SCENE III.—_The Hall of Justice in Antioch.

_AURELIO, FABIO, SENATORS, etc., just risen from Council._

_Aurelio._ You have done well indeed; the very Church These Christians flock’d to for safe blasphemy Become the very net to catch them in. How many, think you?

_Fabio._ Not so many, sir, As some that are of the most dangerous.

_Aur._ Among the rest this girl, Lisandro’s daughter, As you and I know, Fabio, to our cost: But now convicted and condemn’d is safe From troubling us or Antioch any more. Come, such good service asks substantial thanks; What shall it be?

_Fabio._ No other, if you please, Than my son Floro’s liberation, Whom not without good reason for so long You keep under the city’s lock and key.

_Aur._ As my own Lelio, and for a like cause; Who both distracted by her witchery Turn’d from fast friends to deadly enemies, And, in each other’s lives, so aim’d at ours. But no more chance of further quarrel now For one whom Death anticipates for bride Ere they again gird weapon at their side, Set them both free forthwith.—

[_Exit FABIO._

This cursèd woman whose fair face and foul Behaviour was the city’s talk and trouble, Now proved a sorceress, is well condemn’d; Not only for my sake and Fabio’s, But for all Antioch, whose better youth She might, like ours, have carried after her Through lust and duel into blasphemy.

_Re-enter FABIO with LELIO and FLORO._

_Lelio._ Once more, sir, at your feet—

_Aur._ Up, both of you. Floro and Lelio, you understand What I have done was of no testy humour, But for three several sakes— Your own, your fathers’, and the city’s peace. Henceforward, by this seasonable use Of public law for private purpose check’d, Your fiery blood to better service turn. Take hands, be friends; the cause of quarrel gone—

_Lelio._ The cause of quarrel gone!—

_Aur._ Be satisfied; You will know better by and bye; meanwhile Taking upon my word that so it is; Which were it not indeed, you were not here To doubt.

_Floro_ (_aside_). Oh flimsy respite of revenge!—

_Aur._ And now the business of the day well crown’d With this so happy reconciliation, You and I, Fabio, to our homes again, Our homes once more, replenish’d with the peace We both have miss’d so long.—What noise is that?

(_Cries without._) Stop him! A madman! Stop him!—

_Aur._ What is it, Fabio?

_Fabio._ One like mad indeed, In a strange garb, with flaring eyes, and hair That streams behind him as he flies along, Dragging a cloud of rabble after him.

_Aur._ This is no place for either—shut the doors, And post the soldiers to keep peace without—

(_Cries without._) Stop him!

_Floro and Lelio._ ’Tis Cipriano!—

_Aur._ Cipriano!—

_Enter CIPRIANO._

_Cipriano._ Ay, Cipriano, Cipriano’s self, Heretofore mad as you that call him so, Now first himself.—Noble Aurelio, Who sway’st the sword of Rome in Antioch And you, companions of my youthful love And letters; you grave senate ranged above; And you whose murmuring multitude below Do make the marble hall of justice rock From base to capital—hearken unto me: Yes, I am Cipriano: I am he So long and strangely lost, now strangely found— The famous doctor of your schools, renown’d Not Antioch only but the world about For learning’s prophet-paragon forsooth; Who long pretending to provide the truth For other men in fields where never true Wheat, but a crop of mimic darnel grew, Reap’d nothing for himself but doubt, doubt, doubt. Then ’twas that looking with despair and ruth Over the blasted harvest of my youth, I saw Justina: saw, and put aside The barren Pallas for a mortal bride Divinelier fair than she is feign’d to be: But in whose deep-entempled chastity, That look’d down holy cold upon my fire, Lived eyes that but re-doubled vain desire. Till this new passion, that more fiercely prey’d Upon the wither’d spirit of dismay’d Ambition, swiftly by denial blew To fury that, transcending all control, I made away the ruin of my soul To one whom no chance tempest at my feet In the mid tempest of temptation threw. Who blinding me with the double deceit Of loftier aspiration and more low Than mortal or immortal man should owe Fulfill’d for me, myself for his I bound; With him and death and darkness closeted In yonder mountain, while about its head The sun his garland of the seasons wound, In the dark school of magic I so read, And wrought to such a questionable power The black forbidden art I travail’d in, That though the solid mountain from his base With all his forest I might counterplace, I could not one sweet solitary flower Of beauty to my magic passion win, Because her God was with her in that hour To guard her virtue more than mountain-fast: That only God, whom all my learning past Fail’d to divine, but from the very foe That would have kept Him from me come to know I come to you, to witness and make known: One God, eternal, absolute, alone; Of whom Christ Jesus—Jesus Christ, I say— And, Antioch, open all your ears to-day— Of that one Godhead one authentic ray, Vizor’d awhile his Godhead in man’s make, Man’s sin and death upon Himself to take; For man made man; by man unmade and slain Upon the cross that for mankind He bore— Dead—buried—and in three-days ris’n again To His hereditary glory, bearing All who with Him on earth His sorrow sharing With Him shall dwell in glory evermore. And all the gods I worship’d heretofore, And all that you now worship and adore, From thundering Zeus to cloven-footed Pan, But lies and idols, by the hand of man Of brass and stone—fit emblems as they be, With ears that hear not; eyes that cannot see; And multitude where only One can be— From man’s own lewd imagination built; By that same devil held to that old guilt Who tempted me to new. To whom indeed If with my sin and blood myself I fee’d For ever his—that bond of sin and blood I trust to cancel in the double flood Of baptism past, and the quick martyrdom To which with this confession I am come. Oh delegate of Cæsar to devour The little flock of Jesus Christ! Behold One lost sheep just admitted to the fold Through the pure stream that rolling down the same Mountain in which I sinn’d, and as I came By holy hands administer’d, to-day Shall wash the mountain of my sin away. Lo, here I stand for judgment; by the blow Of sudden execution, or such slow Death as the devil shall, to maintain his lies, By keeping life alive in death, devise. Hack, rack, dismember, burn—or crucify, Like Him who died to find me; Him that I Will die to find; for whom, with whom, to die Is life; and life without, and all his lust, But dust and ashes, dust and ashes, dust—

(_He falls senseless to the ground._)

_Aurelio_ (_after a long pause_). So public and audacious blasphemy Demands as instant vengeance. Wretched man, Arise and hear your sentence—

_Lelio._ Oh, sir, sir! You speak to ice and marble—Cipriano! Oh look’d for long, and best for ever lost! But he is mad—he knows not what he says— You would not, surely, on a madman visit What only sane confession makes a crime?

_Aur._ I never know how far such blasphemy, Which seems to spread like wild-fire in the world, Be fault or folly: only this I know, I dare not disobey the stern decree That Cæsar makes my office answer for. Especially when one is led away Of such persuasion and authority, Still drawing after him the better blood Of Antioch, to better or to worse.

_Lelio._ Cipriano! Cipriano! Yet, pray the gods He be past hearing me!

_Fabio_ (_to Aurelio_). Sir, in your ear— Justina’s hour is come; and through the room Where she was doom’d, she passes to her doom.

_Aur._ Let us be gone; they must not look on her Nor know she is to die until ‘to die’ Be past predicament. Here let her wait, Till he she drew along with her to sin Revive to share with her its punishment. Come, Lelio—come, Floro—be assured I loved and honour’d this man as yourselves Have honour’d him—but now—

_Lelio._ Nay, sir, but—

_Aur._ Nay, Not I, but Cæsar, Lelio. Come away.

[_Exeunt. Then JUSTINA is brought in by soldiers, and left alone._

_Just._ All gone—all silence—and the sudden stroke, Whose only mercy I besought, delay’d To make my pang the fiercer.—What is here?— Dead?—By the doom perhaps I am to die, And laid across the threshold of the road To trip me up with terror—Yet not so, If but the life, once lighted here, has flown Up to the living Centre that my own Now trembles to!—God help him, breathing still?— —Cipriano!—

_Cipr._ Ay, I am ready—I can rise— Is my time come?—Oh, God! Have I repented and confess’d too late, And this terrible witness of my crime Stands at the door of death from which it came To draw me deeper—

_Just._ Cipriano!

_Cipr._ Yet Not yet disfeatured—nor the voice— Oh, if not _That_—this time unsummon’d—come To take me with you where I raised you from— Once more—once more—assure me!—

_Justina_ (_taking his hand_). Cipriano!—

_Cipr._ And this, too, surely, is a living hand: Though cold, oh, cold indeed—but yet, but yet, Not dust and ashes, dust and ashes—

_Just._ No— But soon to be—

_Cipr._ But soon—but soon to be— But not as then?—

_Just._ I understand you not—

_Cipr._ I scarce myself—I must have been asleep— But now not dreaming?

_Just._ No, not dreaming.

_Cipr._ No— This is the judgment-hall of Antioch, In which—I scarcely mind how long ago— Is sentence pass’d on me?—

_Just._ This is indeed The judgment-hall of Antioch; but why You here, and what the judgment you await, I know not—

_Cipr._ No.—But stranger yet to me Why you yourself, Justina,—Oh my God!— What, all your life long giving God his due, Is treason unto Cæsar?—

_Just._ Ay, Cipriano— Against his edict having crept inside God’s fold with that good Shepherd for my guide, My Saviour Jesus Christ!

_Cipr._ My Saviour too, And Shepherd—oh, the only good and true Shepherd and Saviour—

_Just._ You confess Him! _You_ Confess Him, Cipriano!

_Cipr._ With my blood: Which being all to that confession pledged, Now waits but to be paid.

_Just._ Oh, we shall die, And go to heaven together!

_Cipr._ Amen! Amen!— And yet—

_Just._ You do not fear—and yet no shame— What I have faced so long, that present dread Is almost lost in long anticipation—

_Cipr._ I fear not for this mortal. Would to God This guilty blood by which in part I trust To pay the forfeit of my soul with Heaven Would from man’s hand redeem the innocence That such atonement needs not.

_Just._ Oh, to all One faith and one atonement—

_Cipr._ But if both, If both indeed must perish by the doom That one deserves and cries for—Oh, Justina, Who upward ever with the certain step Of faith hast follow’d unrepress’d by sin; Now that thy foot is almost on the floor Of heaven, pray Him who opens thee the door, Let with thee one repenting sinner in!

_Just._ What more am I? And were I close to Him As he upon whose breast he lean’d on here, No intercessor but Himself between Himself and the worst sinner of us all— If but repenting we believe in Him.

_Cipr._ I do believe—I do repent—my faith Have sign’d in water, and will seal in blood—

_Just._ I have no other hope, but, in that, all.

_Cipr._ Oh hope that almost is accomplishment, Believing all with nothing to repent!

_Just._ Oh, none so good as not to need—so bad As not to find, His mercy. If you doubt Because of your long dwelling in the darkness To which the light was folly—oh ’twas shown To the poor shepherd long before the wise; And if to me, as simple—oh, not mine, Not mine, oh God! the glory—nor ev’n theirs From whom I drew it, and—Oh, Cipriano, Methinks I see them bending from the skies To take me up to them!

_Cipr._ Whither could I But into heaven’s remotest corner creep, Where I might only but discern thee, lost With those you love in glory—

_Just._ Hush! hush! hush! These are wild words—if I so speak to one So wise, while I am nothing— But as you know—Oh, do not think of me, But Him, into whose kingdom all who come Are as His angels—

_Cipr._ Ay, but to come there!— Where if all intercession, even thine, Be vain—you say so—yet before we pass The gate of death together, as we shall,— If then to part—for ever, and for ever— Unless with your forgiveness—

_Just._ I forgive! Still I, and I, again! Oh, Cipriano, Pardon and intercession both alike With Him alone; and had I to forgive— Did not He pray upon the cross for those Who slew Him—as I hope to do on mine For mine—He bids us bless our enemies And persecutors; which I think, I think, You were not, Cipriano—why do you shudder?— Save in pursuit of that—if vain to me, Now you know all—

_Cipr._ I now know all—but you Not that, which asking your forgiveness for, I dare not name to you, for fear the hand I hold as anchor-fast to, break away, And I drive back to hell upon a blast That roar’d behind me to these very doors, But stopt—ev’n in the very presence stopt, That most condemns me his.

_Just._ Alas, alas, Again all wild to me. The time draws short— Look not to me, but Him tow’rd whom alone Sin is, and pardon comes from—

_Cipr._ Oh, Justina, You know not how enormous is my sin—

_Just._ I know, not as His mercy infinite.

_Cipr._ To Him—to thee—to Him through thee—

_Just._ ’Tis written, Not all the sand of ocean, nor the stars Of heaven so many as His mercies are.

_Cipr._ What! ev’n for one who, mad with pouring vows Into an unrelenting human ear, Gave himself up to Antichrist—the Fiend— Though then for such I knew him not—to gain By darkness all that love had sought in vain! —Speak to me—if but that hereafter I Shall never, never, hear your voice again— Speak to me—

_Just._ (_after a long pause_). By the Saviour on His cross A sinner hung who but at that last hour Cried out to be with Him; and was with Him In Paradise ere night.

_Cipr._ But was his sin As mine enormous?—

_Just._ Shall your hope be less, Offering yourself for Christ’s sake on that cross Which the other only suffer’d for his sin? Oh, when we come to perish, side by side, Look but for Him between us crucified, And call to Him for mercy; and, although Scarlet, your sin shall be as white as snow!

_Cipr._ Ev’n as you speak, yourself, though yet yourself, In that full glory that you saw reveal’d With those you love transfigured, and your voice As from immeasurable altitude Descending, tell me that, my shame and sin Quench’d in the death that opens wide to you The gate, ev’n this great sinner shall pass through, With Him, with them, with thee!—

_Just._ Glory to God!— Oh blest assurance on the very verge That death is swallow’d up in victory! And hark! the step of death is at the door— Courage!—Almighty God through Jesus Christ Pardon your sins and mine, and as a staff Guide and support us through the terrible pass That leads us to His rest!—

_Cipr._ My own beloved! Whose hand—Oh let it be no sin to say it!— Is as the staff that God has put in mine— To lead me through the shadow—yet ev’n now— Ev’n now—at this last terrible moment— Which, to secure my being with thee, thee Forbids to stand between my Judge and me, And in a few more moments, soul and soul May read each other as an open scroll— Yet, wilt thou yet believe me not so vile To thee, to Him who made thee what thou art, Till desperation of the only heart I ever sigh’d for, by I knew not then How just alienation, drove me down To that accursèd thing?

_Just._ My Cipriano! Dost thou remember, in the lighter hour— Then when my heart, although you saw it not, All the while yearn’d to thee across the gulf That yet it dared not pass—my telling thee That only Death, which others disunites, Should ever make us one? Behold! and now The hour is come, and I redeem my vow.

(_Here the play may finish: but for any one who would follow Calderon to the end_,—

_Enter FABIO with Guard, who lead away CIPRIANO and JUSTINA. Manent EUSEBIO, JULIAN, and Citizens._)

_Citizen 1._ Alas! alas! alas! So young a pair! And one so very wise!

_Cit. 2._ And one so fair!

_Cit. 3._ And both as calmly walking to their death As others to a marriage festival.

_Julian._ Looking as calm, at least, Eusebio, As when, do you remember, at the last Great festival of Zeus, we left him sitting Upon the hill-side with his books?

_Eusebio._ I think Almost the last we saw of him: so soon, Flinging his studies and his scholars by, He went away into that solitude Which ended in this madness, and now death With her he lost his wits for.

_Cit. 1._ And has found In death whom living he pursued in vain.

_Cit. 2._ And after death, as they believe; and so Thus cheerfully to meet it, if the scaffold Divorce them to eternal union.

_Cit. 3._ Strange that so wise a man Should fall into so fond a superstition Which none but ignorance has taken up.

_Cit. 1._ Oh, love, you know, like time works wonders.

_Eusebio._ Well— Antioch will never see so great a scholar.

_Julian._ Nor we so courteous a Professor— I would not see my dear old master die Were all the wits he lost my legacy.

_Citizens talking._ One says that, as they went out hand in hand, He saw a halo like about the moon About their head, and moving as they went.

—— _I_ saw it—

—— Fancy! fancy!—

—— Any how, They leave it very dark behind them—Thunder!

—— They talk of madness and of blasphemy; Neither of these, I think, looking much guilty.

—— And he, at any rate, I still maintain, Least like to be deluded by the folly For which the new religion is condemn’d.

—— Before his madness, certainly: but love First crazed him, as I told you.

—— Well, if mad, How guilty?

—— Hush! hush! These are dangerous words.

—— Be not you bitten by this madness, neighbour. Rome’s arm is long.

—— Ay, and some say her ears.

—— Then, ev’n if bitten, bark not—Thunder again!

—— And what unnatural darkness!

—— Well—a storm—

—— They say, you know, he was a sorcerer— Indeed we saw the mystic dress he wore All wrought with figures of astrology; Nay, he confess’d himself as much; and now May raise a storm to save—

—— There was a crash!

—— A bolt has fallen somewhere—the walls shake—

—— And the ground under—

—— Save us, Zeus—

_Voices._ Away— The roof is falling in upon us—

(_The wall at the back falls in, and discovers a scaffold with CIPRIANO and JUSTINA dead, and LUCIFER above them._)

_Lucifer._ Stay!— And hearken to what I am doom’d to tell. I am the mighty minister of hell You mis-call heaven, and of the hellish crew Of those false gods you worship for the True; Who, to revenge _her_ treason to the blind Idolatry that has hoodwinkt mankind, And _his_, whose halting wisdom after-knew What her diviner virtue fore-divined, By devilish plot and artifices thought Each of them by the other to have caught; But, thwarted by superior will, those eyes That, by my fuel fed, had been a flame To light them both to darkness down, became As stars to lead together to the skies, By such a doom as expiates his sin, And her pure innocence lets sooner in To that eternal bliss where, side by side, They reign at His right hand for whom they died. While I, convicted in my own despite Thus to bear witness to the eternal light Of which I lost, and they have won the crown, Plunge to my own eternal darkness down.

HÚNDESE.

SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE OF

A DRAMA

TAKEN FROM

CALDERON’S “LA VIDA ES SUEÑO”

For Calderon’s Drama sufficient would seem The title he chose for it—“Life is a Dream;” Two words of the motto now filch’d are enough For the impudent mixture they label—“Such stuff!”

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

BASILIO _King of Poland._

SEGISMUND _his Son._

ASTOLFO _his Nephew._

ESTRELLA _his Niece._

CLOTALDO _a General in Basilio’s Service._

ROSAURA _a Muscovite Lady._

FIFE _her Attendant._

CHAMBERLAIN, LORDS IN WAITING, OFFICERS, SOLDIERS, etc., in Basilio’s Service.

_The Scene of the first and third Acts lies on the Polish frontier: of the second Act, in Warsaw._