Part 5
[_He points at_ Mikkos, _who, released by MYRTO, has just jumped into his chair by CIRCE as she seats herself. The ape shows his teeth and begins to raise himself by the hands._]
CIRCE
[_Laughing_] That was a manful _thinker_ once. Sit; sit, kind sir!
[_The curtain falls as EURYLOCHUS takes his seat near ULYSSES amid a buzz of merriment._]
END OF FIRST ACT
I
The back of CIRCE’S palace, late in the afternoon, one year later than the occurrences of the First Act. The back of the building lies toward the setting sun, whose declining rays are now intercepted and softened into shade by foliage and flitting clouds. The pale yellow walls and tall narrow windows and the one central entrance on this side are not obscured by vines and trailing plants, but cleanly sheltered by a lofty colonnade which runs the entire length of the edifice, with wide low pavement only a step higher than the lawn that borders it. The veranda-floor and the plinth are dewy with freshly sprinkled water. The green sward of the foreground is varied by flower-beds and dotted with luxuriant trees, a bower and seats near by. Here there is no fountain; but a streamlet, issuing from an archway at the Right corner of the palace, winds its way downward across the flowery slope. A peacock struts and spreads his fan in one of the open places. Some utterances of persons represented indicate that the situation affords glimpses of the sea.
There are no suggestions of witchcraft or magic in the present scene. Where the anterior façade of the palace seemed weird or uncanny, the rear elevation and its belongings wear rather an idyllic aspect.
The curtain rising discovers three couples severally grouped. Upon the veranda, at the Left, CIRCE and ULYSSES are seated opposite each other at a small table, upon which are cups and a vase of flowers, while a nymph occasionally passes to and fro, serving them with wine from within. CIRCE is not attired as enchantress. She wears neither her black robe nor the coronal of pearls. The prevailing color of her Grecian dress is amethyst, and her hair is loosely confined by a narrow band of gold.—On the Right, at the farther end of the veranda, PHILEMON and PHILINNA sit side by side in confidential attitude.—Upon the lawn, in the foreground near the centre, far enough from the others to converse gently without being overheard by them, are seen XENIAS and THERMIA: the former seated carelessly facing sidewise toward the colonnade; the latter standing by a tall shrub, cutting flowers which she gathers in the fold of her garment.
THERMIA
[_Who stands with her back to the veranda_]
If you will take a good long look, Xenias, just where you are looking now, you will see exactly why you and I are a whole lot luckier than some others I might name.
XENIAS
How is that? What’s the mystification now, Miss Inscrutable? I see only what we see every day; and no great signs of bad luck about them yet.
THERMIA
Of course we see it every day! And every day is making it worse for them, friend Xenias. Do you suppose they can keep this sort of thing up forever?
XENIAS
Well, what if they can’t? I’ve no doubt the illusion is mighty pleasant while it lasts.
THERMIA
And so much the more painful when it comes to an end—but you and I have kept our wits about us, Xenias.
XENIAS
And have been uncommon good friends all the time, you mean, Thermia—Well, I admit it’s the best way. But they don’t think so.
THERMIA
They think of nothing! But it will set them thinking, when the time comes for you to sail away.
XENIAS
If that time ever does come! The commander has got to order it; and he doesn’t seem very likely to speak the word until your lady orders _him_. It’s true some of the lads are getting restive and tired of dilly-dallying, as they call it, here in this blessed island!
THERMIA
Yes, and Graea gives me to understand that Eurylochus is going about secretly stirring them up and wants them to put on a bold front and demand that something shall be done.
XENIAS
Ah, so? He hasn’t said a word to me or Philemon. I reckon he thinks Philemon and Xenias are in the same box.
THERMIA
Eurylochus doesn’t know the difference, of course! I shall be sorry when you have to go, Xenias; I shall miss you sadly after you are gone. But it will simply _kill_ Philinna.
XENIAS
Well now, what if Philemon should take her home to Ithaca with him for his wife? _He_ hasn’t got any Penelope waiting for him there.
THERMIA
O heavens! And do you believe Philinna would ever leave Circe, or that Circe would ever let her go?
XENIAS
And do you believe Philemon would ever leave Philinna behind, or that Philinna would ever let him go without her?
THERMIA
Xenias, it’s a pity about them both—the greatest pity in the world! As for Circe, she really admires your captain; great men are scarce enough, she says; but Circe will never lose her head, even if Ulysses has lost his; nor will either of them be quite heart-broken, be sure. But Philinna! Philinna!
[_CIRCE, who has been laughing merrily with ULYSSES, claps her hands twice._]
Yes, now; here comes the music they feed on.
[_THERMIA begins to move away as THRATTIS the lute-girl enters from the palace in response to CIRCE’S summons._]
XENIAS
But stay, Thermia, and let us hear it.
THERMIA
O, it will only be the same old songs! Besides, I have my vases to fill.
[_She goes out round the Right corner of the building. XENIAS settles himself in a listening attitude._]
CIRCE
Thrattis, we need thee still.—’Tis strange, Ulysses, How, like some thirst or hunger, each day return These tuneful memories!
ULYSSES
Yet, fair Circe, charged With a more strange forgetfulness of all else Than that they celebrate.
CIRCE
Hist, listen now!
THRATTIS
[_Standing midway between the two couples on the veranda, after a brief prelude upon her instrument, sings._]
Forget, forget! Ah, linger not By dreams of yesterday! Each vanish’d hour shall be forgot, Fresh phantasies hold sway. No lowlier crown the linden weaves Of tassel’d verdure now Because the old year’s scatter’d leaves Return not to the bough.
CIRCE
[_While an interlude is played_] Our Thrattis echoes thy thought, Ulysses; and indeed I find a certain sort of wisdom in the ditty.
ULYSSES
Yet methinks it carries somewhat of a different effect from the open intention of it.
CIRCE
Wait, listen!
THRATTIS
[_Sings_] Forget, forget! In love’s demesnes No faded chaplet wear; Nor conjure phantoms from lost scenes, To sit unbidden there. Round heaven her sign swift Iris sets, Flings forth her jewel’d zone: O, who beholds it but forgets The frowning storm-cloud flown?
[_The singer bends her head to hide her face as she sweeps the strings again._]
CIRCE
Good Thrattis, thou art tired standing. Sit and sip of the wine. Thou need’st sing no farther now.
PHILINNA
She weeps, my lady.
[_As THRATTIS, declining the offered refreshment, turns and goes within._]
CIRCE
Poor soul! truly I pity her.
PHILEMON
But why does the girl weep, sweet Philinna? Has she some express sorrow attending her?
PHILINNA
O yes, Philemon; nor will she put it entirely away. ’Tis three years agone since she floated to our island, lashed to some fragment of a vessel from the north which the hurricane had wrecked; but her father and two brothers who so saved her life themselves perished in the sea.
PHILEMON
O, sad story; unhappy Thrattis! Yet so I do much wonder at the song she chose to sing.
PHILINNA
We could do little to assuage her grief. But Circe has been kind to her and taught her the songs she sings so sweetly to her lute.
ULYSSES
Perchance some such strains would comfort the child as the captive Trojan maidens might listen to betimes among us at the ships when the harp was struck.
CIRCE
Pray what, Ulysses?
ULYSSES
Such as sounded praise Not for the living and the days we lived (Which with their moil and megrim did afford Scant food, I grant, for eulogy); but ever With vision backward turn’d the bard would seek Among long-treasured memories one most apt And draw it forth. Then did we lose all sense Of aching limbs, sore wounds, and comrades slain, Whilst in high-swelling measures like great waves Of Iphitus or Heracles he sang— Glories of ancient men.
CIRCE
It was fair medicine To still the pains ye dwelt in. In my isle Such cordials find not place.—But come, Ulysses, And see me prove the powers of that rare herb Whereof I promised.—Philinna, attend us. Of simples My sampler art thou.
[_CIRCE laughs heartily as she utters the last words and she and ULYSSES rise from their seats. ULYSSES joins in the laugh. PHILINNA smiles faintly and seems loth to part from PHILEMON as these two also rise._]
CIRCE
[_Laughing again_] Thy Philemon Will not forget so soon.
[_CIRCE and ULYSSES go into the palace followed by PHILINNA._]
XENIAS
[_As PHILEMON turns toward him, stepping down from the veranda_]
The commander and our Lady of the Herbs seem to be in a right merry mood, Philemon.
PHILEMON
That they are indeed, to judge by the colors they fly.
XENIAS
_You_ take it not quite so. And yet methinks you have as good cause as they to be blithe.
PHILEMON
I take your meaning, Xenias. Nevertheless I’m sheer doubtful now and then—as though too great happiness should somehow have a sobering effect, as you might say, upon a fellow.
XENIAS
Then belike when the commander sobers down a bit he will pass the word for a home start.
PHILEMON
Ay, truly I have thought of it.
XENIAS
[_Laughing and clapping his friend on the shoulder_]
But you’re not in a raking hurry about it; eh, Philemon?
[_Re-enter THERMIA round the Right corner. She comes quickly toward the men._]
But here’s Thermia again, in a hurry about something or other surely.
THERMIA
O Xenias! I’ve seen Graea again and have learnt that Eurylochus has called all the men to a meeting at the shore to-morrow morning early about that business.
PHILEMON
Ah, what business, Thermia?
THERMIA
You tell him, Xenias.
XENIAS
Philemon and I were just upon the same matter—about the commander passing the word to cast off.
PHILEMON
Well, it seems the mate hasn’t invited _me_ yet.
XENIAS
No, nor me; he thinks you and I would pull on the wrong quarter, laddie. But I shall be on hand just the same to see how the wind does blow. Don’t you go, Philemon; you haven’t the heart for it.
THERMIA
Ah, thou art sad, Philemon; I feel for thee.
PHILEMON
O, let it come; let it come!
THERMIA
Yes, the day is bound to come, sooner or later. I would I could belate it. But farewell now. [_She goes out._]
PHILEMON
Xenias, I would not ask thee to hold back And thine own sentiments belie because Mine do enchain me so to Circe’s isle As in its soil the roots of yonder oak Are wove and knotted. No; it is for you all Timely and reasonable—nor for Ulysses least— To set your faces homeward. But to me That home so dimly beckons now, I know not If it be there or here!
XENIAS
[_Stepping closer to his friend_] ’Twas not thy wont To doubt, Philemon, with faint wavering heart, When we together oft by chilly Troy Crouch’d with our captain in an ambuscade Or sprang from the galley’s prow full-arm’d ashore At Tenedos or Chryse. Be thyself; be bold! The girl is not to the island rooted fast, Even though, as they pretend, their mothers be Fig-trees and fountains. We go: take _her_! Herself, I’ll wager, nothing loth.
[_While the last words are exchanged between the two men the figure of GRAEA the swine-maiden, unobserved by them, is seen passing furtively behind and occasionally halting as if to listen._]
PHILEMON
Ah, Xenias, Thou knowest not Philinna. She is true Not to me only.
XENIAS
I know. Untie them! If need be, cut the knot! Love glories In shifts and stratagems.
PHILEMON
Ah, ’twere not easy!
XENIAS
Think; ponder! Swear it: _If with Ulysses’ crew_ _Philemon sail, Philinna shall sail too._
[_XENIAS seizes the hand of PHILEMON and they go out together at the Left._]
II
The Seashore, early in the forenoon of the next day. The scene is the same as in the First Act, but the signs of a temporary encampment have disappeared and the hull of the vessel is encumbered with grass and weeds. The curtain rising discovers both watches of the crew (excepting GLAUCUS and PHILEMON) disposed in scattered groups; some of the men sitting or reclining; others standing. All seem pre-occupied and the faces of most wear an anxious look. The demeanor of EURYLOCHUS, who stands in a conspicuous position, is more confident and dignified than in former scenes.
FIRST SAILOR
Well, I suppose the devil knows how long we have got to wait before they show up.
SECOND SAILOR
We’re lucky if they ever show up at all. Ten to one Glauc’ll come back without him.
FIRST SAILOR
Ay, ay! It’s a question whether even Glaucus can get the commander’s ear—leastwise he’ll have to get Madam Circe out of the way first.
PHORBAS
Mark me; we aren’t safe yet! There’s no knowing what sort of beasts she might turn us all into even now, just to keep him with her a year longer!
SECOND SAILOR
I’ve a notion we’d have done better to send a man of the commander’s own watch—some one that never was a hog.
XENIAS
Bravo! where will you find such a one? Glauc’s all right; it’s enough to have a man who wasn’t _always_ a hog.
FIRST SAILOR
Ha, ha! Theron, that’s one on you.
THERON
To hell with it! hang the hogs!
ELPENOR
My father _sticks_ his.
FIRST SAILOR
That’s the talk, Elpy; keep the culinary department straight!
SECOND SAILOR
But what if he’s so bewitched he won’t come and talk anyway?
EURYLOCHUS
Peace, peace! ’Tis scarce an hour since we despatch’d our comrade On no brief errand. Be patient; have good hope! It hangs, I know, On the razor’s edge; yet leans the weightier cause Toward consummation. Witchery there is still; Else were there little need to prompt Ulysses To his plain duty. Drugs have their antidotes, Which to employ are easy when once found: More subtle—ay, more deadly! than her potions Are these soft blandishments, cared she to play them To their full scope. But it has stood forth clear, Though once I did mistrust the promised convoy: Not in malevolence the enchantress binds Ulysses’ will. And when good Glaucus comes, Fearless and plain of speech and charged with all The prayerful hot commands we laid upon him; When he, unheard of Circe, bids his captain Arise, for old Laertes’ sake; and, backward With stern reproachful finger pointing, names The faithful wife who waits, Penelope, Icarius’ daughter:—then, perhaps, this cord Of crimson devilment will snap—remembrance, Conscience awake.
XENIAS
Eurylochus, was it not Here on this very shore a twelvemonth since, Launching the half-mann’d pinnace, you would fly, Your mates left in the lurch?
EURYLOCHUS
But for Ulysses (This you would add) the doors of their foul prison Had closed on them forever.
XENIAS
But to-day They jest and laugh, though ’tis in Circe’s isle.
THERON
Damn me, too, if we’re the only ones that have learnt to mumble spoon-victuals and dance with tree-toads in the moonlight!
EURYLOCHUS
Xenias, there is a fear to which all others Are as soft zephyrs to the tempest: it is When spirits uncanny mock the paltry arts Of mortal courage. But for my fear, no tidings, No warning, no alarm had reach’d you.
FIRST SAILOR
Hi, yi! [_He points upward to the Right_] They’re coming! There’s old Glauc digging down this way.
SECOND SAILOR
[_Spying through his hand_] Alone! by the living gods!
[_Groans are uttered by some of the men, with gestures of disgust and disappointment._]
EURYLOCHUS
Hold; wait! He waves his staff; he smiles; he brings, be sure, No grievous answer!
[_Enter GLAUCUS bare-headed, carrying a staff with oak-leaves attached, which he waves to and fro._]
GLAUCUS
All’s well! all’s well, lads! It’s a go; the commander has struck his colors. We’re off, sure!
[_The men throng about GLAUCUS, some hurrahing and throwing up their caps._]
SEVERAL VOICES
But where is he? What’d he say? When’s he coming?
GLAUCUS
O, belay there! Everything takes time. He had to go and talk with madam first, of course—and not take French leave like an orang-outang. He’ll be here in a jiffy.
PHORBAS
Yes; but what’ll she make him say when he does come? I tell you we’re not well out of this kettle of fish till we’ve cut loose into high water!
GLAUCUS
Avast! He’ll say what comes into his head. The lady’s got a head on her too: she’s not the kind of a craft to capsize at the first catspaw of wind, don’t you believe it!
FIRST SAILOR
Put on a life-preserver, Phorb! Shin up the mast!
ELPENOR
The mast isn’t shinned up itself yet.
EURYLOCHUS
Glaucus, we owe thee thanks.
GLAUCUS
Not a bit of it! I doubt if we’d have dared to tackle him for another year if you hadn’t put us up to it, old man. But you may set me to walk the plank if he doesn’t talk fair now.
XENIAS
Hold on, lads! Seats again! there he comes! Stilly, stilly!
[_Enter ULYSSES at the Right, wearing sword and helmet. His aspect is gracious as he comes to a stand near the men, who sit in silence. Before speaking he casts a contemplative glance seaward, then turns toward the vessel._]
ULYSSES
Our good ship! Ah yes; the seams Gape in her sun-parch’d sides, and rank weeds twine Their prickly meshes round her shriveling keel. Yes, yes, my men; full long we have sat still, Basking in languorous fancy, rapt, unheeding This summons to the wave. Nor tarried others Behind, to follow and seize us: as when those Who clomb the banks of Lotus-land and straying Ate of the flowery food, their souls Steep’d in forgetfulness, we seized and bound, Stifled their cries and dragg’d them to the shore.— To-day they are no more: so many Death’s winged minions snatch’d and in wild sport Flung them to feed the sea-god’s ravenous brood; Or, on strange shores their white bones strewing, sign’d The landmarks of our course.—What wonder, then! What wonder, O brave comrades, if, so spent, So spared, beaching beside enchanted bowers Our single bark, lull’d under lustrous skies, Encircled by fond arms, we linger’d fondly And long. But now, welcome the tug and strain Once more, as ye have will’d it: the bent oar, The creaking rowlock, Zephyrus’ shrill pipe, The thundrous pounding surge! Nor now, as then, Shall we unpiloted and blindly plow Our swift sea-furrow; but wise Circe’s words Will be to us as beacons. We shall know What winds press homeward; on which hand to hold (When oft to night course our sick yearning prompts) Orion and the Bear.—If only Her solemn friendly warnings ye can heed, Which in good time I shall expressly cite, All may be well.
EURYLOCHUS
Trust your men, sir, for that—leastwise if past experience avail them anything in the way of instruction for the future.
ULYSSES
So prove it! On the third morn we start. Meanwhile Let none stand idle! To-day remains in part; One other day to-morrow, whilst we urge The labors needful to our voyage. Draw water; The wine-jars and the barley-crates replenish; Refit the tackle.—Now let the old ship drink And plume herself again!
SEVERAL VOICES
[_As the men, who have already sprung from their seats, gather round the vessel_]
Hurrah! hurrah! Off with her! Rush her out!
GLAUCUS
Look lively, lads! Knock away those props! Clear out the ways there for’ard!
SEVERAL VOICES
Clear it is! Lively, lively!
ULYSSES
Eurylochus, I depute To you the furtherance of these tasks. My presence Another foresight claims.
EURYLOCHUS
Very well; very well, sir!—
[_To the men, some of whom have climbed on deck_]
Drop the bow-chains over there, boys! Catch on, half a hundred of you! There she goes; steady, steady!
[_The curtain falls as ULYSSES goes out at the Right and the ship, pulled and pushed by many hands, begins to move toward the water._]
III
The back of the palace, in the evening of the same day as Scene II.—As the curtain rises ULYSSES and CIRCE are discovered in the foreground: the former occupying a low seat by a tree; the latter reclining near him. Upon the veranda, forming a group by themselves though not far removed from the others, PHILEMON, XENIAS, THERMIA, and PHILINNA are seated at a table, apparently playing at some game by the light of a hanging lamp. ULYSSES and CIRCE are revealed to view by the rays of the moon, which near its full is rising above the palace roof.
CIRCE
Those children are making a brave effort to play at their game, Ulysses. They pretend to-morrow will be soon enough for parting salutations.
THERMIA
[_Who has overheard the remark_] O Circe! Philinna cannot play at all; she throws amiss every time.
CIRCE
Well, I doubt if her Philemon does much better.—There are at least two aching hearts over there, Ulysses.
ULYSSES
Yet I have remarked Philemon seems not exactly depressed by it. Indeed both he and Xenias surprise me, how cheerily they await the event.
CIRCE
They are men: new scenes, new labors summon them; thoughts of their home. But my poor nymphs must rest contented hereafter with only me and the even sameness of our days.
ULYSSES
Even so ye lived blithe-hearted ere we came.
CIRCE
Hearts _more_ than blithe we knew not ere ye came.
ULYSSES
Counts not the added bliss as gain meanwhile?
CIRCE
True gain or loss the final balance shows.
ULYSSES
Then, till it’s struck, hope for the winning scale.
CIRCE
Such hopes help mortals cheat themselves, Ulysses, Even of the present profit.
ULYSSES
But I note, Thy tacit precept, thine own example, leads us To drain the brimming cup and count as naught What pangs might follow.
CIRCE
Ulysses, my example (For in these closing hours I will confess it) Hath my soul’s truest insight much belied. Thou didst with moly baffle my magic art: The _woman’s_ craft to baffle quite, no helper Could guide thee to a clue. Hate there was none— As well thou knowest: my bosom’s pride conceal’d No sinister, vindictive purpose. But Poor Circe, worsted, won her mastery back And turn’d to sportive vengeance her defeat, When with wise incantations wise Ulysses She sang to sleep.
ULYSSES
There needed those more weary, If not more wise, to wake him.
CIRCE
But meanwhile My gentle partners, my sweet nymphs, I so Imperilling left—that same mischance whereof With a vague prescience more than once I warn’d them— In these new toils ensnared, when the spell broke, To droop as their own clipt flowers.
[_While the last few words are pronounced there has been brisk talking, not distinctly overheard, on the part of the other group._]
THERMIA
[_Loudly_] O, for shame, Philemon! What a thing to say!
PHILINNA
[_Passionately_] ’Tis _he_; ’tis he himself cares not!
CIRCE
[_Turning toward the veranda, where PHILEMON and XENIAS have just risen to their feet_]
Ah, now! what coil is this? Philinna, speak!
THERMIA
O Circe! ’tis Philemon—and Xenias too; they say We are but women’s women: at the last moment (They tell us) we choose _you_!
CIRCE