_Gycia._ And meantime, since my husband's heart is sore For his sire's lonelihood, our purpose is That he should sail to-morrow and go hence To Bosphorus, where I, the festival Being done, will join him later, and devote A daughter's loving care and tender hand To smooth the old man's sick-bed.

_Zetho._ Nay, my daughter, I grieve this cannot be. The Prince Asander, Coming to Cherson only two years gone, Did pledge his solemn word to thy dead father That never would he seek, come foul or fair, To turn from Cherson homewards, and I marvel That never, in the years that since have pa.s.sed Amid the close-knit bonds of wedded lives, He has revealed this secret. We who rule Our Cherson know through what blind shoals of fortune Our ship of state drives onward. And I dare not, Holding the rule which was thy father's once, Release him from the solemn pledge which keeps Our several States bound fast in amity, But each from the other separate, and each Free from the perils tangled intercourse Might breed for both. Indeed, it cannot be; I grieve that so it is.

_Gycia._ My Lord Asander, Are these things so indeed?

_Asan._ They are, my wife.

A rash and heedless promise binds me fast, Which, in all frankness, I had never dreamt Could thus demand fulfilment. Who is there More loyal to the State than I? Who is there Bound by such precious chains of love and faith As is thy husband? If I said no word Of this before, it was that I would fain Forget this hateful compact. Sir, I beg you Let me go hence, and when the old man's sickness Is done, as Heaven will have it, take my word That I will be a citizen of Cherson Again, whate'er may come.

_Zetho._ If the King dies, Then art thou straightway King of Bosphorus, Knowing the strength and weakness of our State, And having bound to thee by closest friendship Our chiefest citizens. Nay, nay, I dare not Relieve thee from the pledge.

_Asan._ Thou h.o.a.ry trickster, Speakest thou thus to me?

[_Draws._

_Gycia (interposing)._ Great heavens! Asander, Knowest thou what thou dost? (_To_ ZETHO) Pardon him, sir.

He is not himself, I think, but half distraught, To bear himself thus madly.

_Zetho._ Daughter, the State Knows to protect itself from insolence And arrogant pride like this, and it is certain 'Twas a wise caution led thy honoured father To stipulate that such ungoverned pa.s.sion Should be cut off from those conspiring forces From which combined came danger.

_Asan._ Gycia, Hearest thou this schemer? Dost thou know indeed That I am prisoned here, while my loved father Lies on the bed of death? Dost thou distrust me, That thou dost speak no word?

_Gycia._ My lord, I cannot.

The measure which my father's wisdom planned For the safety of the State, I, a weak woman, Am too infirm to judge. Thou didst not tell me, Asking that I should fly with thee, the bonds By which thy feet were fettered. Had I known I never had consented. Had I gone, Breaking the solemn ordinance of State, I should have left with thee my former love, And sailed back broken-hearted. That thou grievest There is none knows as I, but oh, my love!

Though it be hard to bear, yet is grief lighter Than broken vows, and blighted honour, and laws Made to sustain the State, yet overset By one man's will. Dearest, we cannot go-- Nor thou; the State forbids it. I will pray Thy father may grow strong again, and sit Here at our hearth a guest; but this is certain-- To Bosphorus we go not. And I pray you Make to my lord, who fills my father's place, What reparation thy ungoverned rage And hasty tongue demand.

_Asan._ Thou cold Greek woman!

Of this, then, 'twas they warned me--a smooth tongue And a cold heart; a brain by logic ruled, And not at all by love. Thou hast no pity, For pity shapes not into syllogisms; Nor can affection ape philosophy, Nor natural love put on the formal robe Of cold too-balanced State-craft. Hear me, old man, And thou too, wife. 'Twere better, ay, far better, That I should get me gone, and my wife with me, Than be pent here unwilling; but were it better Or were it worse, be sure I will not stay When duty calls me hence. Wife, wilt thou come?

_Gycia._ My lord, I cannot.

_Asan._ Then, I go alone.

_Zetho._ Nay, thou shalt not. Ho there! arrest the Prince.

[Guards _arrest_ ASANDER.

_Asan._ Unhand me. At your peril.

[_Draws._

_Gycia._ Oh, my husband!

[_Weeps._

SCENE III.--_A room in the palace._

IRENE; _afterwards_ GYCIA.

_Ire._ What! am I mad, or does some devilish power Possess me heart and soul? I once loved Gycia; I love Asander with o'ermastering love, And yet these frequent rumours of dissensions Marring the smooth course of their wedded life Bring me a swift, fierce joy. If aught befell To separate those lovers, then might Fate And Chance open for me the golden doors That lead to Love's own shrine; and yet I know not If any power might melt to mutual love That too-cold heart. But still, no other chance Is left but this alone: if I should force Those loving souls apart, then 'twere my turn.

Am I a monster, then, to will this wrong?

Nay, but a lovesick woman only, willing To dare all for her pa.s.sion. Though I loathe Those crooked ways, yet love, despite myself, Drives me relentless onward.

_Enter_ GYCIA.

Dearest lady, Why art thou thus cast down? Some lovers' quarrel, To be interred with kisses?

_Gycia._ Nay, Irene, This is no lovers' quarrel.

_Ire._ Tell me, Gycia, What was the cause?

_Gycia._ The King of Bosphorus Is ailing, and desires to see his son, Who fain would go to him.

_Ire._ And thou refusedst To let thy lover go?

[_Laughs mockingly._

_Gycia._ Nay, 'twas not so; But politic reasons of the State forbad The Prince's absence.

_Ire._ Well, whate'er the cause, The old man fain would see his son, and thou Deniedst.

_Gycia._ I denied him what the State Denied him, and no more.

_Ire._ The State denied him!

What does it profit thee to be the daughter Of Lamachus, if thou art fettered thus In each wish of thy heart? If it were I, And he my love, I would break all bonds that came Between me and my love's desire.

_Gycia._ Irene, Thou know'st not what thou say'st.

_Ire._ It may be so; _I_ do not love by halves.

_Gycia._ I do not need That thou shouldst tutor me, who am so blest In love's requital. I have nought to learn From thee, who bearest unrequited love For one thou wilt not name.

_Ire._ Wouldst thou that I Should name him? Nay, it were best not, believe me, For me and thee.

_Gycia._ Why, what were it to me, Thou luckless woman?

_Ire._ What were it to thee?

More than thou knowest, much.

_Gycia._ And therefore 'tis That thou dost dare to tutor me to deal With the man I love, my husband.

_Ire._ Gycia, Love is a tyrannous power, and brooks no rival Beside his throne. Dost thou, then, love indeed, Who art so filled with duty?

_Gycia._ Do I love?

Ay, from the depths of my enamoured heart!

I am all his own to make or break at will.

Only my duty to the State my mother And the thrice-blessed memory of my sire Forbids that I should sink my soul in his, Or, loving, grow unworthy. But, indeed, Thou pleadest his cause as if thyself did love him.