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Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
INTRODUCTORY NOTE | 1 |
POLYEUCTE | 1 |
ACT I—POLYEUCTE. NEARCHUS | 2 |
ACT III—PAULINE | 16 |
ACT V—FELIX. ALBIN. CLEON | 30 |
Pierre Corneille was born in Rouen in 1606, the son of an official; was educated by the Jesuits, and practised unsuccessfully as a lawyer. His dramatic career began with the comedy of “Melite,” but it was by his “Medee” that he first proved his tragic genius. “The Cid” appeared in 1636, and a series of masterpieces followed—“Horace,” “Cinna,” “Polyeucte,” “Le Menteur.” After a failure in “Pertharite” he retired from the stage, deeply hurt by the disapproval of his audience. Six years later he resumed play writing with “OEdipe” and continued till 1674, producing in all some thirty plays. Though he earned a great reputation, he was poorly paid; and a proud and sensitive nature laid him open to considerable suffering. He died in 1684.
The works of Corneille represent most fully the ideal of French so-called “classical” tragedy. The laws to which this type of tragedy sought to conform were not so much truth to nature as the principles which the critics had derived from a somewhat inadequate interpretation of Aristotle and of the practise of the Greek tragedians. These principles concentrated the interest of the play upon a single central situation, in order to emphasize which, subordinate characters and complicating under-plots were avoided as much as possible. There was little or no action upon the stage, and the events of the plot were narrated by messengers, or by the main characters in conversation with confidantes. Further, the “dramatic unities” of time and place, as well as of action, were held to be binding.
One result of these rules was to give an extraordinary importance to the speeches; and it is in the eloquence of these, in the grandeur and dignity of the versification, and in the lofty moral elevation of the characters, that Corneille excels. All of these qualities are admirably exemplified in “Polyeucte”; and in the conduct of the leading personages one may perceive the most persistent trait of this dramatist’s treatment of heroic character—the conquest of the passions by the reason and the will. “Among the masterpieces of Corneille,” says Paul de Saint-Victor, “‘Polyeucte’ is assuredly the greatest; and nothing in all his dramas equals the extraordinary beauty of the character of ‘Pauline.’”
CHARACTERS
Felix, Governor
of Armenia.
Polyeucte, an Armenian
noble, son-in-law to Felix.
Severus, a Roman
Knight, favourite of the Emperor Decius.
Nearchus, an Armenian
noble, friend to Polyeucte.
Pauline, daughter
to Felix, wife to Polyeucte.
Stratonice, companion
to Pauline.
Albin, friend to
Felix.
Fabian, servant
to Severus.
Cleon, friend to
Felix.
Three Guards.
The Scene is at Melitena, capital of Armenia. The action takes place in the Palace of Felix.
Nearchus.
Shall woman’s
dream of terror hurl the dart?
Oh, feeble weapon ’gainst
so great a heart!
Must courage proved
a thousand times in arms
Bow to a peril forged
by vain alarms?
Poly.
I know that dreams are
born to fade away,
And melt in air before
the light of day;
I know that misty vapours
of the night
Dissolve and fly before
the morning bright.
The dream is naught—but
the dear dreamer—all!
She has my soul, Nearchus,
fast in thrall;
Who holds the marriage
torch—august, divine,
Bids me to her sweet
voice my will resign.
She fears my death—tho’
baseless this her fright,
Pauline is wrung with
fear—by day—by night;
My road to duty hampered
by her fears,
How can I go when all
undried her tears?
Her terror I disown—and
all alarms,
Yet pity holds me in
her loving arms:
No bolts or bars imprison,—yet
her sighs
My fetters are—my
conquerors, her eyes!
Say, kind Nearchus,
is the cause you press
Such as to make me deaf
to her distress?
The bonds I slacken
I would not unloose
Nothing I yield—yet
grant a timely truce.
Near.
How grant you know not
what? Are you assured
Of constancy?—as
one who has endured?
God claims your soul
for Him!—Now! Now! To-day!
The fruit to-morrow
yields—oh, who shall say?
Our God is just, but
do His grace and power
Descend on recreants
with equal shower?
On darkened souls His
flame of light He turns,
Yet flame neglected
soon but faintly burns,
And dying embers fade
to ashes cold
If we the heart His
spirit wooes withhold.
Great Heaven retains
the fire no longer sought,
While ashes turn to
dust, and dust to naught.
His holy baptism He
bids thee seek,
Neglect the call, and
the desire grows weak.
Ah! whilst from woman’s
breast thou heedst the sighs,
The flame first flickers,
then, untended—dies!
Poly.
You know me ill,—’tis
mine, that holy fire,
Fed, not extinguished,
by unslaked desire
Her tears—I
view them with a lover’s eye;
And yet your Christ
is mine—a Christian I!
The healing, cleansing
flood o’er me shall flow,
I would efface the stain
from birth I owe;
I would be pure—my
sealed eyes would see!
The birthright Adam
lost restored to me
This, this, the unfading
crown! For this I yearn,
For that exhaustless
fount I thirst, I burn.
Then, since my heart
is true, Nearchus, say—
Shall I not grant to
pity this delay?
Near.
So doth the ghostly
foe our souls abuse,
And all beyond his force
he gains by ruse;
He hates the purpose
fast he cannot foil,—
Then he retreats—retreats
but to recoil!
In endless barricade
obstruction piles,
To-day ’tis tears
impede, to-morrow—smiles!
And this poor dream—his
coinage of the night
Gives place to other
lures, all falsely bright:
All tricks he knows
and uses—threats and prayers
Attacks in parley—as
the Parthian dares.
In chain unheeded weakest
link must fail,
So fortress yet unwon
he’ll mount and scale.
O break his bonds!
Let feeble woman weep!
The heart that God has
touched ’tis God must keep!
Who looks behind to
dally with his choice
When Heaven demands—obeys
another voice!
Poly.
Who loves thy Christ—say,
must he love no other?
Near.
He may—he
must! ’Tis Christ says, “Love thy
brother,”
Yet on the altar of
the Heavenly King
No rival place, no alien
incense fling!
Through Him—by
Him—for Him—all goodness know!
’Tis from the
source alone each stream must flow.
To please Him, wife,
and wealth, and rank, and state
Must be forsaken—strait
the heavenly gate.
Poor silly sheep! afar
you err and stray
From Him who is The
Life, The Truth, The Way!
My grief chokes utterance!
I see your fate,
As round the fold the
hungry wolves of hate
Closer and fiercer rage:
from sword and flame
One shelter for His
flock—one only Name!
The Cross alone our
victor over fears,
Not this thy strength,—thy
plea—a woman’s tears!
Poly.
I know thy heart!
It is mine own—the tear
My pity drops hath ne’er
a taint of fear!
Who dreads not torture,
yet—to give relief
To her he loves, perforce
must ease her grief!
If Heaven should claim
my life, my death, my all,
Then Heaven will give
the strength to heed the call.
The shepherd guides
me surely to the fold,
There, safe with Him,
’tis He will make me bold!
Near.
Be bold! O come!
Poly.
Yes, let thy faith be
mine!
There—at
his feet—do I my life resign
If but Pauline—my
love—would give consent!
Else heaven were hell,
and home but banishment!
Near.
Come!—to
return. Thrice welcome to her sight,
To see thee safe will
double her delight:
As the pierced cloud
unveils a brighter sun,
So is her joy enhanced—thy
glory won!
O come, they wait!
Poly.
Appease her fear!
Ah, this
Alone will give her
rest—her lover bliss.
She comes!
Near.
Then fly!
Poly.
I cannot!
Near.
To deny would yield
thine enemy the victory!
He loves to kill, and
knows his deadliest dart
Finds friend within
the fort—thy traitor heart!
Enter Pauline and Stratonice
Poly.
I needs must go, Pauline!
My love, good-bye!
I go but to return—for
thine am I!
Paul.
Oh, why this haste to
leave a loving wife?
Doth honour call?—or
fear’st thou for thy life?
Poly.
For more, a thousandfold!
Paul.
Great Gods above!
Poly.
Thou hast my heart!
Let this content thy love!
Paul.
You love and yet you
leave me. What am I?
Not mine to solve the
dreary mystery!
Poly.
I love thee more than
self—than life—than fame
But——
Paul.
There is something that
thou dar’st not name.
Oh, on my knees I supplicate,
I pray,
Remove my darkness!—turn
my night to day!
Poly.
Oh, dreams are naught!
Paul.
Yet, when they tell
of thee,
I needs must listen,
for I love! Ah, me!
Poly.
Take courage, dear one,
’tis but for an hour,
Thy love must draw me
back, for love hath power
O’er all in earth
and heaven. My soul’s delight,
I can no more!
My only safety—flight!
(Exeunt Polyeucte and Nearchus.)
Paul.
Yes, go, despise my
prayer—my agony;
Go, ruthless—meet
thy fate—forewarned by me;
Chase thy pursuer, herald
thine own doom;
Go, kiss the murderer’s
hand, and hail the tomb!
Ah, Stratonice! for
our boasted power
As sovereigns o’er
man’s heart! Poor regents of an hour!
Faint, helpless, moonbeam—light
was all I gave,
The sun breaks forth—his
queen becomes his slave!
Wooed? Yes; as
other queens I held my court
Won—but to
lose my crown, and be the sport
Of proud, absorbing
and imperious man!
STRAT.
Ah, man does what he
wills—we, what we can;
He loves thee, lady!
Paul.
Love should mate with
trusts;
He leaves me!
STRAT.
Lady, ’tis because
he must!
He loves thee with a
love will never die,
Then, if he leave thee,
reason not the why:
Give him thy trust!
Oh, thou shalt have reward,
For thee he hides the
secret! Let him guard
Thy life beloved—in
fullest liberty.
The wife who wholly
trusts alone is free!
One heart for thee and
him—one purpose sure,
Yet this heart beats
to dare—and to endure.
The wife’s true
heart must o’er the peril sigh
Which meets his heart
moved but to purpose high;
Thy pain his pain, but
Paul.
Though this thy faith—if
thou my dream shouldst hear—
My grief must needs
be thine, thy fear my fear,
And, that the horror
thou may’st fully prove,
Know that I—his
dear wife—did once another love!
Nay, start not, shrink
not, ’tis no tale of shame,
For though in other
years the heavenly flame
Descended, kindled,
scorched—it left me pure
With courage to resign—with
strength to endure.
He touched my heart,
but never stained the soul
That gained this hardest
conquest—self-control.
At Rome—where
I was born—a soldier’s eye
Marked this poor face,
from which must Polyeucte fly;
Severus was his name:—Ah!
memory
May spare love linked
with death a tear, a sigh!
STRAT.
Say, is it he who, at
the risk of life,
Saved Decius from his
foes and endless strife?
Who, dying, dealt to
Persia stroke of death,
And shouted ‘Victory!’
with his latest breath?
His whitening bones,
amid the nameless brave,
Lie still unfound, unknown,
without a grave;
Unburied lies his dust
amid the slain,
While Decius rears an
empty urn in vain!
Paul.
Alas! ’tis he;
all Rome attests his worth,
Hide not his memory,
kindly Mother Earth!
’Tis but his memory
that I adore
The past is past—and
I can say no more.
All gifts save one had
he—yes, Fortune held her hand,
And I, as Fortune’s
slave, obeyed my sire’s command.
STRAT.
Ah! I must wish
that love the day had won!
Paul.
Which duty lost—then
had I been undone;
Though duty gave, yet
duty healed, my pain;
Yet say not that my
love was weak or vain!
Our tears fell fast,
yet ne’er bore our distress
The fatal fruit of strife
and bitterness.
Then, then, I left my
hero, hope and Rome,
And, far from him, I
found another home;
While he, in his despair,
sought sure relief
In death, the only end
to life’s long grief!
You know the rest:—you
know that Polyeucte’s eye
Was caught,—his
fancy pleased; his wife am I.
Once more by counsel
of my father led,
To Armenia’s greatest
noble am I wed;
Ambition, prudence,
policy his guide
Yet only duty made Pauline
his bride;
Love might have bound
me to Severus’ heart,
Had duty not enforced
a sterner part.
Yes, let these fears
attest, all trembling for his life,
That I am his for aye—his
faithful, loving wife.
STRAT.
Thy new love true and
tender as the old:—
But this thy dream?
No more thy tale withhold!
Paul.
Last night I saw Severus:
but his eye
With anger blazed; his
port was proud and high,
No suppliant he—no
feeble, formless shade,
With dim, averted eye;
no sword had made
My hero lifeless ghost.
Nor wound, nor scar
Marked death his only
conqueror in war.
Nor spoil of death,
nor memory’s child was he,
His mien triumphant,
full of majesty!
So might victorious
Caesar near his home
To claim the key to
every heart in Rome!
He spoke: in nameless
awe I heard his voice,—
’Give love, that
is my due, to him—thy choice,—
But know, oh faithless
one, ere day expires,
All vain these tears
for him thy heart desires!’
Anon a Christian band
(an impious horde),
With shameful cross
in hand, attest his word;
They vouch Severus’
truth—and, to complete
My doom, hurl Polyeucte
beneath his feet!
I cried, ‘O father,
timely succour bear!’
He heard, he came, my
grief was now despair!
He drew his dagger—plunged
it in the breast
Of him, my husband,
late his honoured guest!
Relief came but from
agony supreme—
I shrieked—I
writhed—I woke—it was a dream!
And yet my dream is
true!
STRAT.
’Tis true your
dream is sad,
But now you are awake,
’tis but a dream you had!
For horror’s prey
in darkness of the night
Is but our reason’s
sport in morning light.
How can you dread a
shade? How a fond father fear,
Who as a son regards
the man you hold so dear?
To phantom of the night
no credence yield;
For him and you he chose
thy strength and shield.
Paul.
You say his words:
at all my fears he smiles,
But I must dread these
Christians and their wiles!
I dread their vengeance,
wreaked upon my lord,
For Christian blood
my father has outpoured!
STRAT.
Their sect is impious,
mad, absurd and vain,
Their rites repulsive,
as their cult profane.
Deride their altar,
their weak frenzy ban,
Yet do they war with
gods and not with man!
Relentless wills our
law that they must die:
Their joy—endurance;
death—their ecstasy;
Judged—by
decree, the foes of human race,
Meekly their heads they
bow—to court disgrace!
Paul.
My father comes—oh,
peace!
(Enter Felix and Albin)
Felix.
Nay, peace is flown!
Thy dream begets dull
fears, till now unknown;
In part this dream is
true, and for the rest——
Paul.
By what new fear, say,
is thy heart opprest?
Felix.
Severus lives!
Paul.
Ah! this no cause for
fear!
Felix.
At Decius’ court,
he, held in honour dear,
Risked life to save
his Emperor from his foes,
’Tis to his saviour
Decius honour shows!
Paul.
Thus fickle Fortune
bows her head to fate,
And pays the honour
due, though all too late!
Felix.
He comes! Is near——
Paul.
The gods——
Felix.
Do all things well.
Paul.
My dream fulfilled!
But how? O father, tell!
Felix.
Let Albin speak, who
saw him face to face
With tribe of courtiers;
all to him give place;
Unscathed in battle,
all extol his fame,
Unstained, undimmed,
his glory, life and name!
Albin.
You know the issue of
that glorious fight:
The crowning glory his—who,
in despite
Of danger sore to life
and liberty,
Became a slave to set
his Emperor free:
Rome gave her honours
to Severus’ shade,
Whilst he, her ransomer,
in a dungeon stayed.
His death they mourned
above ten thousand slain,
While Persia held him—yes,
their tears were vain,
But not in vain his
noble sacrifice!
The king released him:
Rome grudged not the price;
No Persian bribe could
tempt him from his home.
When Decius cried—’Fight
once again for Rome!’
Again he fights—he
leads—all others hope resign;
But from despair’s
deep breast he plucks a star benign,
This—hope’s
fair fruit, contentment, plenty, ease,
Brings joy from grief,
to crown a lasting peace.
The Emperor holds him
as his dearest friend,
And doth Severus to
Armenia send—
To offer up to Mars,
and mighty Jove,
’Mid feast and
sacrifice, his thanks and love.
Felix.
Ah, Fortune, turn thy
wheel, else I misfortune meet!
Albin.
This news I learn’d
from one of great Severus’ suite:
Thence, swiftly here,
the tale to tell I sped.
Felix.
He who once vainly wooed,
hopes now to wed.
The sacrifice, the offering,
all are feigned,
All but the suit, which
lightly I disdained.
Paul.
Yes, this may be, for
ah! he loved me well!
Felix.
What room for hope?
Such wrath is child of hell.
Before his righteous
ire I shrink, I cower;
Revenge I dread—and
vengeance linked with power
Unnerves me quite.
Paul.
Fear not, his soul is
great.
Felix.
Thy comfort, oh my daughter,
comes too late.
The thought to crush
me down, to turn my heart to stone,
This, that I prized
not worth for worth’s dear sake alone!
Too well, Pauline, thou
hast thy sire obeyed;
Paul. Forbid it, Heaven! One good yet mine,—my will, The dart that wounded has the power to kill. One lesson woman learns—her feebleness; Shame is the only grief without redress. The traitor heart shall still a prisoner be; For freedom were disgrace to thee and me! I will not see him!
Felix.
But one word! Be
kind!
Paul. I will not, for I love!—and love is blind. Before his kingly eye my soul to unveil Were shame and failure: and I will not fail: I will not see him!
Felix.
One word more—’Obey!’
Wouldst thou thy father
and his weal betray?
Paul.
I yield! Come woe!—come
shame!—come every ill!
My father thou!—and
I thy daughter still!
Felix.
I know thee pure.
Paul.
And pure I will remain,
But, crushed and bruised,
the flower no guilt shall stain.
I fear the combat that
I may not fly,
Hard-won the fight,
and dear the victory.
Here, love, my curse!
Here, dearest friend, my foe!
Yet will I arm me!
Father, I would go
To steel my heart—all
weapons to embrace!
Felix.
I too will go, the conqueror’s
march to grace!
Restore thy strength,
ere yet it be too late,
And know that in thy
hands thou hold’st our fate!
Paul.
Go, broken heart, to
probe thy wound; cut deep and do not spare!
Herself—the
crowning sacrifice—the victim shall prepare!
ACT II—SEVERUS. FABIAN
SEV.
Let Felix bow to Jove
and incense pour,
I seek a dearer shrine,
for I adore
Nor Jove, nor Mars,
nor Fortune—but Pauline.
This fruit now ripening
late my hand would glean:
You know, my friend,
the god who wings my way,
You know the only goddess
I obey:
What reck the gods on
high our sacrifice and prayer?
An earthly worship mine,
sole refuge from despair!
Fabian.
Ah! You may see
her——
SEV.
Blessed be thy tongue!
O magic word, that turns
my grief to song!
Yet, if she now forget
each fair, fond vow?
She loved me once,—but
does she love me now?
On that sweet face shall
I but trouble see
Who hope for love undimmed,
for ecstasy?
Great Decius gives her
hand, but if her heart
Be mine no more—than
let vain hope depart!
This mandate binds her
father only; she
Shall give no captive
hand—her heart is free:
No promise wrung, no
king’s command be mine to claim,
Her love the boon I
crave; all else an empty name!
Fabian.
Yes,—you
may—see her—see her—this
you may—
SEV.
Thy speech is halting—odious
thy delay!
She loves no more?
I grope! O give me light!
Fabian.
O see her not, for painful
were the sight!
In Rome each matron’s
kind! In Rome all maids are fair!
Let lips meet other
lips—seek for caresses there!
No stately Claudia will
refuse—no Julia proud disdain;
A hero captures every
heart, from Antioch to Spain!
SEV.
To wed a queen—an
empress—were only loss and shame;
One heart for me—Pauline’s!
One boast—that dearest name!
Her love was virgin
gold! O ne’er shall baser metal ring
From mine, who live
her name to bless! her peerless praise to sing!
O, words are naught,
till that I see her face,
Then doubly naught till
I my love embrace.
In every war my hope
was placed in death,
Her name upon my lips
at every breath:
My rank, my fame, now
hers and hers alone,
What is not hers, hers
only—I disown!
Fabian.
Once more, oh see her
not, ’twere for thy peace!
SEV.
Thy meaning, knave,
or let this babble cease!
Say, was she cold?
My love! My only life!
Fabian.
No—but—my
lord——
SEV.
Say on!
Fabian.
Another’s wife!
SEV.
(Reels.)
Help!—No,
I will not blench—ah, say you lie!
If this be true!—ye
gods—can I be I?
Fabian.
No, thou art changed.
Where is thy courage fled?
SEV.
I know not, Fabian.
Lost! Gone! Vanished! Dead!
I thought my strength
was oak—’tis but a reed!
Pauline is wed, then
am I lost indeed!
Hope hid beyond the
cloud, yet still fond hope was there:
But now all hope is
dead, lives only black despair!
Pauline another’s
wife?
Fabian.
Yes, Polyeucte is her
lord.
He came, he saw, he
conquered thine adored.
SEV.
Her choice is not unworthy—his
a name
Illustrious, from a
line of kings he came
Cold comfort for a wound
no cure can heal!
My cause is lost,—foredoomed
without appeal!
Malignant Jove, to drag
me back to-day!
Relentless Fate, to
quench hope’s dawning ray!
Take back your gifts!
One boon alone I crave,
That only boon to none
denied—the grave.
Yet would I see her,
breathe one last good-bye,
Would hear once more
that voice before I die!
My latest breath would
still my homage pay,
That memory mine, when
lost to realms of day.
Fabian.
Yet think, my lord—
SEV.
Oh, I have thought of
all;
What worser ill can
dull despair befall?
She will not see me?
Fabian.
Yes, my lord, but—
SEV.
Cease!
Fabian.
’Twill but enhance
the grief I would appease.
SEV.
For hopeless ill, good
friend, I seek no cure.
Who welcomes death can
life’s short pain endure!
Fabian.
O lost indeed, if round
her fatal light you hover!—
The lover, losing all,
speaks hardly like a lover!
While passion still
is lord—the passion-swept is slave—
From this last bitterness
would I Severus save!
SEV.
That word, my friend,
unsay; tho’ grief this bosom tear,
The hand that wounds
I kiss—love vanquishes despair;
Fate only, not Pauline,
the foe that I accuse,
No plighted faith she
breaks who did this hand refuse.
Duty—her
father—Fate—these willed, she
but obeyed;
Not hers the woe, the
strife that envious Ate made!
Untimely, Fortune’s
shower must drown me, not revive;
Too lavish and too late
her fatal gifts arrive.
The golden apple falls,
the gold is turned to dross:
When Fate at Fortune
mocks, all gain is only loss!
Fabian.
Yes, I will go to tell
her thou hast drained
To the last drop the
cup that Fate ordained.
She knows thee hero,
but she feared that pain
Might prove thee also
man—by passion slain.
She feared Despair,
who gains the victory
O’er other men,
might e’en thy master be!
SEV.
Peace! Peace!
She comes!
Fabian.
To thine own self be
true!
SEV.
Nay! True to her!
Shall I her life undo?
She loves the Armenian!
Enter Pauline
Paul.
Yes, that debt I pay,
Hard—wrung,
acquitted,—his my love alway!
Who has my hand, he
holds—shall hold—my heart!
Truth is my guide,—let
sophistry depart!
Had Fate been kind,
then had Pauline been thine,
Heart, faith and duty,
linked with bliss divine.
In vain had fickle Fortune
barred the way,
Want had been wealth
with thee, my guide, my stay,
And poverty had fallen
from the wings
Of soaring love, who
mocks the wealth of kings!
Not mine to choose,
for he—my father’s choice—
Must needs be mine;
yes, when I heard his voice,
Duty must echo be:
if thou couldst cast
Before my feet an emperor’s
crown,—a past
By worth and glory lit—beloved,
adored—
Yet at my father’s
word, ’Not this thy lord;
Take one despised—nay,
loathed—to share thy bed,’—
Him, and not thee, beloved,
would I wed.
Duty, obedience, must
have been the part
Of me, who own their
sway, e’en with a broken heart!
SEV.
O happy thou! O
easy remedy!
One poor faint sigh
cures love’s infirmity!
Thy heart thy tool,
o’er every passion queen,
Beyond all change and
chance thou sit’st serene!
In easy flow can pass
thy love new-born
From cold indifference
to colder scorn;
Such resolution is the
equal mate
Of god or monster, love,
aversion, hate.
This fine-spun adamant
Ithuriel’s spear
Could never pierce:
for other stuff is here!
(Points to himself.)
No faint ‘Alas!’
no swift-repented sigh
Can heal the cureless
wound from which I die.
Sure, reason finds that
love his easy prey
With Lethe aye at hand
to point the way;
With ordered fires like
thine, I too could smother
A heart in leash, find
solace in another.
Too fair, too dear—from
whom the Fates me sever!
Thou hast no heart to
give—thou lov’dst me never!
Paul.
Too plain, Severus,
I my torture show,—
Tho’ flame leap
up no more, the embers glow;
Far other speech and
voice, and mien were mine,
Could I forget that
once thou call’dst me thine!
Tho’ reason rules,
yes, gains the mastery
No queen benignant,
but a tyrant she!
Oh, if I conquer—if
the strife I gain,
Yet memory for aye is
linked with pain!
I feel the charm that
binds me still to thee;
If duty great, yet great
thy worth to me:
I see thee still the
same, who waked the fire
Which waked in me ineffable
desire.
Begirt by crown of everlasting
fame
Thou art more glorious—yet
art still the same.
I know thy valour’s
worth,—well hast thou justified
That bounding hope of
mine, though fruitage was denied,
Yet this same fate which
did our union ban
Hath made me, fated—wed
another man.
Let Duty still be queen!
Yea, let her break
The heart she pierces,
yet can never shake.
The virtue, once thy
pride in days gone by
Doth that same worth
now merit blasphemy?
Bewail her bitter fruit—but
praised be
The rights that triumph
over thee and me!
SEV.
Forgive, Pauline, forgive;
ah! grief hath made me blind
To all but grief’s
excess, and fortune most unkind.
Forgive that I mistook—nay,
treated as a crime
Thy constancy of soul,
unequalled and sublime;
In pity for my life
forlorn, my peace denied,
Ah! show thyself less
fair,—one least perfection hide!
Let some alloy be seen,
some saving weakness left,
Take pity on a heart
of thee and Heaven bereft!
One faintest flaw reveal,
to give my soul relief!
Else, how to bear the
love that only mates with grief?
Paul.
Alas! the rents in armour
donned and proved
Too well my fight proclaim;
yes, I have loved;
The traitor sigh, the
tear unbid, attest
The combat fierce—the
warrior sore distrest.
Say, who can stanch
these wounds, that armour mend?
Thou who hast pierced,
thou, thou alone defend!
Ah, if thou honourest
my victory
Depart, that thou may’st
still defender be!
So dry the tears that,
to my shame, still flow—
So quench the fire would
work my overthrow!
Yes, go, my only friend,
with me combine
To end my torture, for
thy pain is mine!
SEV.
This last poor drop
of comfort may not be?
Paul.
The cup is poisoned
both for me and thee!
SEV.
The flower is gone—I
cherish but the root!
Paul.
Untimely blossom bears
a fated fruit!
SEV.
My grief be mine!
Let memory remain!
Paul.
That grief might hope
beget, so leave a stain!
SEV.
Not mine to stain what
Heaven hath made so pure!
For me one offering
left: ’tis this: Endure!
Thy glory shall be mine,
my load I bear,
So, spotless, thou thy
peerless crown shalt wear!
Farewell, my love, farewell;
I go to prove my faith,
To bless, to save thy
life, so will I mate with death!
If prostrate from the
blow, there yet remains of life
Enough to summon death,
and end the piteous strife!
Paul.
My grief, too deep for
voice, shall silent be,
There, in my chamber,
will I pray for thee!
When thou art gone,
great Heaven shall hear my cry;
Grief’s fruit
for thee be hope—death—immortality!
SEV.
Now with my loss alone
let Fate contented be.
May Heaven shower bliss
and peace on Polyeucte and thee!
Paul.
Stern Fate obeyed, end,
Death, his agony,
And Jove receive my
hero—to the sky!
SEV.
Thou wast my
heaven!
Paul.
My father I obeyed—
SEV.
O victim pure, obedient,
undismayed!
Pauline—too
fair—too dear—I can no more!
Paul.
So must I say—depart—where
I adore!
(Exit Severus.)
STRAT.
Yes, it is hard—most
sad—behold my tears!
But now, at least, there
is no cause for fears:
Thy dream is but a dream—is
naught, is vain;
Severus pardons.
Gone that cause for pain!
Paul.
Oh, if from pity start
thy easy tear,
Add not that other woe—forgotten
fear!
Ah! let me breathe,
some respite give from trouble,
Those fears, half-dead,
thou dost revive, redouble!
STRAT.
What dost thou dread?
Paul.
Heaven—hell—earth—empty
air!
All, all is food for
dread to my despair,
As thou unveil’st,
begirt in lurid light,
The pallid ghost that
slew me in the night!
STRAT.
Severus he by name,
yet noble in his heart!
Paul.
Ah, Polyeucte bathed
in blood! Depart! depart!
STRAT.
For Polyeucte’s
welfare did Severus pray!
Paul.
Yes, yes, his heart
is great; be that my stay!
Yet, tho’ his
truth, his faith, well-proved be,
Most baleful is his
presence here to me;
Yea, tho’ he would
all ill for me undo
Yet he hath power, he
loves—he came to woo.
(Enter Polyeucte and Nearchus.)
Poly.
The source of tears
is dry, oh, weep no more,
Thy grief lay down,
thy fearful heart restore!
Let night’s dark
dream with superstition die,
The dream is past, for
here in life am I!
Paul.
The day is young, and
oh, the day is long,—
And half the dream is
true, and Fate is strong;
Severus have I seen,
who thought him dead!
Poly.
I know it! Let
no tear for this be shed!
Secure with thee am
I! Tho’ great the knight,
Thy father will command
to do me right;
The general is a man
of honour,—he
Would ne’er that
honour dim by treachery!
He comes in amity, our
friend, our guest;
To greet his worth and
valour now my quest.
Paul.
Radiant he came, who
left me hopeless, sad,
But he will come no
more,—this grace I had.
Poly.
What? Thinkest
thou that I can jealous be?
Paul.
An outrage this on him,
on thee, on me!
He came in peace, who
all my peace hath marred.
Who would run safely,
every step must guard;
The wife who danger
courts but courts her fall
My husband, aid me!—I
would tell thee all!
His worth, his charm,
do my weak hearth enflame
A traitor here!
And he is aye the same!
If I should gaze, and
long—’gainst virtue, honour, sense,
The citadel I yield,
and mine my own defence!
I know my virtues sure,
and fair my fame,
But struggle is defeat,—and
combat shame!
Poly.
Oh, true thy shield,
thy victory is won,
He only who has lost
thee is undone;
His noble grief the
cost of all my bliss,
Ah, Cleopatra’s
pearl was naught to this!
The more my faults I
see, the more thy truth I learn,
The more do I admire——
(Enter Cleon.)
Cleon.
My lord, the altars
burn
With holy fire.
The victim they prepare;
On thee alone they wait,
our rites to share.
Poly.
Go, we do follow thee!
Paul.
I cannot go;
Severus flies my sight;
to him I owe
My absence—not,
alas! to him alone!
Go thou, and oh, remember
he is great;
In his sole hands Severus
holds thy fate!
Poly.
A foe so great, so noble,
is a friend,
Oh, not from him the
lance that Heaven will send!
Exeunt Pauline, Stratonice and Cleon.
Near.
Where go’st thou?
Poly.
To the temple is the
call.
Near.
What! Wouldst thou
mingle in their heathen brawl?
Thou art a Christian,
and canst thou forget?
Poly.
Canst thou, who
fore mine eyes the cross didst set?
Near.
Not mine their gods!
Poly.
He calls me! I
must go!
Near.
I fly their altars!
Poly.
I would overthrow!
Not mine to fly a worship
I disown,
By me Jehovah, King
of kings, be known!
Not mine to tremble
as I kiss the rod!
I conquer by the Cross,
I fight for God!
Thou wouldst abstain!
For me another course
From Heaven the call,
and Heaven will give the force!
What! Yield to
evil! His Cross on my brow!
His freemen we!
O fight, Nearchus, now!
For us our Lord was
scourged, pierced, tortured, slain!
For us He bled!
Say, has He died in vain?
Near.
Let timely moderation
temper zeal!
Poly.
His—His alone
am I! His woe my weal!
Near.
In love with death?
Poly.
For Him I love I die!
He died for me!
So death is victory!
Near.
Thy flesh is weak!
Poly.
Yet He will make me
bold!
Near.
And if thou waver?
Poly.
He will me uphold!
Near.
To tempt the Lord thy
God were an offence.
Poly.
He is my shield—hence!
cursed tempter, hence!
Near.
In time of need the
faith must be confessed.
Poly.
The offering grudged
is sacrifice unblessed.
Near.
Seek thou the death
thine own self-will prepares!
Poly.
A crown I seek, which
every martyr shares!
Near.
A life of duty well
that crown can win.
Poly.
The purest life on earth
is stained with sin.
Why yield to time and
chance what death assures?
Death but the gate of
life that aye endures.
If I be His—let
me be His alone!
The faith that soars
shall full fruition own;
Who trusts, yet fears
and doubts, his faith is dead!
Near.
Not death the Christian’s
prayer, but daily bread.
Live to protect the
flock, so sore oppressed.
Poly.
Example be their friend,
most sure, most blessed!
Near.
Thou woo’st thy
death!
Poly.
Is this poor life so
dear?
Near.
Ah, I must own my heart
is slave to fear.
The rack! The cross!
I might my Lord disown!
Poly.
From Him our help, our
strength, from Him alone!
Who fears denial does
at heart deny;
Who doubts the power
of faith makes faith a lie!
Near.
Who leans upon a reed
shall find distress.
Poly.
His staff will guide,
support my feebleness.
Thou wert my staff,
to show the Truth, the Way,
Must I now urge thee
to the realms of day?
Thou fearest death?
Near.
The Christ once feared
to die!
Poly.
Yet drained the bitter
cup of agony!
The way that thou hast
shown—that way He trod;
His way be ours to lead
man’s soul to God—
For heathen shrine—to
rear His altar fair,—
The deathless hope alone
can kill despair!
Thou said’st:
’If Him thou wilt for pattern take,
Then leave wife, wealth,
home, all for His dear sake!’
Alas, that love of thine,
now weak and poor,
Glows yet within my
breast—and shall endure;
Ah, must the dawn of
this my perfect day
Find thy full light
beclouded, dimmed, astray?
Near.
Baptismal waters yet
bedew thy brow;
The grace that once
was mine, that grace hast thou.
No worldly thought has
checked the flow, no guilty act has stained;
Thy wings are strong,
while mine are weak; thy love is fresh,
ungeigned,—
To these, thy heights,
I cannot soar, held down by sense and sin,
How can I storm the
citadel?—the traitor lurks within!
Forsake me not, my God!
Thy spirit pour!
Oh, make me true to
Him whom I adore!
With Thee I rise,—the
flesh, the world, defy,
Thou, who hast died
for me, for Thee I die!
Yes, I will go!
With heaven-born zeal I burn,
I will be free,—all
Satan’s lures I spurn;
Death, torture, outrage,
these will I embrace,
To nerve my heart and
arm, Heaven grant me grace!
Poly.
On eagle wings of faith
and hope ascend!
I hail my master—recognise
my friend;
The old faith wanes,—we
light her funeral pyre,
Her ashes fall before
our holy fire;
Come, trample under
foot the gods that men have wrought;
The rotten, helpless
staff is broke, is gone—is naught.
Their darkness felt
they own, but let them see the light!
Their gods of stone,
of clay, but vampires of the night!
Their dust shall turn
to dust,—shall moulder with the sod,
Ours for His name to
fight:—the issue is with God.
Near.
The cause is just, is
true—O coward heart, be still!
I lived to doubt His
word—I die to do His Will!
Paul.
Cares—clouded
and confused—oppress, obscure
In changeful forms,
my eye, my heart, my mind:
My soul finds room for
every guest save one;
Fair hope has flown,—no
star can pierce my night:
Each tyrant rages ’gainst
opposing foe
In deadly fight—yet
brings to light no friend:
In travail sore hope
comes not to the birth—
Fear hydra-headed terror
still begets;—
All fancies grim I see,
and straight embrace,
At hope I clutch, who
still eludes my grasp;
Her rainbow hues adored
are but a frame
That serve by contrast
to make fear more dark.
Severus haunts me—oh,
I know his love,
Yet hopeless love must
mate with jealousy,—
While Polyeucte, who
has won what he has lost,
Can meet no rival with
an equal eye.
The fruit of rivalry
is ever hate
And envy; both must
still engender strife:
One sees that rival
hand has grasped his prize,
The other yearns for
prize himself has missed.
Weak reason naught,
when headlong passion reigns,
For valour seeks a sword,
and love—revenge.
One fears to see the
prize he gained impaired,
The other would that
wrested prize regain;
While patience, duty,
conscience, vail their heads
’Fore obstinate
defence and fierce attack.
Such steeds no charioteer
controls—for they
Mistake both curb and
reign for maddening whip.
Ah! what a base, unworthy
fear is mine!
How ill I read these
fair, these noble souls,
Whose virtue must all
common snares o’erleap!
Their gold unstained
by dross or mean alloy!
As generous foes so
will they—must they meet!
Yet are they rivals—this
the thought that kills!
Not even here—at
home—is Polyeucte safe,
The eagle wings of Rome
reach over all.
Oh, if my father bow
to Roman might,
If he repent the choice
that he hath made,—
At this one thought
hope’s flame leaps up to die!
Or—if new-born—dies
ere she see the light.
Hope but deceived,—my
fear alone I trust,
Heaven grant such confidence
be false—be vain!
(Enter Stratonice.)
Nay, let me know the
worst! What, girl!—no word?
The rites are o’er?
What hast thou seen—what heard?
They met in amity?—In
peace they part?
STRAT.
Alas! Alas!
Paul.
Nay, soothe my aching
heart!
I would have comfort,—but
this face of woe—
A quarrel?
STRAT.
Polyeucte—Nearchus—go—
The Christians—
Paul.
What of them?
STRAT.
Ah, how to speak—
Paul.
They on my father would
their vengeance wreak?
STRAT.
Oh, fear whate’er
thou wilt—that fear too small!
Paul.
The Christians rise?
STRAT.
Oh, would that this
were all!
Thy dream, Pauline,
is true; Polyeucte is——
Paul.
Dead?
STRAT.
Ah, no, he lives—yet
every hope is fled;
That courage once so
high, that noble name
Sunk in the mire of
everlasting shame!
He lives,—who
once was lovely in thy sight—
As monster foul—his
every breath a blight;
The foe of Heaven, of
Jove, of all our race,
His kisses poison, and
his love—disgrace!
Wretch, coward, miscreant,
steeped in infamy,
O worse than every name!—a
Christian he!
Paul.
Nay, that one word’s
enough! There needed not abuse.
STRAT.
My words fit well their
guilt;—with evil make no truce.
Paul.
If he be Nazarene—he
must an outcast be!
But insult to my lord
is insult unto me!
STRAT.
Think only that he hails
the Cross, the badge of shame.
Paul.
My plighted faith, my
troth, my duty still the same!
STRAT.
When twined about thy
breast, the hideous serpent slay!
Who mocks the Gods on
high will his own wife betray!
Paul.
If he be false, yet
I will still be true,
The ties that bind me
I will ne’er undo:
Let fate—Severus—passion—all
combine
Against him!—I
am his, and he is mine.
Yes, mine to guide,
lead, win, forgive, and save!
I seek his honour tho’
he court the grave.
Let Polyeucte be Christ’s
slave!—For woe, for weal,
He is my lord; the bond
I owe I seal;
I fear my father,—all
his vengeance, dread.
STRAT.
Fierce burns his rage
o’er that devoted head;
Yet embers of old love
still faintly glow,
And through his wrath
some weak compassion show;
’Gainst Polyeucte
biting words alone he speaks
But on Nearchus fullest
vengeance wreaks!
Paul.
Nearchus lured him on?
STRAT.
The tempter he;
Such friendship leads
to death, or infamy.
Oh, cursed friend, who,
in dear love’s despite,
Has torn him from thine
arms—his neophyte!
He dragged him to the
front;—baptized, annealed—
He fights for Christ!—The
secret is revealed.
Paul.
Which I would know—and
straightway had thy blame!
STRAT.
Ah! I foresaw not
this—their deed of shame!
Paul.
Ere dull despair o’ermaster
all my fears,
Oh, let me gauge the
worth of woman’s tears!
For, if the daughter
lose, the wife may gain,—
Or Felix may relent,
if Polyeucte mock my pain;
If both are adamant
unto my prayer,
Then—then
alone—take counsel from despair!
How passed the temple
sacrifice? Hide naught, my friend, tell all!
STRAT.
The horror and the sacrilege
must I, perforce, recall?
To say the words, to
think the thoughts, seems blasphemy and shame;
Yet will I tell their
infamy,—their deed without a name.
To silence hushed, the
people knelt, and turned them to the East;
Then impious Polyeucte
and his friend mock sacrifice and priest.
They every holy name
invoked jeer with unbridled tongue,
To laughter vile the
incense rose—’tis thus our hymn was
sung;
Both loud and deep the
murmurs rang, and Felix’ face grew pale,
Then Polyeucte mad defiance
hurls, while all the people quail.
‘Vain are your
gods of wood and stone!’ his voice was stern
and
high—
‘Vain every rite,
prayer, sacrifice’ so ran his blasphemy.
’Your Jupiter
is parricide, adulterer, demon, knave,
’He cannot listen
to your cry, not his to bless or save.
’One God—Jehovah—rules
alone, supreme o’er earth and heaven,
’And ye are His—yes,
only His—to Him your prayers be given!
’He is our source,
our life, our end,—no other god adore,
’To Him alone
all prayer is due, then serve Him evermore!
’Who kneels before
a meaner shrine, by devil’s power enticed,
’Denies his Maker
and his King, denies the Saviour Christ.
’He is our source,
our guide, our end, our prophet, priest and
king;
‘Twas He that
nerved Severus’ arm,—His praise let
Decius sing.
’Jehovah rules
the battle-field ye call the field of Mars,
’He only grants
a glorious peace, ’tis He guides all our wars.
’He casts the
mighty from his seat, He doth the proud abase,—
’They only peace
and blessing know who love and seek His face.
’His sword alone
is strong to strike, His shield our only guard.
’He will His bleeding
saints avenge, He is their sure reward.
’In vain to Jove
and feeble Mars your full libations pour—
‘Oh, kneel before
the might ye spurn, the God ye mock—adore!’
Then Polyeucte the shrine
o’erthrows, the holy vessels breaks,
Nor wrath of Jove, nor
Felix’ ire, his fatal purpose shakes.
Foredoomed by Fate,
the Furies’ prey—they rush, they rend,
they
tear,
The vessels all to fragments
fly—all prone the offerings fair;
And on the front of
awful Jove they set their impious feet,
And order fair to chaos
turn, and thus their work complete.
Our hallowed mysteries
disturbed, our temple dear profaned,
Mad flight and tumult
dire let loose, proclaim a God disdained.
Thus pallid fear broods
over all, presaging wrath to come,
While Felix—but
I mark his step!—’tis he shall speak
the doom.
Paul.
How threatening, how
dark his mien! How lightning-fraught his eye!
Where wrath and grief,
revenge and pain, do strive for mastery!
(Enter Felix.)
Felix.
O insolence undreamed!—Before
my very eyes!—
Before the people’s
gaze! It is too much!—he dies!
Paul.
O father!—on
my knees!
(Kneels.)
Unsay that word!
Felix.
Nearchus’ doom
I speak,—not his, thy lord.
Though all unworthy
he to be my son,
Yet still he bears the
name that he hath won;
Nor crime of his nor
wrath of mine shall ever move
Thy father’s heart
to hate the man thou crown’st with love!
Paul.
Ne’er vainly have
I sued for pity from my sire!
Felix.
And yet meet food were
he for righteous ire!
To recount an act so
fell my feeble words too weak,
But thou has heard the
tale my lips refuse to speak
From her, thy maiden;
she hath told thee all.
Paul.
Nearchus goaded—planned—and
he shall fall!
Felix.
So taught by torture
of his vilest friend,
Shall Polyeucte mark
of guilt the certain end,
When of the frenzied
race he sees the goal,
The dread of torture
shall subdue his soul!
Who mocked the thought
of death, when death he views,
Will choose an easier
mate—and rightly choose.
That shadowy guest,
that doth his soul entice,
Once master, glues all
ardour into ice,
And that proud heart,
which never meekness knew,
When face to face with
Death—will learn to sue!
Paul.
What! Thinkest
thou his soul can ever blench?
Felix.
Death’s mighty
flood must every furnace quench!
Paul.
It might! It may!—I
know such things can be!
A Polyeucte changed—debased—forsworn
I see!
O, changeful Fortune!
changeless Polyeucte move,
And grant a boon denied
by father’s love!
Felix.
My love too plain—myself
too weakly kind,
Let him repent and he
shall pardon find;
Nearchus’ sin
is his,—and yet the grace
He shall not win, thy
Polyeucte may embrace!
My duty—to
a father’s love betrayed
Hath of thy sire a fond
accomplice made;
A healing balm I bring
for all thy fears,
I look for thanks, and
lo—thou giv’st me tears!
Paul.
I give no thanks—no
cause for thanks I find;
I know the Christian
temper—know their mind,
They can blaspheme,
but ah, they cannot lie!
They know not how to
yield—but they can die!
Felix.
As bird in hand, he
holds his pardon still.
Paul.
The bird escapes, when
’tis the owner’s will.
Felix.
He death escapes—if
so he do elect.
Paul.
He death embraces—as
doth all his sect.
Is’t thus a father
pleads for his own son?
Felix.
Who wills his death
is by himself undone.
Paul.
He cannot see!
Felix.
Because he chooses night.
Who loves the darkness
hateth still the light.
Paul.
O, by the Gods—
Felix.
Nay, daughter, save
thy breath;
Spurned—outraged—’tis
the Gods demand his death.
Paul.
They hear our prayers—
Felix.
Nay, then let Polyeucte
pray!
Paul.
Since Decius gives thee
power,—that word unsay!
Felix.
He gives me power, Pauline,
to do his will
Against his foes—’gainst
all who work him ill.
Paul.
Is Polyeucte his foe?
Felix.
All Christians rebels
are.
Paul.
Thy son shall plead
more loud than policy or war.
For mine is thine; O
father, save thine own—
Felix.
The son who is a traitor
I disown!
For treason is a crime
without redress,
’Gainst which
all else sinks into nothingness.
Paul.
Too great thy rigour!
Felix.
Yet more great his guilt.
Paul.
Too true my dream!
Must his dear blood be spilt?
With Polyeucte, I too—thy
child—shall fall!
Felix.
The Gods—the
Emperor—rule over all.
Paul.
O hear our dying supplication—hear!
Felix.
Not Jove alone, but
Decius I fear:—
But why anticipate a
doom so sad?
Shall this—his
blindness—make thy Polyeucte mad?
Fresh Christian zeal
remains not always new,
The sight of death compels
a saner view.
Paul.
O, if thou lov’st
him still, all hope forsake!
In one day can he two
conversions make?
Not this the Christians’
mould: they never change;
His heart is fixed—past
power of man to estrange.
This is no poison quaffed
all unawares,
What martyrs do and
dare—that Polyeucte dares;
He saw the lure by which
he was enticed,
He thinks the universe
well lost for Christ.
I know the breed; I
know their courage high,
They love the cross,—so,
for the cross, they die.
We see two stakes of
wood, the felon’s shame,
They see a halo round
one matchless Name.
To powers of earth,
and hell, and torture blind,
In death, for Him they
love, they rapture find.
They joy in agony,—our
gain their loss,
To die for Christ they
count the world but dross:
Our rack their crown,
our pain their highest pleasure,
And in the world’s
contempt they find their treasure.
Their cherished heritage
is—martyrdom!
Felix.
Let then this heir into
his kingdom come! No more!—
Paul.
O father!
(Enter Albin.)
Felix.
Albin, is it done?
Albin.
It is,—Nearchus’
frantic race is run!
Felix.
And with what eye saw
Polyeucte the sight?
Albin.
With envious eye,—as
one who sees a light
That lures him, moth-like,
to devouring flame.
His heart is fixed,
his mind is still the same.
Paul.
’Tis as I said—oh,
father, yet once more
If thou hast ever loved
me,—I implore!
Let filial duty and
obedience plead
For his dear life!
To my last prayer give heed!
Felix.
Too much thou lovest
an unworthy lord!
Paul.
Thou gavest him my hand,
’twas at thy word
I gave both love and
duty; what I give
I take not back; oh,
Polyeucte must live!
For his dear sake I
quenched another flame
Most pure. Is he
my lord alone in name?
O, by my blind and swift
obedience paid
To thy command—be
thy hard words unsaid!
I gave thee all a daughter
had to give,
Grant, father, this
one prayer—Let Polyeucte live!
By thy stern power,
which now I only fear,
Make thou that power
benignant, honoured, dear!
Thou gav’st that
gift unsought,—that gift restore!
I claim it at the giver’s
hand once more!
Felix. Importunate! Although my heart is soft, It is not wax,—and these entreaties oft Repeated waste thy breath, and vex mine ear, For man is deaf to what he will not hear. I am the master! This let all men know, And if thou force that note thou’lt find ’tis so. Prepare to see thy cursed Christian fool, Do thou caress when I have scourged the mule,— Go! vex no more a loving father’s ear, From Polyeucte’s self win what thou hold’st so dear.
Paul.
In pity!——
Felix.
Leave me, leave me here
alone!—
Say more—my
goaded heart will turn to stone;
Vex me no more—I
will not be denied!
Go, save thy madman
from his suicide!
(Exit Pauline.)
How met Nearchus death?
Albin.
The fiend abhorred
He hailed,—embraced:
‘For Christ!’ his latest word;
No sigh, no tear,—he
passed without amaze
Adown the narrow vale
with upward gaze.
Felix.
And he—his
friend?
Albin.
Is, as I said, unmoved
He looks on death but
as a friend beloved,
He clasped the scaffold
as a guide most sure,
And, in his prison,
he can still endure.
Felix.
Oh, wretched that I
am!
Albin.
All pity thee.
Felix.
With reason greater
than they know. Ah, me!
Thought surges upon
thought, and has its will,
Care, gnawing upon care,
my soul must kill;
Love—hate—fear—pain:
I am of each the prey,
I grope for light, but
never find the day!
Oh, what I suffer thou
canst not conceive,
Each passion rages,
but can ne’er relieve;
For I have noble thoughts
that die still-born,
And I have thoughts
so base my soul I scorn.
I love the foolish wretch
who is my son,
I hate the folly which
hath all undone;
I mourn his death,—yet,
if I Polyeucte save,
I see of all my hopes
the cruel grave!
’Gainst Gods and
Emperor too sore the strife,
For my renown I fear,—fear
for my life.
I must myself undo to
save my son,
For, should I spare
him, then am I undone!
Albin.
Decius a father is,
and must excuse
A father’s love—oh,
he will not refuse!
Felix.
His edict is most clear:—’All
Christians are my foes.’
The higher be their
rank the more the evil grows.
If birth and state be
high, their crime shows more notorious,
If he who shield be
great, his fall the more inglorious;
And if I give Nearchus
to the flame
Yet stoop to shield
my own—thrice damned my name!
Albin.
If by thy fiat he cannot
escape the grave,
Implore of Decius’
grace the life thou canst not save.
Felix.
So would Severus work
my ruin quite—
I fear his power, his
wrath,—for might is right—
If crime with punishment
I do not mate.
How high soe’er,
worth what it may, I fear his hate,
For he is man, and feels
as man, and I
Once spurned his suit
with base indignity.
Yes, he at Decius’
ear would work may woe,
He loves Pauline, thus
Polyeucte is his foe:
All weapons possible
to love and war,
And those who let them
rust but laggards are.
I fear—and
fear doth give our vision scope—
E’en now he cherisheth
a tender hope;
He sees his rival prostrate
in the dust,
So, as a man he hopes—because
he must.
Can dark despair to
love and hope give place
To save the guilty from
deserved disgrace?
And were his worth so
matchless, so divine,
As to forbear all ill
to me and mine
Still I must own the
base, the coward hope,
’Gainst which
my strength is all too weak to cope,
That hope whose phoenix
ashes yet enthrall
The wretch who rises
but once more to fall;
Ambition is my master,
iron Fate,
I feel, obey, adore
thee, while I hate!
Polyeucte was once my
guard, my pride, my shield,
Yet can I, by Severus,
weapons wield,
Should he my daughter
wed, more tried, more true:
What wills Severus—that
will Decius do.
Upheld by him, e’en
Fortune I defy
And yet I shrink!—for
them, thrice base were I!
Albin.
Perish the word!
It ne’er was made for thee,
But wilt thou deal just
meed to treachery?
Felix.
I go to Polyeucte’s
cell,—though my poor breath
Should there be spent
in vain to avert his death;
Then, then my fated
child her strength shall try.
Albin.
What wilt thou do if
both he still defy?
Felix.
O, press me not in agony
so great!
To thee alone I turn—resistless
Fate!
ACT IV—POLYEUCTE. CLEON. THREE OTHER GUARDS
Poly.
What is thy will?
Cleon.
Pauline would see my
lord.
Poly.
Ah, how my heart quails
at that single word!
Thee, Felix, I o’ercame
within my cell,
Laughed at thy threats
if death and torture fell;
Yet hast thou still
one arm to rouse my fears,
The rest I scorn, but
dread thy daughter’s tears!
One only talisman remains;
great God, ’tis mine,
Sufficient for my every
need His strength divine!
O thou, dear saint,
thy scars all healed, white-robed, in
glory
crowned,
Plead that I too may
victory win, thou who hast victory found!
Nearchus, who hast clasped
in Heaven that dear, that pierced hand,
Plead that thy friend,
who wrestles here, may safely by thee stand!
Ye Guards, one last
kind service, I would ask,
Well may ye grant it,
’tis an easy task:
I do not seek deliverance
from these thralls,
(Looks at his chains.)
I do not care to scale
my prison walls,
But, since three warriors
armed can surely guard
One fettered man in
safest watch and ward,
Go one, and beg of great
Severus’ grace
That he would deign
to meet me face to face;
To him would I a secret
now impart,
Which much concerns
his joy and peace of heart.
Cleon.
On willing foot, my
lord, do I obey.
Poly.
Severus must this kindly
service pay;
Ah, lose no time, time
now has fleetest wings.
Cleon.
Full soon to thee thy
prayer Severus brings.
(Exit Cleon. Guardsmen retire to background.)
Poly.
The fount is pure, yet
bitter waters flow,
Sin taints—men
poison what was made all fair.
They will not choose
immortal streams: they go
To seek for pleasure—but
find only care:
Their pleasure wed to
strife—ah, death the gate of life,—
Christ’s servants,
none but they His crown shall wear!
So pain
Is gain:
Count not the cost!
The world well lost,
His Heaven to share!
O Pleasure, think not
that I sigh for thee,
Thy charms, that once
enslaved, no more delight;
(Enter Pauline)
With what intent, Pauline,
hast thou come here?
Have I a friend to aid,
or foe to fear?
Is it Christ’s
soldier that thou com’st to greet?
Or wouldst thou sink
my triumph in defeat?
If thou wouldst bid
me spurn the debt I owe,
Not Decius, but Pauline,
my deadliest foe!
Paul.
All, save thyself, to
thee, my love, are friends:
Love but thyself, love
me,—thy torment ends.
Alone thou seal’st
thy doom, alone wouldst shed
That blood by all Armenia
honoured.
Yes, thou art saved,
if thou for mercy plead;
Demand thy death, and
thou are lost indeed.
Think of the worth of
this self-hated life,
And think in pity of
Pauline,—thy wife!
Think of the people
that their prince adores,
Think of the honours
Felix on thee pours!
Oh, I am nothing, nothing
unto thee,
But, husband, think
how dear thou art to me!
Think how the path of
glory on thee opes,
Thou dearest lodestar
of a nation’s hopes!
Shall blood of kings
be but the headsman’s sport?
Is life a toy wherewith
thy death to court?
Poly.
I think of more than
this; I know what thou wouldst say.
Our life is ours to
use, and we that debt must pay.
What life is this men
love? An idle, empty dream,
Where nothing can endure,—where
all things only seem.
Death ends their every
joy which fickle Fortune leaves,
They gain a royal throne
to learn how pomp deceives;
They gather wealth that
men may envy their estate,
They clear a path by
blood, so envy turns to hate.
Such vast ambition mine
as Caesar never knew,
Death bounds it not,
for death is but its servant true.
Peace that the world
ne’er gave, and cannot take away,
That peace, Pauline,
is mine, mine wholly, mine for aye!
Nor time, nor fate,
nor chance, nor cruel war,
Can touch this peace,
or this my kingdom mar.
Is this poor life—the
creature of a day
For endless peace too
great a price to pay?
Paul.
‘Out on these
Christian dreams!’ my reason cries;
Whene’er they
speak of truth, they utter lies.
Thou say’st:
‘To win such prize my life is naught!’
But is thy life thine
own? How was it bought?
Our life an heirloom
to our country due;
What gave thee birth,
demands thy service too?
Pay, then thy debt to
her who has the right!
Poly.
Ah, for my country I
would gladly fight!
I know the glory of
a hero’s name,
I feel the thrill,—I
recognise the claim.
My life I owe to whom
I owe my sword—
But most to Him who
gave it—to the Lord!
Oh, if to die for fatherland
be sweet,
To die for Him—my
God—what word is meet?
Paul.
Which God?
Poly.
Hush! hush! Pauline;
the God who hears
And answers prayers,—gives
hopes, assuages fears.
Thy gods are deaf and
senseless, maimed and weak,
Tongues, mouths they
have, and yet they cannot speak.
The Christians’
God alone is mine,—is thine,
Jehovah only rules—supreme—divine!
Paul.
Adore Him in thy heart,
but say no word!
Poly.
What! Can I call
Jove and Jehovah—Lord?
Paul.
One moment feign.
Ah, let Severus go!
Let but my father all
his kindness show!
Poly.
Another Father mine!
His love most dear
Removes me from a world
begirt with fear.
For life’s stern
race too weak, too frail am I,
So, by kind death, He
gives me Victory.
Pure from the holy font—(His
mercies never fail!)
He brings His barque
to port, when it hath scarce set sail.
Couldst thou but understand
how poor this earth,
Couldst thou but grasp
how great this second birth!
And yet, why speak of
treasure rare concealed
From one to whom light
is yet unrevealed?
Paul.
O cruel! I can
strangle pain no more!
Is this the fruit of
all thy heavenly lore?
They say thy Christ
His enemies did bless,
Thou addest insult to
my deep distress.
How is my soul so dark—which
was so fair?—
Thou call’dst
me ’lovely’—’dear’—’beyond
compare!’—
Of my bereavement have
I said no word,
I stilled my grief that
I might soothe my lord!
They say that love has
wings, and all they say is true,
For all thy love has
flown; yet can I ne’er undo
The vows I made, the
troth I plighted binds me still!
Thou fain wouldst quit
thy wife, and thou shalt have thy will.
Oh, but to leave my
side with rapture, ecstasy,
No jealous Christ can
will: why grudge me one poor sigh?
This joy, this transport
fierce, endeavour to conceal.
I do not share thy creed,
but I, at least, can feel!
Why gloat o’er
heavenly gain, crowns, palms, I know not what—
Where Polyeucte is blest,
but where Pauline is not?
Soul, body, spirit,
I am thy true wife, to own
That I am but a bar
to happiness unknown!
Poly.
Alas!
Paul.
O! that ’Alas!’—so
faint, so tame!
Yet, if repentant from
thy heart it came,
’Twould waken
hope, still brief, and banish fears:
I wait the birth of
thy reluctant tears.
Poly.
These tears I shed!
O, might the Spirit pour
Through them the light,
the light that I adore—
Then were my only grief
all swept away,
For thou wouldst join
me in the realms of day!
Else Heaven itself would
have its bitterness,
Should I look down to
witness thy distress!
O God, who lov’st
the dust on which Thy breath
Hath stamped Thine image
true—save her from death!
The only death that
kills, and let my love
From Heaven woo her
to the realms above!
Lord, hear my call!
My inmost heart now see,
Who lives a Christian
life must Christian be!
Her nature god-like,
stamped from print divine;
She must be sealed Thine
own, yes, only Thine!
Say, must she burn,
condemned to depths of hell?—
Thy Will be done—Who
doest all things well!
Paul.
O wretch, what words
are these? Thou dost desire——
Poly.
To snatch thee from
a never-ending fire.
Paul.
Or else?
Poly.
O God, I trust to Thy
control,
Who when we think not,
canst illume the soul!
The when—the
how—is His—here am I dumb,—
I wait—I
wait—That blessed hour will come!
Paul.
Oh, leave illusions!
Love me!
Poly.
Thee I love
Far more than self,
but less than God above!
Paul.
For love’s dear
sake, ah, listen to my prayer!
Poly.
For love’s dear
sake—await the answer there!
Paul.
To leave me here is
naught! Thou wouldst seduce my soul!
Poly.
Heaven is scarce Heaven
for me, if thou reach not the goal.
Paul.
O fancy-fooled!
Poly.
Nay, led by heavenly
light!
Paul.
Thy faith is blindness!
Poly.
Faith is more than sight!
Paul.
Ah, death, strange rival
to a wife’s pure love!
Poly.
This world our rival
with the joys above!
Paul.
Go, monster! woo thy
death! Thou lov’dst me never!
Poly.
Go, seek the world!
and yet I love thee ever!
Paul.
Yes, I will go—if
absence bring relief—
(Enter Severus, Fabian and Guards)
Who comes to invade,
ah, not to cure my grief?
Severus! Who could
guess that thou wouldst show
Revenge unworthy o’er
a prostrate foe?
Poly.
Unworthy thee the thought,
Pauline, for I
Severus called, and
he hath heard my cry.
My importunity he will
excuse,
My prayer I know that
he will not refuse.
Severus—this—the
treasure that was mine
To thy most tender care
I now resign:
To thee, as noblest
man that I have known;—
Since earthly ties and
joys I must disown.
The gift is worthy thee,—I
know thy worth
Is great, but she no
equal hath on earth.
My life, the bar,—my
death the link shall be,—
Oh, grudge me not my
dear brief ecstasy!
Oh, ease the heart that
once was hers,—and guide
Her doubting footsteps
to the Crucified!
This my last benison!
All else is poor!
Await the promised light!
Believe! Endure!
But words are vain!
(Polyeucte signs to
Guards to conduct him back to prison. Exeunt
Polyeucte and Guards.)
SEV.
Most vain! No word
have I
Such blindness must
amaze! must stupefy!
Nay, this is frenzy!
I cannot conceive
A mind so strange!
Mine ears cannot believe
That one who loved thee—yet,
who would not love
A face that must the
great immortals move?—
Blessed by thy heart!—Thy
sweetest lips to taste!—
Then leave, refuse,
spurn—yield with clamorous haste,
To yield a girl so dear—so
pure—so fair!
And of that gift to
make thy rival heir—
This beggars madness!
Or the Christian bliss
Beyond man’s soul
to grasp! To spurn thy kiss!—
We treasure barter for
a just exchange,
Paul.
Nay, I must not hear!
Thy words bring back
the dear, the bygone days,
When I, a maid, might
listen to thy praise:
Severus, thou must know
my inmost heart;
I hear the knell bids
Polyeucte depart.
He dies,—the
victim of thine Emperor’s laws,
And thou, though innocent,
art yet the cause.
Oh, if thy soul, to
thy desires a slave,
See hope emerging from
my husband’s grave
Then will I wed with
pain—despair embrace,—
But wed Severus?
Never! ’Twere disgrace!
To light fresh torch
from that pale, flickering fire—
Oh, bliss too monstrous!
Thrice abhorred desire!
Back, hope! Back,
happiness! The mate for me
When Polyeucte leaves
my side—is Constancy!
Were this my will, were
this, ye Gods, my fate—
To shame would memory
turn, as love must yield to hate!
But generous art thou—most
generous be!
His pardon will my father
grant to thee.
He fears thee:
more, if Polyeucte’s life he take,
For thee he slays him—yes,
’tis for thy sake.
Christ died for man—let
pagan virtue dim
His fame: plead
for thy foe! so rival him!
No easy boon I ask,
there needs a soul most rare;
But when the fight is
fierce—then is the victory fair.
To help a man to be
what thou wouldst be
Is triumph that belongs
alone to thee!
Let this suffice thee:
she, whom thou hast loved,
She, who by thy great
love was not unmoved,
Of thee, and of no other
dares to crave
That thou, Severus,
shouldst my husband save!
Farewell! of this thy
labour gauge the scope:
If thou art less than
I yet dare to hope,
Then tell me not! all
else Pauline can bear!
(Exit Pauline.)
SEV.
Where am I, Fabian?
Has the crack of doom
Turned heaven to hell?
made life a living tomb?
Nearer and dearer ever—but
to go!
The prize within my
grasp must I o’erthrow?
This—Fortune’s
brimming cup, with poison filled,
She bids me drain;—so
new-born hope is killed.
Before I proffer aught,
I am refused;
Thus sad, amazed, ashamed,
in doubt, abused,
I see the ghost I laid,
to life revive,
The more seductive still
the more I strive.
Ah! must a woman, sunk
in deep despair,
Teach me that shame
is base, and honour fair?
And while I madly shriek,
‘O love, be kind!’
Pauline, death-stricken,
Fabian.
Ah, let the whole crew
light one funeral pyre;
Yes, let the daughter
perish with her sire!
This curs’d Armenian
is one hornet’s nest—
Crush all, then sail
for Rome, ah! this were best!
She loves thee not.
What canst thou hope to gain?
SEV.
A glory that shall triumph
over pain;
’Tis hers, and,
by the Gods, it shall be mine!
Nor God nor fiend can
sully such a shrine!
Fabian.
Speak low, for Jove
has bolts, and Hell has ears!
The dangers of this
course arouse my fears.
What? Decius implore
a Nazarene to save!
’Tis death that
hath thy heart; thou woo’st a grave.
His rage against the
sect thou knowest well,
His power unbridled—his
revenge is fell.
To plead for Christians
is a task too great,
For man or God:
thou rushest on thy fate.
SEV.
Yes, such advice, I
know, is much approved,
Yet not thus can Severus’
soul be moved.
To Fate unequal—equal
to myself—
In duty’s path
I go. For power and pelf
I never swerve where
honour leads the way;
Come weal, come woe,
her call I must obey.
Let fate depress an
all unequal scale,
Let Clothe hold her
distaff—I’ll not fail!
Yet one more word—this
to thy private ear—
The fables that thou
dost of Christians hear
Are fables only, coined,
I know not why,
Distorted are they seen
in Decius’ eye.
They practice the black
art,—so all men say.
I sought to learn the
laws that they obey,
And to discover what
the secret guilt
The which to expiate
their blood is spilt.
Yet priests of Cybele
dark rites pursue
At Rome—untrammelled—this
is nothing new:
To thousand gods men
build, unchecked, their fanes,
The Christians’
God alone our state disdains.
Each foul Egyptian beast
his temple rears,
Caligula a god to Roman
ears—
Tiberius is enshrined—a
Nero deified—
To Christ—to
Christ alone—a temple is denied!
Such metamorphoses confuse
the mind
As gods in cats, and
saints in fiends we find;
As Ruler absolute Jehovah
stands,
Alone o’er heaven
and earth and hell commands,
While pagan gods each
’gainst the other strive,
And ne’er one
queen is found o’er all the hive,
Now—(strike
me dead, Jove’s tarrying thunderbolt!)
So many masters must
provoke revolt.
And ah! where Christians
Felix.
Caught in Severus’
net thy Felix see!
He hates and holds me—oh,
the misery!
Albin.
I see a generous man,
who cries, ’Forgive,
Let Pauline smile once
more—let Polyeucte live!’
Felix.
His soul thou canst
not read—tho’ noble heart he feigns.
The father he abhors,—the
daughter he disdains!
What Polyeucte won he
sought: his suit denied,
Severus sues no more,—I
know his pride.
His words, his prayers,
his threats for Polyeucte plead,
His tongue says,
‘Listen, or be lost indeed!’
Unskilled the fowler
who his snare reveals:
If at the bait I snatch—my
doom is sealed:
Too plain, too coarse,
this web for any fly—
Shall I this spider
hail in my fatuity?
His wrath is wrath arranged,
his generous fire is nursed,
That I, at Decius’
hand, may meet the doom accurst,
If I should pardon grant—that
grace my crime would be,
For he the spoil would
reap of my credulity.
No simpleton am I, each
promise to believe,
Words—oaths—are
but the tools wherewith all men deceive;
Too oft escaped am I
to be so lightly caught;
I know that words are
wind. I know that wind is naught.
The trapper shall be
trapped,—the biter shall be bit,
Unravelled is the web
that he, poor fool, hath knit!
Albin.
Jove! What a plague
to thee is this mistrust!
Felix.
Nay, those at court
must fence; their weapons never rust,
If once thou yield the
clue to thread the maze,
The sequence is most
plain—the man betrayed betrays;
Severus, and his gifts,
alike I fear!
If Polyeucte still to
reason close his ear,
Severus’ love
is hate—his peace is strife—
First law of nature
this, ‘Preserve thy life!’
Albin.
Ah, let Pauline at least
thy grace obtain!
Felix.
If Decius grace withhold,
my pardon vain!
And—far from
saving this rebellious son—
Behold us all alike
entrapped, undone!
Albin.
Severus’ promise——
Felix.
He can never keep!
For Decius’ rage
and hatred never sleep:
If for that sect abhorred
Severus plead,
He trebles loss—so
are we lost indeed!
One only way is ours,—that
way I try:
(To Guards)
Bring Polyeucte and
if he still defy,
Self-doomed, insensate,
this my proffered grace,
He shall the death he
wooes forthwith embrace!
Albin.
Ah, this is stern!
Felix.
’Tis stern, ’tis
just—as fate;
When justice drags a
halting foot, too late,
She is not justice—for
the vengeful mob
(Whose hearts for Polyeucte
ne’er cease to throb),
Usurps her place, and,
spurning curb and rein,
The felon crowns, and
all our work is vain.
My sceptre trembles,
and all insecure
Totters my crown,—a
prey for every boor.
Then, swift, Severus
hears the welcome news,
The jaundiced mind of
Decius to abuse.
Shall I, the rabble’s
lord, obey the rabble’s will?
Albin.
Who ill in all around
foresees,—but doubles ill.
Each prop thou hast
is but a sword to pierce;
If Polyeucte hold their
heart, the people fierce
Will gather fiercer
courage from despair.
Felix.
Death settles all; they’ll
find no helper there,
And if—without
a head—the body should rebel,
Convulsive throes I
mock, and nerveless fury quell.
Whate’er ensues
the Emperor must approve,
I shall have done my
part, and win his love.
Here comes the man
(Enter Polyeucte and Soldiers)
I still must try to
save;
If he repent—’tis
well! If not—the grave!
(To Polyeucte)
Is life still hateful?
Doth death still allure?
Is earth still naught?
Do heavenly joys endure?
Doth Christ still counsel
thee to hate thy wife;—
To sheathe thy sword,—to
cast away thy life?
Poly.
I never hated life,
or wooed a grave,
To life I am a servant—not
a slave.
Here service free I
give upon this earth below,—
For higher service changed
when to His Home I go.
Eternal life is this:
to tread the path He trod;
To Him your body yield!
Then trust your soul to God!
Felix.
Yes, trust to an abyss
of depth unknown!
Poly.
No, trust to Holy Cross!
That Cross my own!
Felix.
The steep ascent, my
son, I too would climb,
Yes, I would Christian
be,—but—give me time,—
By Jove! I’ll
tread thy path! This my desire.
Else at thy hand the
judge may me require!
Poly.
Nay, laugh not, Felix!
He thy Judge will be,
No refuge there for
impious blasphemy!
Nor kings nor clowns
can ’scape His righteous ire,
His slaughtered Saints
of thee will He require!
Felix.
I’ll slay no more;—by
Hercules I swear!
So I a Christian crown
perchance may wear;
I will protect the flock!
Poly.
Nay, rather be
A goad, a scourge, for
their felicity!
Let suffering purify
each Christian soul,
Cross, rack, and flame
but lead them to their goal;
What here they lose—in
Heaven an hundredfold they find.
Be cruel,—persecute!—and
so alone be kind!
My words thou canst
not read; thine eyes are blinded here,
Wait the unveiling There!
Then understand and fear!
Felix.
Nay, nay, in truth I
would a Christian be!
Poly.
In thy hard heart alone
a bar I see.
Felix (whispering).
This Roman knight——
Poly (aloud).
Severus, thou wouldst
say.
Felix.
Once let him sail, I
will no more delay,
For this I anger feign;—let
him depart!
Poly.
’Tis thus thou
wouldst reveal a Christian heart?
To idols dumb—to
Pagans blind, thy sugared poison bear,
Christ’s servants
quaff another cup, sure refuge from despair.
Felix.
What is this deadly
draught that thou wouldst drain?
I’ll drink thy
wine.—Till then, from death refrain!
Poly.
To swine no more my
holy pearls I cast,
Faith,—faith—not
reason, shall see light at last;
Soon—when
I see my God—yes, face to face,
I will implore that
Felix may find grace.
FELIX.
O dearest son, thy loss
were death to me!
POLY.
This loss can be repaired—the
remedy
Find in Severus; he
will take my place;
By Decius honoured he
will not disgrace
Thy house: my death
will an advantage win
For thee, for her, for
me.—The work begin!
FELIX.
Such my reward!
Yes, insult is the child
Of injury. The
grace I grant, reviled,
Shall turn to swift
revenge. The gods defied
May do their will and
speed the suicide!
POLY.
I thought the gods were
dead, but they revive
With human passion;
Felix, do not strive
Against thy nature;
lay aside thy ruth;
Who loves a lie can
never follow truth.
FELIX.
I humoured madness,
but the mood is o’er,
I am myself again; I
did implore,—
’Twas vain; the
dark abyss that yawns for thee
May hold thee now, tomb
to thy constancy.
The hope I cherished—fondled—now
is flown
Severus will be king,
and I o’erthrown;—
Shall I the gods by
incense pacify?
Or by thy death? for
thou, at last, must die!
POLY.
Incense might but incense;
I cannot tell:
(Enter Pauline)
Pauline!
PAUL.
That word broke from
thee like a knell;
Who seeks my doom to-day?
Thou—or my sire?
Who fires the brand?
Who lights the funeral pyre?
My father should, by
nature, be my friend,
And lover’s heart
to love an ear should lend.
Who here is mine ally,
and who my foe?
Who has a heart to feel?—this
would I know.
FELIX.
Nay, to thy lord appeal.
(Pauline turns to Polyeucte)
POLY.
Severus wed!
PAUL.
Ah, this is outrage!
Rather strike me dead!
POLY.
Oh, dearer than myself
to me thy weal!
My love would never
wound, it seeks to heal.
I see thee wrestle with
thy deep distress
Alone—unless
Severus bring redress;
His merit, that once
gained thy maiden heart,
Hath still that worth
when I from thee must part,
Once loved—and
loving still—his honour grows.
PAUL.
Thy wife’s true
heart another treatment owes:
O base reproach!
For this I crushed for thee
My former love:
that I disdained might be?
This my reward for dearest
victory won,—
I did that love undo—to
be myself undone!
Resolve, faith, abnegation,
all were vain,
For thy return is outrage
heaped on pain.
Oh, sunk in tomb of
shame, most vile, most mean,
Come back to life—to
honour—to Pauline!
(Holds out her arms.)
To learn from her that
loyalty and faith
Religion are:—and
all beside but death!
Once more Alcestis wrestles
with the tomb,
Arise, arise from thy
enthralling doom!
And if my invocation
feeble be,
Regard the tears—the
sighs,—shed—breathed for thee!
Love is too weak a word—I
thee adore!
POLY.
Once have I said—yet
now I say once more—
‘Live with Severus,
or—with Polyeucte die!’
Thy tears are mine,
and thy pure constancy
I share: But—I
am soldier of the Cross!
Take up thine own, and
count all gain but loss!
Pauline—no
more!
(To FELIX.)
Thy slumbering wrath
rewake!
Thy fates and furies
wait! Their vengeance slake!
PAUL.
His life is saved!
These fetters all undo!—
For justice never yet
a madman slew;
And he is mad,—but,
father, thou art sane,
And thou, his father,
must his friend remain.
A father cannot less
than father be,
Oh, be to him what thou
hast been to me!
But cast upon thy child
a kinder eye,—
Slay him?—Then
know that I am doomed to die!
But even if justly done
to death were he,
The sentence wrong that,
with him, slayeth me.
For double death would
double wrong present,
And slay the guilty
FELIX. Dear child, thy father is thy father still, Nothing hath parted us, and nothing will. My heart is tender, and it beats for thee: Against this madman let us joined be. O wretched man, hast thou no eyes to see, no heart to feel? Thy guilt, thy crime, I would efface, thy pardon I would seal, For thee my daughter cannot die—say, must she die with thee? A victim to the only sin which ne’er can pardoned be. O sight most strange! Here at thy knees as suppliant I sue! (Felix kneels.) The evil that thyself hast wrought—that ill thyself undo!
POLY.
Arise, old man, from
knees unused to bend,
Or to another ear petition
send!
This artifice befits
nor me nor thee,
To beg of one twice
threatened!—Mockery!
First, by thy hand Nearchus
felt the flame,
Then love, forsooth,
thy plea—(profaned name!)
The path of Christian
neophyte hast thou trod,
And, in God’s
name, hast mocked Almighty God!
Earth, heaven, and hell
in turn have been thy tool,
And him thou hast traduced
thou wouldst befool!
Go,—bully-flatterer—liar!—Every
part
Thou playest, while
delay doth break my heart!
Enough of dallying!
While thou dost dissolve
Thy feeble soul in doubt,
hear my resolve:
The God who made me—Him
will I adore;
He holds my plighted
faith,—and evermore
He works salvation for
his ransomed race—
Who gave His Son to
death that we might life embrace;
And this—Christ’s
sacrifice—continued day by day,
The Christ reveals and
pleads—The Life—The Truth—The
Way!
No more His mysteries
to self-stopped ears
Will I disclose—(he
heedeth not nor hears.)
(Pointing to Felix.)
Pray then to these thy
gods of wood and stone,
To gods who every deed
of crime enthrone,
Who boast their malice,
and their foul incest,
Vaunt theft and murder—all
that we detest.
This, their example,—Pagan—follow
thou!
To Pluto bend, to Aphrodite
bow!
For this I broke their
altars, rased their shrine,—
Yea, for those crimes
that thou dost call divine!
And what I did, that
would I do once more
Before Severus—Decius,—nay,
before
The eyes of all men;—so
would I proclaim
One God alone adored,—one
Holiest Name!
FELIX.
At last my bounties
yield to wrath most stern, most just.
Die! or the gods adore!
POLY.
A Christian I!
FELIX.
Thou must
Adore the gods I say!
Adore, or die!
POLY.
I am a Christian.
FELIX.
This is thy reply?
Ye Guards, do my behest—prepare
the knife!
PAUL.
Where goes he?
FELIX.
To his death!
POLY.
Ah, no to life!
(To Pauline.)
Remember me! Farewell,
Pauline, farewell!
PAUL.
Nay, I will follow thee—to
heaven or hell!
FELIX.
Begone! For all
our ills this one redress!
(Exeunt Pauline, Polyeucte
and Guards.)
(Enter Albin)
O task ungrateful to
my gentle mind!
Well did he say, ‘Be
cruel to be kind!’
The people I defy, ah,
let them rage!
Severus may in war of
words engage.
Yes, I have saved myself—I
mean the State,
To wilful man there
comes relentless fate;
My conscience pure of
all reproach,—for I
Have lied and stormed
to shake his constancy.
To give his hot young
blood due time to cool
I played the coward—nay,
I played the fool!
Why did he thus assail
the gods and me
With insult, and with
horrid blasphemy?
But interest helped
me, and resentment too.
Else had I found my
duty hard to do!
ALBIN.
Soon mayst thou this
thy dear-bought victory rue,
For thou hast done what
thou canst ne’er undo!
Unworthy deed for Roman
knight! ah, me!
(Aside.)
I would that I could
add, ‘unworthy thee!’
FELIX.
Manlius and Brutus both
a son have slain,
And neither did thereby
his glory stain;
The part that is diseased—that
part we bleed,
So is the State from
knaves and caitiffs freed.
ALBIN.
Revenge and pressing
peril thee unman,
Else—couldst
thou bless a deed all men must ban?
When she, thy widowed
daughter, comes—the air
Of heaven will echo
to her deep despair!
FELIX.
Thou dost remind me
she with Polyeucte went—
I know not with what
mind, with what intent:
But her despair awakes
my fond alarm,
Go, Albin, go, and guard
my child from harm!
She might the execution
of the law
Impede: I would
not that his death she saw.
Try to console her—Go!
what dost thou fear?
(Enter Pauline)
ALBIN.
I need not go, for ah—Pauline
is here!
PAUL.
Tyrant, why leave thy
butchery half done?
Come, slay thy daughter,
thou hast slain thy son!
For, hear!—His
villainy—or worth—is mine!
Why stay thy hand while
I my neck incline?
Thy sword in me shall
find a kindred food,
(Enter Severus)
SEV.
Unnatural sire, whose
craft leads to the grave,
The slaves of fear themselves
alone enslave.
Yes, Polyeucte is slain,
and slain by thee,—
A sacrifice to greed
and treachery.
I offered rescue from
the opening tomb,
Base doubts enthralled
thee, didst seal his doom;
I prayed, I threatened,
thou wouldst not believe,
Deceiver thou, so must
all men deceive.
Thou thoughtst me coward,
liar—thou shalt see
All oaths Severus swears
fulfilled shall be.
Poor moth! I might
have saved thee—nay, I planned to save,
Thy perfidy the torch
that marks thee for the grave.
Drench earth in blood,—for
Jove pour forth malignant zeal,
The strokes that thou
hast dealt redoubled shalt thou feel!
I go: the storm
shall break o’er this devoted land,
From Jove the bolt?—maybe—but
I direct his hand.
FELIX.
Why lags that hand?
A willing victim I,
I choose to suffer for
my perfidy;
My doubts, my fears
unworthy, all I own,
I have offended—let
my death atone.
Take thou my honours,
their poor lustre thine,
I kneel before another,
nobler shrine.
The Power that moved
me, groping through the night
Of wrong and darkness,
wafts me to The Light!
I slew thee, Polyeucte,
but thy pardoning hand
Shall guide thy murderer
to the better land!
He prays for me, and
by his sacrifice,
New-born upon his ashes
PAUL.
(To Felix.)
Yes, mine for ever now!
Hail, glorious day,
That sees earth’s
loss transformed to endless gain!
FELIX.
The gain, the glory,
Christ’s! By Him we reign.
SEV.
Now am I dumb, some
miracle is here;
Their courage and their
faith must I revere;
We slay them; yet, like
Cadmus’ seed, new-born
They sprout afresh,
and laugh our scythe to scorn.
We give them cord and
flame, they torture hail;
Friends fail them, but
themselves they never fail.
We mow them down, fresh
nurslings to unbare,
What moves the seed
lies hid, but it is there.
They bless the world,
though by the world accurst,
Their shield am I—let
Decius do his worst.
I yet may own their
power, though now my will
That each to his own
gods be faithful still,
Let each still search
for truth, and truth adore.
(To Felix).
A Christian thou?
Then fear my wrath no more,
Thy sect I cherish;
this their awful cult
Severus will protect,
but ne’er insult.
Keep thou thy power
from Roman sword secure,
So long as loyalty with
faith endure;
I swear it: ay,
the Emperor shall learn
The guiltless from the
traitor to discern;
His persecution baseless
as his fear.
FELIX.
Severus—thou
who hast the hearing ear,—
Freeman of Rome—God’s
Spirit grant thee grace
To be Christ’s
Freeman, and behold His face:
To these—Christ’s
martyrs—earth’s last rites be given,
Earth, guard their ashes
as a trust for Heaven!
Earth hides their dust.
When envious time is o’er,
That dust shall wake
to life for evermore!