Nydia: A Tragic Play [Reprint 2016 ed.] 9781512814583

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N Y D I A : A Tragic Vlay

LONDON HUMPHBEY MILFOBD : OXFORD UNIVERSITY

PBESS

ΝYDIA A TRAGIC

PLAY

BY

GEORGE H E N R Y BOKER

EDITED

EDWARD

BY

SCULLEYBRADLEY

A S S I S T A N T

OF UNIVERSITY

P R O F E S S O R

ENGLISH OF

PENNSYLVANIA

»> «0

PHILADELPHIA UNIVERSITY

OF P E N N S Y L V A N I A I 929

PRESS

COPYRIGHT

Ίβίβ

U N I V E R S I T Y OF P E N N S Y L V A N I A DBAMATIC BIGHTS

RESERVED

F E I N T E D I N T H E V. S. A

PRESS

PREFACE

INCREASING interest in George Henry Boker and the growing demand for his works have suggested this edition of Nydia. Of the unpublished dramatic works of the poet, this is the most important. The belated recognition of Boker marks a serious neglect on the part of American criticism. Born in 1823, he wrote the great bulk of his plays and poems before the Civil War. The restricted dramatic taste of the times, the difficulties then confronting American dramatic authors, and the diversion of the talents of this wealthy leader of Philadelphia social life into the troubled channels of the War, all united to limit the success which his native genius might have led him to expect. From 1848 on, his remarkable dramas—Calaynos, Anne Boleyn, The Betrothal, Leonor de Guzman, even the great Francesco da Rimini, to name only the most important—received only slender public recognition and soon passed from the stage; and his volumes of poetry, lyrical and narrative, were accorded very little more than passing attention. The obvious circumstances which led to this result, the present writer has already discussed in his George Henry Boker (University of Pennsylvania Press, 1927) and they need not be enlarged upon here. It was not until Lawrence Barrett, with his great talent for the interpretation of romantic character, in 1882 revived Francesca da Rimini upon the American and English stage, that Boker was accorded the high praise which had been long his due, or any one of his plays enjoyed the measure of success that many of them had deserved. This ^ H E

play then held the stage for ten years, and has since been memorably revived by Mr. Otis Skinner. But the poet of Francesca da Rimini had reached, in 1882, the age of sixty years, and his literary work had been interrupted by the demands of his country during the Civil War, and by eight years of diplomatic service in which he had achieved a distinguished career. Yet in spite of these handicaps, the inspiration of his belated success was sufficient to carry him back to his old world of dramatic creation, and in 1885 he offered Lawrence Barrett the play, Nydia, which appears in this volume for the first time in print. A discussion of the historical and critical considerations pertinent to this play has been included in the Introduction to this volume. However, it is a pleasure to the editor to acknowledge at this point his indebtedness to Professor Arthur Hobson Quinn, of the University of Pennsylvania. Professor Quinn first discovered Nydia in the course of his own pioneer researches into the work of Boker; he called it to the attention of the present writer and encouraged him to edit it. The editor has tried to present the best possible reading version in this text of Nydia. There are two surviving typescripts: the first, evidently prepared for Barrett, since it bears notes in Boker's hand obviously intended for the eye of the actor; and a second, probably prepared in the following year, 1886, when the poet was contemplating a collected edition of his works. The changes in the second draft are in general in the nature of emendations, and have been followed in this text, except in those few instances which rendered a footnote advisable. The editor acknowledges with pleasure his indebtedness to the late Mrs. George Boker of Philadelphia, daughter-invi

law of t h e dramatist, who assisted him unstintingly with her store of personal recollections and information, and who gave him t h e permission to edit Boker's works. Special t h a n k s are due to the Library of Princeton University, to whom the Boker manuscripts were bequeathed at the death of Mrs. Boker, for their sympathetic co-operation in keeping the manuscripts available to me during my work. T o my wife I am grateful for her skillful assistance in the task of collating the manuscripts. EDWARD SCULLEY BRADLEY

Univer»ity of Pennsylvania,

1928

vii

INTRODUCTION

INTRODUCTION the dramatic works of George Henry Boker, Nydia is the best play not previously published, and it must take its place as one of the finest of his dramas, nearly equaling Francesco da Rimini in power. It is set apart somewhat from the bulk of his work by the lateness of its creation. It was written in 1885, almost sixteen years after the last previous major work of its author, and after a long period of literary disappointment and a complete absorption in diplomatic affairs had led Boker, and certainly his critics, to suppose that his literary life had come to its close. Yet it is a simple, beautiful play, not only in its poetry, but also in its rich stage possibilities, and it proves that the fire which had forged the fervid life of Francesca da Rimini in the veins of the young poet of thirty years, was still vivid when he was sixty-two. For Nydia, as has been said, ranks both as poetry and as drama with the very greatest of Boker's work. It represents a literary second blooming in the poet's life, induced by a sudden recognition after years of heart-breaking neglect. As a young man, from 1842 until 1869, Boker had labored unceasingly as the exponent of romantic poetic drama in America; had labored against the handicaps of inadequate interpretation, the prejudice of managers against the American product, and a seeming insensibility on the part of the public. At length the Civil War had evoked his notable executive abilities, while he devoted to the cause of the Union those great energies which might otherwise have gone into the creation of poetry; and in 1871 his country had recognized his work by offering him a diplomatic mission which opened up to him a brilliant career. MONG

A

But now, after his retirement from diplomacy, there had occurred an event which reawakened the aspirations of his youth; which seemed at last a recognition of those great powers whose very existence he himself had been led to doubt during many years of lost hopes. For in 1882, Lawrence Barrett revived Francesca da Rimini, and the dramatic world which in 1855 had remained apathetically unstirred by the first production of this play, was now unstinting in its praise for the play, the actor, and the author. The subsequent history of Francesca da Rimini was one of great success. I t became a regular, and perhaps the most famous part, in the repertoire of Barrett; it held the stage until Barrett's death in 1891 and was later revived by Mr. Otis Skinner; it stirred the hearts of generations of playgoers and remains a cherished memory in the minds of those who survive. In a few months, Boker made more money from it than he had ever made in all his life from all of his other work together; but to a man of his wealth the dollars stood chiefly for a concrete measure of approval, and served to emphasize the former neglect of his other plays, like Calaynos and Leonor de Guzman, which he knew in his heart to be nearly as good as Francesca da Rimini. Out of this recognition, and the rebirth of literary satisfaction and power which it bred in him, came the beauty of Nydia, a child of age, but as vigorous and lovely as new life in young loins. I t is one of two plays on the same subject, written in the same year, but the second, called Glaucus, is evidently a rewriting of the subject from the point of view of the leading male character, and, although it has fine moments, is much less vital and beautiful than Nydia. Both plays are dramatizations of the central situation of Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii. But the chief characters, Nydia, Glaucus and lone, are reconceived in the light of Boker's own dramatic intention, and needless to say, the language owes nothing to the euphuistic elegance of Lord Lytton. With the background of the life of old Pompeii the xi

poet was as familiar as Bulwer himself. His study of classical life and his four years of Mediterranean residence and travel had made him eminently prepared to realize such characters as the expatriate Greeks in the midst of the Roman splendor of Pompeii; his knowledge of Egypt and oriental religions enabled him to realize the Egyptian Arbaces and the cult of Isis which he represented. Nothing but the names and the central situation are derived from Bulwer; the plays are otherwise as independent of their source as they could well be. Both plays were written for Lawrence Barrett. The history of their creation must be constructed from scattered references and evidence. Their inception was the desire of Lawrence Barrett to produce a play with spectacular effects. As Boker told an interviewer, in speaking of this subject: " M r . Barrett has long wanted a play in which he could introduce a number of gorgeous spectacular effects if he felt so inclined—something that would give the ingenuity of the stage carpenter, the scene painter and the costumer a chance, as well as afford opportunities for him. Some time ago he stated to me this desire and asked me to think it over. Glaucus is the result." However, Glaucus was not the earliest "result," for Nydia was written and submitted to Barrett some months earlier. This is the better play, but it made what would have been a fatal mistake in Barrett's opinion; it gave the center of the stage to the female character, Nydia. It kept in the background, where it belongs, the love affair of Glaucus and lone, a result which was inevitable, when any true artist treated this situation. For the tragic, deeply moving motive in this relationship is the hopeless love of the beautiful blind slave, Nydia, for the patrician Glaucus. A situation of this character appealed most strongly to Boker, and while he made a very good part for Glaucus, he gave the crucial speeches, the deepest emotional moments, to Nydia. xii

There is no doubt t h a t the play was sent to Barrett, although no letter concerning the transaction has come to light. But the manuscript suggests conjectural cuts for an acting version, and bears marginal notes, in Boker's hand, giving his own interpretation of the action, and suggesting certain stage devices. These highly personal notes, amusingly revealing the relationship between author and actor, are carried as footnotes in the present text. The most logical way to account for the existence of Glaucus and for the differences between t h a t play and Nydia is to assume that Barrett complained of the earlier play on the ground t h a t the part of Nydia overshadowed that of Glaucus. For Glaucus, finished seven months after Nydia, obviously labors to secure the opposite effect, and fails of the highest artistic results in doing so. In every way, from the change in title to the last speech, the emphasis is removed from Nydia and put upon Glaucus. The GlaucusIone love affair is put to the fore; the hopeless worship of Nydia is merely a pathetic undercurrent. All of the internal evidence justifies the assumption that Barrett had found his part in the earlier play too thin. Even now, after he had been furnished with all of the spectacular scenes and fine lines which an actor could possibly desire, Barrett did not produce the play. The reason, it seems, was a personal one, and grew out of a dispute over the royalties due Boker for the performances of Francesco da Rimini. T h e writer of a contemporary article in the New York World, previously quoted, mentions this difference. When he had asked Boker concerning it, he had received the reply t h a t there had been " a little dispute, t h a t was a l l , . . . over the question of royalties," and that the matter had been "amicably adjusted." But this is, of course, the only thing which Boker could have said for publication, and it was the opinion of the late Mrs. George Boker, the poet's daughter-in-law, t h a t after the dispute, Barrett had xiii

never laid aside his bitterness, as the magnanimous Boker, who hated pouting, would have done. The Philadelphia Evening Telegraph, which published on January 2, 1890, after the death of the poet, an apparently authorized article, was of the opinion that cordial relations never again ensued. The full account of the matter given in this article inspires confidence in the statement. The dispute grew out of the dramatist 's desire, so often expressed, to insist upon full payment in simple justice to his brother dramatists, rather than from any concern on his part to make a great profit from his writing. When Barrett first revived Francesca da Rimini, Boker had accepted, as a temporary arrangement, the actor's offer of twenty dollars royalty for an evening performance, and ten dollars for a matinee. When, however, the play was retained for a long time in the actor's repertoire, and a great deal of money was made from it, Boker wrote him asking for a clear ten per cent of the box office receipts, which was not extreme, considering that the legal rate in France was fifteen per cent. Nor did Barrett call the request unjust, but he pleaded that his financial situation was so critical that he could not afford to pay more. Boker, however, led by his conviction that he must not undersell dramatists who were forced to gain a living from their work, pressed the matter so strongly that Barrett finally sent a lawyer offering as a compromise thirty dollars for an evening performance and ten dollars for a matinee, a total of two hundred dollars per week. " I was so sick of the whole thing," said Boker in disgust, "that I consented to take his offer. I afterward learned that he was prepared to pay me more if necessary." In spite of his disturbance at having been forced to huckster his wares, Boker afterward called with every amicable intention at Barrett's dressing-room in New York, and, as the Telegraph says, " w a s cut directly." And although the affair was smoothed over, and Boker was willing to forget it, Barrett never quite lost his ill-will toward riv

Boker, which may have been bred by his inner conviction that he had driven a sharp bargain with the author. Here, I believe, is the true reason why neither Nydia nor Glaums was produced. On October 1, 1886, Barrett suddenly returned to the author, without comment, the manuscript of Calayiios on which he had outlined a cast and which he had annotated for production. The curt note from Barrett's secretary accompanying the play is in itself a proof of strained relations. Barrett is only one among the many actors whose temperamentality has occasioned a loss to the theatre. And so these plays remain almost unknown, although Nydia is one of the finest examples of the author's dramatic blank verse and one of the best plays in the history of American literature. Only Nydia is reproduced in this volume. It was composed, according to a note in Boker's hand on the first manuscript, between February 26 and April 21, 1885. Although there are two versions, the variations are chiefly confined to occasional changes in the choice of a word. The second version has been followed in this text, except in those few instances where variant readings are indicated. —E.S.B.

IT

CHARACTERS* GLAUCUS:

An Athenian

Gentleman

ARBACES:

An Egyptian

Priest of Isis

CALENUS:

A Priest of

APAECIDES: BURBO:

A Neophyte Priest of Isis

A Retired Gladiator,

CLODIUS:

A Friend of

SALLCST:

A Roman

DUDAS:

Isis

A Roman

now a

Publican

Glaucus

Gentleman Fop

PRAETOR QUAESTOR AEDILE

Roman Officers of the Court

NUNTIUS NYDON :

A

SCOROS:

A Slave of

lone

DROMO:

A Slave of

Arbaces

IONE :

Gladiator

A Wealthy Greek, Beloved of Glaucus Blind Greek Slave, in love with Glaucus Noblemen, Lictors, Gladiators, Attendants, Slaves, Citizens, et cetera

NYDIA :

SCENE: TIME:

Pompeii A.D. 79. The Month of August in the First Year of the Reign of Titus

•NOTE: T h e description of the characters is compiled from both M S S . , since neither one gave an entirely complete account.

NYDIA A TRAGIC

PLAY*

ACT I Scene: the Harbor of

Pompeii

Enter Clodius and Sallust

meeting

Hail to you, Sallust! You have favored Rome More than we liked. What kept you there?

CLODIUS:

I stayed To see the Emperor installed. A sight To make a native of this little place Scarce breathe for wonder. Have you aught that's new?

SALLUST:

CLODIUS: SALLUST :

Here in Pompeii? Yes.

Not much; unless You call our frequent earthquake something new.

CLODIUS:

SALLUST:

Moving, at least.

: It will amuse you, Sallust, At the next shake, to see our people run,

CLODIUS

• T h e flyleaf of MS. " A " bears this Dote in t h e author's handwriting: This play was begun on the twenty-sixth of February, and finished on the twenty-first of April, 1885. My engagements were such that I could not icorlc during at least one-third of that time, nor did I work more than three hours each day. G.U.B.

20

ΝΤ DIA Like frightened sheep, to the Egyptian fane Of Goddess Isis. Our poor Latin gods Are out of fashion; deemed unskilled to cure This earth's grim cholics.

SALLUST

:

Is Arbaces here ?

seeming fixture. You must see his ward, The fair lone. You have asked for news: Here is a novelty, and wonder too,— This young Greek damsel with her Psyche face, Diana's virtue, and proud Juno's port.

CLODIUS : A

SALLUST:

What, Clodius, what! are you in love at last?

And all Pompeii with me. Not to skip Glaucus, my rich Athenian friend. No, no; I am no rival to his wealth, his grace, His cultured mind and splendid equipage : And he is wild about her.

CLODIUS:

SALLUST :

Did you say

She is Arbaces' ward? I like not that. Nor I, Nor any one that cares for her, Nor, chiefly, Glaucus. Hence his fiery zeal To free her from the dark Egyptian's power.

CLODIUS:

: The swarthy conjurer! how I hate a man That makes your skin creep when he speaks to you!

SALLUST

If that were all!—By Jupiter, I think, In that man's heart is wickedness enough Richly to furnish and endow a hell That would make Pluto jealous.

[CLODIUS:*

*I have enclosed in brackets [ ] all the passages throughout the play, which Boker has suggested cutting. These " c u t s " appear to be merely practical, acting possibilities, and they, together with the notes t h a t accompany them, were obviously addressed to Lawrence Barrett, who contemplated producing the play. Ed.

Ν Υ D I Α

21

Enter Dudas* Hail!—hail!—hail!— If I could be myself, I ' d be more mannered!— Oh! my poor nerves!—I have seen such a sight!

DUDAS:

SALLUST: Indeed! DUDAS:

Yes; two four-footed gladiators.

CLODIUS : Four-footed men! DUDAS :

I '11 bet a pound of gold, I said not men. Are you a taker?

CLODIUS:

Pshaw!

But are not gladiators men? D UDAS :

Not always. For example: a lionf and a tiger, Fresh from the desert's and the jungle's depths,— Insane with rage, death in their very looks; What do you think of them as gladiators?

CLODIUS : As somewhat better than the human brutes. SALLUST : But what had you to do with them ? DUDAS :

You know, I am near-sighted; and I chanced to venture A step too near the lion's cage. By Jove! Ere you could wink, his furious fore-claw Was buried in my toga; and the beast Was in the act of gathering me in,

*Enter Dudas—spelled Dudus throughout MS. " B." fBOKERNS NOTE: " I have stricken out all the talk about the lion; because, after finishing the play, I found that the lion really had no part in the story. "The 'cuts' throughout the play are conjectural, and subject to your approval. If you find anything cut out by me which, in your opinion had better remain in, do not hesitate to restore it."

ΝYDIA

22

All to himself, just as a cat a mouse, When Pansa's bondman thrust a burning torch Full in the monster's yellow eyes. Hercules! 'Twas a sensation! I am on my way, To buy that bondman's freedom. Only quits.

CLODIUS:

But the poor lion lost a meal. Have you No feeling for him? Just this much. That I might see another fill my place,— Some criminal or Christian; but to see How I had fared, had lion had his way.

DUDAS:

I

would

But that is hopeless at the coming sports. There's no obliging murderer in view: Nor make the Christians sacrilegious mouths, As once they did, even at the cow-faced Isis.

SALLUST:

Dudas, oblige us; as an amateur, In Nero's way, pray try another bout With your familiar lion. Ha, my man! You owe a breakfast to him. Come, pay up!

CLODIUS:

If you and Sallust will attend the feast, I shall be glad to have the mighty cat Purring about our table. Fare you well! I must to Pansa. {Exit)

DUDAS:

CLODIUS:

And to Glaucus I.]

Ha! who comes here? I shall take flight myself. Cross your forefingers! dread his evil eye, As an infection!

SALLUST:

CLODIUS:

Nay, retreat were best. Exeunt severally

23

Ν Y D I A

Enter Arbaces and Calenus, accompanied ARBACES: CALENUS:

Apaecides is discontented then? Yes, more than that.

ARBACES : CALENUS :

As how? He swears outright

To quit the priesthood. Dare he? This appears To be more grave. That weak boy, to rebel Against my teachings! I must gather him Within the veil of Isis: there to live, Loyal till death; or—Well, you know how soon Death comes to the unfaithful!

ARBACES :

'Twos a step In that direction brought these humors forth. The other day, I showed our neophite How I made Isis' eyeballs roll and glare, With cranks and levers and my naphtha lamps: That seemed to horrify him. When I took My long brass trumpet up, and roared amain, Through Isis' inner lips, some gibberish, To show how neatly works the oracle— That is my pride, for I invented it— He dashed me and my trumpet to the ground, And half drew out his stylus, in a rage That made me tremble for my life.

CALENUS:

ARBACES:

SO, s o !

This must be looked to. For his sister's sake I can bear much from him; but not too much— Not to the loss of Isis, and her sway Above these Romans.

Ν YDI A

24

NO, by Jupiter— Forgive me Isis, for that pagan oath!— Else where would go our temple's revenues, And my small scrapings?

CALENUS:

Miserable miser! Wealth is a means, that only.

ARBACES:

CALENUS:

And a power.

: Over the brainless. Mark you, who comes here— Our modern Alcibiades—this fop Of fickle Athens, with his haughty sweetness, His mien of grandeur; as though he disdains The mere barbarians whom he condescends To honor with his presence. Ach! my bird, If I should ever get you in my claws, I ' d send your fine plumes flying! See the slaves— Degenerate Romans—cowering at his glance, And worshipping each footstep!

ARBACES

CALENUS

:

For his wealth.

Wealth! Something far more potent, silly man; The fellow is the fashion. And this thing Of silks and jewels, and presumptuous airs, Dares to aspire to my lone's love! One of my brood, my very nestling she— A peacock mate with eagles!

ARBACES:

Enter Glaucus and Clodius, accompanied by nobles, freedmen, slaves Mark, Clodius! Look at our everyday, yet ever-new, Wonder of wonders, here, before our eyes, With all its azure depths and starry waves; As though the happy synod had dropped down Into our bay a portion of their heaven,

GLAUCUS:

Ν YD I A

25

T o cheer the spirits of ungrateful men. Look, friends, I pray! Can mortals, upon earth, Stand nearer heaven than we are now?—Look, look!* happy heart is ever close to heaven. M y Glaucus, let me share your joy. What hap Uplifts you thus?

CLODIUS: A

The happiest of haps: Surely the gods have fallen in love with me. A secret, Clodius, which must so remain, Until I give it to the world.

GLAUCUS:

CLODIUS

I guess it.

T h e fair lone— Yes, yes, conjurer! How could you know that which I hardly hoped? 'Tis so indeed; and I have walked the air, And felt Elysian breezes on my cheeks Since I first heard—Nay, she said nought in words: She only slid her little dove-like hand Into my own; and, with her pleading eyes, Looked truth and faith out of my eager heart, And was therewith content.

GLAUCUS:

: The day is fixed When we must lose you then?

CLODIUS

All time stood fixed When we exchanged our troth. Futurity Limps, like a slave, beside love's chariot. All things, between themselves, belong to those Who truly love. The world may rage outside, And shake Love 's throne, but cannot overthrow Him or his loyal subjects.

GLAUCUS:

*MS. " B " reads " S t a n d n e a r e r h e a v e n t h a n we d o n o w , " a n d o m i t s "Look, look!"

26

Ν Y D I A

Recollect,

CLODIUS:

Arbaces is her guardian. But in name. A year ago his tutelage expired By law's decree, her father's testament, And the insistence of Apaecides— Her brother, and a priest of Isis too, But seemingly not over-full of trust In guardian Arbaces.

GLAUCUS:

Wise young man!

CLODIUS:

Arbaces advances. Clodius makes the sign against the evil eye* AKBACES: YOU

speak of me.

Yes, truly; but what told you,— A tickling nostril, or a burning ear?

GLAUCUS:

ARBACES:

A goddess' whisper.

GLAUCUS:

Isis, woman-like,

Listens to gossip then. : Our butterfly Still flaunts his reckless Attic wit.

ABBACES

GLAUCUS:

Oh, yes!

Even as the laboring beetle of old Nile Rolls his dark ball before him. •BOKEB'S NOTE: " T h e 'sign against the evil eye' is made by doubling up the two middle fingers, and extending the first and the little finger. Thus—

\ \"

Ν Y D I A

27

Scoff not, man, At things above your knowledge.

ARBACES:

GLAUCUS: ARBACES

Or beneath.

: Beneath a Greek! 'twere low enough indeed!

: J u s t low enough to touch the highest flight Of an Egyptian's spirit.

GLAUCUS

ARBACES:

Fie! I'll go

T o Isis' temple, and implore her grace T o pardon you. : T o Isis' temple, hah! 'Tis but four lustra since the Senate's voice Decreed t h a t not a temple to your goddess Should stand in Italy.

GLAUCUS

I said not temple— Not consecrated temple: house, or hovel, Or whatsoever shields her sacred head. T h a t sacrilegious Senate! Woe to it! Woe t o this land, when Isis scourges it! And, most of all, woe to this very spot! See, where earth's goddess lifts her threatening hand In yonder mountain. Dead, inert, you say, Since history began. Ο man, with sight Short as his life, what are unwritten ages T o t h e immortals? Isis' day will come, When, on this ancient lava where you stand— Once more a molten sea in gales of fire— You'll grind your knees for mercy, b u t in vain! (Exit)

ARBACES:

Nydia sings within : Prophet of evil! A foreboding tongue Never wants ears to hear and quail a t it: And yet our Strabo said almost as much.

GLAUCUS

28

Χ

Y D I A

What think you, Clodius, will Veseveus— Our fruitful mountain, with its cup of vines, And flowery garlands—ever fill that cup With stygian flames; and, from its wounded sides, Pour burning blood upon our shrinking heads? Enter Nydia listening to Glaucus : As our poor slandered hill has lived in peace With us and all the world, since history Was mere tradition, it will scarce begin So wild a life within our time.

CLAUDIUS

GLAUCUS

:

Well, maiden? NYDIA

:

Perhaps— (Nydia advances, and touches him) 'Tis the voice of Glaucus!

GLAUCUS:

Aye.

NYDIA: Then a new heaven is spread above my head; And stronger gods, and gods more merciful, Rule o'er the world. My lord, when came you here? GLAUCUS: T w o days ago.

: And I not know of it!— Not feel it in my heart! But then—ah me!— I was in prison.

NYDIA

GLAUCUS: NYDIA

:

How!

But others hear. (Glaucus motions to Clodius and others, who retire)

GLAUCUS: We are alone. In prison? : Worse, far worse; If hell be worse than prison. Dare I speak? Repeat one word I say, and worse than death,

NYDIA

Ν Y D I A

29

Will be my portion. H a ! how dull I a m ! (Laughing) As though I ' d not be ready for my death, When Glaucus could betray me. I have been Shut in Arbaces' house. Glaucus:

Poor child!

Nydia: Fie, Glaucus! There may be dust upon me, but no stain. G l a u c u s : Thanks, Pallas! Nydia :

Let me kiss your hand for that. (Kisses his hand) I ' d not be here, to tell you of my fall, I f that great bay could rock my shame to sleep. T h a t refuge is mine always.

Glaucus: Against your will?

Were you there

Nydia : My will! What is my will ? What is a slave's will but obedience? Why, I was beaten there; dragged there in bonds; With ever that gross threat held over me, T o make me something nameless, if I dared Avoid my fate. Once there, I sang,—such songs, So outward beautiful, so foul within!— Have you a sister, Glaucus? Glaucus:

Yea, in heaven.

N y d i a : Then you can understand. I thank the gods T h a t I am blind sometimes: I could not see; B u t all my other senses were appalled At the infernal orgies that went on,— T h e roars of drunken laughter, and the shrieks Of frantic women; and the rites obscene Offered to Isis, sick with burning blood, And torturing blows, and howls of anguish.

30

Ν Y D I A

GLAUCUS:

What part was yours?

You?

I only sang, and sang, Perched above all, secure but terrified, Like a poor linnet in a thunderstorm.

NYDLA. :

: This is the outcome of Arbaces' zeal For Isis then ?

GLAUCUS

Name not that dreadful man: I t holds me spellbound.

NYDIA :

GO not there again; I shall devise a plan for your release.

GLAUCUS:

: If that were possible. All things are so T o a good heart. But I forget my trade, And Burbo 's cudgel for an empty purse. Here is a bunch of violets, my lord: 'Tis the Athenian flower. I gathered them, And many roses, on Veseveus. 'Tis late for them; and when those flowers grow late, Disaster follows, as the old saw says:

NYDIA

When the violet blooms late, Then beware the hand of Fate. When the roses also blow, Then beware a greater woe. : But we have had our sorrows. One may see The earthquake's ravages on every hand, In prostrate walls. Even in my solid house, The statues were cast down, the frescoes cracked, And conduits dried.

GLAUCUS

: Oh! it was droll indeed, T o feel the pavement slide beneath one's feet, The columns turning, as if they would dance

NYDIA

Ν YDI A

31

A measure to the thunders under ground— Hell 's music—louder than a thousand cars Rolling at speed along a stony road. I t made me laugh. Laugh, Nydia!

GLAUCUS:

Yes, laugh. The miserable have nought to dread, like those Who love their lives, and therefore shriek with fear At peril to their comfort.

NYDIA:

Know you, child, What is the Greek name for this flower?

GLAUCUS:

For what?

NYDIA: GLAUCUS:

The violet.

: Oh yes; ion 'tis called In my Thessalian land.

NYDIA

: Thence comes lone. Know you a lady of that name?

GLAUCUS

You mean, The rich Greek damsel of Neapolis. Yes; she has often taken flowers from me.

NYDIA:

GLAUCUS:

Bear all these violets to her.

NYDIA:

From you?

GLAUCUS: Yes. I would rather cast them in the sea, A sacrifice to Neptune.

NYDIA :

: But my days Of voyaging are over for a space. Take her the flowers.

GLAUCUS

32

Χ Y DIA : But—Glaucus!—*

NYDIA

I shall obey, my lord. Nydia?

GLAUCDS:

: You—forget my pay: Remember Burbo's stick.

NYDIA

:

GLAUCUS

NYDIA:

Glaucus—

GLAUCUS: NYDIA

The gods forbid! (Gives her money)

:

My child? Another time—farewell! {Exit hurriedly) What ails that girl?

CLODIUS:

Her nature. She rebels Against her life of servitude. She dreams Of something better in the gift of fate Than Burbo's mercy. Hapless, helpless child! Think you the brute would sell her?

GLAUCUS:

Without doubt. A sightless slave is but poor property.— Look, Glaucus, look!

CLODIUS:

I saw, before you spoke, And felt with all my senses.

GLAUCUS :

CLODIUS

:

Venus speed you! (Retires)

Enter lone, attended. Glaucus meets herf GLAUCUS:

lone!

'BOKER'8 NOTE: " F r o m 'But—Glaucus!'—down to her exit, Nydia is about to reveal her love for Glaucus, but suppresses it. In acting, the pain and the passion should be clearly expressed to the audience." feoKER's NOTE: " I think it would be well for lone to enter borne in her litter, and surrounded by slaves, attendants, etc."

Χ Y D I A Ione:

33

Glaucus!

Is there more to say, Than we can gather from each other's eyes? Oh, but to look on you, to feel you near, T o know the same world holds us both, to breathe The air that warms itself against your cheek; T o crown that rapture with the dizzy thought Of what to each the other is; of how The coming d a y s — h a p p y and brief e n o u g h — Will bring us closer; till possession crown Our foreheads with one glory; that is joy T o make a man impatient of the thought Of Jove's elysium, in a world so fair!

Glaccus:

Ione: I tremble at your raptures. Recollect, Your idol is but clay, like all the rest: Like all the rest, to clay she must return. I trust the fact of my mortality M a y not be made too obvious to you, B y any failings of my nature, ere M y sepulchre is open, to receive M y faults and me together. Glaucus:

Dear, Ione,

What is this cloud upon your spirit? Look, How fair the world is that encircles us, How bright the heaven above! Ione :

T o o fair, perhaps,

T o be enduring: night must follow day. Since I arose—I cannot tell you w h y — A weight, that seems like a foreshadowed ill, Has lain upon my spirit. For relief, Thus early to the temple of our goddess, Pallas, I went with votive offerings.

Ν Y D I A

34

Alas! the pure divinity's white shrine, And every omen of my sacrifice, Seemed but to bring me nearer to the truth Of my foreboding, that for me—for us— There hangs above us, in yon lucid heaven, Disaster terrible, and soon to fall. GLAUCUS: M y lovely soothsayer, you must have heard Arbaces' oracles. IONE:

(Starting) Arbaces!

GLAUCUS :

Nay;

Why do you tremble, love? I know not why. His name went through me like a pang; and brought The cloud upon me, darker than before. [My faithful guardian, father of my childhood, Teacher, protector, chosen delegate Of my own father's solemn testament, T o represent him in all things to me! And well has he fulfilled the trust. Indeed] Fancy betrays me. I am weak enough— Almost enough—for your contempt.

IONE :

GLAUCUS:

For mine!

Ione, when you know less reverence From me than I accord the sacred gods, Then I shall not be Glaucus, and your heart May hold me as a stranger. IONE:

See, 'tis gone!

Your sunny eyes have scattered every cloud, Henceforth you shall not see these gloomy moods In her whose duty 'tis to make your life As bright as that which you bestow on me.

Ν ΥDIΑ

35

Glaucus : My darling, be yourself, and only that, To be my happiness. I am content, Henceforth, to call all virtues upon earth lone only. Nydia screams within Ione:

Glaucus!—

Enter Nydia running, pursued by Burbo, Nydon and gladiators Nydia:

Glaucus!—

(She falls at Glaucus' feet) Burbo: (Raising his slick over Nydia) Slave, I '11 teach you to obey when I command! Thank you, my lord, for catching her. Glaucus hurls Burbo aside Glattous: Back, beast! Or you '11 not thank me much for catching you. 1st Glad: Go take her, Burbo: she's your slave. Burbo:

N o t I.

He has an arm like Vulcan's. Glaucus :

Are you, m e n .

Or but a pack of savage wolves, to run This poor doe to her death? Have courage, child! I know no scorn with which to brand the wretch Who lifts his hand against his mother 's sex. You, Nydon? I thought better of you. Nydon:

No;

I ran to save her. I am slow of foot: My business is to stand. Had he but struck her, I ' d made his head acquainted with the stones. Glaucus: What means all this?

36

ΝΤ DIA She's willful, disobedient,

BUBBO:

A very rebel. Yes, she 's everything But bad, as you would make her.

NYDON :

Glaucus, pray,

IONE:

Buy the poor girl. Whose voice is that ?

NTDLA :

Mine, child,—

IONE:

Ione of Neapolis. (Aside) Oh, gods! My punishment begins! (Aloud) Let me go back. I '11 be obedient, master.

NTDIA:

GLAUCUS:

N a y , n o t so.

do not want you. Take her if you will, My lord; her temper is too much for me. Twenty poor aureas. That's but half her worth. She sings and dances—when she has a mind to— Knows all about her plants and flowers; can run— Phew!—you saw how. She has a little fault: She's somewhat blind.

BUBBO: I

Glaucus writes on his tablets NYDON:

Somewhat, you thief! stone blind.

Take this to Sporas, at my house, and he Will pay her price.

GLAUCUS:

(Gives tablets to Burbo. Exit Burbo) NYDIA: GLAUCUS:

Then

1

am yours? Yes, mine.

Ν Y D I A

37

N y d i a : Hear, people of Pompeii, hear! I a m T h e slave of Glaucus—Yea, his very slave— And should he beat me, let no one p r e v e n t ; For then I shall deserve it. Ione:

Nydia!—

G l a u c c s : This would be droll, were it not pitiful: Enter Arbaces behind, observing them She has known nought b u t scourgings. N y d i a , I t is not fit t h a t you should be my slave. M y dear Ione, take the girl from me. I o n e : M o s t willingly. N y d i a : {Aside) His " d e a r I o n e ! " N o ! Ι Ί 1 go where I belong. I have been bought And sold, b u t never given away before. I cannot be her slave. Ione : You shall not be: I set you free. Go where you will. Nydia: I am a woman! Glaucus :

Oh, gods! More, a citizen.

N y d i a : A citizen of R o m e ! Ione :

M y equal, child.

N y d i a : Oh no, oh no! a t h o u s a n d times your slave; If g r a t i t u d e be bondage to the just. You wish this, Glaucus? Glaucus:

Yes, 'tis best for you.

N y d i a : Doubtless; I a m a damsel. Mistress, come. I shall be faithful, if no more.

Ν YDI A

38

(Advancing) lone, What means this comedy, and in the streets— The public streets?

ABBACES:

I thank the gracious gods, Beneath the open eye of heaven! Let man Be silent when the gods approve.

IONE :

: But as a lady, as my ward—

ABBACES

Fine words!

: Your ward! Like your belated race, you still forget All but the past. Awake! look round you, man! This is an age when poverty has rights That wealth must recognize; or banded want Will know the reason why. 'Twas at your door: Remember Spartacus!

GLAUCUS

(Laughing) Ha! ha! well said, Opulent Glaucus!

ABBACES :

I have not usurped Heaven's gifts to man—to all mankind alike— Air, earth, light, water, which you hold in fee Against your weaker brother, who may starve With nature's bounties in his very sight. This I call usurpation, patent wrong.

GLAUCUS :

: Inborn republican! Cannot your wealth Purchase your own opinions? You are mad, To talk rebellion in the public ear.

ABBACES

Your former ward—fresh from a sacrifice At Pallas' shrine—performs a duty meet, To one oppressed by fortune and by man— What if in public, if the deed were right?— And you in public, like a pedagogue,

GLAUCUS:

Ν Y DI A

39

Rebuke her! Much I marvel if her act, Or your rebuke, be the more blameworthy For its publicity. (Laughing) Ha! ha! lone,

ARBACES:

You found a slave and champion as well. : Dare not—

GLAUCUS

IONE:

I pray you, Glaucus.

Pardon me: This is unseemly. No one better knows My fault than I.

GLAUCUS:

: That's full confession, Greek. We may resume our argument, perhaps, Some other time—some other time— (Exit slowly)

ARBACES

NYDIA:

Dread that man's purpose!

Oh! dread,

I dread nothing, girl, Made in our common likeness. He is man, And nothing more. Nothing I dread so much As the faint cloud that gathered on your brow.

GLAUCUS:

IONE: TO

hide your lightnings. That is passed—farewell! Curtain as the characters move to depart

40

ΝΤ DIA ACT

II

Scene: House of lone lone and Nydia discovered. lone embroidering; Nydia winding silks IONE: I pray you, Nydia, lay your work aside: My eyes are wearied with these brilliant dyes. NYDIA : I

wish mine were. Mistress—

: Call me not that : Call me Ione. Glaucus does not like That slavish word.

IONE

(Aside) How readily his name Comes to her lips; and how she holds it there, And kisses it—ah, me!

NYDIA :

IONE:

What would you say?

wonder often what it is to see. What is it you call light? and how do you Know of a thing when 'tis so far away! And what is beauty?

NYDIA : I

: You bewilder me. With your demands, child. You can never know Aught of a sense which you do not possess. Were you born blind?

IONE

They said so. Yes, the man Who called himself my father—could he be, To sell me like a faulty sheep?—he told The bustling trader that I never saw: Therefore he sold me.

NYDIA:

IONE:

It was infamous.

ΝY DIA

41

: Perhaps not. I am almost useless, lady. I was a burden, and he very poor. Why do you keep me?

Nydia

Nydia, Nydia, cease! Or you will have me weeping.

Io.ne:

Nydia

:

Zeus, forbid!

love you, Nydia: is not that enough, Reason enough, to make me cherish you?

Ιονέ: I

Ay, that I understand, without my eyes. Love, love! is not that something like to sight? I often think it is another sense.

Nydia:

Ion ε : I t is the vision of the gods. Right, girl! Love is another sense. Or why should I — Blind as I am—love you, love Glaucus? hate—

Nydia:

Enter Arbaces behind, unobserved Oh! how I hate!—one person, with a fire Almost as hot as love is—Hist! I hear An evil footstep. Arbaces: Nydia:

(Advancing) It is only mine.

(Aside.

She shrinks apart) Cat, treacherous cat!

Arbaces, when you come Into my house, I pray you, that, henceforth, You have yourself announced. Remember, too, I am a child no longer.

Ione:

Arbaces :

Sad am I

At all these changes. 'Twas but yesterday— So seems it in the hurried flight of time—

Ν Y D I A

42

I held you in my arms, or taught your feet Their first few steps. You and Apaecides Will ever seem my children. Ione: Pardon m e : M y wish was not t o wound you. Arbaces: Dear Ione, W h y have you lost your confidence in me? I o n e : But have I? Ahbaces : Yes; witness your new-made friend, This wandering Greek. Witness your handmaid there, A public flower-girl, a common slave, Likewise his gift, now your companion. These, These unwise acts, were all, all contrary T o my advice. Ione : Come hither, Nydia. Lay your cheek close to mine; twine both your a r m s About my neck; now kiss me on the mouth, Free citizen of Rome. M a r k it, my lord; Thus, thus, I think of her. (Kisses Nydia) Arbaces:

A fond mistake.

I o n e : Grant t h a t as possible. Were she not pure— Yea, pure as I am—would she dare do t h a t ? You may be deep in all the ways of man, But, a h ! you know not woman. Arbaces: Haply so. (Aside) Let these two kittens play: why should I care? (Aloud) T h e other m a t t e r is more serious. I t is the common tattle of the town T h a t Glaucus, an Athenian fop, a man·— I o n e : Beware!

Ν ΥD I Α

43

: Who owes the little fame he has To his successes with your sex, is here Daily, or, as he boasts before the world, Whene 'er he pleases, or has idle time.

ARBACES

NYDIA

: T h a t is a lie!

A R B AACES C E S ::

I do not say this thing Of my own knowledge. Is it scandal? Which—

IONE:

His coming, or his boast? Say both.

ARBACES:

Since when Took I companions as the world prescribed? You know the freedom of a woman's life In Greece, my country, where each woman stands As guardian of her honor. There no bars Shut up her virtue, at a man's behest, As in your Egypt. As for Glaucus—

IONE:

Well?

ARBACES:

He is most welcome to my house and me At any seemly hour. T h a t much is truth. T h a t he has ever boasted of my favor, In any manner to discredit me, Is not alone untrue, but, more than false, Impossible.

IONE:

ARBACES: IONE

But why?

:

NYDIA:

We are betrothed. (Aside) Ah me!

ARBACES:

Betrothed!

ΝYDIA

44

IONE: Betrothed. What follows then? Think you that he would cast the slightest shade Upon the woman that will be his wife? Think! I am mad; I cannot think. Ye gods! Have all my hopes come to this sorry end? Ione, are you sane?

ABBACES:

: Quite sane, I think: And till the madness you confess be passed, Let us avoid this subject.

IONE

: Wonderful! My child, my pupil, casts me to the wind; Does not consult me, does not ask consent Of me, her guardian, to the gravest step Woman can take!

ABBACES

I have a monitor, Here, in my bosom; and when that says yea. All the world's no were nothing.

IONE :

(Aside) Shall I hold This hell, that burns within me, still; or launch Its fires upon her wayward head? Be calm: Patience is power. (Aloud) Ione, one last word. Your dying father, my dear friend—Ο would That love descended by inheritance!— Your father left a letter in my hands, Addressed to you, with charge that you should read, When you attained a marriageable age, The letter in my presence.

ABBACES:

IONE

:

That is strange.

I t is his last, most sacred testament. Now, as your acts bespeak you of that age, 'Tis time that you should read it.

ABBACES:

Ν YDIA

45

Give it me. My father's wishes are supreme commands, Within the bounds of reason.

IONE:

Saving clause! Differing somewhat from blind obedience, And what the Romans here call piety.

ABBACES :

Truly; but would you have the unreasoning dead Judge for the quick; when, if the dead could rise, To hear the cause, his judgment might agree With living reasoners?

IONE:

: Logic, if not love: More wise than loving.

ABBACES

: Give me the letter.

IONE

Nydia

listens

Pray, no more of this. eagerly

to what

follows

That I cannot do. 'Tis locked within a coffer of great weight. With other things, also your heritage. I was forbidden to unclose the chest— Strictly forbidden. My duty ends with this, The proffer of this key. (Gives her a key)

ABBACES :

But of the chest?

IONE:

'Tis at my house, resting in holy ward Under the eye of Isis.

ABBACES:

IONE:

Must

I

go

Thitherto find it? : Not unless you wish; Or choose to disregard your father's will. This thing is sure; it will not come to you;

ABBACES

Ν YDI A

46

For, by your father's lips, I was enjoined That you should ope the coffer only there, And only in my presence. Nydia : (Steals to her, and whispers) Do not go. Ione : (Apart to her) Why not? Nydia:

I know not; only do not go.

Ione: But child, I must. 'Twere as though I refused To hear my father speak. What time, my lord, Will suit your pleasure? Abbaces: Nay; your pleasure's mine. Say then tonight. 'Tis early yet. I know, You cannot read your father's words too soon, As matters stand with you. Ione : Well, then, tonight. Have entertainment for my slaves. Arbaces: I trust, You will not bring an army to a house T h a t ' s peaceful as a temple. Ione :

Fear not that.

Abbaces : I shall await you in my study. Now, Farewell! I hope no lingering distrust Dwells in that pretty head, to banish thence Your old familiar guardian. Ione:

Can you ask,

With your own conscience to reply for me? Arbaces: (Aside) Triumphant! Lady, you shall groan for this, This torture of my heart! (Aloud) Farewell, farewell! (Exit)

Χ

Y D I A

Enter Apaecides, IONE

47

moodily

: My own dear brother! (Embraces him)

APAECIDES:

Sister! who went hence?

IONE: Only Arbaces. Hah! Ye gods, I am doomed! Even in her gentle presence, something starts This pack of hellish thoughts upon my track. Does conscience bar all outlets of escape T o self-convicted guilt?

APAECIDES:

Apaecides, Why are you ever murmuring at yourself? Why do you cloud a life as pure as yours With baseless fancies!—You, almost a priest Of mystic Isis, who, behind her veil, Soon to be oast aside for you, displays The inner secrets of the universe?

IONE :

APAECIDES: Folly, rank folly—a deluding lie— A fool-trap, sister, in which I am caught; A fraud, to gull the people of their rights, And throttle sacred truth at every step. Talk not to me of Isis; of all men, Talk least to me. I fear your studies, brother, Have overwrought your health.

IONE :

APAECIDES: My studies! What, To find the more we know, the wider grow The bounds of ignorance; the more remains Unknown, and, yea, unknowable?—my studies! Go ask your Glaucus—how I love the man!— A bold, brave thinker, not afraid of aught That lies between him and the holy truth.

Ν YDI A

48 IONE:

Dear, brother!

: He's a Platonist; to him The whole Pantheon is symbolical, And nothing more, of the one, only Power. [If he be right, then all the rest is false.

APAECIDES

His faith is mine. Why not give Isis up, Before it is too late?

IONE:

My vows, my vows;

APAECIDES:

My honorable bondage to a lie. IONE:

Pray talk with Glaucus.

That I will. Perhaps His clearer eye may see an issue hence.

APAECIDES:

(Takes ovi a scroll, and reads)

One conscious central Power! Is that the truth My soul has groped for through this labyrinth? So Plato thought—thinks; for the man still lives, Like the immortals, in this vital scroll! But no more of Arbaces and his lore, His cheating mummeries, acknowledged lies; His vocal Isis, with no better tongue Than base Calenus for her oracles. IONE:

Brother, you talk in riddles.

Plain enough To Isis' priests. Ione, fare you well!] I must once more to what you call my studies. A blind man feeling vaguely for the light He cannot see.

APAECIDES:

Forget not Glaucus; he Is wiser and more learned than he cares To let the world believe.

IONE:

Ν YDIA

49

Who doubts of that, Since he chose you as mistress of his heart?

Apaecides:

Ione: Fie, jester, you are merry! A p a e c i d e s : (Embracing her)

Love is so.

(Exit)

Ione: [Why is it that beneath Arbaces' touch All things become involved in mystery, In doubt, in gloom, in pain? Apaecides, A twelve-month scholar, in that time has lost His boyish spirit, changed into a man As dark, secretive, wretched and forlorn, As though he harbored undivulged crime Within a heart I know to be unstained.] If these be learning's fruits, the gods forbid To me such dreary knowledge! Glaucus though— Enter

Scores

Scoros: Glaucus of Athens. Ione:

At my call he comes!

My lord! : My very life! Ione, do you know What leaden feet the weary hours delay That keep me from you?

Glaucus

Nydia, go play; Or rest yourself; I care not which, child, go!

Ione:

Go play at murdering my heart,—a cheerful sport! Or rest, the while my echoing bosom groans

N y d i a : (Aside)

Ν YDIA

fiO

With my heart's tortures! Child, child, ever child, To him, to her: I who am but too much, Alas! too much a woman! IONE:

Why, my girl,

Loiter you thus? {Apart to her) Ο tell him, I beseech, Of your intended visit to Arbaces.

NYDIA:

What need of that? You make too much of it. Pardon this whispering, Glaucus.—Go, girl, go!

IONE:

(Exit Nydia) You do not mind our female mysteries: You must get used to them betimes, my lord; Else a new gown, a ribbon—nay, a stitch Will make you sorrow. : While I look on you, I can defy all sorrow. If the Fates Secure me you, they may take all the rest, Save only life enough to love you with.

GLAUCUS

: Enchanter, if I love you, where's my blame, Who ne 'er was charmed before by words so sweet ? I have employment for your sorcery— Ay, in my service too—Apaecides— Who loves you, thank the gods!—is tempest-tossed By doubts about his faith; and, most of all, Touching those vows, made in his boyish days, To goddess Isis. In another month, He must advance from neophyte to priest, Taking the last irrevocable step, With all his heart against it, and his reason Following his heart. Now, Glaucus, will you make His growing confidence entirely yours;

IONE

Ν Τ D I A

51

Talk with him, and advise him; plant a faith Within his doubting soul, to bring him rest, And peace to me concerning him? : Beloved, This I can promise: if Apaecides Will tolerate my friendship, I shall be Close by his side, when I am not by yours.

GLAUCUS

That is enough. We two conspirators, For his soul's comfort, surely must succeed, If love go hand in hand with policy.

IONE:

Give me love's hand. Ο fair, contriving brain, What a pure heart inspires your purposes! Shall I begin tonight? Where shall I find My scholar?

GLAUCUS:

IONE

:

At his house with Plato.

Yes? In good companionship. My own, I hoped To give this lovely evening to ourselves. See how the moonlight glimmers on the bay, Clinging to every wavelet's little crest, As though she loved to make it beautiful! Such is love's splendor on the stream of life; Beneath his gaze, the prospect of our earth So dazzles us as to seem heaven itself. But you are anxious for your brother's fate, And so should I be. Let us put aside Our pleasure for that duty. May the gods Guard you, beloved! {Embraces her)

GLAUCUS:

IONE:

Until tomorrow then.

GLAUCUS:

Yes.

52

ΝY DI A But betimes:

IONE:

No loitering. GLAUCUS:

Nay, none.

: I t is so weary— Wearier than aught beside—to wait for you.

IONE

gentle flatterer! Can we not part ? Farewell, love! (Exit)

GLAUCUS : A H !

: He is gone. Glaucus!—Nay, nay; I must not call him back. (Claps her kands)

IONE

Enter

Scoros My litter, Scoros. (Scoros bows, and retire»)

Enter

Nydia

You called me, lady?

NYDIA:

: No; Scoros To get my litter ready.

IONE

: Along with you?

NYDIA

Shall

I

I

called,

go

: What ? to Arbaces' house ? No, that were needless. I shall soon return.

IONE

Glaucus is gone. I thought, when he came in, He meant a longer visit.

NYDIA:

(Laughing) Poor, poor Glaucus! Must he have two, two tyrants of one sex, To rule his ways? He is upon a mission From me, the other tyrant, to my brother.

IONE :

NYDIA

: Ah! to Apaecides? Will he stay long?

Χ Y DIA

53

Perhaps till daybreak. For you know, my child, When two men get to talking, heaven alone Can tell when they will stop.

IONE:

You're merry, lady.

NYDIA : IONE:

And you are very sad. What is it?

O, I pray you, lady, on my bended knees, (Kneels) Never again to visit that man's house. When he went hence there was an evil ring In his false voice. I know 'tis dangerous.

NYDIA :

Pshaw! Nydia, dangerous? When I played there by the day.

IONE:

I

was a child,

: But, recollect, You are a child no longer.

NYDIA

IONE:

Yes, tohiin

I shall be ever so; and, as I fear, A froward one. Enter Scoros

SCOROS: IONE:

My lady's litter waits.

Wait my return. (Going)

: Then give me but one kiss. It will so strengthen me.

NYDIA

IONE

:

Dear Nydia, there. (Kisses her.

Exit)

Nydia runs to the window, and listens Tramp, tramp! One, two, three, four; one, two, three, four: Four bearers and four slaves. That's not enough. (Advances)

NYDIA:

ΝYDIA

54

Arbaces* house is overrun with slaves, That dare not disobey his whisper. Gods, What shall I do? Shall I abandon her? Let her come back, so foul, in her own soul That she will never dare meet him again?— See Glaucus—Ο my love, my hopeless love! Oh! vile temptation, murdering love with love! Thou poor blind creature, what hast thou to do With love to one who is almost a god? (Claps her hands) Enter Scoros

Fly you, outstrip the winds! Bring Glaucus here, With the same speed. He's with Apaecides. Say that lone sends for him; that life, Or worse than death, hangs on his footsteps.—Go! Why do you lag thus? He will pave your way With gold tomorrow. Not a word but that: Your mistress sends. Mark you, no word but that. S c o r o s : But—but—

Nydia: How dare you loiter? By the gods, I '11 tear your eyes out, make you blind as I, If you but fail me! (Exit Scoros hastily)

(Kneeling) Thank you, gracious gods! You make me do that which alone is right In your regard. Inspire ye Glaucus, too, To come upon my bidding. Needless prayer! He loves; and in her name, and with that charm I called him here. Come? he must come, though death Stood full before him with uplifted dart! Hark! he is at the portal. Oh! that step! My ear could pick it from an army's tread!

ΝΤ DIA

55

She seats herself, representing lone, with her face turned aside. Enter Glaucus hastily GLAUCUS:

My darling, what? Why is this summons?

(Aside) Ah! For once he called me by a tender name. (Aloud) Glaucus.

NYDIA :

GLAUCUS:

What, Nydia?

(Aside) Ο forgive me, heaven, For that one moment lost: it was so sweet!

NYDIA :

GLAUCUS:

Where is lone?

Ν YDIA : Where ? where is the dove Within the falcon's grip? Gone; lured by wiles Into Arbaces' house. GLAUCUS:

Impossible!

: 'Tis so. She has no fear, and no distrust, No knowledge even, of that wicked man. Hark you! he loves her, in his own bad way, As one beast loves another. Glaucus, come!

NYDIA

GLAUCUS: NYDIA

:

Come, whither? To Arbaces' house.

What, I Insult her by suspicion? I am a gentleman.

GLAUCUS:

: More than a man? By all the sacred gods, You '11 drive me mad among you! If I say, lone is in danger, lost perhaps, Even at this moment; made a thing so low That never in this life, or that to come, Will she dare lift her wretched face to yours, Because, now, now, while I am warning you,

NYDIA

56

Ν Y D I A

You will not rescue her? What will you say— What will your heart say to its misery, When all this thing is done? Speak not, but act! If you so fear your nice gentility, Look you, this blind thing, this weak Nydia, Knows every corner of Arbaces' house. I can conduct you from its outer wall Into the centre—back and forth again— And no one know that you were ever there. Ο Glaucus, if you love her, if you would Save her from that would make her loathe herself,— Come, come! : Enough; go on! for at the worst, 'Twere but a loving folly on my part. Hence, to the winds with scruples! Nydia, You have evoked a fury in my heart; What if your fears prove baseless?

GLAUCUS

Oh, why then Beat out my life—beat from my silly clay My very soul! But are you armed?

NYDIA:

GLAUCUS:

N o t I.

: Alas! you may have need of arms? But why Can I not think? (Feels about the wall for a trophy of arms, from which she takes the sword) Here, here! this is the sword Her father carried in the German wars.

NYDIA

Throws the baldric over Glaucus' neck. Claps her hands Enter Scoros Scoros, take all our people, armed with staves,But quietly, not in a noisy mob, By twos and threes, let them assemble straight

Ν Y DIA

57

By Isis' shrine, close to Arbaces' house. If I should call, let them break in that house. And find their mistress, though each step they take Cost them a life. You hear me! Off, begone! (Exit Scoros) And now, my lord. (She takes a stylus from the table, and thrusts it in her girdle) : You have convinced me, child, Of your sincere belief that this mad act Is needful for Ione's sake. Ο how Shall I repay you, if your fears prove true?

GLAUCUS

Perhaps you'll kiss me, here, between my eyes, And wish that they could see you.

NYDIA:

Come, away!

GLAUCUS:

Let the blind lead; for night and day are one To me. No, not together. Follow you My form afar; that no one may observe.

NYDIA:

Be quick then, Nydia. I shall know no rest Until I know how groundless were your fears.

GLAUCUS:

NYDIA

: Shade of my mother, have I not done right? (Exeunt) Curtain

Ν YDI A

58

ACT Π Ι Scene: The Study in the House of Arbaces A vast room, containing strange astrological and chemical instruments Arbaces discovered, examining a horoscope* The stars all seem propitious. No, just here, Saturn hangs baleful in my house of life. That is to come; but that escaped, behold How clear my sky! This aspect I distrust. [It is too fair to be quite natural, Weighing my life against man's common lot. I saw this strange conjunction once before, In Nero 's case; one danger, threatening thus, And, then, all clear beyond. To him it meant Death and the mystery of death. How clear To him, perhaps; how fathomless to us!] Certain it is some danger, soon to fall, Hangs ο 'er this town, if I may trust the stars. For that I am prepared. My ships equipped, And fretting at their cables, ride the bay; And in another day they shall set sail, With fair lone, their most precious freight. For go she shall. Have I lived all these years, These years of burning love and watchfulness; Have I forged wills and letters,—steeped my pride In crime and meanness, till I scorn myself, Now to be crossed by that Athenian boy?

AKBACES:

•boker's n o t e : " If you wish to add to the spectacle, you might open Act I I I with an orgy such as Nydia has already described, in which music and ballet dancing could be introduced. In t h a t case, the scene should be a splendid hall in Arbaces' palace. On the termination of the spectacle, Arbaces could take the horoscope from a case, examine it, and begin as in the text."

Ν Y D I A

50 (Sounds the aistrum*)

Enter Dromo DROMO: M y lord? ARBACES

:

Summon Calenus here. {Dromo bows and exit)

Calenus? hm! I cannot trust the man. Somewhat I must however. Sordid slave, Gold is his only master, and his faith The thing that pays him most. Enter Calenus

CALENUS:

I was at hand;

I have been waiting on your leisure, master. The matter of Apaecides has reached A crisis. He declines the vows of priesthood. ARBACES: I n d e e d ?

: And more; he threatens to reveal The secrets of the temple. This I know From people who have heard him. All the town [Stands now agog, to see the mystery stripped From Isis; and the priests of Jupiter— No better than ourselves, if tricks be sins—] Encourage recreant Apaecides T o make a public statement.

CALENUS

•BOKER'S NOTE: " T h e sLstrum was an instrument peculiar to E g y p t , and was used in place of a bell. It should be made of brass, so as to make a loud sound. o) A bronze or brass frame. b) Three bronze rods sliding freely through holes in the frame, each rod having a loose brass ring at each end. It was grasped by the handle and shaken like a child's rattle. This instrument you will have t o get made."

ΝΤ DIΑ

60

This is sad, And most embarrassing to me just now; For, as you know, Apaecides must die, And suddenly, before his lips disclose His threatened revelations.

ARBACES:

That might do In Egypt, master; but in Italy, With Roman law about one's ears— Τwould cost A deal of gold, to have it neatly done.

CALENUS:

If gold be all, take what you need. But hark; Spare him until I have another chance To win him from his purpose.

ABBACES:

CALENUS

:

But the gold ?

: Here, here, you glutton! Gather up these bags, And go your dirty way!

ARBACES

(