Gycia Part 14

Hark! the tramp again; Again the ring of mail. I wonder much If she shall hear it first, or first the eye Shall slay her love within her.

_Enter_ GYCIA.

_Gycia._ Thou dost ask My presence; wherefore is it?

_Ire._ Gycia, Thou dost not love me, yet would I requite Thy wrong with kindness. That thy love was false To thee, thou knowest, but it may be still There is a deeper falsehood than to thee, And thou shalt know it. Dost thou hear that sound?

[The tramp of men again heard.

What means it, think you?

_Gycia._ Nay, I cannot tell.

'Tis like the tramp of armed men.

_Ire._ It is; And who are they?

_Gycia._ Young citizens of Cherson, Maybe, rehearsing for to-morrow's pageant And the procession.

[_Going._

_Ire._ Stay, thou stubborn woman, Canst bear to see, though the sight blight thy life?

_Gycia._ I know not what thou wouldst, but I can bear it.

_Ire._ Though it prove thy love a traitor?

_Gycia._ That it will not!

_Ire._ Then, make no sound, but see what I will show thee.

Look now! Behold thy love!

[_Draws back panel, and discovers_ ASANDER _with the soldiers of Bosphorus marching._ ASANDER'S _voice heard._

_Asan._ At stroke of midnight To-morrow night be ready.

_Soldiers._ Ay, my lord.

[GYCIA _tottering back._ IRENE _slides back the panel, and_ GYCIA _sets her back against it, half fainting_; IRENE _regarding her with triumph._

_Gycia._ Was that my husband? and those men around him Soldiers of Bosphorus, to whom he gave Some swift command? What means it all, ye saints?

What means it? This the husband of my love, Upon whose breast I have lain night by night For two sweet years--my husband whom my father Loved as a son, whose every thought I knew, Or deemed I did, lurking in ambush here Upon the eve of our great festival, Scheming some b.l.o.o.d.y treachery to take Our Cherson in the toils? Oh, 'tis too much; I cannot trust my senses! 'Twas a dream!

_Ire._ No dream, but dreadful truth!

_Gycia._ Thou cruel woman How have I harmed thee, thou shouldst hate me thus?

But 'twas no dream. Why was it else that he, But for some hateful treachery, devised This festival? Why was it that he grew So anxious to go hence and take me with him, But that guilt made him coward, and he feared To see his work? Oh, love for ever lost, And with it faith gone out! what is't remains But duty, though the path be rough and trod By bruised and bleeding feet? Oh, what is it Is left for me in life but death alone, Which ends it?

_Ire._ Gycia, duty bids thee banish Thy love to his own State, and then disclose The plot thou hast discovered. It may be That thou mayst join him yet, and yet grow happy.

_Gycia._ Never! For duty treads another path Than that thou knowest. I am my father's daughter.

It is not mine to pardon or condemn; That is the State's alone. 'Tis for the State To banish, not for me, and therefore surely I must denounce these traitors to the Senate, And leave the judgment theirs.

_Ire._ (_kneeling_). Nay, nay, I pray thee, Do not this thing! Thou dost not know how cruel Is State-craft, or what cold and stony hearts Freeze in their politic b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

_Gycia._ _Thou_ kneel'st to me To spare my husband! Think'st thou I love him less Than thou dost, wanton?

_Ire._ Gycia, they will kill him.

Get him away to-night to Bosphorus.

Thou dost not know these men!

_Gycia._ _I_ know them not?

I who have lived in Cherson all my days, And trust the State? Nay, I will get me hence, And will denounce this treason to the Senate.

There lies my duty clear, and I will do it; I fear not for the rest. The State is clement To vanquished foes, and doubtless will find means To send them hence in safety. For myself I know not what may come--a broken heart, Maybe, and death to mend it. But for thee, Thou shameless wanton, if thou breathe a sound Or make a sign to them, thou diest to-night With torture.

_Ire._ Spare him! Do not this thing, Gycia!

[_Exit_ GYCIA.

O G.o.d, she is gone! he is lost! and I undone!

[_Swoons._

SCENE II.--_Room in_ LAMACHUS'S _palace._

LYSIMACHUS, MEGACLES, Courtiers; _afterwards_ ASANDER.

_Lys._ Well, good Megacles, I hope you are prepared to carry out your function. It will be a busy and anxious day to-morrow, no doubt, and most of us will be glad when midnight strikes.

_Meg._ My Lord Lysimachus, I hope so. I have not closed an eye for the last two nights. As to the Procession, I flatter myself that no better-arranged pomp has ever defiled before Caesar's Palace. It will be long, it will be splendid, it will be properly marshalled. There is no other man in the Empire who knows the distinctions of rank or the mysteries of marshalling better than I do. Look at the books I have studied. There is the treatise of the Learned and Respectable Symmachus on Processions. That is one. There is the late divine Emperor Theodosius on Dignities and t.i.tles of Honour. That is two.

There is our learned and ill.u.s.trious Chamberlain Procopius's treatise on the office and duties of a Count of the Palace. That, as no doubt you know, is in six large volumes. That is three, or, nay, eight volumes. Oh, my poor head! And I have said nothing of the authorities on Costume--a library, I a.s.sure you, in themselves. Yes, it has been an anxious time, but a very happy one. I wish our young friends here would devote a little more time to such serious topics, and less to such frivolities as fighting and making love. The latter is a fine art, no doubt, and, when done according to rule, is well enough; but as for fighting, getting oneself grimed with dust and sweat, and very likely some vulgar churl's common blood to boot--pah! it is intolerable to think of it.

_1st Court._ Well, good Megacles, I am afraid that the world cannot spare its soldiers yet for many years to come. So long as there is evil in the world, and l.u.s.t of power and savagery and barbarism, so long, depend upon it, there is room and need for the soldier.

_Meg._ Certainly, my lord, certainly; and besides, they are very highly decorative too. Nothing looks better to my mind at a banquet than bright gay faces and lithe young figures set in a s.h.i.+ning framework of mail. By the way, my Lord Lysimachus, it was kind of you to provide our procession with a strong detachment of fine young soldiers from Bosphorus. I have secured a prominent place for them, and the effect will be perfect. I trust the Lady Melissa will like it.

_Lys._ My lord, you are mistaken; there are no soldiers from Bosphorus here.

_Meg._ But I was with the Prince last night, and saw them.

_Lys._ I tell you you are mistaken. There are none here. Do you understand me? There are none here.

_2nd Court._ Nay, indeed, my Lord Megacles. We were trying, with a view to the pageant, how a number of young men of Cherson would look in the array of Bosphorus; but we gave it up, since we feared that they would bear them so clumsily that they would mar the whole effect.

_Meg._ Ah, that explains it; quite right, quite right. Well, I see I was mistaken. But I wish I could have had soldiers from Bosphorus.

They are the one thing wanting to make to-morrow a perfect success, as the Lady Melissa said.

_Lys._ They are indeed, as you say. But, my Lord Megacles, pray do not whisper abroad what you have said here; these people are so jealous. They would grow sullen, and spoil the pageant altogether.

_Meg._ Ah, my lord, you have a good head. I will not breathe a word of it till the day is done.