The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wonder-Working Magician, by
Pedro Calderon de la Barca

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Title: The Wonder-Working Magician

Author: Pedro Calderon de la Barca

Translator: Denis Florence Mac-Carthy

Release Date: June 14, 2009 [EBook #6372]
Last Updated: February 1, 2013

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII


Produced by Sue Asscher, and David Widger


By Pedro Calderon de la Barca

Now First Translated Fully From The Spanish
In The Metre Of The Original. By Denis Florence Mac-Carthy.

London: Henry S. King & Co.,
65 Cornhill, And 12, Paternoster Row.






Two of the dramas contained in this volume are the most celebrated of all Calderon's writings. The first, "La Vida es Sueno", has been translated into many languages and performed with success on almost every stage in Europe but that of England. So late as the winter of 1866-7, in a Russian version, it drew crowded houses to the great theatre of Moscow; while a few years earlier, as if to give a signal proof of the reality of its title, and that Life was indeed a Dream, the Queen of Sweden expired in the theatre of Stockholm during the performance of "La Vida es Sueno". In England the play has been much studied for its literary value and the exceeding beauty and lyrical sweetness of some passages; but with the exception of a version by John Oxenford published in "The Monthly Magazine" for 1842, which being in blank verse does not represent the form of the original, no complete translation into English has been attempted. Some scenes translated with considerable elegance in the metre of the original were published by Archbishop Trench in 1856; but these comprised only a portion of the graver division of the drama. The present version of the entire play has been made with the advantages which the author's long experience in the study and interpretation of Calderon has enabled him to apply to this master-piece of the great Spanish poet. All the forms of verse have been preserved; while the closeness of the translation may be inferred from the fact, that not only the whole play but every speech and fragment of a speech are represented in English in the exact number of lines of the original, without the sacrifice, it is to be hoped, of one important idea.

A note by Hartzenbusch in the last edition of the drama published at Madrid (1872), tells that "La Vida es Sueno", is founded on a story which turns out to be substantially the same as that with which English students are familiar as the foundation of the famous Induction to the "Taming of the Shrew". Calderon found it however in a different work from that in which Shakespeare met with it, or rather his predecessor, the anonymous author of "The Taming of a Shrew", whose work supplied to Shakespeare the materials of his own comedy.

On this subject Malone thus writes. "The circumstance on which the Induction to the anonymous play, as well as to the present Comedy [Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew"], is founded, is related (as Langbaine has observed) by Heuterus, "Rerum Burgund." lib. iv. The earliest English original of this story in prose that I have met with is the following, which is found in Goulart's "Admirable and Memorable Histories", translated by E. Grimstone, quarto, 1607; but this tale (which Goulart translated from Heuterus) had undoubtedly appeared in English, in some other shape, before 1594:

"Philip called the good Duke of Burgundy, in the memory of our ancestors, being at Bruxelles with his Court, and walking one night after supper through the streets, accompanied by some of his favourites, he found lying upon the stones a certaine artisan that was very dronke, and that slept soundly. It pleased the prince in this artisan to make trial of the vanity of our life, whereof he had before discoursed with his familiar friends. He therefore caused this sleeper to be taken up, and carried into his palace; he commands him to be layed in one of the richest beds; a riche night cap to be given him; his foule shirt to be taken off, and to have another put on him of fine holland. When as this dronkard had digested his wine, and began to awake, behold there comes about his bed Pages and Groomes of the Duke's Chamber, who drawe the curteines, make many courtesies, and being bare-headed, aske him if it please him to rise, and what apparell it would please him to put on that day. They bring him rich apparell. This new Monsieur amazed at such courtesie, and doubting whether he dreamt or waked, suffered himselfe to be drest, and led out of the chamber. There came noblemen which saluted him with all honour, and conduct him to the Masse, where with great ceremonie they give him the booke of the Gospell, and the Pixe to kisse, as they did usually to the Duke. From the Masse they bring him back unto the pallace; he washes his hands, and sittes down at the table well furnished. After dinner, the Great Chamberlain commands cards to be brought with a great summe of money. This Duke in imagination playes with the chief of the Court. Then they carry him to walke in the gardein, and to hunt the hare, and to hawke. They bring him back into the pallace, where he sups in state. Candles being light the musitions begin to play; and the tables taken away, the gentlemen and gentlewomen fell to dancing. Then they played a pleasant comedie, after which followed a Banket, whereat they had presently store of Ipocras and pretious wine, with all sorts of confitures, to this prince of the new impression; so as he was dronke, and fell soundlie asleepe. Hereupon the Duke commanded that he should be disrobed of all his riche attire. He was put into his old ragges, and carried into the same place, where he had been found the night before; where he spent that night. Being awake in the morning, he began to remember what had happened before; he knewe not whether it were true indeede, or a dream that had troubled his braine. But in the end, after many discourses, he concludes that ALL WAS BUT A DREAME that had happened unto him; and so entertained his wife, his children, and his neighbours, without any other apprehension."

It is curious to find that the same anecdote which formed the Induction to the original "Taming of a Shrew", and which, from a comic point of view, Shakespeare so wonderfully developed in his own comedy, Calderon invested with such solemn and sublime dignity in "La Vida es Sueno". He found it, as Senor Hartzenbusch points out in the edition of 1872 already quoted, in the very amusing "Viage Entretenido" of Augustin de Rojas, which was first published in 1603. Hartzenbusch refers to the modern edition of Rojas, Madrid, 1793, tomo I, pp. 261, 262, 263, but in a copy of the Lerida edition of 1615, in my own possession, I find the anecdote at folios 118, 119, 120. There are some slight differences between the version of Rojas and that of Goulart, but the incidents and the persons are the same. The conclusion to which the artizan arrived at, in the version of Goulart, that all had been a dream, is expressed more strongly by the Duke himself in the story as told by Rojas.

"Y dijo entonces el Duque: 'veis aqui, amigos, "Lo que es el Mundo: Todo es un Sueno", pues esto verdaderamente ha pasado por este, como habeis visto, y le parece que lo ha sonado.'"—

The story in all probability came originally from the East. Mr. Lane in his translation of the Thousand and One Nights gives a very interesting narrative which he believes to be founded on an historical fact in which Haroun Al Raschid plays the part of the good Duke of Burgundy, and Abu-l-Hasan the original of Christopher Sly. The gravity of the treatment and certain incidents in this Oriental story recall more strongly Calderon's drama than the Induction to the "Taming of the Shrew". "La Vida es Sueno" was first published either at the end of 1635 or beginning of 1636.

The "Aprobacion" for its publication along with eleven other dramas (not nine as Archbishop Trench has stated), was signed on the 6th of November in the former year by the official licenser, Juan Bautista de Sossa. The volume was edited by the poet's brother, Don Joseph Calderon. So scarce has this first authorised collection of any of Calderon's dramas become, that a Spanish writer Don Vicente Garcia de la Huerta, in his "Teatro Espanol" (Parte Segunda, tomo 30), denies the existence of this volume of 1635, and states that it did not appear until 1640. As if to corroborate this view, Barrera in his "Catalogo del Teatro antiguo Espanol" gives the date 1640 to the "Primera parte de comedias de Calderon" edited by his brother Joseph.

There can be no doubt, however, that the volume appeared in 1635 or 1636 as stated. In 1637 Don Joseph Calderon published the "Second Part" of his brother's dramas containing like the former volume twelve plays.* In his dedication of this volume to D. Rodrigo de Mendoza, Joseph Calderon expressly alludes to the First Part of his brother's comedies which he had "printed." "En la primera Parte, Excellentissimo Senor, de las comedias que imprimi de Don Pedro Calderon de La Barca, mi hermano," etc. This of course settles the fact of the prior publication of the first Part. It is singular, however, to find that the most famous of all Calderon's dramas should have been frequently ascribed to Lope de Vega. So late as 1857 it is given in an Italian version by Giovanni La Cecilia, under the title of "La Vita e un Sogno", as a drama of Lope de Vega, with the date 1628. This of course is a mistake, but Senor Hartzenbusch, who makes no allusion to this circumstance, admits that two dramas of Lope de Vega, which it is presumed preceded the composition of Calderon's play turn on very nearly the same incidents as those of "La Vida es Sueno". These are "Lo que ha de ser", and "Barlan y Josafa". He gives a passage from each of these dramas which seem to be the germ of the fine lament of Sigismund, which the reader will find translated in the present volume.

[footnote] *In the library of the British Museum there is a fine copy of this "Segunda Parte de Comedias de Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca" Madrid, 1637. Mr. Ticknor mentions (1863) that he too had a copy of this interesting volume.

Senor Hartzenbusch, in the edition of Calderon's "La Vida es Sueno", already referred to (Madrid, 1872), prints the passages from Lope de Vega's two dramas, but in neither of them, he justly remarks, can we find anything that at all corresponds to this "grandioso caracter de Segismundo."

The second drama in this volume, "The Wonderful Magician", is perhaps better known to poetical students in England than even the first, from the spirited fragment Shelley has left us in his "Scenes from Calderon." The preoccupation of a subject by a great master throws immense difficulties in the way of any one who ventures to follow in the same path: but as Shelley allowed himself great licence in his versification, and either from carelessness or an imperfect knowledge of Spanish is occasionally unfaithful to the meaning of his author, it may be hoped in my own version that strict fidelity both as to the form as well as substance of the original may be some compensation for the absence of those higher poetical harmonies to which many of my readers will have been accustomed.

"El Magico Prodigioso" appeared for the first time in the same volume as "La Vida es Sueno", prepared for publication in 1635 by Don Joseph Calderon. The translation is comprised in the same number of lines as the original, and all the preceding remarks on "Life is a Dream", whether in reference to the period of the first publication of the drama in Spain, or the principles I kept in view while attempting this version may be applied to it. As in the Case of "Life is a Dream", "The Wonderful Magician" has previously been translated entire by an English writer, ("Justina", by J.H. 1848); but as Archbishop Trench truly observes, "the writer did not possess that command of the resources of the English language, which none more than Calderon requires."

The Legend on which Calderon founded "El Magico Prodigioso" will be found in Surius, "De probatis Sanctorum historiis", t. V. (Col. Agr. 1574), p. 351: "Vita et Martyrium SS. Cypriani et Justinae, autore Simeone Metaphraste", and in Chapter cxlii, of the "Legenda Aurea" of Jacobus de Voragine "De Sancta Justina virgine".

The martyrdom of the Saints took place in the year 290, and their festival is celebrated by the Church on the 26th of September.

Mr. Ticknor in his History of Spanish Literature, 1863, volume ii. p. 369, says that the Wonder-working Magician is founded on "the same legend on which Milman has founded his 'Martyr of Antioch.'" This is a mistake of the learned writer. "The Martyr of Antioch" is founded not on the history of St. Justina but of Saint Margaret, as Milman himself expressly states. Chapter xciii., "De Sancta Margareta", in the "Legenda Aurea" of Jacobus de Voragine contains her story.

The third translation in this volume is that of "The Purgatory of St. Patrick". This, though perhaps not so famous as the two preceding dramas, is intended to be given by Don P. De la Escosura, in a selection of Calderon's finest "comedias", now being edited by him for the Spanish Academy, as the representative piece of its class—namely, the mystical drama founded on the lives of Saints. Mr. Ticknor prefers it to the more celebrated "Devotion of the Cross," and says that it "is commonly ranked among the best religious plays of the Spanish theatre in the seventeenth century."

In all that relates to the famous cave known through the middle ages as the "Purgatory of Saint Patrick", as well as the Story of Luis Enius—the Owain Miles of Ancient English poetry—Calderon was entirely indebted to the little volume published at Madrid, in 1627, by Juan Perez de Montalvan, entitled "Vida y Purgatorio de San Patricio". This singular work met with immense success. It went through innumerable editions, and continues to be reprinted in Spain as a chap-book, down to the present day. I have the fifth impression "improved and enlarged by the author himself," Madrid, 1628, the year after its first appearance: also a later edition, Madrid, 1664. As early as 1637 a French translation appeared at Brussels by "F. A. S. Chartreux, a Bruxelles." In 1642 a second French translation was published at Troyes, by "R. P. Francois Bouillon, de l'Ordre de S. Francois, et Bachelier de Theologie." Mr. Thomas Wright in his "Essay on St. Patrick's Purgatory," London, 1844, makes the singular mistake of supposing that Bouillon's "Histoire de la Vie et Purgatoire de S. Patrice" was founded on the drama of Calderon, it being simply a translation of Montalvan's "Vida y Purgatorio," from which, like itself, Calderon's play was derived. Among other translations of Montalvan's work may be mentioned one in Dutch (Brussels, 1668) and one in Portuguese (Lisbon, 1738). It was also translated into German and Italian, but I find no mention of an English version. For this reason I have thought that a few extracts might be interesting, as showing how closely Calderon adhered even to the language of his predecessor.

In all that relates to the Purgatory, Montalvan's work is itself chiefly compiled from the "Florilegium Insulae Sanctorum, seu vitae et Actae sanctorum Hiberniae," Paris, 1624, fol. This work, which has now become scarce, was written by Thomas Messingham an Irish priest, the Superior of the Irish Seminary in Paris. No complete English version appears to have been made of it, but a small tract in English containing everything in the original work that referred to St. Patrick's Purgatory was published at Paris in 1718. As this tract is perhaps more scarce than even the Florilegium itself, the account of the Purgatory as given by Messingham from the MS. of Henry of Saltrey is reprinted in the notes to this drama in the quaint language of the anonymous translator. Of this tract, "printed at Paris in 1718" without the name of author, publisher or printer, I have not been able to trace another copy. In other points of interest connected with Calderon's drama, particularly to the clearing up of the difficulty hitherto felt as to the confused list of authorities at the end, the reader is also referred to the notes.

The present version of "The Purgatory of Saint Patrick" is, with the exception of a few unimportant lines, an entirely new translation. It is made with the utmost care, imitating all the measures and contained, like the two preceding dramas, in the exact number of lines of the original. One passage of the translation which I published in 1853 is retained in the notes, as a tribute of respect to the memory of the late John Rutter Chorley, it having been mentioned with praise by that eminent Spanish scholar in an elaborate review of my earlier translations from Calderon, which appeared in the "Athenaeum", Nov. 19 and Nov. 26, 1853.

It only remains to add that the text I have followed is that of Hartzenbusch in his edition of Calderon's Comedias, Madrid, 1856 ("Biblioteca de Autores Espanoles"). His arrangement of the scenes has been followed throughout, thus enabling the reader in a moment to verify for himself the exactness of the translation by a reference to the original, a crucial test which I rather invite than decline.

CLAPHAM PARK, Easter, 1873.





     LELIUS, The Governor of Antioch's Son.
     FLORUS, friend of Lelius.
     MOSCON, Servant of Cyprian.
     CLARIN, Servant of Cyprian.
     FABIUS, his Servant.
     LYSANDER, the reputed Father of Justina.
     LIVIA, her Maid.
     A Servant.
     A Soldier.
     ATTENDANTS, Soldiers, People.

     SCENE—Antioch and its environs.



     SCENE I.


     Enter CYPPRIAN in a Student's gown, followed by CLARIN and MOSCON, as
     poor Scholars, carrying books.

     CYPRIAN.  In the pleasant solitude
     Of this tranquil spot, this thicket
     Formed of interlacing boughs,
     Buds, and flowers, and shrubs commingled,
     You may leave me, leaving also,
     As my best companions, with me,
     (For I need none else) those books
     Which I bad you to bring hither
     From the house; for while, to-day,
     Antioch, the mighty city,
     Celebrates with such rejoicing
     The great temple newly finished
     Unto Jupiter, the bearing
     Thither, also, of his image
     Publicly, in grant procession,
     To its shrine to be uplifted;—
     I, escaping the confusion
     Of the streets and squares, have flitted
     Hitherward, to spend in study
     What of daylight yet may glimmer.
     Go, enjoy the festival,
     Go to Antioch and mingle
     In its various sports, returning
     When the sun descending sinketh
     To be buried in the waves,
     Which, beneath the dark clouds' fringes,
     Round the royal corse of gold,
     Shine like sepulchres of silver.
     Here you'll find me.

     MOSCON.      Sir, although
     Most decidedly my wish is
     To behold the sports, yet I
     Cannot go without a whisper
     Of some few five thousand words,
     Which I'll give you in a jiffy.
     Can it be that on a day
     Of such free, such unrestricted
     Revelry, and mirth, and fun,
     You with your old books come hither
     To this country place, rejecting
     All the frolic of the city?

     CLARIN.  Well, I think my master's right;
     For there's nothing more insipid
     Than a grand procession day,
     Half fandangos, priests, and fiddles.

     MOSCON.  Clarin, from the first to last,
     All your life you've been a trickster,
     A smart temporizing toady,
     A bold flatterer, a trimmer,
     Since you praise the thoughts of others,
     And ne'er speak your own.

     CLARIN.      The civil
     Way to tell a man he lies
     Is to say he's wrong:—you twig me,
     Now I think I speak my mind.

     CYPRIAN.  Moscon, Clarin, both I bid ye
     Cease this silly altercation.
     It is ever thus betwixt ye,
     Puffed up with your little knowledge
     Each maintains his own opinion.
     Go, and (as I've said) here seek me
     When night falls, and with the thickness
     Of its shadows veils from view
     This most fair and wondrous system
     Of the universe.

     MOSCON.      How comes it,
     That although you have admitted
     'Tis not right to see the feast,
     Yet you go to see it?

     CLARIN.      Simple
     Is the answer: no one follows
     The advice which he has given
     To another.

     MOSCON [aside].  To see Livia,
     Would the gods that I were winged.

     CLARIN [aside].  If the honest truth were told
     Livia is the girl that gives me
     Something worth the living for.
     Even her very name has in it
     This assurance:  'Livia', yes,
     Minus 'a', I live for 'Livi'.*
     [footnote] *This, of course, is a paraphrase of the original, which,
     perhaps, may be given as an explanation.
                  "Ilega, 'Livia'.
            Al 'na', y se, Livia, 'liviana'."

     SCENE II.

     CYPRIAN.  Now I am alone, and may,
     If my mind can be so lifted,
     Study the great problem which
     Keeps my soul disturbed, bewilder'd,
     Since I read in Pliny's page
     The mysterious words there written.
     Which define a god; because
     It doth seem beyond the limits
     Of my intellect to find
     One who all these signs exhibits.
     This mysterious hidden truth
     Must I seek for.


     Enter the DEMON, in gala dress.  CYPRIAN.

     DEMON [aside].  Though thou givest
     All thy thoughts to the research,
     Cyprian, thou must ever miss it,
     Since I'll hide it from thy mind.

     CYPRIAN.  There's a rustling in this thicket.
     Who is there? who art thou?

     DEMON.      Sir,
     A mere stranger, who has ridden
     All this morning up and down
     These dark groves, not knowing whither,
     Having lost my way, my horse,
     To the emerald that encircles,
     With a tapestry of green,
     These lone hills, I've loosed, it gives him
     At the same time food and rest.
     I'm to Antioch bound, on business
     Of importance, my companions
     I have parted from; through listless
     Lapse of thought (a thing that happens
     To the most of earthly pilgrims),
     I have lost my way, and lost
     Comrades, servants, and assistants.

     CYPRIAN.  I am much surprised to learn
     That in view of the uplifted
     Towers of Antioch, you thus
     Lost your way.  There's not a single
     Path that on this mountain side,
     More or less by feet imprinted,
     But doth lead unto its walls,
     As to its one central limit.
     By whatever path you take,
     You'll go right.

     DEMON.      It is an instance
     Of that ignorance which in sight
     Even of truth the true goal misses.
     And as it appears not wise
     Thus to enter a strange city
     Unattended and unknown,
     Asking even my way, 'tis fitter
     That 'till night doth conquer day,
     Here while light doth last, to linger;
     By your dress and by these books
     Round you, like a learned circle
     Of wise friends, I see you are
     A great student, and the instinct
     Of my soul doth ever draw me
     Unto men to books addicted.

     CYPRIAN.  Have you studied much?

     DEMON.      Well, no;
     But I've knowledge quite sufficient
     Not to be deemed ignorant.

     CYPRIAN.  Then, what sciences know you?

     DEMON.      Many.

     CYPRIAN.  Why, we cannot reach even one
     After years of studious vigil,
     And can you (what vanity!)
     Without study know so many?

     DEMON.  Yes; for I am of a country
     Where the most exalted science
     Needs no study to be known.

     CYPRIAN.  Would I were a happy inmate
     Of that country!  Here our studies
     Prove our ignorance more.

     DEMON.      No figment
     Is the fact that without study,
     I had the superb ambition
     For the first Professor's chair
     To compete, and thought to win it,
     Having very numerous votes.
     And although I failed, sufficient
     Glory is it to have tried.
     For not always to the winner
     Is the fame.  If this you doubt,
     Name the subject of your study,
     And then let us argue on it;
     I not knowing your opinion,
     Even although it be the right,
     Shall the opposite view insist on.

     CYPRIAN.  I am greatly gratified
     That you make this proposition.
     Here in Plinius is a passage
     Which much anxious thought doth give me
     How to understand, to know
     Who's the God of whom he has written.

     DEMON.  'Tis that passage which declares
     (Well I know the words) this dictum:
     "God is one supremest good,
     One pure essence, one existence,
     Self-sustained, all sight, all hands."

     CYPRIAN.  Yes, 'tis true.

     DEMON.      And what is in it
     So abstruse?

     CYPRIAN.      I cannot find
     Such a god as Plinius figures.
     If he be the highest good,
     Then is Jupiter deficient
     In that attribute; we see him
     Acting like a mortal sinner
     Many a time,—this, Danae,
     This, Europa, too, doth witness.
     Can then, by the Highest Good,
     All whose actions, all whose instincts,
     Should be sacred and divine,
     Human frailty be committed?

     DEMON.  These are fables which the learned
     First made use of, to exhibit
     Underneath the names of gods
     What in truth was but a hidden
     System of philosophy.

     CYPRIAN.  This reply is not sufficient,
     Since such awe is due to God,
     None should dare to Him attribute,
     None should stain His name with sins,
     Though these sins should be fictitious.
     And considering well the case,
     If the highest good is figured
     By the gods, of course, they must
     Will what is the best and fittest;
     How, then, can some gods wish one thing,
     Some another?  This we witness
     In the dubious responses
     Which are by their statues given.
     Here you cannot say I speak of
     Learned abstractions of the ideal.
     To two armies, if two shrines
     Promise give of being victors,
     One, of course, must lose the battle:
     The conclusion is so simple,—
     Need I say it? that two wills,
     Mutually antagonistic,
     Cannot lead unto one end.
     They being thus in opposition,
     One we must consider good,
     One as bad we must consider.
     But an evil will in God
     Would imply a contradiction:
     Then the highest good can dwell not
     Among gods who know division.

     DEMON.  I deny your major, since
     These responses may be given,
     By the oracles, for ends
     Which our intellectual vision
     Cannot reach: 'tis providence.
     Thus more good may have arisen
     To the loser in that battle
     Than its gain could bring the winner.

     CYPRIAN.  Granted; but that god ought not,
     For the gods are not malicious,
     To have promised victory;—
     It would have been quite sufficient,
     Without this most false assurance,
     The defeat to have permitted.
     Then if God must be all sight,
     Every god should see distinctly
     With clear vision to the end;
     Seeing THAT, he erred in fixing
     On a false conclusion; then
     Though the deity may with fitness
     Be divided into persons,
     Yet His essence must be single
     In the smallest circumstance.

     DEMON.  It was needful for this business,
     That the oracle should rouse
     The two hosts alike.

     CYPRIAN.      If fitting,
     There were genii that could rouse them
     (Good and bad, as they're distinguished
     By the learned), who are, in fact,
     Spirits who among us mingle,
     And who good and evil acts,
     Evil thoughts, suggest and whisper,
     A convincing argument
     For the immortal soul's existence:
     Of these ministers could God
     Have made use, nor thus exhibit
     He was capable of a lie
     To effect his ends?

     DEMON.      Consider,
     That these seeming contradictions
     Cannot our firm faith diminish
     In the oneness of the gods,
     If in things of higher import
     They know naught of dissonance.
     Take man's wondrous frame, for instance,
     Surely that majestic structure
     Once conception doth exhibit.

     CYPRIAN.  If man's maker then were one
     He some vantage must have given him
     O'er the others; and if they
     All are equal,—'tis admitted
     That they are so, from the fact
     Of their mutual opposition
     To each other,—when the thought
     Of creating man was hinted
     By one god, another could
     Say, "No, no, I do not wish it."
     Then if God must be all hands,
     Time might come when they would differ,
     One creating, one undoing,
     Ere the other's work was finished,
     Since the power of each was equal,
     But unequal were their wishes.
     Which of these two powers would conquer?

     DEMON.  On impossible and false issues
     There can be no argument;—
     But your premises admitting,
     Say what then?

     CYPRIAN.      That there must be
     One sole God, all hands, all vision,
     Good Supreme, supreme in grace,
     One who cannot err, omniscient,
     One the highest, none can equal,
     Not beginning, yet the Beginner,
     One pure essence, one sole substance,
     One wise worker, ozone sole willer;—
     And though He in one or two
     Or more persons be distinguished,
     Yet the sovereign Deity
     Must be one, sublime and single,
     The first cause of every cause,
     The first germ of all existence.

     DEMON.  How can I deny so clear,
     [They rise.
     So conclusive a position?

     CYPRIAN.  Do you feel it?

     DEMON.      Who would not
     Feel to find another quicker
     In the rivalry of wit?—
     And though I am not deficient
     In an answer, I restrain it,
     Hearing steps approaching hither
     Through the wood; besides 'tis time
     I proceeded to the city.

     CYPRIAN.  Go in peace.

     DEMON.      Remain in peace.—
     So involved in study IS he,
     That I now must wean him from it,
     Weaving round him the bewitchment
     Of rare beauty.  Since I have leave
     To attempt my fires to kindle
     In Justina's breast, one stroke,
     Thus, two vengeances shall give me.

     CYPRIAN.  Never saw I such a man.
     But since still my people linger,
     I, the cause of so much doubt,
     Will now strive to reconsider.

     [He resumes his reading, without perceiving
          the approach of those who enter.

     SCENE IV.


     LELIUS.  Further let us not proceed;
     For these rocks, these boughs so thickly
     Interwoven, that the sun
     Cannot even find admittance,
     Shall be the sole witnesses
     Of our duel.

     FLORUS.      Then, this instant
     Draw your sword; for here are deeds,
     If in words elsewhere we've striven.

     LELIUS.  Yes, I know that in the field,
     While the tongue is mute, the glitter
     Of the sword speaks thus.
     [They fight.

     CYPRIAN.      What's this?
     Hold, good Florus!  Lelius, listen!—
     Here until your rage is calmed,
     Even unarmed I stand betwixt ye.

     LELIUS.  Thus to interrupt my vengeance,
     Whence, O Cyprian, have you risen
     Like a spectre?

     FLORUS.   A wild wood-god,
     Have you from these tree-trunks issued?

     SCENE V.

     Enter MOSCON and CLARIN.

     MOSCON.  Yonder, where we left our master,
     I hear sword-strokes; run, run quickly.

     CLARIN.  Well, except to run away,
     I am anything but nimble;—
     Truly a retiring person.

     MOSCON and CLARIN.      Sir....

     CYPRIAN.  No more:  your gabble irks me.—
     How?  What's this?  Two noble friends,
     Who in blood, in birth, in lineage,
     Are to-day of Antioch all
     Its expectancy, the city's
     Eye of fashion, one the son
     Of the Governor, of the princely
     House Colalto, one the heir,
     Thus to peril, as of little
     Value, two such precious lives
     To their country and their kindred?

     LELIUS.  Cyprian, although respect
     Which on many grounds I give thee,
     Holds my sword suspended thus
     In due deference for an instant,—
     To the scabbard's calm repose
     It hath got no power to win it.
     Thou of science knowest more,
     Than the duel, pretermitting
     This, that when two nobles meet
     In the field, no power can link them
     Friends again, save this, that one
     Must his life give as a victim.

     FLORUS.  This I also say, and ask thee,
     With thy people, that thou quittest,
     Leaving us to end our quarrel
     Without any help or hindrance.

     CYPRIAN.  Though it seems to you my calling
     Makes me know the laws but little
     Of the duel—that strict code
     Valour and vain pride have written,
     You are wrong, for I was born
     With the obligations fitting
     Rank like yours, to know in truth
     Infamy and honour's limits.
     The devotion to my studies
     Has my courage not diminished,
     For they oftentimes shake hands
     Arms and letters as though kinsmen.
     If to meet here in the field
     Was the quarrel's first condition,
     Having met and fought, its lies
     Calumny can never whisper.
     And the cause you thus can tell me
     Of the feud that brings you hither;
     For I promise, if, on hearing
     What to me is thus committed,
     I perceive that satisfaction
     Must on either side be given,
     Here to leave you both alone,
     Unobserved by any witness.

     LELIUS.  Then on this condition solely,
     That you leave us, when the bitter
     Truth is told, to end our quarrel,
     I to tell the cause am willing.
     I a certain lady love,
     The same lady as his mistress
     Florus also loves; now see,
     How incompatible are our wishes!—
     Since betwixt two jealous nobles
     No mediation is admitted.

     FLORUS.  I this lady love so much,
     That the sunlight I would hinder
     From beholding her sweet face.
     Since then all interposition
     Is in vain, pray stand aside,
     And our quarrel let us finish.

     CYPRIAN.  Stay, for one more thing I'd know.
     Tell me this of your fair mistress,
     Is she possible to your hopes,
     Or impossible to your wishes?—

     LELIUS. Oh: she is so good and wise,
     That if even the sun enkindled
     Jealousy in the heart of Florus,
     It was jealousy pure and simple,
     Without cause, for even the sun
     Dare not look upon her visage.

     CYPRIAN.  Would you marry with her, then?

     FLORUS.  This is all my heart's ambition.

     CYPRIAN.  And would you?

     LELIUS.      Ah, would to heaven,
     I were destined for such blisses!—
     For although she's very poor,
     Virtue dowers her with its riches.

     CYPRIAN.  If you both aspire to wed her,
     Is it not an act most wicked,
     Most unworthy, thus beforehand
     Her unspotted fame to injure?
     What will say the world, if one
     Of you two shall marry with her
     After having killed the other
     For her sake?  The supposition
     Is not probable in fact,
     To imagine it is sufficient.
     I by no means say you should
     Each your chances try to win her
     At one time, for I would blush
     Such a craven proposition
     Came from me, because the lover
     Who could keep his jealousy hidden,
     Would condone even shame thereafter,
     Were the opportunity given;
     But I say that you should learn
     Which of you it is your mistress
     Gives the preference to, then....

     LELIUS.          Stay!—
     For it were an act too timid,
     Too faint-hearted thus to ask
     Of a lady such admission
     As the choosing him or me.
     For if me she chose, more fixed
     Is my call for satisfaction;
     For his fault has this addition,
     He loves one who loves but me.
     If to him the choice is given,
     This intensifies my anger
     All the more, that she, my mistress,
     Whom I love, should love another.
     Her selection could do little
     In the matter, which at last
     To our swords should be committed,—
     The accepted for his honour,
     The refused for his dismissal.

     FLORUS.  I confess that I adopt
     Altogether that opinion,
     Still the privilege of selection
     May to ladies be permitted;
     So to-day I mean to ask her
     Of her father.  'Tis sufficient
     To have come here to the field,
     And my naked sword uplifted,
     (Specially as one is by
     Who the further fight resisteth,)
     For my honour;—so to sheathe,
     Lelius, my sword I'm willing.
     [Sheathes his sword.

     LELIUS.  By your argument and action,
     Florus, you have half convinced me;
     I forego the remaining half—
     True or false, I thus act with you.
     [Sheathes his sword.
     I to-day will seek her father.

     CYPRIAN.  On, of course, the supposition,
     That this lady you pay court to
     Suffers naught by the admission,
     Since you both have spoken proudly
     Of her virtue and her strictness,
     Tell me who she is; for I,
     Who am held throughout the city
     In esteem, would for you both
     Speak to her at first a little
     That she thus may be prepared
     When her father tells your wishes.

     LELIUS.  You are right.

     CYPRIAN.      Her name?

     FLORUS.            Justina,
     Daughter of Lysander.

     CYPRIAN.      Little,
     Now that I have heard her name,
     Seem the praises you have given her;
     She is virtuous as she's noble.
     Instantly I'll pay my visit.

     FLORUS [aside].  May heaven grant that in my favour
     Her cold heart be moved to pity!

     LELIUS.  Love, my hopes with laurels crown
     When they are to her submitted!

     CYPRIAN.  Further mischief or misfortune,
     Grant me, heaven, that I may hinder!

     SCENE VI.


     MOSCON.  Has your worship heard our master
     Now is gone to pay a visit
     To Justina?

     CLARIN.      Yes, my lord.
     But what matter if he didn't?

     MOSCON.  Matter quite enough, your worship;
     He has no business there.

     CLARIN.      Why, prithee?

     MOSCON.  Why?  because I die for Livia,
     Who is maid to this Justina,
     And I wouldn't have even the sun
     Get a glimpse of her through the window.

     CLARIN.  Well, that's good; but, for a lady,
     To contend were worse than silly,
     Whom I mean to make my wife.

     MOSCON.  Excellent, faith! the fancy tickles
     Quite my fancy.  Let her say
     Who it is that annoys or nicks her
     To a nicety.  Let's go see her,
     And she'll choose.

     CLARIN.      A good idea!—
     Though I fear she'll pitch on you.

     MOSCON.  Have you then that wise suspicion?

     CLARIN.  Yes; for always these same Livias
     Choose the worst, th'ungrateful minxes.*
     [footnote] *The 'asonante' versification in 'i-e', which has been
     kept up through these six scenes, ends here.  The seventh scene
     commences in rhymed five-line stanzas, which change to the asonante
     in e-e, at the beginning of Lysander's long speech.



     Enter JUSTINA and LYSANDER.

     JUSTINA.  Consolation, sir, is vain,
     After what I've seen to-day:
     The whole city, madly gay,
     Error-blinded and insane,
     Consecrating shrine and fane
     To an image, which I know,
     Cannot be a god, although
     Some demoniac power may pass,
     Making breathe the silent brass
     As a proof that it is so.

     LYSANDER.  Fair Justina, thou indeed,
     Wert not who thou art, if thou
     Didst not weep as thou dost now,
     Didst not in thy pure heart bleed
     For what Christ's divinest creed
     Suffers on this sinful day.

     JUSTINA.  Thus my lineage I display:—
     For thy child I could not be,
     Could I without weeping see
     This idolatrous display.

     LYSANDER.  Ah, my good, my gentle maid!
     Thou art not my daughter, no,
     'Twere too happy, if 'twere so.
     But, O God! what's this I've said?—
     My life's secret is betrayed!
     'Twas my soul that spoke aloud.

     JUSTINA.  What do you say, sir?

     LYSANDER.      Oh! a crowd
     Of old thoughts my heart hath stirred.

     JUSTINA.  Many times methought I heard
     What but now you have avowed,
     And yet never wished to hear,
     At the risk perchance of paining,
     A more accurate explaining
     Of your sorrow and my fear;
     But since now it doth appear
     Right that I should be possess'd
     Of the whole truth half confess'd,
     Let me say, though bold appearing,—
     Trust your secret to my hearing,
     Since it hath escaped your breast.

     LYSANDER.  Ah! Justina, I have long
     Kept this secret from your ears,
     Fearing from your tender years
     That the telling might be wrong;
     But now seeing you are strong,
     Firm in thought, in action brave,
     Seeing too, that with this stave,
     I go creeping o'er the ground,
     Rapping with a hollow sound
     At the portals of the grave,
     Knowing that my time is brief,
     I would not here leave you, no,
     In your ignorance; I owe
     My own peace, too, this relief:
     Then attentive to my grief
     Let your pleasure list.

     JUSTINA.      A fear
     Struggles in my breast.

     LYSANDER.      Severe
     Is the test my duty pays.

     JUSTINA.  From this most perplexing maze
     Oh, sir, rescue me.

     LYSANDER.      Then hear.
     I, most beautiful Justina,
     Am Lysander....  This commencement
     With my name need not surprise you;
     For though known to you already,
     It is right, for all that follows,
     That it should be well remembered,
     Since of me you know no more
     Than what this my name presenteth.
     Yes, I am Lysander, son
     Of that city which on Seven
     Hills a hydra seems of stone,
     Since it seven proud heads erecteth;
     Of that city now the seat
     Of the mighty Roman empire,
     Cradle of Christ's wider realm,—
     Boon that Rome alone could merit.
     There of poor and humble parents
     I was born, if "poor" expresses
     Well their rank who left behind them
     Virtues, not vain earthly treasures.
     Both of them by birth were Christians,
     Joyful both to be descended
     From brave sires who with their blood
     Happily life's page had reddened,
     Terminating the dull scroll
     With death's bright emblazoned letters.
     In the Christian faith well grounded
     I grew up, and so well learnt it,
     That I would, in its defence,
     Even a thousand lives surrender.
     I was young still, when to Rome,
     In disguise and ill attended,
     Came our good Pope Alexander,
     Who then prudently directed
     The high apostolic see,
     Though its place there was not settled;
     For, as the despotic power
     Of the stern and cruel gentiles
     Satisfies its thirst with blood
     From the martyrs' veins that shed it,
     So must still the primitive church
     Keep concealed its sons and servants;
     Not that they decline to die,
     Not that martyrdom is dreaded
     But that rebel rage should not,
     At one stroke, one hour of vengeance,
     Triumph o'er the ruined church,
     So that no one should be left it
     Who could preach and teach the word,
     Who could catechise the gentile.
     Alexander being in Rome,
     I was secretly presented
     To him there, and from his hand
     Which was graciously extended,
     With his blessing I received
     Holy Orders, which the seraphs
     Well might envy me, since man
     Only such an honour merits.
     Alexander, as my mission,
     Unto Antioch then sent me,
     Where the law of Christ in secret
     I should preach.  With glad contentment
     I obeyed, and at their mercy,
     Through so many nations wending,
     Came at length to Antioch;
     And when I, these hills ascending,
     Saw beneath me in the valley
     All its golden towers and temples,
     The sun failed me, and down sinking
     Drew with him the day, presenting
     For my solace a companion,
     And a substitute for his presence
     In the light of stars, a pledge
     That he'd soon return to bless me.
     With the sun I lost my way,
     And then wandering dejected
     Through the windings of the forest,
     Found me in the dim recesses
     Of a natural bower, wherein
     Even the numerous rays that trembled
     Downward from each living torch
     Could in noways find an entrance,
     For to black clouds turned the leaves
     That by day were green with freshness.
     Here arranging to await
     The new sun's reviving presence,
     Giving fancy that full scope,
     That wide range which it possesses,
     I in solitude indulged
     Many and many a deep reflection.
     Thus absorbed was I in thought
     When there came to me the echo
     Of a sigh half heard, for half
     To its owner retroverted.
     Then collecting in mine ear
     All my senses joined together,
     I again heard more distinctly
     That weak cry, that faint expression,
     That mute idiom of the sad,
     Since by it they're comprehended.
     From a woman came that groan
     To whose sigh so low and gentle
     Followed a man's deeper voice,
     Who thus speaking low addressed her:
     "Thou first stain of noblest blood
     By my hands this moment perish,
     Ere thou meetest with thy death
     'Neath the hands of infamous headsmen."—
     Then the hapless woman said
     In a voice that sobbed and trembled,
     "Ah, lament for thine own blood,
     But for me do not lament thee!"—
     I attempted then to reach them,
     That the stroke might be prevented,
     But I could not, since the voices
     At that moment ceased and ended,
     And a horseman rode away
     'Mong the tree-trunks undetected.
     Loadstone of my deep compassion
     Was that voice which still exerted
     All its failing powers to speak
     Amid groans and tears this sentence,—
     "Dying innocent and a Christian
     I a martyr's death may merit."—
     Following the polar-star
     Of the voice, I came directly
     Where the gloom revealed a woman,
     Though I could not well observe her,
     Who in life's despairing struggle,
     Hand to hand with death contended.
     Scarcely was I heard, when she
     Summoning up her strength addressed me,—
     "Blood-stained murderer mine, come back,
     Nor in this last hour desert me
     Of my life."—"I am," said I,
     "Only one whom chance hath sent here,
     Guided it may be by heaven,
     To assist you in this dreadful
     Hour of trial."—"Vain," she said,
     "Is the favour that your mercy
     Offers to my life, for see,
     Drop by drop the life-stream ebbeth,
     Let this hapless one enjoy it,
     Who it seems that heaven intendeth,
     Being born upon my grave,
     All my miseries should inherit."—
     So she died, and then I...



     Enter LIVIA.

     LIVIA.      Sir,
     The same tradesman who so presses
     To be paid, comes here to seek you,
     By the magistrate attended.
     That you were not in, I told him:
     By that door you have an exit.

     JUSTINA.  This untimely interruption
     By their coming, how it frets me!
     For upon your tragic story
     Life, soul, reason, all depended!—
     But retire, sir, lest the justice
     Should here meet you, if he enters.

     LYSANDER.  Ah! with what indignities
     Poverty must be contented!

     JUSTINA.  They are coming here, no doubt,
     Outside I can hear some persons.

     LIVIA.  No, they are not they.  I see
     It is Cyprian.

     JUSTINA.      How? what sendeth
     Cyprian here?

     SCENE IX.


     CYPRIAN.      A wish to serve you
     Is the sole cause of my presence.
     For on seeing the officials
     Issuing from your house, the friendship
     Which I owe unto Lysander
     Made me bold herein to enter;
     But to know ([Aside.]  Disturbed, bewildered
     Am I.) if by chance ([Aside.] What gelid
     Frost is freezing up my veins!)
     I in any way could help you.
     ([Aside.]  Ah, how badly have I spoken!—
     Fire not frost my blood possesses!)

     JUSTINA.  May heaven guard you many years,
     Since in his more grave concernments,
     Thus you honour my dear father
     With your favours.

     CYPRIAN.      I shall ever
     Be most gratified to serve you.
     ([Aside.]  What disturbs me, what unnerves me?)

     JUSTINA.  He is not just now at home.

     CYPRIAN.  Thus then, lady, I can better
     Tell you what is the true cause
     That doth bring me here at present;
     For the cause that you have heard
     Is not that which wholly led me
     Here to see you.

     JUSTINA.      Then, what is it?

     CYPRIAN.  This, which craves your brief attention.—
     Fair Justina, beauty's shrine,*
     To whose human loveliness
     Nature, with a fond excess,
     Adds such marks of the divine,
     'Tis your rest that doth incline
     Hither my desire to-day:
     But see what the tyrant sway
     Of despotic fate can do,—
     While I bring your rest to you,
     You from me take mine away.
     Lelius, of his passion proud,
     (Never less was love to blame!)
     Florus, burning with love's flame,
     (Ne'er could flame be more allowed!)
     Each of them by vows they vowed
     Sought to kill his friend for you:
     I for you disturbed the two,
     (Woe is me!) but see the end;
     While from death I saved my friend,
     You my own death give in lieu.
     Lest the scandal-monger's hum
     Should be buzzed about your name,
     Here to speak with you I came,
     (Would that I had never come!)
     That your choice might strike it dumb,
     Being the umpire in the cause,
     Being the judge in love's sweet laws;—
     But behold what I endure,
     While I their sick hearts may cure,
     Jealousy mine own heart gnaws.
     Lady, I proposed to be
     Their bold spokesman here, that you
     Might decide betwixt the two
     Which you would select (ah, me!)
     That I might (oh, misery!)
     Ask you of your father: vain
     This pretence.  No more I'll feign:—
     For you see while I am speaking
     About them, my heart is seeking
     But a vent for its own pain.
     [footnote] * The five-lined rhymed stanza here recommences, and
     continues to the end of the scene.
     JUSTINA.  Half in wonder and dismay
     At the vile address you make me,
     Reason, speech, alike forsake me,
     And I know not what to say.
     Never in the slightest way
     Have your clients had from me
     Encouragement for this embassy—
     Florus never—Lelius no:—
     Of the scorn that I can show
     Let then this a warning be.

     CYPRIAN.  If I, knowing that you loved
     Some one else, would dare to seek
     Your regard, my love were weak,
     And could justly be reproved.
     But here seeing you stand unmoved,
     Like a rock mid raging seas,
     No extraneous miseries
     Make me say I love you now.
     'Tis not for my friends I bow,
     So your warning hear with ease.—
     To Lelius what shall I say?

     JUSTINA.      That he
     Well may trust the boding fears
     Of his love of many years.

     CYPRIAN.  To Florus?

     JUSTINA.      Not my face to see.

     CYPRIAN.  And to myself?

     JUSTINA.      Your love should be
     Not so bold.

     CYPRIAN.      Though a god should woo?

     JUSTINA.  Will a god do more for you
     Than for those I have denied?

     CYPRIAN.  Yes.

     JUSTINA.      Well then, I have replied
     To Lelius, Florus, and to you.
     [Exeunt JUSTINA and CYPRIAN at opposite sides.

     SCENE X.


     CLARIN.  Livia, heigh!

     MOSCON.      And Livia, ho!—
     List good lass.

     CLARIN.      We're here, we two.

     LIVIA.  Well, what WANT you, sir?  and YOU,
     What do you want?

     CLARIN.      We both would show,
     If perchance you do not know,
     That we love you to distraction.
     On a murderous transaction
     We came here, to kill each other:—
     So to put an end to the bother,
     Just choose one for satisfaction.

     LIVIA.  Why the thing that you're demanding
     Is so great, it hath bereft me
     Of my wits.  My grief hath left me
     Without sense or understanding.
     Choose but one!  My heart expanding,
     Beats so hard a strait to shun!
     I one only!  'Tis for fun
     That you ask me so to do.
     For with heart enough for two,
     Why require that I choose one?

     CLARIN.  Two at once would you have to woo?
     Would not two embarrass you, pray?

     LIVIA.  No, we women have a way
     To dispose of them two by two.

     MOSCON.  What's the way? do tell us, do;—
     What is it? speak.

     LIVIA.      You put one out!—
     I would love them, do not doubt....

     MOSCON.  How?


     CLARIN.            Eh,

     LIVIA.      'Tis to say,
     That I would love them day about.

     MOSCON.  Well, I choose to-day: good-bye.

     CLARIN.  I, to-morrow, the better part.
     So I give it with all my heart.

     MOSCON.  Livia, in fine, for whom I die,
     To-day love me, and to-day love I.
     Happy is he who so much can say.

     CLARIN.  Hearken, my friend: you know my way.

     MOSCON.  Why this speech?  Does a threat lie in it?

     CLARIN.  Mind, she is not yours a minute
     After the clock strikes twelve to-day.

     SCENE XI.


     Enter FLORUS and LELIUS at opposite sides, not seeing each other.

     LELIUS [aside].  Scarcely has the darksome night
     O'er the brow of heaven extended*
     Its black veil, when I come hither
     To adore this sacred threshold;
     For although at Cyprian's prayer,
     I my sharp sword have suspended,
     I have not my love, for love
     Cannot be suspended ever.
     [footnote] *Asonante in e-e, to the end of the Act.
     FLORUS [aside].  Here the dawn will find me waiting:—
     Here, because 'tis force compels me
     To go hence, for I, elsewhere,
     Am away from my true centre.
     Would to love the day had come,
     And with it the dear, expected
     Answer Cyprian may bring me,
     Risking all upon that venture.

     LELIUS [aside].  I have surely in that window
     Heard a noise.

     FLORUS [aside].  Some sound descends here
     From that balcony.


     The Demon appears at a window in the house of LYSANDER.

     LELIUS [aside].      A figure
     Issues from it, whose dim presence
     I distinguish.

     FLORUS [aside].      Through the darkness
     I can there perceive some person.

     DEMON [aside].  For the many persecutions
     O'er Justina's head impending,
     Her pure honour to defame
     Thus I make a bold commencement.
     [He descends by a ladder.

     LELIUS [aside].  But, O woe! what's this I witness!—

     FLORUS [aside].  What do I see!  Oh, wretched!  wretched!—

     LELIUS [aside].  From the balcony to the ground
     The dark figure has descended.

     FLORUS [aside].  From her house a man comes forth!—
     Jealousy kill me not, preserve me,
     'Till I discover who he is.

     LELIUS [aside].  I will try to intercept him
     And find out at once who thus
     Tastes the bliss I've lost for ever.

     [They advance with drawn swords to recognise
      the person who has descended.

     DEMON [aside].  Not alone Justina's fame
     Do I by this act discredit,
     But dissensions, perhaps murders,
     Thus provoke.  Ope, earth's dark centre,
     And receive me, leaving here
     This confusion
     [He disappears between FLORUS and LELIUS, who meet together.



     LELIUS.      Sir, whoever
     You may be, it doth import me
     To know who you are directly;
     So at every risk I come here,
     On this resolute quest determined.
     Say who are you.

     FLORUS.      If the accident
     Of my having been the observer
     Of your secret love, compels you
     To this valorous aggression,
     More than it can you concern
     Me to know, it doth concern me
     To know you; for to be curious
     Is far less than to be jealous.
     Yes, by Heaven! for who is master
     Of the house have I to learn here,
     Who it is at such an hour,
     By this balcony ascending,
     Gaineth that which I lose weeping
     At these gratings.

     LELIUS.      This excelleth,
     Good, in faith, is it thus to dim
     The clear light of my resentment,
     By attributing to me
     That which solely your offence is!—
     Who you are I have to know,
     Death to give to him who has left me
     Dead with jealousy here, by coming
     From this balcony.

     FLORUS.      How excessive
     How superfluous is this caution,
     Proving what it would dissemble!

     LELIUS.  Vainly would the tongue untangle
     That which the keen sword can better
     Thus cut through.

     FLORUS.      With it I answer.
     [They fight.

     LELIUS.  In this way I'll know for certain
     Who is the admitted lover
     Of Justina.

     FLORUS.      My intention
     Is the same.  I'll die or know you.



     CYPRIAN.  Gentlemen, I pray you let me
     Interpose in this your quarrel,
     Since by accident I am present.

     FLORUS.  You cannot oblige me more
     Than by letting the fight be ended.

     CYPRIAN.  Florus?

     FLORUS.  Yes, for sword in hand,
     I my name deny not ever
     To who asks.

     CYPRIAN.  I'm at your side,
     Death to him who would offend you.

     LELIUS.  You produce in me less fear,
     Both of you thus joined together,
     Than did he alone.

     CYPRIAN.      What!  Lelius?

     LELIUS.  Yes.

     CYPRIAN.      I am prevented
     [To Florus.
     Now from standing at your side,
     Since between you I present me.
     How is this?  In one day twice
     Have I your disputes to settle!—

     LELIUS.  Then this time will be the last,
     For we've settled them already;
     Since in knowing who is he
     Who Justina's heart possesses,
     Now no more my hope remaineth,
     Even the thought of it hath left me.
     If you have not to Justina
     Spoken yet, do not address her;
     This I ask you in the name
     Of my wrongs and my resentments,
     Having seen her secret favours
     Florus' happier fate deserveth.
     From this balcony I saw him,
     From my lost delight descending;
     And my heart is not so base
     As to meanly love, in presence
     Of such jealousies so well proved,
     Of disillusions, ah! so certain.

     FLORUS.  Stay.

     SCENE XV.

     CYPRIAN.      You must not follow him,
     [Aside.  (Oh, this news with death o'erwhelms me!)
     Since if he who is the loser
     Of what you have gained, expressly
     Says he would forget it, you
     Should not try his patient temper.

     FLORUS.  Both by you and him at once
     Has mine own been too well tested.
     Speak not now unto Justina
     About me; for though full vengeance
     I propose to take for being
     Thus supplanted and rejected,
     Every hope of her being mine
     Now has ceased, for shameful were it,
     In the face of such proved facts,
     To persist in my addresses.



     CYPRIAN [aside].  What is this, O heavens! I hear?
     Can it be the two are jealous
     Of each other at one time?
     And I too of both together?—
     Doubtless from some strange delusion
     The two suffer, which I welcome
     With a sort of satisfaction,
     For to it I am indebted
     For the fact of their desisting
     From their suit and their pretension.—
     Moscon, have for me by morning
     A rich court-suit; sword and feathers,
     Clarin, be thy care; for love
     In a certain airy splendour
     Takes delight; for now no longer
     Books or studies give me pleasure;—
     Love they say doth murder mind,
     Learning dies when he is present.


     SCENE I.


     Enter CYPRIAN, MOSCON, and CLARIN, in gala dresses.

     CYPRIAN [aside].  Where, presumptuous thoughts, ah! where,
     Would you lead me, whither go?
     If for certain now you know
     That the high attempts you dare
     Are delusive dreams of bliss,
     Since you strive to scale heaven's wall,
     But from that proud height to fall
     Headlong down a dark abyss?
     I Justina saw..... So near
     Would to God I had not seen her,
     Nor in her divine demeanour
     All the light of heaven's fourth sphere.
     Lovers twain for her contend,
     Both being jealous each should woo,
     And I, jealous of the two,
     Know not which doth most offend.
     All I know is, that suspicion,
     Her disdain, my own desires,
     Fill my heart with furious fires—
     Drive me, ah! to my perdition.
     This I know, and know no more,
     This I feel in all my strait;
     Heavens!  Justina is my fate!
     Heavens!  Justina I adore!—

     MOSCON.      Sir.

     CYPRIAN.            Inquire, I pray,
     If Lysander's in.

     MOSCON.      I fly.

     CLARIN.  No, sir, no.  On me rely,—
     Moscon can't go there to-day.

     CYPRIAN.  Ever wrangling in this way,
     How ye both my patience try!
     Why can he not go?  Say why?

     CLARIN.  Because to-day is not his day.
     Mine it is, sir, to his sorrow.
     So your message I will bear.
     Moscon can't to-day go there;
     He will have his turn to-morrow.

     CYPRIAN.  What new madness can this be
     Which your usual feud doth show?
     But now neither of you go,
     Since in all her brilliancy
     Comes Justina.

     CLARIN.      From the street
     To her house she goes.

     SCENE II.

     Enter JUSTINA and LIVIA, veiled.—CYPRIAN, MOSCON, and CLARIN.

     JUSTINA.      Ah, me!
     Cyprian's here.  [Aside to her.]  See, Livia, see!

     CYPRIAN [aside].  I must strive and be discreet,
     Feigning with a ready wit,
     Till my jealousy I can prove.
     I will only speak of love,
     If my jealousy will permit.
     Not in vain, senora sweet,—
     Have I changed my student's dress,
     The livery of thy loveliness,
     As a servant at thy feet,
     Thus I wear.  If sighs could move thee
     I would labour to deserve thee;
     Give me leave at least to serve thee,
     Since thou wilt not let me love thee.

     JUSTINA.  Slight effect, sir, as I see,
     Have my words produced on you,
     Since they have not brought....

     CYPRIAN.      Too true!

     JUSTINA.  A forgetfulness of me.
     In what way must I explain
     Clearer than I have done before,
     That persistence at my door
     Is and ever must be vain?
     If a day, a month, a year,
     If for ages there you stay,
     Naught but this that now I say
     Ever can you hope to hear.
     As it were my latest breath,
     Let this sad assurance move thee,—
     Fate forbids that I should love thee,
     Cyprian, except in death.
     [She moves towards the house.

     CYPRIAN.  At these words my hopes revive:—
     Sad! no, no, to joy they move me,
     For if thou in death canst love me,
     Soon for me will death arrive.
     Be it so; and since so nigh
     Comes the hour your words to prove—
     Ah! even now begin to love,
     Since I now begin to die.

     [JUSTINA enters.



     CLARIN.  Livia, while my master yonder,
     Like a living skeleton,
     Life and motion being gone,
     On his luckless love doth ponder,
     Give me an embrace.

     LIVIA.      Stay, stay.
     Patience, man! until I see,
     For I like my conscience free,
     If to-day is your right day.—
     Tuesday, yes, and Wednesday, no.

     CLARIN.  What are you counting there?  Awake!
     Moscon's mum.

     LIVIA.      He might mistake,
     And I wish not to act so.
     For, desiring to pursue
     A just course betwixt you both,
     Turn about, I would be loth
     Not to give you each his due.
     But I see that you are right,
     'Tis your day.

     CLARIN.      Embrace me, then.

     LIVIA.  Yes, again, and yet again.

     MOSCON.  Hark to me, my lady bright,
     May I from your ardour borrow
     A good omen in my case;
     And as Clarin you embrace,
     Moscon you'll embrace to-morrow!

     LIVIA.  Your suspicion is, in fact,
     Quite absurd; on me rely.
     Jupiter forbid that I
     Should commit so bad an act
     As to be cool in any way
     To a friend.  I will to thee
     Give an embrace in equity,
     When it is your worship's day.

     SCENE IV.


     CLARIN.  Well, I'll not be by to see,
     That's a comfort.

     MOSCON.      How?  why so?
     Need I be chagrined to know,
     If the girl's not mine, that she
     Thus to you her debt did pay.

     CLARIN.  No.

     MOSCON.      This makes my point more strong,
     Since to me it were no wrong
     If it chanced not on my day.
     But our master yonder, see,
     How absorbed he seems.

     CLARIN.      More near,
     If he speaks I'd like to hear.

     MOSCON.  And I, too, would like.

     CYPRIAN.      Ah me!
     [As MOSCON and CLARIN approach CYPRIAN from opposite sides, he
     gesticulates with his arms, and accidentally strikes both.
     Love, how great thy agonies!—

     CLARIN.  Ah! ah, me!

     MOSCON.      Ah, me!  I bawl.

     CLARIN.  Well, I think that we may call
     This the land of the 'sigh-ah-mes'!

     CYPRIAN.  What! and have you both been here?

     CLARIN.  I, at least, was here, I'll swear.

     MOSCON.  And I, also.

     CYPRIAN.      O, despair
     End at once my sad career!
     Ah, what human heart to woe
     Like to mine has given a home?

     SCENE V.



     CLARIN.  Whither Moscon, do we roam?

     MOSCON.  When we've reached the end, we'll know.
     Leagues behind us lies the town,
     Still we go.

     CLARIN.  A strange proceeding!—
     Little time have we for reading,
     Idly pacing up and down.

     CYPRIAN.  Clarin, get thee home.

     MOSCON.      And I?

     CLARIN.  Sly-boots, would you rather stay?

     CYPRIAN.  Go: here leave me both; away!

     CLARIN.  Mind, he tells us both to fly.

     [Exeunt CLARIN and MOSCON.

     SCENE VI.

     CYPRIAN.  Memory of a maddened brain,
     Do not with such strong control
     Make me think another soul
     Is what in my heart doth reign.
     Blind idolator I have been—
     Lost in love's ambitious flight,
     Since such beauty met my sight,
     Since a goddess I have seen.
     Yet in such a maze of woe
     Rigorous fate doth make me move,
     That I know but whom I love,
     And of whom I am jealous—no.
     Yet this passion is so strong—
     Ah, so sweet this fascination,
     Driving my imagination
     With resistless force along—
     That I would (I know too well
     How this madness doth degrade me)
     To some devilish power to aid me,
     Were it even to rise from hell,
     Where some mightier power hath kept it,—
     Sharing all its pains in common,—
     I would, to possess this woman,
     Give my soul.


     The Demon and CYPRIAN.

     Demon [within].      And I accept it.

     [A great tempest is heard, with thunder and lightning.

     CYPRIAN.  What's this, ye heavens so pure?
     Clear but a moment hence and now obscure,
     Ye fright the gentle day!
     The thunder-balls, the lightning's forked ray,
     Leap from its riven breast—
     Terrific shapes it cannot keep at rest;
     All the whole heaven a crown of clouds doth wear,
     And with the curling mist, like streaming hair,
     This mountain's brow is bound.
     Outspread below, the whole horizon round
     Is one volcanic pyre.
     The sun is dead, the air is smoke, heaven fire.
     Philosophy, how far from thee I stray,
     When I cannot explain the marvels of this day!
     And now the sea, upborne on clouds the while,
     Seems like some ruined pile,
     That crumbling down the wind as 'twere a wall,
     In dust not foam doth fall.
     And struggling through the gloom,
     Facing the storm, a mighty ship seeks room
     On the open sea, whose rage it seems to court,
     Flying the dangerous pity of the port.
     The noise, the terror, and that fearful cry,
     Give fatal augury
     Of the impending stroke.  Death hesitates,
     For each already dies who death awaits.
     With portents the whole atmosphere is rife,
     Nor is it all the effect of elemental strife.
     The ship is rigged with tempest as it flies.*
     It rushes on the lee,
     The war is now no longer of the sea;
     Upon a hidden rock
     It strikes: it breaks as with a thunder shock.
     Blood flakes the foam where helpless it is tost.
     [footnote] *Hartzenbusch remarks that there is no corresponding rhyme
     for this line in the original, and that both the sense and the
     versification are defective.—'Comedias de Calderon', t. 2, p. 178.
     [The sound of the tempest increases, and voices are heard within.

     VOICES WITHIN.  We sink! we sink! we're lost!

     DEMON [within]. For what I have in hand,
     I'll trust this plank to bear me to the land.

     CYPRIAN.  As scorning the wild wave
     One man alone his life attempts to save.
     While lurching over, mid the billows' swell,
     The great ship sinks to where the Tritons dwell;
     There, with its mighty ribs asunder rent,
     It lies a corse of the sea, its grave and monument.

     [Enter The Demon, dripping with wet, as if escaped from the sea.

     DEMON [aside].  For the end I wish to gain
     It was of necessity
     That upon this sapphire sea
     I this fearful storm should feign,
     And in form unlike that one
     Which in this wild wood I wore,
     When I found my deepest lore
     By his keener wit outdone,
     Come again to assail him here,
     Trusting better now to prove
     Both his intellect and his love.—
     Earth, loved earth, O mother dear,
     From this monster, this wild sea,
     Give me shelter in thy arms.

     CYPRIAN.  Lose, my friend, the dread alarms,
     And the cruel memory
     Of thy peril happily past;
     Since we learn or late or soon,
     That beneath the inconstant moon
     Human bliss doth never last.

     DEMON.  Who are thou, at whose kind feet
     Has my fortune cast me here?

     CYPRIAN.  One who with a pitying tear,
     For a ruin so complete,
     Would alleviate your woe.

     DEMON.  Ah, impossible!—for me
     Never, never, can there be
     Any solace.

     CYPRIAN.      How, why so?

     DEMON.  All my priceless wealth I've lost...
     But I'm wrong to thus complain,
     I'll forget, nay, think it gain,
     Since my life it hath not cost.

     CYPRIAN.  Now that the wild whirl malign
     Of this earthquake storm doth cease,
     And the sky returns to peace,
     Quiet, calm, and crystalline,
     And the bright succeeds the dark
     With such strange rapidity,
     That the storm would seem to be
     Only raised to sink thy bark,
     Tell me who thou art, repay
     Thus a sympathy so sincere.

     DEMON.  It has cost me to come here
     More than you have seen to-day,
     More than I can well express;
     Of the miseries I recall
     This ship's loss is least of all.
     Would you see that clearly?

     CYPRIAN.      Yes.

     DEMON.  I am since you wish to know it,
     An epitome, a wonder*
     Of all happiness and misfortune,
     One I have lost, I weep the other.
     By my gifts was I so glorious,
     So conspicuous in my order,
     Of a lineage so illustrious,
     With a mind so well informed,
     That my rare endowments feeling,
     A great king (in truth the noblest
     King of Kings, for all would tremble
     If he looked in anger on them,)
     In his palace roofed with diamonds
     And with gems as bright as morning,
     (If I called them stars, 'tis certain
     The comparison were too modest,)
     His especial favourite called me.
     Which high epithet of honour
     So enflamed my pride, as rival
     For his royal seat I plotted,
     Hoping soon my victor footsteps
     Would his golden thrones have trodden.
     It was an unheard-of daring,
     THAT, chastized I must acknowledge,
     I was mad; but then repentance
     Were a still insaner folly.
     Obstinate in my resistance,
     With my spirit yet unconquered,
     I preferred to fall with courage
     Than surrender with dishonour.
     If the attempt was rash, the rashness
     Was not solely my misfortune,
     For among his numerous vassals
     Not a few my standard followed.
     From his court, in fine, thus vanquished,
     Though part victor in the contest,
     I went forth, my eyes outflashing
     Flames of anger and abhorrence,
     And my lips proclaiming vengeance
     For the public insult offered
     To my pride, among his people
     Scattering murder, rapine, horror.
     Then a bloody pirate, I
     The wide plains of the sea ran over,
     Argus of its dangerous shallows,
     Lynx-eyed where the reefs lay covered;
     In that vessel which the wind
     Bit by bit so soon demolished,
     In that vessel which the sea
     As a dustless ruin swallowed,
     I to-day these fields of crystal
     Eagerly ran o'er, my object
     Being stone by stone to examine,
     Tree by tree to search this forest:—
     For a man in it is living,
     Whom it is of great importance
     I should see, this day expecting
     The fulfilment of a promise
     Which he gave and I accepted.
     This infuriate tempest stopped me.
     And although my powerful genius
     Could chain up east, south, and north wind,
     I cared not, as if despairing
     Of success, with other objects,
     Other aims in view, to turn them
     To the west wind's summer softness.—
     (I have said I could, but did not,
     For I note the dangerous workings
     Of his mind, and thus to magic
     Bind him by these hints the stronger.)
     Let not my wild fury fright thee,
     Nor be at my power astonished,
     For I could my own death give me,
     If I were by rage so prompted,
     And so great that power, the sunlight,
     By my science could be blotted.
     I, in magic am so mighty,
     That I can describe the orbits
     Of the stars, for I have travelled
     Through the farthest and beyond them.
     And in order that this boasting
     May not seem to you mere bombast,
     Look, if at this very instant
     You desire it, this untrodden
     Nimrod of rude rocks more savage
     Than of Babylon is recorded,
     Shall without a leaf being shaken,
     Show the most horrific portents.
     I am, then, the orphan guest here
     Of these ash-trees, of these poplars,
     And though what I am, assistance
     At thy feet here I ask from thee:
     And I wish the good I purchase
     To repay thee with the product
     Of unnumbered years of study,
     Though it now slight effort costs me,
     Giving to your wildest wishes
     (Here I touch his love,) the fondest
     Longings of your heart, whatever
     Passion can desire or covet.
     If through courtesy or caution
     You should not accept my offer,
     Let my good intentions pay you,
     If from greater acts you stop me.
     For the pity that you show me,
     Which I thankfully acknowledge,
     I will be a friend so faithful,
     That henceforth the changeful monster
     Of events and acts, called Fortune,
     Which 'twixt flattering words and scornful,
     Generous now, and now a miser,
     Shows a friendly face or hostile,
     Neither it nor that laborious
     Ever flying, running worker,
     Time, the loadstone of the ages,
     Nor even heaven itself, heaven proper,
     To whose stars the dark world oweth
     All its most divine adornment,
     Will have power to separate me
     From your side a single moment,
     Since you here have given me welcome.
     And even this is almost nothing
     When compared with what my wishes
     Hope hereafter to accomplish.
     [footnote] *Asonante in 1-3, to the end of the speech.
     CYPRIAN.  Well to the sea, my thanks are due, that bore
     You struggling to the shore,
     And led you to this grove,
     Where you will quickly prove
     The friendly feelings that inflame my breast,
     If happily I merit such a guest.
     Then let us homeward wend,
     For I esteem you now as an old friend.
     My guest you are, and so you must not leave me
     While my house suits you.

     DEMON.      Do you then receive me
     Wholly as yours?

     CYPRIAN [embracing him].  This act doth prove it true,
     That seals an eternal bond betwixt us two.—
     Oh! if I could win o'er
     This man to instruct me in his magic lore!
     Since by that art my love might gain
     Some solace for its pain;
     Or yielding to its mighty laws
     My love at length might win my love's sweet cause—
     The cause of all my torment, madness, rage.

     DEMON [aside].  The working of his mind and love I gauge.


     CLARIN and MOSCON enter running from opposite sides.

     CYPRIAN and The Demon.

     CLARIN.  Oh! are you sir, alive?

     MOSCON.      My friend, do you
     Speak civilly for once as something new?
     That he's alive requires no demonstration.

     CLARIN.  I struck this lofty note of admiration,
     Thou noble lackey, to express my wonder,
     How from this storm of lightning, rain, and thunder,
     Without a miracle he could survive.

     MOSCON.  Will you stop wondering, now you see him alive?

     CYPRIAN.  These are my servants, sir.—
     What brings you here?

     MOSCON.      Your spleen once more to stir.

     DEMON.  They have a pleasant humour.

     CYPRIAN.      Foolish pair,
     Their weary wit is oft too hard to bear.

     MOSCON.  This man, sir, waiting here,
     Who is he?

     CYPRIAN.  He's my guest, so do not fear.

     CLARIN.  Wherefore have guests at such a time as this?

     CYPRIAN [to The Demon].  Your worth is lost on ignorance such as his.

     MOSCON.  My master's right.  Are you, forsooth, his heir?

     CLARIN.  No; but our new friend there,
     Looks like a guest, unless I deceive me, who
     Will honour our poor house a year or two.

     MOSCON.  Why?

     CLARIN.      When a guest soon means to go away,
     Well, he'll not make much smoke in the house, we say.
     But this....

     MOSCON.      Speak out.

     CLARIN.            Will make, I do not joke..

     MOSCON.  What?

     CLARIN.      In the house a deuced deal of smoke.

     CYPRIAN.  In order to repair
     The danger done by the rude sea and air,
     Come thou with me.

     DEMON.       [Aside.]  I'm thine, while thou hast breath.

     CYPRIAN.  I go to prepare thy rest.

     DEMON [aside].      And I thy death:—
     An entrance having gained
     Within his breast, and thus my end obtained;
     My rage insatiate now without control
     Seeks by another way to win Justina's soul.

     CLARIN.  Guess, if you can, what I am thinking about.

     MOSCON.  What is it?

     CLARIN.      That a new volcano has burst out
     In the late storm, there's such a sulphur smell.

     MOSCON.  It came from the guest, as my good nose could tell.

     CLARIN.  He uses bad pastilles, then; but I can
     Infer the cause.

     MOSCON.      What is it?

     CLARIN.            The poor gentleman
     Has a slight rash on his skin, a ticklish glow,
     And uses sulphur ointment.

     MOSCON.  Gad! 'tis so.

     SCENE IX.



     FABIUS.  You return, then, to this street.

     LELIUS.  Yes; the life that I deplore
     I return to seek once more
     Where 'twas lost.  Ah! guide my feet,
     Love, to find it!—

     FABIUS.      That house there
     Is Justina's; come away.

     LELIUS.  Wherefore, when I will to-day
     Once again my love declare.
     And as she, I saw it plain,
     Trusted some one else at night,
     'Tis not strange, in open light,
     That I try to soothe my pain.
     Leave me, go; for it is best
     That I enter here alone.
     My rank in Antioch is known,
     My father Governor; thus drest
     In his robe as 'twere, my strong
     Passion listening to no mentor,
     I Justina's house will enter
     To protest against my wrong.

     SCENE X.


     JUSTINA, and afterwards LELIUS.

     JUSTINA.  Livia.... But a step! who's there?

     [LELIUS enters
     LELIUS.  It is I.

     JUSTINA.      What novelty,
     What extreme temerity,
     Thus, my lord, compels you?...

     LELIUS.      Spare
     Your reproaches.  Jealous-grown,
     I can bear that you reprove.
     Pardon me, for with my love
     My respect has also flown.

     JUSTINA.  Why, at such a perilous cost
     Have you dared...

     LELIUS.      Because I'm mad.

     JUSTINA.  To intrude....

     LELIUS.      Heart-broken, sad.

     JUSTINA.  Here....

     LELIUS.      Because, in truth, I'm lost.

     JUSTINA.  Nor perceive how scandal views
     Such an act as now you do

     LELIUS.      Be not so moved, for you
     Little honour now can lose.

     JUSTINA.  Lelius, spare at least my fame.

     LELIUS.  Ah, Justina, it were best
     That this language you addressed
     Unto him who nightly came
     Down here from this balcony;—
     'Tis enough for me to show
     All your lightness that I know,
     That less coy and cold to me
     Your pretended honour prove.
     If I am disdained, displaced,
     'Tis another suits your taste,
     Not that you your honour love.

     JUSTINA.  Silence, cease, your words withhold.
     Who with insult e'er before
     Dared to pass my threshold's door?
     Are you then so blind and bold,
     So audacious, so insane,
     As my pure light to eclipse,
     Through the libel of your lips,
     By chimeras false and vain?—
     In my house a man?

     LELIUS.      'Tis so.

     JUSTINA.  From my balcony?

     LELIUS.      With shame
     I repeat it.

     JUSTINA.      O, my fame,
     O'er us twain your Aegis throw.

     SCENE XI.

     THE SAME.

     The Demon appears at the door which is behind JUSTINA.

     DEMON [aside].  For the deep design I handle,
     For my double plot I come
     Raging to this simple home,
     Now to work the greatest scandal
     Ever seen.  Here, brooding o'er him,
     This wild lover mad with ire,
     I will fan his jealous fire,
     I will place myself before him,
     Catch his eye, and then as fleeing,
     In invisible gloom array me.
     [He affects to come in, and being seen by LELIUS muffles himself in
     his cloak, and re-enters the inner apartment.

     JUSTINA.  Man, do you come here to slay me?

     LELIUS.  No, to die.

     JUSTINA.      What object seeing
     Paralyses thus your senses?

     LELIUS.  What I see is your untruth.
     Tell me now, the wish, forsooth,
     Has invented my offences.
     From that very chamber there
     Came a man, I turned my head,
     When he saw my face he fled
     Back into the room.

     JUSTINA.      The air
     Must this phantasy display—
     This illusion.

     LELIUS.      Oh, that sight!

     JUSTINA.  Is it not enough by night,
     Lelius, but in open day
     Thus fictitious forms to see?

     LELIUS.  Phantom shape or real lover,
     Now the truth I will discover.
     [He goes into the room where The Demon had disappeared.

     JUSTINA.  I no hindrance offer thee,
     For my innocence, a way,
     At the cost of this permission,
     Thus finds out the night's submission
     To correct by the light of day.


     LYSANDER and JUSTINA; LELIUS, within.

     LYSANDER.  My Justina.

     JUSTINA [aside].      Woe is me!
     Ah, if here before Lysander*
     Lelius from that room comes forth!
     [footnote] *Asonante in a-i to the end of Scene XVII.
     LYSANDER.  My misfortunes, my disasters
     Fly to be consoled by thee.

     JUSTINA.  What can be the grief, the sadness,
     That your face betrays so plainly?

     LYSANDER.  And no wonder, when the pallor
     Springs even from the heart.  This sobbing
     Stops my weak words in their passage.

     [LELIUS appears at the door of the apartment.
     LELIUS [aside].  I begin now to believe,
     Since he is not in this chamber,
     Jealousy can cause these spectres.
     He, the man I saw, has vanished,
     How I know not.

     JUSTINA [aside to Lelius].  Come not forth,
     Lelius, here before my father.

     LELIUS.  Convalescent in my sickness
     I will wait till he is absent.

     JUSTINA.  Why this weeping? why this sighing?
     What, sir, moves thee, what unmans thee?

     LYSANDER.  I am moved by a misfortune,
     I'm unmanned by a disaster,
     Greater far than tender pity
     Ever wept,—the dread example
     Cruelty has sworn to make
     In the innocent blood of martyrs.
     To the Governor of this city
     Decius Caesar a strict mandate
     Has despatched... I can speak no more.

     JUSTINA [aside].  What position e'er was harder?
     Moved with pity for the Christians
     Hither comes to me Lysander
     The sad news to tell, not knowing
     Lelius to his words may hearken,—
     Lelius, the Governor's son.

     LYSANDER.  So Justina...

     JUSTINA.      Sir, no farther,
     Since you feel it so acutely,
     Speak upon this painful matter.

     LYSANDER.  Let me, for I'll feel some solace
     When to thee it is imparted.
     In it he commands...

     JUSTINA.      Proceed not
     Further  now, when you should rather
     Cheat your years with more repose.

     LYSANDER.  How? when I, to make you partner
     In those lively fears whose bodings
     Are sufficient to despatch me,
     Would inform you of the edict,
     The most cruel that the margin
     Of the Tiber ever saw
     Writ in blood to stain its waters,
     Do you stop me?  Ah, Justina,
     You were wont in another manner
     Once to listen to me.

     JUSTINA.      Sir,
     Different were the circumstances.

     LELIUS [at the door, aside].  I can hear but indistinctly
     Half-formed words and broken accents.


     FLORUS enters.—JUSTINA and LYSANDER; LELIUS, peeping at the door
     of the inner room.

     FLORUS [aside].  Licence has a jealous lover,
     Who but enters to unmask here
     A pretended purity,
     To forego politer manners.
     I come here with that intention...
     But as she is with her father
     I will wait a new occasion.

     LYSANDER.  Who is there?  Some footstep passes.

     FLORUS [aside].  Ah! 'tis now impossible
     Without speaking to get back here.
     Some excuse I'll try to offer:—
     I am...

     LYSANDER.      You here, sir?

     FLORUS.            Your pardon.
     I ask leave, sir, to speak with you
     On a most important matter.

     JUSTINA [aside].  Oh! take pity on me, fortune,
     For these trials are too many.

     LYSANDER.  Well, sir, speak.

     FLORUS [aside, at the door].  Florus in Justina's house
     Leaves and enters like a master!—
     These are not unfounded jealousies,
     These are real and substantial.

     LYSANDER.  You grow pale, you change your colour.

     FLORUS.  Do not wonder, be not startled,
     For I came to give a warning,
     To your life of utmost value,
     Of an enemy that you have,
     Who your swift destruction planneth.
     What I've said is quite sufficient.

     LYSANDER [aside].  Florus, doubtless, must have gathered
     Somehow that I am a Christian,
     And thus comes in kindliest manner
     Of my danger to apprise me.—
     Speak, hide nothing in this matter.


     LIVIA enters.—

     JUSTINA, LYSANDER, and FLORUS; LELIUS at the door of the room.

     LIVIA.  Sir, the Governor, who is waiting
     At the door of the house, commanded
     Me to call you to his presence.

     FLORUS.  Best I wait for his departure:—
     (Meantime my excuse I'll think of.)
     So 'tis well that you despatch him.

     LYSANDER.  I appreciate your politeness.
     Here I will return instanter.
     [Exeunt LYSANDER and LIVIA.

     SCENE XV.

     JUSTINA and FLORUS; LELIUS at the door.

     FLORUS.  Are you then that virtuous maiden,
     Who, the very breeze that flatters
     With its soft and sweet caresses,
     You would call rude, bold, unmannered?
     How then is it you surrendered
     Even the very keys of the casket
     Of your honour?

     JUSTINA.      Hold, hold, Florus,
     Do not dare to throw a shadow
     On that honour which the sun
     After the most strict examen
     Has proved bright and pure.

     FLORUS.      Too late
     Comes this idle boast.  It happens
     That I know to whom you have given
     Free access...

     JUSTINA.      You dare this scandal?—

     FLORUS.  By a balcony...

     JUSTINA.      Do not say it.

     FLORUS.  To your honour.

     JUSTINA.      Thus will you blast me?

     FLORUS.  Yes, for hypocritical virtue
     Merits something even harsher.

     LELIUS [at the door, aside].  Florus was not then the hero
     Of the balcony; some more happy
     Lover than us twain she welcomes.

     JUSTINA.  Oh! defame not noble damsels,
     Since you noble blood inherit.

     FLORUS.  Noble damsel, dar'st thou call thee,
     When thy very arms received him,
     And from thy balcony he departed?
     Power subdued thee; from the fact
     That the Governor is his father,
     Vanity led thee on to show
     That in Antioch he commanded...

     LELIUS [aside].  Here he speaks of me.

     FLORUS.      Not seeing
     Any graver defect of manner,
     Than what in his birth and breeding
     Rank may cover with its mantle,
     But not so....

     [LELIUS enters.
     LELIUS.      Be silent, Florus,
     Nor attack me in my absence;
     For of a rival to speak ill,
     Is the act but of a dastard.
     'Tis to stop this I come forward,
     Angry after so many passes
     Which my sword has had with thine,
     That I have not yet dispatched thee.

     JUSTINA.  Who, not guilty, ever saw her
     In such dangerous straits entangled?

     FLORUS.  What behind your back was spoken,
     I before you will establish,
     Truth is truth where'er 'tis uttered.
     [They grasp their swords.

     JUSTINA.  Florus!  Lelius! what would you have then.

     LELIUS.  I would have full satisfaction
     Where I heard th'insulting language.

     FLORUS.  I'll maintain what I have said
     Where I said it.

     JUSTINA.      From so many
     Strokes of fortune, free me, Heaven!—

     FLORUS.  And I'll learn to chastise your rashness.


     The Governor enters with LYSANDER and attendants.—JUSTINA, LELIUS,
     and FLORUS.

     [All who enter].  Hold! stand back!

     JUSTINA.      Unhappy me!

     GOVERNOR.  What is this?  But empty scabbards,
     Naked swords, are quite sufficient
     To inform me what has happened.

     JUSTINA.  What misfortune!

     LYSANDER.      What affliction!—

     LELIUS.  Ah, my lord...

     GOVERNOR.      Enough, no farther.
     Lelius, thou a son of mine,
     A disturber?  Thou a scandal
     To all Antioch through my favour?

     LELIUS.  Think, my lord...

     GOVERNOR.      Arrest, disarm them,
     Take them hence.  Make no distinction
     On account of blood or rank here.
     Let them suffer both alike,
     Since in guilt alike they acted.

     LELIUS [aside].  I came jealous, and go outraged.

     FLORUS [aside].  To my pains new pains are added.

     GOVERNOR.  In distinct and separate prisons,
     And with watchful eyes to guard them,
     Place the two.—And you, Lysander,
     Is it possible you have tarnished
     Such a noble reputation,

     LYSANDER.      No; let not these dazzling
     False appearances mislead you,
     For Justina in what happened
     Was quite blameless.

     GOVERNOR.      In her house here,
     Would you have her live regardless
     Of the fact that they were young,
     And that she was fair;  My anger
     I restrain, lest people say,
     I, an interested party,
     Sentence passed as partial judge.—
     But of you who caused this quarrel,
     Now that maiden shame has left you,
     Well I know that you will glad me
     With the occasion I desire,
     Of exposing, of unmasking,
     In the light of actual vices,
     The false virtuous part you've acted.

     [Exeunt The Governor and his attendants;
      LELIUS and FLORUS follow as prisoners.



     JUSTINA.  I reply but with my tears.

     LYSANDER.  Tears as vain as they are tardy.
     What an act was mine, Justina,
     When to thee my lips imparted
     Who thou art!  Oh, would I never
     Told thee, that upon the margin
     Of a rivulet in this forest,
     A dead mother's womb here cast thee!

     JUSTINA.  I....

     LYSANDER.      Do not attempt excuses.

     JUSTINA.  Heaven will make them, then, hereafter

     LYSANDER.  When too late, perhaps.

     JUSTINA.      No limit
     Can be late here while life lasteth.

     LYSANDER.  For the punishment of crimes.

     JUSTINA.  Injured truth to re-establish.

     LYSANDER.  I, from what I have seen, condemn thee.

     JUSTINA.  I thee, from what thou knowest not, rather.

     LYSANDER.  Leave me; I go forth to die
     Where my grief will soon dispatch me.

     JUSTINA.  At thy feet I would lose my life;
     But do not reject me, father.


     At the end is an open gallery, through which is seen the country.

     CYPRIAN, the Demon, MOSCON, and CLARIN.

     DEMON.  Since the hour that I have been
     In your house a guest, you ne'er
     Show a gay and cheerful air.
     Sadness in your face is seen.
     It is wrong your cure to shun,
     Seeking to mislead mine eyes,
     Since I would unsphere the skies,
     Shake the stars, and shroud the sun,
     For the least desire you feel
     That more pleasantly you might live.

     CYPRIAN.  Magic has no power to give
     The impossible I conceal,
     Though the misery I betray.

     DEMON.  Come, confess the longed-for bliss.

     CYPRIAN.  I love a woman.

     DEMON.      And is this
     The impossible that you say?

     CYPRIAN.  If you knew her, you'd agree.

     DEMON.  Well, describe her, I'm resigned;
     Though I can't but smile to find
     What a coward you must be.

     CYPRIAN.  The fair cradle of the skies,
     Where the infant sun reposes,
     Ere he rises, decked with roses,
     Robed in snow, to dry heaven's eyes.
     The green prison-bud that tries
     To restrain the conscious rose,
     When the crimson captive knows
     April treads its gardens near,
     Turning dawn's half frozen tear
     To a smile where sunshine glows.
     The sweet streamlet gliding by,
     Though it scarcely dares to breathe
     Softest murmurs through its teeth,
     From the frosts that on it lie.
     The bright pink, in its small sky
     Shining like a coral star.
     The blithe bird that flies afar,
     Drest in shifting shades and blooms—
     Soaring cithern of plumes
     Harping high o'er heaven's blue bar.
     The white rock that cheats the sun
     When it tries to melt it down,
     What it melts is but the crown
     Which from winter's snow it won.
     The green bay that will not shun,
     Though the heavens are all aglow,
     For its feet a bath of snow,—
     Green Narcissus of the brook,
     Fearless leaning o'er to look,
     Though the stream runs chill below
     In a word, the crimson dawn,
     Sun, mead, streamlet, rosebud, May
     Bird that sings his amorous lay,
     April's laugh that gems the lawn,
     Pink that sips the dews up-drawn,
     Rock that stands in storm and shine,
     Bay-tree that delights to twine
     Round its fadeless leaves the sun,
     All are parts which met in one
     Form this woman most divine.
     For myself, in blind unrest,
     (Guess my madness if you can)
     I, to seem another man,
     In these courtly robes am drest,
     Studious calm I now detest,
     Fame no longer fires my mind,
     Passion reigns where thought refined,
     I my firmness fling to tears,
     Courage I resign to fears,
     And my hopes I give the wind.
     I have said, and so will do,
     That to some infernal sprite
     I would offer with delight
     (And the pledge I now renew)
     Even my soul for her I woo.
     But my offer is in vain,
     Hell rejects it with disdain,
     For my soul, it may allege,
     Is a disproportionate pledge
     For the interest I would gain.

     DEMON.  Is this, then your boasted courage,
     In the footsteps of dejected*
     Swains to follow, who grow timid
     When their first assault's rejected?
     Are examples then so distant
     Of fair ladies who surrender
     All their vanities to entreaties,
     All their pride to fond addresses?
     Would you make your breast the prison
     Of your love, your arms her fetters?
     [footnote] *Asonante in e-e to the end of the Act.
     CYPRIAN.  Can you doubt it?

     DEMON.      Then command them
     To retire, those two, your servants,
     So that we remain here only.

     CYPRIAN.  Go: both leave me for the present.

     MOSCON.  I obey.

     CLARIN.      And I as well.—
     [Aside, concealing himself.
     Such a guest must be the devil.

     CYPRIAN.  They are gone.

     DEMON [aside].      That Clarin's hiding,
     Is to me of small concernment.

     CYPRIAN.  What more wish you now?

     DEMON.      First fasten
     Well this door.

     CYPRIAN.      Yes; none can enter.

     DEMON.  For the possession of this woman,
     With your lips you have asserted
     You would give your soul.

     CYPRIAN.      'Tis so.

     DEMON.  Then the contract is accepted.

     CYPRIAN.  What do you say?

     DEMON.      That I accept it.

     CYPRIAN.  How?

     DEMON.      So much have I effected
     By my science, that I will teach you
     How by it to get possession
     Of the woman that you worship;
     For I (though so wise and learned)
     Have no other means to win her.
     Let us now in writing settle
     What we have resolved between us.

     CYPRIAN.  Do you wish by new pretences
     To prolong the pains I suffer?
     In my hand is what I tender,
     But in yours is not the offer
     That you make me; no, for never
     Conjurations or enchantments
     Can free will control or fetter.

     DEMON.  Give me, on the terms you spoke of,
     Your signed bond.

     CLARIN.  [peeping].  The deuce!  This fellow
     Is no fool, I see.  No greenhorn
     In his business is this devil.
     I give him my bond!  No, truly,
     Though my lodgings wanted a tenant
     For the space of twenty ages,
     I wouldn't do it.

     CYPRIAN.      Sir, much jesting
     May with merry friends be pastime,
     Not with those who are dejected.

     DEMON.  I, in proof of what I am able
     To effect, will now present you
     With an example, though it faintly
     Shows the power my art possesses.
     From this gallery what is seen?

     CYPRIAN.  Much of sky, and much of meadow,
     Wood, a rivulet, and a mountain.

     DEMON.  Which to you doth seem most pleasant?

     CYPRIAN.  The proud mountain, for in it
     Is my adored one represented.

     DEMON.  Proud competitor of time,
     Rival of the years for ever,
     Who as king of fields and plains
     Crown'st thee with the cloud and tempest,
     Move thyself, change earth and air;
     Look, see who I am that tell thee.—
     And, look thou, too, since a mountain
     I can move, thou mayest a maiden.

     [The mountain moves from one side to the other in the perspective of
     the theatre.

     CYPRIAN.  Never saw I such a wonder!
     Ne'er a sight of so much terror!

     CLARIN [peeping].  With the fright and with the fear,
     I enjoy a twofold tremble.

     CYPRIAN.  Mighty mountain bird that fliest,
     Trees for wings replacing feathers,
     Boat, whose rocks supply the tackle,
     As thou furrowest through the zephyr,
     To thy centre back return thee,
     And so end this fear, this terror.

     [The mountain returns to its original position.

     DEMON.  If one proof is not sufficient,
     I will give you then a second.
     Do you wish to see the woman
     You adore?

     CYPRIAN.      Yes.

     DEMON.            Then, thy entrails
     Ope, thou monster, to whose being
     The four elements are servants.
     Show to us the perfect beauty
     That thou hidest in thy centre.
     [A rock opens and JUSTINA is seen sleeping.
     Is this she whom you adore?

     CYPRIAN.  Whom I idolize beyond measure.

     DEMON.  But since I have power to give her,
     I can take her too, remember.

     CYPRIAN.  Now impossible dream of mine,
     Now thy arms will be the centre
     Of my love, thy lips the sun,
     Burning, brimming as with nectar.

     DEMON.  Stay; for till the word you gave me
     Is affirmed, and well attested,
     You can touch her not.

     [CYPRIAN rushes towards the rock, which closes.
     CYPRIAN.      Oh, stay
     Cloud that hides the most resplendent
     Sun, that on my bliss e'er dawned!—
     But 'tis air my void arm presses.—
     I believe your art, acknowledge
     Now I am your slave for ever.
     What do you wish I do for thee?
     What do you ask?

     DEMON.      To be protected
     By your signature here written
     In your blood, at the foot of a letter.

     CLARIN [peeping].  Oh!  I'd give my soul that I
     To stay here had not been tempted.

     CYPRIAN.  For my pen I use this dagger,
     Paper let this white cloth serve for,
     And the ink wherewith I write it,
     Be the blood my arm presents me.
     [He writes with the point of a dagger upon a piece of linen, having
     drawn blood from one of his arms.

     CYPRIAN [Aside].  Oh! I freeze with fear, with horror!
     I, great Cyprian, say expressly
     I will give my immortal soul,
     (Oh! what lethargy, what frenzy!)
     Unto him whose art will teach me
     (What confusion! what strange terror!)
     How I may of fair Justina,
     Haughty mistress mine, possess me.
     I have signed it with my name.

     DEMON [aside].  Now to my deceits is rendered
     Valid homage, when such reason,
     When discourse like his must tremble
     Even when my help is sought for.—
     Have you written?

     CYPRIAN.      And signed the letter.

     DEMON.  Then the sun you adore is thine.

     CYPRIAN.  Thine too, for the years eternal,
     Is the soul I offer thee.

     DEMON.  Soul for soul I pay my debtors,
     Then for thine I give to thee
     Thy Justina's

     CYPRIAN.      In what term then,
     Think you you can teach to me
     All your magic art?

     DEMON.      A twelvemonth;
     But on this condition....

     CYPRIAN.      Speak.

     DEMON.  That within a cavern buried,
     Without any other study,
     We may live there both together,
     In our service having no one
     For us two but this attendant,
     [Drags out CLARIN.
     Who being curious hid him here;—
     By securing thus his person
     That our secret is well kept,
     We, I think, may be quite certain.

     CLARIN [aside].  Oh, that I had never waited!
     How does it happen though, so many
     Neighbours prone to pry, as I am,
     Are not caught thus by the devil?

     CYPRIAN.  So far well.  My love, my genius
     Have this happy end effected:
     First Justina will be mine,
     Then by my new lights, new learning,
     I will wake the world's surprise.

     DEMON.  I have gained what I intended.

     CLARIN.  I not so.

     DEMON.      You come with us.—
     O'er my great foe I've got the better.

     CYPRIAN.  Ah, how happy my desires,
     If I reach to such possession!—

     DEMON [aside].  Never will my envy rest
     Till I gain both souls to serve me.—
     Let us go, and in the deepest
     Cavern this wild world presenteth
     You to-day will learn in magic
     Your first lesson.

     CYPRIAN.      Let us enter,
     For my mind with such a master,
     For my love with such incentive,
     Will the sorcerer Cyprian's name
     Live before the world for ever.


     SCENE I.



     CYPRIAN.  Ungrateful beauty mine,
     At length the day, the happy day doth shine—
     My hope's remotest range,
     The limits of my love and of thy change,
     Since I to-day will gain
     At last my triumph over thy disdain.
     This lofty mountain nigh,
     Raised to the star-lit palace of the sky,
     And this dark cavern's gloom,
     Of two that live, so long the dismal tomb,
     Are the rough school wherein
     From magic art its mystic lore I win,
     And such perfection reach
     That I can now my mighty master teach.
     Seeing, that on this day, since I came here
     The sun completes its course from sphere to sphere,
     I from my prison cell come forth to view
     What in the light I now have power to do.
     Ye skies of cloudless day
     List to my magic spell-words and obey;
     Swift zephyrs that rejoice
     In heaven's warm light, stand still and hear my voice;
     Stupendous mountain rock
     Shake at my words as at an earthquake shock;
     Ye trees in rough bark drest
     Be frightened at the groanings of my breast;
     Ye flowers so fair and frail
     Faint at the echoing terror of my wail;
     Ye sweet melodious birds
     Hush all your songs before my awful words;
     Ye cruel beasts of prey
     See the first fruits of my long toil to-day;
     For blinded, dazzled, dazed,
     Confused, disturbed, astonished and amazed,
     Ye skies and zephyrs, rocks, and trees, and flowers,
     And birds, and beasts, behold my magic powers,
     And thus to all make plain
     Cyprian's infernal study is not vain.

     SCENE II.

     The Demon and CYPRIAN.

     DEMON.  Cyprian!

     CYPRIAN.      Wise friend and master still!

     DEMON.  Why, how is this, that using your free-will
     More than my precept meant,
     Say for what end, what object, what intent,
     Through ignorance or boldness can it be,
     You thus come forth the sun's bright face to see?

     CYPRIAN.  Seeing that now my spell
     Can fill with fear, with horror even hell,
     Since I, with so much care
     Have studied magic and its depths laid bare,
     So that yourself can scarcely tell
     Whether 'tis I or you that most excel,
     Seeing that now there is no place or part
     That I with study, diligence and art,
     have not attained,
     Since necromancy's secret I have gained,
     That art whose lines of gloom
     Can ope to me the dark funereal tomb,
     And bring before mine eyes
     Each corpse that in it lies,
     Regaining them, as 'twere by a new birth
     From the hard avarice of the grasping earth.
     The pale ghosts, one and all,
     Rise and respond my call;—
     And seeing that at length the sun
     My goal of life had won,
     Since from its innate force
     Swift-speeding on its course,
     Climbing the heavens each day,
     It turns as 'twere reluctantly away,
     And with a natural fear
     Completes to-day the lifetime of a year,
     I wish to attain the scope
     To last of all my dreams, of all my hope.
     To-day the rare, the beautiful, the divine
     Justina will be mine,
     Here summoned by my charms,
     Here lured by love she'll come unto my arms,
     For you from me no longer can require
     Postponement of my hope's, my heart's desire.

     DEMON.  Nor do I wish to do it, no,
     Since thus so earnestly you wish it so.
     Now trace upon the ground
     Mute mystic symbols, and the deep profound
     Of air, with powerful incantations move
     Obedient to your hope and to your love.

     CYPRIAN.  For that I will retire;
     You soon shall see the heaven and earth admire.

     DEMON.  I give you leave to go,
     Because our science being the same, I know
     That the abyss of hell
     Obedient to your spell
     Will yield through me, this way,
     The fair Justina to your arms to-day:
     For, though my mighty power
     Cannot enslave free-will even for an hour,
     It may present
     The outward show of rapture and content,
     Suggesting thoughts impure:—
     If force I cannot use, at least I lure.


     CLARIN and The Demon.

     CLARIN.  Ungrateful fair, who still my heart doth hold,
     Not burning Libya sure, but Livia cold,
     The time is come to show
     Whether in love you have been true or no,
     Whether, since I within this cave was placed,
     Not chased by me you have yourself been chaste;
     For I have studied here
     At second hand some magic for a year,
     Just to find out (alack! I can't but wince)
     Whether with Moscon you have wronged me since:—
     Ye watery skies (some people call them pure)
     List to my conjurations I conjure,

     DEMON.      How, Clarin?

     CLARIN.            Oh! my master wise!
     By the concomitance of my hands and eyes,
     I've learned some magic, and would know by it
     If Livia, that ungrateful little chit,
     Has played me false since I have been away,
     Embracing that rogue Moscon on my day.

     DEMON.  Have done with these buffooneries: leave me, go.
     And 'mid these intricate rocks whose paths you know,
     Assist your master, who will let you see
     (If you would witness such a prodigy)
     The end of all his woe.
     I wish to be alone.

     CLARIN.      And I not so.
     I now perceive
     Why to use magic I have not your leave,
     The fault was mine, neglecting to attest
     My bond, and sign it with the blood of my breast.—
     [He takes out a soiled pocket-handkerchief.
     Upon this linen handkerchief
     (None cleaner he can have who cries for grief)
     I'll sign it now, the method I propose
     Is but to give myself a box on the nose,
     For there is little harm
     Whether the blood is drawn from nose or arm.

     [He writes with his finger on the handkerchief,
      after having drawn some blood.

     I, the great Clarin, say, if I can level
     Pert Livia's cruel pride, whom I give to the devil....

     DEMON.  Leave me, I say again,
     Go seek your master and with him remain.

     CLARIN.  Yes, I will do so, don't get angry though.
     The reason you reject my bond I know:
     'Tis this, because you see,
     Do what I will that you are sure of me.

     SCENE IV.

     The Demon.

     DEMON.  Abyss of hell prepare!
     Thyself the region of thine own despair.—
     From out each dungeon's dark recess
     Let loose the spirits of voluptuousness,
     To rain and o'erthrow
     Justina's virgin fabric pure as snow.
     A thousand filthy phantoms with thee brought
     So people her chaste thought
     That all her maiden fancies may be filled
     With their deceits; let sweetest notes be trilled
     From every tuneful grove,
     And all, birds, plants, and flowers, provoke to love.
     Let nothing meet her eyes
     But spoils of love's delicious victories,
     Let nothing meet her ears
     But languid sighs that listening passion hears:
     That thus unguarded by the faith, and weak,
     She here may Cyprian seek
     Invoked by his strong spell,
     And by my blinding spirit lured as well.
     Begin, in silence I will here remain
     Unseen, that you may now begin the strain.

     SCENE V.

     JUSTINA; music within.  [They sing within.]

     A VOICE.  What is the glory far above,
     All else that life can give?


     A VOICE.  No creature lives on which love's flame
     Has not impressed its burning seal,
     The man feels more who love doth feel
     Than when Life's breath first warmed his frame.
     Love owns one universal claim,—
     To Love, it only needs To Be,—
     Whether a bird, a flower, a tree:
     Then the chief glory, far above
     All else in life must be....

     CHORUS [within].      Love, love.

     JUSTINA [alarmed and restless].  Fancy, flatter that thou art,
     Though thou should'st be sad to-day,
     When did I to thee impart,
     In this strange and sudden way,
     Licence to afflict my heart?
     What thus makes my pulses move?
     What strange fire is this I prove
     Which each moment doth increase?
     Ah! this pain that ends my peace,
     This sweet unrest, ah, what?

     CHORUS.      Love, love.

     JUSTINA [more composed].  'Tis that enamoured nightingale
     Who thus gives me the reply:—
     To his partner in the vale
     Listening on a bough hard by
     Warbling thus his tuneful wail.
     Cease, sweet nightingale, nor show
     By thy softly witching strain
     Trilling forth thy bliss and woe,
     How a man might feel love's pain,
     When a bird can feel his so.
     No: it was that wanton vine
     That in fond pursuit has sought
     The tall tree it doth entwine,
     Till the green weight it hath brought
     Makes the noble trunk decline.
     Green entwining boughs that hold
     What you love in your embrace,
     Make my fancy not too bold:—
     Ah, if boughs thus interlace,
     How would clasping arms infold!—
     And if not the vine, 'twill be
     That bright sunflower which we see
     Turning with its tearful eyes
     To its sun-god in the skies,
     Whatsoe'er his movements be.
     Flower thy watch no longer keep,
     Drooping leaflets fold in sleep,
     For the fond thought reappears,
     Ah, if leaves can shed such tears,
     What are those that eyes can weep!
     Cease then, lyrist of the grove,
     Leafy vine, unclasp thy arms,
     Fickle flower, no longer move,
     And declare, these poisoned charms
     That you use, what yields?

     CHORUS [within].      Love, love.

     JUSTINA.  Love! it cannot be.  Its chain
     Have I ever worn for man?
     No, the fond deceit is vain.
     All received a like disdain,
     Lelius, Florus, Cyprian.
     Lelius did I not despise?
     Florus did I not detest?
     Cyprian, the good and wise,

     [She pauses at Cyprian's name and
      resumes for a time her unquiet manner.

     Spurn with such a haughty breast,
     That he vanished from my eyes,
     As if frightened by their ire?—
     Where he went I do not know.
     But save this, the faintest fire
     Love e'er lit, ne'er dared to glow
     In the depths of my desire.
     Yes, for since I said that he
     Should submit without appeal
     Never more my face to see,
     Ah, I know and what I feel!—
     [She grows calmer.
     Pity it must surely be,
     That a man so widely known
     Should through love of me be lost,
     When he pays at such a cost
     For the preference he has shown.
     [She becomes troubled again.
     Were it pity though, 'tis true,
     The same pity I should give
     Lelius and to Florus too,
     Who in separate dungeons live,
     Ah! for daring me to woo.
     [She grows calmer.
     But my thoughts, ye mutinous crew,
     If my pity is enough
     It should not be clogged by you.
     Still your promptings press me so,
     That I feel in my despair,
     Where he is, if I could know,
     I to seek him now would go.

     SCENE VI.

     The Demon and JUSTINA.

     DEMON.  Come, and I will tell thee where.

     JUSTINA.  Who art thou who has procured
     Entrance to this lone retreat,
     Though the entrance is secured?
     Or, my senses being obscured,
     Art thou but delusion's cheat?

     DEMON.  No, not so; but having known
     How this passion pressed thee so,
     I have sought thee here alone,
     Having promised thee to show
     Whither Cyprian has flown.

     JUSTINA.  Then thou'lt reach not thy intent;
     For this passion, this strange pain,
     Which my thought doth so torment,
     Though my fancy it may gain,
     It will never my consent.

     DEMON.  But in thought to enter in
     Shows that half the deed is done;
     Since accomplished is the sin:—
     Stop not halfway, ere is won
     What the wish desired to win.

     JUSTINA.  Even in this desponding hour,
     Though to think may taint the flower,
     Thy suggestion comes to nought,—
     In my power is not my thought
     But my act is in my power.
     I can follow to the brink,
     Free to pause or to pursue,
     Move my foot, or backward shrink,
     For it is one thing to do,
     And another thing to think.

     DEMON.  If a stronger power than thine,
     Drawn from a profounder source,
     With thine own desires combine,
     How resist the double force
     Which with force thy steps incline?

     JUSTINA.  I will trust a safer spell:—
     My free will suffices me.

     DEMON.  But my power will it excel.

     JUSTINA.  Then the will no more were free
     If a force could it compel.

     DEMON.  Come where every bliss thou'lt meet.
     [Attempts to draw her with him, but cannot move her.

     JUSTINA.  Ah! the bliss were bought too dear.

     DEMON.  It is peace, serene and sweet.

     JUSTINA.  'Tis a slavery most severe.

     DEMON.  Life, 'tis joy.

     JUSTINA.      'Tis death, deceit.

     DEMON.  Thy defence, what can it be,
     If my power thus forces thee?
     [Drags her with more force.

     JUSTINA.  In my God it doth consist.

     DEMON.  By persisting to resist,
     [Releases her.
     Woman, thou has conquered me.
     Thy defence to God is due,
     And my counsel is disdained;
     Yes, but raging I'll renew
     My attempt and have thee feigned,
     If I cannot have thee true.
     To a spirit I will give
     Shape like thine though fugitive,
     It will counterfeit thy form,
     As with seeming life be warm,
     And in it disgraced thou'lt live.
     Thus two triumphs at one time
     I am sure to win by this,
     Be thy virtue so sublime,
     Since through an ideal bliss
     I will consummate a crime.



     JUSTINA.  'Gainst the clouds that round me lower
     I appeal to heaven's high power;
     Let this spectre of my fame—
     As before the wind the flame—
     As before the frost the flower,
     Vanish, die.... But woe is me!
     Who is here to heed my moan?
     Was there not a man with me?
     Yes.  But no:  I am alone:
     No.  But yes:  for I could see.
     Where so quickly could he fly?
     Was he born of my unrest?
     Oh! my danger's manifest...
     Father! friend!  Lysander!  I


     LYSANDER and LIVIA enter from opposite doors.—JUSTINA.

     LYSANDER.  My child?

     LIVIA.      What means this cry?

     JUSTINA.  Saw you not a man (ah, me!)
     Who but left me instantly?
     I can scarce express my thought.

     LYSANDER.  A man here?

     JUSTINA.      You saw him not?

     LIVIA.  No, senora.

     JUSTINA.      I could see.

     LYSANDER.  Saw a man here?  That is hard,
     When the place was locked and barred.

     LIVIA [aside].  Moscon sure she must have seen,
     Whom I have contrived to screen
     In my changer.

     LYSANDER.      I regard
     What you saw but as the play
     Of your fancy and your fear.
     Melancholy surely may
     Have, the man that you saw here,
     Formed from atoms of the day.

     LIVIA.  Yes, I think my master's right.

     JUSTINA.  No, 'twas no defect of sight,
     No illusion: since my heart,—
     Ah! too well I feel the smart—
     Has been broken by the fright.
     Some strange witchery of my will
     Must have been effected here.
     And with such consummate skill,
     That if God had not been near
     I might have pursued my ill.
     He who at such timely hour
     Helped me to resist the power
     Of this fearful violence,
     Will my humble innocence
     Guard, whatever dangers lower.—
     Livia, my cloak:  whene'er
     [Exit LIVIA.
     Overwhelming griefs oppress,
     I to holy church repair,
     Where we secretly confess
     The true faith.
     [LIVIA returns with the cloak, which she places on JUSTINA.
     LIVIA.      'Tis this you wear.

     JUSTINA.  There perchance I may appease
     This strange fire that burns me so.

     LYSANDER.  I desire with thee to go.

     LIVIA [aside].  I will breathe much more at ease
     When they're out of the house, I know.

     JUSTINA.  Since I wholly trust to thee
     Heaven, thy hold to me afford.
     Save me....

     LYSANDER.      Come: so it may be.

     JUSTINA.  Since the cause is thine, O Lord!
     Oh, defend Thyself and me!
     [Exeunt JUSTINA and LYSANDER.

     SCENE IX.

     MOSCON and LIVIA.

     MOSCON.  Have they gone?

     LIVIA.      They're gone: all right.

     MOSCON.  Why, I'm almost dead with fright.

     LIVIA.  Were you of your sense bereft
     When but now my room you left
     And appeared before her sight?

     MOSCON.  Left your room?  Be seen by her?
     Why, I swear it, Livia dear,
     Not one moment did I stir.

     LIVIA.  Who then was it she saw here?

     MOSCON.  Well, the devil, as I infer.
     How know I?  But then do not
     Take it so to heart, my soul.

     LIVIA.  Oh! that's not the cause.
     [She weeps.

     MOSCON.      Then what?

     LIVIA.  Such a question, when the whole
     Of a day it was his lot
     With me here locked up to stay?
     For his comrade far away
     Must I not a tear then shed,
     Though I take this day instead,
     Having wept not yesterday?
     Would I have him think of me
     As a woman who could be
     So forgetful and so frail,
     As for half a year to fail
     In what we did both agree?

     MOSCON.  Half a year?  It is above
     One whole year since he went away.

     LIVIA.  Quite an error, as I'll prove.
     Mind, I cannot count a day
     When I Clarin could not love.
     This being so, if I to thee
     Gave up half the year (ah me!),
     I would give a false amount
     To place all to his account.

     MOSCON.  Ah, ungrateful! can it be
     When my heart on thee depends
     For its peace, that thine attends
     To such trifles?

     LIVIA.      Moscon, yes,
     For I find, I must confess,
     Short accounts make longest friends.

     MOSCON.  Such being then thy constancy,
     Livia, I must say good-bye,
     Till to-morrow.  Ah! if he
     Is thy two-day fever, I
     Hope he's not thy syncope.

     LIVIA.  Well, my friend, from this you know
     I no malice bear.

     MOSCON.      Just so.

     LIVIA.  See me then no more to-day,
     But to-morrow, sir, you may:
     I'll not need to send.  Heigho!

     SCENE X.

     A WOOD.

     CYPRIAN, as frightened; CLARIN, stealthily after him.

     CYPRIAN.  Doubtless something must have happened
     'Mong the stars; imperial clusters,*
     Since I find their influences
     To my wishes so repugnant.
     Up from the profound abysses
     Some dark caveat must be uttered,
     Which prohibits the obedience
     Which they owe me as my subjects.
     I, a thousand times, with spell-words
     Made the winds of heaven to shudder,
     I, a thousand times, the bosom
     Of the earth with symbols furrowed,
     Yet mine eyes have not been gladdened
     By the human sun refulgent
     That I seek, nor in mine arms
     Hold that human heaven.
     [footnote] *'Asonante' in 'u-e' to the end of Scene XV.
     CLARIN.      What wonder?
     When a thousand times have I
     Scraped the earth as if for nuggets,
     When a thousand times the wind
     By my screeching was perturbed,
     And yet Livia was oblivious.

     CYPRIAN.  Once again then I am humbled
     To invoke her thus.  Oh, listen,
     Beautiful Justina....

     SCENE XI.

     A phantom Figure of JUSTINA appears.

     The Figure, CYPRIAN, and CLARIN.

     FIGURE.      Summoned,
     As I wander through these mountains,
     I obey a call so urgent.
     What, then, wouldst thou? what, then, wouldst thou,
     Cyprian, with me?

     CYPRIAN.      Oh, I shudder!

     FIGURE.  And since now....

     CYPRIAN.      I am astonished!

     FIGURE.  I have come....

     CYPRIAN.      What thus disturbs me?

     FIGURE.  To this place....

     CYPRIAN.      What makes me tremble?

     FIGURE.  Where....

     CYPRIAN.      Oh! whence this doubt that numbs me?

     FIGURE.  Love doth call me....

     CYPRIAN.      Why, this terror?

     FIGURE.  And the powerful spell thou workest
     Thus complied with, to this forest's
     Deepest depths I fly to shun thee.
     [Exit, covering her face with the cloak.

     CYPRIAN.  Listen, hear me, stay, Justina!
     But why linger spell-bound, stunned here?
     I'll pursue her, and this forest,
     Whither by my spells conducted
     She has flown, will be the leafy
     Theatre, the rude-constructed
     Bride-bed of the strangest bridal
     Heaven e'er witnessed.


     CLARIN.      Stop:  Renuncio
     Bride like this who smells of smoke
     Stronger than a blacksmith's furnace.
     But perhaps the incantation,
     Being so extremely sudden,
     Caught her leaning o'er the lye-tub,
     If not cooking tripe for supper.
     No.  Thus cloaked and in a kitchen!
     That excuse won't do: another
     Let me try.  (I have it now,
     For an honourable woman
     Never smells then any sweeter,)
     She with fright must have been flustered.—
     He has overtaken her now,
     And from that rude vale uncultured,
     Struggling in closed clasping arms,
     (For I think when lovers struggle,
     Open arms are not the weapon
     Even for the lustiest lover,)
     To this very spot they come:
     I will watch them under cover,
     For I wish for once to witness
     How young women are abducted.
     [Conceals himself.


     CYPRIAN embracing the Figure of JUSTINA, which he carries in his arms.

     CYPRIAN.  Now, O beautiful Justina,
     In this sweet and secret covert,
     Where no beam of sun can enter,
     Nor the breeze of heaven blow roughly,
     Now the trophy of thy beauty
     Makes my magic toils triumphant,
     For here folding thee, no longer
     Have I need to fear disturbance.
     Fair Justina, thou hast cost me
     Even my soul.  But in my judgment,
     Since the gain has been so glorious,
     Not so dear has been the purchase.
     Oh! unveil thyself, fair goddess,
     Not in the clouds obscure and murky,
     Not in vapours hide the sun,
     Show its golden rays refulgent.
     [He draws aside the cloak and discovers a skeleton.
     But, O woe! what's this I see!
     Is it a cold corse, mute, pulseless,
     That within its arms expects me?
     Who, in one brief moment's compass,
     Could upon these faded features,
     Pallid, motionless, and shrunken,
     Have extinguished the bright beauties
     Of the blush rose and the purple?

     THE SKELETON.  Cyprian, such are all the glories
     Of the world that you so covet.

     [The Skeleton disappears.
      CLARIN rushes in frightened, and embraces CYPRIAN.



     CLARIN.  Fear, for any one who wants it,
     Wholesale or retail I'll furnish.

     CYPRIAN.  Stay! funereal shadow, stay!
     Now for other ends I urge thee.

     CLARIN.  I am a funereal body:—
     Don't you see it by my bulk here?

     CYPRIAN.  Ah! who are you?

     CLARIN.      Who I am, sir,
     Or am not, myself doth puzzle.

     CYPRIAN.  Did you in the air's void spaces,
     Or earth's caverns yawning under,
     See an icy corse here vanish,
     See to dust and ashes turning
     All the freshness and the beauty
     That it promised in its coming?

     CLARIN.  Do you take me, sir, for one
     Of those pitiful poor lurkers
     Men call spies?

     CYPRIAN.      What could it be?

     CLARIN.  And not be, in such a hurry.

     CYPRIAN.  Let us seek it.

     CLARIN.      Let's not seek it.

     CYPRIAN.  I must sift this matter further.

     CLARIN.  I would rather not.

     SCENE XV.

     The Demon, CYPRIAN, and CLARIN.

     DEMON [aside].      Just heavens,
     If my nature, in conjunction,
     Once possessed both grace and science,
     When 'mongst angels I was numbered,
     Grace alone is what I've lost,
     Science no.  Then why unjustly,
     If 'tis so, deprive my science
     Of its proper power and function?

     CYPRIAN.  Lucifer, wise master mine.

     CLARIN.  Pray don't call him: for he'll come here
     In another corse, I warrant.

     DEMON.  Speak, what would you?

     CYPRIAN.      The annulling,
     The redemption of those pledges,
     At whose very thought I shudder.

     CLARIN.  As I don't redeem my pledges,
     I'll slip off here through the bushes.


     CYPRIAN and The Demon.

     CYPRIAN.  Scarcely o'er earth's wounded bosom
     Had I the true spell-word uttered,
     When in the ensuing action,
     She, of all my dreams the subject,
     My adored, divine Justina....
     But why take the useless trouble,
     That to tell you know already?
     I embraced her, would unmuffle
     Her fair face, when (woe is me!)
     In her beauty I discovered
     A gaunt skeleton, a statue,
     A pale image, a sepulchral
     Show of death, which in these measured
     Words thus spoke (even yet I shudder),
     "Cyprian, such are all the glories
     Of the world that you so covet."—
     To assert, that on thy magic
     As expressed by me, the burden
     Of the fault should lie, is vain,
     For I, point by point, so worked it,
     That of all its silent symbols
     There was not a line but somewhere
     Had its place, of all its spell-words
     Not one word that was not uttered.
     Then, 'tis plain thou has deceived me,
     For though acting as instructed,
     I but found an empty phantom
     Where I sought a blissful substance.

     DEMON.  Cyprian, this defect from thee,
     Nor from me, in truth, resulted:
     Not from thee, because the magic
     Thou didst exercise with subtle
     Thought and skill; and not from me,
     For I could not teach thee further.
     From a higher cause, believe me,
     Came this injury thou hast suffered.
     But be not cast down: for I,
     Who in tranquil rest would lull thee,
     Will to thee unite Justina,
     By a different way and juster.

     CYPRIAN.  That is not my intention now.
     For this strange event has struck me
     With such terror and confusion,
     That thy ways I do not covet.
     And since thou has not complied with
     The conditions, the assumptions
     Of my love, I only ask thee,
     Now that from thy face I'm rushing,
     As the contract is annulled,
     That my bond thou shouldst return me.

     DEMON.  What I promised was to teach thee,
     By a course of secret study,
     How to draw to thee Justina
     By the potent power impulsive
     Of thy words: and since the wind
     Here Justina hath conducted,
     I have then fulfilled my contract,
     I have kept my plighted word then.

     CYPRIAN.  What was offered to my love
     Was that I should surely pluck here
     The sweet fruit whose seeds my hope
     Had to these wild wastes entrusted.

     DEMON.  Cyprian, I was only bound
     Her to bring here.

     CYPRIAN.      A mere shuffle:
     To my arms you swore to give her.

     DEMON.  In thy arms I saw her struggle.

     CYPRIAN.  'Twas a phantom.

     DEMON.      'Twas a portent.

     CYPRIAN.  Worked by whom?

     DEMON.      By one who worked it
     To protect her.

     CYPRIAN.      Who was he?

     DEMON [trembling].  I don't wish the name to utter.

     CYPRIAN.  I will turn my magic science
     'Gainst thyself.  By its compulsion
     Speak, inform me who he is.

     DEMON.  Well, a god who takes this trouble
     For Justina.

     CYPRIAN.      What's one God,
     When of gods there's such a number?

     DEMON.  All their power in Him is centred.

     CYPRIAN.  Then One only, sole and sovereign,
     Must He be, whose single will
     Their united wills outworketh.

     DEMON.  I know nothing, I know nothing.

     CYPRIAN.  I renounce then with my utmost
     Power the pact that I made with thee;
     What compelled Him (this I urge thee
     In that God's great name) to guard her?

     DEMON [after having struggled ineffectually not to say it].  To
     preserve her pure, unsullied.

     CYPRIAN.  Then He is the sovereign goodness
     Since a wrong He will not suffer.
     But if she remained here hidden
     Say what loss would have resulted?

     DEMON.  Loss of honour, if the secret
     Leaked out to the gossiping vulgar.

     CYPRIAN.  Then that God must be all sight,
     Since he could foresee these trouble.
     But, why could not thy enchantment
     Be as potent and consummate?

     DEMON.  Ah!  His power is ampler, fuller.

     CYPRIAN.  Then that God must be all hands,
     Since whate'er He wills He worketh.
     Tell me then who is that God,
     Whom to-day I have discovered
     The supreme of good to be,
     The Creator, the Annuller,
     The Omniscient, the All-seeing,
     Whom I've sought for years unnumbered?

     DEMON.  Him I know not.

     CYPRIAN.      Speak, who is He?

     DEMON.  As I speak it, how I shudder!
     He—He is the God of the Christians.

     CYPRIAN.  Say what moved Him to obstruct me
     In my wish?

     DEMON.      Her Christian faith.

     CYPRIAN.  Does He guard so those who love Him?

     DEMON.  Yes; but now too late, too late,
     Dost thou hope to gain His succour,
     Since, in being my slave, thou canst not
     Claim the privilege of His subject.

     CYPRIAN.  I thy slave?

     DEMON.      In my possession
     Is thy signature.

     CYPRIAN.      I'll struggle
     To regain it from thee, since
     'Twas conditional at the utmost.
     I don't doubt I will get it.

     DEMON.      How?

     CYPRIAN.  In this way.
     [He draws his sword, strikes at The Demon, but cannot touch him.

     DEMON.      Although the lunges
     Of thy naked sword against me
     Are well aimed, thou hast not struck me,
     Fierce as were thy blows.  And now,
     Even in more despair to plunge thee,
     I would have thee learn at least
     That the Devil is thy instructor.

     CYPRIAN.  What do you say?

     DEMON.      That I am he.

     CYPRIAN.  Oh! to hear thee how I shudder!—

     DEMON.  Not alone a slave art thou,
     But MY slave; be that thy comfort.

     CYPRIAN.  I the slave of the Devil!  I
     Own a master so unworthy?

     DEMON.  Yes; for since thy soul thou gav'st me,
     Thenceforth it to me was subject.

     CYPRIAN.  Is there then no gleam of hope,
     No appeal, no aid, no succour,
     By which I so great a crime
     Can blot out?

     DEMON.      No.

     CYPRIAN.            Why doubt further?
     Let not this sharp sword rest idly
     In my hand, but swiftly cutting
     Through my breast, become the willing
     Instrument of mine own murder.
     But what say I?  He who could
     Snatch Justina from thy clutches,
     Can He not, too, rescue me?

     DEMON.  No.  By choice thou wert a culprit,
     And He does not favour crimes,
     Virtues only.

     CYPRIAN.      If the summit
     Of all power He be, to pardon
     Is as easy as to punish.

     DEMON.  He rewardeth by His power,
     He chastiseth from His justice.

     CYPRIAN.  One who yields He'll not chastise.
     I am one, since I am humbled.

     DEMON.  Thou art mine, my slave: no master
     Canst thou have but me.

     CYPRIAN.      I trust not.

     DEMON.  How, when still in my possession
     Is that bond of thine, that bloody
     Scroll inscribed by thine own hand?

     CYPRIAN.  He who is supreme and sovereign,
     And depends not on another,
     Will yet bear me through triumphant.

     DEMON.  In what way?

     CYPRIAN.      He is all sight,
     And will see the fitting juncture.

     DEMON.  It I hold.

     CYPRIAN.      He is all hands,
     And will burst my bonds asunder.

     DEMON.  Ere that comes I'll see thee dead:
     Thus my clasping arms shall crush thee.

     [They struggle together.

     CYPRIAN.  Thou great God, the Christians' God,
     Oh, assist me in this struggle!

     DEMON [flinging CYPRIAN from his arms].
     It is He who has saved thy life.

     CYPRIAN.  More He'll do since I seek Him humbly.



     The Governor, FABIUS, and Soldiers.

     GOVERNOR.  How then was the capture made?

     FABIUS.  In their church, as we suspected,
     We discovered them collected,
     Where before their God they prayed.
     With an armed guard I traced them
     To this secret sacred hall,
     Made them prisoners one and all,
     And in different prisons placed them.
     But, your patience not to tire,
     The chief point I may declare,—
     Captured is Justina fair,
     And Lysander her old sire.

     GOVERNOR.  If for gold, a fair pretence,
     If for rank, you would not miss,
     Wherefore bring me news like this
     And not claim your recompense?

     FABIUS.  If you deign to value thus
     My poor service you may pay it.

     GOVERNOR.  How?

     FABIUS.      With great respect I say it,
     Florus free, and Lelius.

     GOVERNOR.  Though I seemed austere and cold,
     Them chastising without pity
     To strike terror through the city,
     Yet if the whole truth were told,
     Then the cause were plain why they
     Have been prisoned a whole year.
     It is this, a father's fear
     Lelius would preserve this way.
     Florus was his rival, he
     Had a host of powerful friends,
     Each was jealous, and his ends
     Would attain whate'er might be.
     I was fearful a collision
     Would ensue if they should meet,
     So I thought it more discreet
     Not to come to a decision.
     So with this intent I sought
     Some pretext, Justina's face
     To expel from out this place,
     But I could discover nought.
     But since this event to-day,
     With her damaged character,
     Gives a right to banish her,
     Nay, to take her life away,
     Let them be released.  No fear
     Need you have about their fate;
     Go, and Lelius liberate,
     Go, and Florus bring me here.

     FABIUS.  Myriad times I kiss thy feet
     For a favour so immense.


     The Governor and Soldiers.

     GOVERNOR.  And since now this fair pretence,
     This hypocritical deceit,
     In my power at last doth lie,
     Wherefore my revenge postpone
     For the sorrows I have known
     Through her fault?  Yes, she shall die
     By the bloody headsman's hand.
     [To a Soldier.
     Bring her hither in my name.
     Let her punishment and shame
     Be a terror to the land.
     Let the palace she thought sweet
     But her scaffold scene present.
     [Exit the Soldier with others.



     FABIUS.  Sir, the two for whom you sent
     Here are kneeling at your feet.

     LELIUS.  I, whose wish it is to be
     Welcomed as thy son this time,
     With no consciousness of crime
     Do not see a judge in thee,
     I an angry sire may see
     With a son's respectful fear
     And obedience.

     FLORUS.      Being here, I infer that it must be
     (Though no guilt can I discern)
     Thy chastising hand to feel.
     See.  Submissive here I kneel.

     GOVERNOR.  Lelius, Florus, I was stern,
     Justly stern against ye two,
     For as judge or father I
     Could not unchastised pass by
     Your offence.  But then I knew
     That in noble hearts the feeling
     Of resentment does not last,
     And as now the cause is past,
     I resolved, to both appealing,
     Friends to make of you once more.
     So to consecrate the tie
     Now embrace in amity.

     LELIUS.  I am glad that, as of yore,
     Florus is my friend to-day.

     FLORUS.  That thou'rt mine this act may show.
     Here's my hand.

     GOVERNOR.      This being so,
     You are free to go or stay:—
     When I tell you of the sad
     Fall of her you once admired,
     Northing further is required.

     SCENE XX.

     The Demon, a crowd of People.—THE SAME.

     DEMON [within].  Ware! beware!  He's mad! he's mad!

     GOVERNOR.  What is this?

     LELIUS.      I'll go and see.
     [He goes to the door, and after a pause returns.

     GOVERNOR.  In this palace hall these cries,
     From what cause can they arise?

     FLORUS.  Something serious it must be.

     LELIUS.  This confusion is occasioned
     (Hear a singular adventure),
     Sir, by Cyprian, who being absent
     Many days again has entered*
     Antioch completely mad.
     [footnote] *Asonante in e-e which continues to the end.
     FLORUS.  It was doubtless the fine essence
     Of his mind that thus has brought him
     To this lamentable ending.

     PEOPLE [within].  Ware the madman! ware the madman!


     CYPRIAN, half naked; People.—THE SAME.

     CYPRIAN.  Never was I more collected;
     It is you yourselves are mad.

     GOVERNOR.  Cyprian, what is all this ferment?

     CYPRIAN.  Governor of Antioch,
     Viceroy of great Caesar Decius,
     Florus, Lelius, my young friends,
     Whom I valued and respected,
     Proud nobility, great people,
     To my words be all attentive:
     I am Cyprian, I am he
     Once so studious, and so learned,
     I the wonder of the schools,
     Of the sciences the centre.
     What I gained from all my studies
     Was one doubt, a doubt that never
     Left my wildered mind a moment,
     Ever troubling and perplexing.
     I Justina saw, and seeing,
     To her charms my soul surrendered,
     And for soft voluptuous Venus
     Left the wise and learn'd Minerva.
     Baffled by Justina's virtue,
     I, pursuing though rejected,
     And from one extreme to another
     Passing on as passion led me,
     To my guest, who from the sea
     Found my feet a port of shelter,
     For Justina pledged my soul,
     Since at once he charmed my senses
     And my intellect, by giving
     Love its hopes, and thought its treasures.
     From that hour, as his disciple
     Lived I in these lonely deserts,
     And to his laborious teaching
     I am for a power indebted,
     By which I can move even mountains
     And in different places set them:
     Yet although these mighty wonders
     I can do to-day, I'm helpless
     By the voice of my desire
     To draw towards me one fair vestal.
     And the cause why I am powerless
     To subdue that beauteous virgin
     Is that by a God she's guarded,
     Whom, now knowing by His blessed
     Grace bestowed, I come to acknowledge
     As the Infinite, the Eternal.
     Yes, the great God of the Christians
     I now openly confess here.
     And though true it is I am
     Still of hell the slave and servant,
     Having with my very blood
     Signed a certain secret cedule,
     Yet my blood that blood may blot out
     In the martyrdom I'm expecting.
     If you are a judge, if Christians
     You pursue with bloody vengeance,
     I am one: for in these mountains
     A grave venerable elder
     The first sacrament conferring
     With its sacred sign impressed me.
     This being so, why wait?  Your orders
     Give unto the bloody headsman,
     Tell him here to strike this neck
     And from it my head dissever.
     Try my firmness as you will,
     For I, resolute and determined,
     Will endure a thousand deaths
     Since this truth at last I've learned,
     That without the great God, whom
     Now I seek, adore, and reverence,
     Human glories are but ashes,
     Dust, smoke, wind, delusive, empty.
     [He falls as if in a swoon, with his face to the ground.

     GOVERNOR.  So absorbed, so lost in wonder,
     Cyprian, has thy daring left me,
     That considering modes of torture
     I have yet not one selected.
     Rise.  Bestir thee.
     [Spurns him with his foot.

     FLORUS.      As a statue
     Formed of ice he lies extended


     Soldiers, JUSTINA.—THE SAME.

     A SOLDIER.  Here, your Highness, is Justina.

     GOVERNOR [aside].  I must go, her face unnerves me.—
     With this living corse here lying
     [Aside to his retinue.
     Let us leave her for the present.
     For the two being here confined,
     It may alter their intentions,
     Seeing that they are condemned
     Both to die: if not, 'tis certain,
     That unless they adore our gods
     Frightful torments soon shall end them.

     LELIUS [aside].  I remain 'twixt love and fear
     Quite bewildered and suspended.

     FLORUS [aside].  So affected have I been,
     I scarce know what most affects me.

     [Exeunt all, except JUSTINA.


     JUSTINA; CYPRIAN, insensible on the ground.

     JUSTINA.  What! without a word you leave me?
     When I come here, calm, contented,
     Even to die.  Ah! wishing death,
     Am I then of death prevented?—
     [She perceives CYPRIAN.
     But my punishment is, doubtless,
     Thus locked up to face the terrors
     Of a slow and lingering death,
     With the body of this wretch here
     Left alone, my sole companion
     Being a corse.  O thou, re-entered
     Into thy original earth,
     Happy wert thou, if thy sentence
     Was passed on thee for the faith
     I adore!

     CYPRIAN [recovering consciousness].      O proud avenger
     Of your gods, why wait, the thread
     Of my life to cut?...
     [He perceives JUSTINA, and rises.
            Heaven bless me!—
     Can I trust my eyes?  Justina!

     JUSTINA [aside].  Cyprian, do I see?  O Heaven!

     CYPRIAN [aside].  No, it is not she, my thought
     Fills the void air with her presence.

     JUSTINA [aside].  No, it is not he, the wind
     Forms this phantom to divert me.

     CYPRIAN.  Shadow of my fantasy...

     JUSTINA.  Of my wish, delusive spectre...

     CYPRIAN.  Terror of my startled senses...

     JUSTINA.  Horror of my heart's dejection...

     CYPRIAN.  What, then, wouldst thou?

     JUSTINA.      What, then, wouldst thou?

     CYPRIAN.  I invoked thee not.  What errand
     Has thou come on?

     JUSTINA.      Why thus seek me?
     I to thee no thought directed.

     CYPRIAN.  Ah!  I sought thee not, Justina.

     JUSTINA.  Nor here at thy call I entered.

     CYPRIAN.  Then why here?

     JUSTINA.      I am a prisoner.—

     CYPRIAN.      I, too, have been arrested.
     But, Justina, say what crime
     Could thy virtue have effected?

     JUSTINA.  It is not for any crime,
     It is from their deep resentment,
     Their abhorrence of Christ's faith,
     Whom I as my God confess here.

     CYPRIAN.  Thou dost owe Him that, Justina,
     For thy God was thy defender,
     He watched o'er thee in His goodness.
     Get my prayers to Him accepted.

     JUSTINA.  Pray with faith, and He will listen.

     CYPRIAN.  Then with that I will address Him.
     Though a fear, that's not despair,
     Makes me for my great sins tremble.

     JUSTINA.  Oh! have confidence.

     CYPRIAN.      My crimes are
     So immense.

     JUSTINA.      But more immense are
     His great mercies.

     CYPRIAN.      Then, will He
     Pardon have on me?

     JUSTINA.      'Tis certain.

     CYPRIAN.  How, if my soul surrendered
     To the Demon's self, as purchase
     Of thy beauty?

     JUSTINA.      Oh, there are not
     Stars as many in the heavens,
     Sands as many on the shore,
     Sparks within the fire as many,
     Motes as many in the beam,
     On the winds so many feathers,
     As the sins He can forgive.

     CYPRIAN.  I believe it, and am ready
     Now a thousand lives to give Him.—
     But I hear some people enter.


     FABIUS, leading in MOSCON, CLARIN, and LIVIA, as prisoners; CYPRIAN
     and JUSTINA.

     FABIUS.  With your master and your mistress
     Here remain confined together.

     LIVIA.  If THEY fancy to be Christians,
     What have WE done to offend them?

     MOSCON.  Much: 'tis crime enough for us
     That we happen to be servants.

     CLARIN.  Flying peril in the mountain,
     I find here a greater peril.


     A Servant.—THE SAME.

     SERVANT.  The Lord Governor Aurelius
     Summons Cyprian to his presence,
     And Justina.

     JUSTINA.      Ah! how happy,
     If 'tis for the wished-for ending.
     Do not, Cyprian, be disheartened.

     CYPRIAN.  Faith, zeal, courage, all possess me:
     For if life must be the ransom
     Of my slavery to the devil,
     He who gave his soul for thee,
     Will he not give God his person?

     JUSTINA.  I once said that I could love thee
     But in death, and since together,
     Cyprian, we now must die,
     What I promised I present thee.

     [They are led out by the Servant.



     MOSCON.  How contentedly to die
     They go forth.

     LIVIA.      Much more contented
     Are we three to remain alive.

     CLARIN.  Not much more; for we must settle
     Our account now, though I own
     The occasion might be better,
     And the place too, still 'twere wrong
     To neglect the time that's present.

     MOSCON.  What account pray?

     CLARIN.      I have been

     LIVIA.      Speak.

     CLARIN.              The whole of a twelvemonth,
     When without my intermission
     Moscon in possession held thee.
     Now my quota in the business,
     If we both have equal measure,
     Is that I must have my year.

     LIVIA.  Can it be that I'm suspected
     Of thus wronging thee so basely?
     Why, I wept whole days together
     When it was the day for weeping.

     MOSCON.  Yes, for I myself was present:
     Every day that was not mine
     She thy friendship quite respected.

     CLARIN.  That's a bounce; for not a tear,
     When this day her house I entered,
     Did she shed, and there I found thee
     Sitting with her quite contented.

     LIVIA.  But this day is not a fast.

     CLARIN.  Yes, it is; for I remember
     That the day I went away
     Was my day.

     LIVIA.      Oh! that's an error.

     MOSCON.  Yes, I see how that arises,
     This year is a year bissextile,
     And our days are now the same.

     CLARIN.  Well, I'm satisfied, 'tis better
     That a man should not too deeply
     Pry into such things.—Good heavens!—

     [The sound of a great tempest is heard.


     The Governor, a crowd of People; then FABIUS, LELIUS, and FLORUS, all
     astonished; afterwards The Demon.

     LIVIA.  Sure the house is tumbling down.

     MOSCON.  How terrific! what a tempest!

     GOVERNOR.  Doubtless in disastrous ruin
     Topple down the walls of heaven

     [The tempest is renewed, and enter FABIUS, LELIUS, and FLORUS.

     FABIUS.  Scarcely on the public scaffold
     Had the headsman's hand dissevered
     Cyprian and Justina's necks,
     When the earth, even to its centre,
     Seemed to tremble.

     LELIUS.      And a cloud,
     From whose burning womb extended
     The wild lightnings, the loud thunders,
     Awful embryos were projected,
     Fell upon us.

     FLORUS.      From which issued
     A most horrid, most repelling
     Shape, who on the scaly shells
     Of a mailed and mighty serpent,
     O'er the scaffold made a sign
     Motioning silence and attention.

     [The Scene opens, and a scaffold with the heads and bodies of JUSTINA
     and CYPRIAN is seen.  Over it in the air, upon a winged serpent, is
     The Demon.

     DEMON.  Hear, O mortals, hear what I,
     By the orders of high Heaven,
     For Justina's exculpation,
     Must declare to all here present.
     I it was, who to dishonour
     Her pure fame, in form dissembled
     For the purpose, scaled her house,
     And her very chamber entered.
     And in order that her fame
     Should not by that fraud be lessened,
     I come here her injured honour
     To exhibit pure and perfect.
     Cyprian, who with her lieth
     On a happy bier at rest there,
     Was my slave.  But he effacing,
     With the blood his neck outsheddeth,
     The red signature, the linen
     Is now spotless and unblemished.
     And the two, in spite of me,
     Having to the spheres ascended
     Of the sacred throne of God,
     Live there in a world far better.—
     This, then, is the truth, which I
     Tell, because God makes me tell it,
     Much against my will, my practice
     Not being great as a truth-teller.
     [He falls swiftly, and sinks into the earth.

     LIVIA.  Oh! what horror!

     FLORUS.      What confusion!

     LIVIA.  What a prodigy!

     MOSCON.      What terror!

     GOVERNOR.  These are all but the enchantments
     Which this sorcerer effected
     At his death.

     FLORUS.      I am in doubt
     To believe them or reject them.

     LELIUS.  The mere thought of them confounds me.

     CLARIN.  If magician, it is certain,
     As I hold, he must have been
     The magician then of heaven.

     MOSCON.  Leaving our partitioned love
     In a rather odd dilemma,
     For "The Wonderful Magician"
     Ask the pardon of its errors.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wonder-Working Magician, by
Pedro Calderon de la Barca


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