THE

TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN:

CHRYSANTHUS AND DARIA. 

A Drama of Early Christian Rome. 

FROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON. 

With Dedicatory Sonnets toLONGFELLOW, ETC. 

BYDENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY, M. R. I. A. 

POR LA FE MORIRE. Calderon's Family Motto. 

DUBLIN:JOHN F. FOWLER, 3 CROW STREET. 

LONDON:JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, 74 and 75 PICCADILLY. 

1870. 

Calderon's Family Motto. 

"POR LA FE MORIRE". --FOR THE FAITH WELCOME DEATH. 

THIS motto is taken from the engraved coat of arms prefixed to anhistorical account of "the very noble and ancient house of Calderon dela Barca"--a rather scarce work which I have never seen alluded to inany account of the poet. The circumstances from which the motto wasassigned to the family are given with some minuteness at pp. 56 and 57of the work referred to. It is enough to mention that the martyr whofirst used the expression was Don Sancho Ortiz Calderon de la Barca, aCommander of the Order of Santiago. He was in the service of therenowned king, Don Alfonso the Wise, towards the close of the thirteenthcentury, and having been taken prisoner by the Moors before Gibraltar, he was offered his life on the usual conditions of apostasy. But herefused all overtures, saying: "Pues mi Dios por mi murio, yo quieromorir por el", a phrase which has a singular resemblance to the key noteof this drama. Don Ortiz Calderon was eventually put to death withgreat cruelty, after some alternations of good and bad treatment. See"Descripcion, Armas, Origen, y Descendencia de la muy noble y antiguaCasa de Calderon de la Barca", etc. , que Escrivio El Rmo. P. M. Fr. Phelipe de la Gandara, etc. , Obra Postuma, que saca a luz Juan deZuniga. Madrid, 1753. 

D. F. M. C. 

TOHENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, IN GRATEFUL RECOLLECTION OF SOME DELIGHTFUL DAYS SPENT WITH HIM ATROME, This Drama is dedicatedBYDENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY. 

TO LONGFELLOW. 

I. 

PENSIVE within the Colosseum's walls I stood with thee, O Poet of the West!-- The day when each had been a welcome guest In San Clemente's venerable halls:--Ah, with what pride my memory now recalls That hour of hours, that flower of all the rest, When with thy white beard falling on thy breast-- That noble head, that well might serve as Paul'sIn some divinest vision of the saint By Raffael dreamed, I heard thee mourn the dead-- The martyred host who fearless there, though faint, Walked the rough road that up to Heaven's gate led: These were the pictures Calderon loved to paint In golden hues that here perchance have fled. 

II. 

YET take the colder copy from my hand, Not for its own but for THE MASTER'S sake, -- Take it, as thou, returning home, wilt take From that divinest soft Italian landFixed shadows of the Beautiful and Grand In sunless pictures that the sun doth make-- Reflections that may pleasant memories wake Of all that Raffael touched, or Angelo planned:--As these may keep what memory else might lose, So may this photograph of verse impart An image, though without the native huesOf Calderon's fire, and yet with Calderon's art, Of what Thou lovest through a kindred Muse That sings in heaven, yet nestles in the heart. 

D. F. M. C. 

Dublin, August 24th, 1869. 

PREFATORY NOTE. 

THE PROFESSOR OF POETRY AT OXFORD AND THE AUTOS SACRAMENTALES OFCALDERON. 

Although the Drama here presented to the public is not an 'Auto, ' thepresent may be a not inappropriate occasion to draw the attention of allcandid readers to the remarks of the Professor of Poetry at Oxford onthe 'Autos Sacramentales' of Calderon--remarks founded entirely on thevolume of translations from these Autos published by me in 1867, [*]although not mentioned by name, as I conceive in fairness it ought tohave been, by Sir F. H. Doyle in his printed Lectures. [+]

In his otherwise excellent analysis of The Dream of Gerontius, Sir F. H. Doyle is mistaken as to any direct impression having been made upon themind of Dr. Newman in reference to it by the Autos of Calderon. So lateas March 3, 1867, in thanking me for the volume made use of by Sir F. H. Doyle, Dr. Newman implies that up to that period he had not devoted anyparticular attention even to this most important and unique developmentof Spanish religious poetry. The only complete Auto of Calderon thathad previously appeared in English--my own translation of The Sorceriesof Sin, had, indeed, been in his hands from 1859, and I wish I couldflatter myself that it had in any way led to the production of amaster-piece like The Dream of Gerontius. But I cannot indulge thatdelusion. Dr. Newman had internally and externally too many sources ofinspiration to necessitate an adoption even of such high models as theSpanish Autos. Besides, The Dream of Gerontius is no more an Auto thanParadise Lost, or the Divina Commedia. In these, only real personages, spiritual and material, are represented, or monsters that typified humanpassions, but did not personify them. In the Autos it is precisely thereverse. Rarely do actual beings take part in the drama, and then onlyas personifications of the predominant vices or passions of theindividuals whose names they bear. Thus in my own volume, Belshazzar isnot treated so much as an historical character, but rather as thepersonification of the pride and haughtiness of a voluptuous king. InThe Divine Philothea, in the same volume, there are no actual beingswhatever, except The Prince of Light and The Prince of Darkness or TheDemon. In truth, there is nothing analogous to a Spanish Auto inEnglish original poetry. The nearest approach to it, and the only one, is The Prometheus Unbound of Shelley. There, indeed, The Earth, Ocean, The Spirits of the Hours, The Phantasm of Jupiter, Demogorgon, andPrometheus himself, read like the 'Personas' of a Spanish Auto, and thepoetry is worthy the resemblance. The Autos Sacramentales differ also, not only in degree but in kind from every form of Mystery or Moralityproduced either in England or on the Continent. But to return to thelecture by Sir F. H. Doyle. Even in smaller matters he is not accurate. Thus he has transcribed incorrectly from my Introduction the name of thedistinguished commentator on the Autos of Calderon and their translatorinto German--Dr. Lorinser. This Sir F. H. Doyle has printed throughouthis lecture 'Lorinzer'. From private letters which I have had thehonour of receiving from this learned writer, there can be no doubt thatthe form as originally given by me is the right one. With thesecorrections the lecture of Sir F. H. Doyle may be quoted as a valuabletestimony to the extraordinary poetic beauty of these Autos even in atranslation. 

LECTURE III. --Dr. Newman's Dream of Gerontius. 

"It is probable, indeed, that the first idea of composing such adramatic work may have been suggested to Dr. Newman by the AutosSacramentales of Spain, and especially by those of the illustriousCalderon; but, so far as I can learn, he has derived hardly anythingfrom them beyond the vaguest hints, except, indeed, the all-importantknowledge, that a profound religious feeling can represent itself, andthat effectively, in the outward form of a play. I may remark thatthese Spanish Autos of Calderon constitute beyond all question a verywonderful and a very original school of poetry, and I am not withouthope that, when I know my business a little better, we may examine themimpartially together. Nay, even as it is, Calderon stands soindisputably at the head of all Catholic religious dramatists, amongwhom Dr. Newman has recently enrolled himself, that perhaps it may notbe out of place to inquire for a moment into his poetical methods andaims, in order that we may then discover, if we can, how and why thedisciple differs from his master. Now there is a great conflict ofopinion as to the precise degree of merit which these particular Spanishdramas possess. Speaking as an ignorant man, I should say, whilst thosewho disparage them seem rather hasty in their judgments, and not so wellinformed as could be wished, still the kind of praise which they receivefrom their most enthusiastic admirers puzzles and does not instruct us. 

"Taking for example, the great German authority on this point, Dr. Lorinzer [Lorinser], as our guide, we see his poet looming dimly througha cloud of incense, which may embalm his memory, but certainly does notimprove our eyesight. Indeed, according to him, any appreciation ofCalderon is not to be dreamt of by a Protestant". Lectures, pp. 109, 110. 

With every respect for Sir F. H. Doyle, Dr. Lorinser says no such thing. He was too well informed of what had been done in Germany on the samesubject, before he himself undertook the formidable task of attempting acomplete translation of all the Autos of Calderon, to have fallen intosuch an error. Cardinal Diepenbrock, Archbishop of Breslau, who, in his"Das Leben ein Traum" (an Auto quite distinct from the well known drama"La Vida es Sueno") first commenced this interesting labour in Germany, was of course a Catholic. But Eichendorff and Braunfels, who bothpreceded Dr. Lorinser, were Protestants. Augustus Schlegel and Baronvon Schack, who have written so profoundly and so truly on the Autos, are expressly referred to by Dr. Lorinser, and it is superfluous to saythat they too were Protestants. Sir F. H. Doyle, in using mytranslation of the passage which will presently be quoted, changes theword 'thoroughly' into 'properly', as if it were a more correctrendering of the original. Unfortunately, however, there is nothing torepresent either word in the German. Dr. Lorinser says, that by many, not by all, Calderon cannot be enjoyed as much as he deserves, because agreat number of persons best competent to judge of his merits aredeficient in the knowledge of Catholic faith and Catholic theology whichfor the understanding of Calderon is indispensible--"welche fuerCalderons Verstaendniss unerlaesslich ist". Sir F. H. Doyle says thatto him these Autos are not "incomprehensible at all" (p. 112), but thenhe understands them all the better for being a scholar and a churchman. 

Sir F. H. Doyle thus continues his reference to Dr. Lorinser. "Evenlearned critics", he says, "highly cultivated in all the niceties ofaesthetics, are deficient in the knowledge of Catholic faith andCatholic theology properly to understand Calderon" (Lectures, p. 110, taken from the Introduction to my volume, p. 3). "Old traditions", continues Dr. Lorinzer, "which twine round the dogma like a beautifulgarland of legends, deeply profound thoughts expressed here and thereby some of the Fathers of the Church, are made use of with suchincredible skill and introduced so appositely at the right place, that . . . . Frequently it is not easy to guess the source from whencethey have been derived" (Lectures, p. 111, taken from the Introductionto my volume, p. 6). 

This surely is unquestionably true, and the argument used by Sir F. H. Doyle to controvert it does not go for much. These Autos, no doubt, were, as he says, "composed in the first instance to gratify, and didgratify, the uneducated populace of Madrid". Yes, the crowds thatlistened delighted and entranced to these wonderful compositions, were, for the most part, "uneducated" in the ordinary meaning of that word. But in the special education necessary for their thorough enjoyment, thecase was very different. It is not too much to say that, as the resultof Catholic training, teaching, intuition, and association, the leastinstructed of his Madrid audience more easily understood Calderon'sallusions, than the great majority of those who, reared up in totallydifferent ideas, are able to do, even after much labour and sometimeswith considerable sympathy. Mr. Tennyson says that he counts--

"The gray barbarian lower than the Christian child", because the almost intuitive perceptions of a Christian child as to thenature of God and the truths of Revelation, place it intellectuallyhigher than even the mature intelligence of a savage. I mean nodisrespect to Sir F. H. Doyle, but I think that Calderon would havefound at Madrid in the middle of the seventeenth century, and would findthere to-day, in a Catholic boy of fifteen, a more intelligent and abetter instructed critic on these points, than even the learnedprofessor himself. I shall make no further comments on Sir F. H. Doyle's Lecture, but give his remarks on Calderon's Autos to the end. 

"At the same time", says Sir F. H. Doyle, "Dr. Lorinzer's knowledge ofhis subject is so profound, and his appreciation of his favourite authorso keen, that for me, who am almost entirely unacquainted with thisbranch of literature, formally to oppose his views, would be an act ofpresumption, of which I am, as I trust, incapable. I may, however, perhaps be permitted to observe, that with regard to the few pieces ofthis kind which in an English dress I have read, whilst I think them notonly most ingenious but also surprisingly beautiful, they do not strikeme as incomprehensible at all. We must accept them, of course, ascoming from the mind of a devout Catholic and Spanish gentleman, whobelongs to the seventeenth century; but when once that is agreed upon, there are no difficulties greater than those which we might expect tofind in any system of poetry so remote from our English habits ofthought. There is, for instance, the Divine Philothea, in other words, our human spirit considered as the destined bride of Christ. Thissacred drama, we may well call it the swan-song of Calderon's extremeold age, is steeped throughout in a serene power and a mellow beauty ofstyle, making it not unworthy to be ranked with that Oedipus Colonaeuswhich glorified the sun-set of his illustrious predecessor: but yet, Protestant as I am, I cannot discover that it is in the least obscure. Faith, Hope, Charity, the Five Senses, Heresy, Judaism, Paganism, Atheism, and the like, which in inferior hands must have been mere layfigures, are there instinct with a dramatic life and energy such asbeforehand I could hardly have supposed possible. Moreover, in spite ofDr. Lorinzer's odd encomiums, each allegory as it rises is more neatlyrounded off, and shows a finer grain, than any of the personificationsof Spenser; so that the religious effect and the theological effectintended by the writer, are both amply produced--yes, produced upon us, his heretical admirers. Hence, even if there be mysterious treasures ofbeauty below the surface, to which we aliens must remain blind for ever, this expression, which broke from the lips of one to whom I was eagerlyreading [Mr. Mac-Carthy's translation of] the play, 'Why, in theoriginal this must be as grand as Dante', tends to show that such meritsas do come within our ken are not likely to be thrown away upon anyfair-minded Protestant. Dr. Newman, as a Catholic, will have entered, Ipresume, more deeply still into the spirit of these extraordinarycreations; his life, however, belongs to a different era and to acolder people. And thus, however much he may have been directed to thechoice of a subject by the old Mysteries and Moralities (of which theseSpanish Autos must be taken as the final development and brightconsummate flower), he has treated that subject, when once undertaken byhim, entirely from his own point of view. 'Gerontius' is meant to bestudied and dwelt upon by the meditative reader. The Autos of Calderonwere got ready by perhaps the most accomplished playwright that everlived, to amuse and stimulate a thronging southern population. 'Gerontius' is, we may perhaps say for Dr. Newman in the words ofShelley, 'The voice of his own soulHeard in the calm of thought';

whilst the conceptions of the Spanish dramatist burst into life withtumultuous music, gorgeous scenery, and all the pomp and splendour ofthe Catholic Church. No wonder therefore that our English Auto, thoughcomposed with the same genuine purpose of using verse, and dramaticverse, to promote a religious and even a theological end, should differfrom them in essence as well as in form. There is room however for bothkinds in the wide empire of Poetry, and though Dr. Newman himself wouldbe the first to cry shame upon me if I were to name him with Calderoneven for a moment, still his Mystery of this most unmysterious age will, I believe, keep its honourable place in our English literature as animpressive, an attractive, and an original production"--pp. 109, 115. 

I may mention that the volume containing Belshazzar's Feast, and TheDivine Philothea, the Auto particularly referred to by Sir F. H. Doyle, has been called Mysteries of Corpus Christi by the publisher. A notinappropriate title, it would seem, from the last observations of thedistinguished Professor. A third Auto, The Sorceries of Sin, is givenin my Three Plays of Calderon, now on sale by Mr. B. Quaritch, 15Piccadilly, London. The Divine Philothea, The Sorceries of Sin, andBelshazzar's Feast are the only Autos of Calderon that have ever beentranslated either fully, or, with one exception, even partially intoEnglish. 

D. F. MAC-CARTHY. 74 Upper Gardiner Street, Dublin, March 1, 1870. 

* AUTOS SACRAMENTALES: THE DIVINE PHILOTHEA: BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. TwoAutos, from the Spanish of Calderon. With a Commentary from the Germanof Dr. Franz Lorinser. By Denis Florence Mac-Carthy, M. R. I. A. Dublin:James Duffy, 15 Wellington Quay, and 22 Paternoster Row, London. 

+ LECTURES DELIVERED BEFORE THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1868. By Sir F. H. Doyle Bart. , M. A. , B. C L. , Late Fellow of All Souls', Professor ofPoetry. London: Macmillan & Co. , 1869. 

THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN. [1]

INTRODUCTION. 

IN the "Teatro escogido de Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca" (1868), atpresent in course of publication by the Royal Academy of Madrid, Calderon's dramas, exclusive of the autos sacramentales, which do notform a part of the collection, are divided into eight classes. Theseventh of these comprises what the editor calls mystical dramas, andthose founded on the Legends or the Lives of Saints. The eighthcontains the philosophical or purely ideal dramas. This last division, in which the editor evidently thinks the genius of Calderon attained itshighest development, at least as far as the secular theatre isconcerned, contains but two dramas, The Wonder-working Magician, andLife's a Dream. The mystical dramas, which form the seventh division, are more numerous, but of these five are at present known to us only byname. Those that remain are Day-break in Copacabana, The Chains of theDemon, The Devotion of the Cross, The Purgatory of St. Patrick, TheSibyl of the East, The Virgin of the Sanctuary, and The Two Lovers ofHeaven. The editor, Sr. D. P. De La Escosura, seems to think itnecessary to offer some apology for not including The Two Lovers ofHeaven among the philosophical instead of the mystical dramas. He says:"There is a great analogy and, perhaps, resemblance between "El MagicoProdigioso" (The Wonder-working Magician), and "Los dos amantes delcielo" (The Two Lovers of Heaven); but in the second, as it seems to us, the purely mystical predominates in such a manner over thephilosophical, that it does not admit of its being classified in thesame group as the first (El Magico Prodigioso), and La Vida es Sueno(Life's a Dream)". Introduccion, p. Cxxxvii. Note. Whether thisdistinction is well founded or not it is unnecessary to determine. Itis sufficient for our purpose that it establishes the high positionamong the greatest plays of Calderon of the drama which is herepresented to the English reader in the peculiar and always difficultversification of the original. Whether less philosophical or moremystical than The Wonder-working Magician, The Two Lovers of Heavenpossesses a charm of its own in which its more famous rival seemsdeficient. In the admirable "Essay on the Genius of Calderon" (ch. Ii. P. 34), with which Archbishop Trench introduces his spirited analysis ofLa Vida es Sueno, he refers to the group of dramas which forms, with oneexception, the seventh and eighth divisions of the classification abovereferred to, and pays a just tribute to the superior merits of Los dosamantes del cielo. After alluding to the dramas, the argument of whichis drawn from the Old Testament, and especially to The Locks of Absalom, which he considers the noblest specimen, he continues: "Still more haveto do with the heroic martyrdoms and other legends of Christianantiquity, the victories of the Cross of Christ over all the fleshly andspiritual wickednesses of the ancient heathen world. To this theme, which is one almost undrawn upon in our Elizabethan drama, --Massinger'sVirgin Martyr is the only example I remember, --he returns continually, and he has elaborated these plays with peculiar care. Of these TheWonder-working Magician is most celebrated; but others, as The Joseph ofWomen, The Two Lovers of Heaven, quite deserve to be placed on a level, if not higher than it. A tender pathetic grace is shed over this last, which gives it a peculiar charm. Then too he has occupied what onemight venture to call the region of sacred mythology, as in The Sibyl ofthe East, in which the profound legends identifying the Cross of Calvaryand the Tree of Life are wrought up into a poem of surpassingbeauty". [2] An excellent German version of Los dos amantes del cielo isto be found in the second volume of the "Spanisches Theater", by Schack, whose important work on Dramatic Art and Literature in Spain, is stilluntranslated into the language of that country, --a singular neglect, when his later and less elaborate work, "Poesie and Kunst der Araber inSpanien und Sicilien" (Berlin, 1865), has already found an excellentSpanish interpreter in Don Juan Valera, two volumes of whose "Poesia yArte de los Arabes en Espana y Sicilia" (Madrid, 1868), I was fortunateenough to meet with during a recent visit to Spain. 

The story of SS. Chrysanthus and Daria (The Two Lovers of Heaven), whosemartyrdom took place at Rome A. D. 284, and whose festival occurs on the25th of October, is to be found in a very abridged form in the "LegendaAurea" of Jacobus de Voragine, c. 152. The fullest account, and thatwhich Calderon had evidently before him when writing The Two Lovers ofHeaven, is given by Surius in his great work, "De Probatis SanctorumVitis", October, p. 378. This history is referred to by Villegas at theconclusion of his own condensed narrative in the following passage, which I take from the old English version of his Lives of Saints, byJohn Heigham, anno 1630. 

"The Church doth celebrate the feast of SS. Chrisanthus and Daria, the25th of October, and their death was in the year of our Lord God 284, inthe raigne of Numerianus, Emperor. The martyrdom of these saints waswritten by Verinus and Armenius, priests of St. Stephen, Pope andMartyr: Metaphrastes enlarged it somewhat more. St. Damasus madecertain eloquent verses in praise of these saints, and set them on theirtombe. There is mention of them also in the Romaine Martirologe, and inthat of Usuardus: as also in the 5. Tome of Surius; in CardinalBaronius, and Gregory of Turonensis", p. 849. 

A different abridgment of the story as given by Surius, is to be foundin Ribadeneyra's "Flos Sanctorum" (the edition before me being that ofBarcelona, 1790, t. 3. P. 304). It concludes with the same list ofauthorities, which, however, is given with more precision. The oldEnglish translation by W. P. Esq. , second edition: London, 1730, p. 369, gives them thus:

"Surius in his fifth tome, and Cardinal Baronius in his 'Annotationsupon the Martyrologies', and in the second tome of his Annals, and St. Gregory of Tours in his 'Book of the Glory of the Martyrs', make mentionof the Saints Chrysanthus and Daria". 

The following is taken from Caxton's Golden Legende, or translation ofthe Legenda Aurea of Jacobus de Voragine. I have transcribed from thefollowing edition, which is thus described in the Colophon:

"The legende named in latyn Legenda Aurea, that is to say in englyshethe golden legende, For lyke as golde passeth all other metalles, sothis boke excedeth all other bokes". "Finyshed the xxvii daye ofAugust, the yere of our lord M. CCCCC. XXVII, the xix yere of the regneof our souverayne lord Kynge Henry the eyght. Imprynted at London inFlete Strete at the Sygne of the Sonne by Wynkyn de Worde". 

In the following extract the spelling is somewhat modernised, and a fewobsolete words are omitted. 

"The Life of Saynt Crysant and Saynte Daria". Fo. Cc. Lxxxv. 

"Here followeth the lyfe of Saynt Crysaunt, and fyrst of his name. Andof Saynte Daria, and of her name. 

"Of Crysaunt is said as growen and multyplyed of God. For when hisfather would have made hym do sacrifyce to the idols, God gave to hymforce and power to contrary and gaynsay his father, and yield himself toGod. Daria is sayd of dare to give, for she gave her to two thynges. Fyrst will to do evil, when she had will to draw Crysaunt to sacrifyceto the idols. And after she gave her to good will when Crysaunt hadconverted her to Almighty God. 

"Crysaunt was son of a ryght noble man that was named Polymne. And whenhis father saw that his son was taught in the faith of Jesu Chryst, andthat he could not withdraw him therefrom, and make him do sacrifyce tothe idols, he commanded that he should be closed in a stronge hold andput to hym five maidens for to seduce him with blandyshynge and fayrewordes. And when he had prayed God that he should not be surmountedwith no fleshly desyre, anon these maydens were so overcome with slepe, that they myght not take neither meat ne drinke as long as they werethere, but as soon as they were out, they took both meat and drinke. And one Daria, a noble and wise virgin of the goddess Vesta, arrayed hernobly with clothes as she had been a goddess, and prayed that she myghtbe letten enter in to Crysant and that she would restore him to theidols and to his father. And when she was come in, Crysant reproved herof the pride of her vesture. And she answered that she had not done itfor pride but for to draw him to do sacrifyce to the idols and restorehim to his father. And then Crysant reproved her because she worshippedthem as gods. For they had been in their times evil and sinners. AndDaria answered, the philosophers called the elements by the names ofmen. And Crysant said to her, if one worship the earth as a goddess, and another work and labour the earth as a churl or ploughman, to whomgiveth the earth most? It is plain that it giveth more to the ploughmanthan to him that worshippeth it. And in like wise he said of the seaand of the other elements. And then Crysant and Daria converted to him, coupled them together by the grace of the Holy Ghost, and feigned to bejoined by carnal marriage, and converted many others to our Lord. ForClaudian, who had been one of their persecutors, they converted to thefaith of our Lord, with his wife and children and many other knights. And after this Crysant was enclosed in a stinking prison by thecommandment of Numerian, but the stink turned anon into a right sweetodour and savour. And Daria was brought to the bordel, but a lion thatwas in the amphitheatre came and kept the door of the bordel. And thenthere was sent thither a man to befoul and corrupt the virgin, but anonhe was taken by the lion, and the lion began to look at the virgin likeas he demanded what he should do with the caitiff. And the virgincommanded that he should do him no hurt but let him go. And anon he wasconverted and ran through the city, and began to cry that Daria was agoddess. And then hunters were sent thither to take the lion. And theyanon fell down at the feet of the virgin and were converted by her. Andthen the provost commanded them to make a great fire within the entranceof the bordel, so that the lion should be brent with Daria. And thelion considering this thing, felt dread, and roaring took leave of thevirgin, and went whither he would without hurting of any body. And whenthe provost had done to Crysant and Daria many diverse torments, andmight not grieve them, at the last they without compassion were put in adeep pit, and earth and stones thrown on them. And so were consecratedmartyrs of Christ". 

With regard to the exact year in which the martyrdom of SS. Chrysanthusand Daria took place, it may be mentioned that in the valuable "Vies desSaints", Paris, 1701 (republished in 1739), where the whole legendundergoes a very critical examination, the generally received date, A. D. 284, is considered erroneous. The reign of the emperor Numerianus (A. D. 283-284), in which it is alleged to have occurred, lasted but eightmonths, during which period no persecution of the Christians isrecorded. The writer in the work just quoted (Adrien Baillet)conjectures that the martyrdom of these saints took place in the reignof Valerian, and not later than the month of August, 257, "s' il estvray que le pape Saint Etienne qui mourut alois avoit donne ordre qu' onrecueillit les actes de leur martyre"--Les Vies des Saints, Paris, 1739, t. Vii. P. 385. 

1. Los dos amantes del cielo: Crisanto y Daria. Comedias de Don PedroCalderon de la Barca. Por Don Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch. Madrid, 1865, tomo 3, p. 234. 

2. It may be added to what Dr. Trench has so well said, that Calderon'sauto, "El arbol del mejor Fruto" (The Tree of the choicest Fruit), isfounded on the same sublime theme. It is translated into German byLorinser, under the title of "Der Baum der bessern Frucht", Breslau, 1861. 

THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN. 

PERSONS. 

NUMERIANUS, Emperor of Rome. POLEMIUS, Chief Senator. CHRYSANTHUS, his son. CLAUDIUS, cousin of Chrysanthus. AURELIUS, a Roman general. CARPOPHORUS, a venerable priest. ESCARPIN, servant of Chrysanthus. DARIA, CYNTHIA, NISIDA, CHLORIS, } Priestesses of Diana. Two spirits. Angels. Soldiers, servants, people, music, etc. 

SCENE: Rome and its environs. 

ACT THE FIRST. 

SCENE I. --A Room in the house of Polemius at Rome. 

Chrysanthus is seen seated near a writing table on which are severalbooks: he is reading a small volume with deep attention. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Ah! how shallow is my mind!How confined! and how restricted![3]Ah! how driftless are my words!And my thoughts themselves how driftless!Since I cannot comprehend, Cannot pierce the secrets hiddenIn this little book that IFound by chance with others mingled. I its meaning cannot reach, Howsoe'er my mind I rivet, Though to this, and this alone, Many a day has now been given. But I cannot therefore yield, Must not own myself outwitted:--No; a studious toil so greatShould not end in aught so little. O'er this book my whole life longShall I brood until the riddleIs made plain, or till some sageSimplifies what here is written. For which end I 'll read once moreIts beginning. How my instinctUses the same word with whichEven the book itself beginneth!--"In the beginning was the Word" . . [4]If in language plain and simpleWord means speech, how then was itIn the beginning? Since a whisperPresupposes power to breathe it, Proves an earlier existence, And to that anterior PowerHere the book doth not bear witness. Then this follows: "And the WordWas with God"--nay more, 't is written, "And the Word was God: was with HimIn the beginning, and by HIM thenAll created things were madeAnd without Him naught was finshed":--Oh! what mysteries, what wonders, In this tangled labyrinthineMaze lie hid! which I so manyYears have studied, with such mingledAid from lore divine and humanHave in vain tried to unriddle!--"In the beginning was the Word". --Yes, but when was this beginning?Was it when Jove, Neptune, PlutoShared the triple zones betwixt them, When the one took to himselfHeaven supreme, one hell's abysses, And the sea the third, to CeresLeaving earth, the ever-wing`edTime to Saturn, fire to Phoebus, And the air to Jove's great sister?[5]--No, it could not have been then, For the fact of their partitionShows that heaven and earth then were, Shows that sea and land existed:--The beginning then must beSomething more remote and distant:He who has expressly said'The beginning, ' must have hintedAt the primal cause of all things, At the first and great beginning, All things growing out of HIM, He himself the pre-existent:--Yes, but then a new beginningMust we seek for this beginner, And so on ad infinitum;Since if I, on soaring pinionSeek from facts to rise to causes, Rising still from where I had risen, I will find at length there isNo beginning to the beginning, And the inference that timeSomehow was, ere time existed, And that that which ne'er begunNe'er can end, is plain and simple. But, my thought, remain not here, Rest not in those narrow limits, But rise up with me and dareHeights that make the brain grow dizzy:--And at once to enter there, Other things being pretermitted, Let us venture where the mind, As the darkness round it thickens, Almost faints as we resumeWhat this mystic scribe has written. "And the Word", this writer says, "Was made flesh!" Ah! how can this be?Could the Word that in the beginningWas with God, was God, was giftedWith such power as to make all things, Could it be made flesh? In pity, Heavens! or take from me at onceAll the sense that you have given me, Or at once on me bestowSome intelligence, some glimmerOf clear light through these dark shadows:--Deity, unknown and hidden, God or Word, whate'er thou beest, Of Thyself the great beginner, Of Thyself the end, if, ThouBeing Thyself beyond time's sickle, Still in time the world didst fashion, If Thou 'rt life, O living spirit, If Thou 'rt light, my darkened sensesWith Thy life and light enkindle!--(The voices of two spirits are heard from within, one at each side. )

First Voice. Hear, Chrysanthus . . . 

Second Voice. Listen . . . 

CHRYSANTHUS. TwoVoices, if they are not instincts, Shadows without soul or body, Which my fancy forms within me, Are contending in my bosomEach with each at the same instant. (Two figures appear on high, one clothed in a dark robe dotted withstars; the other in a bright and beautiful mantle: Chrysanthus does notsee them, but in the following scene ever speaks to himself. )

First Voice. What this crabbed text here meanethBy the Word, is plain and simple, It is Jove to whose great voiceGods and men obedient listen. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Jove, it must be Jove, by whomBreath, speech, life itself are given. 

Second Voice. What the holy Gospel meansBy the Word, is that great SpiritWho was in Himself for ever, First, last, always self-existent. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Self-existent! first and last!Reason cannot grasp that dictum. 

First Voice. In the beginning of the worldJove in heaven his high throne fix`ed, Leaving less imperial thronesTo the other gods to fill them. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Yes, if he could not aloneRule creation unassisted. 

Second Voice. God was God, long, long beforeEarth or heaven's blue vault existed, He was in Himself, ere HeGave to time its life and mission. 

First Voice. Worship only pay to Jove, God o'er all our gods uplifted. 

Second Voice. Worship pay to God alone, He the infinite, the omniscient. 

First Voice. He doth lord the world below. 

Second Voice. He is Lord of Heaven's high kingdom. 

First Voice. Shun the lightnings of his wrath. 

Second Voice. Seek the waves of his forgiveness. [The Figures disappear. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! what darkness, what confusion, In myself I find here pitted'Gainst each other! Spirits twainStruggle desperately within me, Spirits twain of good and ill, --One with gentle impulse wins meTo believe, but, oh! the otherWith opposing force resistlessDrives me back to doubt: Oh! whoWill dispel these doubts that fill me?

POLEMIUS (within). Yes, Carpophorus must payFor the trouble that this gives me. --

CHRYSANTHUS. Though these words by chance were spokenAs an omen I 'll admit them:Since Carpophorus (who in RomeWas the most renowned, most giftedMaster in all science), nowFlying from the emperor's lictors, Through suspect of being a Christian, In lone deserts wild and dismalLives a saintly savage life, He will give to all my wishesThe solution of these doubts:--And till then, O restless thinkingTorture me and tease no more!Let me live for that! [His voice gradually rises. 

ESCARPIN (within). Within thereMy young master calls. 

CLAUDIUS (within). All enter. (Enter Polemius, Claudius, Aurelius, and Escarpin). 

POLEMIUS. My Chrysanthus, what afflicts thee?

CHRYSANTHUS. Canst thou have been here, my father?

POLEMIUS. No, my son, 't was but this instantThat I entered here, alarmedBy the strange and sudden shrillnessOf thy voice; and though I hadOn my hands important business, Grave and weighty, since to meHath the Emperor transmittedThis decree, which bids me searchThrough the mountains for the ChristiansHidden there, and speciallyFor Carpophorus, their admittedChief and teacher, for which causeI my voice too thus uplifted--"Yes, Carpophorus must payFor the trouble that this gives me"--I left all at hearing thee. --Why so absent? so bewildered?What 's the reason?

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, 't is naught. 

POLEMIUS. Whom didst thou address?

CHRYSANTHUS. Here sittingI was reading to myself, And perchance conceived some imageI may have addressed in wordsWhich have from my memory flitted. 

POLEMIUS. The grave sadness that o'erwhelms theeWill, unless it be resisted, Undermine thy understanding, If thou hast it still within thee. 

CLAUDIUS. 'T is a loud soliloquy, 'T is a rather audible whisperThat compels one's friends to hastenFull of fear to his assistance!

CHRYSANTHUS. Well, excitement may . . . 

POLEMIUS. Oh! cease;That excuse will scarce acquit thee, Since when one 's alone, excitementIs a flame that 's seldom kindled. I am pleased, well pleased to see theeTo the love of books addicted, But then application should notTo extremes like this be driven, Nor should letters alienate theeFrom thy country, friends, and kinsmen. 

CLAUDIUS. A young man by heaven so favoured, With such rare endowments gifted, Blessed with noble birth and valour, Dowered with genius, rank, and riches, Can he yield to such enthralment, Can he make his room a prison, Can he waste in idle readingThe fair flower of his existence?

POLEMIUS. Dost thou not remember alsoThat thou art my son? Bethink theeThat the great Numerianus, Our good emperor, has given meThe grand government of RomeAs chief senator of the city, And with that imperial burdenThe whole world too--all the kingdoms, All the provinces subjectedTo its varied, vast dominion. Know'st thou not, from Alexandria, From my native land, my birth-place, Where on many a proud escutcheonMy ancestral fame is written, That he brought me here, the weightOf his great crown to bear with him, And that Rome upon my entryGave to me a recognitionThat repaid the debt it owed me, Since the victories were admittedWhich in glorious alternationBy my sword and pen were given her?Through what vanity, what folly, Wilt thou not enjoy thy birth-rightAs my son and heir, indulgingSolely in these idle whimseys?--

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, the state in which you see me, This secluded room, this stillness, Do not spring from want of feeling, Or indifference to your wishes. 'T is my natural disposition;For I have no taste to mingleIn the vulgar vain pursuitsOf the courtier crowds ambitious. And if living to myself hereMore of true enjoyment gives me, Why would you desire me seek forThat which must my joys diminish?Let this time of sadness pass, Let these hours of lonely vigil, Then for fame and its applauses, Which no merit of my own, But my father's name may bring me. 

POLEMIUS. Would it not, my son, be fitterThat you should enjoy those plauditsIn the fresh and blooming spring-timeOf your life, and to hereafterLeave the loneliness and vigil?

ESCARPIN. Let me tell a little storyWhich will make the whole thing simple:--A bad painter bought a house, Altogether a bad business, For the house itself was bad:He however was quite smittenWith his purchase, and would show itTo a friend of his, keen-witted, But bad also: when they entered, The first room was like a kitchen, Black and bad:--"This room, you see, sir, Now is bad, but just permit meFirst to have it whitewashed over, Then shall my own hand with picturesPaint the walls from floor to ceiling, Then you 'll see how bright 't will glisten". --To him thus his friend made answer, Smiling archly: "Yes, 't will glisten, But if you would paint it first, And then whitewash o'er the pictures, The effect would be much better". --Now 's the time for you, my lord, To lay on the shining pigment:On that brilliant ground hereafterWill the whitewash fall more fitly, For, in fine, the poorest paintingIs improved by time's slow finger. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, I say, that in obedienceTo your precepts, to your wishes, I will strive from this day forwardSo to act, that you will think meChanged into another being. [Exit. 

POLEMIUS. Claudius, my paternal instinctMakes me fear Chrysanthus' sadness, Makes we tremble that its issueMay result in total madness. Since thou art his friend and kinsmanBoth combined, make out, I pray thee, What occasions this bewitchment, To the end that I may break it:And my promise now I give thee, That although I should discoverLove's delirious dream deliciousMay be at the root, --most likelyAt his age the true suspicion, --It shall not disturb or grieve me. Nay, since I am doomed to witnessHis dejection, it will glad meTo find out that so it springeth. 

ESCARPIN. Once a high priest of ApolloHad two nephews soft and silly, More than silly, wretched creatures, More than wretched, doltish drivels;And perceiving from experienceHow love smartens up its victims, He but said to them this only, "Fall in love at least, ye ninnies". --Thus, though not in love, sir, now, I 'll be bound he 'll be so quickly, Merely to oblige you. 

POLEMIUS. ThisIs not quite as I would wish it, For when anything has happened, The desire to know it, differsFrom the wish it so should happen. 

CLAUDIUS. I, my lord, my best assistanceOffer thee to strive and fathomFrom what cause can have arisenSuch dejection and such sadness;This henceforth shall be my businessTo divert him and distract him. 

POLEMIUS. Such precisely are my wishes:And since now I am forced to goIn obedience to the missionSent me by Numerianus, 'Mid the wastes to search for Christians, In my absence, Claudius, Most consoling thoughts 't will give me, To remember that thou watchestO'er Chrysanthus. 

CLAUDIUS. From this instantUntil thy return, I promiseNot to leave his side. 

POLEMIUS. Aurelius . . . 

AURELIUS. My good lord. 

POLEMIUS. Art sure thou knowestIn this mountain the well-hiddenCave wherein Carpophorus dwelleth?

AURELIUS. Him I promise to deliverTo thy hands. 

POLEMIUS. Then lead the soldiersStealthily and with all quicknessTo the spot, for all must perishWho are there found hiding with him:--For the care with which, ye Heavens!I uphold the true religionOf the gods, their faith and worship, For the zeal that I exhibitIn thus crushing Christ's new law, Which I hate with every instinctOf my soul, oh! grant my guerdonIn the cure of my son's illness! [Exeunt Polemius and Aurelius. 

CLAUDIUS (to Escarpin). Go and tell my lord ChrysanthusThat I wish he would come with meForth to-day for relaxation. 

ESCARPIN. Relaxation! just say whitherAre we to go forth to get it;Of that comfort I get little--

CLAUDIUS. Outside Rome, Diana's templeOn the Salarian way upliftethIts majestic front: the fairestOf our Roman maids dwell in it:'T is the custom, as thou knowest, That the loveliest of Rome's childrenWhom patrician blood ennobles, From their tender years go thitherTo be priestesses of the goddess, Living there till 't is permittedThey should marry: 't is the centreOf all charms, the magic circleDrawn around a land of beauty--Home of deities--Elysium!--And as great Diana isGoddess of the groves, her childrenHave to her an altar raisedIn the loveliest cool green thicket. Thither, when the evening falleth, And the season is propitious, Various squadrons of fair nymphsHasten: and it is permittedGallant youths, unmarried also, As an escort to go with them. There this evening will I lead him. 

ESCARPIN. Well, I doubt that your prescriptionIs the best: for fair recluses, Whose sublime pursuits, restrictedTo celestial things, make evenThe most innocent thought seem wicked, Are by no means likely personsTo divert a man afflictedWith this melancholy madness:Better take him into the thickestThrong of Rome, there flesh and boneGoddesses he 'll find, and fitter. --

CLAUDIUS. Ah! you speak but as the vulgar:Is it not the bliss of blissesTo adore some lovely beingIn the ideal, in the distance, Almost as a vision?--

ESCARPIN. Yes;'T is delightful; I admit it, But there 's good and better: thinkOf the choice that once a simpleMother gave her son: she said:"Egg or rasher, which will I give thee?"And he said: "The rasher, mother, But with the egg upon it, prithee". "Both are best", so says the proverb. 

CLAUDIUS. Well, if tastes did n't sometimes differ, What a notable mistakeProvidence would have committed!To adore thee, sweetest Cynthia, [asideIs the height of all my wishes:As it well may be, for am IWorthy, worship even to give her? [Exeunt. 

SCENE THE SECONDA Wood near Rome. 

(Enter NISIDA and CHLORIS, the latter with a lyre). 

NISIDA. Have you brought the instrument?

CHLORIS. Yes. 

NISIDA. Then give it me, for hereIn this tranquil forest sphere, Where the boughs and blossoms blent, Ruby blooms and emerald stems, Round about their radiance fling, Where the canopy of springBreathes of flowers and gleams with gems, Here I wish that air to play, Which to words that Cynthia wroteI have set--a simple note. 

CHLORIS. And the song, senora, say, What 's the theme?

NISIDA. A touching strain, --How a nightingale in a groveSinging sweetly of his love, Sang its pleasure and its pain. 

Enter CYNTHIA (reading in a book). 

CYNTHIA (to herself). Whilst each alley here disclosesYouthful nymphs, who as they passTo Diana's shrine, the grassTurn to beds of fragrant roses, --Where the interlac`ed barsOf these woods their beauty dowersSeem a verdant sky of flowers--Seem an azure field of stars. I shall here recline and read(While they wander through the grove)Ovid's 'Remedy of Love. '

NISIDA (to Chloris). Hear the words and air. 

CHLORIS. Proceed. 

NISIDA (singing). O nightingale, whose sweet exulting strainTells of thy triumphs to the listening grove, Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain. But no; but no; for if thou sing'st of love, Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain. 

CYNTHIA (advancing). What a charming air! To meWhat an honour! From this dayI may well be vain, as theyMay without presumption be, Who, despite their numerous slips, Find their words can please the ear, Who their rugged verses hearTurn to music on thy lips. 

NISIDA. 'T is thine own genius, not my skill, That produces this effect;For, without it, I suspect, Would my voice sound harsh and shrill, And my lute's strings should be brokenWith a just and wholesome rigour, For presuming to disfigureWhat thy words so well have spoken. Whither wert thou wending here?

CYNTHIA. Through the quiet wood proceeding, I the poet's book was reading, When there fell upon my ear, Soft and sweet, thy voice: its power, Gentle lodestone of my feet, Brought me to this green retreat--Led me to this lonely bower:But what wonder, when to listenTo thy sweetly warbled wordsCeased the music of the birds--Of the founts that glide and glisten?May I hope that, since I cameThus so opportunely near, I the gloss may also hear?

NISIDA. I will sing it, though with shame. 

(Sings)Sweet nightingale, that from some echoing grotSingest the rapture of thy love aloud, Singest with voice so joyous and so proud, All unforgetting thou mayst be forgot, Full of thyself and of thy happy lot!Ah! when thou trillest that triumphant strainTo all the listening lyrists of the grove, Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain!But no; but no; for if thou sing'st of love. Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!

Enter DARIA. 

DARIA. Ah! my Nisida, forbear, Ah! those words forbear to sing, Which on zephyr's wanton wingThou shouldst waft not on the air. All is wrong, how sweet it be, That the vestal's thoughts reprove:What is jealousy? what is love?That they should be sung by thee?Think this wood is consecratedTo Diana's service solely, Not to Venus: it is holy. Why then wouldst thou desecrate itWith thy songs? Does 't not amazeThee thyself--this strangest thing--In Diana's grove to singHymns of love to Cupid's praise?But I need not wonder, no, That thou 'rt so amused, since IHere see Cynthia with thee. 

CYNTHIA. WhyDost thou say so?

DARIA. I say soFor good cause: in books profaneThou unceasingly delightest, Verse thou readest, verse thou writest, Of their very vanity vain. And if thou wouldst have me proveWhat I say to thy proceeding, Tell me, what 's this book thou 'rt reading?

CYNTHIA. 'T is The Remedy of Love. Whence thou mayst perceive how weakIs thy inference, thy deductionFrom my studious self-instruction;Since the patient who doth seekRemedies to cure his painShows by this he would grow better;--For the slave who breaks his fetterCannot surely love his chain. 

NISIDA. This, though not put quite so strong, Was involved in the conclusionOf my lay: Love's disillusionWas the burden of my song. 

DARIA. Remedies and disillusions, Seek ye both beneath one star?Ah! if so, you are not farFrom its pains and its confusions:For the very fact of pleadingDisillusion, shows that thou'Neath illusion's yoke doth bow, --And the patient who is needingRemedies doth prove that stillThe sharp pang he doth endure, For there 's no one seeks a cureEre he feels that he is ill:--Therefore to this wrong proceedingGrieved am I to see ye clinging--Seeking thou thy cure in singing--Thou thy remedy in reading. 

CYNTHIA. Casual actions of this classThat are done without intentionOf a second end, to mentionHere were out of place: I passTo another point: There 's no oneWho with genius, or denied it, --Dowered with mind, but has applied itSome especial track to go on:This variety sufficesFor its exercise and action, Just as some by free attractionSeek the virtues and the vices;--This blind instinct, or this duty, We three share;--'t is thy delightNisida to sing, --to writeMine, --and thine to adore thy beauty. Which of these three occupationsIs the best--or those that needSkill and labour to succeed, Or thine own vain contemplations?--Have I not, when morning's raysGladdened grove and vale and mountain, Seen thee in the crystal fountainAt thyself enamoured gaze?Wherefore, once again returningTo our argument of love, Thou a greater pang must prove, If from thy insatiate yearningI infer a cause: the spellLighter falls on one who still, To herself not feeling ill, Would in other eyes seem well. 

DARIA. Ah! so far, so far from meIs the wish as vain as weak--(Now my virtue doth not speak, Now but speaks my vanity), Ah! so far, I say, my breastTurns away from things of love, That the sovereign hand of Jove, Were it to attempt its best, Could no greater wonder work, Than that I, Daria, shouldSo be changed in mind and moodAs to let within me lurkLove's minutest, smallest seed:--Only upon one conditionCould I love, and that fruitionThen would be my pride indeed. 

CYNTHIA. What may that condition be?

DARIA. When of all mankind, I knewOne who felt a love so trueAs to give his life for me, Then, until my own life fled, Him, with gratitude and pride, Were I sure that so he died, I would love though he were dead. 

NISIDA. Poor reward for love so greatWere that tardy recollection, Since, it seems, for thy affectionHe, till life is o'er, must wait. 

CYNTHIA. Soars thy vanity so high?Thy presumption is aboveAll belief: be sure, for loveNo man will be found to die. 

DARIA. Why more words then? love must beIn my case denied by heaven:Since my love cannot be givenSave to one who 'll die for me. 

CYNTHIA. Thy ambition is a thingSo sublime, what can be said?--Better I resumed and read, Better, Nisida, thou shouldst sing, This disdain so strange and strong, This delusion little heeding. 

NISIDA. Yes, do thou resume thy reading, I too will resume my song. 

DARIA. I, that I may not renewSuch reproaches, whilst you sing, Whilst you read, in this clear springThoughtfully myself shall view. 

NISIDA sings. O nightingale, whose sweet exulting strainTells of thy triumphs to the listening grove, Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain!--But no, but no, for if thou sing'st of loveJealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!

Enter CHRYSANTHUS, CLAUDIUS, and ESCARPIN. 

CLAUDIUS, to Chrysanthus. Does not the beauty of this wood, This tranquil wood, delight thee?

CHRYSANTHUS. Yes:Here nature's lord doth dower and blessThe world in most indulgent mood. Who could believe this greenwood hereFor the first time has blessed mine eyes?

CLAUDIUS. It is the second Paradise, Of deities the verdant sphere. 

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is more, this green and grassy gladeWhither our careless steps have strolled, For here three objects we beholdEqually fair by distance made. Of these that chain our willing feet, There yonder where the path is leading, One is a lady calmly reading, One is a lady singing sweet, And one whose rapt though idle airGives us to understand this truth--A woman blessed with charms and youth, Does quite enough in being fair. 

ESCARPIN. You are quite right in that, I 've seenBeauties enough of that sort too. 

CLAUDIUS. If of the three here given to view, The choice were thine to choose between, Which of them best would suit thy taste?Which wouldst thou make thy choice of, say?

CHRYSANTHUS. I do not know: for in one wayThey so with equal gifts are graced, So musical and fair and wise, That while one captivates the mind, One works her witcheries with the wind, And one, the fairest, charms our eyes. The one who sings, it seems a duty, Trusting her sweet voice, to think sweet, The one who reads, to deem discreet, The third, we judge but by her beauty:And so I fear by act or wordTo wrong the three by judging ill, Of one her charms, of one her skill, And the intelligence of the third. For to choose one does wrong to two, But if I so presumed to dare . . . 

CLAUDIUS. Which would it be?

CHRYSANTHUS. The one that 's fair. 

ESCARPIN. My blessings on your choice and you!That 's my opinion in the case, 'T is plain at least to my discerningThat in a woman wit and learningAre nothing to a pretty face. 

NISIDA. Chloris, quick, take up the lyre, For a rustling noise I hearIn this shady thicket near:Yes, I 'm right, I must retire. Swift as feet can fly I 'll go. For these men that here have strayedMust have heard me while I played. [Exeunt Nisida and Chloris. 

CYNTHIA. One of them I think I know. Yes, 't is Claudius, as I thought, Now he has a chance: I 'll seeIf he cares to follow me, Guessing rightly what has broughtMe to-day unto the grove:--Ah! if love to grief is leadingOf what use to me is readingIn the Remedies of Love? [Exit. 

DARIA (to herself). In these bowers by trees o'ergrown, Here contented I remain, All companionship is vain, Save my own sweet thoughts alone:--

CLAUDIUS. Dear Chrysanthus, your electionWas to me both loss and gain, Gave me pleasure, gave me pain:--It seemed plain to my affection(Being in love) your choice should fallOn the maid of pensive look, Not on her who read the book:But your praise made up for all. And since each has equal force, My complaint and gratulation, Whilst with trembling expectationI pursue my own love's course, Try your fortune too, till weMeet again. [Exit. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Confused I stay, Without power to go away, Spirit-bound, my feet not free. From the instant that on me, As a sudden beam might dart, Flashed that form which Phidian artCould not reach, I 've known no rest. --Babylon is in my breast--Troy is burning in my heart. 

ESCARPIN. Strange that I should feel as you, That one thought should fire us two, I too, sir, have lost my sensesSince I saw that lady. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Who, Madman! fool! do you speak of? you!Dare to feel those griefs of mine!--

ESCARPIN. No, sir, yours I quite resign, Would I could my own ones too!--

CHRYSANTHUS. Leave me, or my wrath you 'll rue;Hence! buffoon: by heaven I swear it, I will kill you else. 

ESCARPIN. I go:--For if you address her, oh!Could my jealous bosom bear it? [aside [Exit. 

CHRYSANTHUS (to Daria). If my boldness so may dare it, I desire to ask, senora, If thou art this heaven's Aurora, If the goddess of this fountain, If the Juno of this mountain, If of these bright flowers the Flora, So that I may rightly knowIn what style should speak to theeMy hushed voice . . . But pardon meNow I would not thou said'st so. Looking at thee now, the glowOf thy beauty so excelleth, Every charm so plainly tellethThou Diana's self must be;Yes, Diana's self is she, Who within her grove here dwelleth. 

DARIA. If, before you spoke to me, You desired my name to know, I in your case act not so, Since I speak, whoe'er you be, Forced, but most unwillingly(As to listening heaven is plain)To reply:--a bootless taskWere it in me, indeed, to ask, Since, whoe'er you be, my strainMust be one of proud disdain. So I pray you, cavalier, Leave me in this lonely wood, Leave me in the solitudeI enjoyed ere you came here. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Sweetly, but with tone severe, Thus my error you reprove--That of asking in this groveWhat your name is: you 're so fair, That, whatever name you bear, I must tell you of my love. 

DARIA. Love! a word to me unknown, Sounds so strangely in my ears, That my heart nor feels nor hearsAught of it when it has flown. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Then there is no rashness shownIn repeating it once more, Since to hear or to ignoreSuits alike your stoic coldness. 

DARIA. Yes, the speech, but not the boldnessOf the speaker I pass o'er, For this word, whate'er it be, When it breaks upon my ear, Quick 't is gone, although I hear. 

CHRYSANTHUS. You forget it?

DARIA. Instantly. 

CHRYSANTHUS. What! love's sweetest word! ah, me!Canst forget the mightiest rayDeath can dart, or heaven display?

DARIA. Yes, for lightning, entering whereNaught resists, is lost in air. 

CHRYSANTHUS. How? what way?

DARIA. Well, in this way:If two doors in one straight lineOpen lie, and lightning falls, Then the bolt between the wallsPasses through, and leaves no sign. So 't is with this word of thine;Though love be, which I do n't doubt, Like heaven's bolt that darts about, Still two opposite doors I 've here, And what enters by one earBy the other ear goes out. 

CHRYSANTHUS. If this lightning then darts throughWhere no door lies open wideTo let it pass at the other side, Must not fire and flame ensue?This being so, 't is also trueThat the fire of love that fliesInto my heart, in flames must rise, Since without its feast of fireThe fatal flash cannot retire, That has entered by the eyes. 

DARIA. If to what I said but nowYou had listened, I believeYou would have preferred to leaveStill unspoken love's vain vow. This you would yourself allow. 

CHRYSANTHUS. What then was it?

DARIA. I do n't know:Something 't was that typifiedMy presumption and my pride. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Let me know it even so. 

DARIA. That in me no love could growSave for one who first would dieFor my love. 

CHRYSANTHUS. And death being past, Would he win your love at last?--

DARIA. Yes, on that he might rely. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Then I plight my troth that IWill to that reward aspire, --A poor offering at the fireBy those beauteous eyes supplied. 

DARIA. But as you have not yet died, Pray do n't follow me, but retire. [Exit. 

CHRYSANTHUS. In what bosom, at one moment, Oh! ye heavens! e'er met together[6]Such a host of anxious troubles?Such a crowd of boding terrors?Can I be the same calm studentWho awhile ago here wended?To a miracle of beauty, To a fair face now surrendered, I scarce know what brought me hither, I my purpose scarce remember. What bewitchment, what enchantment, What strange lethargy, what frenzyCan have to my heart, those eyesSuch divine delirium sent me?What divinity, desirousThat I should not know the endlessMysteries of the book I carry, In my path such snares presenteth, Seeking from these serious studiesTo distract me and divert me?But what 's this I say? One passionAccidentally developed, Should not be enough, no, no, From myself myself to sever. If the violence of one starDraws me to a deity's service, It compels not; for the planetsDraw, but force not, the affections. Free is yet my will, my mind too, Free is still my heart: then let meTry to solve more noble problemsThan the doubts that love presenteth. And since Claudius, the new Clytie[7]Of the sun, whose golden tressesLead him in pursuit, her footstepsFollows through the wood, my servantHaving happily too departed, And since yonder rocks where endethThe dark wood in savage wildnessMust be the rude rustic shelterOf the Christians who fled thither, I 'll approach them to endeavourTo find there Carpophorus:--He alone, the wise, the learn`ed, Can my understanding rescueFrom its night-mare dreams and guesses. [Exit. 

SCENE III. The extremity of the wood:wild rocks with the entrance to a cave. Carpophorus comes forth from the cave, but is for a while unseen byChrysanthus, who enters. 

CHRYSANTHUS. What a labyrinthine thicketIs this place that I have entered!Nature here takes little trouble, Letting it be seen how perfectIs the beauty that arisesEven from nature's careless efforts:Deep within this darksome grottoWhich no sunbeam's light can enter, I shall penetrate: it seemethAs if until now it neverHad been trod by human footsteps. There where yonder marge impendethO'er a streamlet that swift-flyingCarries with it the white freshnessOf the snows that from the mountainsEver in its waves are melted, Stands almost a skeleton;The sole difference it presentethTo the tree-trunks near it is, That it moves as well as trembles, Slow and gaunt, a living corse. Oh! thou venerable elderWho, a reason-gifted tree, Mid mere natural trees here dwelleth. --

CARPOPHORUS. Wo! oh! wo is me!--a Roman!(At seeing Chrysanthus, he attempts to fly. )

CHRYSANTHUS. Though a Roman, do not dread me:With no evil end I seek thee. 

CARPOPHORUS. Then what wouldst thou have, thou gentleRoman youth? for thou hast silencedMy first fears even by thy presence. 

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is to ask, what now I ask thee, Of the rocks that in this desertGape for ever open wideIn eternal yawns incessant, Which is the rough marble tombOf a living corse interred here?Which of these dark caves is thatIn whose gloom Carpophorus dwelleth?'T is important I speak with him. 

CARPOPHORUS. Then, regarding not the perils, I will own it. I myselfAm Carpophorus. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! let me, Father, feel thy arms enfold me. 

CARPOPHORUS. To my heart: for as I press thee, How, I know not, the mere contactBrings me back again the freshnessAnd the greenness of my youth, Like the vine's embracing tendrilsTwining round an aged tree:Gallant youth, who art thou? tell me. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Father, I am called Chrysanthus, Of Polemius, the first memberOf the Roman senate, son. 

CARPOPHORUS. And thy purpose?

CHRYSANTHUS. It distressesMe to see thee standing thus:On this bank sit down and rest thee. 

CARPOPHORUS. Kindly thought of; for, alas!I a tottering wall resemble:At the mouth of this my caveLet us then sit down together. [They sit down. What now wouldst thou have, Sir Stranger?

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, as long as I remember, I have felt an inclinationTo the love of books and letters. In my casual studies latelyI a difficulty met withThat I could not solve, and knowingNo one in all Rome more learn`edThan thyself (thy reputationHaving with this truth impressed me)I have hither come to ask theeTo explain to me this sentence:For I cannot understand it. 'T is, sir, in this book. 

CARPOPHORUS. Pray, let meSee it then. 

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is at the beginning;Nay, the sentence that perplexesMe so much is that. 

CARPOPHORUS. Why, theseAre the Holy Gospels! Heavens!

CHRYSANTHUS. What! you kiss the book?

CARPOPHORUS. And press itTo my forehead, thus suggestingThe profound respect with whichI even touch so great a treasure. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Why, what is the book, which IBy mere accident selected?

CARPOPHORUS. 'T is the basis, the foundationOf the Scripture Law. 

CHRYSANTHUS. I trembleWith an unknown horror. 

CARPOPHORUS. Why?

CHRYSANTHUS. Deeper now I would not enterInto the secrets of a bookWhich are magic spells, I 'm certain. 

CARPOPHORUS. No, not so, but vital truths. 

CHRYSANTHUS. How can that be, when its versesOpen with this line that says(A beginning surely senseless)"In the beginning was the Word, And it was with God": and then itAdds: this Word itself was God;Then unto the Word reverting, Says explicitly that IT"Was made flesh"?

CARPOPHORUS. A truth most certain:For this first evangelistHere to us our God presentethIn a twofold way: the firstAs being God, as Man the second. 

CHRYSANTHUS. God and Man combined together?

CARPOPHORUS. Yes, in one eternal PersonAre both natures joined together. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Then, for this is what more pressesOn my mind, can that same WordWhen it was made flesh, be reckonedGod?

CARPOPHORUS. Yes, God and Man is ChristCrucified for our transgressions. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Pray explain this wondrous problem. 

CARPOPHORUS. He is God, because He neverWas created: He is the Word, For, besides, He was engenderedBy the Father, from both whomIn eternal due processionComes the Holy Ghost, three Persons, But one God, thrice mystic emblem!--In the Catholic faith we holdIn one Trinity one God dwelleth, And that in one God is alsoOne sole Trinity, ever bless`ed, Which confounds not the three Persons, Nor the single substance severs. One is the person of the Father, One the Son's, beloved for ever, One, the third, the Holy Ghost's. But though three, you must rememberThat in the Father, and in the Son, And in the Holy Ghost . . . 

CHRYSANTHUS. Unheard ofMysteries these!

CARPOPHORUS. There 's but one God, Equal in the power exerted, Equal in the state and glory;For . . . 

CHRYSANTHUS. I listen, but I tremble. 

CARPOPHORUS. The eternal Father isLimitless, even so unmeasuredAnd eternal is the Son, And unmeasured and eternalIs the Holy Ghost; but thenThree eternities are not meant here, Three immensities, no, but One, Who is limitless and eternal. For though increate the three, They are but one Uncreated. First the Father was not made, Or created, or engendered;Then engendered was the SonBy the Father, not created;And the Spirit was not madeOr created, or engenderedBy the Father or the Son, But proceeds from both together. This is God's divinityViewed as God alone, let 's enterOn the human aspect. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Stay:For so strange, so unexpectedAre the things you say, that INeed for their due thought some leisure. Let me my lost breath regain, For entranced, aroused, suspended, Spell-bound your strong reasons hold me. Is there then but one sole GodIn three Persons, one in essence, One in substance, one in power, One in will?

CARPOPHORUS. My son, 't is certain. 

(Enter Aurelius and Soldiers. )

AURELIUS to the Soldiers. Yonder is the secret cavernOf Carpophorus, at its entranceSee him seated with anotherReading. 

A SOLDIER. Why delay? Arrest them. 

AURELIUS. Recollect Polemius bade us, When we seized them, to envelopeEach one's face, that so, the Christians, Their accomplices and fellows, Should not know or recognize them. 

A SOLDIER. You 're our prisoners. [A veil is thrown over the head of each. ]

CHRYSANTHUS. What! base wretches . . . 

AURELIUS. Gag their mouths. 

CHRYSANTHUS. But then I am . . . 

AURELIUS. Come, no words: now tie togetherBoth their hands behind their backs. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Why I am . . . 

CARPOPHORUS. Oh! sacred heaven!Now my wished-for day has come. 

A VOICE FROM HEAVEN. No, not yet, my faithful servant:--I desire the constancyOf Chrysanthus may be tested:--Heed not him, as for thyself, In this manner I preserve thee. [Carpophorus disappears. 

(Enter Polemius. )

POLEMIUS. What has happened?

AURELIUS. Oh! a wonder. --We Carpophorus arrested, And with him this other Christian;Both we held here bound and fettered, When from out our hands he vanished. 

POLEMIUS. By some sorcery 't was effected, For those Christians use enchantments, And then miracles pretend them. 

A SOLDIER. See, a crowd of them there flyingTo the mountains. 

POLEMIUS. Intercept them, And secure the rabble rout;This one I shall guard myself here:-- [Exeunt Aurelius and soldiers. Miserable wretch! who art thou?Thus that I may know thee better, Judging from thy face thy crimes, I unveil thee. Gracious heaven!My own son!

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! heavens! my father!

POLEMIUS. Thou with Christians here detected?Thou here in their caverns hidden?Thou a prisoner? Wherefore, wherefore, O immense and mighty Jove, Are thy angry bolts suspended?

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T was to solve a certain doubtWhich some books of thine presented, That I sought Carpophorus, That I wandered to these deserts, And . . . 

POLEMIUS. Cease, cease; for now I seeWhat has led to this adventure:Thou unhappily art giftedWith a genius ill-directed;For I count as vain and foolishAll the lore that lettered leisureHas in human books e'er written;But this passion has possessed thee, And to learn their magic ritesHere, a willing slave, has led thee. 

CHRYSANTHUS. No, not magic was the knowledgeI came here to learn--far better--The high mysteries of a faithWhich I reverence, while I dread them. 

POLEMIUS. Cease, oh! cease once more, nor letSuch vile treason find expressionOn thy lips. What! thou to praise them!

AURELIUS (within). Yonder wait the two together. 

POLEMIUS. Cover up thy face once more, That the soldiers, when they enter, May not know thee, may not knowHow my honour is affectedBy this act, until I tryMeans more powerful to preserve it. 

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). God, whom until now I knew not, Grant Thy favour, deign to help me:Grant through suffering and through sorrowI may come to know Thee better. 

(Enter Aurelius and Soldiers. )

AURELIUS. Though we searched the whole of the mountain, Not one more have we arrested. 

POLEMIUS. Take this prisoner here to Rome, And be sure that you rememberAll of you my strict commands, That no hand shall dare divest himOf his veil:-- [Chrysanthus is led out. Why, why, O heavens! [aside. Do I pause, but from my breast hereTear my bleeding heart? How actIn so dreadful a dilemma?If I say who he is, I tarnishWith his guilt my name for ever, And my loyalty if I 'm silent, Since he being here transgressesBy that fact alone the edict:Shall I punish him? The offenderIs my son. Shall I free him? HeIs my enemy and a rebel:--If between these two extremesSome mean lies, I cannot guess it. As a father I must love him, And as a judge I must condemn him. [Exeunt. 

ACT THE SECOND. 

SCENE I. A hall in the house of Polemius. 

Enter Claudius and Escarpin. 

CLAUDIUS. Has he not returned? Can no oneGuess in the remotest manner[8]Where he is?

ESCARPIN. Sir, since the dayThat you left me with my masterIn Diana's grove, and IHad with that divinest charmerTo leave him, no eye has seen him. Love alone knows how it mads me. 

CLAUDIUS. Of your loyalty I doubt not. 

ESCARPIN. Loyalty 's a different matter, 'T is not wholly that. 

CLAUDIUS. What then?

ESCARPIN. Dark suspicions, dismal fancies, That perhaps to live with herHe lies hid within those gardens. 

CLAUDIUS. If I could imagine that, I, Escarpin, would be gladdenedRather than depressed. 

ESCARPIN. I 'm not:--I am filled, like a full barrel, With depressions. 

CLAUDIUS. And for what?

ESCARPIN. Certain wild chimeras haunt me, Jealousy doth tear my heart, And despairing love distracts me. 

CLAUDIUS. You in love and jealous?

ESCARPIN. IJealous and in love. Why marvel?Am I such a monster?

CLAUDIUS. What!With Daria?

ESCARPIN. 'T is no matterWhat her name is, or DariaOr Maria, I would have herBoth subjective and subjunctive, She verb passive, I verb active. 

CLAUDIUS. You to love so rare a beauty?

ESCARPIN. Yes, her beauty, though uncommon, Would lack something, if it had notMy devotion. 

CLAUDIUS. How? explain:--

ESCARPIN. Well, I prove it in this manner:--Mr. Dullard fell in love(I do n't tell where all this happened, Or the time, for of the DullardsEvery age and time give samples)With a very lovely lady:At her coach-door as he chatteredOne fine evening, he such nonsenseTalked, that one who heard his clatter, Asked the lady in amazementIf this simpleton's advancesDid not make her doubt her beauty?--But she quite gallantly answered, Never until now have IFelt so proud of my attractions, For no beauty can be perfectThat all sorts of men do n't flatter. 

CLAUDIUS. What a feeble jest!

ESCARPIN. This feeble?--

CLAUDIUS. Yes, the very type of flatness:--Cease buffooning, for my uncleHere is coming. 

ESCARPIN. Of his sadnessPlainly is his face the mirror. 

Enter Polemius and servants. 

CLAUDIUS. Jupiter doth know the anguish, My good lord, with which I ventureTo approach thee since this happened. 

POLEMIUS. Claudius, as thine own, I 'm sure, Thou dost feel this great disaster. 

CLAUDIUS. I my promise gave thee thatTo Chrysanthus . . . 

POLEMIUS. Cease; I ask theeNot to proffer these excuses, Since I do not care to have them. 

CLAUDIUS. Then it seems that all thy effortsHave been useless to unravelThe strange mystery of his fate?

POLEMIUS. With these questions do not rack me;For, though I would rather notGive the answer, still the answerRises with such ready aptnessTo my lips from out my heart, That I scarcely can withstand it. 

CLAUDIUS. Why conceal it then from me, Knowing that thy blood meandersThrough my veins, and that my lifeOwns thee as its lord and master?--Oh! my lord, confide in me, Let thy tongue speak once the languageThat thine eyes so oft have spoken. 

POLEMIUS. Let the servants leave the apartment. 

ESCARPIN (aside). Ah! if beautiful DariaWould but favour my attachment, Though I have no house to give her, Lots of stories I can grant her:-- [Exeunt Escarpin and servants. 

CLAUDIUS. Now, my lord, we are alone. 

POLEMIUS. Listen then; for though to baffleThy desire were my intention, By my miseries overmastered, I am forced to tell my secret;Not so much have I been grantedLicense to avow my sufferings, But I am, as 't were commandedThus to break my painful silence, Doing honestly, though sadly, Willingly the fact disclosing, Which by force had been extracted. Hear it, Claudius: my Chrysanthus, My Chrysanthus is not absent:In this very house he 's living!--Would the gods, ah! me, had ratherMade a tomb and not a prisonOf his present locked apartment!Which is in this house, within itIs he prisoned, chained, made captive. This surprises thee, no wonder:More surprised thou 'lt be hereafter, When thou com'st to know the reasonOf a fact so strange and startling. On that fatal day, when ISought the mount and thou the garden, Him I found where thou didst lose him, Near the wood where he had rambled:He was taken by my soldiersAt the entrance of a cavern, With Carpophorus:--oh! herePatience, patience may heaven grant me!--It was lucky that they did notSee his face, for thus it happenedThat the front of my dishonourWas not in his face made patent:Him they captured without knowingWho he was, it being commandedThat the faces of the prisonersShould be covered, but ere capturedThis effectually was doneBy themselves, they flying backwardWith averted faces; heThus was taken, but his partner, That strange prodigy of Rome--Man in mind, wild beast in manners, Doubly thus a prodigy--Saved himself by power of magic. Thus Chrysanthus was sole prisoner, While the Christian crowd, disheartened, Fled for safety to the mountainsFrom their grottoes and their caverns. These the soldiers quickly followed, And behind in that abandonedSavage place remained but two--Two, oh! think, a son and father. --One a judge, too, in a causeWicked, bad, beyond example, In a cause that outraged Caesar, And the gods themselves disparaged. There with a delinquent sonStood I, therefore this should happen, That both clemency and rigourIn my heart waged fearful battle--Clemency in fine had won, I would have removed the bandageFrom his eyes and let him fly, But that instant, ah! unhappy!Came the soldiers back, and thenIt were but more misery added, If they knew of my connivance:All that then my care could manageTo protect him was the secretOf his name to keep well guarded. Thus to Rome I brought him prisoner, Where pretending great exactness, That his friends should not discoverWhere this Christian malefactorWas imprisoned, to this house, To my own house, I commandedThat he should be brought; there hiddenAnd unknown, a few days afterI in his place substituted . . . Ah! what will not the untrammelledStrength of arbitrary powerDare attempt? what law not trample?Substituted, I repeat, For my son a slave, whose strangled, Headless corse thus paid the debtWhich from me were else exacted. You will say, "Since fortune thusHas the debt so happily cancelled, Why imprison or conceal him?"--And, thus, full of doubts, I answerThat though it is true I wished not, Woe is me! the common scaffoldShould his punishment make public, I as little wished his hardenedHeart should know my love and pitySince it did not fear my anger:Ah! believe me, Claudius, 'Twixt the chastisement a fatherAnd an executioner gives, A great difference must be granted:One hand honours what it striketh, One disgraces, blights, and blackens. Soon my rigour ceased, for truly, In a father's heart it lastethSeldom long: but then what wonder, If the hand that in its angerSmites his son, in his own breastLeaves a wound that ever rankles--I one day his prison enteredWith the wish (I own it frankly)To forgive him, and when IThought he would have even thanked meFor receiving a reproof, Not severe, too lenient rather, He began to praise the ChristiansWith such earnestness and ardour, In defence of their new law, That my clemency departed, And my angrier mood returned. I his doors and windows fastened. In the room where he is lying, Well secured by gyves and shackles, Sparingly his food is given him, Through my hands alone it passes, For I dare not to anotherTrust the care his state demandeth. You will think in this I reached toThe extreme of my disasters--The full limits of misfortune, But not so, and if you hearken, You 'll perceive they 're but beginning, And not ended, as you fancied. All these strange events so muchHave unnerved him and unmanned him, That, forgetful of himself, Of himself he is regardless. Nothing to the purpose speaks he. In his incoherent languageFrenzy shows itself, delusionIn his thoughts and in his fancies:--Many times I 've listened to him, Since so high-strung and abstractedIs his mind, he takes no note ofWho goes in or who departeth. Once I heard him deprecatingSome despotic beauty's hardness, Saying, "Since I die for thee, Thou thy favour sure wilt grant me". At another time he said, "Three in one, oh! how can that be?"Things which these same Christian peopleIn their law hold quite established. Thus it is my life is troubled, Lost in doubts, emeshed, and tangled. If to freedom I restore him, I have little doubt that, darkenedBy the Christian treachery, heWill declare himself instanterOpenly a Christian, whichWould to me be such a scandal, That my blood henceforth were tainted, And my noble name were branded. If I leave him here in prison, So excessive is his sadness, So extreme his melancholy, That I fear 't will end in madness. In a word, I hold, my nephew, Hold it as a certain axiom, That these dark magician ChristiansKeep him bound by their enchantments;Who through hatred of my house, And my office to disparage, Now revenge themselves on meThrough my only son Chrysanthus. Tell me, then, what shall I do;But before you give the answerWhich your subtle wit may dictate, I would with your own eyes have theeSee him first, you 'll then know betterWhat my urgent need demandeth. Come, he 's not far off, his quarterIs adjoining this apartment;When you see him, I am certainYou will think it a disasterFar less evil he should die, Than that in this cruel mannerHe should outrage his own blood, And my bright escutcheon blacken. [He opens a door, and Chrysanthus is seen seated in a chair, with hishands and feet in irons. ]

CLAUDIUS. Thus to see my friend, o'erwhelms meWith a grief I cannot master. 

POLEMIUS. Stay, do not approach him nearer;For I would not he remarked thee, I would save him the disgraceOf being seen by thee thus shackled. 

CLAUDIUS. What his misery may dictateWe can hear, nor yet attract him. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Was ever human fate so strange as mine? Were unmatched wishes ever mated so? Is it not enough to feel one form of woe, Without being forced 'neath opposite forms to pine?A triune God's mysterious power divine, From heaven I ask for life, that I may know, From heaven I ask for death, life's grisly foe, A fair one's favour in my heart to shrine:But how can death and life so well agree, That I can ask of heaven to end their strife, And grant them both in pitying love to me? Yet I will ask, though both with risks are rife, Neither shall hinder me, for heaven must be The arbiter of death as well as life. 

POLEMIUS. See now if I spoke the truth. 

CLAUDIUS. I am utterly distracted. (The door closes. 

POLEMIUS. Lest perhaps he should perceive us, Let us move a little further. Now advise me how to act, Since you see the grief that racks me. 

CLAUDIUS. Though it savours of presumptionTo white hairs like yours, to hazardWords of council, yet at timesEven a young man may impart them:Well-proportioned punishmentGrave defects oft counteracteth. But when carried to extremes, It but irritates and hardens. Any instrument of musicOf this truth is an example. Lightly touched, it breathes but sweetness, Discord, when 't is roughly handled. 'T is not well to send an arrowTo such heights, that in dischargingThe strong tension breaks the bowstring, Or the bow itself is fractured. These two simple illustrationsAre sufficiently adaptedTo my purpose, of advisingMeans of cure both mild and ample. You must take a middle course, All extremes must be abandoned. Gentle but judicious treatmentIs the method for Chrysanthus. For severer methods end inDisappointment and disaster. Take him, then, from out his prison, Leave him free, unchecked, untrammelled, For the danger is an infantWithout strength to hurt or harm him. Be it that those wretched ChristiansHave bewitched him, disenchant him, Since you have the power; for NatureWith such careful forethought acteth, That an antidotal herbShe for every poison planteth. And if, finally, your wishIs that he this fatal sadnessShould forget, and wholly change itTo a happier state and gladder, Get him married: for rememberNothing is so well adaptedTo restrain discursive fanciesAs the care and the attachmentCentered in a wife and children;Taking care that in this matterMere convenience should not weighMore than his own taste and fancy:Let him choose his wife himself. Pleased in that, to rove or rambleThen will be beyond his power, Even were he so attracted, For a happy married loverThinks of naught except his rapture. 

POLEMIUS. I with nothing such good counselCan repay, except the franknessOf accepting it, which isThe reward yourself would ask for. And since I a mean must chooseBetween two extremes of action, From his cell, to-day, my sonShall go forth, but in a mannerThat will leave his seeming freedomCircumscribed and safely guarded. Let that hall which looketh overGreat Apollo's beauteous gardenBe made gay by flowing curtains, Be festooned by flowery garlands;Costly robes for him get ready;Then invite the loveliest damselsRome can boast of, to come hitherTo the feasts and to the dances. Bring musicians, and in fineLet it be proclaimed that anyWoman of illustrious bloodWho from his delusive passionsCan divert him, by her charmsCuring him of all his sadness, Shall become his wife, how humbleHer estate, her wealth how scanty. And if this be not sufficient, I will give a golden talentYearly to the leech who cures himBy some happy stroke of practice. [Exit. 

CLAUDIUS. Oh! a father's pitying love, What will it not do, what marvelNot attempt for a son's welfare, For his life?

Enter ESCARPIN. 

ESCARPIN. My lord 'por Baco!'(That 's the god I like to swear by, Jolly god of all good rascals)May I ask you what 's the secret?

CLAUDIUS. You gain little when you ask meFor a secret all may know. After his mysterious absenceYour young lord 's returned home ill. 

ESCARPIN. In what way?

CLAUDIUS. That none can fathom, Since he does not tell his ailmentSave by signs and by his manner. 

ESCARPIN. Then he 's wrong, sir, not to tell itClearly: with extreme exactnessShould our griefs, our pains be mentioned. A back tooth a man once maddened, And a barber came to draw it. As he sat with jaws expanded, "Which tooth is it, sir, that pains you?"Asked of him the honest barber, And the patient in affectedLanguage grandly thus made answer, "The penultimate"; the dentistNot being used to such pedanticTalk as this, with ready forcepsSoon the last of all extracted. The poor patient to be certain, With his tongue the spot examined, And exclaimed, his mouth all bleeding, "Why, that 's not the right tooth, master". "Is it not the ultimate molar?"Said the barber quite as grandly. "Yes" (he answered), "but I saidThe penultimate, and I 'd have youKnow, your worship, that it meansSimply that that 's next the farthest". Thus instructed, he returnedTo the attack once more, remarking"In effect then the bad toothIs the one that 's next the last one?""Yes", he said, "then here it is", Spoke the barber with great smartness, Plucking out the tooth that thenWas the last but one; it happenedFrom not speaking plain, he lostTwo good teeth, and kept his bad one. 

CLAUDIUS. Come and something newer learnIn the stratagem his fatherHas arranged to cure the illnessOf Chrysanthus, whom he fancies . . . 

ESCARPIN. What?

CLAUDIUS. Is spell-bound by the ChristiansThrough the power of their enchantments:--(Since to-day I cannot see thee, [aside. Cynthia fair, forgive my absence). [Exit. 

ESCARPIN. While these matters thus proceed, I shall try, let what will happen, Thee to see, divine Daria:--At my love, oh! be not angered, Since the penalty of beautyIs to be beloved: then pardon. [Exit. 

SCENE II. --The Wood. 

Enter DARIA from the chase with bow and arrows. 

DARIA. O stag that swiftly flyingBefore my feathered shafts the winds outvieing, Impelled by wings, not feet, If in this green retreatHere panting thou wouldst die, And stain with blood the fountain murmuring by, Await another wound, another friend, That so with quicker speed thy life may end;For to a wretch that stroke a friend must beThat eases death and sooner sets life free. [She stumbles and falls near the mouth of a cave. ]But, bless me, heaven! I feelMy brain grow hot, my curdling blood congeal:A form of fire and snowI seem at once to turn: this sudden blow, This stumbling, how I know not, by this stone, This horrid mouth in which my grave is shown, This cave of many shapes, Through which the melancholy mountain gapes, This mountain's self, a vastAbysmal shadow castSuddenly on my heart, as if 't were meantTo be my rustic pyre, my strange new monument, All fill my heart with wonder and with fear, What buried mysteries are hidden hereThat terrify me so, And make me tremble 'neath impending woe. [A solemn strain of music is heard from within. ]Nay more, illusion now doth bear to meThe sweetest sounds of dulcet harmony, Music and voice combine:--O solitude! what phantasms are thine!But let me listen to the voice that blentSounds with the music of the instrument. 

Music from within the cave. 

SONG. Oh! be the day for ever blest, And blest be pitying heaven's decree, That makes the darksome cave to beDaria's tomb, her place of rest!

DARIA. Blest! can such evil auguries bless?And happy can that strange fate beThat gives this darksome cave to meAs monument of my sad life?

MUSIC. Yes. 

DARIA. Oh! who before in actual woeThe happier signs of bliss could read?Will not a fate so rigorous leadTo misery, not to rapture?--

MUSIC. No. 

DARIA. O fantasy! unwelcome guest!How can this cave bring good to me?

MUSIC. Itself will tell, when it shall beDaria's tomb, her place of rest. 

DARIA. But then, who gave the stern decree, That this dark cave my bones should hide?

MUSIC. Daria, it was he who died, Who gave his life for love of thee. 

DARIA. "Who gave his life for love of me!"Ah! me, and can it be in soothThat gentle noble Roman youthI answered with such crueltyIn this same wood the other day, Saying that I his love would beIf he would only die for me!Can he have cast himself awayDown this dark cave, and there lies dead, Buried within the dread abyss, Waiting my love, his promised bliss?--My soul, not now mine own, has fled!

CYNTHIA (within). Forward! forward! through the gloomEvery cave and cavern enter, Search the dark wood to its centre, Lest it prove Daria's tomb. 

DARIA. Ah! me, the sense confounding, Both here and there are opposite voices sounding. Here is my name in measured cadence greeted, And there in hollow echoes oft repeated. Would that the latter cries that reach my earCame from my mates in this wild forest sphere, In the dread solitude that doth surround meTheir presence would be welcome. [Enter Cynthia with bow and arrows. ]

CYNTHIA. Till I found me, Beauteous Daria, by thy side once more, Each mountain nook my search had well gone o'er. 

DARIA (aside). Let me dissembleThe terror and surprise that make me tremble, If I have power to feignAmid the wild confusion of my brain:--Following the chase to-day, Wishing Diana's part in full to play, So fair the horizon smiled, I left the wood and entered on the wild, Led by a wounded deer still on and on. And further in pursuit I would have gone, Nor had my swift careerEven ended here, But for this mouth that opening in the rock, With horrid gape my vain attempt doth mock, And stops my further way. 

CYNTHIA. Until I found thee I was all dismay, Lest thou some savage beast, some monstrous foe, Hadst met. 

DARIA (aside). Ah! would to Jove 't were so!And that my death in his wild hands had paidFor future chastisement by fate delayed!But ah! the wish is vain, Foreboding horror fills my heart and brain, This mystic music borne upon the airMust surely augur ill. 

(Enter NISIDA. )

NISIDA. Daria fair, And Cynthia wise, I come to seek ye two. 

CYNTHIA. Has any thing occurred or strange or new?

NISIDA. I scarce can tell it. As I came along, I heard a man, in a clear voice and strong, Proclaiming as he wentThrough all the mountain a most strange event:Rome hath decreedPriceless rewards to her whose charms may leadThrough lawful love and in an open wayBy public wedlock in the light of day, The son of proud Polemius from the stateOf gloom in which his mind is sunk of late. 

CYNTHIA. And what can be the cause that he is so?

NISIDA. Ah! that I do not know, But yonder, leaving the Salarian Way, A Roman soldier hitherward doth stray:He may enlighten us and tell us all. 

CYNTHIA. Yes, let us know the truth, the stranger call. 

DARIA (aside). Ah! how distinct the painThat presses on my heart, and dulls my wildered brain!

(Enter Escarpin. )

NISIDA. Thou, O thou, whose wandering footstepsThese secluded groves have entered . . . [9]

ESCARPIN. Thou four hundred times repeated--Thou and all the thous, your servant. 

NISIDA. Tell us of the proclamationPublicly to-day presentedTo the gaze of Rome. 

ESCARPIN. I 'll do so;For there 's nothing I love betterThan a story (aside, if to tell itIn divine Daria's presenceDoes not put me out, for no one, When the loved one listens, everSpeaks his best): Polemius, Rome's great senator, whose bendedShoulders, like an Atlas, bearAll the burden of the empire, By Numerian's self entrusted, He, this chief of Rome's great senate, Has a son, by name Chrysanthus, Who, as rumour goes, at presentIs afflicted by a sadnessSo extreme and so excessive, That 't is thought to be occasionedBy the magic those detestedChristians (who abhor his house, And his father, who hath pressed themHeavily as judge and ruler)Have against his life effected, All through hatred of our gods. And so great is the dejectionThat he feels, there 's nothing yetFound to rouse him or divert him. Thus it is Numerianus, Who is ever well-affectedTo his father, hath proclaimedAll through Rome, that whosoeverIs so happy by her beauty, Or so fortunately cleverBy her wit, or by her gracesIs so powerful, as to temperHis affliction, since love conquersAll things by his magic presence, He will give her (if a noble)As his wife, and will present herWith a portion far surpassingAll Polemius' self possesses, Not to speak of what is promisedHim whose skill may else effect it. Thus it is that Rome to-dayLaurel wreaths and crowns presentethTo its most renowned physicians, To its sages and its elders, And to wit and grace and beautyJoyous feasts and courtly revels;So that there is not a ladyIn all Rome, but thinks it certainThat the prize is hers already, Since by all 't will be contested, Some through vanity, and someThrough a view more interested:Even the ugly ones, I warrant, Will be there well represented. So with this, adieu. (Aside, Oh! fairestNymph Daria, since I venturedHere to see thee, having seen theeNow, alas! I must absent me!) [Exit. 

CYNTHIA. What strange news!

NISIDA. There 's not a beautyBut for victory will endeavourWhen among Rome's fairest daughtersSuch a prize shall be contested. 

CYNTHIA. Thus by showing us the valueThou upon the victory settest, We may understand that thouMeanest in the lists to enter. 

NISIDA. Yes, so far as heaven through musicIts most magic cures effecteth, Since no witchcraft is so potentBut sweet music may dispel it. It doth tame the raging wild beast, Lulls to sleep the poisonous serpent, And makes evil genii, whoAre revolted spirits--rebels--Fly in fear, and in this artI have always been most perfect:Wrongly would I act to-day, In not striving for the splendidPrize which will be mine, when ISee myself the loved and weddedWife of the great senator's son, And the mistress of such treasures. 

CYNTHIA. Although music is an artWhich so many arts excelleth, Still in truth 't is but a soundWhich the wanton air disperses. It the sweet child of the airIn the air itself must perish. I, who in my studious readingHave such learn`ed lore collected, Who in poetry, that artWhich both teacheth and diverteth, May precedence claim o'er manyGeniuses so prized at present, Can a surer victory hope forIn the great fight that impendeth, Since the music of the soulIs what keeps the mind suspended. In one item, Nisida, We two differ: thy incentiveThy chief motive, is but interest:Mine is vanity, a determinedWill no other woman shallTriumph o'er me in this effort, Since I wish that Rome should seeThat the glory, the perfectionOf a woman is her mind, All her other charms excelling. 

DARIA. Interest and vanityAre the two things, as you tell me, That, O Cynthia! can oblige thee, That, O Nisida, can compel theeTo attempt this undertakingBy so many risks attended. But I think you both are wrong, Since in this case, having heard thatThe affliction this man suffersChristian sorcery hath effectedThrough abhorrence of our gods, By that atheist sect detested, Neither of these feelings shouldBe your motive to attempt it. I then, who, for this time onlyWill believe these waves that tell me--These bright fountains--that the beautyWhich so oft they have reflectedIs unequalled, mean to lay itAs an offering in the templeOf the gods, to show what littleStrength in Christian sorcery dwelleth. 

NISIDA. Then 't is openly admittedThat we three the list will enterFor the prize. 

CYNTHIA. And from this momentThat the rivalry commences. 

NISIDA. Voice of song, thy sweet enchantmentOn this great occasion lend me, That through thy soft influenceRank and riches I may merit. [Exit. 

CYNTHIA. Genius, offspring of the soul, Prove this time thou 'rt so descended, That thy proud ambitious hopesMay the laurel crown be tendered. [Exit. 

DARIA. Beauty, daughter of the gods, Now thy glorious birth remember:Make me victress in the fight, That the gods may live for ever. [Exit. 

SCENE III. --A hall in the house of Polemius, opening at the end upon agarden. 

(Enter Polemius and Claudius. )

POLEMIUS. Is then everything prepared?--

CLAUDIUS. Everything has been got readyAs you ordered. This apartmentOpening on the garden terraceHas been draped and covered overWith the costliest silks and velvets, Leaving certain spaces bareFor the painter's magic pencil, Where, so cunning is his art, That it nature's self resembles. Flowers more fair than in the garden, Pinks and roses are presented:But what wonder when the fountainsStill run after to reflect them?--All things else have been provided, Music, dances, gala dresses;And for all that, Rome yet knows notWhat in truth is here projected;'T is a fair Academy, In whose floral halls assembleBeauty, wit, and grace, a sightThat we see but very seldom. All the ladies too of RomeHave prepared for the contentionWith due circumspection, sinceAs his wife will be selectedShe who best doth please him; thusThere are none but will present themIn these gardens, some to see him, Others to show off themselves here. 

POLEMIUS. Oh, my Claudius, would to JoveThat all this could dispossess meOf my dark foreboding fancies, Of the terrors that oppress me!--

(Enter Aurelius. )

AURELIUS. Sir, a very learned physicianComes to proffer his best serviceTo Chrysanthus, led by rumourOf his illness. 

POLEMIUS. Bid him enter. [Aurelius retires, and returns immediately with Carpophorus, disguisedas a physician. ]

CARPOPHORUS (aside). Heaven, that I may do the workThat this day I have attempted, Grant me strength a little while;For I know my death impendeth!--Mighty lord, thy victor hand, [aloud. Let me kiss and kneeling press it. 

POLEMIUS. Venerable elder, riseFrom the ground; thy very presenceGives me joy, a certain instinctEven at sight of thee doth tell meThou alone canst save my son. 

CARPOPHORUS. Heaven but grant the cure be perfect!

POLEMIUS. Whence, sir, art thou?

CARPOPHORUS. Sir, from Athens. 

POLEMIUS. 'T is a city that excellethAll the world in knowledge. 

CARPOPHORUS. ThereAll are teachers, all are learners. The sole wish to be of useHas on this occasion led meFrom my home. Inform me thenHow Chrysanthus is affected. 

POLEMIUS. With an overwhelming sadness;Or to speak it more correctly(Since when we consult a doctorEven suspicions should be mentioned), He, my son, has been bewitched;--Thus it is these Christian pervertsTake revenge through him on me:In particular an elderCalled Carpophorus, a wizard . . . May the day soon come for vengeance!

CARPOPHORUS. May heaven grant it . . . (aside, For that dayI the martyr's crown may merit). Where at present is Chrysanthus?

POLEMIUS. He is just about to enter:--You can see him; all his ailmentIn the soul you 'll find is centered. 

CARPOPHORUS. In the soul then I will cure him, If my skill heaven only blesses. [Music is heard from within. 

CLAUDIUS. That he 's leaving his apartmentThis harmonious strain suggesteth, Since to counteract his gloomHe by music is attended. (Enter Chrysanthus richly dressed, preceded by musicians playing andsinging, and followed by attendants. )

CHRYSANTHUS. Cease; my pain, perchance my folly, Cannot be by song diverted;Music is a power exertedFor the cure of melancholy, Which in truth it but augmenteth. 

A MUSICIAN. This your father bade us do. 

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is because he never knewPain like that which me tormenteth. For if he that pang incessantFelt, he would not wish to cure it, He would love it and endure it. 

POLEMIUS. Think, my son, that I am present, And that I am not ambitiousTo assume your evil mood, But to find that it is good. 

CHRYSANTHUS. No, sir, you mistake my wishes. I would not through you relieve meOf my care; my former stateSeemed, though, more to mitigateWhat I suffer: why not leave meThere to die?

POLEMIUS. That yet I may, Pitying your sad condition, Work your cure:--A great physicianComes to visit you to-day. 

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). Who do I behold? ah, me!

CARPOPHORUS. I will speak to him with your leave. 

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). No, my eyes do not deceive, 'T is Carpophorus that I see!I my pleasure must conceal. 

CARPOPHORUS. Sir, of what do you complain?

CHRYSANTHUS. Since you come to cure my pain, I will tell you how I feel. A great sadness hath been thrownO'er my mind and o'er my feelings, A dark blank whose dim revealingsMake their sombre tints mine own. 

CARPOPHORUS. Can you any cause assign meWhence this sadness is proceeding?

CHRYSANTHUS. From my earliest years to readingDid my studious tastes incline me. Something thus acquired doth wakeDoubts, and fears, and hopes, ah me!That the things I read may be. 

CARPOPHORUS. Then from me this lesson take. Every mystery how obscure, Is explained by faith alone;All is clear when that is known:'T is through faith I 'll work your cure. Since in that your healing lies, Take it then from me. 

CHRYSANTHUS. From youI infer all good: that trueFaith I hope which you advise. 

CARPOPHORUS (to Polemius). Give me leave, sir, to addressSome few words to him alone, Less reserve will then be shown. (The two retire to one side. Have you recognized me?

CHRYSANTHUS. Yes, Every sign shows you are heWho in my most perilous straitFled and left me to my fate. 

CARPOPHORUS. God did that; and would you seeThat it was His own work, say, If I did not then absent meThrough His means, could I present meAs your teacher here to-day?

CHRYSANTHUS. No. 

CARPOPHORUS. How just His providence!Since I was preserved, that IHere might seek you, and more nighGive you full intelligenceLeisurely of every doubtWhich disturbs you when you read. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Mysteries they are indeed, Difficult to be made out. 

CARPOPHORUS. To the believer all is plain. 

CHRYSANTHUS. I would believe, what must I do?--

CARPOPHORUS. Your intellectual pride subdue. 

CHRYSANTHUS. I will subdue it, since 't is vain. 

CARPOPHORUS. Then the first thing to be doneIs to be baptized. 

CHRYSANTHUS. I bow, Father, and implore it now. 

CARPOPHORUS. Let us for the present shunFurther notice; lest suspicionShould betray what we would smother;Every day we 'll see each other, When I 'll execute my mission:I, to cure sin's primal scath, Will at fitting time baptize you, Taking care to catechise youIn the principles of the faith;Only now one admonitionMust I give; be armed, be readyFor the fight most fierce and steadyEver fought for man's perdition;Oh! take heed, amid the advancesOf the fair who wish to win you, 'Mid the fires that burn within you, 'Mid lascivious looks and glances, 'Mid such various foes enlisted, That you are not conquered by them. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Women! oh! who dare defy themBy such dread allies assisted?

CARPOPHORUS. He whom God assists. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Be swayedBy my tears, and ask him. 

CARPOPHORUS. YouMust too ask him: for he whoAids himself, him God doth aid. 

POLEMIUS. What, sir, think you of his case?

CARPOPHORUS. I have ordered him a bath, Strong restoring powers it hath, Which his illness must displace:--

POLEMIUS. Sir, relying on you then, I will give you ample wealth, If you can restore his health. 

CARPOPHORUS. Still I cannot tell you when, But I shall return and see himFrequently; in fact 'till heIs from all his ailment free, From my hand I will not free him. 

POLEMIUS. For your kindness I am grateful. 

CHRYSANTHUS. He alone has power to cure me. Since he knows what will allure me, When all other modes are hateful. [Exit Carpophorus. 

(Enter Escarpin. )

ESCARPIN. All this garden of delightMust be beauty's birth-place sure, Here the fresh rose doubly pure, Here the jasmin doubly white, Learn to-day a newer grace, Lovelier red, more dazzling snow. 

POLEMIUS. Why?

ESCARPIN. Because the world doth showNaught so fair as this sweet place. Falsely boasts th' Elysian bowerPeerless beauty, here to-dayMore, far more, these groves display:--Not a fountain, tree, or flower . . . 

POLEMIUS. Well?

ESCARPIN. But by a nymph more fairIs surpassed. 

POLEMIUS. Come, Claudius, come, He will be but dull and dumb, Shy the proffered bliss to share, Through the fear and the respectWhich, as son, he owes to me. 

CLAUDIUS. He who gave the advice should seeAlso after the effect. Let us all from this withdraw. 

POLEMIUS. Great results I hope to gather:

ESCARPIN (aside). Well, you 're the first pander-fatherEver in my life I saw. 

CHRYSANTHUS. What, Escarpin, you, as well, Going to leave me? Mum for once. 

ESCARPIN. Silence suits me for the nonce. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Why?

ESCARPIN. A tale in point I 'll tell:Once a snuffler, by a pirateMoor was captured, who in someWay affected to be dumb, That his ransom at no high rateMight be purchased: when his ownerThis defect perceived, the shuffleMade him sell this Mr. SnuffleVery cheaply: to the donorOf his freedom, through his nose, Half in snuffle, half in squeak, Then he said, "Oh! Moor, I speak, I 'm not dumb as you suppose". "Fool, to let your folly lead youSo astray", replied the Moor. "Had I heard you speak, be sureI for nothing would have freed you". Thus it is I moderate meIn the use of tongue and cheek, Lest when you have heard me speak, Still more cheaply you may rate me. 

CHRYSANTHUS. You must know the estimationI have held you in so long. 

ESCARPIN. Well, my memory is not strong. It requires considerationTo admit that pleasant fact. 

CHRYSANTHUS. What of me do people say?--

ESCARPIN. Shall I speak it?

CHRYSANTHUS. Speak. 

ESCARPIN. Why, theySay, my lord, that you are cracked. 

CHRYSANTHUS. For what reason? Why this blame?

ESCARPIN. Reason, sir, need not be had, For the wisest man is madIf he only gets the name. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Well, it was not wrongly given, If they only knew that IHave consented even to dieSo to reach the wished-for heavenOf a sovereign beauty's favour. 

ESCARPIN. For a lady's favour youHave agreed to die?

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is true. 

ESCARPIN. Does not this a certain savourOf insanity give your sadness?

CHRYSANTHUS. Were I certain as of breathI could claim it after death, There was method in my madness. 

ESCARPIN. A brave soldier of the line, On his death-bed lying ill, Spoke thus, "Item, 't is my will, Gallant friends and comrades mine, That you 'll bear me to my grave, And although I 've little wealth, Thirty reals to drink my healthShall you for your kindness have". Thus the hope as vain must beAfter death one's love to wed, As to drink one's health when dead. [Nisida advances from the garden. ]

CHRYSANTHUS. But what maid is this I seeHither through the garden wending?

ESCARPIN. If you take a stroll with mePlenty of her sort you 'll see. 

NISIDA. One who would effect the endingOf thy sadness. 

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). Now comes near thee, O my heart, thy threatened trial!Lady, pardon the denial, But I would nor see nor hear thee. 

NISIDA. Not so ungallantly surelyWilt thou act, as not to seeOne who comes to speak with thee?

CHRYSANTHUS. To see one who thinks so poorlyOf herself, and with such lightnessOwns she comes to speak with me, Rather would appear to beWant of sense than of politeness. 

NISIDA. All discourse is not so slightThat thou need'st decline it so. 

CHRYSANTHUS. No, I will not see thee, no. Thus I shut thee from my sight. 

NISIDA. Vainly art thou cold and wise, Other senses thou shouldst fear, Since I enter by the ear, Though thou shut me from the eyes. 

Sings. "The bless`ed rapture of forgettingNever doth my heart deserve, What my memory would preserveIs the memory I 'm regretting". 

CHRYSANTHUS. That melting voice, that melodySpell-bound holds th' entranc`ed soul. Ah! from such divine controlWho his fettered soul could free?--Human Siren, leave me, go!Too well I feel its fatal power. I faint before it like a flowerBy warm-winds wooed in noontide's glow. The close-pressed lips the mouth can lock, And so repress the vain reply, The lid can veil th' unwilling eyeFrom all that may offend and shock, --Nature doth seem a niggard here, Unequally her gifts disposing, For no instinctive means of closingShe gives the unprotected ear. 

(Enter Cynthia. )

CYNTHIA. Since then the ear cannot be closed, And thou resistance need'st not try, Listen to the gloss that IOn this sweet conceit composed:"The bless`ed rapture of forgettingNever doth my heart deserve;What my memory would preserveIs the memory I 'm regretting". When Nature from the void obscureHer varied world to life awakes, All things find use and so endure:--Thus she a poison never makesWithout its corresponding cure:Each thing of Nature's careful setting, Each plant that grows in field or groveHath got its opposite flower or weed;The cure is with the pain decreed;Thus too is found for feverish love'The bless`ed rapture of forgetting. 'The starry wonders of the night, The arbiters of fate on high, Nothing can dim: To see their lightIs easy, but to draw more nighThe orbs themselves, exceeds our might. Thus 't is to know, and only know, The troubled heart, the trembling nerve, To sweet oblivion's blank may oweTheir rest, but, ah! that cure of woe'Never doth my heart deserve. 'Then what imports it that there be, For all the ills of heart or brain, A sweet oblivious remedy, If it, when 't is applied to me, Fails to cure me of my pain?Forgetfulness in me doth serveNo useful purpose: But why fretMy heart at this? Do I deserve, Strange contradiction! to forget'What my memory would preserve?'And thus my pain in straits like these, Must needs despise the only sureRemedial means of partial ease--That is--to perish of the cureRather than die of the disease. Then not in wailing or in fretting, My love, accept thy fate, but letThis victory o'er myself, to theeBring consolation, pride, and glee, Since what I wish not to forget'Is the memory I 'm regretting. '

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is not through the voice aloneMusic breathes its soft enchantment. [10]All things that in concord blendFind in music their one language. Thou with thy delicious sweetness [To Nisida]Host my heart at once made captive;--Thou with thy melodious verses [To Cynthia]Hast my very soul enraptured. Ah! how subtly thou dost reason!Ah! how tenderly thou chantest!Thou with thy artistic skill, Thou with thy clear understanding. But what say I? I speak falsely, For you both are sphinxes rather, Who with flattering words seduce meBut to ruin me hereafter:--Leave me; go: I cannot listenTo your wiles. 

NISIDA. My lord, oh! hearkenTo my song once more. 

CYNTHIA. Wait! stay!

NISIDA. Why thus treat with so much harshnessThose who mourn thy deep dejection?

ESCARPIN. Oh! how soon they 'd have an answerIf they asked of me these questions. I know how to treat such tattle:Leave them, sir, to me. 

CHRYSANTHUS. My senses'Gainst their lures I must keep guarded:They are crocodiles, but feigningHuman speech, so but to drag meTo my ruin, my destruction. 

NISIDA. Since my voice will still attract thee, 'T is of little use to fly me. 

CYNTHIA. Though thou dost thy best to guard thee, While I gloss the words she singethTo my genius thou must hearken. 

CHRYSANTHUS (aside. )God whom I adore! since IHelp myself, Thy help, oh! grant me!

NISIDA. "Ah! the joy" . . . . (she becomes confused. But what is this?Icy torpor coldly fastensOn my hands; the lute drops from me, And my very breath departeth. 

CYNTHIA. Since she cannot sing; then listenTo this subtle play of fancy:"Love, if thou 'rt my god" . . . . (she becomes confused. But how, What can have my mind so darkenedWhat my memory so confuses, What my voice can so embarrass?

NISIDA. I am turned to frost and fire, I am changed to living marble. 

CYNTHIA. Frozen over is my breast, And my heart is cleft and hardened. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Thus to lose your wits, ye two, What can have so strangely happened?

ESCARPIN. Being poets and musicians, Quite accounts, sir, for their absence. 

NISIDA. Heavens! beneath the noontide sunTo be left in total darkness!

CYNTHIA. In an instant, O ye heavens!O'er your vault can thick clouds gather?

NISIDA. 'Neath the contact of my feetEarth doth tremble, and I stagger. 

CYNTHIA. Mountains upon mountains seemOn my shoulders to be balanced. 

ESCARPIN. So it always is with thoseWho make verses, or who chant them. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Of the one God whom I worshipThese are miracles, are marvels. 

(Enter Daria. )

DARIA. Here, Chrysanthus, I have come . . . 

NISIDA. Stay, Daria. 

CYNTHIA. Stay, 't is rashnessHere to come, for, full of wonders, Full of terrors is this garden. 

ESCARPIN. Do not enter: awful omensThreat'ning death await thy advent. 

NISIDA. By my miseries admonished . . . . 

CYNTHIA. By my strange misfortune startled . . . 

NISIDA. Flying from myself, I leaveThis green sphere, dismayed, distracted. 

CYNTHIA. Without soul or life I fly, Overwhelmed by this enchantment. 

NISIDA. Oh! how dreadful!

CYNTHIA. Oh! how awful!

NISIDA. Oh! the horror!

CYNTHIA. Oh! the anguish! [Exeunt Cynthia and Nisida. ]

ESCARPIN. Mad with jealousy and rageHave the tuneful twain departed. 

DARIA (aside). Chastisements for due offencesDo not fright me, do not startle, For if they through arroganceAnd ambition sought this garden, Me the worship of the godsHere has led, and so I 'm guarded'Gainst all sorceries whatsoever, 'Gainst all forms of Christian magic:--Art thou then Chrysanthus?

CHRYSANTHUS. Yes. 

DARIA. Not confused or troubled, ratherWith a certain fear I see thee, For which I have grounds most ample. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Why?

DARIA. Because I thought thou wertOne who in a darksome cavernDied to show thy love for me. 

CHRYSANTHUS. I have yet been not so happyAs to have a chance, Daria, Of thus proving my attachment. 

DARIA. Be that so, I 've come to seek thee, Confident, completely sanguine, That I have the power to conquer, I alone, thy pains, thy anguish;Though against me thou shouldst useThe Christian armoury--enchantments. 

CHRYSANTHUS. That thou hast alone the powerTo subdue the pains that wrack me, I admit it; but in whatThou hast said of Christian magicI, Daria, must deny it. 

DARIA. How? from what cause else could happenThe effects I just have witnessed?

CHRYSANTHUS. Miracles they are and marvels. 

DARIA. Why do they affect not me?

CHRYSANTHUS. 'T is because I do not ask themAgainst thee; because from aidingNot myself, no aid is granted. 

DARIA. Then I come here to undo them. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Most severe will be the battle, Upon one side their due praisesOn the other side thy anger. 

DARIA. I would have thee understandThat our gods are sorely damagedBy thy sentiments. 

CHRYSANTHUS. And IThat those gods are false--mere phantoms. 

DARIA. Then get ready for the conflict, For I will not lower my standardSave with victory or death. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Though thou makest me thy captive, Thou my firmness wilt not conquer. 

DARIA. Then to arms! I say, to arms, then!

CHRYSANTHUS. Though the outposts of the soul, The weak heart, by thee be captured;Not so will the Understanding, The strong warden who doth guard it. 

DARIA. Thou 'lt believe me, if thou 'lt love me. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Thou not me, 'till love attracts thee. 

DARIA. That perhaps may be; for IWould not give thee this advantage. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! that love indeed may lead theeTo a state so sweet and happy!

DARIA. Oh! what power will disabuse theeOf thy ignorance, Chrysanthus?

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! what pitying power, Daria, Will the Christian faith impart thee?

ACT THE THIRD. 

SCENE I. --The Garden of Polemius. 

Enter POLEMIUS, AURELIUS, CLAUDIUS, and ESCARPIN. 

POLEMIUS. All my house is in confusion, Full of terrors, full of horrors;[11]Ah! how true it is a sonIs the source of many sorrows!--

CLAUDIUS. But, my lord, reflect . . . 

ESCARPIN. Consider . . . Think . . . 

POLEMIUS. Why think, when misery follows?--Cease: you add to my affliction, And in no way bring me solace. Since you see that in his madnessHe is now more firm and constant, Falling sick of new diseases, Ere he 's well of old disorders:Since one young and beauteous maiden, Whom love wished to him to proffer, Free from every spot and blemish, Pure and perfect in her fondness, Is the one whose fatal charmsGive to him such grief and torment, That each moment he may perish, That he may expire each moment;How then can you hope that INow shall list to words of comfort?--

CLAUDIUS. Why not give this beauteous maidenTo your son to be his consort, Since you see his inclination?

POLEMIUS. For this reason: when the projectI proposed, the two made answer, That before they wed, some problem, Some dispute that lay between themShould be settled: this seemed proper:But when I would know its natureI could not the cause discover. From this closeness I inferThat some secret of importanceLies between them, and that thisIs the source of all my sorrows. 

AURELIUS. Sir, my loyalty, my dutyWill not let me any longerSilence keep, too clearly seeingHow the evil has passed onward. On that day we searched the mountain. . . . 

POLEMIUS (aside). Woe is me! could he have known thenAll this time it was Chrysanthus?

AURELIUS. I approaching, where with shouldersTurned against me stood one figure, Saw the countenance of another, And methinks he was . . . 

POLEMIUS (aside). Ye gods!Yes, he saw him! help! support me!

AURELIUS. The same person who came hitherLately in the garb of a doctor, Who to-day to cure ChrysanthusSuch unusual treatment orders. Do you ascertain if heIs Carpophorus; let no portentFright you, on yourself rely, And you 'll find that all will prosper. 

POLEMIUS. Thanks, Aurelius, for your warning, Though 't is somewhat tardily offered. Whether you are right or wrong, I to-day will solve the problem. For the sudden palpitationOf my heart that beats and throbbeth'Gainst my breast, doth prove how trueAre the suspicions that it fostered. And if so, then Rome will seeSuch examples made, such torments, That one bleeding corse will showWounds enough for myriad corses. [Exeunt Aurelius and Polemius. 

CLAUDIUS. Good Escarpin . . . 

ESCARPIN. Sir. 

CLAUDIUS. I know notHow to address you in my sorrow. Do you say that Cynthia wasOne of those not over-modestBeauties who to court ChrysanthusHither came, and who (strange portent!)Had some share of his bewitchmentIn the stupor that came on them?

ESCARPIN. Yes, sir, and what 's worse, DariaWas another, thus the tormentThat we both endure is equal, If my case be not the stronger, Since to love her would be almostLess an injury than to scorn her. 

CLAUDIUS. Well, I will not quarrel with youOn the point (for it were nonsense)Whether one should feel more keenlyLove or hate, disdain or fondnessShown to one we love; enough'T is to me to know, that promptedOr by vanity or by interest, She came hither to hold converseWith him, 't is enough to make meLose the love I once felt for her. 

ESCARPIN. Sir, two men, one bald, one squint-eyed, Met one day . . . 

CLAUDIUS. What, on your hobby?A new story?

ESCARPIN. To tell stories, Sir, is not my 'forte', 'pon honour:--Though who would n't make a hazardWhen the ball is over the pocket?--

CLAUDIUS. Well, I do not care to hear it. 

ESCARPIN. Ah, you know it then: AnotherLet me try: A friar once . . . Stay though, I have quite forgottenThere are no friars yet in Rome:Well, once more: a fool . . . 

CLAUDIUS. A blockheadLike yourself, say: cease. 

ESCARPIN. Ah, sir, My poor tale do n't cruelly shorten. While the sacristan was blowing . . . 

CLAUDIUS. Why, by heaven! I 'll kill you, donkey. 

ESCARPIN. Hear me first, and kill me after. 

CLAUDIUS. Was there ever known such follyAs to think 'mid cares so graveI could listen to such nonsense? (exit. [Enter Chrysanthus and Daria, at opposite sides. ]

DARIA (to herself). O ye gods, since my intentionWas in empty air to scatterAll these prodigies and wondersWorked in favour of ChrysanthusBy the Christians' sorcery, why, Having you for my copartners, Do I not achieve a victoryWhich my beauty might make facile?

CHRYSANTHUS. O ye heavens, since my ambitionWas to melt Daria's hardness, And to bring her to the knowledgeOf one God who works these marvels, Why, so pure is my intention, Why, so zealous and so sanguine, Does not easy victory follow, Due even to my natural talent?

DARIA (aside). He is here, and though alreadyEven to see him, to have parleyWith him, lights a living fireIn my breast, which burns yet glads me, Yet he must confess my gods, Ere I own that I am vanquished. 

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). She comes hither, and though IBy her beauty am distracted, Still she must become a ChristianEre a wife's dear name I grant her. 

DARIA (aside). Venus, to my beauty givePower to make of him my vassal. 

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). Grant, O Lord, unto my tongueWords that may dispel her darkness. 

DARIA (aside). To come near him makes me tremble. 

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). To address her, quite unmans me:--Not in vain, O fair Daria, (aloud. Does the verdure of this garden, When it sees thee pass, grow youngAs beneath spring's dewy spangles;Not in vain, since though 't is evening, Thou a new Aurora dazzleth, That the birds in public concertHail thee with a joyous anthem;Not in vain the streams and fountains, As their crystal current passes, Keep melodious time and tuneWith the bent boughs of the alders;The light movement of the zephyrsAs athwart the flowers they 're wafted, Bends their heads to see thee coming, Then uplifts them to look after. 

DARIA. These fine flatteries, these fine phrasesMake me doubt of thee, Chrysanthus. He who gilds the false so well, Must mere truth find unattractive. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Hast thou then such little faithIn my love?

DARIA. Thou needst not marvel. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Why?

DARIA. Because no more of faithDoth a love deserve that actethSuch deceptions. 

CHRYSANTHUS. What deceptions?

DARIA. Are not those enough, Chrysanthus, That thou usest to convince meOf thy love, of thy attachment, When my first and well-known wishesThou perversely disregardest?Is it possible a manSo distinguished for his talents, So illustrious in his blood, Such a favourite from his manners, Would desire to ruin allBy an error so unhappy, And for some delusive dreamSee himself abhorred and branded?

CHRYSANTHUS. I nor talents, manners, blood, Would be worthy of, if madlyI denied a Great First Cause, Who made all things, mind and matter, Time, heaven, earth, air, water, fire, Sun, moon, stars, fish, birds, beasts, Man then. 

DARIA. Did not Jupiter, then, make heaven, Where we hear his thunders rattle?

CHRYSANTHUS. No, for if he could have madeHeaven, he had no need to grasp itFor himself at the partition, When to Neptune's rule he grantedThe great sea, and hell to Pluto;--Then they were ere all this happened. [12]

DARIA. Is not Ceres the earth, then?

CHRYSANTHUS. No. Since she lets the plough and harrowTear its bosom, and a goddessWould not have her frame so mangled. 

DARIA. Tell me, is not Saturn time?

CHRYSANTHUS. He is not, though he dispatchethAll the children he gives birth to;To a god no crimes should happen. 

DARIA. Is not Venus the air?

CHRYSANTHUS. Much less, Since they say that she was fashionedFrom the foam, and foam, we know, Cannot from the air be gathered. 

DARIA. Is not Neptune the sea?

CHRYSANTHUS. As little, For inconstancy were god's mark then. 

DARIA. Is not the sun Apollo?

CHRYSANTHUS. No. 

DARIA. The moon Diana?

CHRYSANTHUS. All mere babble. They are but two shining orbsPlaced in heaven, and there commandedTo obey fixed laws of motionWhich thy mind need not embarrass. How can these be called the gods--Gods adulterers and assassins!Gods who pride themselves for thefts, And a thousand forms of badness, If the ideas God and SinAre opposed as light to darkness?--With another argumentI would further sift the matter. Let then Jupiter be a god, In his own sphere lord and master:Let Apollo be one also:Should Jove wish to hurl in angerDown his red bolts on the world, And Apollo would not grant them, He the so-called god of fire;From the independent actionOf the two does it not followOne of them must be the vanquished?Then they cannot be called gods, Gods whose wills are counteracted. One is God whom I adore . . . And He is, in fine, that martyrWho has died for love of thee!--Since then, thou hast said, so adverseWas thy proud disdain, one onlyThou couldst love with love as ardentAlmost as his own, was heWho would . . . 

DARIA. Oh! proceed no farther, Hold, delay thee, listen, stay, Do not drive my brain distracted, Nor confound my wildered senses, Nor convulse my speech, my language, Since at hearing such a mysteryAll my strength appears departed. I do not desire to argueWith thee, for, I own it frankly, I am but an ignorant woman, Little skilled in such deep matters. In this law have I been born, In it have been bred: the chancesAre that in it I shall die:And since change in me can hardlyBe expected, for I neverAt thy bidding will disparageMy own gods, here stay in peace. Never do I wish to hearkenTo thy words again, or see thee, For even falsehood, when apparelledIn the garb of truth, exertethToo much power to be disregarded. [Exit. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Stay, I cannot live without thee, Or, if thou wilt go, the magnetOf thine eye must make me follow. All my happiness is anchoredThere. Return, Daria. . . . 

(Enter Carpophorus. )

CARPOPHORUS. Stay. Follow not her steps till afterYou have heard me speak. 

CHRYSANTHUS. What would you?

CARPOPHORUS. I would reprimand your lapses, Seeing how ungratefullyYou, my son, towards me have acted. 

CHRYSANTHUS. I ungrateful!

CARPOPHORUS. You ungrateful, Yes, because you have abandoned, Have forgotten God's assistance, So effectual and so ample. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Do not say I have forgottenOr abandoned it, wise master, Since my memory to preserve itIs as 't were a diamond tablet. 

CARPOPHORUS. Think you that I can believe you, If when having in this garmentSought you out to train and teach you, In the Christian faith and practice, Until deep theologyYou most learnedly have mastered;If, when having seen your progress, Your attention and exactness, I in secret gave you baptism, Which its mark indelibly stampeth;You so great a good forgetting, You for such a bliss so thankless, With such shameful ease surrenderTo this love-dream, this attachment?Did it strike you not, Chrysanthus, To that calling how contrastedAre delights, delirious tumults, Are love's transports and its raptures, Which you should resist? Recall too, Can you not? the aid heaven grantedWhen you helped yourself, and prayed forIts assistance: were you not guardedBy it when a sweet voice sung, When a keen wit glowed and argued, When the instrument was silenced, When the tongue was forced to stammer, Until now, when with free willYou succumb to the enchantmentOf one fair and fatal face, Which hath done to you such damageThat 't will work your final ruin, If the trial longer lasteth?--

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! my father, oh! my teacher, Hear me, for although the chargesBrought against me thus are heavy, Still I to myself have ampleReasons for my exculpation. Since you taught me, you, dear master, That the union of two willsIn our law is well established. Be not then displeased, Carpophorus . . . (Aside. ) Heavens! what have I said? My father!

(Enter Polemius. )

POLEMIUS (aside). Ah! this name removes all doubt. But I must restrain my anger, And dissemble for the present, If such patience Jove shall grant me:--How are you to-day, Chrysanthus? (aloud. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, my love and duty cast themHumbly at your feet: (aside, Thank heaven, That he heard me not, this calmnessCannot be assumed). 

POLEMIUS. I valueMore than I can say your mannerTowards my son, so kind, so zealousFor his health. 

CARPOPHORUS. Heaven knows, much fartherEven than this is my ambition, Sir, to serve you: but the passionsOf Chrysanthus are so strong, That my skill they overmaster. 

POLEMIUS. How?

CARPOPHORUS. Because the means of cureHe perversely counteracteth. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Ah! sir, no, I 've left undoneNothing that you have commanded. 

CARPOPHORUS. No, not so, his greatest perilHe has rashly disregarded. 

POLEMIUS. I implicitly can trust you, Of whose courage, of whose talentsI have been so well informed, That I mean at once to grant themThe reward they so well merit. 

CARPOPHORUS. Sir, may heaven preserve and guard you. 

POLEMIUS. Come with me; for I desireThat you should from my apartmentsChoose what best doth please you; IDo not doubt you 'll find an ampleGuerdon for your care. 

CARPOPHORUS. To beHonoured in this public mannerIs my best reward. 

POLEMIUS (aside). The worldShall this day a dread exampleOf my justice see, transcendingAll recorded in time's annals. (Exeunt Polemius and Carpophorus. )

CHRYSANTHUS. Better than I could have hoped forHas it happened, since my fatherShows by his unruffled faceThat his name he has not gathered. What more evidence can I wish forThan to see the gracious mannerIn which he conducts him whitherHis reward he means to grant him?Oh! that love would do as muchIn the fears and doubts that rack me, Since I cannot wed Daria, And be faithful to Christ's banner. 

(Enter Daria. )

DARIA (aside). Tyrant question which methoughtTimely flight alone could answer, Once again, against my willTo his presence thou dost drag me. 

CHRYSANTHUS (aside). But she comes again: let sorrowBe awhile replaced by gladness:--Ah! Daria, so resolved[13] (aloud, Not to see or hear me more, Art thou here?

DARIA. Deep pondering o'er, As the question I revolved, I would have the mystery solved:'T is for that I 'm here, then seeIt is not to speak with thee. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Speak, what doubt wouldst thou decide?

DARIA. Thou hast said a God once diedThrough His boundless love to me:Now to bring thee to convictionLet me this one strong point try . . . 

CHRYSANTHUS. What?

DARIA. To be a God, and die, Doth imply a contradiction. And if thou dost still denyTo my god the name divine, And reject him in thy scornFor beginning, I opine, If thy God could die, that mineMight as easily be born. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Thou dost argue with great skill, But thou must remember still, That He hath, this God of mine, Human nature and divine, And that it has been His willAs it were His power to hide--God made man--man deified--When this sinful world He trod, Since He was not born as God, And it was as man He died. 

DARIA. Does it not more greatness prove, As among the beauteous stars, That one deity should be Mars, And another should be Jove, Than this blending God aboveWith weak man below? To theeDoes not the twin deityOf two gods more power display, Than if in some mystic wayGod and man conjoined could be?

CHRYSANTHUS. No, I would infer this rather, If the god-head were not one, Each a separate course could run:But the untreated Father, But the sole-begotten Son, But the Holy Spirit whoEver issues from the two, Being one sole God, must beOne in power and dignity:--Until thou dost hold this true, Till thy creed is that the SonWas made man, I cannot hear thee, Cannot see thee or come near thee, Thee and death at once to shun. 

DARIA. Stay, my love may so be won, And if thou wouldst wish this done, Oh! explain this mystery!What am I to do, ah! me, That my love may thus be tried?

CARPOPHORUS (within). Seek, O soul! seek Him who diedSolely for the love of thee. 

CHRYSANTHUS. All that I could have repliedHas been said thus suddenlyBy this voice that, sounding near, Strikes upon my startled earLike the summons of my death. 

DARIA. Ah! what frost congeals my breath, Chilling me with icy fear, As I hear its sad lament:Whence did sound the voice? [Enter Polemius and soldiers. 

POLEMIUS. From here:'T is, Chrysanthus, my intentThus to place before thy sight--Thus to show thee in what lightI regard thy restorationBack to health, the estimationIn which I regard the wightWho so skilfully hath cured thee. A surprise I have procured thee, And for him a fit reward:Raise the curtain, draw the cord, See, 't is death! If this . . . (A curtain is drawn aside, and Carpophorus is seen beheaded, the headbeing at some distance from the body. )

CHRYSANTHUS. I freeze!--

POLEMIUS. Is the cure of thy disease, What must that disease have been!'T is Carpophorus. . . . 

DARIA. Dread scene!

POLEMIUS. He who with false science cameNot to give thee life indeed, But that he himself should bleed:--That thy fate be not the same, Of his mournful end take heed:Do not thou that dost survive, My revenge still further drive, Since the sentence seems misread--The physician to be dead, And the invalid alive. --

CHRYSANTHUS. It were cruelty extreme, It were some delirious dream, That could see in this the cureOf the ill that I endure. 

POLEMIUS. It to him did pity seem, Seemed the sole reward that heAsked or would receive from me:Since when dying, he but cried . . 

THE HEAD OF CARPOPHORUS. Seek, O soul! seek Him who diedSolely for the love of thee!--

CHRYSANTHUS. What a portent!

DARIA. What a wonder!

ESCARPIN. Jove! my own head splits asunder!--

POLEMIUS. Even though severed, in it dwellsStill the force of magic spells. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, it were a fatal blunderTo be blind to this appallingTragedy you wrong by callingThe result of spells--no spellsAre such signs, but miraclesOutside man's experience falling. He came here because he yearnedWith his pure and holy breathTo give life, and so found death. 'T is a lesson that he learned--'T is a recompense he earned--Seeing what his Lord could do, Being to his Master true:Kill me also: He had oneBright example: shall I shunDeath in turn when I have two?

POLEMIUS. I, in listening to thy raving, Scarce can calm the wrath thou 'rt braving. Dead ere now thou sure wouldst lie, Didst thou not desire to die. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Father, if the death I 'm craving . . . 

POLEMIUS. Speak not thus: no son I know. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Not to thee I spoke, for thoughHumanly thou hast that name, Thou hast forfeited thy claim:I that sweet address now oweUnto him whose holier aimKindled in my heart a flameWhich shall there for ever glow, Woke within me a new soulThat thou 'rt powerless to control--Generated a new lifeSafe against thy hand or knife:Him a father's name I giveWho indeed has made me live, Not to him whose tyrant willOnly has the power to kill. Therefore on this dear one dead, On this pallid corse laid low, Lying bathed in blood and snow, By this lifeless lodestone led, I such bitter tears shall shed, That my grief . . . 

POLEMIUS. Ho! instantlyTear him from it. 

DARIA (aside). Thus to beBy such prodigies surrounded, Leaves me dazzled and confounded. 

POLEMIUS. Hide the corse. 

ESCARPIN. Leave that to me(The head and body are concealed). 

POLEMIUS. Bear Chrysanthus now awayTo a tower of darksome gloomWhich shall be his living tomb. 

CHRYSANTHUS. That I hear with scant dismay, Since the memory of this dayWith me there will ever dwell. Fair Daria, fare thee well, And since now thou knowest whoDied for love of thee, renewThe sweet vow that in the dellOnce thou gav'st me, Him to loveAfter death who so loved thee. 

POLEMIUS. Take him hence. 

DARIA. Ah! suddenlyLight descendeth from aboveWhich my darkness doth remove. Now thy shadowed truth I see, Now the Christian's faith profess. Let thy bloody lictors pressRound me, racking every limb, Let me only die with him, Since I openly confessThat the gods are false whom weLong have worshipped, that I trustChrist alone--the True--the Just--The One God, whose power I see, And who died for love of me. 

POLEMIUS. Take her too, since she in thisBoasts how dark, how blind she is. 

DARIA. Oh! command that I should dwellWith Chrysanthus in his cell. In our hearts we long are mated, And ere now had celebratedOur espousals fond and true, If the One same God we knew. 

CHRYSANTHUS. This sole bliss alone I waitedTo die happy. 

POLEMIUS. How my heartIs with wrath and rage possest!--Hold thy hand, present it not, For I would not have thy lotBy the least indulgence blest;Nor do thou, if thy wild brainSuch a desperate course maintain, Hope to have her as thy bride--Trophy of our gods denied:--Separate them. 

CHRYSANTHUS. O the pain!

DARIA. O the woe! unhappy me!

POLEMIUS. Take them hence, and let them be(Since my justice now at leastMakes amends for mercy past)Punished so effectuallyThat their wishes, their desires, What each wanteth or requires, Shall be thwarted or denied, That between opposing firesThey for ever shall be tried:--Since Chrysanthus' former moodOnly wished the solitudeWhence such sorrows have arisen, Take him to the public prison, And be sure in fire and foodThat he shall not be preferredTo the meanest culprit there. Naked, abject, let him fareAs the lowest of the herd:There, while chains his body gird, Let him grovel and so die:--For Daria, too, hard byIs another public place, Shameful home of worse disgrace, Where imprisoned let her lie:If, relying on the powersOf her beauty, her vain prideDreamed of being my son's bride, Never shall she see that hour. Soon shall fade her virgin flower, Soon be lost her nymph-like grace--Roses shall desert her face, Waving gold her silken hair. She who left Diana's careMust with Venus find her place:'Mong vile women let her dwell, Vile, abandoned even as they. 

ESCARPIN (aside). There my love shall have full play. O rare judge, you sentence well!

CHRYSANTHUS. Sir, if thou must have a fellVengeance for this act of mine, Take my life, for it is thine;But my honour do not dareTo insult through one so fair. 

DARIA. Wreak thy rage, if faith divineSo offends thee, upon me, Not upon my chastity:--'T is a virtue purer farThan the light of sun or star, And has ne'er offended thee. 

POLEMIUS. Take them hence. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Ah me, to findWords, that might affect thy mind!Melt thy heart!

DARIA. Ah, me, who e'erSaw a martyrdom so rare?--

POLEMIUS. Wouldst thou then the torment fly, Thou hast only to denyChrist. 

CHRYSANTHUS. The Saviour of mankind?This I cannot do. 

DARIA. Nor I. 

POLEMIUS. Let them instantly from thisTo their punishment be led. --

ESCARPIN. Do not budge from what you said. It is excellent as it is. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Woe is me! but wherefore fear, O beloved betroth`ed mine?--Trust in God, that power divineFor whose sake we suffer here:--HE will aid us and be near:--

DARIA. In that confidence I live, For if He His life could giveFor my love, and me select, He His honour will protect. 

CHRYSANTHUS. These sad tears He will forgive. Ne'er to see thee more! thus driven. . . 

DARIA. Cease, my heart like thine is riven, But again we 'll see each other, When in heaven we 'll be, my brother, The two lover saints of Heaven. (They are led out. 

SCENE II. --The hall of a bordel. 

Soldiers conducting Daria. 

A SOLDIER. Here Polemius bade us leave her, The great senator of Rome. [14] (exeunt. )

DARIA. As the noonday might be leftIn the midnight's dusky robe, As the light amid the darkness, As 'mid clouds the solar globe:But although the shades and shadows, Through the vapours of Heaven's dome. Strive with villainous presumptionLight and splendour to enfold, Though they may conceal the lustre, Still they cannot stain it, no. And it is a consolationThis to know, that even the gold, How so many be its carats, How so rich may be the lode, Is not certain of its value'Till the crucible hath told. Ah! from one extreme to anotherDoes my strange existence go:Yesterday in highest honour, And to-day so poor and low!Still, if I am self-reliant, Need I fear an alien foe?But, ah me, how insufficientIs my self-defence alone!--O new God to whom I offerLife and soul, whom I adore, In Thy confidence I rest me. Help me, Lord, I ask no more. 

(Enter Escarpin. )

ESCARPIN. Where I wonder can she be?But I need not farther go, Here she is:--At length, Daria, My good lady, and soforth, Now has come the happy moment, When in open market sold, All thy charms are for the buyer, Who can spend a little gold;And since happily love's tariffIs not an excessive toll, Here I am, and so, Daria, Let these clasping arms enfold . . . 

DARIA. Do not Thou desert Thy handmaidIn this dreadful hour, O Lord!--

Cries of people within. 

A VOICE (within). Oh, the lion! oh, the lion!

ANOTHER VOICE (within). Ho! take care of the lion, ho!

ESCARPIN. Let the lion care himself, I 'm engaged and cannot go. 

A VOICE (within). From the mountain wilds descending, Through the crowded streets he goes. 

ANOTHER VOICE (within). Like the lightning's flash he flieth, Like the thunder is his roar. 

ESCARPIN. Ah! all right, for I 'm in safety, Thanks to this obliging door:Lightning is a thing intendedFor high towers and stately domes, Never heard I of its fallingUpon little lowly homes:So if lion be the lightning, Somewhere else will fall the bolt:Therefore once again, Daria, Come, I say, embrace me. . . . . (A lion enters, places himself before Daria, and seizes Escarpin. )

DARIA. Oh!Never in my life did ISee a nobler beast. 

ESCARPIN. Just so, Nor a more affectionate oneDid I ever meet before, Since he gives me the embracesThat I asked of thee and more:O god Bacchus, whom I worshipSo devoutly, thou, I know, Workest powerfully on beasts. Tell our friend to let me go. 

DARIA. Noble brute, defend my honour, Be God's minister below. 

ESCARPIN. How he gnaws me! how he claws me!How he smells! His breath, by Jove, Is as bad as an emetic. But you need n't eat me, though. That would be a sorry blunder, Like what happened long ago. Would you like to hear the story?By your growling you say no. What! you 'll eat me then? You 'll find meA tough morsel, skin and bone. O Daria! I implore thee, Save me from this monster's throat, And I give to thee my promiseTo respect thee evermore. 

DARIA. Mighty monarch of these deserts, King of beasts, so plainly knownBy thy crown of golden tressesO'er thy tawny forehead thrown, In the name of Him who sent theeTo defend that faith I hold, I command thee to release him, Free this man and let him go. 

ESCARPIN. What a most obsequious monster!With his mane he sweeps the floor, And before her humbly falling, Kisses her fair feet. 

DARIA. What moreNeed we ask, that Thou didst send him, O great God so late adored, Than to see his pride thus humbledWhen he heard thy name implored?But upon his feet uprising, The great roaring Campeador[15]Of the mountains makes a signalI should follow: yes, I go, Fearless now since Thou hast freed meFrom this infamous abode. What will not that lover doWho for love his life foregoes!-- (Goes out preceded by the lion. 

ESCARPIN. With a lion for her bullyReady to fight all her foes, Who will dare to interrupt her?None, if they are wise I trow. With her hand upon his mane, Quite familiarly they goThrough the centre of the city. Crowds give way as they approach, And as he who looketh onKnoweth of the game much moreThan the players, I perceiveThey the open country seekOn the further side of Rome. Like a husband and a wife, In the pleasant sunshine's glow, Taking the sweet air they seem. Well the whole affair doth showSo much curious contradiction, That, my thought, a brief discourseYou and I must have together. Is the God whose name is knownTo Daria, the same GodWhom Carpophorus adored?Why, from this what inference follows?Only this, if it be so, That Daria He defends, But the poor Carpophorus, no. And as I am much more likelyHis sad fate to undergo, Than to be like her protected, I to change my faith am loth. So part pagan and part christianI 'll remain--a bit of both. (Exit. 

SCENE III. --The Wood. 

(Enter NISIDA and CYNTHIA, flying. )

CYNTHIA. Fly, fly, Nisida. 

NISIDA. Fly, fly, Cynthia, Since a terror and a woeThreatens us by far more fearfulThan when late a horror frozeAll our words, and o'er our reasonStrange lethargic dulness flowed. 

CYNTHIA. Thou art right, for then 't was onlyOur intelligence that ownedThe effect of an enchantment, A mere pause of thought alone. Here our very life doth leave us, Seeing with what awful forceStalks along this mighty lionTrampling all that stops his course. 

NISIDA. Whither shall we fly for shelter?

CYNTHIA. O Diana, we imploreHelp from thee! But stranger still!--Him who doth appal us so, The wild monarch of the mountainSee! a woman calm and slowFollows. 

NISIDA. O astounding sight!

CYNTHIA. 'T is Daria. 

NISIDA. I was toldShe had been consigned to prison:Yes, 't is she: on, on they goThrough the forest. 

CYNTHIA. Till the mountainHides them, and we see no more. 

(Enter Escarpin. )

ESCARPIN. All Rome is full of wonder and dismay. [16]

NISIDA. What has occurred?

CYNTHIA. Oh! what has happened, say?

ESCARPIN. Chrysanthus, being immuredBy his stern sire, a thousand ills endured. Daria too, the same, But in a house my tongue declines to name. It pleased the God they both adoreBoth to their freedom strangely to restore, And from their many painsTo free them, and to break their galling chains, Giving Daria, as attendant squire, A roaring lion, rolling eyes of fire:--In fine the two have fled, But each apart by separate instinct ledTo this wild mountain near. Numerianus coming then to hearOf the event, assuming in his wrath, That 't was Polemius who had oped the pathOf freedom for his son and for the maid, Has not an hour delayed, But follows them with such a numerous band, That, see, his squadrons cover all the land. 

VOICES (within). Scour the whole plain. 

OTHERS (within). Descend into the vale. 

OTHERS (within). Pierce the thick wood. 

OTHERS (within). The rugged mountain scale. 

ESCARPIN. This noise, these cries, confirm what I have said:And since by curiosity I 'm ledTo sift the matter to the bottom, IWill follow with the rest. 

CYNTHIA. I almost dieWith fear at the alarm, and yet so greatIs my desire to know Daria's fate, And that of young Chrysanthus, that I tooWill follow, if a woman so may do. 

ESCARPIN. What strange results such strange events produce!The very wonder serves as an excuse. 

NISIDA. Well, we must only hope that it is so. Come, Cynthia, let us follow her. 

CYNTHIA. Let us go. 

ESCARPIN. And I with love most fervent, Ladies, will be your very humble servant. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. --A wilder part of the wood near the cave. 

(Enter DARIA guided by the lion. )

DARIA. O mighty lion, whither am I led?Where wouldst thou guide me with thy stately tread, That seems to walk not on the earth, but air?But lo! he has entered thereWhere yonder cave its yawning mouth lays bare, [The lion enters a cave. ]

Leaving me here alone. But now fate clears, and all will soon be known;For if I read arightThe signs this desert gives unto my sight, It is the very place whence echo gaveResponsive music from this mystic cave. Terror and wonder both my senses scare, Ah! whither shall I go?

CHRYSANTHUS (within). Daria fair!

DARIA. Who calls my hapless name?Each leaf that moves doth thrill this wretched frameWith boding and with dread. But why say wretched? I had better saidThrice bless`ed: O great God whom I adore, Baptize me in those tears that I outpour, In no more fitting form can I declareMy faith and hope in thee. 

CHRYSANTHUS (within). Daria fair. 

DARIA. Who calls my name? who wakes those wild alarms?

(Enter Chrysanthus. )

CHRYSANTHUS. Belov`ed bride, 't is one to whom thy charmsAre even less dear than is thy soul, ah! me, One who would live and who will die with thee. 

DARIA. Belov`ed spouse, my heart could not demandThan thus to see thee near, to clasp thy hand, A sweeter solace for my long dismay, And all the awful wonders of this day. Hear the surprising tale, And thou wilt know . . . 

VOICES (within). Search hill. 

OTHERS. And plain. 

OTHERS. And vale. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Hush! the troops our fight pursuingHave the forest precincts entered. [17]

DARIA. What then shall I do, Chrysanthus?

CHRYSANTHUS. Keep thy faith, thy life surrender:--

DARIA. I a thousand lives would offer:Since to God I 'm so indebtedThat I 'll think myself too happyIf 't is given for Him. 

POLEMIUS (within). This centreOf the mountain, whence the sunScarcely ever is reflected--This dark cavern sure must hold them. Let us penetrate its entrails, So that here the twain may die. 

DARIA. One thing only is regrettedBy me, in my life thus losing, I am not baptized. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Reject thenThat mistrust; in blood and fire[18]Martyrdom the rite effecteth:--

(Enter Polemius and Soldiers. )

POLEMIUS. Here, my soldiers, here they are, And the hand that death presents themMust be mine, that none may thinkI a greater love could cherishFor my son than for my gods. And as I desire, when wendethHither great Numerianus, That he find them dead, arrest themOn the spot, and fling them headlongInto yonder cave whose centreIs a fathomless abyss:--And since one sole love cementedTheir two hearts in life, in deathIn one sepulchre preserve them. 

CHRYSANTHUS. Oh! how joyfully I die!

DARIA. And I also, since the sentenceGives to me the full assuranceOf a happiness most certainOn the day this darksome caveDoth entomb me in its centre. (They are cast into the abyss. )

POLEMIUS. Cover the pit's mouth with stones. (A sudden storm of thunder and lightning: Enter Numerianus, Claudius, Aurelius, and others. 

NUMERIANUS. What can have produced this tempest?

POLEMIUS. When within the cave they threw them, Dark eclipse o'erspread the heavens. 

CLAUDIUS. Shadowy shapes, phantasmal shadowsAre upon the wind projected. 

CYNTHIA. Lightnings like swift birds of fireDart along with burning tresses. 

CLAUDIUS. Lo! an earthquake's awful shudderMakes the very mountains tremble. 

POLEMIUS. Yes, the solid ground upheaveth, And the mighty rock descendethO'er our heads. 

NISIDA. While on the instantDulcet voices soft and tenderIssue from the cave's abysses. 

NUMERIANUS. Rome to-day strange sights presenteth, When a grave exhibits gladness, And the sun displays resentment. 

(A choir of angels is heard singing from within the cave. )"Happy day, and happy doom, May the gladsome world exclaim, When the darksome cave becameSaint Daria's sacred tomb". (A great rock falls from the mountain, and covers the tomb, over it isseen an angel. )

ANGEL. This great cave which holds to-dayIn its breast so great a treasure, Never shall by foot be trodden;--Thus it is I 've sealed and settledThis great mass of rock upon it, Which doth shut it up for ever. And in order that their ashesOn the wind be ne'er dispers`ed, But while time itself endurethShall be honoured and respected, This brief epitaph, this simpleLine shall tell this simple legendTo the ages that come after:"Here the bodies are preserv`edOf Chrysanthus and Daria, The two lover-saints of Heaven". 

CLAUDIUS. Wherefore humbly we entreatPardon for our many errors. 

3. The whole of the first scene is in 'asonante' verse, the vowelsbeing i, e, as in "restrIctEd", "drIftlEss", "hIddEn", etc. Thesevowels, or their equivalents in sound, will be found pretty accuratelyrepresented in the last two syllables of every alternate line throughoutthe scene, which ends at p. 25, and where the verse changes into thefull consonant rhyme. 

4. The resemblance between certain parts of Goethe's Faust and TheWonder-Working Magician of Calderon has been frequently alluded to, andhas given rise to a good deal of discussion. In the controversy as tohow much the German poet was indebted to the Spanish, I do not recollectany reference to The Two Lovers of Heaven. The following passage, however, both in its spirit and language, presents a singular likenessto the more elaborate discussion of the same difficulty in the text. The scene is in Faustus's study. Faustus, as in the present play, takesup a volume of the New Testament, and thus proceeds:

"IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD". Alas!The first line stops me: how shall I proceed?"The word" cannot express the meaning here. I must translate the passage differently, If by the spirit I am rightly guided. Once more, --"IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE THOUGHT". --Consider the first line attentively, Lest hurrying on too fast, you lose the meaning. Was it then Thought that has created all things?Can thought make matter? Let us try the lineOnce more, --"IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE POWER"--This will not do--even while I write the phrase, I feel its faults--oh! help me, holy Spirit, I 'll weigh the passage once again, and writeBoldly, --"IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE ACT". Anster's "Faustus", Francfort ed. , 1841, p. 63. 

5. The same line of argument is worked out with wonderful subtlety ofthought and beauty of poetical expression by Calderon, in one of thefinest of his Autos Sacramentales, "The Sacred Parnassus". AutosSacramentales, tom. Vi. P. 10. 

6. The metre reverts here again to the asonante form, which is kept upfor the remainder of this act. The vowels here used are e, e, or theirequivalents. 

7. "This Clytie knew, and knew she was undone, Whose soul was fix'd, and doted on the sun". OVID, Metamorphoses, b. Iv. 

8. In the whole of this scene the asonante vowels are a-e, or theirequivalents. 

9. The asonante in e-e, recommences here, and continues until the entryof Chrysanthus. 

10. The metre changes to the asonante in a-e for the remainder of thisAct. 

11. The asonante in this scene is generally in o-e, o-o, o-a, which arenearly all alike in sound. In the second scene the asonante is in a-e, as in "scAttEr", etc. 

12. See note referring to the auto, "The Sacred Parnassus", Act 1, p. 21. 

13. The asonante changes here into five-lined stanzas in ordinaryrhyme. Three lines rhyme one way and two the other. Poems in thismetre are called in Spanish 'Versos de arte mayor, ' from the greaterskill supposed to be required for their composition. 

14. The asonante is single here, consisting only of the long accentedo, as in "ROme", "glObe", "dOme", etc. 

15. Champion, or combater, the name generally given the Cid. 

16. The metre changes to an irregular couplet in long and short lines. 

17. The metre changes to the double asonante in e-e, which continues tothe end of the drama. 

18. Baptism by blood and fire through martyrdom. Calderon refers hereevidently to the words of St. John the Baptist: "He shall baptize you inthe Holy Ghost and fire"--St. Matth. , c. Iii. V. Ii. The followingpassage in the Legend of St. Catherine must also have been present tohis mind:

"Et cum dolerent, quod sine baptismo decederent, virgo respondit: Netimeatis, quia effusio vestri sanguinis vobis baptismus reputabitur etcorona". Legenda Aurea, c. 167. 

THE SPANISH DRAMA. 

CALDERON'S DRAMAS AND AUTOS, Translated into English VerseBY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY. 

From Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. London: 1863. 

"Denis Florence M'Carthy published in London (in 1861) translations oftwo plays, and an auto of Calderon, under the title of 'Love, thegreatest Enchantment; the Sorceries of Sin; the Devotion of the Cross, from the Spanish of Calderon, attempted strictly in English Asonante, and other imitative Verse', printing, at the same time, a carefullycorrected text of the originals, page by page, opposite to histranslations. It is, I think, one of the boldest attempts ever made inEnglish verse. It is, too, as it seems to me, remarkably successful. Not that asonantes can be made fluent or graceful in English, or easilyperceptible to an English ear, but that the Spanish air and character ofCalderon are so happily preserved. Mr. M'Carthy, in 1853, had publishedtwo volumes of translations from Calderon, to which I have alreadyreferred; and, besides this, he has rendered excellent service to thecause of Spanish literature in other ways. But in the present volume hehas far surpassed all he had previously done; for Calderon is a poetwho, whenever he is translated, should have his very excesses, both inthought and manner, fully produced, in order to give a faithful idea ofwhat is grandest and most distinctive in his genius. Mr. M'Carthy hasdone this, I conceive, to a degree which I had previously consideredimpossible. Nothing, I think, in the English language will give us sotrue an impression of what is most characteristic of the Spanish drama;perhaps I ought to say, of what is most characteristic of Spanish poetrygenerally". --tom. Iii. Pp. 461, 462. 

Extracts from Continental Reviews. 

From "Blaeater fuer Literarische Unterhaltung". 1862. Erster Baude, 479 Leipzig, F. A. Brockhans. 

"Erwaehnenswerth ist folgender Kuehne versuch einer RachdildungCalderon' scher stuecke in Englishchen Assonanzen. 

"Love, the greatest enchantment; The Sorceries of Sin; The Devotion ofthe Cross, from the Spanish of Calderon, attempted strictly in EnglishAsonante, and other imitative verse. By Denis Florence Mac-Carthy". 

Diese Uebersetzung ist dem Verfasser der "History of SpanishLiterature", George Ticknor, zugeeignet, der in einem Schreiber au denUebersetzer die Arbeit "marvellous" nennt und dam fortfaehrt:

"Richt das sie die Assonanzen dem englischen Ohr so hoerbar gemachthaetten, wie dies mit den Spanischen der Fall ist; unsere widerhaarigenconsonanten machen dies unmoeglich; das Wunderbare ist nur, das siedieselben ueberhaupt hoerbar gemacht haben. Meiner Meinung nach nehmeist Ihre Assonanzen so deutlich wahr, wil die Von August Schlegel oderGries und mehr als diejenigen Friedrich Schlegel's. Aber dieser war dererste, der den versuch dazu machte, und ausserdem bin ich KeinDeutscher. Wurde es nicht lustig sein, wenn man einmal ein solchesExperiment in franzoeschicher Sprache wolte?"

"Ohne zweifel wuerde MacCarthy Ohne den vorgaug deutscher Nachbilder desCalderon ebenso wenig darauf gekommen sein englische Assonanzen zuversuchen, als man ohne das ermunternde Beispiel deutscher Dichter undUebersetzer darauf gekommen sein wurde, in Uebersetzungen undoriginaldichtungen unter welchen letztern wol besonders Longfellow's'Evangeline', zu nennen ist, englische Hexameter zu versuchen, was inletzter zeit gar nicht selten geschehen ist". 

From "Boletin de Ferro-Carriles". Cadiz: 1862. 

"La novedad que nos comunica de la existencia de traducciones tanacabadas de nuestro grande e inimitable Calderon, ostendando, hastacierto punto, las galas y formas del original, estamos seguros seraacogida con favor, si no con entusiasmo, per los verdaderos amantes delas letras espanolas. A ellos nos dirijimos, recomendandoles el ultimotrabajo del Senor Mac-Carthy, seguros de que participaran del mismoplacer que nosotros hemos experimentado al examinar su fiel, al par quebrillante traduccion; y en cuanto a la dificil tentativa de losasonantes ingleses, nos sorpende que el Senor Mac-Carthy haya podidosacar tanto parido, si se considera la indole peculiar de los dosidiomas". 

Extracts from Letters addressed to the Author. 

From Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Esq. Cambridge, near Boston, America, April 29, 1862. 

"I thank you very much for your new work in the vast and flowery fieldsof Calderon. It is, I think, admirable; and presents the old Spanishdramatist before the English reader in a very attractive light. 

"Particularly in the most poetical passages you are excellent; as, forinstance, in the fine description of the gerfalcon and the heron in 'ElMayor Encanto'. --11 Jor. 

"Your previous volumes I have long possessed and highly prized; and Ihope you mean to add more and more, so as to make the translation asnearly complete as a single life will permit. It seems rather appallingto undertake the whole of so voluminous a writer. Nevertheless, I hopeyou will do it. Having proved that you can, perhaps you ought to do it. This may be your appointed work. It is a noble one. 

"With much regard, I am, etc. , "HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 

"Denis Florence Mac-Carthy, Esq. ". 

From the Same. Nahant, near Boston, August 10, 1857. 

"MY DEAR SIR, "Before leaving Cambridge to come down here to the sea-side, I had thepleasure of receiving your precious volume of 'Mysteries of CorpusChristi'; and should have thanked you sooner for your kindness insending it to me, had I not been very busy at the time in getting out mylast volume of Dante. 

"I at once read your work, with eagerness and delight--that peculiar andstrange delight which Calderon gives his admirers, as peculiar anddistinct as the flavour of an olive from that of all other fruits. 

"You are doing this work admirably, and seem to gain new strength andsweetness as you go on. It seems as if Calderon himself were behind youwhispering and suggesting. And what better work could you do in yourbright hours or in your dark hours than just this, which seems to havebeen put providentially into your hands!

"The extracts from the 'Sacred Parnassus' in the Chronicle, whichreached me yesterday, are also excellent. 

"For this and all, many and many thanks. 

"Yours faithfully, "HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 

"Denis Florence Mac-Carthy, Esq. ". 

From George Ticknor, Esq. , the Historian of Spanish Literature. "Boston, 16th December, 1861. 

"In this point of view, your volume seems to me little less thanmarvellous. If I had not read it--indeed, if I had not carefully gonethrough with the "Devocion de la Cruz", I should not have believed itpossible to do what you have done. Titian, they say, and some others ofthe old masters, laid on colours for their groundwork wholly differentfrom those they used afterwards, but which they counted upon to shinethrough, and contribute materially to the grand results they produced. So in your translations, the Spanish seems to come through to thesurface; the original air is always perceptible in your variations. Itis like a family likeness coming out in the next generation, yet withthe freshness of originality. 

"But the rhyme is as remarkable as the verse and the translation; notthat you have made the asonante as perceptible to the English ear as itis to the Spanish; our cumbersome consonants make that impossible. Butthe wonder is, that you have made it perceptible at all. I think Iperceive your asonantes much as I do those of August Schlegel or Gries, and more than I do those of Friederich Schlegel. But he was the firstwho tried them, and, besides, I am not a German. Would it not beamusing to have the experiment tried in French?"

From the Same. "Boston, March 20, 1867. 

"The world has claims on you which you ought not to evade; and, if thepath in which you walk of preference, leads to no wide popularity orbrilliant profits, it is, at least, one you have much to yourself, andcannot fail to enjoy. You have chosen it from faithful love, and willalways love it; I suspect partly because it is your own choice, becauseit is peculiarly your own". 

From the Same. "Boston, July 3, 1867. 

"Considered from this point of view, I think that in your present volume["Mysteries of Corpus Christi", or "Autos Sacramentales" of Calderon]you are always as successful as you were in your previous publicationsof the same sort, and sometimes more so; easier, I mean, freer, and morehappily expressive. If I were to pick out my first preference, I shouldtake your fragment of the 'Veneno y Triaca', at the end; but I think thewhole volume is more fluent, pleasing, and attractive than even itspredecessors". 

From the first of English religious painters. 

"I cannot resist the impulse I have of offering you my most gratefulthanks for the greatest intellectual treat I have ever experienced in mylife, and which you have afforded me in the magnificent translations ofthe divine Calderon; for, surely, of all the poets the world ever saw, he alone is worthy of standing beside the author of the Book of Job andof the Psalms, and entrusted, like them, with the noble mission ofcommending to the hearts of others all that belongs to the beautiful andtrue, ever directing the thoughtful reader through the love of thebeautiful veil, to the great Author of all perfection. 

"I cannot conceive a nation can receive a greater boon than being helpedto a love of such works as the religious dramas of this Prince of Poets. I have for years felt this, and as your translations appeared, have readthem with the greatest possible interest. I knew not of the publicationof the last, and it was to an accidental, yet, with me, habitualoutburst of praise of Calderon, as the antidote and cure for thetrifling literature of the day, that my friend (the) D---- made me awareof its being out". 

[The work especially referred to in the latter part of this interestingletter is the following: "Mysteries of Corpus Christi (AutosSacramentales), from the Spanish of Calderon, by Denis FlorenceMac-Carthy". Duffy, Dublin and London, 1867. ]

Extracts from American and Canadian Journals. 

From an eloquent article in the "Boston Courier", March 18, 1862, written by George Stillman Hillard, Esq. , the author of "Six Months inItaly"--a delightful book, worthy of the beautiful country it sobeautifully describes. 

"Calderon is one of the three greatest names in Spanish literature, Lopede Vega and Cervantes being the other two. He is also a great name inthe universal realm of letters, though out of Spain he is little morethan a great name, except in Germany, that land so hospitable to famouswits, and where, to readers and critics of a mystical and transcendentalturn, his peculiar genius strongly commended him. To form a notion ofwhat manner of man Calderon was, we must imagine a writer hardlyinferior to Shakespeare in fertility of invention and dramatic insight, inspired by a religious fervour like that of Doune or Crashaw, andendowed with the wild and ethereal imagination of Shelley. But thereligious fervour is Catholic, not Protestant, Southern, not Northern:it is intense, mystical, and ecstatic: like a tongue of upward-dartingflame, it burns and trembles with impassioned impulse to mingle withempyrean fire. The imagination, too, is not merely southern, but withan oriental element shining through it, like the ruddy heart of anopal". . . 

"But our purpose is not to speak of Calderon, but of his translator Mr. MacCarthy; and to make our readers acquainted with his very successfuleffort to reproduce in English some of the most characteristicproductions of the genius of Spain, retaining even one of thepeculiarities in the structure of the verse which has hardly ever beentransplanted from the soil of the peninsula". . . . 

"Mr. MacCarthy's translations strike us as among the most successfulexperiments which have been made to represent in our language thecharacteristic beauties of the finest productions of other nations. They are sufficiently faithful, as may be readily seen by the Spanishscholar, as the translator has the courage to print the original and hisversion side by side. The rich, imaginative passages of Calderon arereproduced in language of such grace and flexibility as shows in Mr. MacCarthy no inconsiderable amount of poetical power. The measures ofCalderon are retained; the rhymed passages are translated into rhyme, and what is more noticeable still, Mr. MacCarthy has done what no writerin English has ever before essayed, except to a very limited extent--hehas copied the asonantes of the original". . . . 

"We take leave of Mr. MacCarthy with hearty acknowledgments for thepleasure we have had in reading his excellent translations, which havegiven us a sense of Calderon's various and brilliant genius such as wenever before had, and no analysis of his dramas, however full andcareful, could bestow". 

From a Review of "Love the Greatest Enchantment", etc. , in the "New YorkTablet", July 19, 1862, written by the gifted and ill-fated Hon. ThomasD'Arcy M'Gee, of Montreal. 

"This beautiful volume before us--like virtue's self, fair within andwithout--is Mr. Mac-Carthy's second contribution to the Herculean taskwhich Longfellow cheers him on to continue--the translation into Englishof the complete works of Calderon. Two experimental volumes, containing six dramas of the same author, appeared in 1853, winning thewell-merited encomium of every person of true taste into whose handsthey happened to fall. The Translator was encouraged, if not by thegeneral chorus of popular applause, by the precious and emphaticapprobation of those best entitled by knowledge and accomplishments topronounce judgment. So here, after an interval of seven years, we haveright worthily presented to us three of those famous Autos, which fortwo centuries drew together all the multitude of the Madrilenos, onthe annual return of the great feast of Corpus Christi. On that sameself-same festival, in a northern land, under a gray and clouded sky, inthe heart of a city most unlike gay, garden-hued, out-of-door Madrid, wehave spent the long hours over these resurrected dramas, and the spellof both the poets is still upon us, as we unite together, in dutifuljuxtaposition, the names of Calderon and Mac-Carthy. 

"How richly gifted was this Spanish priest-poet! this piousplaywright! this moral mechanist! this devout dramatist! How rare hisexperience! how broad the contrasts of his career, and of hisobservation. . . . . Happy poet! blessed with such fecundity! HappyChristian! blessed with such fidelity to the divine teachings of theCross. . . . 

"Very highly do we reverence Calderon, and very highly value histranslator; yet, if it be not presumptuous to say so, we venture tosuggest that Mac-Carthy might find nearer home another work stillworthier of his genius than these translations. Now that he has got theimperial ear by bringing his costly wares from afar, are there notlaurels to be gathered as well in Ireland as in Spain? The author of'The Bell-Founder', of 'St. Brendan's Voyage', of 'The Foray of ConO'Donnell', and 'The Pillar Towers', needs no prompting to discern whatabundant materials for a new department of English poetry are to befound almost unused on Irish ground. May we not hope that in that fieldor forest he may find his appointed work, adding to the glory of firstworthily introducing Calderon to the English readers of this century, the still higher glory of doing for the neglected history of hisfatherland what he has chivalrously done for the illustrious Spaniard". 

A LISTOFCalderon's Dramas and Autos Sacramentales, Translated into English VerseBY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY, M. R. I. A. 

THE PURGATORY OF SAINT PATRICK. 

"With the 'Purgatory of St. Patrick' especial pains seem to have beentaken". 

"Considerable license has been taken with the prayer of St. Patrick; butits spirit is well preserved, and the translator's poetry must beadmired". 

"If Calderon can ever be made popular here, it must be in the mannergenerally adopted by Mr. Mac-Carthy in the specimens, six in number, which are here translated, preserving, namely, the metrical form, whichis one of the characteristics of the old Spanish drama. This medium, through which it partakes of the lyrical character, is no accident ofstyle, but an essential property of that remarkable creation of a poeticage--remarkable, because while the drama so adorned was entirely theoffspring of popular impulse, in opposition to many rigorous attempts infavour of classical methods, it was at the same time raised above thetone of common expression by the rhythmical mode which it assumed, in amanner decisive of its ideal tendency. It thus displays a combinationrare in this kind of poetry: the spirit of an untutored will, embodiedin a form the romantic expression of which might seem only congenial tochoice and delicate fancies. . . . . 

"In conclusion, what has now been said of Calderon, and of the stagewhich he adorned, as well as of the praise justly due to parts of Mr. Mac-Carthy's version, will at least serve to commend these volumes tocurious lovers of poetry". 

From an elaborate article in "The Athenaeum", by the late eminentSpanish scholar, Mr. J. R. Chorley, on the first two volumes of Mr. Mac-Carthy's translations from Calderon. 

THE CONSTANT PRINCE. 

A Drama. 

"In his dramas of a serious and devout character, in virtue of theirdignified pathos, tragic sublimity, and religious fervour, Calderon'sbest title to praise will be found. In such, above all in his Autos, hereached a height beyond any of his predecessors, whose productions, onreligious themes especially, striking as many of them are, withsituations and motives of the deepest effect, are not sustained at thesame impressive elevation, nor disposed with that consummate judgmentwhich leaves nothing imperfect or superfluous in the dramas of Calderon. 'The Constant Prince' and 'The Physician of his own Honour', which Mr. Mac-Carthy has translated, are noble instances representing two extremesof a large class of dramas". 

From the same article in "The Athenaeum", by J. R. Chorley. 

THE PHYSICIAN OF HIS OWN HONOUR. 

"'The Physician of his own Honour' is a domestic tragedy, and must beone of the most fearful to witness ever brought upon the stage. Thehighest excess of dramatic powers, terror and gloom has certainly beenreached in this drama". 

From an eloquent article in "The Dublin University Magazine" on "D. F. Mac-Carthy's Calderon". 

THE SECRET IN WORDS. 

A Drama. 

"The ingenious verbal artifice of 'The Secret in Words', although amere trifle if compared to the marvellous intricacy of a similar cipherin Tirso's 'Amar por Arte Mayor', from which Calderon's play wastaken--loses sadly in a translation; yet the piece, even with thisdisadvantage, cannot fail to please". 

J. R. Chorley in "The Athenaeum". 

THE SCARF AND THE FLOWER. 

A Drama. 

"The 'Scarf and the Flower', nice and courtly though it be, the subjectspun out and entangled with infinite skill, is too thin by itself for aninterest of three acts long; and no translation, perhaps, could preservethe grace of manner and glittering flow of dialogue which conceal thisdefect in the original". 

J. R. Chorley in "The Athenaeum". 

LOVE AFTER DEATH. 

A Drama. 

"'Love after Death' is a drama full of excitement and beauty, of passionand power, of scenes whose enthusiastic affection, self-devotion, andundying love are drawn with more intense colouring than we find in anyother of Calderon's works". 

From an article in "The Dublin University Magazine" on D. F. Mac-Carthy's Calderon. 

"Another tragedy, 'Love after Death', is connected with the hopelessrising of the Moriscoes in the Alpujarras (1568-1570), one of whom isits hero. It is for many reasons worthy of note; amongst others, asshowing how far Calderon could rise above national prejudices, andexpend all the treasures of his genius in glorifying the heroicdevotedness of a noble foe". 

Archbishop Trench. 

LOVE THE GREATEST ENCHANTMENT

A Drama. 

"This fact connects the piece with the first and most pleasing in thevolume, 'Love the greatest Enchantment', in which the same myth [that ofCirce and Ulysses] is exhibited in a more life-like form, though notwithout some touches of allegory. Here we have a classical plot whichis adapted to the taste of Spain in the seventeenth century by aplentiful admixture of episodes of love and gallantry. The adventure isopened with nearly the same circumstances as in the tenth Odyssey: butfrom the moment that Ulysses, with the help of a divine talisman, hasfrustrated all the spells (beauty excepted) of the enchantress, theaction is adapted to the manners of a more refined and chivalrouscircle". 

"The Saturday Review" in its review of "Mac-Carthy's Three Plays ofCalderon". 

THE DEVOTION OF THE CROSS. 

A Drama. 

"The last drama to which Mr. Mac-Carthy introduces us is the famous'Devotion of the Cross'. We cannot deny the praise of great power tothis strange and repulsive work, in which Calderon draws us onward by adeep and terrible dramatic interest, while doing cruel violence to ourmoral nature. . . . Our readers may be glad to compare the translationswhich Archbishop Trench and Mr. Mac-Carthy have given us of a celebratedaddress to the Cross contained in this drama. 'Tree whereon the pityingskies', etc. Mr. Mac-Carthy does not appear to us to suffer fromcomparison on this occasion with a true poet, who is also a skilfultranslator. Indeed he has faced the difficulties and given the sense ofthe original with more decision than Archbishop Trench". 

"The Guardian", in its review of the same volume. 

THE SORCERIES OF SIN. 

An Auto. 

"The central piece, the 'Sorceries of Sin', is an 'Auto Sacramental', orMorality, of which the actors represent Man, Sin, Voluptuousness, etc. , Understanding, and the Five Senses. The Senses are corrupted by theinfluence of Sin, and figuratively changed into wild beasts. Man, accompanied by Understanding and Penance, demands their liberation andencounters no resistance; but his free-will is afterwards seduced by theEvil Power, and his allies reclaim him with difficulty. Yet the plan ofthe apologue is embellished with many ingenious conceits and artifices, and conformed in the leading circumstances with an Homeric myth--thenames of Ulysses and Circe being frequently substituted for those of theMan and Sin". 

"The Saturday Review" on "Mac-Carthy's Three Plays of Calderon". 

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 

An Auto. 

"The first auto translated is 'Belshazzar's Feast', a fortunateselection, for it is probably unsurpassed in dramatic effect and poeticdescription, and withal is much less encumbered with theology than mostothers". 

From an article in "The New York Nation", by a distinguished professorof Cornell University, on "Mac-Carthy's Translations of Calderon". 

THE DIVINE PHILOTHEA. 

An Auto. 

"'The Divine Philothea', probably the last work of the kind written byCalderon, and as such worthy of attention, inasmuch as it is thecomposition of an old man of eighty-one, is conceived with much boldnessand executed with marvellous skill. No fewer than twenty personages arerepresented on the stage, and these have their several parts allotted tothem with great discrimination, ingenuity, and judgment. The Senses, the Cardinal Virtues; Paganism and Judaism; Heresy and Atheism; thePrince of Light and the Power of Darkness, figure amongst thecharacters". 

"The Bookseller", June 29, 1867, on Mac-Carthy's "Mysteries of CorpusChristi (Autos Sacramentales), from the Spanish of Calderon". 

THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN. 

A Drama. 

"Of these 'The Wonder-working Magician' is most celebrated; but others, as 'The Joseph of Women', 'The Two Lovers of Heaven', quite deserve tobe placed on a level if not higher than it. A tender pathetic grace isshed over this last, which gives it a peculiar charm". 

Archbishop Trench. 

Calderon's Autos Sacramentales, or Mysteries of Corpus Christi. Duffy:Dublin and London, 1867. 

From "The Irish Ecclesiastical Record". 

"In conclusion, we heartily commend to our readers this most interestingand valuable specimen of Spanish thought and devotion, wrought, as itis, into such pure and beautiful English. . . . . When we remember thegreat literary advantages which Spain once possessed in the intellectand faith of her literary giants, we may well rejoice in the appearanceamong us of one of the greatest of that noble race in the person ofCalderon, especially when introduced to us by a poet whose claim uponour consideration has been so emphatically made good by his own originalproductions as Denis Florence Mac-Carthy". 

THE SPANISH DRAMA

Just ready, double columns, price 2s. 6d. , THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN, From the Spanish of Calderon, BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY, Author of The Voyage of St. Brendan, The Bell-Founder, Waiting for the May, etc. 

DUBLIN: W. B. KELLY, 8 GRAFTON STREET. 

BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

In one vol. Small 4to, double columns, with the Spanish text, beautifully printed by Whittingham, Price 7s. 6d. , THREE DRAMAS OF CALDERON, FROM THE SPANISH, BY DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY. 

From Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 

"It is, I think, one of the boldest attempts ever made in English verse. It is, too, as it seems to me, remarkably successful . . . 

"Nothing, I think, in the English language will give us so true animpression of what is most characteristic of the Spanish drama: perhapsI ought to say, of what is most characteristic of Spanish poetrygenerally". --tom. Iii. Pp. 461, 462. 

BERNARD QUARITCH, 15 PICCADILLY, LONDON. 

Transcriber's Notes. 

General. I have rendered instances of small capitals as all capitals. In most instances I have made no attempt to indicate here instances ofitalics in the original publication. Accents and other diacriticalmarks have also been dropt. However, where the original has an acuteaccent over the "e" in a past participle for poetical reasons, I havemarked this with a grave accent (as in "learn`ed") to indicate theintended pronunciation. For a fully formatted version, with italics, extended characters, et cetera, please refer to the HTML version of