Rodogune
ACT Four
The Palace in Antioch. Before the hills.
Scene 1
Cleopatra’s chamber.
Cleopatra, Zoÿla.
CLEOPATRA
Will he not come this morning? How my head aches!
Zoÿla, smooth the pain out of it, my girl,
With your deft fingers. Oh, he lingers, lingers!
Cleone keeps him still, the rosy harlot
Who rules him now. She is grown a queen and reigns
Insulting me in my own palace. Yes,
He’s happy in her arms; why should he care for me
Who am only his mother?
ZOŸLA
Is the pain less at all?
CLEOPATRA
O, it goes deeper, deeper. Ever new revels,
While still the clang of fratricidal war
Treads nearer to his palace. Zoÿla,
You saw him with Cleone in the groves
That night of revel?
ZOŸLA
So I told you, madam.
It is long since Daphne’s groves have gleamed so bright
Or trembled to such music.
CLEOPATRA
They were together?
ZOŸLA
Oh, constantly. One does not see such lovers.
CLEOPATRA (shaking her off )
Go!
ZOŸLA
Madam?
CLEOPATRA
Thy touch is not like Rodogune’s
Nor did her gentle voice offend me. Eunice,
Zoÿla retires.
Why hast thou left me, cruel cold Eunice?
She walks to the window and returns swiftly.
God’s spaces frighten me. I am so lonely
In this great crowded palace.
Timocles enters the room reading a despatch.
TIMOCLES
He rushes onward like a god of war.
Mountains and streams and deserts waterless
Are grown our foes, his helpers. The gods give ground
Before his horse-hooves.
Millions of men arrayed in complete steel
Cannot restrain him. Almost we hear in Antioch
His trumpets now. Only Nicanor and the hills
Hardly protect my crown, my brittle crown!
CLEOPATRA
Antiochus comes!
TIMOCLES
The Macedonian legions
Linger somewhere upon the wide Aegean. Sea
And land contend against my monarchy.
Your brother sends no certain word.
CLEOPATRA
It will come.
Could not the Armenian helpers stay his course?
They came like locusts.
TIMOCLES
But are swept away
As with a wind. O mother, fatal mother,
Why did you keep me from the battle then?
My presence might have spurred men’s courage on
And turned this swallowing fate. It is alone
Your fault if I lose crown and life.
CLEOPATRA
My son!
TIMOCLES
There, mother, I have made you weep. I love you,
Dear mother, though I make you often weep.
CLEOPATRA
I have not blamed you, my sweet Timocles.
I did the wrong. Go to the field, dear son,
And show yourself to Syria. Timocles,
I mean no hurt, but now, only just now,
Would not a worthier presence at your side
Assist you? My royal brother of Macedon
Would give his child to you at my desire,
Or you might have your fair Egyptian cousin
Berenice. Syria would honour you, my son.
TIMOCLES
I know your meaning. You are so jealous, mother.
Why do you hate Cleone, grudging me
The solace of her love? I shall lose Syria
And I have lost already Rodogune:
Cleone clings to me. Nor is her heart
Like yours, selfish and jealous.
CLEOPATRA
Timocles!
TIMOCLES (walking to the window)
O Rodogune, where hast thou taken those eyes,
My moonlit midnight, where that wondrous hair
In which I thought to live as in a cloud
Of secret sweetness? Under the Syrian stars
Somewhere thou liest in my brother’s arms,
Thy pale sweet happy face upon his breast
Smiling up to be kissed. O, it is hell,
The thought is hell! At midnight in the silence
I wake in warm Cleone’s rosy clasp
To think of thee embraced; then in my blood
A fratricidal horror works. Let it not be,
You gods! Let me die first, let him be king.
O mother, do not let us quarrel any more:
Forgive me and forget.
CLEOPATRA
You go fromme?
TIMOCLES
My heart is heavy. I will drink awhile
And hear sweet harmonies.
CLEOPATRA
There in the hall
And with Cleone?
TIMOCLES
Let it not anger you.
Yes, with Cleone.
He goes.
CLEOPATRA
I am alone, so terribly alone!
Scene 2
A hall in the Palace.
Phayllus, Theras.
THERAS
His fortune holds.
PHAYLLUS
He has won great victories
And stridden exultant like a god of death
Over Grecian, Syrian and Armenian slain;
But being mortal at each step has lost
A little blood. His veins are empty now.
Where will he get new armies? His small force
May beat Nicanor’s large one, even reach Antioch,
To find the Macedonian there. They have landed.
He is ours, Theras, this great god of tempest,
Our captive whom he threatens, doomed to death
While he yet conquers.
Timocles enters with Cleone, then the
musicians and dancing-girls.
TIMOCLES
Bring in the wine and flowers; sit down, sit down.
Call in the dancers. Through the Coan robes
Let their bright flashing limbs assault my eyes
Capturing the hours, imprisoning my heart
In a white whirl of movement. Sit, Cleone.
Here on my breast, against my shoulder! You rose
Petalled and armed, you burden of white limbs
Made to be kissed and handled, you Cleone!
Yes, let the world be flowers and flowers our crown
With rosy linkings red as our own hearts
Of passion. O wasp soft-settling, poignant, sting,
Sting me with bliss until I die of it.
PHAYLLUS
I do not like this violence. Theras, go.
Theras leaves the hall.
TIMOCLES
Drink, brother Phayllus. Your webs will glitter more brightly,
You male Arachne.
More wine! I’ll float my heart out in the wine
And pour all on the ground to naked Eros
As a libation. I will hide my heart
In roses, I will smother thought with jonquils.
Sing, someone to me! sing of flowers, sing mere
Delight to me far from this troubled world.
Song
Will you bring cold gems to crown me,
Child of light?
Rather quick from breathing closes
Bring me sunlight, myrtles, roses,
Robe me in delight.
Give me rapture for my dress,
For its girdle happiness.
TIMOCLES
Closer, Cleone; pack honey into a kiss.
Another song! you dark-browed Syrian there!
Song
Wilt thou snare Love with rosy brightness
To make him stay with thee?
The petulant child of a fair, cruel mother,
He flees from me to crown another.
Omisery!
Love cannot be snared, love cannot be shared;
Light love ends wretchedly.
TIMOCLES
Remove these wine-cups! tear these roses down!
Who snared me with these bonds? Take hence, thou harlot,
Thy rose-faced beauty! Thou art not Rodogune.
CLEONE
What is this madness?
TIMOCLES
Hence! leave me! I am sick
Of thy gold and roses.
PHAYLLUS
Go, women, from the room;
The King is ill. Go, girl, leave him to me.
All go, Cleone reluctantly, leaving
Phayllus with Timocles.
TIMOCLES
I will not bear it any more. Give me my love
Or let me die.
PHAYLLUS
In a few nights from this
Thou shalt embrace her.
TIMOCLES
Silence! It was not I.
What have I said? It was the wine that spoke.
Look not upon me with those eyes of thine.
PHAYLLUS
The wine or some more deep insurgent spirit
Burns in thy blood. Thou shalt clasp Rodogune.
TIMOCLES
Thy words, thy looks appal me. She’s my brother’s wife
Sacred to me.
PHAYLLUS
His wife? Who wedded them?
For not in camps and deserts Syria’s kings
Accomplish wedlock. She’s his concubine.
Slave-girl she is and bed-mate of thy brother
And may be thine. Or if she were his soul-close wife,
Death rends all ties.
TIMOCLES
I will not shed his blood.
Silence, thou tempter! he is sacred to me.
PHAYLLUS
Thou needst not stain thy hands, King Timocles.
Be he live flesh or carrion, she is thine.
TIMOCLES
Yet has she lain between my brother’s arms.
PHAYLLUS
What if she were thy sister, should that bar thee
From satisfaction of thy heart and body?
TIMOCLES
Do you not tremble when you say such things?
PHAYLLUS
We have outgrown these thoughts of children, king:
Nor gods nor ghosts can frighten us. You shake
At phantoms of opinion or you feign
To start at such, forgetting what you are.
The royal house of Egypt heeds them not,
Where you were nursed. Your mother sprang from incest.
If in this life you lose your Rodogune,
Are others left where you may have her bliss?
Your brother thought not so, but took her here.
TIMOCLES
I’ll not be tempted by thee.
PHAYLLUS
No, by thyself
Be tempted and the thought of Rodogune.
Or shall we leave her to her present joys?
Perhaps she sleeps yet by Antiochus
Or held by him to sweeter vigilance—
TIMOCLES (furiously)
Accurs`ed ruffian, give her to my arms.
Use fair means or use foul, use steel, use poison,
But free me from these inner torments.
PHAYLLUS
From more
Than passion’s injuries. Trust thy fate to me
Who am its guardian.
He goes out.
TIMOCLES
I am afraid, afraid!
What furies out of hell have I aroused
Within, without me? Let them do their will.
For I must have her once between my arms,
Though Heaven leap down in lightnings.
Scene 3
Before the Syrian hills. Antiochus’ tent.
Antiochus, Thoas, Leosthenes, Philoctetes.
PHILOCTETES
This is Phayllus’ work, the Syrian mongrel.
Who could have thought he’ld raise against us Greece
And half this Asia?
ANTIOCHUS
He has a brain.
THOAS
We feel it.
This fight’s our latest and one desperate chance
Still smiles upon our fate.
ANTIOCHUS
Nicanor yields it us
Scattering his armies; for if we can seize
Before he gathers in his distant strengths
This middle pass, Antioch comes with it. So
I find it best and think the gods do well
Who put before us one decisive choice
Not lingering out their vote in balanced urns,
Not tediously delaying strenuous fate,—
Either to conquer with one lion leap
Or end in glorious battle.
THOAS
We ask no better;
With you to triumph or die beside you taking
The din of joyous battle in our ears,
Following your steps into whatever world.
PHILOCTETES
Have we not strength enough to enforce retreat
Like our forefathers through the Asian vasts
To Susa or the desert or the sea
Or Ptolemy in Egypt,—thence returning
With force of foreign levies, if Phayllus
Draw even the distant Roman over here,
Dispute with him the world?
ANTIOCHUS
No, Philoctetes.
With native swords I sought my native crown,
Which if I win not upon Syria’s hills
A hero’s death is mine. Make battle ready.
Our bodies are the dice we throw again
On the gods’ table.
Scene 4
The same.
Antiochus, Eunice, Rodogune.
ANTIOCHUS
I put my hand on Antioch. Thou hast done well,
O admirable quick Theramenes.
This fight was lionlike.
EUNICE
And like the lion
Thou art, my warrior, thou canst now descend
Upon Seleucus’ city. How new ’twill seem
After the mountains and the starlit skies
To sleep once more in Antioch!
RODOGUNE
I trust the stars
And mountains better. They were kind to me.
My blood within me chills when I look forward
And think of Antioch.
ANTIOCHUS
These are the shadows from a clouded past
Which shall not be repeated, Rodogune.
This is not Antioch that thou knewst, the prison
Of thy captivity, thou enterest now,
Not Antioch of thy foes, but a new city
And thy own kingdom.
RODOGUNE
Are the gods so good?
ANTIOCHUS
The gods are strong; they love to test our strength
Like armourers hammering steel. Therefore ’twas said
That they are jealous. No, but high and stern
Demanding greatness from the great; they strike
At every fault they see, perfect themselves
Labour at our perfection. What rumour increases
Approaching from the mountains? Thoas, thou?
Thoas enters.
Thy brow is dark. Is it Theramenes?
Returns our fortune broken?
THOAS
Broken and fallen.
We who are left bring back Theramenes
Upon whose body twenty glorious wounds
Smile at defeat.
ANTIOCHUS
Theramenes before me!
How have you kept me lying in my tent!
I thought our road was clear of foemen.
THOAS
The gods
Had other resources that we knew not of.
Within the passes, on the summit couch
The spears of Macedon. They have arrived
From the sea, from Antioch.
ANTIOCHUS
The Macedonians! Then
Our day is ended; we must think of night.
We reach our limit, Thoas.
THOAS
That’s if we choose;
For there are other tidings.
ANTIOCHUS
They should be welcome.
THOAS
Phraates, thy imperial father, comes
With myriad hosts behind him thunder-hooved,
Not for invasion armed as Syria’s foe,
But for the husband of his Rodogune.
Shall we recoil upon these helpers? Death
Can always wait.
ANTIOCHUS
Perhaps. Leave me awhile,
Thoas; for we must sit alone tonight,
My soul and I together. Rodogune,
Thoas goes.
Wouldst thou go back to Parthia, to thy country?
RODOGUNE
I have no country, I have only thee.
I shall be where thou art; it is all I know
And all I wish for.
ANTIOCHUS
Eunice, wilt thou go
To Antioch safe? My mother loves thee well.
EUNICE
I follow her and thee. What talk is this?
I shall grow angry.
ANTIOCHUS
Am I other, Eunice,
Than once I was? Is there a change in me
Since first I came into your lives from Egypt?
EUNICE
You are my god, my warrior and the same
You ever were.
ANTIOCHUS
To her and thee I am.
Sleep well, my Rodogune, for thou and I,
Not sure of Fate, are of each other sure.
To thee what else can matter?
RODOGUNE
Nothing else.
Rodogune and Eunice enter the
interior of the tent.
ANTIOCHUS
A god! Yes, I have godlike stirrings in me.
Shall they be bounded by this petty world
The sea can span? If Rome, Greece, Africa,
Asia and all the undiscovered globe
Were given me for my garden, all glory mine,
All men my friends, all women’s hearts my own,
Would there not still be bounds, still continents
Unvanquished? O thou glorious Macedonian,
Thou too must seek at last more worlds to conquer.
Hast thou discovered them?
This earth is but a hillock when all’s said,
The sea an azure puddle. All tonight
Seems strange to me; my wars, ambition, fate
And what I am and what I might have been,
Float round me vaguely and withdraw from me
Like grandiose phantoms in a mist. Who am I?
Whence come I? Whither go, or wherefore now?
Who gave me these gigantic appetites
That make a banquet of the world? who set
These narrow, scornful and exiguous bounds
To my achievement? O, to die, to pass,
Nothing achieved but this, “He tried great things,
Accomplished small ones.” If this life alone
Be given us to fail or to succeed,
Then ’tis worth keeping.
The Parthian treads our land!
Phraates’ hooves dig Grecian soil once more!
The subtle Parthian! He has smiled and waited
Till we were weak with mutual wounds and now
Stretches his foot towards Syria. Have I then
Achieved this only, my country’s servitude?
Shall that be said of me? It galls, it stabs.
My fame! “Destroyer of Syria, he undid
The great Seleucus’ work.” Whatever else
O’ertake me, in this the strong gods shall not win.
I will give up my body and sword to Timocles,
Repel the Parthian, save from this new death,
These dangerous allies from Macedon
Syria, then die.
But wherefore die? Should I not rather go
With my sole sword into the changeful world,
Create an empire, not inherit one?
Are there not other realms? has not the East
Great spaces? In huge torrid Africa
Beyond the mystic sources of the Nile
There must be empires. Or if with a ship
One sailed for ever through the infinite West,
Through Ocean and still Ocean for three years,
Might not one find the old Atlantic realms
No fable? Thy narrow lovely littoral,
O blue Mediterranean, India, Parthia,
Is this the world? I thirst for mightier things
Than earth has.
But for what I dreamed, to bound
Upon Nicanor through the deep-bellied passes
Or fall upon the Macedonian spears,
It were glorious, yet a glorious cowardice,
Too like self-slaughter. Is it not more heroic
To battle with than to accept calamity?
Unless indeed all thinking-out is vain
And Fate our only mover. Seek it out, my soul,
And make no error here; for on this hour
The future of the man Antiochus,
What future he may have upon the earth
In name or body lies. Reveal it to me, Zeus!
In Antioch or upon the Grecian spears,
Where lies my fate?
While he is speaking, the Eremite enters.
EREMITE
Before thee always.
ANTIOCHUS
How
Cam’st thou or whence? I know thy ominous look.
EREMITE
The how inquire not nor the whence, but learn
The end is near which I then promised thee.
ANTIOCHUS
So then, defeat and death were from the first
My portion! Wherefore were these thoughts gigantical
With which I came into my mother ready-shaped
If they must end in the inglorious tomb?
EREMITE
Despise not proud defeat, scorn not high death.
The gods accept them sternly.
ANTIOCHUS
Yes, as I shall,
But not submissively.
EREMITE
Break then, thou hill
Unsatisfied with thy own height. The gods
Care not if thou resist or if thou yield;
They do their work with mortals. To the Vast
Whence thou, O ravening, strong and hungry lion,
Overleaping cam’st the iron bars of Time,
Return! thou hast thy tamers. God of battles!
Son of Nicanor! strong Antiochus!
Depart and be as if thou wert not born.
The gods await thee in Antioch.
He departs.
ANTIOCHUS
I will meet them there.
Break me. I see you can, O gods. But you break
A body, not this soul; for that belongs, I feel,
To other masters. It is settled then.
Tomorrow sets in Antioch.
Scene 5
The same.
Philoctetes, Thoas, Leosthenes, Eunice.
LEOSTHENES
Surely this is the change that comes on men
Who are to die.
PHILOCTETES
O me! it is, it is.
THOAS
Princess Eunice, what think you of it?
EUNICE
Thoas, what matters what we think? We follow
Our king; it is his to choose our paths for us.
Lead they to death? Then we can die with him.
THOAS
That’s nobly spoken.
PHILOCTETES
But too like a woman.
Antiochus enters with Rodogune.
ANTIOCHUS
To Antioch! Is all ready for our march?
PHILOCTETES
Antiochus, my king, I think in Egypt
We loved each other.
ANTIOCHUS
Less here, my Philoctetes?
PHILOCTETES
Then by that love, dear friend, go not to Antioch.
Let us await the Parthian in his march.
What do you seek at Antioch? A mother angry?
A jealous brother at whose ear a fatal knave
Sits always whispering? lords inimical?
What can you hope from these? Go not to Antioch.
I see Death smiling, waving you to go,
But do not.
ANTIOCHUS
Dearest comrade, Philoctetes,
Fate calls to me and shall I shrink from her?
I know my little brother Timocles,
I feel his clasp already, see his smile.
But there’s Phayllus! Shall I fall so low
As to fear him? Forgive me, friend; I go to Antioch.
PHILOCTETES
It was decreed!
ANTIOCHUS
But you, my friends, who have no love
To shield you and perhaps great enemies,
Will you fall back until I make your peace,
To Egypt or Phraates?
THOAS
Not a man
Will leave your side who followed your victorious sword.
We follow always.
ANTIOCHUS
Beat then the drums and march.
But let an envoy ride in front to Timocles
And tell him that Antiochus comes to lay
His victor sword between a brother’s knees
And fight for him with Parthia. Let us march.
All go except Philoctetes.
PHILOCTETES (looking after him)
O sun, thou goest rushing to the night
Which shall engulf thee!
