíparis comes forth,
And sounds are on his lips that tell of maiden's cruel wrath. r85
But I do pass my word that ere this theatre's bounds you leave,
You'll find that he on her account hath little cause to grieve.
í
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F
ACT ONE
YÍp¿nrs and A¡,nxrs
vÍp¡nrs
O rurcrrrs dense of shady woods, do you my presence shun,
For fear my many sighs and groans may scorch you one by one.
For in my breast I feel the flame as of a blazing fire,
And fiery words fall from my lips in bitterness of ire.
Full well those lips may fuel find to feed that burning flame; s
I fear me they may fill the world with coals that none can tame.
Ye fountains, let youf fresh supplies of cooling water sink,
And let them run to deepest depths and from their surface shrink,
For fear my words may parch them up; and you, my hapless sheep,
Feed on no blade of grass whereon my footsteps pacing keep. ro
For these mF tears that from my heart in bitterness upspray
Will poison drop whdre'er they fall and take your life away. .
O lda, noblest mountain height, where shepherd swains resorr
In hours of joy and merriment to carry on their sport,
To-day I must thee farewell bid, and hie me to a spor 15
Where ne'er a drop of water's found, never of food a jot,
Where wood and precipice abound, and plains are bare of grass,
Where yawn deep caverns, thither I will go my life ro pass,
That nevermore mine eyes may see rhe bright light of the day,
But that these too in sunless cave dark as my heart may stay_ zo
Those eyes which erst did look upon my lady's lovely face,
And first a hope-¿ lying hope, within my heart did place.
That hope inspired my being's whole and cannot pass away)
But with the pangs of baflecl love embedded deep doth stay.
Now it consumeth me like fire, now pierces me like dart, 25
Now with the image of her face tortures my longing heart.
In my despite still nature's force preserves for me my life
And keeps me suffering love's fell smart and passion's endless strife,
That others too, from sight of me, their sufferings may alla¡
E'en thep who like myself 'gainst love bitter complaints array. 30
From this I can full plainly see no sorrow's like to mine;
None can with equal right o'er love's perplexities repine.
R2
H
2++ GYPARIS .4CI ONC
ALEXIS
Who is the shepherd that I see I He drives his flock of sheep
Adown the slope of yonder dell. The tears which his eyes weep
Seem to drop poison on the grass. How bitter his complaints 35
O'er fortune's miserable lot, how he her outrage paints!
Ah ! can it be there lives to-day anorher hapless wight
Who loathes his life, a yictim too to fate's unending spite ?
Often I've told myself that none can suffer as I do,
And have his inmost marrow burned, consumèd through and
through. +o
How many times I've ta'en an oath, as I walked to and fro,
That none could equal torture bear and suffer equal blow.
But now I see that he too cries, with groans that never cease,
And in despair of all things here he prays for death's release.
I fain would hear from yonder lips what utterances fall; +s
If any sorrow like to mine can his sacl heart appal.
But if my passion does not blind the vision of mine eyes,
-lhat passion which from hour to hour torment to me supplies,
He's Yíparis, for whom erstwhile the shepherd maids inquired,
Who in their hearts such yearnings roused and praises loud inspired;
That Yíparis who never feit a pang the livelong day, jr
But always merry rÃ/as and bright, and ever seemèd gay.
And now, strange hap ! he calls himself the most unhappy wighr,
And like myself with tears and groans walketh in bitter plight.
Ho Yíparis! Come tell me true, as thou dost hope one day 5j
Our Lord may make these miseries and tortures pass awaF,
What is the cause that these deep sighs and groans in thee hath wrought)
That of the quitting of men's sight desire to thee hath brought ?
Turn thee and mark who questions thee . . . a truce awhiie tã tears,
It may be you physician find to heal your heartfelt fears, 6o
vÍp¿nrs
Alexis, listen not to-day to this my flood of words;
Seek not to know the cause which me such bitter grief affords.
For, as f deem, there lives on earth no beast however wild
That would not shed a copious floocl, by sympathy beguiled,
Of tears, when he my torture heard, that never man can pen, 65
And listened to my sighs and groans that pass all human ken.
¡lct One GYPARIS z+s
ALEXIS
I too, friend Yíparis, am sure in sorrow's school well trained,
And had you known what misery I likewise have sustained,
You would have bid your grief farewell, by side of mine when set,
You would have termed it miracle that I am living yet. 70
For I have seen the very sun a thousand times stand stiil,
Listening to my sad tale of woe, his eyes with tears to fill.
YÍPARIs
The sun I never saw stand still my tale of grief to hear,
But I have ofttimes seen the rocks and trees themselves prepare
To {ee away lest they should hear my bitter groans and sighs 7 s
And all the unfathomable grief that in my heart,s depths liãs.
But since the sound my sobbing makes has led you here to me,
My passion's course I will unfo-ld, that you the reason see.
A snow-white forehead and two eyes as a clear sapphire bright,
Two lips of coral red, two hands as glittering marble white, 8o
A neck as crystal free from flaw, bosom and breasts that shine
Like purest silver, golden hair, Nereid's grace divineAll
these united in one frame of perfect beauties blent
Have kindled in my heart ablaze whose fury's never spent.
A tongue and laugh like angel's soft, but dragon's heart, f wis- s5
These soon will hurl me to the depths of bottomless abyss.
.A.LEXIS
I guessed, my friend, it was the love of some fair slender maid
That was with all this torment fierce and flood of grief repaid.
We t#ain have both the same disease. . . . But tell me, what's the r.rame
Of her who's kindled in your breast this never resting flamel go
Hide it not from me, I do beg since, for our friendship's sake,
It ill beseems that twixt us two we should a secret make.
YIPARIS
Paint to yourself the hardest heart, the cruellest of maids,
The proudest sort that ever walked here amid lda's gladesThat
is the one whom fate decrees should be for me my love, 95
lfhat I thereby the tortures which the love-god deals should prove.
Knowst thou Panórea-[ ¡¡s¿¡ agèd Yannorllis' girl I
ALEXIS J
Of course I know her; one and all alike know well that pearl,
lü
2+6 GVPARIS Åct One
YÍP-ARrs
She is the maid who in her bonds holds fast in thrall my heart,
'Tis she that set my limbs on fire and kindled every part. roo
She is the object of my lover'tis she whom f pursue,
'lfis she because of whom ne'er rest can corre within my view.
She is the one that hateth me and from my converse turnst
She is it who as burdensome my loyal service spurns.
'Tis she who brings me wretchedness and makes me weep and sigh,
And causeth me to hate my life and for my death to cry. ¡o6
'Tis for her sake I walk all bent, and from delights do fly,
And leaving pleasant spots instead to savage haunts I hie.
For her my heart within my breast is as a lighted fire,
For her, though living as it seems, I thousand times expire. rro
For her sleep never visits me, for her I beat my breast,
For her I suffer hourly death, tortured at her behest.
For her my eyes inflamèd are, Íor her they're never dry,
For her I weep and utter moans and bitterly do cry.
Her hands have taken me; her eyes have on me fetters set, rr j
It is her words have tangled me within the love-god's net.
It-hat god has sentence on me passed-¿ death of cruel pain,
And nevermore from out his hands can I my freedom gain.
My end I wait for; ah! I pray, rnay that end hasten on,
For then my body from distress will have its freedom won. î2o
Despite all this tharcruel girl to me no pity shows,
lfhough well she sees that for her sake I faint 'neath countless
blows.
Nay rather, at my boundiess pain, I see her cheerful turn,
And greater pleasure 's on her face the fiercer I do burn.
It seems she thrives upon my grief and draws life from my woe; rzs
For every pang I feel, for her draughts of refreshment flow.
A smile from me brings bitterness, my joy 's a source of pain,
If I am healthful, then to her my health is but a bane.
She is not tamed by honied words, nor softenecl by my cries;
Nay all the more with every cry feeling of pity dies. r3o
For any service I perform ingratitude I find;
She's deaf to prayers, and unsurpassed for cruelty of mind.
Four four long years have passed away in tender wooings vain,
With every passing year I see her harder still remain.
,{ct One GVPARIS
I waste my breath, I waste my toil, I waste my service true,
And nearer still with every year the end of life I view'
2+7
135
ALEXIS
With time, howe'er, the marble block by dripping water's bored,
With
time e'en iron through eating rust is with deep furrows scored'
With time the lion untamable you yet discover tame,
W'ith time upon the fiercest steed they fix the bridle's frame. r4o
And so in her case too will time its taming powers provet
As she doth mark your weeping eyes and furnace heat of love'
If you address her day by day, your passion may appeal
To tt"t hard heart, and at the last she may some pity feel'
Words, as they sayr upon a time did bring the heavens to stoPr r45
Words hrve ih" power to cause the sun from his high place to
drop.
Therefore I do not you account so utterly undone;
O would my lot and yours by fate with equalness were spun !
For I do love and burn away, I suffer and I yearn,
Yet to no prospect of relief can my eyes ever turn. rJo
For I too fearful am and weak to show my love my pain,
In hope thereby from pitying heart some healing to obtain'
So yo,, from me to-day, Í think, some comfort may deriver.
trr, ihrt my case is worse than yours; me greater torments drive'
You know that fire which hidden is more deadly far doth burn, r55
And sickness that remains concealed at last to death will turn'
YÍPARIS
You have no right to say' my friend, so far as f can see,
That you are to misfortune born and weep in misery' .
For júst as oft as you desire, you may your love behold,
And from that sight of beauty you comfort can win untold' 16o
You may her accents listen to and harken to her song
ifhe thousand pleasures that these give to you of right belong;
But as for me, what comfort can the sight of my eyes gain,
lvhat respite can these weary limbs ever for me obtain I
For she *ho holdt within hèr hands the keys of all my brain 165
Has robbed me even of my sense and rent my heart in twain'
Never in all these many years her beauteous face I've seen
Turn to me with compassionate look or sympathizing mien'
I
t
2+8 GYPARIS lct one
And neyer haye those lips of hers bestowed but one sweet word;
Nay rather, they have ta,en an oath to slay me like a sword. rzo
Although I have the sight
"f
håi;åtgo where,er she go,
Although I listen to her song and woids which from t-.. Ro*,
Of what avail is this to *", lh^t pleasure can f prove,
Since never have I hope at all to win the maidenls love I
I fear to tell her how the flames of passion in me burn, r7S
Lest she my-friendship ban and pain redoubled thus .",urr.
a: ,:u,. and fearr. as you do hear, together meet in me,
And these combined cause me to live a life of *is.ry.
Ïu,,ut,l.:
you, my friend, you know the very rears you weep
And all the torments you èndure your lady tn."rfut k".p. ' r8o
Your fortune's such that you sho,,id pay tlianks to the heavens above;
For you do something thát can giu. *árt pleasure to your love.
yÍp¿Rrs
Since it gives pleasure to my love, I'll walk about and cr¡
And talk of all the thousanã *rong, of my fell destiny. '
Yet this no comfort, a: you tfrilf<].un biing unto my pains, i8 jBut rather makes the fiercer still the flu-" åy h.urt rurtui.,á.
9..**.
tell me, is it possible that since this gives her iife
I-should abate ought of my pangs and still i,y inward strife I
How can I view her taking joyïher,",., Líg", itt
And not desire to end my iiie änd th,_,s my fate fulûl I i9o
]Iitl fyllesr right I bittei am, with right Í h.uu" my sighs,
With right f curse my destiny whichiweetness me denies.
::, u.t for you, you have.no cause to quarrel with your fate,
You have no cause at all to say your iov. is obdurate.
For you have neyer suffered hår'to know you are in love, rg¡
You ne'er have asked her to reward the píssions which yáu .rrou..'
You cannot know the uu"g a"l."nuït'u.,,rru., daily die,
Nor how he ne'er from daily hell th_roughout his tid .u,, ny.
{o¡ you have never known-yourself theie passions t*uin uíit"
_Oj þ1. and fear, as in mysålf they wage ierpetual fight. zoo
With love I burn and everywhere"with"rugini nr. I !low,With fear that measurement defies I u* ur".old as snow.
iì
lct One GYPARIS 2+g
The love which permeates my heart brings with it fiery joy,
The fear brings torments such as those which torturers employ.
Love sets my feet upon the road, fear has the power to slayi 2o5
Love twines my lady round my heartr fear drags her far away.
Love gives my tongue free rein and power to utter gladsome praise,
Fear in my mouth a bridle sets and all my utterance stays.
Thus in one breath I faint and dare, I hope and am afraid,
And then no better than a block of senseless stone am made. zÍo
I turn in hope that to my love my passion I'll displa¡
And for the nonce to my desire I cannot say me nay.
Then I change front, and when the prize seems all but in my grasp,
I suddenly let slip and turn from that I fain would clasp.
And restlessly my darting mind now here, now there, I turn, 2rs
And in a veritable hell of flaming passion burn.
But you, though pained, know well the mark at which your aim is set,
And so by dint of tears you can relief from pain beget.
These woods all day where'er you walk with your complaints resound;
The name of your hard-hearted one the echoes bear around. 2zo
Thereby you win a little ease for this your burdened heart,
And for a while the bitter plague of thinking can depart.
For well 'tis known that those in love on comfort can rely,
If they repeat their lady's name and weep her cruelty.
yÍp¡nrs
Alexis, never passion's heat or weeping can avail 2zS
To soothe men's torments-all the more for this the pangs prevail
And wring the tender heart; can you with fire hope fire to quench,
Or, fain to dry a spring, do you that with more water drench I
llhis miracle which you allege was ne'er by mortal seen;
Never by copious floods of tears a lover soothed his spleen. 23o
.{LEXIS
Well, if you know your weepings can in nought avail your state,
llo still the torments of your heart or lighten its duil weight,
W'hat reason is there why you should continue thus to fret,
And to no purpose worry her, and torment thus beget I
yÍpenrs
Torment I give her, hoping thus no aid untried to leave 4s
Before my passions of life's powers me utterly bereave.
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25o GYPARIS Åct One
It is a bitter thing for men without re$/ard to moil;
None but an enemy would grudge some recompense for toil.
Alexis, stand aside awhile, and give me place to speak
Unto this agèd dame I spy, and from her counsel seek. 24o
Depart, Alexis, I would beg ere she catch sight of thee,
For, as I deem, she has come forth in search alone of me.
ALEXIS
I leave thee now; but let me have again with thee converse,
lfhat thus in mutual feliowship our woes we may rehearse.
(fIere enters agèd Pøxos*Nn, and says:)
PHROSYNE
He knoweth nought of weariness and of tormentings dire 245
Who ne'er hath set his feet upon the road of love's desire.
In times long since when I was young and was but still a maid,
I suffered all the buffets which make men of love afraid.
I saw that many \¡/ere in love and burned with fire for me,
Ancl I for love of others bore a load of misery. 2io
Nor yet do e'en in my ripe age these pangs from me depart,
For ofttimes still the love-god shoots his arrows to my heart;
And ofttimes too when I turn round and young men fair espy,
The tears unbidden rise again and fall down from my eye.
I say 'O could those years return, those years that.are long past!' 255
And pra¡ fond fool, that pleasures long departed still may last.
vípenrs (aside)
I see the saw of ancient times m y yet full true be held,
That what is learned in childhood's years is still retained in eld.
PHROSYNE
But now I'm old f 've lost my strength, and if I love a man,
I must my passion deep conceal and hide it best I can. z6o
The snow that's sprinkled o'er my hair, the wrinkles on my face,
Make all men shrink from sight of me, no matter what their place.
One scrap of comfort still I have, that I have heard men tell
That down this valley, hard beside what they cail the White Well,
ifhere dwells an agèd shepherd man, now quite o'ergrown with eld,
Who from a child with magic arts close conversation held. 266
He knows full well the talk of birds, as f have heard men sa¡
When they return home from their flight and sweetly chant their lay.
lctone GVPARIS 25r
He understands the reason why the swallows sadly sing
l{nd -orn the hardness of their lot, as they come on the wing' z7o
Ño rnrr,". what the herb you choose, he knows its secret spell;
For every sickness he to you fit remedy can tell'
Of herbs-and milk, as they do say' he a rich unguent takes)
And with that unguent miracles that pass belief he makes'
Bald headsrl when it is smeared, with locks straightway grow snowy
white, 27 5
And ancient dames renew their youth and joy in youth's delight'
This is the man I'm seeking now in hope that for a fee
He may the unguent give, that I once *9t-t- *y youth may see;
That young men may together flock and follow as before,
And give ,to lou" and honour me with homage as of yore' z8o
YÍPARrs (aside)
I trow that she has lost her wits; once in some dreamt perchance,
She had a vision and now tells what she saw in that trance'
PHROSíNE
I will not now commit the fault I wrought when I was girl'
Wl.ren at the sight of any man my lips were wont to curl'
Well I r"^emb1r how my heart suffered repenting shocks' 285
When first my mirror did reveal the graying- of my locks'
Never will 'yåa' from off my lips be absent fot a ðay,
That word to each and every one with cheerfulness I'll say'
O oruy that unguent have tËe power me snow-white locks to give'
And once again"amid the fair grant me the power to iive! 2go
YíPARrs (asîde)
I think, poor hag, when you have once that famous ointment found'
You'll look like blackeneá chimney-pot, just clug up from the ground !
PHROSfNE
I think I heard the sound of voice' ' ' ' W'hoever can it be
Who iistens to my words and talks to otl.rers about me I
I fancy it is Yípaiis, who's anxious I should teil 2s5
Whetúer I've làtely talked with her who makes his life a hell'
I There would seem to be a play on the name of the Madaras mountains
ir-, WoiCr.t". Cf. Xanthoudidis;s note in B1z. Neugr. J airò., vol. ä' p' 77 .
252 GYPARIS
vípenrs
Áct One ¡lct)ne GYPARIS 253
A thousand fires shone from her eyes and darted at me straight;
Their mark was this poor heart of mine, wounded so oft by fate. yo
So thus the tortures I had borne once more upon me camei
The flame with yet a fiercer heat passed through and through my
frame.
Then after I had groaned aloud a thousand times ancl more,
When from my eyes a bitter stream of tears began to pour,
J bowed my head unto the ground, and all alert to please, ß5
I oped my lips to sweetest strain and uttered words like these.
'Pan6rea, O my lacly sweet, white as the driven snow,
Whose limbs are round, whose face with light as of the moon doth
glow,
W-hy is it that within thine hand thou dost thy bow thus bear,
For of themselves thine eyes have power, being exceeding fair, 34o
Far more than any feathered shaft, to work a deadly harm
To that poor wight who, turning round, is smitten with their charm I
But if by chance thou knowest not, lad¡ thy dreadful might,
Just bend thine eyes upon myself and see this harrowing sight.
See how my heart is shrivelled up) see how to life I'm lost, 3+s
See, my Nereid, how my love I hold with bitter cost.
O show of pity but a touch, and make that bitter sweet,
And let my burning limbs awhile with cool refreshment meet.
Or, if this may not be) at least let me the death-blow gain,
That once for all this tortured frame may lose its racking pain.' 35o
pr¡nosÍxn
More moving words I never heard than those you just now spake;
But tell me what reply did she to your petition make I
YÍPARIS
Phrosytre, in reply to me of words she gave not one,
But her fair fäce a thousand shapes and changing hues put on.
Now in its whiteness purest snow, now glowing like red coal; 35s
E'en now, methinks, before mine eyes I can recall the whole.
As I the picture summon up, a shudder shakes my healt,
As though this moment to the realms of hell I must depart.
PHROSfNE
Such harshness I avouch I ne'er in any maicl have seen,
Since I was born and on the earth a sojourner have been. 360
Phros;íne, what are you about, alone in parts like these I
þ ttls the care you're wonr to take your faithful friends to please I
Perchance, to have a word with her, panîrea you have soughtI
never deemed that you so soon would put me fiom your thought ! 3oo
PHROSfNE
l\{y faith! I have been on the run for her since yester night;
No grassy sward f 've left unsearched, no meadow green ãnd bright.
And thanks to her these thickets now f 'm trampinf here and thãre,
And lreaven, to put her in my way, importune with my prayer.
vÍp¿nrs
Ah me! once on a time you twain inseparable were found, 3o5
But now it seems as though she were quite swallowed by ihe ground.
You cannot search whole-heartedly . . . ,twas in this veiy glaõe
She and Athoúsa yesterday with me a meeting made !
Never did she so winsome seem as then with her f met,
Never before had she my heart so fiercely blazing set! 3ro
Her locks a little with the wind rqere scattered 'bout her head,
Like some fair Nereid she the light of her great beauty shed.
So dazzling was her beauty's blaze, so angelic was hei mien,
lfhat e'en the sun himself, methinks, was clarkened with her sheen,
Tl. y-.ly heights and very glades desired that she should stay; 3rs
The hills gave place that she might pass unhampered on herïay.
The meadows decked themselves with flowers, the herbage gliste'ed
bright,
The trees thick-clustered were with fruit, each prant showecl its
delight;
The birds sent forth a merry note, the caves their echoes made,
All living creatures honoured her; the rocks their homage paiá. 3zo
The clouds their shaclows lent and her with their refreshmã,-ri dowered,
And for her sake the forests wild no longer threatening lowerecl.
And as she went upon her way a song she sweetly sang;
lfhe very heavens stayed their course and listened u, it ,*ng.
Such was the grace she wore that f was, as I gazed, afraid 3zs
That Zeus himself might rend the sky and snatch away the maid.
'ifwas then I saw too well that Loye drew to the full his bow,
That thousand arrows through my heart might swiftly-wingèci go.
{r
25+ GYPARIS lct One
But, Yíparis, don't be too sad, I make thee promise true¡
If she were wilder than she is I would the maid subdue.
First I will try her with fair words and use the power of speech,
In hope to win her quietly and thus her duty teach.
But if my words can nought avail, then I will show her clear 36s
How potent old Phrosy'ne's arts of magic lore appear!
I draw the stars from heaven to earth and bring the sun to stand,
I raise a perfect veil ofcloud and cover all the land,
I make a hurricane of wind and shores with tempest shake,
And with a single word I cause the solid earth to quake. s1o
And now does this one silly girl think to escape my power I
Let her beware; she'll find her work was done in evil hour.
yípenrs
Three thousand sheep I have, which I took to me as my lot
From out my brother's heritage (the barren I count not),
Each with its silver bell-all these I will present to thee, 37 s
E'en though I know that after that nought would be left to me
Save but to beg my bread, if thou wilt cause the maid to bend
And to these sufferings of mine wiltput a speedy end.
PHROSYNE
I warrant me thou'lt get the girl, and what's more, have thy sheep,
And with Panórea arm in arm proud company wilt keep. 38o
I don't require the sheep-to me they'd be a perfect bore;
I'd like a bowl of nice fresh milk-just that and nothing more.
yipenrs
Milk and the freshest of cream cheese, sausages and a ham,
All else besides in that poor house of which I master am
Are at your bidding as if you a favourite sister were. 3Bs
I'll love you better than myself, with you I'11 all things share.
PHROSYNE
I'm quite aware of the goodwill and gratitude you feel,
As you on your part cannot fail to mark my eager zeal.
vÍp¿nrs
Well now I'm off my sireep to tend; to you I leave the task,
Nothing f 'm sure, you will omit that passionate love can ask. 3go
I need not now again tell o'er the tale of all my pain;
My wasting body witnesses the torments I sustain.
l
/ct One GVPARIS
PHROSçNE
255
g6 now, my son, we'll say farewell; I'll take your task in hand,
Ere long you'll see with what success I've heeded your command'
YÍPARIS
Ileave you then, good dame; may you right many years yet live' ¡gs
PHROSÍNE
Good luck to you; to your behest I'll speedy answer give'
(Exit Y fua*rs : PsnosíNn sPea Ès :)
I'm sure if oniy the poor men full well could understand
In what u *eli"r womenkind åf passionate longing stand,
But very few, as he to-day, would bathed in tears be found,
Nor would the words 'hard-hearted girl' and 'ingrate' thus resound'
No need would be for men to woo with groans and sighs and tears, 4ot
Rather the other way about-they'd hear their humble prayers'
For as I deem there's not a maid in the whole wide world's span
\Mho does not long within her heart for mating with a man,
Who does not ardently desire that thousand rnen rnay g ze +os
And fall in love at sight and all her charming beauties praise'
For this you see them sit all day and comb their lovely hair,
And for the decking of their locks garlands of flowers prepare'
With saffron-stain their hair they dye, and then again confined
In curling clusters these same locks they in fair order bind 4ro
About thãir forehead; all their thought is bent upon the task
Of finding something every hour which their defects may mask'
They batñe themselves and paint with rouge and use the aid of scent,
They mince their words and with much art pleasing replies present'
With cunning art their lovely eyes uow here now there they turn, 415
And every po\¡/er they muster up the heart of man to burn'
With sweet soft notes they sing a song) and softest laughs devise,
And all but ask the men to turn and look into their eyes'
Above they make display of breast, of ankle down below,
And in tháir waik they all their grace and charm of movement show.
And if they dowered were with power to walk the earth above, 4"
If they had wings to fly to heaven and through the-breezes move,
They;d do so with a great delight, if only they could please
The race of youths; ih" p"ngt of grief never their bosoms seize
256 GVPARIS ÁCt ONC
With more heart-devastating power, with a more fell effect, 4zs
Than in that awfullest of hours, when first they musf suspect
That there's another woman who surpasses them in charm,
And when her rival beauty's lure inspires them with alarm.
For then they see that men begin on them their backs to turn,
And that no more the sight of them the power has to burn. 43o
But yet the yearning of their hearts, where passions deep reside,
By thousand shifts they seek to quell and buried deep to hide.
They force their nature to a change-that's why they walk about
With head upturned disdainfully and make believe to flout
The man they love and all he says; they put on mien severe qs
And try to driye their lover to the depths of hell,s despair.
But if the men had but the sense to try a change of tune,
They'd see the maids come round and drink the bitter cup full soon.
You'd see them following the men, you'd see them fall to tears,
And beg them with their pretty lips ro smooth away their fears. 4+o
They'd stop their pranks and quickly cease now hot now cold to blow;
Like kine well tamed behind the buils they would sedately go.
And day and night they would keep up a low and plaintive moan)
And o'er thc harshness of their lords continually groan.
f too a woman am, and well, being a woman, know 4+s
How fierce within a \iloman's heart the flame of love can glow.
\A/hene'er she walks, whene'er she sits, whene'er she rests in bed,
Her mind is eyer by the god of love a captive led.
And just as oft their eyes they turn to view a young man's face,
Thrills of desire through every limb and through their being race. 45o
When they the laugh see on his face and hear the song he sings,
Throughout their breast the stroke of love unmeasurable rirrgs.
END OF ACT ONE
A CT TWO
(Enter Yanxoúr.rs, the aged herdsman, alone.)
To match a woman in the world I creature never saw,
I swear by
^y
own name of John, for lying without law!
In the whole realm of nature sure her like you'll never find,
For without conscience they are bent on plaguing their menkind.
The goats yield rnilk and follow you obedient to your shour, 5
The mares, though they race here and there and kick their heels
about,
Yet soon by training come to hand, tamer than any sheep¡
But as fe¡ y¡ç¡¡s¡-training them can ne'er in tameness keep.
They're never taught to be content, but grumble all the day;
'llhey wrangle, shriek ancl nag away-in short the madman play. ro
'lllrey at their husbands look awry and torture out their life;
They're at it all the harder when these don'r feel fi.t for strife.
For if they note he 's not in mood for joining in a scrap,
They glut themselves with what they want, and do not care a rap.
They grouse and grumble-in that mood you may look out for squalls¡
Insults you'Il hear from early morn till dewy evening falls. t6
For food thát 's well in kitchen cooked they quite disdain in sooth;
'Sausage and ham alone', say they, 'are fit for human tooth'.
'O would ', they crp 'our husbands might of blood a vessel burst,
When \Ã/e are ready for a drink, to satisfy our thirst!' zo
But now suppose a different scene; the husband has come up
From tending of his beasts, ancl hopes at home to take his sup.
He finds no trace of bread and food within the larder's store,
No fire, no water, but instead untidiness galore.
The mistress of the house he sees and she sits bathed in tears, 25
And spins hard by some wrinkled hag, hunchbacked and full of years.
But should her husband something bring, she throws it straight awa¡
And goes off to her female friends, how poor she is to say;
How she to man that's good-for-nought is tied up as a wife,
And sighs or smiles a sickly smile, and says she 's tired of life. 30
From this I reckon that a man is brother to an ass,
When I remember what a life of woe he 's doomed to pass.
!¿.
1.
zSB GYPARIS ,{ct Two
She breaks his noddle with her whims and stubborn-hearted mien,
With her incessant nagging and with her malicious spleen.
And through her goings on and through her ill-disposèd mind 3-t
A thousand torments every day for his drear life she'll find.
And if she had the strength, I'm sure, she'd throw him to the ground
And pull his beard out, or with stick give him a drubbing sound.
I thank the Lord of Heaven above that widower I bide,
And old man that I am from such a torment free reside. 40
No man, f ween, would than myself fortune have had more mild,
Had I not had the luck to be father of female child.
For she with woman's nature is but all too well endowed,
And of her devilish archer-art inordinately proud.
When lightning gleams and thunder roars and eartir seems like to
crash, 4s
She never turns a hair, but for her hunting makes a dash.
To-day she rose before the dawn had kindled light of day,
And ere one could be ware of it a-hunting was away.
The time for breakfast is well past; no sign of her I mark,
And so my mind is full of fears and of forebodings dark. 50
I fear me that some shepherd wight her all alone has found,
And without shame has her assailed and thrown her to the ground,
And ta'en from her her honour fair and ruined her for life;
No bridegroom will she e'er obtain, never the name of wife.
A thousand shepherds make her love, pursue like hounds the hind;
What think you they will do if her they unprotected find I s6
AIas ! I'mquitewornoutwithcare. ... Buthark ! whatsoundsarethese
That strike my ears I Must be, I fear, my daughter hither flees
Before their onslaught. . . , Ah!she raves and bites her arrows'ends
And breaks her shafts in passion; this some great mishap portends. 6o
Out upon it for iny cruel fate and for my prospect drear,
Ifthey have done the thing to her that I just now did fear!
(Enter Pewónna)
p¿¡lónn¿
Never again, how long I live, will I a-hunting go,
Since I haye let a deer like that escape my trusty bow!
Out on it! \Mith what toil and moil I've chased him from yon height;
How often have I driven him downward in headlong flight! 66
/¿ Two GYPARIS 259
But with the speed of wind he ran and hid him in the brake,
Ánd ro* wild beasts will find him out or dogs their victim make.
Fo, I u* sure my arrow struck and dealt some deadly wound,
And
ro* he lies somewhere and gasps his life out on the ground. 7o
vaN¡{oúLrs (aside)
You little devil, what a waste ! You should have struck home true,
Or, if not that, at least you might have saved the shaft you drew.
paNónn¿
Why 'tis my father I ess ¡þs¡s-looking for me, I bet;
And from his dulcet tones I judge a wigging I shall get!
YeNwoú¡,rs
Panórea, where have you been ? In some oudandish spot' 75
You never rest a minute still or care for honre a jot.
I warrant me you have been up to something none too good;
That's why you've been out all alone, resorting to the wood.
Since the first break of morning lightr I've had no peace or rest'
But spent my time in chasing you like missing goat o'er crest. 8o
P¿¡,¡ónn¿
And pray whatever do you want with this superfluous toil ì
Why ever shouid you after me through wood a¡rd thicket moil I
veNwoúr,rs
What you want, madam, is a stick well broken on your back;
The ewes have udders fit to burst) just because you are slack.
PANOREA
And please why shoulcl you wait for me to milk your beastly flock ?
Why is it indispensable to make the affair joint-stock ? s0
Y¿lit¡oúr,rs
I know too well the reason why you play this sorry part'
And that is why a hidden sword I bear within my heart.
If only you the virtues shared which your poor mother had!
She never put her work aside to go from bad to bad. 90
But she would spend the live-long day in getting in the hay'
Or else baked bread or plied the sieve or v¡ove till close of day'
Or else she carded wool, or cloth to press did take her stand,
Or all day long you might have t"":"rn" distaff in her hand'
z6o GYPARI S zlct Tq¡o
And such fine linen she did weave, it was a pleasant sight, 95
And e'en the look was charm enough to summon sleep's delight.
I well remember she the goats milked with such skilful touch
That ere I had milked one, from two she had drawn quite as much.
The largest of the goats she'd take and twixt her knees it set,
Then press its udders with sure hand its rich supplies to get. roo
I never saw her equal at the making of cream cheese,
I'or she the cream from out the bowl to the last drop would squeeze.
And if occasionally she saw I did not look my best,
'Yannoúli dear', said she, 'come here and take a little rest.'
Then she would bustle round and put her strength into the task, ro5
And single-handed carry out whatever you could ask.
But I should like to ask what work you do, you chief of drones,
Save to put on your hunting gear upon your lazy bones,
And here and there rampage about with your boon company;
You never bring even a hare for me at home to see, rro
But look you well, Panórea, when you in forest fare,
Lest wandering shepherd may perchance entangle you in snare,
peNónna
Six brothers have I in these hills all scattered round about;
lfhey're swift as eagles: all I need is to give one loud shout,
And they will all with one accord turn Ida upside down. rrs
Who dares approach me, if he thinks he will incur their frown ?
YANNOÚLIS
Not all the brothers upon earth can cover maiden's shame.
So look, Panórea, carefully, I beg, to your good name.
And, putting this aside, wild beasts are roaming all the day ;
So daughter, take good heed they don't one time make you their prey.
p¿Nónn¿
It is my dearest heart's desire with these wild beasts to meet, rzt
If only with these arms in hand I may their onslaught greet.
For then I could my pro\áess test and try my archer skill,
And see how far my arrow points can work the quarry ill.
veNNoúr.rs
A truce to these fond vapourings; let's to the steading fare \zs
To milk the ewes, and see besides what food awaits us there.
r,
!
rl
¡lct Two GYPARIS
par.rónæ¿
z6t
Athorlsa was with me to-da¡ companion in the chase;
I{-e both of us pursued a deer which ran at such a pace
thatwe did lose it. Father dear, please see the milking through,
For I should like to wait awhile and come back with þs¡.-þe. ¡3q
Now be a dear, and keep for us some nice tit-bits to eat,
And then we'll sing you countless songsr and give you such a treat.
YANNOúI,IS
A meal. of dried meat, curdled milk, and cheese and lovely cake,
If you look sharp and back return, we will together take.
So don't be long and your return I will awhile await. r3i
Don't make me hunt a second time the wood by being late.
(-ðøii YaNNorlrrs. P¿Nónne remains alone and vys:)
PANOREA
Through chasing of that deer about, I have quite lost my breath,
Twice in an hour I nearly fell in swoon that seemed like death.
I've got so hot and sweated so that f must in the pool
Bathe by the spring and after that drink some fresh water cool. r+o
(Then she bathes, drinÈs water, and afterwards says:)
Good ! Now I have refreshed myself, I feel inclined for sleep;
I will awhile my wearied limbs in soothing slumber steep.
lfhe plashing of this water cool invites me rest to take;
Athoúsa will be here anon and me from slumber wake.
(Then she lies dor.un and sleeps, and s00n afterwards YÍpanrs
(tpqears and say:)
YÍPARIS
Unhappy that f am, I'm like unto the wounded hind, r+s
Whichrthough she runs nolvherenowtherercan noughtof healing find.
For as that hind, when in her breast the archer's bolt she bears,
Thinking thereby to get relief from what her vitals tears,
Now runs unto the plains, and now to thickets flees from light,
Now plunges into deep ravine, now climbs to mountain height, r5q
Now rushes on) now stands stockstill, now falls and moans with pain,
And all her searchings for relief but greater torments gain;
So 'tis with me, ill-fated one ; for since my mistress' eyes
Have struck a wound deep in my heart that healing powers denies,
262 GYPARIS ,{ct Two
By day, by night, I walk distraught o'er level plain and mead, rss
In thickets dense, oter precipice, where mountain passes lead.
But still no matter where I go, my case is ever worse,
And where I healing hope to find, I but increase my curse.
For wheresoever I do turn, the Love-god 'hind me gets,
And all day long within my heart my lady's image sets. 16o
What is the cause why she to me displays such bitter ire ?
Why does she thus my hapless frame scorch up with burning fire I
'W'hat
slender maid upon the grass is couchèd over there,
W'ho, as it seems, the balm of sleep enjoys without a care?
Ah me! What sight is this I see! 'Fore God, I her behold, ¡65
Who for relief of kindly death makes me pray times untold !
This is the maiden that I love, this is my heart's desire.
My bosom's rent in twain, and all my marrow's scorched with fire.
My limbs have lost their power to rnove, my brain no longer thinks,
My breath stops short and all my frame shudders throughout and
shrinks. r1o
Mine eyes, why are ye bathed in tears I Why fearful, O rny soul I
Why like a reed swayed with the wind trembles my body's whole I
Eyes, are ye not the same which long have found your great delight
To see close by her lovely charms and peerless beauty bright I
Thpn why do ye now shrink away, why look at her with fear ? 17s
Why are ye quenched and lose your strength when ye to her are near I
Approach her without fear, gaze on and take of sight your fill,
And let those charms within your heart take rooting deeper still.
She now lies sleeping free from care nor from l.rer you can drive;
Now is the time in her despite some comfort to derive. r8o
Thine eyes, Panórea, I behold deep laden down with sleep;
Mine are with drops of poison full, and I in misely weep.
Yet those thine eyes, though they are closed, their arrows on me
shower;
They scatter all my wits away and take from me my power.
What is the reason, mistress mine, that thou wilt not consent) r85
As justice should demand, that we as one shoulcl both be blent ?
Why not let my lips touch thine own, those lips as coral red I
\{hy not let both our bodies' frames to one embrace be led I
E'en as two trees together mate a¡rd seem to have one root,
And drawing food from selËsame ground together upwards shoot;
,4¿ Two GYPARIS 269
And though they be not fast conjoined, yet seem to have one fate, t9r
Ñn1. .r. m"n from the earth uproot the one without its mate'
ä lior of sweetness and delight, O breath of rarest scentt
Worf¿ that ye were this day to my desire's fulfilment lent!
Such deep refreshment from those lips would pass into rrty heart' r95
ihat alt my pains and torturings would instantly depart'
O blades of grass so green and fresh, which, whiter than the snow,
the limbs of a Nereid press with all their youthful glow,
O would that I were one of you, and could but touch that face,
Which compensation for all toil can furnish by its grace' 2oo
Ye herbs which flowers of all hues and such sweet scents providet
Which breathe out musk at morning hour and pearls at eventide'
Which have the power to wake the dead and for them life unseal,
And better than the balsam all the wounds that fester heal;
Without refreshing water's draught, ye grâsses of the field, zot
Ever will ye in brilliance stand and flowery fragrance yield,
And of yourselves without the sun ye will renew your grace)
For betier than the sun and rain, ye have my lady's face'
Pa.n6rea, since you, as I see, of quiver pillow make,
Why wfu you not, instead thereòf, my breast as pillow take I 21o
My'humbíe breast would for thy shafts a quiver meet provide,
My {u.ra mark at which thine arms could aim, whate'er betide'
But ah I I deem she wills it not; mine eyes with blood are shot,
And my face burns as though it were a furnace blazing hot'
My mistress of the golden hair, I must, it seems' bend low, 2r5
And on those coral lips of thine just one fond kiss bestow'
None other can I do for thee, Panórea rny dear;
Let not this act as shamelessness to any wight appear'
For it is only fair these lips should find refreshing draught,
Which for túy sake the poison"d cup ftrll oftentimes have quaffed. zro
Away then tiembling and those fears which hesitation breed!
Boldiress, I thee companion take in this my hour of need'
But what, poor wretóh, will thee befall, if she should chance to wake
And see ihàt tfto,t hast ta'en a kiss and irito madness break ?
What words will then her anger tame, what counsel will her lead zz5
To bear with such a wretch oi I, *y words with kindness heed I
Ah me ! I know not what to cio. I hang twixt hope and fear ;
My heart beats fast, and after all methinks I caunot clare'
I
l
!
I
z6+ GYPARIS ¿lct Two
I freeze, f burn, I long, I {earr I tremble as I glance¡
_I_forward
move, then dra* *" back; I fl¡ anã then advance . z3o
Y-:
*ogd::
lU.ray,,lend me your aid, y" fou'tuinr, dells, u.,á tiilr,what shall r do unto the maid *ho *L with passián th.írh r
-- ---'
lfo find her thus alone, asleep_:this says to me oDraw
nigh,
O tortured, love-lorn heart ;'thou must'to steal some kisses trv-,
Since these two haps as with one voice forbid such J;;;; *lrr, ,r,
ln th¡ name, god of love, f stoop and from her take a kiss.
But oh ! in truth l,m.full_of fgar; my heart so loudly knocks
That sure ir soon will wake the maiä from slumbe, *irt, ir, shocks.
Alas! I have awakened her, the kiss untaken quite;
Fortune forbids that I should steep myself irr'ru.t delight, 24o
(Here pl.ttíxne awaþes and says fa yfranrs:)
wto's this that has awakene, iìiÏïíparis, you again!
P'you want once *orl
lo,pok" my head'rurn' dirryîi* its pain iYou shameless fellow! W'hat,s yáu, gu*., that you,ve
";*;-;;r,to mel
I loathe the very sight of you;. can't you or won,t you see I
Be off from me and doubll quick_or do you want a bang z+s
Upon your head I Away you wretch I Away with you l'Go hunf !
]feln ! Help ! I'm being seized
-!
Look out, in L.uu.r,,, ,".*;î;n,If this should reach my brothers' ears there'á ¡. tt. il;;;:",rt's not the first time you have played these pranks;;;;;y;J¿;*,
But now rhey,ve gor t; stop, if you'whole_skinn"d
"*"y *;üJ;;.;;.
yÍpanrs
Panórea, though the tempest roâr, at last it sinks to peace,
*"1 ,1" su,n shines again whene'ár the streaming r.oi.,_rro.*, ..ur..And though we view rhe wayes.roll high upon th"e troubled r;"r-*"'Yet when the blasts have oyerblow, fi".r" *.uth., there will be.
Again,we may behold the heavens, when with a mighty crash zËS
The thunders roar in a'ger fiercqand lightninls lligríif î"ri,. "
*::l l,.udd,.r
they grow calm and the"dark áoucls"dispel
I hat garhered on them thickly rolled and their wild passìons quell.
Why do
llt-y9u too calm.your rog., my own) my heart,s d.rirå,
But ever bide in hot disdain u"d bì,rr, Á" ,rp with fire. z6o
,'>
r
lct Two GYP¿nlS 265
\flhy never do those lovely eyes towards me in pity turn,
lVhy do they with contempt and scorn my humble presence spurn I
Wili those two cherry lips of yours ne'er utter kindly speech I
W'hy what 's the reason¡ come, my iove, deign me the cause to teach.
W'hat! will you cruel and pitiless as some fierce iion remain, 265
W-ill you as some wild animal your madness fell retain ?
O let them cease . . . your madnesses and all your passions wild;
O calm your rage and for a while pitiful be and mild.
Only the mountains and the woods, the rocks so firmly laid
Unchanged in nature must remain-but not a tender maid. 27o
What greater sign than my frame gives can you, I ask you, see
That you than e'en my very soul are dearer unto me.
But if; my loved one, by my death you're fain that truth to lçn6q¡*
Lo ! here f am, as you desire deal me the deadly blow.
Draw out an arro\¡/, in my breast the fateful barb home drive, 27 5
And, as you wish, my mortal frame of wretched life deprive.
But see you do not by mischance strike home into my heart,
For if you do, your life which there f carry will depart'
Four years, I tell you, have fled by since in its very core
I first your image painted there and as a treasure bore. z8o
Yourself is witness of my pangs, yourself my torture seesi
Yourself stands by and well can tell I'm beaten to my knees.
And though than any beast that 's wild you be more hard of heart,
I wager you have shed your tears of pity on my part'
E'en as the beasts shed tears themselves and eke the rocks and dells,
The plains and rivers in their course' the forests and the wells. 286
E'en as the shepherds weep for me, as weep the shepherd maids
All bitterly, as up and down they pace in lda's glades'
But if so well my cruel pains you thus can understand,
Why can I not from you some grain of comfort then command ? '9o
You are not out of marble carved nor of wild beasts the l¡rood ;
Like evely human maid you are a thing of flesh and blood.
It is not right of you to turn a deaf ear to my cries,
And all my suffering for your sake through so long time despise.
I know it well, no man exists who worthy is of you, 295
Those lovely charms were never meant for ought but angels' view'
Yet not for this should you remain unpitying in ire,
But rather should you pity him who burns with your desire.
266 GYPARIS ' z{ct Tra¡¿
As a reward one kindly glance you should at least bestow
For his infinitude of pains, not add unto his woe.
W'omen with beauty were endowed by kindly nature's hand,
(As I from a wise shepherd's lips one time did understand)
lfhat they should pleasure give to all, that all should them desire,
And with them to be joined as though one flesh they were aspire.
For this cause, wretched though I be, I would with you unite,
Drawn onward unto you by force of that your beauty bright,
That both of us together joined might as one flesh become,
And as one bodp rho' two souls, in bliss dwell in one home.
3oo
305
You should of right give me your love and show of favour make,
That my true service fair reward for all its toils may take. 3ro
Alas! my lady, why do you that beauty thus deny I
Who should thereon with greater right than I myself rely I
Who seryes yourself more constantly I Who shows a greater love I
What heart by greater heat of flame its passion cân you prove I
p¡r.rónna
Say rather, who torments me more and tortures every day ? :r5
Say rather, who like you from me would honour take away?
YÍPARIs
When I should seek in any wise to rob you of good name,
Or with the slightest stain to smirch that fair unsullied frame,
The earth will yawn unto its depths and swallow me alive,
Or Zeus will hurl his thunderbolts and me to death will drive. 3zo
O mistress mine, you wedded wife, as law commands, I'll make,
If only you will deign to bend a little for my sake.
paNónn¿
No, never will I wed a mani you orher maid must find
From lda's hundred daughters fair, and her in wedlock bind.
Make her your wife, and cease myself to worry in this strain; 321'
For, Yíparis, f swear to you, your labour is in vain.
YÍPARIs
Maiden, be not so pitiless; bereave me not of life;
Some shred of comfort give to me and ease my heart,s dread strife.
Grant me the payment of my love that I so oft hou" claimed,
O heal this wretched soul of mine, that is with arrow maimed, 33o
lct Tuo GYPARIS 267
rn/ith one fond look from your sweet eyes and with a kindly word'
å''"'i ri"L down and quit my life, outstretched upon the sward'
í,r" t"u", it ill beseems that one who constant faith doth show
.i/.,¡¿ bv you. hand with the reward of death be guerdoned so'
"i* ,^thlJ, my Nereid beloved, you should bring to an end, ß5
¡n¿ ,tt", a spåedy end, the pangs which this poor body rend'
p¿NóB.n¿
Come, tell me on your honour true) what is this thing you cali
iou" í H" and I have never yet acquaintance made at all'
YíPARIS
A Paradise, wheneter I look upon your silvern facet
In those belovèd eyes concealed, my heart's desire, I trace' 34o
Ànd wh.n my gaze turns on that sight and sees my lady dear,
Hot burning fires, which all my soul consume àwalt appear'
But if you'r-e fain I with more truth the passion should define,
f'd have you understand that love is beauty all divine,
A source of joy perpetual, a pastime without end, 3+5
Shur"d by t*"î"r.ti thát in ãne life of perfect union blend'
But it becomes a raging fire when a man suffers scorn'
For then, though li;ing, into hell and torment he is borne'
And if example you would seek, then turn your eyes on met
For through what raging fires I pass you cannot but well see' 35o
Because I love you overmuchr and you unjustly hate-,
Because as though you foeman were my heart y-ou desolate'
And yet I cr.tnJt break m" free . . . for so the fates decide;
'Mid tears and torments I must needs these sufferings abide
In the fond hope the time will come when you will change your
mind,
And by your love grant unto me alleviation kind' 356
peuónn¿
Yíparis, please now cease this talk and bid a long adieu
Unto this love, which, as you sayr so greatly masters you'
lfhat you *oy .""r" fto*"pluguitg me and worrying. out my life'
I tell you yo., .u,-, never hope to hav-e me for your wife' 36o
Now iu. away from me at once as far as you can go i
I promise you from me you'll get nothing but pain and woe'
ii
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268 GVPARIS
vÍp¿nrs
¿{ct Two
p-ut, out
fpo¡ my bitter fate ! No hope have I now left,
My wretched heart asunder now is wiih an arrow cleft.
What hope o-f healing can rhere be for these my cruel pains s65
From one who as she has avowed the fires of íove disåains t
And yet that one shoots from her eyes a thousand fires at me
Which my whole being set ablaze, while all untouched is she.
That one is with the beauty bright of rove's own goddess crothed,
Yet she of love will hear no riord, and a[ its char¡is has roathed. 37o
My loved one, either take my life, by your own life I pray,
Or suffer me no longer thus tormeni.á h"r" ro stay.
Come turn to me, O mistress mine, look on me, my life's prize,
And let your eyes with-pity's glance gaze straight i,.,o -y .y.í.
It needs nought but a glance to see the tears wJrich th"*'do'fiIl, :75
lfo mark what poison on my lips your bitter words distil.
W-hat reason have you those fair eyes to hide from out my sight,
llo lower to the ground that face which should on me sh'ir,""br;itrt I
_C,an
you not mark how.all
lI frame with palsied shuddering ,hu'k.r,
How it, like tender reed before a mighty tèmpest, quakes I 38o
Can you not see how I do weep and iry out more and more,
How I am tortured with desire and my complaints outpour í
r,¿wónr¿
You wretched fellow, ï can,t see, though you talk such a lot.
I'm really in an awful rage; your t.uru dorr't help one jot.
yÍp¿nrs
JlI"i areina rage with me, ungrateful, cruel maid, 38j
Who have-for you no service truã ever yet left .,.rpold,
What would,you unto enemy and to ill-wisher prove,
Who would have sought some harm to do unto that irame I love I
No matter howsoe'er you are cruel ancl enraged with me,
f promise you my love will ne,er fail from it! loyalty. 3go
f
-promise
you your scoldings and your fierce orrtbreâks of ire,
Your stubbornness and passions feil that breathe forth words so dire,
Will ne'er avail to quench in me the burning flame of love, '
E'en though your temper than before of bittJer mixture práve.
When y-ou the beauty of your face have utterÌy resigned, 3gs
Then I'll resign my boundless love and pu, yoi fro,i .rrf .r,ind.
lct Two GYPARIS 269
f,et rhose red roses {ade avray, those lilies fall to blight,
l"¡ ^tt
those love-gods be put out that in your look burn bright,
ãhor" woven tresses let them fall, and let your breast turn blackThen,
only then, on this torment of love I'11 turn my back. 4ôo
p¿Nón¡¿
f hope your eyes will first fall out, before I lose my haiti
You won't be able thenr methinks, at my ill looks to glare.
But if I stay and listen on, I judge he'll never stop,
And never this tomfoolery which so torments me drop.
As fast as feet will carry me, I'll to the steading go, 4o5
And if Athoúsa meet me not) some one will let her know.
[.Eøir Panónna.
vÍpenrs
Why dost thou quit me, O my maid with perfect beauty dight,
Why dost thou leave me buried thus in this my sorrow's night I
You draw still farther yet awa;y) o'er speech I lose my Power'
What fate is this you've led me to I Only to death's dark hour' 4ro
(Thereupon Yip¿rrs sits down andweeps' Enter Atuot3st")
¿rnoús¿
Panlrea was it who herself did bid me join thé chase¡
She had no right to go away and leave me in this place.
Both of us should in company together homeward fare,
Since both of us in company for sport set out from there'
But what is this I 'Tis Yíparis; l'row heavy his grief sounds! +r5
Ah me! What bitter tears he rveeps; his sorrow me confounds'
I'll move a little to one side; the cause to hear I'm fain
Which has the power to inflict on him such grievous pain'
vÍpenrs
O sun, refuse to shed thy light this day upon the earth,
To deck the heaven with robe of light, bring not thine orb to birth.
Let the clouds form a darkened veil thy shining rays to hide, 42r
And thy bright face with canopy which shuts out light provide,
That tÉou *uytt ttot look down on earth and see a cruel maid,
\[.ho with a torment past belief has death upon me laid.
Yesr'tis a girl has set herself my life to take away, 425
And with the recompense of death my loyal service pay.
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27o GYPARiS .{ct Two
But since without a touch of ruth these torments she deals out,
Now scoldings harsh, now anger fierce, and scornings turn about,
llhat drive me ere my time is come to make desce¡rt to death,
I mean to-day with mine own hands to take away my breath, 43o
And thou, thou torment of mankind, their fire, their grinding weight,
Thou Love-god who dost drive each youth headlong to meet his fate,
Thou who hast pierced me with thy shaft and led in captive train,
And caused me such fell miseries ancl tortures to sustain,
I'll now afford thee triumph greatanð let thee see my end, 4s
V/here'er thou art, come hasten on and hither thy steps bend,
lfhat thou my heart's blood mayest drink and quench thy parching
fire,
And for a while with this dread draught sofren thy savage ire.
And in thy train, I beg of tllee, in thy train bring, I pray
(O Love-god, thou this healing balm at least on me shouldst lay) ++o
Panórea that heartless one, that her own eyes may rest
On my dead corse, as here I lie, and thereby be refreshed.
But if that heartless one refuse to bear thee company,
And thus proclaimeth once for all she hath no care for me,
Then on that tomb wherein to-day my body will be laid +4s
Write thou with arrow's point the cause that of me victim made,
And took away my life, that she may see it on her way,
And as she treadeth on my bones with haughty heart may say
fn tones of triumph: 'This is he who slew himself for me,
His corse is buried in this tomb, as you yourself may see.' 45o
lfhus all that pass upon their way should me as warning use,
And by the lure of golden hair to be enticed refuse,
And shun the sight of angel's face and of a snow-white breast,
For these, as they lurk there unseen, poison and death infest.
But wherefore tremble, hand of mine, wherefore, O heart-chorcls,
throb I 4ss
O eyes why should this fount of rears you of your seeìng rob I
O world, if it is true that thou never a joy didst give,
,A.nd only grantedst me amid welter of pain to live,
Why is it that to-day I find it bitter thee to lose I
Why not contented go to death as my Nereid would choose ? 46o
O world, thy level meads and plains, thy hills, thy trees, thy dells,
lFhy flowers, thy fruits, thy rivers broad, and thy refreshing wells,
I
G
lct Two GYPARIS 27r
These to rejoice those who have joy I leave, and with them rnay
i¡"ir mui¿i beloved in faithfulness as close companions stay!
And it ma,y chance that as they sport a word for me they'll spare' 465
And say to me) 'O Yíparis, why didst to Hades fare ?'
And then perchance they may on me a passing sigh bestow, .-[nð
sayt 'May thy bones resting-place discover there below!
-þ,nd
may sher-who to thee, our friend, was cause of selÊsought cleath,
Never above nor eke below enjoy of love a breath!' 47o
O woods, plains, mountains, O ye trees and O thou tender grass,
Ye caves whose depths refreshment give, ye streams that murmuring
pass,
Thou spring that didst with thy cool waves my burning heat relieve,
Those
-*uu"t
which now but turbid flow because for me they
grieve,
Ye heãvens, thou sunr that witness are of all my cruel woe, 475
Who well can mark flom out your height my body's every blow,
O thou that comfortest by night, thou second light and grace
of this world, moon, with thy bright sheen and all resplendent face,
O stars that were so ill conjoined and adverse at my birth,
And in such evil wise my course did set for me on earth- 48o
I leave you now lhatye may stand for ever in your spheres;
But yet with its last day in sight my heart its thanks declares,
For ihat from you it sympathy and kind compassion k¡ew)
A thing which from its mistress loved never on earth it drew'
And you, ye maids of lda's heightsr I ask with latest breath 485
Thut, *úá" you see my bocly slain outstretched 'fore you in death,
You will u*åttgtt yo.t i'aise lament and with eyes downward flung
Chant in lo* tott.é such humble dirge as may for me be sung,
Relating how the beauty rare of one surpassing maid,
Who yet an anger beyond thought and cruelty displayed' , +go
Did cåuse my hãnd tá slay myself; ancl those who hear the word
Will shed fuil many a bitter tear in sorrowful âccord'
My friends and loved ones, who with me together passecl vour youth,
L"i not my parting thus to-day stir you to any ruthNay
rathei, joy that from my pains l.am at last set free, +ss
N"i"r again held fast in chains the slave of love to be'
Mother beloved and you my sire ancl l¡rothers of my heartrBy
that grief which you needs must feel that I from you depart,
l- i'
272 GYPARIS ,lctTwo
I charge you bear unto the maid once loved with all my mind
A love âs great as him y:: b"u-l who is your kith u.,d Ëi.,d. 5oo
And.if she rnarry, rhen 'fore all her husband honour give;
Let him no less than Yíparis crowned with affection--live,
But keep me too no less within your memory I implore;
rn thought at least, wretch though I be, I would you stand before.
MyÌ'rapless flock, now_will ye all be scattered here änd there; s.s
Shed tears o'er my untimely death and loud lament prepare.
Cast off your bells, and wend your way disconsolate anã slo-,
Shun the green meads, nor as before to the fresh water go.
Now.moan and weep . . . let those who hear slain yipiis deplore,
And let that lamentation loud wax ever mor" urrd -o.".
-ir.
{ld ygyr sweet pipe, I hang you up upon this scented ba¡
That ail who suffer from love,s pangs may see that pip. är,a .*y,
4:-,h".y
do draw a deep-heaved sigh, ,A éurse upon thee, L"uåt
Why dost thou ever thus so harsh and uncompussionate prove l'Panórea,
cause of all my pain and source of these my woes, 5rs
Thou persecutor of my life and hostess of its close,
Disturb^er of my peace of mind, thou minister of sighs,
Thou fire that burns my heart, thou fount that fills with tears mine
eyes.
Thou joy in hours of bitrerness, thou bitterness in jo¡
Thou bane in hours of healthfulness, in sickness thoú annoy, s?o
Th' r that my head turnst-dizz¡ thou that fast my feet dost'tie,
That dost.destroy-my youthful days and makst my life to die.
Thou-goddess of my sorrowing heart, thou g,reen that rulst my
alm,
Thou paradise where reigns desire, thou torturer of my frame,
And thou, my sword, that ever wert to me a trusty friaid, Szs
I pray thee now all ruthlessly to bring my life to end.
Panórea, Panórea, Panórea, rny ,*".i!
(Here Aruori¡sd taÈes his hand and sajts to him:)
¿ri¡orisa
Na¡ stay thy hand, unhappy one; is'r madman that I meet ì
yÍr'¡nrs
{th.oú.sar
let me slay myself; leaye me to end my life,
And thus to-day bring to a close this turmoil ui¿ this strif.. s3o
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¡lctTuo GYPARIS z7g
Hold not my hand . . . let me my sword plunge deep into my heart;
Know it is better far for me that life and I should part,
A:THOUS.A
Yíparisr l have listened to the tale of all thy woet
For I stood there upon the path, a little way below.
And not to count this, I knew all before, and may I die fis
I.f I am not with pity stirred for this thy misery.
The heavens are witness many a word I've spoken on thy part
Unto the maiden that thou lovst in hope to move her heart.
And I for myselfl, Yíparis, am cheered by a hope's ray
lFrom certain signs that I have marked, seeing the maid to-day), 54o
ihat she will bend to thy desire and e'en become thy wife,
Ând that her father will consent and heaven will bless your life.
vfp¿nrs
Come, tell me, what new sign is this whereof thou speakst to me ?
ATHOUSA
First put thy sword back in its sheath-and then perhaps thou'lt see.
YíPARIS
Speak to me freely without fear¡ but sayr as thou wouldst live, 5+5
What word so comforting and sweet canst thou to me now give,
That from self-slaughter thou wilt stay my hand, so I relent
And freed from these my miseries yet to live on consent ?
¿r'soús¿
Na¡ hapless one, slay not thyself; new life I bid thee frnd;
I deem that thou hast lost thy wits or wandered out of mind. 55o
Thou knowest not how those in love their hearts to pain inure,
And still hate death and still their life, hard as it is, endure,
In hope that with the lapse of time and by their service true
The maid they love may change her mind and them with pity view.
vip¿nrs
Of many years of service true, or rather slavery fell, 555
This fruitless love bestowed by me without reward can tell.
Nought else remains; my life alone is left for me to \ryaste'
And with that life I'm now resolved to Hades' realm to haste.
Therefore as.àuppliant I thee beg in no wise stay my hand,
But let my purpose here to die to-day unshaken stand. 560
a
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zT+ GYPARIS ,{et Tu;o
¿rsoúse
If death I thought a berrefir for which I hear thee pray,
Then, hapless man, f would myself death-sentence on thee lay.
But since by death I clearly see thou wilt no vantage gain,
I bid thee not to throw away thy youth and life in vain.
vÍr¿nrs
I have already lost them both, since I received that shot 565
Into my heart from Love-god's bow and love became my lot.
And now, Athorisa, I can find no other cure for pain
Than by my death from rorturinp a final end to gain.
.ATHOUSA
Yíparis, 'tis my hearr's desire to lend thee helping hand;
On this account against thy plan of death I take firm stand. s7o
Therefore again that sword unsheathed back to its scabbard send,
For I give promise of thy woes to make a speedy end.
yÍ¡,¿nrs
Thy face angelic in its light and in its beauty's lure
Will with its witchery my mind turn from its plan, for sure.
A.thoúsa, if thou helpest me, then while I live, I vow s7s
I will proclaim that my life's source is thou and only thou.
ATHOUSA
Now by my faith f promise make as to a brother dear,
I'll speak to her; and fain were I to let thee those words hear
Which I will use as advocate; but I must run apace,
For I have hopes that marriage-feast this very day will grace. 58o
YIPARIS
Ah would that could be so ! I trow she's to the steading gone,
For when I lighted on her here, asleep and all alone,
She rose, and breaking into heat of furious passion went,
And borne on flying feet her way straight to the steading bent.
er¡roúsa
Then I am off to find her out; thy company me lend. js5
vÍpanrs
Let's go; she's somewhere near at hand; God recompense thee send.
END OF ACT TWO
i¡
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A CT THREE
(Enter a// Punos*Nn and PaN6xxe.)
PHROSYNE
Pan6rea, with your own ears you heard Athoúsa say
That with the cruelty and ire of which you make display
You the unhappy Ylparis to such despair have brought
That he by taking his young life release from woe has sought'
She's told-you how, if she had not him from such deed restrained, 5
He would his sword with his own blood down at the spring have
stained.
You bad, hard-heartecl girl, you know no shepherd would be found,
Ifhe had done what he proposed, on lda's heights around.
!V'ho would not have with bitter tears wept his untimely fate,
And called you maid of iron heart and uncompassionate' ro
peNónre
Say rather him would every man be forward to decry,
And
me they would as noble maid have lauded to the sky'
For never have I done a thing likely to bring me shame;
I never suffered any man to rob me of good name.
PHROSYNE
Good name you are more like to have from one who dares to die 15
And for your sake consume away and from his senses fly.
Help
to his passion you should give, and what's more gladly give,
And free him from the tortures dread which with him daily livet
Seeing that he desires to take you for his wedded wife,
And 6e, as God and men enjoin, the partner of your life. 20
Panorea, tell me on your life, think you you'll ever find
A better man to be your spouse than him I have in mind I
I know it well that Id¿ round a thousand seek your hand;
With my own eyes I have them seen as wooers forward stand'
But tell me this and tell me truer will you among them find 25
A single man who loves you more or with more faithful mind I
My dãughter, listen to the words that I will speak to-da¡
And let your ill will be wiped out, your passion pass away'
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ìr:
276 GYPARIS ,lcrThree
No shepherd like to Yíparis in lda's circle's found;
None has more sheep and has his lands more widely flung around. 3o
For all these places you do see belong to him of right;
His shepherds bring three thousand ewes to milking of a night.
None wilt thou find that to his love more faithful is and true,
None than this hapless swain of love a purer flame e'er knew.
He does not, as do other swains, have one love here to-da¡ 3s
And then to-morrow other seeks, his homage there to pay.
You are his first and only love-be well assured of this,
And you too likewise to the end will be his last, I wis. 40
Forsoqth you say the man is not worthy the love of maid;
When has a fairer man to maid on lda homage paid I
Mine own eyes never yet have seen a man with such a face,
Never his equal for his form, never his match in grace.
His face shines with a splendour bright, like to the sun,s own might; a5
His skin is as the driven snow in dazzling pureness white.
Methinks a thousand maids for him are ravished with desire,
A thousand hearts for love of him are bur¡ring as with fire.
And yoú forsooth are al| too proud with such a youth to mate,
But with your harsh disdain aspire to drive him to his fate. 50
O would that I was still a maid and as before were fair;
Then you'd have seen how maids for men a thousand arts prepare.
I would have everywhere contriyed to follow in his wake,
And him unto the love I bore obedient vassal make.
p¿NóRr¿
A truce, Phrosy'ne, to this talk, I beg; I'd have you know 55
That not until the time shall come when all things backwards go,
When mountains move from their firm seat and rivers their course
turn
Back to the source from whence they sprang, and birds begin to learn
To live within the depths of sea, and fishes leave their home
Of watery waste, and seeking food to lda's heights do come- 6o
Not until then of Yíparis will I the love desire,
Not until then his wedded wife to be will I aspire.
p¡¡nosÍuo
My lad¡ tell me what's the cause I Has he done you some ill
At any time I Come tell me true that and whate,er you will.
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Then I to him no less ill will will bear than you can bear; 65
Tell me all this and more besides-all that you have to fear.
For with my hands your infancy I reared, and with these hanrls
I carried you a thousand times and wrapped in swaddling bands'
For this cause I do hold thee dear, dearer than mine own child;
Never wilt thou by words of mine to evil be beguiled. 70
P.{NóREA
Evil from Yíparis's hand, that have I never known.
No matter if a thousand acts of kindness he has shown,
I never will me wed-so there, let him put me aside
And look out for another maid on Ida for his bride.
But as for me, 'tis my desire unwedded to remain 75
Till old age comes! you see my will, so please from now refrain'
PHROSÍNE
Why, what is this resolve of thing my daughter-¡e1 ¡6 1¡¡si I
To reach old age by husband ne'er to marriage altar led!
My lady, shall that lovely face with peerless beauty dight,
Which heaven with such loveliness hath clothed for men2s
delight, 8o
Be left to wither like a rose or flower of the freld,
Which to the thicket or the height in vain its grace doth yield I
For never man takes joy therein or hath of it a sight,
But either sun's flame scorcheth it or else wind doth it blight'
Nay rather, with that gift some man with happiness endue, s5
And let that man who takes the gift give happiness to you'
Alasl my daughter, the brute beasts in their insensate state)
All by tire foñe of nature driven seek for themselves a mate'
And you are purposèd your youth vainly to throw away,
And without partner fair of life in old age to decay! go
Now turn your eyes to yonder bough, there you will see a pair
Of turtle-doves that bill and coo and their love-nest prepare'
To that reed-warbler lend your ear and list how she complains,
And with sweet pipings telleth out the story of her pains.
From bough to bough she flits about, and where she sits she cries gs
'I love, I love', and of her love the listener would apprise'
The cow in passion for the bull utters her cries and lows,
The ewe by day and night bleats out wherever the ram goes'
278 GYPARIS ,lctThree
The viper, when she is in love, deals out no poisoned wound,
But for her mate with passionate heart goes searchíng round and round.
The lioness, albeit so cruel, often soft passions move; ror
And well within her raging heart she knows the power of love.
The very fishes in the sea cannot untouched ..*ãirr,
Nor can they in their turn urged on from loye's impulse abstain.
And you, Panórea, do you think that you alone have right ro5
To sta-nd atbay and to resist the Love-god's taming migttt
But why should I beasts only namel The very treei do l-ove,
And for that cause, unless they mate, will all unfruitful prove.
The citron oft with lemon-tree enters the -urriag. stutå,
W'ith bitter oleander too rhe apple sweet doth maìe. rro
See how the plane-tree with much joy and in a close embrace
Yon gadding vine entwines about, meeting it face to face.
And this p-: j.9I within themselves the hearts of the twain feel,
Because the thrill of love for them does their close compact seal.
Y_ou might imagine thatthey sa¡ 'Ye may not love's fårce miss, rr5
All ye who by this way do pass, but shower kiss on kiss;
And those who shun the light of sun and act in our despite
Will live to rue their wilfulness and envy our delight!'
Come tell me, maiden that I love, if they rrr/ere separate,
Would not each one as orphan be, lonely without a mate? no
The vine-would lie upon the ground and no fair order keep,
Trampled upon, Panórea, by shepherd and by sheep.
lfhe plane would stand in loneliness, if by the vine ,twere
left,
Of all its comeliness deprived, of fruitfuiness bereft.
In equal wise without a wife a man can profit nought, rzs
And without husband women too can to no good be brought.
From nature to us came the law that we should mated bã,
And he who nature outrages himself in hell will see.
Lay this to heart, Panórea, before you come to eld,
Before the gifts of loveliness for ever are withheld t r3o
And grant to orhers a due share in joys your charms provide,
For if you let the time slip past, then will you woe bètide.
For beauty bideth not for aye and youth takes wings to fly;
You too will travel to old age, your loveliness will ãie.
F.or time moves swiftly as a bird and things by age decay; r3j
The meadows are not ever green nor flowers'unblight"á ,t"y.
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¡l¿Three GVPARIS 279
The summer season as you see hastens its leave to take,
{nd winter cold, Panórea, hard follows in its wake.
And as plants wither and the bloom of eVery painted flower,
So vou will see your beauty too lasts but a passing hour' r4o,
N"íer believe, my well-loved maid, that when you once are old,
The øle of youth that's passed and gone can ever be retold.
Beauty resembles not the 6.elds whose herbage will decay
Under the winter thunderstorms, to flower again next May;
But when that beauty once of us has taken its last leave, ,:,45
No other season cometh on that can that loss retrieve.
Take warning from myself who once, when in my youthful years,
Was dowered with beauty such as none of lda's maids no'ú¡ u/ears!
For I too then upon my cheek blush as of rose could show,
My bosom then, Panórea, was whiter than the snow; r5o
My hair was golden as the sun and shone with beauty bright,
And all by it were passion-struck and longed to see the sight'
But, as you see, that loveliness is quite by time outworn;
Take heed-for soon your beâuty too will e'en as mine be lorn'
Therefore take joy while time allows nor idly cast away 155
That beauty's dower which nature gaYe that you might it display'
You too must foilow love's desire and seize it whilst you may;
As for that purpose which you hold-be wise, send it away,
And children fair as you yourself bring forth to be your heirs;
The name of mother when they call will drive away your cares, r6o
p¿NóRn¿
Let those who wish it love's desire follow, and let those hear
The name of mother who thereby are fain to banish care.
As for myself, rny only joy is to the woods to hie,
And there wild goats and hares and deer to follow in full cry'
As long as this my quiver holds an arrow) I will flee i65
To thoie same woods, and joy enough I'll find, I'll warrant thee'
PHROSÍNE
These trivial joys do please your mind, because you've never known
The mastering joy that love affords; because you do not o\Mn
lfhe wondrous passion of delight which comes to maid in love,
A passion which alone avails her deepest depths to move' r7o
z8o GYPARIS ,lctTltree
But if for e'en a little time you can that love possess,
You will accounr the rest but loss and weep its idleness.
For to speak sooth all time is lost, whatever is not lent
ifo the delights of love and is not on love's kisses spent.
The time will come when sighing oftyou wilr.repeãt this strain, r7s
Until with echoes lda rings again and yet agan^i
'Ye days-and nights, which I have spent, ye years that past þ¿ys
sped,
Ye months and weeks no longer þs¡s-6u¡ upon this mad head!.Why
have I let you slip awa¡ and never once did know r1s
The sweet refreshment which on hearts the Love-god can bestow li
when I shau listen to rn.r" -liäoåäh you say unro me,
The stars descending from the heavens to touch the earth you,ll see.
r know wetl in what stubborJå::ìÍÏ" minds of maids are framed;
Therefore I hold thar you should not by me be overblamed.
There was a time when I was bent even as you to-da¡ r8j
And never to a lover's prayer would I attention pay.
I too spent time upon the hunt, and if I saw a man
Looking upon me with his eyes as only lovers can,
S_traightway
i b* my eyes to earth, ánd eounteel it disgrace
lfhat lover should his yearning eyes direct unto my faãe. r9o
But, mistress mine, the lapse of time makes medlars ripe, they sa¡
And lapse of time to tameness too a maiden's heart *uy
"*iy.
' '
With time f too to tâm€ness passed, and me a youth o'årca*L,.who
loved me dearly from the heart with passion's fiercest flame.
{_ot
by the force of sword he won; the onlf arms he bare rys
W'ere torment, suffering of mind, humiliatitn, prayer.
Then the first night of love's desire such joyousneÁs me taught
As never my pasr life had known and all iis years had brougñt.
And straightway clasped in lover,s arms f utiered forth this-cry:
l{_untjng and pleasures of the chase, these other maids may tiy, zoo
Who know not the refreshing life that is from love deriveá,
How every momenr full of joys and sweer contents is lived.i
Before long time I look to hear you a like thing avouch,
And see your bow in idleness hung up behind yãur.ou.h,
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And eke your quiver by íts side neglected in that place,
A,nd you yourself in bliss fast locked in Yíparis' embrace,
poor Yíparis, who with desire is all afire for thee,
Though thou hast never yet him given two words of sympathy.
p¿¡róRna
Then if he is afire he should in river take a dive;
There 's nothing like cold water if you heat away would drive.
But when he puts me in his arms and would my frame enfold,
Then Kédros will Kouloúkanos in its embraces hold.
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230
PUnOSf ¡¡r
O daughter, change this thy resolve and choose a better part,
Look upon Yíparis's state and see his bitter smart,
All which he beareth for thy sake, deep in his vitals hid;
A truce to waywardness and ill, änd do as I thee bid.
Suffer him not to perish thus, but rather sickness heal,
And by the power of answering love a soothing herb reveal.
Bethink thee how, if ye twain join, he'll thee with fondlings load,
And thou wilt have at thy command the wealth of his abode.
Thinkest thou he will set for thee a round of heavy toil
In scorching sun like other maids and thy fair whiteness spoil ?
Thinkest thou Yíparis will thee forth to the field bid fare,
To garden or to vineyard, that thou mayest do work there I
By way of pastime or delight sometimes to field or brake
Ye may together hunting go, your pleasure there to take.
And then, I sa¡ beneath the cool refreshment of the shade,
Or sometimes on the grassy swarcl at full length outstretched laid,
Or in the steading or in cave by nature's hand deep scored,
Or mid the snow in measure full you'll joy in love's reward.
rawónn¿
I deem that thou dost fondly think I listen to thy sayr
And that the labour of thy words some profit will repay.
But, be advised, thou art deceived; they will not ought availt
For I holcl all that from thee falls as but an idle tale.
PHROSçNE
I know it, understand it well, but cannot cease to make
Effort on thy behalf¡ and since Yíparis for to take
.J\
z\z GyPARIS ,\ct TÌtree
Thou art too proud, let me recall that power unto thy mind
Of Aphrodite and her son; who, as thou soon wilt find,
Never their faithful servants true with evil will requite,
But against maids who them despise will muster all their might. 24o
That goddess will on Yíparis other fair maid besrow,
And when thou seëst her with him thy jealousy will glow;
But as for thee, thanks to thy whim, some old and wrinkled wight
Or ugly shepherd, back from whom all men shrink at his sight,
Will be thy portion for a mate; and merely at his look z+s
lfhe pain tÌrat through thy vitals runs thou'lt scarce have power to
brook.
Oft wilt thou say oAlas!
alas!' and often wilt thou sigh,
And often o'er this counsel good, now scorned, thou wilt then cry.
p¿Nón¡a
This sort of talk, I'd have you know, Phrosfne, makes me ill,
And by your leave to list to more f cannot here stand still, 25o
So now I bid you my adieu.
PHROSYNE
Pan6rea, for thy weal
Open thy heart unto these words, and let them therein steal.
(Ëøä Parsónn¿. Punosfnn say.r:)
Since by my words I nought avail, by the god to whom f,m true,
L vow to thee I'll later on for thee a po,tion brew.
If I do not thee close behind Yíparis following see, 25,
Like ewe does ram, let me no more amongst the living be!
lfhis girl sees clearly this poor youth with longing for her bleed,
That he would fain as wedded wife her unto altar lead.
Yet she says she will never wed and therefore coyness feigns;
But mark me! when that brew is mixed and she the potion drains, z6o
Then every day will seem to her as long as thirry years,
Each month a hundred, until he as spouse of hers appears.
But look!her father doth approach; I'll hear what he would speak,
And then about this silly girl I'll counsel from him seek.
(YeNNorh.rs and P uxosl un)
Y.ANNoúLIs
Perhaps that goat unto the spring has wanclered down this wa¡ 26S
That goat which from my hands escaped and did from steading stray.
i
let Three GY PARIS 283
But here she's nowhere to be seen. . . . Alas ! I'm full of fear,
ã.,r if sh" bides within the brake, her wolves will surely tear.
ãut lo.'k! I see Phros;Íne here. To question her I'll stay,
It may be I shall hear from her if it has passed this way. 27o
Þhroslitt", tell me, have you seen hereabouts a she-goat,
Escaped from out the steading ?
PHROS*NE
Sure, a wolf is at her throat.
YANNOIîLIS
I'll go at once, if you will tell where she is to be found;
If she is still alive, I may bring her back safe and sound'
PHROSíNE
She is not far¡ she ran on high, yonder up to the cave. 27t
YANNOTîLIS
And why then think you I perchance may yet her living save I
But I will run there all the same, in hope that I may yet
Not lose her quite, but just the flesh at least unbroken get.
PHROSiNE
Na¡ do not runr nay do not run; I've been bamboozling you!
None of your beasts this day at all has passed into my view. z8o
YANNOI'LIS
The woli though he grow old, we know, his cunning alters not;
So you from all your youthful tricks do not abate one jot.
PHROSfNE
No, no, Yannorilis, the distress of old age holds me fast;
Those saucy tricks of which you speak are now done with and past'
YANNOÚLIS
Phrosy'ne, if your other tricks arer âs you tell me, o'er, 285
Your tricks of love will last through life, of that at least I'm sure'
PHROSÍNE
As for desire and lust of love, Yannoúlis, brother kind,
I feel as if I never these harboured within my mind.
The flight of years and hoar old age do steal from us desire;
They change ãur judgements, so that these to death alone aspire' z9o
zB+ GVPARIS
YeNr.roúrrs
'{ct Three
So long as an old woman keeps within her head a tooth,
She always fancies that she is fairer than maid in youth.
pnRosf ¡¡^e
You like a dig at ancienr dames.
v¿NNoúrrs
Well, I'll make any bet
That all of you are quite prepared at men your cap ro set.
PHROSYNE
You deem because, in spite of eld, you mind your youthful days 2gs
And keep your follies, women too, when old, keep up the craie.
. yexNoúrrs
Tut, tut, you are not after all so old; you don't exceed
Me by three years; how could you else walk along with such speed r'
pnnosÍup
Wh¡ what d'you mean I An older man f swear Crete never saw,
And what is more, you havenrt got a grinder in your jaw, ,oo
And yet you dare asserr that I still older am thán you,
Although my teeth set in my head firmer than iron you view,
Only for forty years I've walked this earth; but thes! my locks
Are, as you see, before their time whitened by troubles'shocks.
y¿NNoú¿rs
Well, throw these troubles to the winds, and turn to love again; 3o5
You'll quickly then your old time youth and former looks iegain.
-
pr¡nosÍun
Yannorlli, when the basil once has fallen to decay,
Beauty and scent it winneth not, for these have passecl away.
v¿NNori¿rs
And yet the artichoke I've seen, though withered to the root,
When one has hoed it and manured, again begin to shoot. 3ro
p¡¡nosfNn
A_shepherd wight a right good skill and highest powers musr ask,
Who once has formed this plan in mind and set himself the task;
If he would make the old grow young, and what is withered new,
Toiling by day and night until hands and feet weary grew.
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Var,s¡lo¡i¡,rS
285
W'hy'tis my task as husbandman the new from old to makei 3rs
My vines by dint of layering new youth and vigour take.
PHROSYNE
The labours that have weighed you down are by your staff made plain.
Such toil, poor friend, is not for those who your great age attain.
YANNOULIS
Look not upon my tale of years, but see my flowing hair; sts
Mark well the passions which my heart with force renewed repair.
As years pass on, the sap within the cypress stronger flows;
The lion, the older he becomes, ever the fiercer grows,
PHROSYNE
,A.nd man, the older he doth grow, loseth the more his might;
And with his force he loseth too pleasure in love's delight.
YANNOÚLIS
Such talk as this we'll put aside; to other theme we'Il pass. Jzs
Phrosy'ne, let me set my kine to graze upon thy grass
Within thy steading at free will, without reward or fee,
That what is thine may be as mine, held in equality.
p¡¡nosf N¡
Nay rather, let thine enemies ere that lie on thy bed,
And never f,rom that sickness sore mayst thou to health be led ! 33o
My dear Yannoúli, now our time for such-like folly's o'er;
Gray hairs and love are but ill-matched, of this you may be sure.
,YA.NÑOú,LIS
"No, no; old age has not so far our strength quite ta'en awap
But we can very well get through two stages in the day'
PHROSÍNE
I charge you on your life loose me, lead me not into sini 335
Stand there aside and touch me not; seek me not thus to win'
v,+NNoúrrs
Remember all the jolly times whicþ we, Phrosfne, had¡
How often we within these dells and in these meads were glad.
PHROSYNE
Recall no more the jolly times of youth, for these have fled,
They will but serve to make you sad and give you pain instead. 34o
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286 GYPARIS ,!ct Three
For that which then so sweetly smelt, in age now smells but ill,
And kisses showered on aged èheeks *.tt *ith contempr do fif.
yer.¡Noúr,rs
Nay, follies done by those in youth, these should displease mankind;
A speedy pardon all the faults done by the old shoulà find.
The.passers by who us behold, phrosline, should thus say: 345
All j.oy and happiness attend upon them whilst it mayi
For death comes to rhem soon enough, so let them háve their fling,
And may_the joy they think they hãve full satisfaction bring.,
o
]Ve two, I see, will soon set out to find a better land;
So while we here remain we should with pleasure loaded stand. 35o
¡,unosÍNn
Approach me not, I say again. What hast thou in thy mind I
The wolves are eating thy she-goat; go quickly h", á fi,-,d.
y¿¡¡r,{oÚ¿rS
f'm off; bur never did I think, phrosy'ne, mistress mine,
That thou wouldst rne in one brief håur from out thy úeart resign.
p¡rRosf Nn
Earlyand late I think of thee. . . . But I am old andgray; 3s5
ilo actions that me ill beseem I must perforce say nay.
B_ut stay-I've just remembered this. in heaven'i name let me know
Why you will not on Yíparis your daughter,s hand bestow I
v¿r.l¡*oú¿rs
Phros¡Íne, he is just the man that I for son would choose,
And by my life nor e'en to-day would I the bond refuse. 360
But for solne cause I do not know my daughter to refrain
Is obdurate; to think that she should iurn bìack such a swain!
And like it is that she one day will choose herself a worse,
Some ugly youth of ragged garb with nothing in his purse.
pr¡nosf Nr
A father, you should understand, with child does what he will. s6s
But you have not the strength of mind your duty to fulfil.
The luck of wedding Yíparis will to unother fail;
And ther5 f warranr you full well, you'll find the saddle gall.
1i
.¡!¿Three GVPARIS 287
y¿N¡{oúLrs
As heifer obstinate is she that will not draw the plough,
j.lthough the goad into her flank you bury deep enow. 37o
Bur that no man may say that I herein have any blame,
['ll speak to her again and let my anger fully flame.
find then if she refuse once more, all men will understand
Itve done mY Pârt'
psnosfNr
IJse to the full your powers of command,
Yannoúli, on your life I beg. For if you turn her mind, 37s
You'll find the marriage is as good as any you can find.
veNNoÚr,rs
W'ell, as I this with right good will shall do for love of thee,
I ask thee too as a return to do a boon for me.
pnnosfNr
As thou wouldst haye our friendship bide, talk no more thus, I pray,
On such affair. But tell me now, whither dost wend thy way I 38o
For I will come along with thee and to the steading go,
If that 's thy path, for I would do some business there below.
YeNnoúr,rs
Let's go¡ and if I went not there, I'd go now for thy sake,
To fill thy bowl with nice fresh cream and thee a present make.
PHROSÍNE
W'ell, let's be off; but understand you must yourself behave, 38J
And as for me and my concerns beware you play the knave.
v¡l¡¡qoú¿rs
I pray a wolf from out my herd my finest goat may snatch,
That goat for which no man, I'm sure, could find in Crete a match,
If I say e'en the tiniest word that could dishonour spell.
Phroslîne, you, if any doth, know me surpassing well' 39o
PHROSfNE
I trust you, so let's get along.
v¿r,¡Noúr,rs
I follow where you go.
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288 GVPARIS ./U ThrEE
('tside)
Yes, better than myself what you at heart desire, f know.
My hapless she-goat, I must thee, alas! leave to thy fate.
A cow upon this mead I've found my loss to compensate!
(Enter the shepherd Arnxrs, alone.)
As winter torrent hurrieth
"",
äJit,rrbid swoln with rain, 3es
And spreadeth o'er the neighbouring fields, nor banks can it containl
As it sweeps on, it taketh flocks, uproots trees from their place,
And breaketh down the hemming marge and lifteth hills from base.
If man it meeteth in its rage, its course it nowise stays,
But finding obstacle the more its savage wrath displays. 4oo
E'en so I too within my heart am loaded with desirei
Nor can I in my misery keep down the blaze of fire
And hide it buried deep in breast; the gates that should shut fast
My sense of shame are broken down, and modesty is past.
Na¡ fortune quite burns up my heart, and in fell torment's grip 4os
It stands by expectation borne trembling upon my lip,
And waiteth for my maid to come that it may tell its lot,
How for her sake it is consumed in furnace seven times hot.
My mind all overcome with fear cannot its poise maintain,
E'en as a hare that sways in doubt, caught betwixt hunters twain, 4ro
The one is near at hand, and so I turn from him to flee,
But soon the other's strangling toils in front death-fraught I see.
fn short, f cannot any more my passion keep concealed;
Such strength of love (unless I die) must ere long be revealed.
But if again I make it clear to m¡r Nereid's mind, 4Ís
I fear with trembling heart that I more hideous doom may find.
O Love-god, who hast thus me used, thy aid I pray thee lend¡
llell me (for I thy servant am) whither my sreps to bend;
Show me the fairest path to take, the path that will lead out 4rs
From these fell torments which my life have compassed round about.
But who is this I supplicate I One whom my woes refresh,
One who draws nourishment from all the ills which me enmesh.
One who within the selfsame breath commands and cheats with
scorn,
Swears to give help and then deserts, invites, then leaves forlorn.
lctThree GYPARIS z8g
ene who with seeming kindness strokes, but fondles without heart, +zS
/,nd, tears in eyes, pretends to sooth the burning of my smart.
One who would fain by his fell arts plunge me in living hell,
One who would me inspire with hopes which only terrors spell.
Now he doth whisper in my ear 'take rest', now 'use thy might',
And now again'llet 's stand at ease' and now 'let 's join in fight'. 43o
At times he breathes refreshment sweet, and then 'no more' he cries,
,{nd lights again the blazing fire and peace once more denies.
At times he makes me all things dare, at times shrink back in fear;
Alas! with every passing day what burdens must I bear!
Ah me! What is to be my fatel My loved one I must see, $5
For she and she alone some joy can give to tortured me.
This very hour I must impart to her my tale of woe;
O Love-god, aid me with fit words unto this task to go.
For each man has of nature right to liy the doom of death,
And to the farthest length of days to draw his living breath. 44o
Thus he who medicine leaves unsought that may his sickness heal,
For foolishness the like of him nature did ne'er reveal.
('tt this point Aruo'3sl enters. Arnoús¿ and ALxxrs.)
ATHOÚSA
In sooth Panórea never should such ill reward have given
To Yíparis for that great love which he to show hasitriven.
In faith if she had willing been to hearken to my talk,
I would have said to her outright: 'Pity it is to baulk
Fortune in this her kindly mood'; but she, as I opine,
Cares nought for such-like gifts, and so rejects this husband fine.
If she alone had been concerned, more would be waste of breath¡
But Yíparis in his distress is like to seek for death.
And I, as though I sister were, for him am full of ruth,
That he should put an end to life in this his flower of youth.
Her heart, I ween, is pitiless, and kindness ne'er has known;
Her temper crueller by far than lioness' has grown.
And as for him, I him account a most unhappy wight,
Who has in his own heart contrived so fierce a fire to light.
ALEXIS
If she thus pities Yíparis and his unhappy fate,
And his tormenter ruthless calls and uncompassionate,
445
450
455
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I hope that when I tell to her the tale of my desire,
lhe ry¡ have mercy on my love and me with hope inspire. 46o
But look! She's turned and caught my glance; ah me! ho." sh" *in.
eyes
Doth blind with radiance overbright and my wounds open prise.
Athoúsa, maiden dear to me, f trow by fortune led
lhy feet to-day upon this path rhat brings thee here haye sped,
That we might thus our meeting make upon this grassy púce, ao5
And thence in company ovr way together homewards irir.
'
ernoús¿
Alexis, this our meeting here in unfrequented glade
se_rves like some lightning flash that falls amid the encircling shade,
When a man sees not where he walks and 1oses all his wayThat
sudden light reveals the path from which his footsteps stîay, +7o
'Tis not the time for hunting ,:.iä it is full noon-day;
Athoúsa, tell me what 's the cause that has led thee this way I
¡rnoúsa
A passing whim impelled me thus from out the house to fare,
And brought me down unto the spring without or thought oi care.
But I rejoice I have thee met to bear me company, 47s
If thou hast leisure, till from this dark woodland Í-am free.
Athoúsa, patern to the fair,.¡"åi"åi¡r maids to view;
Know well that thou dost see in me thy faithful servant true.
Where'er thou biddest, I will go; where,er thou sendest, run,
climb to the heights or plunge beneath thickets that know not sun.
And if it had been in my power to fly into the sk¡ 4Br
For loye of thee I would that path fearless to travel try.
But what, Athorlsa, is thy care, of what art thou afraid
That thou (though all unwittingly) hast passed into this glade I
Others t-here are that walk for thee, others that for theeìoil, 485
Others torment themselves for thee, and others for thee moii.
Others for thee ne'er sleep behold, others for thy sake fret,
9rhï: for thee by day and night nought else but trouble get.
But I have heard one shepherd swain utter a thousand sigñs,
And for thy sake he for his death, and that the bitterestr-cries. 49o
ld Three GVPARIS 29:,
Rest he can never woo by art, but ever groans and weeps;
He tells not how he's lost for thee, for fear him silent Leeps.
atnoúsa
W'ho is that shepherd, tell me true, for thanks to him I'd give,
Seeing that for my sake in resr he finds he cannot live I
And why is it that he that love of his will not declare, 4gs
,{nd shrinks from claiming the reward that's due for all that care I
Atbeit that his care for thee n"ållü'""r limit,s bound,
Such fearfulness o'ertakes the swain whene'er thou neár art found,
That he doth tremble with alarm and cannot ope his lips
To say how deeper in torment than other wights he dips. 5oo
If only thou wert half aware how he doth suffering livà,
I deem that of thine own accord thou wouldst hirrr comfort give.
As in a mazehewalketh round, he neither eats noi sleeps,
But weeping over fortune's spite complaint continual keeps.
Not for one hour from off his lips doth thy name pass away; So5
Thy picture's painted on his heart, its colours ne'er decay.
His daily tasks are quite forgot, untended are his flocks,
Since the first day when to his hurt he first received love's shocks.
Now since I am his bosom friend, I judged ir rneet to throw
Shame on one side, and in thine ears to pour his tale of woe. 5ro
My Nereid, I do beg of thee, take pity on my friend,
And to prolong his life thy love against his own love lend.
ar¡roúse
But fain were f that as for me thou'd bid him cast away
Desires and hopes, and this his suit to other maidens pay.
I pray thee therefore to this end straightway a means to find, 5r5
For I am sure that thou full well dost understand my mind.
ALEXIS
I tell thee truly I have striven desire to drive away
From every path that to the heart gives access to love's sway.
But all my labour's been in vain.
ernoús¿
For me that labour's vain,
For never husband with his love shall sway o,er me retain. szo
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2g2 GYPARIS ,lctThree
The man who seeketh me to hold, that purpose in his mind,
May e'en as well go forth to woods in hope there fish to find.
ALEXIS
Others have uttered phrase from this that differs not a jor,
But none the less have husbands ta'en and all their words forgot.
,4THOUS,1,
The sun which shines with orb so bright shall sooner lose his light¡
The very heavens shall be destroyed and earth shall pass from sight; 5zo
l['his frame of mine shall sooner far to Hades flit away
Than I shall mate with shepherd wight or loye to any pay.
ALEXIS
Unhappy me! What words to hear! no hope have I now left;
My limbs beneath me trembling fail, my mind of sense is reft. 53o
Break, break my heart within my breast; Athoúsa succour me!
erHoús¿ (He falls into a swoon.)
Ah me ! my miserable hap ! Sweet youth what do I see I
What means this pallor on thy face, Alexis I I'm fordone.
Why was it that by evil chance this meeting I thus won I
Untimely hap that one so young guiltless should meet his death, 535
Than whom no fairer shepherd lad on lda e'er drew breath.
But stay. Methinks he is alive, his beating heart I feel,
Though ne'er a trace of drawing breath his parted lips reveal.
To fetch a bowl of water fresh I to the spring will go,
To sprinkle o'er his face; my heart is wrung for all his woe. 54o
(9he then taþes water frorn the spring, sprinkles it on him and say:)
.A.THOUSÂ
Alexis, Lexi, speak to me; O let thine eyes mine see.
What ails thee I Come unto thyself.
.ALEXIS
Athoúsa, woe is me!
ersoús¿
O raise thyself and tell me why thou'rt fallen in this swoon.
.á,LEXIS
Athoúsa, without worcls thou shouldst divine the cause as soon.
Ah me! of men unhappiest, a glance from thine eyes sent s4s
A thousand times has my poor heart to tattered fragments rent.
¡ld Three GVPARIS zg3
L am that man unhappiest, who, lady, for thy sake
,4. thousand times into his heart did furious fire take.
f am that man who, since in him love first came to reside,
Hag- my Nereid, all his works and tasks put on one side. 55o
tea, and that love has furthermore him sleep's refreshment cost;
He for thy sake has every friend, yea e'en the dearest, lost.
For company I've solitude, and for refreshment, tears;
Sighing alone for nourishment my heart within me bears.
No bread nor other sustenance within my mouth I take, Sit
But with the utterance of thy name a banquet rich I make.
That name has now become to me s'ffeeter than any sound,
And so apart from thy dear self nowhere delight is found.
Bver I in thy footsteps walk, ever with secret glance
I look at thee on hill, in dale, where'er thou dost advance. 560
But when thou turnst thy face my wah I hide myself or flee,
Lest those thine eyes with battle light should war declare on me.
lV'hen night comes on, then to thy home perforce my steps are led,
And there for rest its threshold serves as pillow for my head.
And of a truth I oftentimes marvel, as I do weep, 565
That these my sighs and groans cannot awake thee from thy sleep.
With sufferings such as these I have, mistress, my bitter life
For long time past spent up till now in one continuous strife.
And in such fashion I that life would suffer to endure,
Had I been able to prolong existence now past cure. STo
But since I well perceive that life is drawing to its close,
The fear of death doth me impel, fainting beneath life's blows,
To fall in all my humbleness lowly before thy feet,
And with such power as yet remains my mistress' name to greett
And beg her to accept of me as loving faithful slave, stï
And as a payment for such love and service all I crave
Is to behold thy beauteous face, and gazing on that sight
Pass all my days as thus I gaze in dreaming of delight.
ATHOÚSA
Never I thought such words as these to hear those lips forth give,
For I did hold thee pure as maid in þs¿¡¡-sq may I live. 58o
Therefore without reserve to share thy company I came;
But now I see thee too at fault, and my heart burns with shame.
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29+ GYPARIS ¿lct
Full well men say, when they do see a river silent run,
That it were wisdom's truest'course its treach'rous depths to shun.
This my adventure of to-day me well may serve to teach <8¡
ifo hate all men and keep myself at distance fr-om their reach.
r-r
But whence, Alexis, came such thoughts I Whence did this passion
rise
And entered in thy soul I
,{LEXIS
fn sooth, as best f can surmise,
E'er since I was a boy thy face was planted in my heart,
There was thine image fair portrayed, asby a.painter's art.
And by degrees desiie for thee within me planted grew;
For as two trees you may espy as you a landscape view
Set side by side with branches fair, yet both are but a wholeSo
like the clinging ivy twined thy sweet grace round my soul.
ATHOÚS,4
Alexis, as thou c{ost desire my friendship, change thy mind; sss
Or else I vow in place of love undying wrath thou'lt find.
ALEXIS
Nay rather, my Nereid, thou shouldst change on thy part show,
And on my many miseries some pity shouldst bestow.
For by those lovely eyes of thine, my lady, I prorest,
Those eyes in which at once my joys and all my sorrows rest, 6oo
lfhat all the other maids will feel envy within their hearrs,
Each fair Nereid or shepherd girl who lives in Ida's parrs,
When they shall hear thy name so sweet exalted to the sk¡
Wherr that faír name in lofty strains worthy the theme I cry.
Thy peerless beauty by *y song shall pass through all the eaith, 6o5
And louder heralded shall be than maid's was, since its birth.
No merrymaking shall there be in cavern or in dell,
By river, plain or meadow-land, nor on the upland fell,
But it shall echo in tones sweet and swell the song of praise
Which men to thy fair countenance and grace surpassing raise. 6rc
No tree shall anywhere be found that has not on its bole
Engraved in letters deeply carved that image of my soul,
Athorlsa's name most beautiful, if only thou consent
lfo bring a speedy end to all these pangs which me torment.
¡!ú Three 295
Sínce thou refusest, as I beg, such talk to bring to end, 6'5
I "nd
ou. converse with farewell'
.{LEXIS
.Athoúsa, heaven forfend !
Let me come with thee; suffer me to bear thee company.
if ,¡o,, no pity feelest for my pains, be fancy free.
.4TÌ{OUSA
Come then; f cannot thee refuse. Ffowever, neter again
fet thought of ill-beseeming deed thy mind and judgement stain' 6zo
Never again across thy lips let pass a word like this,
Unless thou'rt fain for evermore my company to miss'
ALEXIS
Nay. even if that word had power to free me from my pain,
N"u"., my slender maid, that word should pass m)¡ lips again'
Never again will I reveal my heart's torment to thee, 6'5
But humbly after thee I'll walk and only cry 'Ah me!l
Until at length I reach the end of my life desolate;
For thus, I ween, it was for me \¡rrit in the book of fate'
eruoÚse
Well, let us wend upon our waY'
Af,EXIS
Ah ! haPless, haPless heart,
How do I feel within my breast to-day thou'rt rent apart! 63o
GVPARIS
.ATHOúSA
END OF ,qCT THREE
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II
ACT F'OUR
Yaxuoúrrs, PeNónne, and Ar:øorîsa
. v¿¡rNolirrs
In times of yore when I was young and through my limbs strength ran,
In vigorous deeds I took delight úke brave
^id
l*ry ,rru.,.
Ò-^'¡4
Skill had I in the use of bowìnd well I loved the éhase,
And with my running I could e'en the hare in flight outpace.
Lions I m-e! in open fight, and, as I mind -" w.ll,
Of beasæ full many slain by má in forest I could tell. 5
The maids all round were smitten sore and ever longed to see
That manly beauty which their hearts drew over unto me.
Many a sweetheart then had f, as is a young mãn's right,
And even the Nereids too held me in ionci ãelight. ro
But what a fate has mine become, now that I a!èd grow!
$)' teeth are fallen from my head, my hair is i..rË"a wirh s'ow,
\y fuc with wrinkles furrowed is, my cheeks sink more ,;j;;:
My colour now to black has turneà, áy.y., are filmèd .;;;.
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lfhe girls all turn their backs-or, -.r-ur,á *ill ,rot on me look; r5
93
ugly is my face become, the sight they cannot brook.
Y.l r..: what hap my wretched fáte at ciose of life has brought,
And-this .Phrosy'ne me to. scorn, as you have seen, has taught.'
)
But lo! I see Panórea¡ Athoúsa tot comes here.
Tl".y'y" nothing taken in the-chase and empty nets they bear. 20
Behind each maid her quiver hangs, h., q,riué, tipped iith horn.
And thus they march disconsolate like pair of sh".p fortor.,.
-"''
Panórea, to yíparis ,rry
"o'aullit-äi.".,I beg thee from thy fiim resolve let'nothing thee remoye.
For I perceive that all the men would *o.Èu, nought but shame, z5
And all day long their plotting is our honour to deiame.
¿ '
For_when they once have us deceived, forthwith they turn ro slisht
And.then, through all the years we live, cannot ,bidJ o;; .i;h;"""''
Just like the hunter who ihe hrr" pursu.* the live_long *;
O'er hill and dale, when summers heat and winters sno* displuy. :o
tqd Foar GYPARIS 297
Nothing he recks of weariness, of rest he takes no heed,
But toileth on and makes pursuit, till at his feet she bleed.
And when at length he hath her slain, no further count he takes,
Bú after others in their flight his eager chase he makes.
p'en so the men do unto us; for us they toil and moil, 35
And all day long within their breasts a thousand passiáns boil,
Until they have entangled us; then forthwith they forget
The passion which they once displayed and at new quarry ser.
r¿rqón¡¡
I know full well that from the heart they love us nor ar all;
What they desire is our poor selves deceiying to enthrall, +o
Even as thou, Athorisa, sayest. But yet, I'd have thee know,
That if a stable love there were, Yíparis could it show.
But none the less, though this I say, I promise ne,er at all
Within the snares of any man who maketh love to fall.
arsoús¿
Bethink thee how the vows they make are scattered from their mind,
Just as the leaves from branches fall before the autumn wind. 46
Just think how Kállistos once swore he never would forget
Fair Erophíle as his love, elsewhere his thoughts to set.
By fields that Kállistos did swear and by the mountain heights
That this fair maiden was his life, sole misrress of delights. So
y¿w¡coúLrs (aside)
Well said wâs that which shepherd wight but yesternight confessed,
That one she-goat which hath rhe mange infecteth all- the rest.
arHoris¿
Turn thee. . . . I see thy father there. Good heavens what a frown !
paNónn¿
Whatever business can it be that him hath here brought down I
Y¿wNoú¡,rs
You silly giddy-pated girls, what is it you have said ì j5
They ask your hands, and you refuse with these young men to wed !
Do you imagine all the swains of Ida crave your hand,
And like these simpletons by love all overmastered stand I
If Yíparis abandons thee, and Alexis thee in turn,
Think you that others with like love for the pair of you will burn ?
2g8 GYPARIS ,tctFo|r,
Then why is it that all demand dowry that costs so dear, 6¡
For which men silver cups and robes and other gifts prepare I
I well perceive how both of you are inconstant as the wind,
And to the good which you awaits, ye will not turn your mind.
Both of you now in beauty's pride may seem to soar to sky, 65
But time as it moves on its course that beauty will deny.
While iron is hot the master smith can bend it to his will,
But when 'tis cold he cannot make it yield for all his skill.
So while that youthful pair are still all heated with desire,
And any service to effect for sake of love aspire, 7o
Open your eyes, you siliy girls, and what is offered take;
Dream not that fortune always such fair proffers will you make.
A thousand times, Panórea, I've said to you'Consent',
Leave not another this fair chance which for yourself is meant.
And now again more earnestly than e'er I did before 7 s
I bid the pair of you to take these youths who you adore,
They, like yourselves, are rich enough and set in good estate,
And they with every virtue's grace have been endued by fate.
Nowhere their like as mates for you can I by searching find;
Your equals are they in estate, in honour and in mind. 8o
peNónra
With all the power f can command, father, I would you prah
llo me of marriage with a man never â. word to say.
For never of my own free will shall I proceed to wed,
And well thou knowest thousand times and more I have it said.
In this one thing I pardon craye, if I must cross thy will; 85
In all else I will list to thee, thy child obedient still.
ATHOúSA
And my resolve is like to hers deep planted in my mind;
To husband will I ne'er myself in boncls of wedlock bind,
YANNOÚLIS
I warrant me the hour will come when you for marriage cry;
But by my life you do not see the hour for that is nigh. go
Yet is this game by you ill played, to make these youths complain
They can no more for misery their wretched life sustain.
See to it lest they too one clay clesire to change their mind;
Then food for weeping plentiful I warrant you ye'll find.
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p¿wónna
Let them do what they list, so long as they leave us alone, 95
And do not worry out our life, as in the past they've done,
YANNOÚLIS
Then take my curser the pair of you, from bottom of my heart'
What I should like is with my stick to make your shoulders smart.
P.ANóREA
/,thorlsa, let us haste away as fast as we can got
Or else we're like from his great stick to get a weighty blow. roc
(They then depart. Y¿¡rrqoúrrs retnains alone and says:)
y¿N¡,¡oúus
Thus see how end a father's hopes! for children we beget
In hope we may have joy of them, not that we be beset
W'ith torments that have ne'er an end, with worries and with fears,
W'ith miseries that never cease-a branch that curses bears.
Children and chills strike to the heart, for that they're children named,
By fernale children worst of all our honour is defamed. to6
Plague on that father who o'er girl that dies sheds tears of pain,
And does not joy that he thereby will rest from torment gain.
These strip our houses bare of goods, their families make poor,
These for their parents woes untold bring home unto their door. tto
Alas! I judge this slavery my death will mean for me,
But still I promise you this girl shall not escape scot free.
But look! I see theie Yíparis, who with Alexis goes,
And by my faith they're proper men; neither dishonour knoç's'
Before Í say a word to them, I will from here depart; rr5
But for my daughter, f make vow, she shall for this feel smart.
YÍranrs, Ar.exrs, and Puxosir,qx
YÍPARIs
To-day let fields be parchèd up, let mountains sink in wrackt
Let thickets be consumed with fire and heaven turned to black.
Let rivers turbid run with mud, and let springs cease to flow,
Withered be every blade of grass, let every tree down go' 12o
Let never shepherd sing his song or Nereid dance her dance,
To-day let never flock of goats from out the fold advance.
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3oo GYPARIS ,{ct Faxff
Let sun his station leave in n*iåiirìo fall down ro the ground,
And let the heavens themselves reverse the order of theii rourd.
Let moon in sky obscu¡e her light and stars their lustre pale, rzj
Let clouds arise and hide the earth beneath their pitchy veil.
'
Let riyers run with streams of blood and sea o'erflow ihe plains,
And let her a new flood create to wash the world from stains.
pHnosf¡cn
Ye shepherds, all these many tears will never you avail;
They only serye to scorch your hearts and makã your courage fail. r3o
yÍr,¿nrs
If these my sighs and groans to-day ablazing fire became,
They with their heat would shrivel up and burn away my frame.
I wgrild my tears that copious flow as rivers might ,un dtwr,,
And fill a lake that might me yield a place wherein ro drown.
ALEXIS
And lrny tears could wish to ope deep down to hell a road, r3s
lfhat I might living there descend and take up my abode.
I would a lion would arise for every sigh I draw,
And speedily my wretched frame devour with ravening maw.
yÍp¿nrs
Let those who labour 'neath the weight of love come here to-da¡
lfhat I to them my boundless woes and sufferings may display. r+o
For sorrow like to mine nowhere will they on earth'behoidi
The wórld no maid so hard of heart as mine can ever hold.
ALEXIS
L_et those whose lot is joy in life come and behold my tears;
Yea, and with pity ler them see the sorrow my life béars.
For they to bitterness of woe quickly will change delight, 4s
When this my torment for one maid passeth before thèir sight.
pr-lnosÍNn
Well I behold that wolves of sheep are u¡ont to make their prep
And that the sheep on fresh green grass their hunger', p"rrg, uli"y.
But if love seeks its food in tears and never sated goes,
Then he who enters into love embarks on ship of woes. rjo
Unhappy shepherds, banish tears and ..ur. u*hil" to sigh,
For I perceive that ye are come unto that cave anigh,
/ct Four GYPARIS 3or
lÍ;here the Nereid hidden sits, and he who fain would learn
If good or evil him awaits, then let him hither turn
S.nd put the question unto her, and she will answer give rss
How he can banish suffering and hope new life to live.
So both of you must now draw nigh and answer from her crave
tJnto the question that you put to her within her cave,
In hope that you fair issue find for this your love's desire,
When you are taught how best you may escape from out the fire. 16o
YiP¿,RIS
Ourselves we too unworthy count that she should hear our speech¡
Do you, Phrosfne, her the tale ofall our sufferings teach.
ALEXIS
Phros¡ine, you on our behalf must to her access gain,
And ask her what the issue is that doth await us twain.
For, as we hear, the maiden is by nature passing coy; t6s
Our fear is such we know not what address we must employ.
PHROSYNE
Your words are good. . . . But that ye too may both her answer hear,
Ye, when she giveth her repl¡ must to the walls draw near.
(Then Pnxosiyn approaches the cave, and salts to theNnr-nto in
supplication:)
PHROSÍNE
Nereid, fairest of all maids, with peerless beauty dight,
Who in this cavern hast abode, the home of deep delight, t7o
These youths unhappy with desire for two fair maidens burn,
And to that love those maidens twain no recompense return.
(?åa Nnnnro then rtaþes answer from within and says:)
PHRosiNE Return theY will
For speedy recompense must they perform some stirring deed I
Must they the maidens woo with tears or give the goddess meed i
(Tåa Nrnnro says to them:)
p¡lnosinn A meed!
In those two wondrous fanes which stand built upon Pseloritë, qs
To whom are we ¡6 s¿ç¡ifiçs-to Zeus or Aphrodite I
(Tåa Nnnrro then says to them:)
To Aphrodite!
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vÍpenrs
Nereid, tell me once again, and tell me as a friend,
Whether my own love destined is reward to find at end.
(?åa Nnnrro says..)
Reward it finds!
YÍP.{RIS
Reward! A word of joy I hear! O sufferings of the past,
Now is to me from all my woes sweet rest in sight at last.
ALEXIS
Arrd my Athoúsa, tell me true, Nereid of fair faceWill
she too answer my desire, thou pattern of all grace I
PHROSYNE
Ye shepherds, her no fulther try-in your god's name, I pray.
This is enough-you heard her clear your coming fortune say.
Now hold your peace, for as I see the agèd priest has ta'en
Departure yonder from the doors of Aphrodite's fane.
Let's go and make known unto him the hopes which you inspire;
It may be with the goddess'aid he'll forward your desire.
Tell him that you wili many a gift as thanks ån him bestow,
For old priests too like all the rest lovers of gifts do grow!
yÍp¿nrs
Why what you say is true; let's go and meet him on the way,
And let us on our lips the names of those we love display.
For if so be the goddess helps, he may give us good aid,
For many a visit, as I've heard, he has that goddess paid.
ALEXIS
Well, let us go. Phrosy'ne, too, come bear us company, rgs
And bid him to us in our woe compassionate to be.
(Then the O¡,o M¿x issues from the temple and says:)
OLD MAN
All piety is lost to-day, mine own eyes witness weil,
For they of scorn unto the gods and to their temples tell.
Three months have passed and not a man has to rhis temple been;
Not one the goddess to adore or to make vow is seen. 2ao
But yet the godcless, as I mark, rewards them as is right,
With death and dearth these impious men she's forward to requite.
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They sow, and yet they nothir-rg reap) their beasts of murrain die,
And of these signs that heaven sends right in the face they fly.
the power of seeing straight and clear the love of pelf has reft, 2o5
And every road that leads to good men of free will have left.
But who are these that I observe coming to me this way ?
I judge they must have heard the words that I just now did say.
(Then both þneel and YÍranrs says.')
YÍPARIS
O holy elder, who dost serve the goddess, for relief
We visit thee and here outpour the tale of all our grief. zt'o
W-e twain beseech thee of thy grace to lend to us thy hand,
And (for we are the slaves of love) to free us from his band.
ALEXIS
Most holy elder, well I know we cannot elsewhere find
A better help in time of need for tolments of the mir-rd.
For thou hast power in thyself that goddess so to bend 2r5
That she to-day unto our pains will put a final end.
PHROSÍNE
Old priest, upon thy life, I pray, succour them with thy might;
Let not the goddess by default such servants lose from sight.
OLD MAN
Rise from my feet; such honour none may take from mortal hand,
Unless in reverend estate he next the goddess stand' 2zo
YÍPARIS
Nay, men to servants of the gods may suchlike honours pay,
And prayers to thee as lesser god they may with reverence say.
OLD MAN
If ye desire me to your prayers to lend attentive ear,
Riie rrorn vour reet
"";rî,r;:rt;ïf"r)rlirr'om
vou mav hear.
YÍPARIS
I to my misery of soul do love a maid unkind, zzs
So cruel and ungrateful maid you'll ne'er round Ida find.
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3o4 GVP"ARIS ..{ctnour
And I, most hoty of otd men, nXiålt"tr"¿ alady fair;
She has by beauty dealt my heart a wound beyond repair.
(Then the Or,o M¿N ?rals t0 råe Gooonss:)
My goddess, who in ,hi"" rbJ:ir,Ïïl *ir¿ heaven residst,
And from that height all mo¡tal things upon this worrd thou guidst;
The.earth, the,loftydome of heaven, the cayerns of the sea_- 23¡
All these submit to thy command and list alone to thee.
Of Hades and of Paraãise alike thou hast the keys,
Thou hast in charge all the delights which moriar men can pleaseOur
smileso our pastimes, our desires, the bliss that or¡r life fiús, 4s
And every stirring of delight that through our bodies thrills.
'Tis thou that givest fruitfulness to trees and plants and seeds,
'Tis thou thar clothest with their green the thickets, hills and meads;
'Tis thou, and thou alone, the fish of sea that bringst to birth,
And thou, and thou alone, creatst the creeping things of earttr. z+o
Thy grace controls the living things that through th" h.uu".,, *ou.
By everlasting covenant, as every eye can proye.
lfhou dost direct the track ofsun and pathways ofthe sk¡
The planets in their course and stars on thy control rely.
But
yet beyond these graces named that in thy person rest, 24s
The care of those that are in love is at thy sole behest.
lfhese may no other goddess know save thee and only thee,
And when they swear they take the oath by thy sole majesty.
Thou art the goddess who alone redeemest them from woå;
Thou takest bitterness from them and causest joys to flow. "5o:lhlrefole T.pray thee, goddess mine, to aid these lovers rwain,
A nd of thy bounty on this day to ease them of their pain.
O goddess, bend thy beaureous face, O be not pitiless;
Grant unto them what they desire and comfort their distress.
Let not
1!f -majesty
brook this, that two maids should proclaim- 255
Two maids like these-that they no whit have reverenie for thy name.
That they should say to-all the world rhy son and thee they síight,
A.nd make a boast they Ìrave the power of both to quench ii," ñgr,t.
That they two of mankind alone can with a single blow
Asunder break the mighty strength that lies in thy son's bow. z6o
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By the great verdict which we know Paris of yore did make,
That thou alone from out the rest shouldst prize of beauty take,
W'hen he the apple to thee gave, goddess, of golden hue,
And said to her that was most fair that glittering gift he threwBy
that I beg thee lend thine aid to these two youths to-day, 265
That they'these maidens whom we love are now our own' may say.
Then will each evermore remain thine humble faithful slave
In gratitude for that great boon which thy might to him gave.
Victims to thee they'll sacrifice with foreheads gleaming white,
And while they live their hymns of praise ro rhee they will recite. z7o
And I for love I bear to them will ever tapers light
Upon thy altars, goddess great, and see that they burn bright.
vÍp¿nrs
O goddess, look upon our pains and hearken to our prayer,
And pity take on our desire, desire beyond compare.
pr¡nosÍNn
O holy goddess, thee I beg have mercy on these twain, 27 5
The many loves thyself hast had in memory rerain.
ALEXIS
How many are my heart's torments and sufferings untold,
These, sacred goddess) thou canst well with thy clear eyes behold,
And since thou knowest well how love to suffering can condemn,
It thee beseems to heed my woes and shed a tear for them. z8o
For thou didst follow o'er the heights and through the thickets stray
After thy loved one, ere that time when he to beasts fell prey.
In later time thou o'er the death of that fair lad didst weep,
And for the making of red flowers his heart's blood thou didst keep.
On me too, goddess dear, likewise take pit¡ I implore, zss
And grant the boon that I these pangs and torments feel no more.
YÍP.ARIS
She, goddess, who is mine own love doth set my heart on fire,
And burns my frame up through and through with her excess of ire.
So, goddess, my request to thee is this-that thou her make
To see her error and to show some pity for my sake. zgo
That I, while I have life, rnay sayr'Lady, full well you see
'Twas Aphrodite's self who love's fulfilment wrought for me.'
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OLD MAN
Now from the signs which reach my ear I judge the goddess heeds,
Ancl or in this way or in that an answer to you cedes.
So bow your heads and homage pa¡ for she herselfappears, 29(
And at her side it is her son who company her bears.
(Then the Gor¡pnss comes forward ønd Éxoras her son, and the
goddess saj's:)
GODDESS
Shepherds, those prayers of yours have reached.unto my very throne,
Ascending unto heaven above, where we two sit as one
My son and I; thee too, old mau, as thou didst pray I heard,
And these requests have with their grieß the very planets stirred. 3oo
So I myself who see how just is this your hot desire,
And that these maidens' hands to win ye ardently aspire,
Have hearkened unto both of you, and now am come with heed
To grant you comfort and reward in this your hour of need.
Therefore no longer must ye grieve, but rather joyful be, 3oj
For that the end of all your toils to-day at last ye see.
For know, poor souls, that e'en to-day your weeping shall have end
And that the tortures of your hearts this very hour shall mend.
To-day the flower of love shall bioom, to-day comes your desire,
To-day the torments you've endured shall in relief expire. 3ro
llo-day ye'll find the maids ye love will fall into your arms,
And they will you with kisses dower and offer you their charms.
From their own lips you will now hear how they for pardon crave
For all the torments and the trials that they once to you gave.
With purpose fixed I will forth send for you my son most dear, 3rJ
E'en Érotas, that he may launch his arrows 'gainst the pair.
Now Érotas, up with thy bow and seek these maidens twain,
And draw that bow with all thy force ancl shoot them might and main.
Their very marrow pierce with shaft and burn with fire their heart,
Turn thou the judgement of their minds that they from it depart. s2o
Cause thou these maidens two to bend that they at last may know
With what great force when thou dost wish descends thy powerful
blow.
Chase off the fears that them enthrall and give them daring mind,
And take away their bashfulness that they true love may find,
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,úct Four GYPARIS 3o7
/,rrd show them plain no joyfulness is given to men by Íàte 3zs
pxceeding that which falleth out when man and woman mate.
Therefore with right good will go forth, and when thine arrow 's shor,
Return again to heaven's height and seek me in that spor.
For thither now f must return; to thee I leave the care
That thou shouldst for these lovers twain the end they wish prepare.
DROTJ.S
O goddess full ofgrace, as thou desirest shall it be, 33r
O lady mother, who than all else dearer art to me.
Before thou movest from this place, to seek them out I go;
Where'er they be, I'll find the twain and shoot them with my bow.
(Thereapon Énor¿s sets forth, and Yiraxts says:)
YÍPARIs
For this boon thou to us hast given, goddess, our thanks we give;
Bver to thee we'll homage pay and, honour whilst we live. T6
OLD MAN
For this grace which upon thy slave, goddess, thou dost bestow,
In that thou hast from heaven come down, thou and thy son,
below,
I give thee all the thanks which I can utter with my power,
Such words as breath and tongue and lips are able forth to shower. 34o
(Then the Go¡pass deþarts, and the Or.o Maw -rays.')
Great favour see I is to you by",lhi älf,goaa.r, giu"n,
Thatshe for your sakes with her son has thus come down from heaven.
It fitting is that, while ye live, ye should her service pay,
And every year make sacrifice on the appointed day.
pnnosÍN¡
What ye desire, that ye have seen, and ye have cause to joy. 345
See that your vows are duly paid and all fair rites employ.
YÍPARIs
May I my longing never see, if e'er I fail to lay
Upon her altar that r.ny gift which I have vowed to pay.
.AI,EXIS
If e'er the promise which I made in perfidy I break,
Never may I a moment's joy with my Athoúsa take! 35o
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3o8 GY PARIS ¿lct Foar
OLD MAN
Well, go your ways, my sons, forthwith, and take with you my praver.
W'here'er I be, in memory I promise you to bear.
- J -''
Forth from the temple, for ,tis time to close its portals to,
And with fresh water from the spring the garden to bedew.
YÍPARIS
Old man, the seryice which from thee we in our need have found
It is not fitting to reward with words which only sound,
But I do promise that by deeds a son I'll prove to thee,
Or rather one by purchase price bound o'er to slavery.
¿,LEXIS
And whilst I live my humble po\¡/ers I dedicate ¿q ¡lìssAs
witnesses this shrine I call and precinct which you see.
Ever to thee I faithful slave and servant loyal stand,
Ever to execute thy will I bow to thy command.
Your thanks unto the g.dd.rririîf,ro,rr, and not ro me;
How pitiful she is to all who are in love, ye see.
(Then the Or,o M¿w enters the temple and close¡ it. yÍranrs,
Ar,rxrs and Puxostvn remain.)
yÍp¿nrs
\Mhoe'er a favour equal this of mine to-day can name I
When did such ecstasy as.mine thrill through a human frame I
When did refreshment like to mine distil o'er heart of man,
Such as this moment through my soul with power reviving ran I
This very day doth from me take the tortures which me iend,
And bringeth me to lasting joy and rest that knows no end.
To-clay the goddess told to me that I should hear lips tellPanórea's
very lips declare that she did love me well.
T9-day I shall Panórea feel with her hand my hand grasp,
Kiss me with kisses from the heart and to her breast-me-clasp.
What mind is there ,tu,
"u".yll;lir" oppressed with care,
So overweighted with deep thought or bi"tter with despair,
That it would not with joy outbursr, seeing my great delight,
And would not be refreshed with cheer at this inspiring sight,
¡lctFour GVPARIS 3o9
The sight of my surpassing luck and my triumphant face,
For that my sorrow into joy has passed by fortune's grace I 38o
I marvel that through joy's excess my death I do not ñnd,
That I do not my sènses quit and lose my powers of mind.
{I)r
godd.ss, hear the prayü T pray, be guardian of my soul,
Unite my love's heart and mine own into one perfect i¡rol".
yÍpanrs
Alexisr let us quickly go that each may find his love; 3s5
And thus the gift which of her grace the goddess made we'll prove.
pFrnosÍN¡
Let us awayi ùut understand yourselves the words must say,
Nor must ye face to face with them to stand at all delay.
I tremble more than .'.. urorJrtïftåur, ,,'o..loudly knocks;
W'ithin myself with greater force I suffer love,s fierce shocks. 3go
END OF ÂCT FOUR
365
370
375
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On earth, f ween, lives not a man who doth not me abuser " ;
Who doth not evil of me speak and fain would me misuse. ;
Ail cali me an unfeeling bå¡ and that I'm ruthless say, ;
And if they could, I doubt me not, would me of surety slay. '''
And these my arrows which so fair are glittering with gold, j ,"
And pierce the inmost hearts of men, are poisoned shafts, I'm told.
''
.
For cause of me, so men relate, the earth is full of strife,
And for my sake by sudden death at sea they lose their life.
They call me yearning of the heart, and weight that's made of lead;
Of opportuneness free from care they say that f am bred. ro
They term me ruin unto youth and cause of shame to eld;
As one that works disgrace to men and honour's foe I'm held.
And yet injustice base it is to hold me up to scorn;
And I with men am nothing wroth, though with abuse I'm torn.
For when they evil speak of me, they know not what they mean, rs
And what my nature truly is they never yet have seen.
Ere that the frame of world was fixed was I born from of old,
And power that passeth ken of men as god above I hold.
As god supreme among the gods I cause their limbs to quake;
With my great might I oftentimes their inmost marrow shake. 2o
Evil I never yet have done, and nothing upon earth
Apart from me hath goodly end or hath a goodly birth.
Thanks to myself the worid of men is filled with deep deiight;
'Tis thanks to me that all things grow and flowers entrance the sight.
Nor yet am I the cause of shame, as falsely they pretendi zs
I am of honour counsellor, middle, beginning, end.
To mind of stupid I give light, for fools I wits provide,
Of nobler men f sway the minds, e'en though I do not guide.
Through me dull-witted men grow sharp and grovel not below;
They fly aloft and to the heights of heaven upwards go, 30
My deeds the differences of kings to harmony smooth out,
ifheir anger cause to melt away and passions turn about.
My arrows never deal a wound which brings a fatal smart,
But rather with the lightest touch just graze the victim's heart.
lctfiive GYPARIS 3rr
For love's fair mission is to see the world shali never fail, 3j
That death o'er growth of human kind shall at no time prevail.
If many fall before death's stroke, no less of me are born,
And so through me mankind from off the earth are never torn.
As comrades with me watchfulness and deeds of emprise go,
Labour, endurance, humbleness-all these from me do flow. 40
As housemates hopefulness and acts of courage with me dwell,
And time onpassing in his course increase of these doth spell.
My home is found within the frame of maidens passing fair,
And wounds I deal wheneyer I to these abodes repair.
And to those homes I with me bear my arrows and my bow, 4s
And other arrows there I make and on them points bestow.
I flit around these maidens' heads and glance in lordly wise;
Then suddenly with arro\¡¡'s shot their {air frame I surprise.
At times I lurk within the brows of one fair girl as prize,
At times on eyelids, or again midway between the eyes; 50
Or yet again upon the lips so coral red I sit,
Or into curls of golden hair all glittering I flit.
Sometimes on throat or bosom white or snowy hand I light,
And every day from vantage place I thousand bosoms smite.
Wings have I, and to every place I have the power to go; s5
Now to the heights I fly aloft and now I plunge below.
At times I walk along the plains, at times o'er hill and dell;
No road is there which for my limbs fatigue can ever spell.
Princes and kings, men rich and poor, alike the bond and free,
I draw along, and with my shafts pierce the whole company. 6o
And these my shafts are allr endowed with such a potent sway,
That they each maide¡r may give loye or love may take away.
And to each lover I reward do give as he deserves,
E'en as I mark he service true unto his love observes.
But to the careless, sluggard heart I give but torment vain, 65
And only those who loye from heart can their desire obtain.
But since these two poor shepherd youths a faithful love have shown,
Their love's fulfrlment they to-day with gratitude shali own.
For f those slender maids have met whom I set out to find,
And neyer have I suffered them a moment's rest of mi¡rd. zo
A blazing arrow drawn with power into their breast I shot
(According to my mother's word such was their fateful lot);
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Look ! Hither they do wend their way. Ah ! now methinks they shora,
lfhe yearning and the anguish deep ihat those in rove musr know.
(Then É,xores departs. Enter per,tóxne and ArHoúsa.)
p¿¡¡óne¿
What ponderings are these f feel, Athorisa, in my soul! jS
A-moment since my inmosr frame was fired throughout its whole.
My powers have wilted and my life is ebbing fast away,
I:..9.1h my breath as at rhe first within *y boro*,iáy.
My limbs seem cut away {rom me and ur. us it w"re d"åd,
Yy *iid, it seems, no longer dwells as erstwhile in my head. 8o
I tremble-scarce f dare confess, rhat rrembling i, so g..ut,
Scarce dare I ask what I should do at this my hour of late.
'
But since in thee f me confide as in a sist"r tirrd,
I. witl
19
thee plainly confess the tortures of my mind.
As-I this morning in my home with thee conversing stayed, 85
I thought how Yíparis I had with torments fell repãid.
'
Forthwith my youthful recklessness I did begin to blame,
And what f erst deemed strength of will hardness of miná to name.
I said it all unfitting is that such a youth for me
Should never in this world of men one peaceful moment see. 90
How can it be endured that he should suffer for my sake,
And in the end by rorment driven his own life from him take I
And yet he loyes me passing well, no less than his own soul,
And ready is for my dear sake to cast aside the whole.
But-no¡¡¡ I will begin to praise the beauty of his frame, 9s
And all the wonders of his mind and eke his mien accloim.
B_ut what shall I go on to say I My inmost heart was pierced
With arrow's bolt, and forthwith I was in love's flood immersecl.
And now I'm filled with hot desire with him a word to speak
Ancl for the sufferings I have caused pardon from him to seek. roo
I
_fear,
I tremble, now with cold I freeze, with fire now burn,
Now I am bold, now faint away and know not where to turn.
Athoúsa, be to me a guide and tell me where to go,
Te.ll me to-day how I can save my life from cruihing blow.
ar¡loús¿
Panórea, myself no less tormented am at heart;
No lesser fire than thee consumes burns up my inmost part,
lct Five GYPARf S 3r3
filexis rules with such sweet power my soul since break of day,
ThatI do feel that for his sake my life I'll cast away.
Unless I find him speedily and from him aid receive,
These pains which wring my heart, I'm sure, will me of life bereave.
'Tis but short time since I was brought into my present state, rrr
But should it last long time, alas! I fear me for my fate.
I to destruction should be hurled, the torments that me rend
Would of themselves ere long sufice to bring my life to end.
Ah me! How is it possible that young man should sustain rr5
For length of time a life that brings such tormenrs in its train !
How is it possible, I ask, Alexis could have heard
To-day my words which like hot iron his inmost being seared,
When I to-day declared to him he nevermore should dare,
Poor being, whilst his life should last, again near me to fare | ,zo
Ah ! now I know of very trurh his senses did him fail,
When at my feet he lay outstretched, all cold and deadly pale.
Now can I well believe the pangs which rent his heart in twain,
And how a boiling sea of woe surged in his heart amain.
Alexis, wheresoe'er thor.r art, let me draw nigh to thee, rz¡
That I these sufferings I endure may there extinguished see.
Let me run forward to thine arms and say, 'Forgive me, love,
Forgive, Alexis, all the pangs I once caused thee to prove.'
P¡,NOREA
A truce now to such words as these; another path we'll find,
And ere to-day shall pass awa.y, we'II ease what's in our mind. r3o
A:IHOUSA
Yes, let us go and seek them out. But stay-Phros¡îne's here;
She 's come herself to find us out and tallc with us, that 's clear.
PuRosÍr*e, Pawónna, and Ar:øoúsl.
PHR.OSVNE
Those maidens twain I yonder see; I will unto them go,
That I what benefit the god of love has wrought may know.
But ah! methinks the countenance of both is changed to view;
Thereby I deem the archer-god has shot his arrows true . . .
O noble maids, now fortune's gift enjoy as best ye m y)
For ne'er again will fortune spite as at the first display.
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314 Gf' PARIS ,4¿ Fitte
Yíparis and Alexis who assailed you with their prayers
A-nd called you pitiless and hard, unbending unto tears, r4o
Have sworn to-day for evermore to Ìeave their love be-hind,
And nevermole, while life remains, to bear you in their mind.
{or.oth.eLm.1ids-they
will seek out, who wilitheir love requite,
And, while life lasts, the pair of you they will leave out oirigÁt.
lfherefore take now_your fill ofjoy, for now I see you're cleared ,a5
From out the net of that anrroy wh"."in ye once were snared.
p¿Nónne
The words, Phrosy'ne, that I heard from thee at morning lighr
Pjd
tr:g- so.sweetl)¡ in my ears and brought me such deliãh;
That I forthwith resolyed in mind to ylparis to pay
lfhe recompense thar love deserved of which he áade display. r5o
And I am fain unto that end to make thee go-between
lfo find if any eagerness to wed in him is seen.
Go then and seek him out at once, and tell him, if he will,
le m1y with me this very day the marriage rite fulfil.
Only let him my father find and from him blessing take i55
lfhat we the marriage I desire with his goodwill iray make.
To sick men medicine they *"tä:.îffi, are like to die;
To wounds, ere they turn festering,or"i, they healing herbs apply.
But now that he hath quenched thã flame of iove u.,Ito desire
^ '
Of thee hath bid a long farewell, the better to aspire 16o
To love of other maids, how then can he his wrath now turn
And after bitter heart like thine again with longing yearn ?
! for my part will nor for rhee on such fool's ..iurrã go,
For I do swear that mission can neyer fair issue show.
p¿NóRn¿
Ah! dear Phrosy'ne, I arn thine; through thee alone I live. r6t
Come seek him out this very day that he may mercy give!
Because of him within my breasi I bear a scorching
'flí^e,
That breast which erstwhile nothing bore but ung., fi".." and blame.
p¡-lRosÍNr
How ca¡ it be that-icy snow which in thy heart deep lay
Has melted now with glow of warmth, that ung.. pìrr"d away ?
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p¿rqónn¿
Thou dost not understand! My heart to-day in twain is torn, t1r
And out of anger deep desire and flame of love are born.
And now to see him I so yearn, Phrosy'ne, that I know
That if long time shall pass aw^y eÍe I to him may go,
This passion which exceeds all bou¡ds will bring me to my deatir,
And therefore f must after him-or lose my living breath. 176
PHRosÍNE (aside)
Érotas, what just judge art thou ! Now thou dost fully see
How great the power which thou wieldst, what influence lies in thee !
É,rotas, well do men thee call to hardened hearts an ili,
A schooler of the minds of maids, a rod for stubborn will' r8o
Érotas, yea in very sooth all men to thee must bow:
For Justice that surpasses ken and measureless art thou!
peNóRn¿
What is it that thou ponderest, which makes thee shake thy head I
pnnosÍ¡¡n
I ponder o'er the words which were by thee this morning said:
'When mountains move from their firm seat and fishes leave their
home i85
Of watery waste, and seeking food to lda's heights do come' ' . .'
p¿xónn¿
That said I, and much more I said; but now f me repentt
For other is the fire aud flame that to my heart is sentNow
I can well believe the pangs, the bitter fortune knôw
Of heart which sinks beneath the weight of passion's heavy blow.
'9o
rr¡nosÍNB
Long while ago it was Êt time upon such things to think;
But now it is of tro avail, e'en though you poison drink.
raNónn,tr
Alack, alack! for my ill fate; earth part and swallow me!
Thou heaven descend this very hour my covering to be!
None else hath done ought wrong to me) except my stubborn mind;
Save this my body in the world no enemy I find' 196
If I myself just penalty for all my sin must pay)
lfhen to my life it me behoves to put an end to-day.
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3T6 GYPARIS ÅCI F\Z,,E
What bitterness and pangs of soul now must I undergo !
Yea, and in future there awaits for me far heavier blow! zoo
pnnos*Nn
Thou weepest. . . . lfhink of all the tears that for thy sake hath shed
Ill-fated Yíparis; how oft his eyes for thee were red.
ATHOUSA
Na¡ Yíparis must needs ,gainst thee a heavy anger bear,
For those torments thou didst inflict on him surpassing were. . . .
But I, what tormenr did I give to my Alexis, say, 2os
That he should-my poor frame with such feil suffering repay I
'Tis but to-day he said to me, Phrosy'ne, ,f thee love,,
And I so blind of heart and brain did at that instant prove,
That I did not âs then perceive what was my real desire,
And knew not he and only he could my affections fire. zrô
Ð-, h", Phrosy'ne, should have known thar) as the proverb tells,
'Tis not with single blow of axe his tree the woodman fells.
PHROSfNE
r see now, when he fault commits, that eâch man strives with might
Best as he can, by fairest words, to hide that fault from sight.
But each and all of you must learn that hearts whicrr with love bleed
Are not with ease, as some might think, from out that torment freed.
!u1
lo! thy father cometh here; I judge he
,s
heard the news; 2: 7
I think he means the pair of you full roundly to abuse.
YaNnoúlrs, PaNóRea, Aruoúsa, atztl p,r'xosixr.
va¡rr.¡oÚlrs
Why here 's a prety pass indeed ! llo think she puts a ban
On Yíparis for husband's place-so rich and fine a man! zzo
lfhe little fool does not reflect at this time of the ilay
No other man will seek her hancl, save I fat dowry pay.
Upon my life, by hook or crook if f such man .oulà ,.",
llhis flock of mine I would not give to make her dowry;s fee.
For Yíparis, because of love, seeks her without a gift, z2s
And wiliing is, if she consent, to take her in her shift.
But think you there 's another man who would a like deed dare I
He'd fleece me, rob me of my flock and leave my house strippecl bare.
The good old times are dead and gone whe, evãry shepherd'lad
Never a tlrought of dowry's price in calculation hâd. 23o
Áct Five GYPARIS 317
But nowadays the dowry's all, and oft a beauteous maid,
By nature richly dowered, sits neglected in the shade.
For-lack of dowry she 's compelled in bitterness to pine
,{nd, like old woman, all the sweets of youthfulness resign.
O happy times were those of yore, which all the dowry-founcl 4s
In virtues of an honest maid, in wit and prudence ,ourá.
Then she was judged by her wise words and by her power of mind,
When these together with the charms of beauty were combined.
But look! f see Panórea; Athoúsa with lier goes.
Methinks they must have overheard the thoughts my lips disciose. ,4o
Panórea, hast thou not ta'en my words into thy breastl
Dost wish for evermore on thee thy father's curse to rest I
p¿NóRn¿
My father, since I know full well that those who will not hear
A father's words, for their own life a speedy doom prepare,
I am resolved, as thou commandst, to marry Yíparis; 245
For he, as thou hast judged aright, both good and worthy is.
v¿NNoúr,rs
That thou hast listened to my words must me much pleasure give,
And on thee shall my blessing rest as long as thou shalt live.
Thou knowest of much bitterness thou wert to me the cause;
But I forgive thee; maids are maids-that 's one of nature,s iaws. z5o
Ancl thou, Athorlsa, what hast thou unto Alexis done I
Come, leave the fashion; Iist to md; never beneath the sun
Thou'lt find his equal amongst youths for riches or for wit:
{Jpon no other as on him beauty and wisdom sit.
But only look thou well to this-beware a change of mind, zss
For then will follow bitterness, and death alone thou'lt find.
¿r-soúsa
Since Yíparis as life-long mate Panórea will take,
This brave lad of mine own free will I too will husbancl make.
To thee I do commit the charge, the marriage rites prepare;
Give me into Alexis'irand, as though thy child I were. z6o
YfTNNOÚLIS
lfhere, take my blessing; let us go that we with them may meet,
And both these youths, where'er they are, with these fair tidings greet.
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3rB GVPARIS lct Fiae
Phrosline, why dost look at me and thuswise shake thine head I
Perchance thou art not pleased to see these maids to wedlock led.
p¡rnosÍ¡¡r
I m¿rvel when I see how light thy words do come and go, z6s
And that thou dost not take in count the anger these youths show.
These ma,ids no longer they desire-this very morn they swore
They would not speak to them again, although they profÏers bore.
YANNOÚLTS
Come, my Phroslîne, it is time to drop harsh words like these,
For anger 'gainst the maids no more these young mens' hearts doth
serze'
rnnosÍr¡r
27o
May God turn all the words I speak to trothing but a lie,
l.4:ay alI the prophecies I make without an issue die!
Look how these girls did seem as though they were half dead with fear.
While life remains, should both of you the pangs of torture bear.
'.llhe man who wilfully permits occasion slip away, 275
He penalty for such a {auJ.t by living.death should pay.
¿r:noúsa
If it be true that, as she says, they bide in anger fell,
Patrórea, for us that wrath must sound as a death-knell.
p¿ruóne¿
If that be true, then ere this day be past, I get me down
To Hades by the bitterest death that can my life-breath drown. z8o
vax¡qoúr,rs
If that be true, there yet remain, I ween, in lda's land
A thousand wooers rich enough to sue for maiden's hand.
But, by my faith, why linger we ? Why find we not a meaú
To tell the lads these maidens' mitrds and seek a go-between I
PHROSÍNE
It should be true, no doubt. . . . And yet those boys infatuate 2ss
Are ready any tirae with these two pretty fools to mate.
They love them rnore than e'er before, with blindness are beset,
And like some silly pair of bircls rush heacliong in the net.
PANóREA
Athoúsa, now my soults returned into its proper place.
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ATHOÚSA
Panórea, f too from my griefhave plucked up heart of grace. z9o
yeNNor'¡r,rs
I marvel at the things f 've seen. But hold your peace-they're near.
(They adztance.)
p¿xónBa
Poor heart of mine, how clearly I thy wild, strong beatings hear!
ATHOÚSA
Pan6rea, my spirit faints and almost dies away"
pe¡¡ónr¿
But I, Athoúsa, feel that mine no more in me doth stay.
YÍranrs, Ar-nxrs, Pawónea, Arnoúsa, Pnnos*Nr, Y¿NNoúrrs
yÍp¡nrs
Ah ! friend, wherever have they gone, tha,t search as search we may,
Nowhere can we cliscover them in any haunt to-day. 296
But let us see if verily the goddess' gift is ours,
And if each with the maid he loves as his true wife she dowers.
Perchance she now hath changed her mind and leaves us to our fate
'I'o live our former wretched life in misery desolate. 3oo
ALEXIS
Nay, how can it be possible that she her son should send
To shoot their hearts with all his might ancl thus their will to bend,
And yet that she should change her mind though no jusr cause is given,
And in our greatest need deny the boon for which we've striven I
I for my part have hopes in her that she to-day will end 3ot
The long tale of our woes and all the promised joy us send.
erHoús¿
ilhese words of sweetness which have reached this moment to my ear
Do heal the sickness of my heart and for me joy prepare.
¿.LEXIS
Yíparis, see ! the maids are here.
yÍp¿nrs
Where, where is she I love I
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ALEXIS
Without the temple, next to her I love all maids above. 3ro
Her father's there, and with them too the old Phrosy'ne stands;
I deem that they await us there to clasp us with their hands.
Yé,NNOULIS
Shepherds, with confidence draw nigh; no need have ye to fear:
For we are here, and for you both the marriage rites prepare,
That ye the maidens whom ye love may take as wedded wives, 3r5
And say farewell to griefs, and bliss enjoy throughout your lives.
YÍPARIs
A thousand blessings on this band and this fair meeting fall.
.ALEXIS
And may God multiply your years and joyous bliss send all!
And since to-day our torments will for once and all depart,
W-e render thanks to God above with all our powers of heart. 32o
Y,C.NNOÚLIS
Yíparis, now the hour is come for you with her to mate¡
The ease from torment now at last to thee has come, though late.
Know that to-day thou dost receive my child as wedded wife,
Panórea; with her, I pray, great joy rest on thy life.
ll/,ay ye twain walk on hand in hand and to an old age live, 3zs
And children round you may ye see and may these blessings give.
Say, wilt thou have her as thy spouse I For now this very hour
I give hel as thy wedded wife and with her hand thee dower.
YÍPARIs
Yea, I will take her ; on my knees I beg thee, say not nay)
Ancl if she willing is, I bend and to her homage pay. 33o
pe¡¡ór.re
O Yíparis, I willing am to love whilst I shall live;
For all the pain I once caused thee, I pray thee pardon give.
vípanrs
Ah ! what refreshment now I feel o'er my whole being steal;
My bitterness is passed
^way,
my festering wounds now heal.
y¿r.¡¡roúLrs
Let each the other give the hand, embrace, my children dear¡ %s
What sights of joy in my old age unto mine eyes appear!
¡!ú Fiae GVPARIS
yÍpenrs
My love, my confidence in life, the goddess now f praise,
For she was cause that I can thee with loving arms thus raise.
Panórea, O sweetest maid, the brìght light oi*i.," .y.s,
Can it be true that I at last have won me such a pri"el-
v¿rqNoú¿rs
Alexis, speak roo; wilt thou have Athoúsa for thy wife I
A sweeter word I never heard ïff:ia in a[ my tife!
I will, and bow before her feet. But she herselftust say
Whether to my poor self she hath as answer yea or nay.
¿rr¡oús¿
'Tis
oyea',
Alexis; since thou willst, I will to be thy wife,
No other love than thou aione hath passed into my iife.
YANNOúLIS
Ye too muct now embrace; ye too must now my blessing take,
For now I see that of the thing I longed for ye partake.
ALEXIS
Now- vanished are my bitter pains, now gone is all my care;
To-day my bod¡ from its ills delivered, free doth faie.
Ah me! But is it all a dream I hold rhee in my arms,
{nd pour my kisses on thy lips and close enfoid thy charms ?
If dream it is-then nevermore from sleep may I awake,
But with this dream from out my life a sweet áeparture take.
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340
345
350
v¿wNoú¿rs
Ye shepherds, linger here no more, or else it will be late, 3s5
And ye'll be tarc{y to enjoy rhe pleasures which await.
Away! let's to the steading go; let all the shepherds come
To see the marriage-all who round Mount lda have their home.
For these should share our bliss with us for our old customs' sake,
Which tell that all of good estate in marriage should partake. 360
That old man who the goddess serves at least must blessing give,
And wish you two the bliss of life as long as you do live.
Let us be gone-why linger ye I Phrosy'ne, come thou too,
For thou must have thy share in this, for, if I know what 's true,
,t
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3zz GVPARIS lct Five
'Twill last for five or six months yet; let us at once away' g6'
That we against the wedding feast two oxen fat may slay.
PHROSYNË
Well, let us our departure take; for joy I sìred a teat)
Since ye two ever were to me as mine own children dear.
May God grant to you length of days and multiply your bliss,
And may ye four your fill of life and blessing never miss. 37o
vÍp¿Rrs
Panôrea, give me thy sweet hand that we may make embrace,
And clasping thus each other's hand homewards we'll set our face.
Ye dells that are so thick with trees, what bliss ye have me brought,
Ye branches green and flower-strewn turf what blessings have ye
wrought!
Ye tender grasses wet with dew, cool v/aters of the springt 375
Ye birds which now beyond your wont to me so sweetly sing,
Thou shrine the holy goddess haunts-ye witness are to me
Of joy, and this my heart's reward now paid in full ye see.
And since no other gift at all I'm able you to pay,
But only can with gift of words the thanks I offer say, 38o
I pray the heavens, the sun and moon, the stars, the night, the
morn
'llo shed upon you every grace that from them can be borne,
Whether from tender winds that blow or clouds that float in sky;
May never snov¡ or hailstorm mar your calm serenity.
May shepherds never bring their flocks to pasture on your grass, 38i
May never beast with sullying foot o'er your fair meadows pass.
That ye may ever fresh remain, green and with flowers bedight,
And eye with beauty, sense with smell sweeter than spice delight;
That maidens fair may gaze on you and youths you honours pay,
And from you chaplets beautiful to deck them bear away. 39o
But thus I leave you to your joy that I may now fulfil
All I desire and seek reward in payment for past ill.
Ye maids of honourable name ffiää." that all hearts thrills,
Who gathered thickly are to-day here amongst lda's hills¡
Ye men of wisdom and of mark, elders with riches blest, 395
Who with much toil have reached the crags that amid lda nestlct
Five GYpARIS 323
Ye yfro have pity for our grief and for the pangs we,ve borne,
And for the many tortures keen that have our úeartstrings torn,
Ye see the gods have willed our woes to be brought to an end,
And now these maidens for our mates while life endureth send. 4oo
O show not envy at our bliss, but rather joy of heart,
And pray that ye, if e'er ye love, may play our blissful part.
END OF THE COMEDY
Y2
APPENDIX
Bv way of Appendix to the Gyparis, a translation is here given of
the charming Cretan pastoral poem called The Fair Shepherdess ('H
eü¡"opSq BooxoroûÀa), written in rhymed iambíc trimeters catalectic,
or hendecasyllabics. It was edited and published by one Nikolaos
Drymitinós of Apokoróna in Crete, who himself tells us that it was
published at Venice in ú27. The text used is mainly that of E. Legrand,
Paris, r 9oo.r Though the poem has little else in common with
the Gyparis, the episode of the shepherd's swoon and his reviving by
the shepherd maid is closely parallel to the swoon of Alexis and his
reviving by Athoúsa towards the end of Act lfhree of the Gyparis,
and the idea may well have been borrowed from that source.
The episode upon which the poem is founded appears, as Legrand
pointed out in the introduction to his first edition, actually to have
taken place in Crete, and to have given rise, as Drymitinós remarks,
to several poetical versions.
Besides the articles by H. Pernot, mentioned in the note, there is
a fairly full description of the poem, with extracts and translations, in
W. Martin-Leake, Researches in Greecerpp. t22 ff., where it is noted
that 'Apokoróna contains the sea-coast from Armiró to three hours
West of Canea, and the inland country, as far South as the mountains
of Sfákhia'.
Another analysis of the poem is given by K. Dieterich in his
G e schic ht e d er byzant ini s c h en un d n eugri e c hi s c h en Lit t er a tur 12 pp. r o9 f.,
and elsewhere. He finds in it the influence of Longos's Daphnìs and
Chloe, and Musaeos's Hero and Leander, and stresses the influence
of the poem on Greek popular poetry.z Noteworthy features in this
I This is the third edition of the poem by Legrand, based on the edìtio
princeps printecl at Venice in 1627. I have aiso had the assistance of H. Pe¡not'sãrticles
on the poem in My'langu ffir* à M. Énile Picot,ä (tgt3),
pp. 83-roz, and in his Êtudes de littdruture grec{ue noàerne, Paris, 1916,
clrap. vii, pp,27r ff., where emeudations are proposed aud translations of the
poem given. I have sometimes diverged from Legrand's text where other
readings seem to me superior. See further Nikos A. Bees in Byz,-neugr, JaÀrú,,
iv (tg4), p. gz, and Beiieft + (tgz+), whe¡e the ¡eceut literature on the
poem rs glven.
2 There ís a version, which does not differ greatly from Legrand's tert,
in Kanellákis, Xr arcà'AváÀema, r 89o, pp. r r 3 ff. I have occasionaily followecl
this text where it seemed cleariy superior to that of Legrand. Pe¡not also
gives an oral ve¡sion of the poem heard by him at St. George in Chios.
APPENDIX 3zs
aspect are the essential modesty of the erring shepherdess, the evil
consequ.ences which follow on her lapse
"from'
virtue, a point
emphasized by
.Drynritinós himself at tire end of tir" io"-, tf,à
appreciation of the beauties of nature, the introduction of ihoror, th"
Death-god, who plays so important á rôle in modern Greek ooår.u,
and the lamentation of the bereaved lover, in which h" mrkes'appeái
to the forces of nature, over the grave of
-his
beloved.
The poem seems to d.s".v" to bã more widelv k'own. as embodvins
much of what is best and most ¿rttrâctive in mådern Gí"ek poerrl.r '
¡ A new text of the Eipopgt¡ BooxonoiÀa, edited by Mr. J. Mavrogordato,
will shortly be pubtished in Florence by G. Orioli.
THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS
As published by Nxor,aos Dnyurnwós, of Apokoróna in Crete.
ONr morn to distant dell I pass,
To pasture there my sheep on grass,
Where trees and glades and streams abound,
And fresh and tender reeds are found.
Amid these trees on flower-strewn mead s
The timid deer are wont to feed
Upon the fresh bedewèd green,
While songs of birds are heard between.
But lo ! a slender, beauteous maid
Like some fair vision haunts that glade! ro
Her eyes upon her sheep weré set,
Her beauty such as suns beget¡
Her locks were like to glorious gold,
Her frame like jewel to behold.
Her raiment was of purest white, 15
And shone like stars in heaven at night.
So, as my gaze turned to her eye,
My heart asunder seemed to fly.
For that eye love-gods held, whose bows
Sought me to pierce with arrows' l:lows. zo
And when those gods saw me anigh,
Their hands did straight to weapons fly.
Their arrows and their bolts were ta'en
To deal me out eternal pain.
An arrow launched did reach my heart, zs
Nor did my body'scape that smart.
My eyes were wrapped in darkness' spell,
My being into torment fell.
Before the spring in swoon I layi
She thought my life had sped away. so
She said: olfhe glances of rny eyes
With death this shepherd-lad surprise.'
So she approaches and fuil soon
Perceiyes I am but in a swoon,
And as with sweet refreshing air 3 5
She courage gains, that dove so fair.
Cold water takes she from the spring
And'gins it o'er my face to fling,
THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS
Sprinkling it o'er me in belief
It medicine has to give relief.
Again and yet again she sprays
That she from swoon may me upraise,
And with that water cool methought
My reason's force to me was brought.
And then she gathered from the field
Herbs and flowers which sweet scent yieldYes,
those flowers such sweet scent gave
That they raised me from the grave.
But my mind perplexèd grew
How to pay her the thanks clue
For all the wealth of kindness' dower
That she showed me in that hour.
I said: 'What art can I now learn
This great kindness to return ?
Or how can I escape the weight
Which presses down the base ingrate I
Na5 if I offered my heart's blood,
I could not make what I owe good.
No word of mine has power to tell
How great thy lovingkindness' spell.'
To this the nymph her answer made:
'Thy body lay within this glade
In peril that it life should lose;
Could I see this and help refuse ?
What man to me would praise have given,
What god would me for this have shriven I
What maiden would not in her heart
Have said I played a ruthless part I
The rocks themselves would have complained,
If I had then from help refrained.
My shadow's self had hated me,
Had it seen me from duty flee.
Small men and great alike had said
lfhat I was base and cruel maid.
My sheep had fled and left me lorn,
No man companionship had borne.
No other thing could I have done.
Better to count the sands that run
lVith fruitless toil and iabour vain
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328 THE FAiR SHEPHERDESS
Than from such help as this refrain
To shepherd wise, with beauty dight,
That was fou¡id in such hapless plight.
Nay, I was bound that help to give
And raise him up that he should live.
But, Shepherd, who dost thanks thus show,
And wouldst reward on me bestow,
By this thou thrillest me with love,
And I would all thy will approve.
For now I seem as reft ofheed,
Nor longer care my sheep to feed;
My j"y is in this mead to bide,
That we may stay there side by side.'
Others I leave to paint in mind
What joys I in that brake did find,
As I told all my passion's fire
And urged upon her my desire.
What bliss was there like unto mine I
Who can my frame's delight divine I
No shepherd can so joyful be,
No fish so gladsome in the sea.
I said to her: 'Thy sweet fair eye
Did cause my heart in twain to fl¡
And yet-though this be past belieËThe
wounding knife has brought relief.
O might thy earnest thus begun
To payment full at ending run!
O would thy beauty might decide
That I to-night sleep by thy side!
For my home lieth far awayz
Where I milk ewes at close of day.
W'e cannot there this evening pass,
So let us lie here on the grass.'
With sweet words answered me the maid,
Words which with joy *y heart repaid;
Those words were like to honey sweet
That did with answer my words greet.
She said: '1t'he light of day doth die,
And the sun's orb away would hie;
The darkness of the night draws near,
And the brake tt¡rneth chill and drear,
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So follow me that we may find
The cave that lieth close behind.
There shalt thou eat and drink, an<l lie
On such poor couch as caves supply,
Joy will we have and pastime good
With singing songs and taking food.
lfhy flock may bide upon the mead,
And there left to itself may feed;
Yea, that same flock alone may sta¡
And in its shepherd joy it may;
Thy sheep and all the rest of thine
Can well be left to stay with mine.'
So zealously set forth we twain
That cavern's shelter for to gain,
And each the other's hand dicl take
All joyously our way to make.
And on the road a garden lay
Whereout I cut a sprig of bay.
lfherefrom a ring I quickly made,
Which each on other's finger laid,
And thus with song we onwards went,
Where trees were full of blossom-scent.
The blossom fell in sheer delightTo
deck my lady's beauty bright.
With countless stars the heavens shined,
And sweet refreshment breathed the wind.
So quickly to the cave we camc
With laughter, jo¡ and sportive game.
On one side of that cave there lay
A fire she had prepared by day.
A blaze therefrom the maid did make
With brushwood gathered from the brake.
And deep within a fair bowl's base
Was set a lamp-a thing of grace.
Na¡ all that fair white dove possessed
Filled me to full with joy and zest.
I turned and viewed with deep delight
All the great beauty of that sight;
And at the câvern's mouth we laid
An arbour out of flowers ¡¡¿dsOf
myrtles and of rosemary,
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33C. THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS
Of violet and fair lily.
So cunningly the maid it dressed,
The parchèd cave was all refreshed;
With such rare art each flower was set,
My eye was fixed, as each it met.
My mind was filled with much atrraze,
As on that neatness I did gazeOn
vessels ranged in order due,
On vases hung so fair to view,
On brazen bowl set by her side
For milking ewes at eventide.
And beyond all I marked a couch,
A thing ofjoy I will avouch,
A simple bed, but so well strewn,
It was for sportive hearts a boon,
I, ifshe brothers has or sire,
And who the cave's lord is, inquire,
For whetted knife I saw there hung,
lfhat was from new-wrought baldrick slung.
She answered: 'I have agèd sire,
Who yesterda¡ as needs requife,
W'ent to the rock, there stones to hew,
That he our sheepfold might renew.
Till next week he doth bide awa¡
So now alone I here must stay.
Thus, as thou seest, this cave's my horne;
Thou needst not fear that others come.
Mother and brothers-none are left;
They have long since by death been reft.
My sire and I remain alone,
And as our home this cave do own.'
She took paie-yellow cheese and bread
And cold roast lamb, on stone outspread
That served as table-these she bears,
And supper zealously prepares.
A little sour wine she bore
In dainty flask from out her store.
With water mixed she drank the brew,
And then myself bade drink it too.
'I drink not, lady, nor will eat',
Said I, 'from off thy dish of meat,
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Unless with kiss thy beauty deign
lfhe invitation to sustain.'
When this she heard, she seemed to fail,
And like the sage plant to grow pale.
llhen blushes on her cheek did bloom,
Like brazier-fire amid the gloom.
Her eyes she dropped, and said to me:
'My honour brooks not that this beThat
I should without shame thus smile;
Rather I should condemn thy guile.
Yet thou hast power-so drink it up,
Will I or not; then pass the cup,
Yea, drink as much as thou art fain;
No love but mine thou must obtain.'
So we that water-tempered draught,
Poor as it was, together quaffed.
We kissed, and clasped each other's hand,
And fanned by the night-breeze did stand
Next to the maid this word I spake:
'The mountain paths me weary make.
I beg this kindness ¡¡s 1e sþsv/lfhat
to our couch we straightway go.'
So we two went to bed with zest,
And clasped in close embrace took rest.
By cheerfulness and laughter led,
The East began to blush rose-red,
And in short space we spied the sun,
Whose beams into the cave did run.
That sun \¡/e greet with cheerful mind,
And issue forth our flocks to find.
When evening came $,'e still were there,
And to those pleasures did repair,
Which no man can by letters spell,
Or to his neighbour rightly tell.
But then there came that moment drear,
When her old father should appear.
At eventide my mistress cried:
'My company must be denied;
Next morn my sire's return will show,
And I rnay not from this cave go.
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332 THB FAIR SHEPHERDESS
So up, and to thy fold depart,
But see of love thou mindfui art.
In space of month return to me,
And let me not from memory flee,
For then my sire must go again,
A further labour to sustain.'
That night I lay in bitter grief,
From torment I had ne'er relief.
I prayed to God to grant to me
lfhat late the hour of dawn might be.
But to my kind dove I exclaimed:
'The light of day must needs be blamed,
For he has hurried on to-night
To part us each from other's sight.'
But to the sun in wrath I cried,
That sun on whom I erst relied:
'O Sun, that wont hast to bring jo¡
Why bringest now to me annoy I'
So I arose, when this I'd said,
And left her sleeping on the bed.
llo print a kiss I drew anigh,
And took my leave of her with sigh:
'May healtir and joy be e'er thy lot,
My dove, and be not this forgot,
lfhat, if I live, ere a month flee
I come thy angel-face to see.'
She turned and looked into my eyes,
And cursed her fate with bitter cries.
The tears which from her eyes did fall
Bedewed her coral lips withal.
'Out upon thee, my bitter fate,
Which gavst this lady for my mate,
But then didst quench my taper's spark,
And left me groping in the dark!'
She rose, and utt'rance fain would make,
But trembling straight her lips did take,
And from the tears that she let flow,
You saw how bitter waS her woe.
She said: 'May proud joy be thy part,
O Shepherd, wheresoe'er thou art,
And though thy mind far absent be,
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.I.HE FAIR SHEPHERDESS æ3
Yet will I live and die with thee.
Be sure thy love will hold that prize, 285
Which was the bright light of her eyes.
Only that love in mind retain,
And see thou quickly come again.'
''Wheneter thou seest the crow grow white,
Or Morning-star at evening bright, 2go
Or body without breath alive,
Then I will thee from memorv drive.
Sooner will fish upon land go, '
Or Erotas cast off his bow,
Or night be reft of stars and dews, 2gs
llhan I such shepherdess refuse.
But since for hapless me 'tis writ
That I must from thy presence fit,
I charge thee that thou mindful be,
lfhat thy soul never from mine flee.' 3oo
So bathed in tears I turned from there,
And did to seek my sheep repair,
And slowly, slowly left the place
With torture written on my face.
But the month passed, and came the hour 3oj
For me to seek that fair one's bower.
Yet my fate willed for wretched me
lfhat my good luck a change should see.
For I fell sick upon my bed,
And strength and grace from me were flecl. 3ro
The month passed by as there I lay,
The next month too was sped away,
Ere I had strength to waik about
And once again my love seek out.
But when that two months' space was passed, 3r5
My frame some strength regained at last.
With eagerness I did essa¡
Leaning on staff, to wend my w^y.
Great fear had I within my heart,
And could not make that fear depart. 32o
Methought I fell and broke my blade;
A demon-shape made me afraid.
It cried three times and startled me,
And caused sweet sleep away to flee,
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33+ THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS
Then ravening hounds came on apace,
And my ewe-lamb to eat did race.
I heard in brake the clear spring sa¡
As it went weeping on its way:
'Thy dallying and thy sickness dire
Will on thy heart cast coals of fire.'
So I did wait in deadly fear,
And filled was with forebodings drear.
I could not bring my heart to mirth
Nor raise mine eyes from off the earth.
f came, and once more saw 1þs 6¿ysBut
it was like to some foul grave.
Ah me! a different welcome this!
How I that former greeting miss !
Upon a rock on hill-top high
The form of agèd man I spy.
A weakly frame, he watch did keep,
Clothed all in black, o'er a few sheep.
Whistling, I greeted hím, and bade
Him news give of the shepherd-maid.
But what I asked, I asked in fear,
And what I would not then dicl hear.
For as I listened he did sigh,
And bitterly'gainst fate did cry.
'lfhy heart's desire is deadr' he cried,
'Ne'er wilt thou have her by thy side.
Thou askest of my child, and she
Was all my hope for wretched me.
But the Death-god did her surprise,
And thus he darkened o'er my eyes.
She ever was in heart so gay,
She charmed my age's gloom away.
Of late at eve she pined in woe,
And did unripe to Hades go.
For day and night I saw her weep,
And upon fate her curses heap.
She wasted like a taper lit,
Till she beneath the earth did flit.
Her eyes ne'er closed in sleep at night,
By day she took nor sup nor bite.
Her flock, her pride, she drove away,
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Which ever by her side did stay.
Ofttimes from slumber she would start,
And muttered to herself apart,
As,now this side, now that she tossed,
Of sorne fair shepherd she had lost.
Then I would rouse her and inquire
What dreams she had which seemed so dire,
And bade her tell me and explain;
But she began to weep again.
*My sirer" said she, "thou dost me wrong
To break these dreams that on me throng,
For there to my great joy I see
That shepherd.íaä so deir to me.',
Yester, my so-nr was the ninth day
Since she her last farewell did say.
She charged me go into the brake¡
A $-epherd there his way would take,
A fair brown lad, with smile on face,
Slim, dark of eye and full of grace.
And he would ask and seek to know
Of her whom death has thus laid low.
"And thou must say that she is dead,
But never from her mind he 's spetl.
Tell him full bitterly to cry,
And for her sake his garments dye.
Tell him rhe cause wñich did heí slayThat
when she saw days pass awa¡
She thought he had pur her from mind;
So did she bitter ending find."
But frorn thy features thou art he,
And from the heart I pity thee.
For I would thee have ta'en as son,
And wedding-talk would have begun.
But now I weep and mourn thy fãte.'
When I did hear him this relatê
Vy "utt
grew dull and thick my sight;
On feet I could not stand uorisht.I
cried out'gainst tny drtur,"'Jrpit",
And uttered curses on my plight.
I railed at Love as lying knavè,
And ne'er a thought to life I gave.
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ß6 THE FAIR SHEPHBRDESS
'I beg, my father and my lord,
Grudge not a step upon this sward,
That we
-may
seek my lady,s gravc,
And my desire fulfilment havel
fn some dark cavern will I dwell;
Of consolation none shall tell.
In loneliness my way I'll wend,
Ever to earth mine eyes I'll bend.
Without cloak, shoelêss wiil I go
,O,r.thorny ground or 'mid theinow,
While unkempt locks and nakednesj
Proclaim that demons me possess.
My fault and passions which me move
Have into Hades hurled my love.
Nay, while she lived, she should have learned
How I in sickness for her yearned.
But now I see with fullest iight
I.n th1, tomb's bed thou'rt lost to sight,
_A-nd
I, poor soul, can ne'er thee wake,
Nor word can each from other take.
Mine eyes, since ye have lost your light,
_O_¡
maid no longér rest your síght.
What comfort now will'have the power
Me with relief from pains to dower I
Na¡ friends and kinsmen will I hate;
Death_I seek not, for life's my fate,
That,I may pains and tormenis bear,
L_onging in vain and daily care.
Yes, I will live and without cure
Each hour a thousand deaths endure.
Mountains and rocks will on me DrevFor
dwelling, in the woocls I'll stày,"
And weep and wail there day arrd'night
And to the hills ..ry -o"s r"ðit".
The beasts shall foilow in my train,
That they, as I, may too complain.
Upon no lute_ or pipe I'll playl
Into.¡o mead or garden stray.
I will no longer milk my sheep,
But will a life of misery-keep.
Only
that little lamb rr,o*-*hit.,
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THB FAIR SHEPHERDESS
My lady's per and chief delishtThis
will f ever bear with rie,'
That it may share my companv^
That we may both oir mistreís'wail
As o'er the hills our way we trail.
I.'il
_lull
it, folded in my iap,
As. I pour curses on *i hup
When thunders roar ind fãlls the snowAnd
shep!9_rds fear to hills to go,
Then I will to the mountains"hie.
A¡d o'e.r my beauteous lady cry. '
When the sun scorches rocls aid bruk"And
all 'neath trees their shelter t"k., '
And shepherd-wights to shade do t,rni,
Then will I let the sun me burn.
Now let no swain from cavern run,
Let clouds o'erveil the face of surrr'
Let grass be withered on the mead
Let none his flock from sheepfold íead.
May never bird fly into brakã,
Or at the dawn his rong u-uÉ",
Let.nightingale to singãisdain,
And eagle blind from prey reiruin.
May the moon never shinl bv'nishtOr
fish in sea rake his delight'.
a '
Let springs parched up their waters hideAnd
tender reeds with heat be dried.'
So here unto its end doth pass
The story of this shepherd'-lass.
Though many otheri mav be foundKnow
ye thai all will be'unsound. '
This one I tell is far the best,
And overpasses all the rest.
E'en I, Drymitinós of Crete,
Sprung. from Apokoróna's seát,
Chose it with care to be mine twn,
A.nd printed it in Venice rown,
lfhat all who will may learn tó flee
Love's fleshly lusts anâ tvrannv.
For they therefrom p"r.Ír"rr..'rn ay gain
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ß8 THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS
Rose without thorn, and eke obtain
A warning from the wretched fate
Of this fair maid, which I relate.
In sixteen hundred twenty-seyen
This work was to its end arriyen.
Reader, should this my tale offend,
I ask thee pardon me to lend.
þ,¡tririaçhg
f:ii¡st;¿-
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M*t'| 11:1¡i11
PRINTED ¡N GreÀT BRITAIN ÀT THT UNTVERSITY PRESS, OXFORD
BY JOSN JOENSON, PRINÎER TO THE UNIVERSITY
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