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Title: Circe

A dramatic fantasy

Author: Isaac Flagg

Illustrator: Bernard R. Maybeck

Release date: March 14, 2026 [eBook #78211]

Language: English

Original publication: East Aurora: The Roycrofters, 1915

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78211

Credits: Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CIRCE ***

CIRCE

A

Dramatic Fantasy

by

ISAAC FLAGG

With a Frontispiece

by

Bernard Maybeck

Copyright

1915

By Isaac Flagg

Acting Rights Reserved

To

MABEL LAMMÉ HAYS

Rarest of enchantment deem

The beginning and the end:

At life’s morning in the dream,

At life’s evening in the friend.

PRINTED AND BOUND BY

THE ROYCROFTERS

EAST AURORA, NEW YORK

THE ARGUMENT

omer relates that Ulysses, king of Ithaca in Greece, sailing homeward after the capture of Troy, drifted into unknown seas in consequence of the wrath of Neptune; and after losing all but one of his twelve ships, landed with the sole remaining vessel upon the island of the enchantress Circe, who transformed one-half of his ship’s company, twenty-two in number, into swine. He relates further that Ulysses, apprised by Mercury of the fate of his companions, and furnished by the god with an antidote for the spells of the sorceress, compelled her to restore his men to their human shape. Thereupon, at the invitation of Circe the rest of the crew join their mates at her palace, where all spend a year in festivity and merry-making before proceeding on their way with precise instructions from the Enchantress regarding the homeward voyage.

The experiences of Ulysses and his followers, as described in the Odyssey, immediately previous to their arrival at the Isle of Circe, had been of an extraordinary and alarming character. A number of men had been devoured by Polyphemus the Cyclops in his cave, where he had entrapped a party, the survivors escaping by riding out, clasped under the bellies of his sheep, after they had made the monster drunk and blinded his one eye with a fiery stake. Later, they came to the domain of Æolus, king of the winds, who presented Ulysses with a number of bags holding the adverse winds in confinement. But during the sleep of their commander, when already near their native shore, some of the men through curiosity untying the bags, the winds broke loose and swept them back to Æolus, who drove them all forth with contempt. They next encountered the Læstrygones, a race of man-eating giants. Being shown the way to the town by a daughter of the giant king, some men were seized and devoured on the spot; while from an attack made upon the ships collected in the harbor only one vessel succeeded in escaping.

No mention is made of Penelope, the wife of Ulysses, at any point in the story of Circe; but we read that Ulysses lingered in the enchanted island, until his men were finally compelled, seizing an opportunity when Circe was away, to remonstrate with their chief and rouse him to thoughts of a return to his home.

Homer says that the attendants of the Enchantress in her palace were nymphs, such as derive their being from the fountains, the groves, and the rivers flowing to the sea.

The First Act of the play brings Ulysses and his companions into Circe’s palace; the Second Act takes them out of it.

CIRCE

A

Dramatic Fantasy

PERSONS REPRESENTED

CIRCE, the Enchantress

P HILINNA

}

Nymphs, companions and attendants to Circe

T HERMIA

}

M YRTO

}

T HRATTIS, the lute-girl

G RAEA, the dumb swine-maiden

Other nymphs attending Circe

M IKKOS, an ape

ULYSSES, a Commander

E URYLOCHUS, his mate

T HERON, the ship’s cook

E LPENOR, a feeble-minded youth, the cook’s assistant

G LAUCUS

}

Sailors

P HORBAS

}

P HILEMON

}

X ENIAS

}

Other members of Ulysses’ ship’s-company

M ERCURY, Messenger of the Immortals and Luck-bringer to men

THE PLACE: A small woody island, inhabited only by the Enchantress and her Nymphs, who dwell in a palace at the centre and summit of the isle.

ACT ONE

I

preliminary scene of mute action. The front of CIRCE’S palace at the hour just after sunset. The edifice is of variously tinted stone, a combination of several architectural masses. The windows of the building are tall and very narrow, overshadowed with creeping plants. Its main entrance, at the Left of the Centre, is from a massive porch with gargoyles of serpents at the corners of its roof. The porch is reached by a flight of wide, low steps; the doorway itself, low and wide, deeply receding and darkened by the ample foliage of overhanging vines. The palace faces eastward upon a smooth open court-yard enclosed by a wall of stone with spacious gateway at the Right. The entrance to the court at the Left corner of the building is inconspicuous. At the main gateway there is artificial representation of wolves and leopards as if tame and serving as watchdogs. Behind the court-yard wall rise large trees throwing deep shadows in the twilight. A fountain, dragon-shaped, with circular basin, is centrally placed in the court, that is just at the Right of the porch steps.

As the curtain rises, a humming sound as of a swiftly turned spinning-wheel is heard behind the scenes; and presently the music of CIRCE’S song (the words of which are sung in a later Scene) is played upon flute and violin. The fountain is playing, and its spray, rising and falling intermittently, gleams with a golden light, occasionally changing to a faint blue, and then becoming golden again. Some of the serpentine gargoyles are seen to sway and writhe like living snakes. A large ape emerges from a small window above the porch, stands upon its roof at first erect like a man, then poses upon all fours at the edge, trying to look underneath into the doorway, and remains in this position. A glimpse also is caught of the Swine-maiden, a tall, gaunt, witch-like figure robed in gray, trailing behind her a very long cowhide whip. Appearing suddenly from some place of concealment she passes furtively and silently, with long strides, across the Left corner and disappears behind the palace.

II

Interior. The banquet-hall of CIRCE’S palace. A long, low apartment, clearly but not brilliantly illuminated by torch-wood burning upon cressets in the rear, Right and Left. The walls and ceiling of the room are of neutral tint, light shades, but nowhere white; the decorations, of simple Grecian type. Two wide entrances at the rear afford glimpses of a back corridor dimly lighted; between these doors a large spinning-wheel of fantastic pattern stands near the wall. On the Right a curtained opening leads to the boudoir of CIRCE; and another door is situated further back on this side. On the Left, directly opposite the boudoir, is an entrance from an alcove or passage-way communicating with the porch; in front of it a dais or platform, raised one step higher than the floor of the apartment. Near another door far back on the Left stands a large sideboard or buffet showing the usual garniture. Between the boudoir and the dais, thus centrally placed but a little forward, are two large, low tables nearly square, standing end to end, but far enough apart to allow free passage between them, and showing clearly the spinning-wheel behind. Three tall armchairs or thrones stand, one at the end of the table on the Left, in front of the dais; another at the opposite end of the other table, by the entrance of the boudoir; the third at the left hand of the second throne, behind the table. There are numerous other small Greek chairs without backs. Each table is spread with a light brown cloth. Upon the table at the Right are several pieces of plate and a low spreading vase of flowers near its centre; a flagon and goblets upon the other table. As the curtain rises the music ceases, but the humming of the wheel is continued. CIRCE is seen seated upon the throne at the head of the table by her boudoir. Her slender golden wand is carelessly thrown upon the table before her. Her black robe she has pushed away from her shoulders over the back of her chair; but she wears her coronal of pearls confining massy black hair, with long, light, pearly veil depending from the diadem behind. Her tunic is of canary-colored silk; she wears crimson sandals, and a golden serpent bracelet encircles her left wrist.

PHILINNA, a blonde, of beauty comparable to that of CIRCE herself, but of the opposite type, in dress and in all other respects forming a contrast to the Enchantress, stands behind the throne at her mistress’ left hand.

The place of THERMIA, a nymph of elegant figure and winsome expression, is behind the table on the Left, near the throne at its head by the dais.

MYRTO, who has dark hair like CIRCE, but is of small stature and not marked by especial beauty, sits facing the Enchantress by the spinning-wheel, which, as she swiftly turns it, gives forth the melodious hum that fills the air when the curtain rises.

The predominant color of PHILINNA’S dress is mauve; of THERMIA’S, azure; of MYRTO’S, dark green. Other nymphs are drest in light gauzy material, never pure white. All wear Grecian costume.

As CIRCE turns toward her with a slight gesture, MYRTO stops the wheel.

CIRCE

Hush, Myrto; prithee stay

Thy busy wheel awhile; I fain would listen

To the mere silence—if that be silence, when

Naught save the light-wing’d evening zephyr breathes

His soft sea-voices through the piny boughs

And the broad vine-leaf tinkles at the porch.

No footfalls patter now; our thirsty questioners,

After the sunset shadow falls, come not.

Truly ’twere vain, save by the day’s bright beam,

To seek my mansion on this bowery summit

Through tangled briery paths and copse-wood dim—

For the first time.

PHILINNA

Thou knowest well, dear lady,

No second coming, save in four-footed guise,

Thy hand vouchsafes them.

CIRCE

Ay, not twice the cup

For the same drinker need we pour.—And, Myrto,

Remembered’st thou to cull the herbs I named,

Wolf’s-bane and hemlock and the rest?

MYRTO

Yes, lady.

CIRCE

And stored and sorted all?

MYRTO

By the full moon

Each kind I pluck’d; then, crosswise laid, I dried them

On the black adder-stone what hour no cloud

The noonday welkin streak’d.

CIRCE

’Tis well. Right soon

I shall bruise more and brew their potions.

[After a brief pause] Ah!

Myrto; hast thou aught seen this season yet

Of moly plant?

MYRTO

No sprig, since we dug forth

Those three and to their root put fire.

PHILINNA

O Circe,

What mortal can know moly? or, if found,

Might guess that straightening salutary force

Which its pale blossom suckles?

CIRCE

Little indeed

Know they or seem to reck, who find my door,

By the four winds or vague desire impell’d.

Not of the herbs alone, wherewith I work

Transforming magic, and of their antidotes

Is saving knowledge to human sense denied;

But the mere man in equal measure lacks

Perception of all that inner occult domain

Which on my mystic vision rises clear

And blends harmonious with material scenes.

Therefore, what mortals know I know more surely,

Crowning their wisdom with profounder lore.

How oft do they who come, while at this board

They swill and gloat, ere yet the damning cup

I proffer, boast large deeds and prate of what

They call experience—in the same breath imploring

Guidance, which I with gracious hand might lend,

Seem’d they but worthy. [PHILINNA nods assent.]

THERMIA

Stands some one, Circe,

At the porch door.

CIRCE

Throw open; no mortal visitor

Descends so deftly on us.

[The door at the Left is opened by THERMIA, showing a golden-gleaming light in the passage-way behind it. Immediately MERCURY enters, standing as he first speaks upon the dais. His winged serpent-twined wand is brilliant with inlaid mother-of-pearl. Dewdrops glisten upon the wings of his cap and sandals. The mutual demeanor of MERCURY and CIRCE is friendly, but not familiar. Neither makes show of deference toward the other. MERCURY does not remove his cap. He takes no notice whatever of the nymphs.]

MERCURY

All-potent Circe,

Hail!

CIRCE

Hail to thee, sir messenger! Be welcome;

Tarry and taste our cheer.

[MERCURY seats himself upon the throne at the head of the table near which he stands. THERMIA takes his wand and lays it upon the table.]

CIRCE

The nectar, Thermia.

[THERMIA serves him from the sideboard and remains standing in attendance.]

Bring’st from the Olympian conclave, Mercury,

Tidings to us?

MERCURY

Nay, nay; I do but pause

On my mid-errand’s flight a restful moment

At thy fair island-dome. Weary sometime

Falls even the airy stride of winged feet,

When at a stern omnipotent behest

They spurn the mountain’s serried brow, plunge down,

Skimming innumerable waves, and ride

From land to land the brindled ocean’s back.

But, Mistress Circe, this enchanted isle,

Topp’d by thy mansion, doth like a stepping-stone

Betwixt the shores of dawn and vesper lie,

At the convergent centre of all streams.

What roving bark shall miss it?

CIRCE

Sooner or later

’Tis true each wanderer this way passes; nor,

Our gate once spied and hospitable song

Heard trilling, turns he back.

MERCURY

I am reminded,

Whereof I once made mention, again to speak.

Fail not to pour thy strongest draught, fair Circe,

When sage Ulysses heeds the languorous strain.

CIRCE

So said’st thou; I recall it. And some potions

Do stronger flow an hundred-fold than others.

MERCURY

Even so one human counsel another o’er-tops

By infinite measure.—But ’tis time to speed

And set a finish on this world-spanning errand.

[THERMIA hands MERCURY his wand as he rises from the throne and steps upon the dais.]

Now for the star-strewn roadways of the sky,

By the dun cloud-edge, where fork’d lightnings fly.

Farewell!

CIRCE

Farewell, sir messenger! [Exit MERCURY.]

PHILINNA

[After a pause] Dear lady Circe,

Wherefore for us at eve dost thou ne’er lift

Thy voice in sweetest song, like that whose spell

Binds the doom’d callers at the moaning porch?

So might we taste the charm and spare the bane.

CIRCE

O sit, Philinna, and mark you!

[PHILINNA seats herself in the throne near CIRCE. At the same time THERMIA takes her seat upon one of the chairs at the other table, resting her left arm on the table.]

CIRCE

’Tis not at will those tuneful notes upwelling

Burst from this bosom’s prison, when once the joy

Of fierce enslaving mastery sets them free.

I see not his approach who draweth nigh,

Like the limed bird in cruel toils to stick,

And whom the poison’d chalice straight transforms

To brutal shape:—I do not see them come;

But by a sudden thrill inspired to sing,

With a strange consciousness of quicken’d power,

Then know I, and need not look.—Hath e’er one song

Fail’d of response, Philinna?

THERMIA

Not one; O, never!

MYRTO

How could it otherwise befall?

CIRCE

There be

Others in whom by native hap are planted

Some powers of vulgar sorcery: whom it profits

On magic wheel to lash the skewer’d wryneck;

Who their unlovely droning measures vaunt

To burst the clammy serpent in the mead,

Or from her seat pull down the horned moon.

But to their sordid craft my arts compare

As sunbeams to a sputtering pitchy torch.

When we the human prowler quell and tame,

We work illumination!

PHILINNA

Yet sometimes

They shine with princely mien. Even as Mercury

In face and stature were those two comely youths

Thou once didst change to wolves.

CIRCE

’Twas their true shape!

The godlike figure hath to mankind been lent,

Which they abuse to cloak an inner core

Of bestial motive. Therefore it is to scatter

Light over darkness, when my cunning drugs

Make the shell match the kernel. No longer then,

Once the true emblem on his visage stamp’d,

Doth the pretender with mock daring flourish:

Unmask’d, he slinks and cowers.—The most, indeed,

Are of mere swinish habit; and for them

The pointed snout suffices and rough hide.

But some—[With mock seriousness] Thou dream’st not, sweet Philinna,

How cruelly those same youths, but for my spell,

Had rent us both!

MYRTO

[Gravely] Ay, true; didst thou not mark,

Philinna, what hungry looks they bent upon

The lady Circe, even while they drank? ’Twas not

The fragrant wine-cup drew them, but o’er its rim

Her neck they scann’d and watch’d the hand and arm

That reach’d the potion. So had they gazed on thee,

If Circe sat not by.

PHILINNA

Ah, Myrto; how

Could I the right herb choose and guide the beaker?

Or wield the magic wand!

THERMIA

[Holding up her hands] O simple, simple!

CIRCE

[Warmly] Thy beauty and my love for thee, Philinna,

Are of a piece; both do transcend the limit

Of usual quality. For, without thee, I

Should seem to hover in a stale vacant world;

Whilst thou, arm’d with no wand or secret drug,

Unconscious and unskill’d, canst oft divert

The most admiring, ardent, rapt regards

Away from the famed Circe—deem’d forsooth

To win by her sheer woman’s charm not less

Than by shrewd arts. It is perchance the reason

Why thou art dear, because no studied guile

Can in thy breast find lodgement. Oft we crave

That in a friend which our own temper lacks;

And the two mingle to a more perfect being

Than either by itself.

[Laying her left hand upon PHILINNA’S right arm]

’Tis pure simplicity

Framed as a smiling goddess at my elbow.

MYRTO

[Gravely] Dear lady Circe, may the gods preserve her,

Shouldst thou in turn e’er fail at her right hand

To sit with guardian thoughts.

THERMIA

Nay, Myrto!

Stand we not all in like need of that shelter

And sweet assurement which no other hand

Than Circe’s can dispense? ’Tis the good spell

Her bright superior spirit weaves round us, lends

Fragrance and bloom to our sequester’d lives.

What, but for that enrichment, would import

Fair skies and shady bowers?—But these mock dangers

Are but the flounce and garnish of our pastime.

Your mighty men I find more vain than valiant.

Didst thou fear Mikkos, Myrto, in his former,

Native habiliment?

MYRTO

[Laughing] O Thermia, he was terrible!

THERMIA

And that sleek scrivener, who serves now as one

Of our gate leopards—was it a peril when he,

Before his lips touch’d the transforming potion,

Offer’d me marriage?

PHILINNA

But what is marriage, Thermia?

THERMIA

It is as if a clever craftsman built

A cage round Circe and yourself, then lock’d

Its door upon you both and flung the key

Under the fountain.

PHILINNA

[Springing from her chair and drawing back behind it]

Holy Diana!

I should break out and fly like Circe’s peacock

Into the beech-tree by the spring.

CIRCE

[Laughing] O children, children!

How will ye all most learnedly discourse,

Where ye know least? There lurks indeed small peril

To your fair persons, but the danger hits

Your unsophisticated silly souls.

Some men there be, whose fervid, flattering words

Would fluster and bedazzle you, till all

This tranquil sweet companionship should vanish,

As the light puffy thistle-down dispell’d,

Leaving a weary lone unrest behind it.

It is my swift preventing magic catches

And tangles their approach. We are too quick

For them; nor shall they soon outspeed us.—Yet

My brother, the great magician, told me once,

That if a drug e’er fail’d me and work’d not

For any cause its proper due effects,

Then we stood liable to some counter-spell

Of similar assignment. And he cited

My cousin Medea’s strange unhappy story.

[To PHILINNA, playfully] So;

When the poor Circe faints, Philinna, thou

Wouldst fly off and desert her?

PHILINNA

O no! not

Without the cage.

CIRCE

[Laughing] No; I am sure

Whate’er befalls, Philinna will be faithful.

THERMIA

[Seriously] She will indeed, my lady!

CIRCE

Of faith and love there is no dearth among us,

Though scant occasion offer which might put

A true friend’s temper to the test. For here

The spirit of petty jangling sits aloof

And common pastime smooths the tripping hours.

Its spice is in the hazard. It were indeed

A dull domain on Circe’s isle, flow’d not

The petulant human throng up to our door.

For fail’d we to suppress them, we ourselves

Might share that wearisome slow life which men

Owe to their fleeting, vain, unsteady loves.

O verily they should thank us!

[CIRCE leans back in her chair, playing with the wand that lies on the table. Then straightening up and looking across the room she claps her hands twice. Directly the lute-girl THRATTIS enters at the Left corner. She stands leaning against the sideboard and strikes chords upon her instrument as prelude.]

MYRTO

O Circe, may Mikkos dance to-night?

CIRCE

Yes, child.—Poor Mikkos! His dancing days were over

When first he sought us and became our patient.

Now they begin anew.

[She signs to THRATTIS, who begins a dancing tune. Other music is heard in accord with the lute. PHILINNA and THERMIA dance, not as partners, but singly, with Grecian or Turkish movement, passing round alternately between the tables and in front and behind them. CIRCE leans back and looks on with evident pleasure, beating time informally with her wand. Immediately when the dancing begins, MYRTO runs out at the Right centre for Mikkos; but at the same time Mikkos darts in at the Left centre, drops into MYRTO’S seat, and begins to turn her wheel. The ape wears a handsome collar with about four feet of light brass chain hanging from it. MYRTO follows laughing, seizes the chain, and pulling Mikkos to his feet the girl and the ape dance, confining themselves to the back part of the room. MYRTO’S dancing is similar to that of the other two nymphs, except that she does not display the same arm movements. Mikkos dances only as an ordinary trained simian might succeed in doing. Next, GRAEA the swine-maiden enters at the Right centre and joins in the performance. Her dancing, which she confines to the corner of the room opposite THRATTIS, consists in snaky, gyratory movements, stooping and with long steps trailing her great whip slowly in circles upon the floor.—Presently CIRCE, drawing her black robe over her shoulders, still holding the wand, rises from her throne. The music ceases. THRATTIS, Mikkos, and GRAEA disappear, and the three nymphs come to a standstill at about their usual places in the room.]

CIRCE

[To her nymphs] Thus merry our lives, through the whole endless round

Of blithe days and the placid restful nights

That top their radiance. How ye are blest, forsooth

Ye cannot know, because that bliss transcends

All ken and inquisition. It is some part

Of the vast natural world instill’d and moulded

In your fair forms divine, whereto small fleck

Of human taint hath fallen; but an ethereal

Kinship of cloud and fountain and wild wood

Thrills the translucent ichor in your veins.

O sweet immortal sisterhood!

THERMIA

A mighty willow guards the meadow’s brink,

Where daisies shine and finches pause to drink:

Each year its lissome branches droop anew,

And on the straightest, smoothest shoot I grew.

MYRTO

Deep in the forest shade black water ran:

Beneath its tide my babyhood began;

And while for strength these tiny knees did lack,

A bullfrog bore me on his bright green back.

PHILINNA

Down a sheer sunny cliff wild waters whirl

In tinted gleams of amethyst and pearl:

And where that dangling riband dots the sky,

From one soft gauzy filament sprang I.

[The curtains of CIRCE’S bower are drawn away, revealing some part of its interior and a nymph standing on either side. CIRCE moves slowly backward to the bower entrance; and her three nymphs move backward toward the several exits.]

CIRCE

[To the audience] There is a sleep that hath no need of dreams:

When of each waking hour the passage seems

A bird-flight under lovelier skies than those

Which dreamland fancy to the slumberer shows.

[The music of CIRCE’S song is again heard, and the drop-curtain falls while all are just disappearing. PHILINNA goes out at Right 2; THERMIA at Left 2; MYRTO at Left centre.]

III

A camp by the seashore just before sunrise. The ground rises at the back and Right, rough with shrubbery and rocks. A galley of antique build has been drawn upon the sand crosswise at the Left and there are glimpses of the sea on this side. The mast has been unstepped and a few long oars lean against the side of the vessel. There are other signs of a recent disembarcation. Articles of nautical and warlike use lie on the ground or hang upon bushes and rocks; wine-jars, cups, plates, etc. have been deposited. The forms of a numerous company of men are seen sleeping on the ground, wrapped in their blankets, here and there near the ship.—In the foreground at the Right centre a fire of small sticks is beginning to burn under tripod and kettle. THERON, the cook, is seen seated on the ground near the fire, washing strips of meat for roasting. From the low branch of a tree near him hangs the well stripped carcass of a deer, the hide and the head bearing large antlers in full view near by. ELPENOR, the cook’s helper, is at work trying to make the fire burn.

THERON

Scratch together another stick or two of wood, youngster.

[Enter GLAUCUS at Right with a jar of water which he sets down near THERON.]

That will do for water, Glauc. Take a hand now and help the lad blow the fire a bit.

GLAUCUS

So I will, though I be a trifle blown myself, tramping up and down to that spring.

THERON

That’s where the commander pinked the deer yesterday, eh?

GLAUCUS

Ay, ay; the old man hasn’t forgotten how to let slip an arrow since we became water-dogs, for certain.

THERON

’Twas a crack piece of venison he fetched in and no mistake! There’s a strip or two left for breakfast; but I reckon we’ll have to make a soup of the hide for dinner—that is if other game doesn’t turn up. [He lays pieces of meat spitted over the coals.]

GLAUCUS

The soup’ll do them. They took solid meat enough aboard yesterday to last for a week’s voyage.

ELPENOR

When I saw them eating, it made me think of father feeding the hogs up in Cephallenia.

GLAUCUS

They’re grunting yet. Just hear the beggars snore! And we turned in before sunset too.

THERON

The Pramnian’s responsible for that: we tapped four jars. It’s the same as keeled over that beastly hulk of a Cyclops.

ELPENOR

The commander took a mighty round swig himself; I saw him.

GLAUCUS

Trust him for keeping his head level. Besides, he can carry more of the rosy than any three of us.

THERON

Pass over those barley spats, boy—ah! you’ve got them too wet, you monkey.—Say, Glauc, how would you like to see such a thing as a woman again, eh? [THERON grins and nudges GLAUCUS’ knee with his elbow.]

GLAUCUS

Well, you’re right; it is a long time since.

ELPENOR

Wasn’t that a woman you saw at the last landing-place?—there where they smashed all the ships we had but this one.

THERON

What!—the giant’s daughter? Bless you, boy, that was a waddling mountain, not a woman!

GLAUCUS

You might throw your arms round her waist twice, Elpy, and never touch the tips of your fingers.

THERON

By the powers, she was a hogshead to tackle; ha, ha!

GLAUCUS

If there be female inhabitants of this prickly country, it’s to be hoped they’re not built after that pattern. But everything here wears horns, so far. [He taps the antlers of the stag.]

THERON

Well, we’re nigh about ready. Set those plates round in just a little order. Call ’em up, Elp! Take my knife here and hammer on that shield hanging by the tree. The sun’ll be on us shortly. One more jar of water, Glaucus. [Exit GLAUCUS.]

ELPENOR

[Pounding on the metallic shield] Ding, dong! Cling, clang! Breakfast! Get up! Get up! Breakfast! Ding, dong! Cling, clang!

[The men rise one after another from their beds on the ground and adjust their garments, which look stained and weather-worn. GLAUCUS re-enters and pours water into several basins for the men to wash their hands. They gradually find seats on the ground near the fire and begin to eat, the cook and his assistant serving them informally. The conversation begins while they are dressing and getting ready, before they sit.]

PHORBAS

[Looking around him suspiciously] I wonder on which side the sun rises in this blessed country.

PHILEMON

On the east side, maybe; leastwise it ought to come up opposite to where it went down yesterday.

PHORBAS

Well, who remembers where that was? Split me if I do!

GLAUCUS

Avast there! the sun’ll peep over in a jiffy—by the spring yonder. [He turns his thumb backward to the Right.]

PHORBAS

All the same we don’t any of us know where we are.

THERON

We’re supposed to be at the breakfast table now, lads. Fall to if you’ve got any appetite left over from yesterday!

XENIAS

We’ve got more appetite left over than you have chops, cook.

THERON

Ay, every chop’s a sparerib this morning—except a few choice cuts here for the commander and the mate. They’re done now.

[He takes the meat from the fire into a platter.]

Here, young man; take ’em over to him round the other side of the ship.

ELPENOR

[As he goes out] We’re going to have soup for dinner. [He disappears behind the vessel.]

PHILEMON

Look here, Theron; did you put the charcoal in these barley cakes before baking or after?

GLAUCUS

Pooh, pooh! Never mind the grit, man; it’s an aid to digestion. We’re lucky enough to have groats aboard, anyway.

PHORBAS

We’re lucky to be alive! By Apollo, how I shiver when I think of that Æolian duffer and the cursed wind-bags he palmed off on us!

XENIAS

’Twas worse than a hurricane on the wrong quarter when they blew up—took us straight back to the old boy himself.

PHILEMON

He was a windy humbug! You’d have thought, to hear him talk, we’d be back home in Ithaca inside of twenty-four hours.

PHORBAS

And now we’re only here! Another cannibal island, I’ll bet my pile! Ye gods! I wouldn’t go up ten rods from the shore for a gold mine.

THERON

Well, the commander took a little walk yesterday and nobody ate him up. He didn’t make much of a report as to what he saw; but I’ve a notion he’ll say something about it to-day.

GLAUCUS

Sh—here he comes now! Mind your taps, men!

[Enter ULYSSES and EURYLOCHUS at the Left from behind the ship. The men finishing their meal salute without rising and arrange themselves comfortably and informally on the ground in a sort of circle looking toward ULYSSES in the centre. ELPENOR re-enters behind the two and sits down with the others. EURYLOCHUS also seats himself upon the ground at the right hand of ULYSSES. In appearance the mate is distinguished from the crew mainly by wearing fresher and less weather-beaten garments. ULYSSES wears a helmet and carries his sword and baldric in his hand. He throws the weapon upon the ground, and as he begins to speak takes off his helmet, holding it swinging by its strap in his left hand while he stands and speaks. The rays of the rising sun now strike over the bank behind him.]

ULYSSES

Good morrow, men! How sped the night?

SEVERAL VOICES

O, hearty, hearty!

EURYLOCHUS

They had a bout to sleep on, you remember, sir.

ULYSSES

That was high festival—too rare a hap!

’Twas sipping of the rest ye needed sore;

But now there’s toil in prospect.

PHILEMON

We thought you might tell us, sir, what the prospect showed when you stepped out yesterday and got the deer.

PHORBAS

We’re hoping to sail away from here directly.

ULYSSES

Of sail and oar appears an end not yet,

Brave comrades,—ye sad fortune-favor’d few,

Poor relic of that once gallant troop which sat

High on three-hundred thwarts; when each proud keel,

Cleaving a homeward furrow, swept gaily past

Familiar beacons; and from known crag and scaur

Triumphal friendly greetings echoed loud,

That drop like honey in victorious ears.

Not long their cadence linger’d; but ye know

What flouts of whirlwind and black sulphurous cloud,

Wreck-witness’d warrants of Neptunian ire,

Whelm’d some with death and the scant remnant usher’d

Into these strange, uncanny, nameless seas.

And now from wave to wave your weary arms

Drive the lone pinnace, this frail shell of hope,

With mingled dread and homesick yearning freighted.

[As ULYSSES pauses, some of the men, all of whom are looking to him intently, shake their heads or rock themselves to and fro, and faint groans are heard.]

But cheer, brave shipmates; cheer!

Not boundless stretch these watery wastes, but still

Shines somewhere a vine-clad slope and pebbly cove,

The fair home-harbor pictured in your dreams.

[The men give utterance to loud sighs and groans.]

Somewhere it sparkles yet; but whether a ray

Of yonder climbing sun illumed its borders

Ere he warm’d us, or by the western rim

Of darkling eve our cherish’d haven lies,

We know not. In ourselves, thus mazed and wilder’d

By circular driftings and strange gruesome sights,

There springs no source of judgment, whence to draw

Some pilotage and index of true course.

Yet on these wild inhospitable shores

Beings we have encounter’d—and not all

Of baleful or ungracious mood—who hold

Rare store of guiding knowledge.—Should we not

Press with glad feet even now our native soil,

If ye, unhappy men, had spared to loose

The contrary winds great Æolus did tie down

To assure our safety?

[The men manifest great perturbation; some gesticulating and shaking their heads; others rising to their knees and striking themselves. Mutterings and faint outcries escape them.]

EURYLOCHUS

[Timidly; rising to his feet] You failed to tell them, sir, what was in the bags.

ULYSSES

[Sternly] I fail’d first to remember

What slender stock of prudence or just restraint

Your wits preserve. So, while I slept, ye wrought

Mischief beyond repair. It was thy watch,

Eurylochus; dost recall it?

EURYLOCHUS

Yes, sir, it was my company on duty then.

ULYSSES

Draw off thy men; let them assemble apart.

[At a sign from EURYLOCHUS men to the number of one-half the crew arise and group themselves around him on the Right. The rest remain seated nearer ULYSSES. EURYLOCHUS’ company includes GLAUCUS, THERON, ELPENOR, and PHORBAS.]

ULYSSES

[To all as before] I repeat, then,

There dwell in these weird regions spirits—some few,

Mighty yet not malevolent, and endued

With sapient skill and far discernment. Nor

Save by experience of them may we hope

To win the instructions craved. Here yesterday

From the bare peak whereto I clomb, the view

Of a round isle lay open; and at the point

Where these upwinding brambly folds converge

I saw faint-coiling smoke-wreaths, the sure sign

Of dwellers.

[All of the men are visibly disturbed and give increased and anxious attention.]

It behooves us now to prove

Their case and disposition. But whether it suits

Rather that I conduct my party thither

For the grave query, or Eurylochus his,

Allotment shall decide.

[Sensation among his hearers]

Ofttimes the hand

Of Fortune guides a venturous essay fitter

Than human arbitration. Mark, then, Eurylochus,

My lot and thine.

[EURYLOCHUS with assistance from others finds upon the beach two small flat stones. These he scratches with his dagger, marking one with a V, the other with an E.]

Shake now the sherds, good Glaucus.

[As he speaks ULYSSES passes the helmet which he has hitherto held in his left hand to GLAUCUS. The two lots are thrown into the helmet; and GLAUCUS, standing in an open space and watched with intense expectation by all present, shakes it violently with a circular movement until one of the lots flies out and falls to the ground. The men strain their eyes toward the stone as it is picked up by GLAUCUS.]

ULYSSES

Well, what decision?

GLAUCUS

[Holding up the stone] It’s Eurylochus, sir, his mark.

[The announcement produces various effects upon the men. The party of ULYSSES, seated upon the ground, strive not to show too plainly their sense of relief; while the standing company of EURYLOCHUS are more openly affected. PHORBAS in particular is in a highly nervous state, glancing now toward the hill, now toward the water. A few other timid ones in the same party demean themselves similarly.]

ULYSSES

[To EURYLOCHUS] Enough; make ready directly, and proceed with reasonable haste.

[The mate’s company move apart and make preparations, helped to some extent by the others. There is lively motion in both groups. They gather up things needful for an expedition, spears, staves, water-flasks, etc. THERON, a portly figure, does not change his cook’s garb, but buckles on a very broad belt with hanging straps, and whets his butcher’s cleaver with a stone. Shortly they are ready to start.]

EURYLOCHUS

My mission is, sir——?

ULYSSES

To announce, if those thou haply find’st wear not

Sinister aspect, our good-will and greeting;

And the right winds for homeward voyage inquire.

EURYLOCHUS

Very well, sir.—Fall in, lads!

[EURYLOCHUS’ followers draw closer to their leader, apart from the others. All are serious. Individuals take leave of one another here and there with hand-shaking, etc.]

ULYSSES

The sign show’d near the summit. Your ascent,

Thorny perchance and steep, will prove not long;

The questioning, easy.

XENIAS

[Seriously] Have an eye to Theron, Glaucus; let him not be too forward with that meat-knife of his!

ELPENOR

[Taking hold of a strap at THERON’S belt] I shall hold him back.

ULYSSES

Full oft a forward mood and hardy daring

Is of prime merit; circumstance will teach

How far to temper zeal with slow discretion.

Farewell!

EURYLOCHUS

Farewell, sir!—Forward, men!

SEVERAL VOICES ON BOTH SIDES

Farewell! adieu! luck, luck!

[The mate’s company go out at the Right and upward. EURYLOCHUS himself is abreast of the foremost on their left. The vanguard consists of GLAUCUS, THERON (cleaver in hand), and ELPENOR (a fragile, attenuated figure) behind the cook, holding at his belt. PHORBAS and other timid ones bring up the rear. The drop-curtain falls as they move off while the rest watch them and wave their hands to them.]

IV

The same as Scene I. The front of CIRCE’S palace. No music or other sound is heard when the curtain rises. The fountain plays as before.—Enter at the Right by the main gateway EURYLOCHUS and his party, the men grouped similarly as at the close of the last scene, but in the reverse order. In advance are PHORBAS and the other timid ones; they enter hurriedly, casting glances of alarm behind them. The rest of the party immediately follow; EURYLOCHUS, GLAUCUS, and THERON last. ELPENOR is in front of THERON, who pushes him forward. The whole company quickly come to a standstill in a single close group with considerable space between them and the steps of the porch. They scan the building and its environs with looks of wonder, especially fascinated by the fountain with its changing hues.—EURYLOCHUS stands apart from the rest, his demeanor indicating hesitation and perplexity. While the others are talking he walks slowly to and fro, occasionally pausing and scanning suspiciously the various features of the scene.

THERON

It’s a rum go so far! eh, Glaucus?

GLAUCUS

[Shrugging his shoulders] Rum’s the word! An outpost of tame tigers! It beats anything we’ve walked into yet. Cyclops’ cave wasn’t a circumstance.

THERON

I had a notion to crack the skull of that overgrown wolf-cub when he landed his dirty paws on my shoulders. But he looked sort o’ gentle like, and besides I thought the old chap who owns the menagerie might take a miff—whoever he is.

GLAUCUS

It’s some retired show-man or prize-fighter, I reckon.

THERON

He’s got a blue devil penned up in his fountain, sure! Just look at that, old man; hock first, and blue vitriol at the tail end of it! There’s bitters for you with a vengeance!—Blast me, but I’m thirsty as an oyster, whacking a way up through that pesky brush-wood! If there’s a chance to wet our whistles inside the house it’ll be worth the dog-show twice over.

PHORBAS

I tell you it’ll pay to be cautious about the inside. Ugh! it did make my flesh creep, crossing that cordon of wild-cats! There’s no knowing what we’ll put our foot on if we go farther.

ELPENOR

I put my foot on a snake.

GLAUCUS

They put an architect to work here that saw snakes, anyhow. Take a look at those water-spouts, boys! [Pointing to the gargoyles]

EURYLOCHUS

[Approaching the group] Well, men; what’s the next step? The commander said go ahead if the people weren’t unfriendly. The wild beasts out there were friendly enough, you might say; but there’s an uncanny look to it all.

THERON

I vote to go ahead and knock up the owner. If he’s no worse than his own whelps we can stand it;—especially if he stands for the drinks.

GLAUCUS

There’s no two-legged craft within hail outside—nothing but four-footed gentry out here.

EURYLOCHUS

We might mount the stairs, then, cautiously, and see how things look under the doorway yonder. [Shaking his head] But I fear enchantment.

[As they approach the steps the hum of the spinning-wheel begins to be heard. The men pause again, and look at each other a moment in silence. EURYLOCHUS starts at the sound of the wheel, his features betraying heightened anxiety.]

THERON

[Slapping GLAUCUS on the shoulder] God-a-mercy, it’s womankind after all, Glauc! Come on! Ha, ha!

ELPENOR

Maybe it’s a mountain.

[They all move toward the steps again. THERON, with ELPENOR holding to his belt, and GLAUCUS are now in advance; EURYLOCHUS is at one side; PHORBAS and others are behind. As the first man sets foot on the steps the wheel stops humming and faint music strikes up as prelude to CIRCE’S song. Immediately a clear soprano voice is heard behind the scenes singing the air, the chorus of the song being performed by a quartette of women’s voices. The hearers are sensibly affected, showing their feelings by appropriate pantomime as they alternately pause and mount slowly higher and higher upon the stairs. EURYLOCHUS alone exhibits symptoms of horror and repulsion; the others seem to be charmed and lured on by the song. All of them except the leader are gathered together upon the porch close to the doorway when the last stanza is sung.]

THE SONG OF CIRCE

Ah, who!—ah, who!

Who would dwell longer there       bis

In a rude world of care,

Of toil and care!

They only live, who hear

My song and taste my cheer—

Who my life share.       bis

Ah, who!—ah, who

Would toil and tarry there!

(Chorus)

They only live, who hear

Our song and taste our cheer—

Who our life share.       bis

Ah, who!—ah, who

Would toil and tarry there!

II

I know—I know

Where bubbling waters flow;

Where shadowy willows sway

And wood nymphs hide and play

In my round isle.

I know which clustering vine

Spirts out the sweetest wine.

Who would not while

Swift hours away!

Ah, who!—ah, who!

In my round bowery isle!

(Chorus)

We know—we know which vine

Spirts out the sweetest wine.

Who would not while

Swift hours away!

Ah, who!—ah, who!

In our round bowery isle!

III

I know—I know

What makes the wood-dove moan       bis

In the dark coppice lone;

I know the cure.

When floats the owlet’s cry,

Her quavering lullaby,

Who!—ah, who!

While night winds sigh,

Who would not quaff the cure!

Ah, who!—ah, who!

(Chorus)

We know, we know the cure.

When floats the owlet’s cry,

Her quavering lullaby,

Who!—ah, who!

While night winds sigh,

Who would not quaff the cure!

Ah, who!—ah, who!

GLAUCUS

[Loudly, in a musical tone] Hola!—hola!

[Directly upon the utterance of this call the low, shaded recess of the doorway, which was dark before, grows bright with the same golden radiance that had shone intermittently upon the fountain; and the throng of visitors, excepting their leader, press swiftly forward and disappear through the opening. Again immediately the light in the doorway changes to blue, with electrical sparks. EURYLOCHUS, who is directing his gaze toward the opening, shrinks back in alarm; and at the same moment the spray of the fountain becomes blue and remains of that color. Descending to a lower stair EURYLOCHUS peers under the doorway, listening intently. No sound is heard. Then, his attention being drawn to the sombre hue of the fountain, while he is looking away from the entrance, a large serpent lets down its coils from the roof of the porch; and as the man turns again toward the entrance he is confronted with its wide-open jaws, forked tongue, and glittering eyes. As he retreats precipitately from the stairs the serpent draws itself up out of sight. EURYLOCHUS stops once more in the foreground to watch and listen for some sign of his men within the palace; but as he turns toward the building, the head of a wolf with glowing eyes is protruded from a clump of shrubbery. Upon encountering this final apparition he flees in consternation from the scene.]

V

The Seashore again. The curtain rising discovers the men left behind at the camp sitting irregularly grouped near the fire-place. ULYSSES stands apart from them by the ship, busied in inspecting his arms, the spear, bow, and sword, which hang near or lean against the vessel. When he unsheathes and sheathes the sword to examine it while his men are talking it is seen to have a brightly polished, rather broad, but not heavy blade. Most of the time he stands with face turned toward the water, his back to the Right.

FIRST SAILOR

Look here, lads; we can’t wait till noon for a bite! The commander ordered breakfast so rattling early this morning I’ve got a brand-new appetite already.

XENIAS

Well, take a nibble on that pile of Theron’s charcoal cakes left over. They need a good appetite to make ’em slip down.

FIRST SAILOR

Maybe the mate or Glaucus’ll fetch in another stag or a wild goat on their way back.

SECOND SAILOR

A wild goose more like; I wonder how far they’ve got anyway.

PHILEMON

They ought to turn up before noon. The commander said they might get up there and return in a couple of hours, as he judged—that is, if they scratched gravel lively.

XENIAS

They’ve got Theron with ’em, remember; he can’t pass between two trees when they grow too near together.

FIRST SAILOR

No, but he can clear a path with his cleaver for two men—him and Elpy spindle-shanks.

SECOND SAILOR

[In undertone] By the way, the commander’s pretty busy over there with his own cutlery. I wonder what he expects next.

PHILEMON

He expects to be ready, whatever comes. You don’t catch him napping. Besides, who wants a speck of rust on a hanger like that? The war’s an old story now; and this salt air’s the devil’s own invention to make a blade stick to the scabbard.

XENIAS

’Twas a pity he couldn’t draw it on that Cyclops hog. But if we’d let the blood out of him it wouldn’t have let us out of his pesky cave with a giant’s tomb-stone clapped up to the door!—[Whistling low as he looks up. XENIAS sits facing the Right.] Whew!—What’s in the wind now?

[All turn quickly toward the point indicated by the speaker, not excepting ULYSSES, whose attention has been attracted by the whistle. At the Right from above EURYLOCHUS enters slowly and hesitatingly, looking pale and haggard, his clothing torn and disordered by the brambles. Observing that all eyes are directed upon him he stops as if afraid to approach the company. Most of the men rise to their feet and move toward him.]

SEVERAL VOICES

Hi! hi!—what’s the good word?—News, news? Where’s Glauc? [EURYLOCHUS responds only with deprecatory gestures.]

ULYSSES

What? ho, Eurylochus! Hast tidings? Why alone?

What ails thee, mate? Speak out; tell us thy story!

[With gestures of dismay EURYLOCHUS moves nearer to ULYSSES, but does not speak. ULYSSES regards him with an expression of deep concern. The other men gather more closely round the pair.]

XENIAS

Wake up, man! What’s in your eye? We’re here to help; cheer up!

PHILEMON

[Patting EURYLOCHUS on the shoulder] Out with it; out with it!—Go ahead; palaver!

XENIAS

Open up, old fellow. You’re not dead, anyway. We’re used to funerals by this time. [EURYLOCHUS remains in his despairing attitude and is still unable to speak.]

ULYSSES

[Severely; taking a step nearer to EURYLOCHUS, while the men fall back slightly.]

Eurylochus, I enjoin you and command

To conquer this o’er-mastering mute despair.

Deliver straightway the account we crave

Of your commission and make known why thus

Alone and fraught with visible woe thou comest.—

Where are they? Speak!—

EURYLOCHUS

[With effort; after further hesitation.]

Noble Ulysses, we did most duly follow

Thy charge and indication. And when with sharp

Stretches of toilsome clambering we drew nigh

This shaggy island’s summit, where the ground

Sloped smoother, as these rude prickly folds gave way

To a tall grove of sombre trees which thrust

Their welcome shadows against the mounting sun,—

There ’twixt the spectral boles our upward glance

Fell on a portly mansion’s shimmering sides.

But first, as we clomb higher, a court-yard wall

Barr’d, though with open portals, our approach.

For at its mouth a glowering throng, Ulysses,

Of pards and grisly wolves sat by; not wild,

But of a tameness stranger and more awful

Than fierce beasts’ native temper—’twas sure sign,

And not the last, of foul enchantment. These

Strove not to tear and rend us, but were fain

Like petted dogs to fawn, wagging long tails

And monstrous paws on lap or shoulders throwing;

While in their eyes sad looks, half human, seem’d

To deprecate and warn. But we press’d on,

Heeding thy charge, Ulysses, to mark well

The human dwellers’ aspect and of them

Inquire, proved they not unbenign or harsh.

Dwellers indeed we saw not; but the whole pile,

As near its door we stood, did reek and rumble

With devilish witchery. Scaly serpents writhed

At every coigne; faces with fiery eyeballs

Peer’d out amid the foliage; and o’er all

Weird flashes leapt of lurid sulphurous flame.

Yet that which most profoundly stirr’d my doubts

And dark suspicions, was the unearthly song,

With languorous music mixt, that issued forth

To charm and tempt us with seductive spell.

Myself shrank back when on my ear that strain

Of woman’s guile or witch’s magic struck.

Not so the rest, Ulysses,—our lost comrades;

But the song bound and pull’d them; nor could I

Stem their mad folly. One spoke forth and call’d;

And as the doors swang wider all were swept

Under the hellish gap; which, closing, swallow’d

Like an engulfing whirlpool the doom’d crew.

For though, as the song ceased, I watch’d and waited

Long time for tidings or some sign, none came:

Naught but a dismal silence and increase

Of snaky menace and blue infernal gleams!

[Immediately upon the conclusion of EURYLOCHUS’ narrative ULYSSES, who has listened intently, reaches for his sword near by; takes a quick look at the blade as he draws it partly out and then pushes it back into the scabbard; slings the weapon over his shoulder, puts on his helmet, and then turns to EURYLOCHUS again. The latter exhibits fresh dismay at seeing ULYSSES thus arm himself. The other men also are visibly affected by their commander’s movements.]

ULYSSES

So then thou knowest the way, Eurylochus:

Lead on forthwith by the same path; show me

The spot where thou didst leave them.

EURYLOCHUS

[Falling at the feet of ULYSSES and clasping his knees]

Not thither, great Ulysses! Take me not thither!

Thyself will ne’er return, I know right well.

It is the road to death or to some state

Of hideous, vile bewitchment worse than death.

Thou canst not rescue them! What power hath man

To battle with foul uncanny spirits?—Nay,

This isle is haunted. Let us fly; we are

Thus many left alive. To ship and fly!

ULYSSES

[Scornfully] Eurylochus, ’tis thy privilege; thou art free

To nurse thy safety, tarrying by the ship.

On me a duty rests; my course lies clear:

My comrades’ fate I go to prove.

[EURYLOCHUS retreats and cowers while ULYSSES speaks, at the same time gradually rising to a standing posture with his face toward the speaker. He does not join the group of the other men. These have their eyes fixed on the commander, some of them moving anxiously toward him. With his last words ULYSSES starts to go out at the Right. EURYLOCHUS turns away and sits upon a stone near the ship and the water at the Left, covering his face.]

PHILEMON

May we not, sir, accompany you as guard

Or help at hazard?

ULYSSES

Nay, good men; remain

And guard the vessel. My errand’s of espial

And wary circumspection: meet for one;

For more, unsuited. I shall not slip. Farewell!

SEVERAL VOICES

Farewell! farewell, sir!

[The curtain falls as ULYSSES disappears, while the men stand following his footsteps with their eyes.]

VI

The same as Scene II. CIRCE’S banquet-hall.—As the curtain rises the party who entered the palace at the close of Scene IV are shown seated at the table on the Left, while THERMIA and other nymphs serve them with food and wine. The cups are filled by pouring from tall slender pitchers of silver, and these in turn by dipping the wine with ladles from the punch-bowl on the sideboard. The Enchantress and her companions are in their usual places. MYRTO turns her wheel slowly and intermittently without noticeable sound. CIRCE, seated as before at the head of the table on the Right, wears the same dress as in Scene II, but her black robe is not thrown off. The wand lies upon the table near her right hand, neither carelessly nor conspicuously placed. The throne at her left hand, behind which PHILINNA stands, is occupied by Mikkos, who wears a brightly polished collar.

The guests are all at the table farthest from CIRCE. The throne at its head, opposite her throne, is occupied by ELPENOR. At his left, near the corner of the table, sits PHORBAS, partaking freely of the banquet, but glancing nervously, now toward Mikkos and now toward the door behind the dais where they had entered. At the left of PHORBAS sit some feasters with their backs to the audience. On the other side of the table, facing the audience, are THERON the cook (at ELPENOR’S right) wearing his cap; GLAUCUS (the farthest in the direction toward Mikkos); and other men between THERON and GLAUCUS.

It is near the close of the entertainment. Appearances indicate that the banqueters have begun to feel the effects of the wine that is still poured freely. They are also partly dazed and partly exhilarated by the presence of the Enchantress and her elegant nymphs. The symptoms of intoxication and bewilderment on the part of the men become by degrees more manifest as the conversation proceeds. GLAUCUS preserves his dignity rather better than his companions; but he seems fascinated by CIRCE, to whom he is the nearest in his position at table; and he does not refrain from drinking copiously, nor show due caution or a disposition to remember the details of the mission with which EURYLOCHUS had been entrusted.

CIRCE

[After a pause] Ye do full justice, strangers and kind guests,

To this our welcome and the cheer we spread.

’Tis right. Go on; and so with act sincere,

Not by the hollow word, those virtues prove

Which to my bounty I would fain impute.

And truly, until a guest hath quell’d the pangs

Of sharp importunate hunger, it were ungracious

To crave of him accounts or ply his ear

With curious question.—I am well pleased to wait

Upon your silence keeping even pace

With appetite.—Ye have not sat of late,

I judge, at flowing boards.

ELPENOR

[Loudly] We had roast deer yesterday.

THERON

[Flourishing his fork] Done to a turn!

CIRCE

Ah!—did ye then venture

To hunt and slay the creatures that frequent

My island park? It were no jest to play

The involuntary cannibal!

[Some of the men are seen to be startled by this remark.]

Follow’d perchance

Unusual visions in the wake of the feast?

PHORBAS

Yes, yes! my sleep ran ghostly; but I thought

’Twas a mere nightmare.

ELPENOR

I thought I saw a horse!

CIRCE

Of our four-footed denizens we note

Two sorts: one of original beastly shape;

Another, to which the brutal guise hath fallen

As fit encasement of their human habits.

And these two kinds, one from the other with sure

Discrimination to distinguish, proves

Sometimes not easy. Thus our good Mikkos here

[Patting the ape lightly]

Was once a philosopher of the ancient sect

Call’d pre-Ionic—in his day the most

Redoubtable of doubters.

GLAUCUS

[Gravely; nodding his head unsteadily]

Madam, we doubt it not.

CIRCE

Fate ordain’d

That to this island he should drift and taste

Our cordials. Whereon he was profoundly struck

With my maid Myrto.

[Here MYRTO without looking up sets her wheel a-spinning loudly for a brief moment, causing the banqueters to turn their eyes in her direction.]

From that hour a change

Came o’er him.

MYRTO

It was a harmless fancy;

And he is harmless now.

[Upon hearing MYRTO’S voice Mikkos without turning toward her begins to raise himself by his hands upon the arms of the chair, but at a sign from CIRCE lowers himself to sitting posture.]

THERON

[To CIRCE; pointing with his fork to PHILINNA]

But why, madam?—why did he not choose

That young miss there behind him?

CIRCE

He was a philosopher, I said.

THERON

He was a pig!—

CIRCE

Ah, by the by, Thermia, didst thou tell Graea

To renovate those sties?

THERMIA

I did, my lady.

More swine, she says, have bolted

And to the woods run wild. One sty stands empty.

CIRCE

It shall be fill’d erelong.

PHORBAS

[Looking anxiously at a platter before him]

Might there be a possible doubt about these spareribs?

CIRCE

Not the least;

I have a discriminating cook.

THERON

[Helping himself to more meat] You can wager

She knows pork when she sees it!

ELPENOR

My father feeds hogs too.

CIRCE

Thy father, gentle youth, will be to-morrow

One pig the poorer.—But where dwells he pray?

ELPENOR

He dwells at home; I left him there.

THERON

Lady, the lad forgets; I do much doubt

If his own name he can remember right now.

CIRCE

It is an infirmity that ofttimes with wassail

Waxes apace. But haply you, good sir,

Can tell me whence ye came?

THERON

O sure, ma’am! we came lately from a cove

Call’d Æolus.

CIRCE

Ah, what!—from my great kinsman,

The steward of the winds?

THERON

A windy stew

He brew’d for us!—Great Juno! was it breezy, Glauc?

GLAUCUS

Madam, I am a sailor; but I never

Saw such incessant, damnable contrary winds

In all my voyaging!

PHORBAS

[Rousing himself excitedly]

Yes, yes; but who?

Who let ’em out? Who let ’em out?

[GLAUCUS looks fiercely at the speaker and THERON extends his fist threateningly toward him. PHORBAS shrinks away.]

CIRCE

But, gentlemen, pray inform me; whither now

Would ye be wafted? From which quarter should

Those breezes blow enabling you to reach

The desired haven?

THERON

We don’t know that, because

We don’t know where we are.

ELPENOR

We’re here now.

GLAUCUS

We’re downright weary o’ pulling

Across head winds!

CIRCE

But which of you is leader?

Which one doth stand for steering and shrewd guidance?

ELPENOR

He stopp’d outside.

PHORBAS

We thought he enter’d with us; but once inside,

We miss’d him.

CIRCE

What he hath miss’d he knows not. I shall send

Mikkos to fetch him.

GLAUCUS

Our leader, lady,

Is a good careful man, yet over wary

Of women or witchcraft. So soon he caught the strain

Of the song you sang it paralyzed him.

CIRCE

Ah!

GLAUCUS

Were he here now, he could not look you

Square in the face, as I do.

[GLAUCUS is gazing at CIRCE admiringly.]

ELPENOR

He might see

That brass snake on her arm.

GLAUCUS

He would abhor

The arm worse than the serpent.

CIRCE

Is then my arm

So frightful?

THERON

The arm’s all right, ma’am; but there’s something wrong

About Eurylochus.

CIRCE

So; Eurylochus is your leader?

GLAUCUS

Only a bit

Backward about leading, when he scents

A woman in the wind.

CIRCE

And he would fear

Us hospitable maidens?—and, we trust,

Of aspect not forbidding.

THERON

O, it’s all one

About the aspect. You could tree him, ma’am,

As quick as the giant’s daughter.

CIRCE

The giant’s daughter?

THERON

Yes, ma’am; we landed lately on a lot

Of bloody cannibals—this big gal first;

And Eurylochus took to a tree.

ELPENOR

[Pointing to PHORBAS] He climb’d up too.

CIRCE

What! does your friend fear women also?

THERON

O no, ma’am. Phorb’s a trifle timid like,

Whether it’s a he or she. You see, it’s this way:

Phorb was a-fear’d, because she was so large;

And Eurylochus, because she was a lady.

CIRCE

She was a lady then?

PHORBAS

She laid out Theron

When he made up to her.

THERON

I had half a mind

To make pork chop o’ the bloomin’ hussy!—Ye gods!

This meat-knife here does hang plumb heavy

For an after-dinner appendage.

[He detaches the cleaver from his belt and lays it on the table, at the same time loosening the belt.]

I don’t want

The dang’d thing dangling at my haunches when

The dancing begins.

ELPENOR

When does it begin, Theron?

THERON

Split me if I know! There’s a raft more drinks

On the tapis yet.

CIRCE

My friends, I shall soon show you

A new dance call’d the four-step.

SEVERAL VOICES

Hi, hi! Hip, hip! [They pound on the table with their cups.]

THERON

Ha, ha! The four-step; two-and-two two-step:

That means partners!

[He leers again at PHILINNA, drains his cup and waves it toward her.—Other men seem to pay increased attention to the nymphs serving them.]

GLAUCUS

[Admiringly, but unsteadily] Do you dance it, madam, yourself?

CIRCE

O no; but Mikkos knows it.

[Here the ape slowly raises himself by the hands until all four extremities rest upon the arms of the chair, remaining a moment or two in this position before lowering himself.]

THERON

Would you mind, ma’am,

Letting that there young miss step over here to take

The place of this one?

[He points to PHILINNA and indicates THERMIA behind him with his left thumb over the shoulder.]

ELPENOR

[Parenthetically] Don’t take her away!

CIRCE

A moment, sir; I have some present need of her.

One choicest cordial I have not yet brought

To your attention. In my island only

The vintage can be stored.—A jar, Philinna;

Here on my table.

PHILINNA

Do you mean, my lady,

The wine which for ourselves alone we press?

CIRCE

Yes, child; these are no every-day arrivals; go!

[PHILINNA goes out at Right 2. The other nymphs present, except MYRTO and THERMIA, leave the room quietly and unobservedly, closing the Left central door. THERON’S song begins as PHILINNA disappears. The refrain and chorus are joined in by all the men except ELPENOR and PHORBAS, who look at each other and laugh.]

THERON

[Sings; still looking toward the door where PHILINNA went out.]

It was a stout sailor who cook’d for the crew;

ALL

Sing yo, heave yo!

THERON

A-shedding salt tears while he season’d the stew.

ALL

A-shedding salt tears while he season’d the stew.

Sing yo, heave yo, on the briny!

THERON

Salt tears for the sweetheart that jilted him last;

ALL

Sing yo, heave yo!

THERON

And the onions he peel’d made ’em fall thick and fast.

ALL

And the onions he peel’d made ’em fall thick and fast.

Sing yo, heave yo, on the briny!

CIRCE

[To GLAUCUS] Would that song paralyze your leader, sir?

GLAUCUS

The allusion would prick him, madam; depend upon it.—

[Turning to THERON] One more, Thee,—till she’s back with the bitters.

THERON

[Sings] One fine morning the pudding-bag busted a flap;

ALL

Sing yo, heave yo!

THERON

So he boil’d the noon mess in his greasy cook’s cap.

[Here THERON takes his cap from his head and lays it over a plate.]

ALL

So he boil’d the noon mess in his greasy cook’s cap.

Sing yo, heave yo, on the briny!

THERON

“For God’s sake,” cried the captain, “what’s struck the plum-duff?”

ALL

Sing yo, heave yo!

THERON

“We don’t need hogs’ bristles to flavor the stuff!”

ALL

“We don’t need hogs’ bristles to flavor the stuff!”

Sing yo, heave yo, on the briny!

[With the last chorus PHILINNA re-enters bearing a punch-bowl of elegant pattern, smaller than the one on the sideboard at the opposite end of the room. She places the bowl upon the table before CIRCE, while the men become silent as they look on.]

MYRTO

My lady, may Mikkos have a drop?

[At these words the ape begins to draw himself up by the hands again. CIRCE nods assent to MYRTO.]

CIRCE

Philinna!

[PHILINNA fills a cup from the bowl and hands it to the ape. She also sets a small cup of wine before CIRCE. Mikkos drains the beaker, holding it with both hands and throwing his head very far back; and while the eyes of all the men are directed toward him with amused attention CIRCE, opening a very small silver casket that hangs at her girdle, takes a fine powder therefrom and quickly throws it into the bowl. She draws the wand nearer to her hand.]

CIRCE

Thermia!

[At the word, THERMIA passes up to CIRCE’S table and she and PHILINNA, filling pitchers from CIRCE’S bowl, proceed to refill the cups of the banqueters in regular order, THERMIA from left to right, PHILINNA from right to left. Then as they meet at the centre both the nymphs retire together to the extreme Right near CIRCE. Meanwhile the sombre figure of GRAEA the Swine-maiden is discovered lurking in the corridor behind the Right central doorway.]

CIRCE

[Raising her cup] To the health of your backward leader, my brave guests!

GLAUCUS

[Half-rising; unsteadily] Out, out! To hostess, hostess! Here’s to hostess!

[All drink; and the effects of the drug straightway become apparent. An expression of stupefaction and horror passes over the faces of the men. They look at each other vacantly with forced smiles; their heads and arms sway and droop; they swing round in their seats and are evidently unconscious of their situation. At the first symptoms of this delirium the Enchantress rises deliberately from her throne, wand in hand; and gliding along the line toward the Left taps lightly and quickly each man with the wand without pausing in her course. Then she steps upon the dais.]

CIRCE

[Sternly; with wand pointed upward and back toward the Right centre]

Hence to the sty! your proper shapes assume!

[Directly GRAEA, who during CIRCE’S movements has stridden noiselessly into the room and has passed along its edge behind THERMIA and PHILINNA and the Enchantress’ throne until in front of the other table near the point where PHORBAS sits, raises her long whip and cracks it fiercely with sharp detonation at the men’s feet. In a huddle they rush tumultuously away with drooping heads and arms to the open rear doorway and out through it, passing in front of MYRTO and her wheel and followed by GRAEA lashing furiously. Some of the fugitives, as they drop on all fours near the exit, are seen to have already developed curly pigs’ tails at their posteriors. As the victims rush forth Mikkos springs upon the empty throne of CIRCE and balancing himself upon its arms gazes intently into the bowl on the table before him, while MYRTO sets her wheel revolving and humming loudly. The drop-curtain falls just as the door closes behind the herd and GRAEA disappearing over the corridor.]

The several positions at the fall of the curtain are as follows: CIRCE stands upon the dais with wand raised in the attitude described. MYRTO sits at her wheel, which turns more and more slowly as the curtain descends. PHILINNA and THERMIA stand near the boudoir, still holding their pitchers, the hand of one girl resting on the other’s shoulder. Mikkos, poised upon CIRCE’S chair, his head lower than his tail, pores intently over the punch-bowl. No person exhibits signs of amusement or excitement of any sort. Their faces are serene, their figures motionless. The wheel comes to a standstill just as the descending curtain hides it.

VII

The same as Scenes III and V. The Seashore. EURYLOCHUS is still seated on the stone by the ship, gloomy and dejected. The other men stand in a group not far from him, apparently discussing some serious proposal.

FIRST SAILOR

Anyway he ordered us to stay here and guard the ship.

PHILEMON

Just so; I believe in obeying orders myself; but, lads, this is an extraordinary case.

SECOND SAILOR

A case it is! But the commander’s equal to it I reckon.

XENIAS

The commander’s equal to anything on a square deal. But it’s odds here against one man; he’ll need help if the land lies the way the mate makes it out.

EURYLOCHUS

[Turning and facing the others without rising]

Are ye all mad, and will not lay to heart

The sights and sounds of foul bedevilment

Haunting this cursed island? Will ye follow

Into the pit the steps of that rash man,

Foolhardy Ulysses?—the same who prick’d us on

To explore the ogre’s cavern, where six brave men

Were sever’d limbmeal and devour’d!

SEVERAL VOICES

Out! out!

XENIAS

Bother the ogre! The commander’s started now to pull half the ship’s company out of a hole and if a human subject could compass the business he’s it. But if there’s a dash of witchcraft here, we ought to be with him and shoulder our share.

FIRST SAILOR

Ay, ay! that’s the talk!

EURYLOCHUS

What signifies mere number, when mortal wills

Clash with uncanny spirits? It is all over

With him and them!—We are enough to row

Our galley launch’d and from these shores deliver’d.

SEVERAL VOICES

Ho, shame! shame!

PHILEMON

Mark my words, lads; if the other fellows have got to trot round in wolf and tiger skins we’re bound to go on all fours along with ’em and not leave ’em in the lurch. If the commander’s beating his way back we shall meet him on the trip; if he isn’t, he’ll need help for certain. We’ll walk into that domicile, witch or no witch!

SECOND SAILOR

Take her by storm!

SEVERAL VOICES

Right, right! Come on! come on!

XENIAS

Eurylochus here’ll stand shipguard. He won’t shove her off all alone I reckon.

PHILEMON

Take up your traps now! Lively!

[The men stir about, making ready for their departure.]

Here we go!

[They march away briskly, going out as the other party and ULYSSES had gone. PHILEMON leads; XENIAS brings up the rear, watchfully.]

XENIAS

[Turning back, at the last moment]

Don’t let her fly away, old man;

If you hear hell howling, it’s us!

[As the party disappears EURYLOCHUS with a gesture of despair flings himself down by the keel of the vessel.]

VIII

A grove upon sloping ground near CIRCE’S palace. Large trees cast deep shadows with sunny spaces between. The mansion itself is not visible; but on the Left at some elevation a glimpse is afforded of the court-yard wall. A faint pathway amid shrubbery winds from the Right front upward and out on the Left at the rear.

Enter ULYSSES at the Right, tracing the path slowly and cautiously. Perceiving the wall above and before him he pauses, moves his right hand involuntary toward his sword-hilt and lifts the left to his lips meditatively. While he thus stands reconnoitering and pondering, MERCURY suddenly appears before him, stepping noiselessly from the shadow of a tree upon the Left. At this apparition ULYSSES draws back an instant with head slightly bowed, while his hand leaves the sword and is lifted to a reverential gesture. The demeanor of MERCURY is easy and gracious. His insignia, though plainly recognizable, are less conspicuous and brilliant than they appeared in Scene II.

MERCURY

[Taking the up-lifted hand of Ulysses]

Whither now, fate-worn wanderer, whither tending

Thread’st thou the dim paths of this briery steep?

What region holds thee or perchance what guile

Lurks in its mazy folds, wouldst thou not prove?—

Ere to that dome ascending, where in foul sties

Thy luckless comrades grovel now and groan,

To swinish shape by the enchantress changed!

[As the god speaks he withdraws his hand and indicates the direction of the palace. ULYSSES recoils slightly at the last words of MERCURY.]

One only, so minded that in Circe’s song

He read the bane it glozed, did value well

His safety and proclaim’d their loss.—Whom thou

Aimest forsooth to rescue and redeem!

Rather methinks the porcine couch to share

With them and vanish from men, came not

Some guardian hand between.—But lo! there grows

An antidote—a good drug, that shall check

The baleful magic of her potions.

[MERCURY pulls from the ground, moving aside the undergrowth which concealed it, a small plant and shows it to ULYSSES.]

See!

Black at the root, milk-white the flower; ’tis moly:

So to the immortals known; of men, scarce found.

[ULYSSES receives the herb from the hand of the god with an air of profound attention and a shade of wonder.]

Now may thy steps to yon weird mansion mount

And tread its halls unscathed, Ulysses, if

My mandate thou shalt heed and ponder well.

[ULYSSES shifts his attentive regard from the plant in his hand to the speaker.]

Her song will thrill thee, but the transforming spell

Shall break before the potent herb thou holdest.

Undaunted wilt thou enter; nor be shamed

If thy quick pulses bound when Circe’s glance

Encounters thine, and the soft audible charm

Of low-voiced invitation laps thee round.

Thou may’st admire and still be master. Straight

With her own hand a fragrant wine-cup filling,

When by her side she thrones thee, she will proffer

And bid thee drink—it is the poison’d chalice.

Yet quaff thou undismay’d, Ulysses. Then,

So soon’t is swallow’d and thyself unchanged,

Her magic wand wielded in vain, draw thou

Swiftly thy sword and rush as if to slay

At the enchantress with high-threatening blade.

[ULYSSES’ look of wonderment increases as MERCURY pauses.]

The issue thou wilt mark. But let not pity

Nor the new spell of female blandishment

O’ercome thy senses or disarm thy hand,

Ere to its mastery yet once more she yields

And their true forms to thy changed mates restores.

ULYSSES

O gracious Helper, it is thy spirit that guides

Where eye of mortal swerves: to whom full oft

We pour’d thank-offering at the banquet’s close.

MERCURY

Who himself well bethinks, the gods assist.

Of drugs and arts uncanny mere human prudence

Compasseth not, Ulysses, sure defeat.—

But in her craft once baffled, ’tis with the woman,

No more the enchantress, thou wilt deal thereafter.

Nor are those powers to be despised, which oft

Compel a conqueror’s fealty and confuse

The sober aims of confident wisdom.

[While ULYSSES again looks down reflectively at the plant he holds MERCURY suddenly disappears. ULYSSES, looking up and seeing the god no longer, throws a keen glance in the direction of the wall. He then tastes and swallows a morsel of the herb; and as he moves on and goes out at the Left with firm step the music of CIRCE’S song is faintly heard behind the scenes.]

IX

The same as Scenes II and IV. The banquet-hall. The common chairs have been removed. There are cups and a bowl on the table at the Right. The Enchantress and her three nymphs are in their usual places when the curtain rises: CIRCE sitting; PHILINNA and THERMIA standing; MYRTO seated at her wheel which she turns slowly. The attitude of the persons is one of expectancy. In a moment CIRCE, without turning her face, signs to MYRTO with her left hand while with the right she draws the wand on the table nearer. The wheel ceases to revolve.

CIRCE

Now Thermia!

[THERMIA throws open the door behind the dais. An instant later ULYSSES enters, slowly but unhesitatingly, pausing as he stands on the platform exactly where MERCURY stood in Scene II. His look is directed straight at the Enchantress. His right arm is crossed downward upon his breast, the hand under the mantle. A trace of wonder or fascination passes over his face on meeting CIRCE’S gaze, while a similar feeling of surprise is for a moment betrayed by her also. As she speaks she rises from her chair.]

CIRCE

Welcome, sir leader!

[ULYSSES bows slightly. He does not remove his helmet.]

Thou art

Too far by thine own men outstripp’d, even though

Their famish’d weary members sought repose

Prompt and appropriate.

[ULYSSES bends his look more sternly upon the speaker.]

Pray advance; and take

From our own hand, though proffer’d late,

Cordial refreshment.

[He moves slowly forward. PHILINNA draws well back the throne of CIRCE and presents the other one. With a gracious gesture CIRCE waves ULYSSES toward the second throne. He passes in front of her and seats himself. She sits again, served by PHILINNA.]

Thy silence augurs much

Of rude unfriendly greetings and rebuff

Elsewhere.

[While speaking she fills a beaker from the bowl.]

But here are restful words and welcome

Right hospitable.

[Her right hand closes firmly over the wand, while with the left she presents the cup.]

So drink and be at peace!

[Still keeping his eye fixed upon CIRCE, ULYSSES raises the cup to his lips and drains it. Immediately the gracious look of the Enchantress changes. Rising partly in her seat and bending forward, she strikes him smartly with her wand and holds it threateningly as she speaks.]

CIRCE

Hence to the sty! Go, join thy wallowing mates!

[Instantly, feeling that the potion has not harmed him, ULYSSES springs erect, swiftly draws his sword and raising it aloft rushes upon the Enchantress as if to kill her. With a loud cry she starts back, causing the throne to slide away behind her; then dropping her wand she springs forward under the threatening sword-arm in suppliant attitude. PHILINNA, at first shrinking back in terror, directly as CIRCE falls at ULYSSES’ feet follows her; and kneeling, shelters her mistress’ head with her right arm, while the left is raised in deprecating gesture. At the same time THERMIA starts a step forward with her right hand lifted, the left pressed to her bosom. MYRTO, after a first look of alarm, reaches behind her and throws open the Left rear door, where Mikkos appears. He seems excited. MYRTO seizes his chain. At the Right rear entrance, GRAEA is seen glaring furtively into the room.—CIRCE speaks as ULYSSES seems to hesitate to strike the fatal blow.]

CIRCE

What man art thou? What mortal hath this wonder

Unheard of wrought, these potions to abide?

For never, never did other lips unblighted

Press the drugg’d bowl, save thine!—Ah, yes; ’twas true:

Ulysses thou art, whom Mercury foretold,

From Trojan field thy lone bark homeward steering.

He, he hath found thee moly! And I thought

It were Eurylochus, whom his followers named;

The craven, the woman-hater!

[ULYSSES lowers his weapon, still grasping it firmly. His stern look relaxes slightly as CIRCE and PHILINNA, kneeling, lift their faces to him with aspect softened to the expression of pleading. THERMIA steps nearer, intently observing the scene; while GRAEA, entering the room, and MYRTO, holding Mikkos’ chain, also move slightly forward. At this juncture all of the persons have come to form nearly a single group.]

CIRCE

O Ulysses!

Thrice valiant, thrice in wisdom proved, not thee

Would Circe in foul brutal shape behold;

But as thou art!—Return, return thy sword

To its safe cover!

[ULYSSES steps back a pace, and CIRCE rises to her feet, holding the hand of PHILINNA who has risen first.]

What use have we for war,

Whom fate and fortune fashion’d to be friends?

[With deliberation ULYSSES sheathes his sword, falling back still farther. CIRCE and PHILINNA move forward toward him.]

THERMIA

Happy are they who find a friend in Circe,

Sir stranger!

[His countenance remains unmoved as he divides his attention between CIRCE and THERMIA after a suspicious glance at Mikkos and GRAEA.]

CIRCE

Nay, doubt not, but be refresh’d!

[She signs to THERMIA, who shows ULYSSES to the throne which MERCURY had occupied in Scene II. As he sits he doffs his helmet, which THERMIA receives and hangs upon the wall. CIRCE resumes her seat. She speaks while THERMIA serves ULYSSES at the other table.]

And be thy mind at rest. No more of drifting

On the dark seas; sure knowledge shall illume

The pathways of thy homeward voyage, Ulysses.

[A pause. With troubled look he barely tastes what is set before him.]

Ah, weary heart! why thus

Sit’st thou all-speechless, tasting not the food

Set guileless by thy hand? Believ’st thou not

My plain assurance and changed mood? Dost hold

The word of Circe in no honor because

With cunning art she baffles and disarms

The unworthy false petitioner?

ULYSSES

Fair Circe, dread enchantress, what true man

Could eat and be at comfort, whilst he knows

His trusty comrades lie imprison’d, bent low

To bestial habit?—Nay, if thy alter’d mien

Harbors indeed the good-will it portends,

Then first let me behold my men restored

To their own shapes. No falsehood stamp’d their errand,

Nor undeserving were they in themselves.

CIRCE

Deserve those well of their commander, who lose

His very name and tidings from their thoughts?

ULYSSES

Another led them; and, the leader failing,

The follower who forgets may be forgiven.

CIRCE

Eurylochus wins slight mercy by that word.

ULYSSES

Eurylochus won the birthright of the wary.

CIRCE

A father art thou to thy men, Ulysses:

Even as I guard with jealous motherly eye

The welfare of these nymphs. Nor hast thou long

To wait, ere the whole frolic throng shall make

My portals ring with greetings of their captain.

Not those alone whom we repress’d and punish’d

And for thy sake will pardon, but likewise they

Who tarry by the shore—for well I know

Wily Ulysses staked not all his forces

On a forlorn wild venture.—Nay, doubt not;

Even Eurylochus shall be reconciled!

Go, Graea; Myrto; seek the ship, and teach them

The way to find us. Leave not one unbidden!

ULYSSES

Great Circe, I will trust thee; ’tis sore need!

By thy sage guidance, or in no wise, we reach

The desired haven.

CIRCE

[To MYRTO and GRAEA who have hesitated as if awaiting further command. They go out at Right C, accompanied by Mikkos.]

Speed now! the shadow creeps

Well past the noontide mark. Away, away!—

Noble Ulysses, thou shalt soon behold them.—

But first, my Thermia, show our gracious guest

The bathing chambers, where by warm showers assuaged

His long sea-weariness may release him.

[ULYSSES bows to CIRCE. He unslings his sword, which THERMIA receives and hangs up near the helmet. She then conducts him out at Left 2. At the same moment when ULYSSES puts off his sword, PHILINNA lifts CIRCE’S wand from the floor where it had fallen.]

PHILINNA

[Handing the wand to CIRCE, who receives it as it were unconsciously]

O dearest lady!

What chance, what change befalls us? O! how dared

That strange, still man to lift his dreadful sword

As if to kill you? Are his devices stronger

Than your own arts? O, how could you pretend

To cherish and befriend him!

CIRCE

Nay, Philinna:

I am not feigning. Oft had I mused and ponder’d

On Mercury’s warning and Ulysses’ name.

Nor did I dread his coming. But strange haps

Disturb’d my vision and I knew him not.

My potions could indeed avail no longer,

Their cure and antidote once found. Yet never

Into unworthy hands do gods resign

Their priceless secrets. No; I would not harm

A man so strong and wise! It is the first!—

Now go, Philinna, and lay my simples ready,

Which for the counter-charm I shall employ,

To change his comrades back.

[PHILINNA, who looks wonderingly at CIRCE and seems hardly to comprehend her demeanor, withdraws slowly, going out at Right 2. CIRCE casts a glance where ULYSSES had gone out; then, looking down at the wand held loosely in her hand, soliloquizes.]

Yes, yes; there is

No falsehood on the lip, when the heart guides

To new unwonted utterance, though it seem

All former strains and strivings to belie.

His coming I fear’d not; I rather craved

To behold the promised visitor whose shrewd wit

Should test my powers of magic and perchance

Turn them (as hath befallen) from woe to weal

For him and his. Yet till I saw I doubted;

Nor knew, first seeing.

[She clasps her hands at her back, holding the wand behind her.]

O, there is a way

Surer than any drug, to bind wise hearts!

Wielding no wand of transformation, but

With fine invisible weapons to o’ercome

His might who seems to conquer; and reveal

What weakness lurks beneath. And Circe’s arts

(Which sooner aim to hinder than to harm)

Shall still fail not!

[Re-enter THERMIA, who begins to put the table in order where Ulysses had been served.]

Fair Thermia, we shall need

Straightway new-garnish’d tables and the plenty

Of a redoubled evening banquet. Soon

That eager company, Myrto’s charge, will troop

Past porch and threshold to the expected board—

Not indisposed, I fancy, toward such welcome.—

Ay, forthwith, Thermia!

[THERMIA sounds a whistle which hangs at her girdle, and other nymphs enter and proceed to deck the tables.]

Even our guest, their captain,

Will find his zest, when in good sooth he sees

His two ship-companies made one.—Ah, there;

Even now they come!

[A clambering and murmur are heard. The door leading from the porch flies open, and ULYSSES’ company, headed by PHILEMON and XENIAS, enter precipitately, though not in rude disorder, their faces beaming with the excitement of wonder and expectancy. CIRCE stands at her usual place, holding the wand with her hands clasped in front of her, and PHILINNA appears at the door behind. THERMIA and her helpers desist from their task at the tables as the men enter, and draw back near the exits. The nymphs stand motionless and placid during the remainder of the scene, taking no part in the action and unnoticed by the other persons.]

PHILEMON

Madam, we’re a bit unceremonious, no doubt. But our errand’s an urgent one; and we encountered an invitation after a manner, if there be no mistake about it.

CIRCE

All ceremony shall be waived, good sir. What hap

Fosters this urgency?

PHILEMON

We’re Ulysses’ men, lady! come to seek him and deliver him—by your leave. He cast off alone when the leader of the other watch came back from here in such a blue funk; and he ordered us to wait for him by the ship. But we felt a trifle uneasy, after that yarn of snakes and fireworks Eurylochus spun for us, and followed to help. We’d nigh about made the top, when we met your two maids, ma’am, and the monkey. We knew they must hail from some witch-pen or other for certain, when we spied such a bunch of triplets, and we veered off a point or two at first; but the little black-eyed one—she as had the ape in tow—spoke us so fair and told such a straight story, how the commander was safe and sound and everybody happy up here, and you had sent specially to invite us, that we felt mighty encouraged to believe her and headed straight for the top again, while they went down to fetch Eurylochus;—especially seeing we had made up our minds—begging your pardon again, lady—to effect an entrance anyway.—But where is he?

CIRCE

Your entrance had been barr’d nowise, when once

You had named Ulysses—which your mates forgot,

And came to grief thereby.—But you shall see him.

There hangs his sword, his helm.

He comes; he has heard you!

[ULYSSES enters at Left 2 behind the group of men, who turn quickly. His appearance is imposing, his dress brilliant.]

CIRCE

For me, I have another

Business to set on foot.—Philinna; ready?

[PHILINNA signs affirmatively, and as ULYSSES greets his men CIRCE goes out at Right 2, PHILINNA remaining at the doorway.]

ULYSSES

Xenias! good Philemon!

[All throng about their commander with hand-shaking and joyous exclamations.]

PHILEMON

’Tis you? You are here, sir?—and all right!

’Twas a true tale, then, by the great gods!

ULYSSES

Ah, you see I slipt not.

XENIAS

But it wasn’t long before we slipt after you! Mind you, sir, we didn’t wait for the summons.

ULYSSES

’Twas a pardonable impatience, I acknowledge.

[A voice raised in sharp tone of command, followed by a sudden uproar, is heard behind the scenes. CIRCE enters quickly at Right C, with her wand raised high, which as she comes in she lowers and points backward. Both the rear doors fly open. In their proper persons the men who were changed to swine burst in abruptly upon the scene, one or two or three at a time, stopping and gazing about them with puzzled and amazed expression. They rub their eyes or tap their foreheads, till gradually recollecting themselves they recognize their situation. The restored men seem to have gained in comeliness; their faces are fresh, their clothing is new, presenting a contrast to the well-worn garments of the other party. THERON appears even stouter than before; his cook’s cap and dress are dazzling white. ELPENOR, near him, has become sleeker, though no less slender than ever. All the men are serious; and the re-transformed exhibit profound emotion, weeping as they recognize their companions and the commander. The meeting is an occasion rather for action than for speech: its words are chiefly outcries and the ejaculation of familiar names. The throng becomes more calm and quiet when the Enchantress, who has herself been visibly moved, at length speaks, standing at the head of her table.]

CIRCE

Cease; cease, good men! Enough of tears! Yield now

To the bright hour; and from your much-tried hearts

Let present peace and comfort rub away

The black unhandsome stains of foul mischance.

Here stand ye face to face and hand to hand,

Unscathed, unconquer’d. Winds and wild seas and all

The weary thankless strain of laboring oar,

Duress and guile and hostile rude encounter,

Have but conspired to point you to the fairest

Of restful shores.—Ulysses, in good time,

After due respite, if thou cravest still

Some farther convoy, ’tis secure. But now

Mirth, pleasure, shall prevail.—Only there lacks

Yet one I would fain welcome, though himself

Of faint reciprocation.

ULYSSES

Gracious lady, I am confident that Eurylochus will conclude to join us when once informed of our situation and finding himself left permanently alone.

XENIAS

Belike he may take to the woods, your honor, when the triplets heave in sight.

CIRCE

O, Mikkos will manage that!

ELPENOR

Eurylochus climbs trees.

THERON

Avast there! Mikkos is the monkey. Hast left thy memory in the hog-pen, boy?

GLAUCUS

[Who has been on the lookout] Sail ho! They are boarding the gangway already, ma’am.

[Enter from the porch MYRTO, leading Mikkos; then EURYLOCHUS; GRAEA behind him. The mate advances hesitatingly, but is closely followed up by the swine-maiden. As he perceives ULYSSES and the men his expression is partly of relief, partly of shamefacedness. His alarm has not entirely left him, but he casts shy and suspicious glances toward CIRCE while MYRTO speaks.]

MYRTO

We have fetched him, my lady, though I believe he never would have been caught if there had not been three of us together. We found him down by the little bay where their ship is drawn ashore; and when he saw us he started to run into the water. But Graea waded out farther than he dared to go. Then he climbed up into the fig-tree; but Mikkos climbed up still higher, so he had to come down directly where I was standing close to the roots of it; although he seemed to fear me the most of all.

ELPENOR

[Interrupting] You turn the whirligig.

MYRTO

We had him between us now, where he couldn’t get away; and I assured him the captain was safe, and told him how we had just met a party of his companions and invited them for you. For all that he didn’t want to come; but Graea stood close behind him and kept walking until we got him here.

[The men do not laugh at EURYLOCHUS, though some smile faintly, and CIRCE is visibly amused.]

ULYSSES

[Seriously] Eurylochus, all is well. Be thyself again.

Bygones shall be bygones. There is naught to fear.

CIRCE

Indeed, sir, it is as your commander says. There is naught to fear; and all is well, now that you have deigned to make up the perfect number of my company, so the entertainment may proceed. The tables are ready garnished, waiting for the viands only. You shall all find seats.

[All the men except EURYLOCHUS seat themselves in a quiet and orderly manner at both tables without discrimination of the two watches. ULYSSES sits at the head of the table by the dais. MYRTO and GRAEA have withdrawn to the back of the room. CIRCE, still standing, claps her hands and the nymphs at the exits disappear, to bring the courses.]

EURYLOCHUS

You make occasional exceptions no doubt, madam; nevertheless I would take my oath upon it that that was once a man!

[He points at Mikkos, who, released by MYRTO, has just jumped into his chair by CIRCE as she seats herself. The ape shows his teeth and begins to raise himself by the hands.]

CIRCE

[Laughing] That was a manful thinker once. Sit; sit, kind sir!

[The curtain falls as EURYLOCHUS takes his seat near ULYSSES amid a buzz of merriment.]

END OF FIRST ACT

ACT TWO

I

he back of CIRCE’S palace, late in the afternoon, one year later than the occurrences of the First Act. The back of the building lies toward the setting sun, whose declining rays are now intercepted and softened into shade by foliage and flitting clouds. The pale yellow walls and tall narrow windows and the one central entrance on this side are not obscured by vines and trailing plants, but cleanly sheltered by a lofty colonnade which runs the entire length of the edifice, with wide low pavement only a step higher than the lawn that borders it. The veranda-floor and the plinth are dewy with freshly sprinkled water. The green sward of the foreground is varied by flower-beds and dotted with luxuriant trees, a bower and seats near by. Here there is no fountain; but a streamlet, issuing from an archway at the Right corner of the palace, winds its way downward across the flowery slope. A peacock struts and spreads his fan in one of the open places. Some utterances of persons represented indicate that the situation affords glimpses of the sea.

There are no suggestions of witchcraft or magic in the present scene. Where the anterior façade of the palace seemed weird or uncanny, the rear elevation and its belongings wear rather an idyllic aspect.

The curtain rising discovers three couples severally grouped. Upon the veranda, at the Left, CIRCE and ULYSSES are seated opposite each other at a small table, upon which are cups and a vase of flowers, while a nymph occasionally passes to and fro, serving them with wine from within. CIRCE is not attired as enchantress. She wears neither her black robe nor the coronal of pearls. The prevailing color of her Grecian dress is amethyst, and her hair is loosely confined by a narrow band of gold.—On the Right, at the farther end of the veranda, PHILEMON and PHILINNA sit side by side in confidential attitude.—Upon the lawn, in the foreground near the centre, far enough from the others to converse gently without being overheard by them, are seen XENIAS and THERMIA: the former seated carelessly facing sidewise toward the colonnade; the latter standing by a tall shrub, cutting flowers which she gathers in the fold of her garment.

THERMIA

[Who stands with her back to the veranda]

If you will take a good long look, Xenias, just where you are looking now, you will see exactly why you and I are a whole lot luckier than some others I might name.

XENIAS

How is that? What’s the mystification now, Miss Inscrutable? I see only what we see every day; and no great signs of bad luck about them yet.

THERMIA

Of course we see it every day! And every day is making it worse for them, friend Xenias. Do you suppose they can keep this sort of thing up forever?

XENIAS

Well, what if they can’t? I’ve no doubt the illusion is mighty pleasant while it lasts.

THERMIA

And so much the more painful when it comes to an end—but you and I have kept our wits about us, Xenias.

XENIAS

And have been uncommon good friends all the time, you mean, Thermia—Well, I admit it’s the best way. But they don’t think so.

THERMIA

They think of nothing! But it will set them thinking, when the time comes for you to sail away.

XENIAS

If that time ever does come! The commander has got to order it; and he doesn’t seem very likely to speak the word until your lady orders him. It’s true some of the lads are getting restive and tired of dilly-dallying, as they call it, here in this blessed island!

THERMIA

Yes, and Graea gives me to understand that Eurylochus is going about secretly stirring them up and wants them to put on a bold front and demand that something shall be done.

XENIAS

Ah, so? He hasn’t said a word to me or Philemon. I reckon he thinks Philemon and Xenias are in the same box.

THERMIA

Eurylochus doesn’t know the difference, of course! I shall be sorry when you have to go, Xenias; I shall miss you sadly after you are gone. But it will simply kill Philinna.

XENIAS

Well now, what if Philemon should take her home to Ithaca with him for his wife? He hasn’t got any Penelope waiting for him there.

THERMIA

O heavens! And do you believe Philinna would ever leave Circe, or that Circe would ever let her go?

XENIAS

And do you believe Philemon would ever leave Philinna behind, or that Philinna would ever let him go without her?

THERMIA

Xenias, it’s a pity about them both—the greatest pity in the world! As for Circe, she really admires your captain; great men are scarce enough, she says; but Circe will never lose her head, even if Ulysses has lost his; nor will either of them be quite heart-broken, be sure. But Philinna! Philinna!

[CIRCE, who has been laughing merrily with ULYSSES, claps her hands twice.]

Yes, now; here comes the music they feed on.

[THERMIA begins to move away as THRATTIS the lute-girl enters from the palace in response to CIRCE’S summons.]

XENIAS

But stay, Thermia, and let us hear it.

THERMIA

O, it will only be the same old songs! Besides, I have my vases to fill.

[She goes out round the Right corner of the building. XENIAS settles himself in a listening attitude.]

CIRCE

Thrattis, we need thee still.—’Tis strange, Ulysses,

How, like some thirst or hunger, each day return

These tuneful memories!

ULYSSES

Yet, fair Circe, charged

With a more strange forgetfulness of all else

Than that they celebrate.

CIRCE

Hist, listen now!

THRATTIS

[Standing midway between the two couples on the veranda, after a brief prelude upon her instrument, sings.]

Forget, forget! Ah, linger not

By dreams of yesterday!

Each vanish’d hour shall be forgot,

Fresh phantasies hold sway.

No lowlier crown the linden weaves

Of tassel’d verdure now

Because the old year’s scatter’d leaves

Return not to the bough.

CIRCE

[While an interlude is played] Our Thrattis echoes thy thought, Ulysses; and indeed I find a certain sort of wisdom in the ditty.

ULYSSES

Yet methinks it carries somewhat of a different effect from the open intention of it.

CIRCE

Wait, listen!

THRATTIS

[Sings] Forget, forget! In love’s demesnes

No faded chaplet wear;

Nor conjure phantoms from lost scenes,

To sit unbidden there.

Round heaven her sign swift Iris sets,

Flings forth her jewel’d zone:

O, who beholds it but forgets

The frowning storm-cloud flown?

[The singer bends her head to hide her face as she sweeps the strings again.]

CIRCE

Good Thrattis, thou art tired standing. Sit and sip of the wine. Thou need’st sing no farther now.

PHILINNA

She weeps, my lady.

[As THRATTIS, declining the offered refreshment, turns and goes within.]

CIRCE

Poor soul! truly I pity her.

PHILEMON

But why does the girl weep, sweet Philinna? Has she some express sorrow attending her?

PHILINNA

O yes, Philemon; nor will she put it entirely away. ’Tis three years agone since she floated to our island, lashed to some fragment of a vessel from the north which the hurricane had wrecked; but her father and two brothers who so saved her life themselves perished in the sea.

PHILEMON

O, sad story; unhappy Thrattis! Yet so I do much wonder at the song she chose to sing.

PHILINNA

We could do little to assuage her grief. But Circe has been kind to her and taught her the songs she sings so sweetly to her lute.

ULYSSES

Perchance some such strains would comfort the child as the captive Trojan maidens might listen to betimes among us at the ships when the harp was struck.

CIRCE

Pray what, Ulysses?

ULYSSES

Such as sounded praise

Not for the living and the days we lived

(Which with their moil and megrim did afford

Scant food, I grant, for eulogy); but ever

With vision backward turn’d the bard would seek

Among long-treasured memories one most apt

And draw it forth. Then did we lose all sense

Of aching limbs, sore wounds, and comrades slain,

Whilst in high-swelling measures like great waves

Of Iphitus or Heracles he sang—

Glories of ancient men.

CIRCE

It was fair medicine

To still the pains ye dwelt in. In my isle

Such cordials find not place.—But come, Ulysses,

And see me prove the powers of that rare herb

Whereof I promised.—Philinna, attend us. Of simples

My sampler art thou.

[CIRCE laughs heartily as she utters the last words and she and ULYSSES rise from their seats. ULYSSES joins in the laugh. PHILINNA smiles faintly and seems loth to part from PHILEMON as these two also rise.]

CIRCE

[Laughing again] Thy Philemon

Will not forget so soon.

[CIRCE and ULYSSES go into the palace followed by PHILINNA.]

XENIAS

[As PHILEMON turns toward him, stepping down from the veranda]

The commander and our Lady of the Herbs seem to be in a right merry mood, Philemon.

PHILEMON

That they are indeed, to judge by the colors they fly.

XENIAS

You take it not quite so. And yet methinks you have as good cause as they to be blithe.

PHILEMON

I take your meaning, Xenias. Nevertheless I’m sheer doubtful now and then—as though too great happiness should somehow have a sobering effect, as you might say, upon a fellow.

XENIAS

Then belike when the commander sobers down a bit he will pass the word for a home start.

PHILEMON

Ay, truly I have thought of it.

XENIAS

[Laughing and clapping his friend on the shoulder]

But you’re not in a raking hurry about it; eh, Philemon?

[Re-enter THERMIA round the Right corner. She comes quickly toward the men.]

But here’s Thermia again, in a hurry about something or other surely.

THERMIA

O Xenias! I’ve seen Graea again and have learnt that Eurylochus has called all the men to a meeting at the shore to-morrow morning early about that business.

PHILEMON

Ah, what business, Thermia?

THERMIA

You tell him, Xenias.

XENIAS

Philemon and I were just upon the same matter—about the commander passing the word to cast off.

PHILEMON

Well, it seems the mate hasn’t invited me yet.

XENIAS

No, nor me; he thinks you and I would pull on the wrong quarter, laddie. But I shall be on hand just the same to see how the wind does blow. Don’t you go, Philemon; you haven’t the heart for it.

THERMIA

Ah, thou art sad, Philemon; I feel for thee.

PHILEMON

O, let it come; let it come!

THERMIA

Yes, the day is bound to come, sooner or later. I would I could belate it. But farewell now. [She goes out.]

PHILEMON

Xenias, I would not ask thee to hold back

And thine own sentiments belie because

Mine do enchain me so to Circe’s isle

As in its soil the roots of yonder oak

Are wove and knotted. No; it is for you all

Timely and reasonable—nor for Ulysses least—

To set your faces homeward. But to me

That home so dimly beckons now, I know not

If it be there or here!

XENIAS

[Stepping closer to his friend] ’Twas not thy wont

To doubt, Philemon, with faint wavering heart,

When we together oft by chilly Troy

Crouch’d with our captain in an ambuscade

Or sprang from the galley’s prow full-arm’d ashore

At Tenedos or Chryse. Be thyself; be bold!

The girl is not to the island rooted fast,

Even though, as they pretend, their mothers be

Fig-trees and fountains. We go: take her! Herself,

I’ll wager, nothing loth.

[While the last words are exchanged between the two men the figure of GRAEA the swine-maiden, unobserved by them, is seen passing furtively behind and occasionally halting as if to listen.]

PHILEMON

Ah, Xenias,

Thou knowest not Philinna. She is true

Not to me only.

XENIAS

I know. Untie them!

If need be, cut the knot! Love glories

In shifts and stratagems.

PHILEMON

Ah, ’twere not easy!

XENIAS

Think; ponder! Swear it: If with Ulysses’ crew

Philemon sail, Philinna shall sail too.

[XENIAS seizes the hand of PHILEMON and they go out together at the Left.]

II

The Seashore, early in the forenoon of the next day. The scene is the same as in the First Act, but the signs of a temporary encampment have disappeared and the hull of the vessel is encumbered with grass and weeds. The curtain rising discovers both watches of the crew (excepting GLAUCUS and PHILEMON) disposed in scattered groups; some of the men sitting or reclining; others standing. All seem pre-occupied and the faces of most wear an anxious look. The demeanor of EURYLOCHUS, who stands in a conspicuous position, is more confident and dignified than in former scenes.

FIRST SAILOR

Well, I suppose the devil knows how long we have got to wait before they show up.

SECOND SAILOR

We’re lucky if they ever show up at all. Ten to one Glauc’ll come back without him.

FIRST SAILOR

Ay, ay! It’s a question whether even Glaucus can get the commander’s ear—leastwise he’ll have to get Madam Circe out of the way first.

PHORBAS

Mark me; we aren’t safe yet! There’s no knowing what sort of beasts she might turn us all into even now, just to keep him with her a year longer!

SECOND SAILOR

I’ve a notion we’d have done better to send a man of the commander’s own watch—some one that never was a hog.

XENIAS

Bravo! where will you find such a one? Glauc’s all right; it’s enough to have a man who wasn’t always a hog.

FIRST SAILOR

Ha, ha! Theron, that’s one on you.

THERON

To hell with it! hang the hogs!

ELPENOR

My father sticks his.

FIRST SAILOR

That’s the talk, Elpy; keep the culinary department straight!

SECOND SAILOR

But what if he’s so bewitched he won’t come and talk anyway?

EURYLOCHUS

Peace, peace!

’Tis scarce an hour since we despatch’d our comrade

On no brief errand.

Be patient; have good hope! It hangs, I know,

On the razor’s edge; yet leans the weightier cause

Toward consummation. Witchery there is still;

Else were there little need to prompt Ulysses

To his plain duty. Drugs have their antidotes,

Which to employ are easy when once found:

More subtle—ay, more deadly! than her potions

Are these soft blandishments, cared she to play them

To their full scope. But it has stood forth clear,

Though once I did mistrust the promised convoy:

Not in malevolence the enchantress binds

Ulysses’ will. And when good Glaucus comes,

Fearless and plain of speech and charged with all

The prayerful hot commands we laid upon him;

When he, unheard of Circe, bids his captain

Arise, for old Laertes’ sake; and, backward

With stern reproachful finger pointing, names

The faithful wife who waits, Penelope,

Icarius’ daughter:—then, perhaps, this cord

Of crimson devilment will snap—remembrance,

Conscience awake.

XENIAS

Eurylochus, was it not

Here on this very shore a twelvemonth since,

Launching the half-mann’d pinnace, you would fly,

Your mates left in the lurch?

EURYLOCHUS

But for Ulysses

(This you would add) the doors of their foul prison

Had closed on them forever.

XENIAS

But to-day

They jest and laugh, though ’tis in Circe’s isle.

THERON

Damn me, too, if we’re the only ones that have learnt to mumble spoon-victuals and dance with tree-toads in the moonlight!

EURYLOCHUS

Xenias, there is a fear to which all others

Are as soft zephyrs to the tempest: it is

When spirits uncanny mock the paltry arts

Of mortal courage. But for my fear, no tidings,

No warning, no alarm had reach’d you.

FIRST SAILOR

Hi, yi! [He points upward to the Right] They’re coming! There’s old Glauc digging down this way.

SECOND SAILOR

[Spying through his hand] Alone! by the living gods!

[Groans are uttered by some of the men, with gestures of disgust and disappointment.]

EURYLOCHUS

Hold; wait!

He waves his staff; he smiles; he brings, be sure,

No grievous answer!

[Enter GLAUCUS bare-headed, carrying a staff with oak-leaves attached, which he waves to and fro.]

GLAUCUS

All’s well! all’s well, lads! It’s a go; the commander has struck his colors. We’re off, sure!

[The men throng about GLAUCUS, some hurrahing and throwing up their caps.]

SEVERAL VOICES

But where is he? What’d he say? When’s he coming?

GLAUCUS

O, belay there! Everything takes time. He had to go and talk with madam first, of course—and not take French leave like an orang-outang. He’ll be here in a jiffy.

PHORBAS

Yes; but what’ll she make him say when he does come? I tell you we’re not well out of this kettle of fish till we’ve cut loose into high water!

GLAUCUS

Avast! He’ll say what comes into his head. The lady’s got a head on her too: she’s not the kind of a craft to capsize at the first catspaw of wind, don’t you believe it!

FIRST SAILOR

Put on a life-preserver, Phorb! Shin up the mast!

ELPENOR

The mast isn’t shinned up itself yet.

EURYLOCHUS

Glaucus, we owe thee thanks.

GLAUCUS

Not a bit of it! I doubt if we’d have dared to tackle him for another year if you hadn’t put us up to it, old man. But you may set me to walk the plank if he doesn’t talk fair now.

XENIAS

Hold on, lads! Seats again! there he comes! Stilly, stilly!

[Enter ULYSSES at the Right, wearing sword and helmet. His aspect is gracious as he comes to a stand near the men, who sit in silence. Before speaking he casts a contemplative glance seaward, then turns toward the vessel.]

ULYSSES

Our good ship! Ah yes; the seams

Gape in her sun-parch’d sides, and rank weeds twine

Their prickly meshes round her shriveling keel.

Yes, yes, my men; full long we have sat still,

Basking in languorous fancy, rapt, unheeding

This summons to the wave. Nor tarried others

Behind, to follow and seize us: as when those

Who clomb the banks of Lotus-land and straying

Ate of the flowery food, their souls

Steep’d in forgetfulness, we seized and bound,

Stifled their cries and dragg’d them to the shore.—

To-day they are no more: so many

Death’s winged minions snatch’d and in wild sport

Flung them to feed the sea-god’s ravenous brood;

Or, on strange shores their white bones strewing, sign’d

The landmarks of our course.—What wonder, then!

What wonder, O brave comrades, if, so spent,

So spared, beaching beside enchanted bowers

Our single bark, lull’d under lustrous skies,

Encircled by fond arms, we linger’d fondly

And long. But now, welcome the tug and strain

Once more, as ye have will’d it: the bent oar,

The creaking rowlock, Zephyrus’ shrill pipe,

The thundrous pounding surge! Nor now, as then,

Shall we unpiloted and blindly plow

Our swift sea-furrow; but wise Circe’s words

Will be to us as beacons. We shall know

What winds press homeward; on which hand to hold

(When oft to night course our sick yearning prompts)

Orion and the Bear.—If only

Her solemn friendly warnings ye can heed,

Which in good time I shall expressly cite,

All may be well.

EURYLOCHUS

Trust your men, sir, for that—leastwise if past experience avail them anything in the way of instruction for the future.

ULYSSES

So prove it! On the third morn we start. Meanwhile

Let none stand idle! To-day remains in part;

One other day to-morrow, whilst we urge

The labors needful to our voyage. Draw water;

The wine-jars and the barley-crates replenish;

Refit the tackle.—Now let the old ship drink

And plume herself again!

SEVERAL VOICES

[As the men, who have already sprung from their seats, gather round the vessel]

Hurrah! hurrah!

Off with her! Rush her out!

GLAUCUS

Look lively, lads! Knock away those props! Clear out the ways there for’ard!

SEVERAL VOICES

Clear it is! Lively, lively!

ULYSSES

Eurylochus, I depute

To you the furtherance of these tasks. My presence

Another foresight claims.

EURYLOCHUS

Very well; very well, sir!—

[To the men, some of whom have climbed on deck]

Drop the bow-chains over there, boys! Catch on, half a hundred of you! There she goes; steady, steady!

[The curtain falls as ULYSSES goes out at the Right and the ship, pulled and pushed by many hands, begins to move toward the water.]

III

The back of the palace, in the evening of the same day as Scene II.—As the curtain rises ULYSSES and CIRCE are discovered in the foreground: the former occupying a low seat by a tree; the latter reclining near him. Upon the veranda, forming a group by themselves though not far removed from the others, PHILEMON, XENIAS, THERMIA, and PHILINNA are seated at a table, apparently playing at some game by the light of a hanging lamp. ULYSSES and CIRCE are revealed to view by the rays of the moon, which near its full is rising above the palace roof.

CIRCE

Those children are making a brave effort to play at their game, Ulysses. They pretend to-morrow will be soon enough for parting salutations.

THERMIA

[Who has overheard the remark] O Circe! Philinna cannot play at all; she throws amiss every time.

CIRCE

Well, I doubt if her Philemon does much better.—There are at least two aching hearts over there, Ulysses.

ULYSSES

Yet I have remarked Philemon seems not exactly depressed by it. Indeed both he and Xenias surprise me, how cheerily they await the event.

CIRCE

They are men: new scenes, new labors summon them; thoughts of their home. But my poor nymphs must rest contented hereafter with only me and the even sameness of our days.

ULYSSES

Even so ye lived blithe-hearted ere we came.

CIRCE

Hearts more than blithe we knew not ere ye came.

ULYSSES

Counts not the added bliss as gain meanwhile?

CIRCE

True gain or loss the final balance shows.

ULYSSES

Then, till it’s struck, hope for the winning scale.

CIRCE

Such hopes help mortals cheat themselves, Ulysses,

Even of the present profit.

ULYSSES

But I note,

Thy tacit precept, thine own example, leads us

To drain the brimming cup and count as naught

What pangs might follow.

CIRCE

Ulysses, my example

(For in these closing hours I will confess it)

Hath my soul’s truest insight much belied.

Thou didst with moly baffle my magic art:

The woman’s craft to baffle quite, no helper

Could guide thee to a clue. Hate there was none—

As well thou knowest: my bosom’s pride conceal’d

No sinister, vindictive purpose. But

Poor Circe, worsted, won her mastery back

And turn’d to sportive vengeance her defeat,

When with wise incantations wise Ulysses

She sang to sleep.

ULYSSES

There needed those more weary,

If not more wise, to wake him.

CIRCE

But meanwhile

My gentle partners, my sweet nymphs, I so

Imperilling left—that same mischance whereof

With a vague prescience more than once I warn’d them—

In these new toils ensnared, when the spell broke,

To droop as their own clipt flowers.

[While the last few words are pronounced there has been brisk talking, not distinctly overheard, on the part of the other group.]

THERMIA

[Loudly] O, for shame, Philemon! What a thing to say!

PHILINNA

[Passionately] ’Tis he; ’tis he himself cares not!

CIRCE

[Turning toward the veranda, where PHILEMON and XENIAS have just risen to their feet]

Ah, now! what coil is this? Philinna, speak!

THERMIA

O Circe! ’tis Philemon—and Xenias too; they say

We are but women’s women: at the last moment

(They tell us) we choose you!

CIRCE

O foolish children!

Must your vain quarreling blight such hours as these!—

But whither? Philemon! Xenias! will you leave us?

PHILEMON

’Tis only, my lady, a certain business calls us forth expressly at this time.

ULYSSES

So, my men? A strange time for business, is it not?

XENIAS

It were so, sir, but for a slight affair of our own, to which we should properly give our attention by high moonlight only.

CIRCE

[Laughing] Holy Diana! Have they, too, turned to magic?

XENIAS

Pray excuse us, all!

[The two young men go out by the Right corner. PHILINNA, bending over the table, covers her face with her hands, while THERMIA rising attempts to soothe her.]

CIRCE

O, mind not, dear Philinna, his hasty words!

Though heartless sounding, they did rather prove

The same concern that draws thine own tears now.

Lead her within; thou canst console her, Thermia:

Thy stronger courage will avail.

[The two nymphs go into the palace.]

ULYSSES

Circe, I like not this foolery of the high moonlight. Though it be a trifle ludicrous, the lads seemed right serious about it nevertheless. ’Tis unlike Philemon. I like it not.

CIRCE

O put the thought aside, Ulysses!

It is some youthful prank, or a mere jest

Fresh-coin’d with sober mouth. Nor falls amiss

Thus on the girl’s untried, too tender spirit

Some jar and crossing ere the final shock,

So to forestall and break it.

And this moon!

Well she deserves, Ulysses, in thy sight.

Have we not sought ourselves her soothing spell?

Masking a farewell colloquy in smiles,

As yonder silver’d wave-tips feign deliverance

From the encircling gloom of envious night.

Ah! if thou didst but know,

Son of Laertes, half the struggles that wait thee

By Neptune’s billowy realm and, rescued thence,

In deadly strife at thy rude island-home,

Then wouldst thou feel, perchance, less haste to leave

Circe, the frail enchantress.—Ay, not all

The signs to guide and perils that impend

Canst thou learn now. Some, long in mystery wrapt

(Nor wouldst thou choose to speed them), time will teach;

Others, from ghostly lips compell’d, when soon,

By Ocean’s stream thy lone bark moor’d, thou standest

At the dark doors of Hades to evoke

Theban Tiresias’ shade, the seer shall utter.

ULYSSES

Dread Circe!

O strange, unpitying prophetess, no mortal

Reaches by sail or oar that awful strand.

CIRCE

Thou shalt be one, Ulysses, who, twice dying,

Twice lives to rue his birth.—But hearken;

And on the mindful tablets of thy soul

Grave these my warnings. Back from the sunless shore

Of pale Persephone the refluent tide

Will bear thy bark unurged: till, facing

The ruddy sources of recover’d day,

Fresh-waken’d breath of quickening winds she feels

Smite on her listless sail. So hold her prow,

Toward Eos striving surely, from my isle

Farther and farther speeding.

ULYSSES

But how soon?

How soon, O Circe, may our glad eyes behold

Some signal of known lands?

CIRCE

So much not yet

May be unveil’d; nor yet, what remnant lingers

Of crew or vessel until that hour.—But hear,

How (lest their doom be hasten’d) on thy helmsman,

When ’twixt unlovely neighbors he must steer,

The crisis hangs. On this side Scylla lurks,

Snarling in her cliff-cavern; on that, Charybdis

Retches, with swirling gorge. Thrice happy he

Who, nor to the right inclining nor the left,

Cleaves straight the midway mark with even keel.

ULYSSES

But why not of the engulfing pest steer wide

And with arm’d hand fend off the other’s onset?

CIRCE

Ah!

Thus do presumptuous mortals vaunt their cunning,

Or vain force, where alone swift vision wins.—

If, then, alternate ruin ye elude,

In some part scatheless, sweep with thankful hearts

The gleaming waters’ wide unbroken waste.

Then soon, Ulysses, as to my lay thou only

Mightst listen and be saved, even so alone

May’st thou, safe sailing, hear the Sirens’ song.

ULYSSES

Breathe any so sweet a strain as that, O Circe,

Which binds the caller at the moaning porch?

CIRCE

Not binds, but draws! No sense-benumbing spell

Boast the sea-maidens, nor themselves are fair.

Their theme, what men call glory; and the strain,

Bell-like, o’er the hush’d seas far pealing, calls

With a resistless summons to their shore.

It, with white skulls and rotting wreckage lined.

Thou shalt speed by, yet hear. Lash’d to the mast

By thy men’s hands—themselves with wax-stopt ears—

Bid them, when thou with frantic dumb entreaty

Wouldst sign their stroke toward that melodious lure,

Pull stronger and swerve not, with firmer bonds

Lashing thee still, while yet one echo

Of siren-voices lingers.

ULYSSES

Circe, full long

Thy tale of helps and hazards, though not few

Still on their fixt oracular moment wait.

Be these enough, while courage step by step,

Conning each several danger, learn to face it.

CIRCE

’Tis well.

[Thus far CIRCE has been reclining, with occasional changes of attitude due to the earnestness of her discourse. She now rises to a sitting posture.]

[Laughing] But forget not, most prudent captain,

The risks thy moonstruck followers would invite

In these my precincts!

[She gives her hand to ULYSSES, who assists her to rise.]

It were worth while to note

Their traces. Come; they went this way.

[She leads out at the Right, ULYSSES following with downward thoughtful look.]

IV

The grove upon sloping ground, at noon of the day following the previous scene.—Enter from the Left downward MYRTO leading Mikkos. With a glance toward the path on the Right she seats herself under the tree by which MERCURY appeared to ULYSSES, while the ape, whose chain MYRTO continues to hold, swings himself to a low branch above her.

MYRTO

Well, Mikkos, they are not here yet.—But Graea never loiters and they will soon come. Now I charge thee once again; and be thou, as a reflecting animal, less slow to curb thy native animosities, Mikkos! Look not upon Eurylochus as thine enemy, receiving him with angry and unseemly gestures. Eurylochus is our friend to-day; and his co-operation in the present emergency is invaluable.—Hear’st thou, Mikkos? [The ape grins and wags his head.] Very well; now conduct thyself like a rational being! I hear them coming.

[Enter from the Right upward EURYLOCHUS, followed closely by GRAEA. The former, after a suspicious glance at Mikkos, who shows his teeth and tries to shake his chain, turns inquiringly toward MYRTO who remains seated while the others stand.]

EURYLOCHUS

Graea has by her signs made known to me, Myrto, that you would have me attend you here at this time; and I have inferred from the earnestness of her manner that the message is of importance.

MYRTO

Important indeed it is, Eurylochus: I need your assistance; and not for myself alone—perchance even somewhat for thine own weal; but especially on behalf of the lady Circe and all of us her poor companions—whom to be sure thou lovest not.

EURYLOCHUS

One may love not, Myrto, and yet be nowise lacking in good-will. You would not have called in an unfriendly hand to aid you.

MYRTO

In the present matter at any rate thou wilt be sure to side with us.—Wouldst thou choose to take one of us home with thee in the ship, Eurylochus?

EURYLOCHUS

How? What? Forbid it, mighty Apollo! Is your mind wandering, Myrto?

MYRTO

It is not I, but a pair of your pretty comrades whose wits are wandering; for they would carry away Philinna, unbeknown to Ulysses and the rest of you, hiding her in the vessel.

EURYLOCHUS

Ah! we know of Philemon’s madness—and the girl consents to this?

MYRTO

No indeed! they will put her to sleep with Circe’s drug—

EURYLOCHUS

[Interrupting] O Heracles!

MYRTO

And so bring her aboard the ship to-night, while you are all at the palace partaking of the farewell feast.

EURYLOCHUS

Then if you have discovered this plot, why not warn her straightway and cut it short?

MYRTO

Not so, Eurylochus!

[MYRTO rises and addresses herself earnestly to him.]

Not till the latest moment must Philinna

Perceive the strange and treacherous design

Of him she loves, who, if he loved her less,

Would spurn the trick his clever mate has taught him.

Now hear me; and observe

How thou shalt aid us, with least harm to foil

This harmful scheme. Nothing the herb itself

Of baneful sort to mind or body works:

But whoso of its fragrance breathes in slumber,

For six-and-thirty hours wakes not again,

Nor feels, nor can be roused. They hold its leaves

Gather’d beneath pale moonbeams, when the plant

Best cools its juices and conserves its force.

These they will bruise and spread

About the pillow of Philinna’s couch,

Where she each day—now at this very hour—Seeks

her brief noontide sleep: by the moss’d bank

So near the waterfall its gauzy spray

Like an ethereal veil enshrouds the bower

Where our companion rests; and muffled tones,

Voiced by perpetual whirling waters, soothe

The slumberer’s ear. Of vines her bed is join’d:

Gnarl’d stems which from the vineyard pruning once

We fashion’d to a woodland couch, to sit

And watch the headlong stream. This lifting

(So Graea heard them whisper) they will bear

With its fond burden shoreward ere the dawn,

While yet ye feast and revel. And they hope

To hold her hidden (nor will she wake) until

Too far at sea the flying ship hath sped

For ruth or reparation.

EURYLOCHUS

O great gods!

Herself by good rights, waking then, should rue

Her wanton witcheries.

MYRTO

Peace, Eurylochus; peace!

Perverse and all one-sided is thy sense:

On the other side thy mother bore thee blind.

Not yet hast thou been taught the part thou playest

In the prevention.—At the feast this night,

Ere the two plotters to their work slip out,

I at my wheel (whom thou wilt watch) shall give thee

This sign—with finger prest to lip: whereat

Thyself withdrawing noiselessly to join

Graea who waits without, with her wilt hie

To poor Philinna’s bower: and both shall bear

Hillward by the back path the couch and sleeper

Into the banquet-hall to Circe.

EURYLOCHUS

And what revenge

Will Circe wreak upon the thieves?

MYRTO

Circe is wise;

Needs not our counsel.—And, Eurylochus, mark:

Thy secrecy here will stand thee in good stead.

A narrow pathway tread ye all, so long

In this round isle ye linger! Go; and be mindful!—

[EURYLOCHUS goes out at the Right downward.]

Now, Graea—for thy sharp ear no caution needs,—

His part and thine are fixt. And further, Graea;

When chilly night descends, visit her bower

And lay soft fleeces o’er Philinna’s form,

Sheltering her deep dishonest sleep.

[GRAEA by signs gives her assent, Mikkos jumps down from the tree, and all go out by the Left upward.]

V

The same as the first scene of the play. The Front of the Palace in the afternoon. The porch and its steps are already in the shade. The curtain rising discovers THERMIA seated upon one of the lower steps thoughtfully regarding the fountain, which plays faintly. Enter MYRTO upon the porch from within.

MYRTO

[Taking her seat upon a step] Yes, there is shade here now; Circe will come soon.

THERMIA

I know not why I feel so anxious, Myrto,—wondering what communication you can have to make while Ulysses and his men are away at the lading of their vessel.

MYRTO

Now pray, Thermia, if what I shall say to Circe startle you in some degree, restrain yourself and show not perturbation. Circe, as you well know, likes not hasty suggestion in what concerns her deeply.

THERMIA

’Tis true; I will be prudent. O, what can it be?

MYRTO

Wait; here she comes now.

[CIRCE entering descends the stairs to a seat just within the lengthening shadow by the fountain. She wears her canary-colored tunic, but not the black robe.]

CIRCE

[Turning toward the stairs] Myrto! Thermia! Where is Philinna?

MYRTO

She sleeps, my lady.

CIRCE

Sleeps still? ’Tis past midday more than two hours!

Philinna is wont to sleep soundly, but not long.

MYRTO

She will sleep long this time, Circe: Philinna will not wake to-day.

CIRCE

[Starting to her feet] What! Not wake to-day? Dost thou trifle with me, girl?

MYRTO

Indeed I do not trifle with you. But fear not, dear lady; there has been mischief, but harm will not come to Philinna.

CIRCE

Mischief—mischief? Methinks I divine somewhat. But speak; explain thyself forthwith!

MYRTO

They have given her the sleeping-plant which last night they gathered under the moon.

THERMIA

[To herself] Ah, I see my precious Xenias’ finger here; the traitor!

CIRCE

O! O! Audacious, shameless souls!

With my own drugs would they outwit me? O!

I see! I see! Thus they will steal Philinna.

But holy Diana! [Laughing scornfully] So sly, and yet so simple!

They were twice foil’d, ere such a plot could prosper.

MYRTO

Truly there needs small skill to circumvent them:

Such I have summon’d.

CIRCE

But the herb?

MYRTO

I show’d them.

CIRCE

What? Myrto, Myrto!

MYRTO

Stay; hear me, Circe.

Their plan I knew beforehand; and ’twas better

She knew it not; should rather sleep; nor wake

Till the whole farce were play’d—seest thou, my lady?

CIRCE

O clever Myrto! Not in vain thou sittest

Demurely by thy wheel, as if its hum

And spinster’s sordid finger-work were all

Thy wits could compass!—thou, the nixie-born;

With newts and water-beetles nurtured!—But how

Came it to light?

MYRTO

They came to me,

To find for them the herb. The tale they told,

How, when the ship had sail’d, among themselves

Some sport they would devise. But Graea already

Had overheard their whisperings and advised me.

THERMIA

Graea is everywhere and hears all things!

CIRCE

Hush, Thermia!

MYRTO

Because she hath no tongue they do forget

Her sharpen’d ears.—Safely Philinna sleeps;

And to your side shall she be brought to-night

During the banquet.

CIRCE

Ah! ah!

THERMIA

And will they dare, finding her not,

To wait for such an issue?

CIRCE

Whither pray

Might they seek refuge?—Two alone are guilty;

And two alone shall answer for the guilt;

Nor shall the feast be marr’d. Go now;

And urge its preparation.

[The two nymphs go into the palace.]

CIRCE

Poor purblind men!

O, how short of the mark their vision falls!

Phantoms, bred of precipitate desire,

Aiming to grasp, but comprehending not

The check and natural limit.—So the same

At whose achievement we should rave, in failure

We pity and forgive. Ay; to know more

And to see farther than for themselves they see

Doth make forbearance easy. How would they change

For sweet Philinna’s rainbow-guarded sleep

Their own long slumber in the fishy deep!

[She ascends the steps and goes into the palace.]

VI

The banquet-hall late at night. The feasting is near its end and the wine has begun to be poured at the farewell entertainment given by CIRCE to her guests in the last hours before they set sail. The Enchantress sits at the head of her table, wearing her black robe and coronal of pearls. THERMIA and MYRTO are in their usual places; but PHILINNA is absent and the throne at CIRCE’S left has been removed. ULYSSES sits at the head of the table by the dais. His demeanor is serious; but the men though orderly are in high spirits as they join in the chorus, with the exception of PHILEMON and XENIAS, who seem pre-occupied, seated together near the exit behind ULYSSES. EURYLOCHUS is so placed as to face MYRTO at her wheel. The first chorus following is sung before the rise of the curtain.

(Chorus of men’s voices behind the scenes)

Never fear for your ship if you handle her right;

She will scamper all day and eats nothing at night.

Stick her nose in the sand, she is safe in the stall;

She’s a carriage and horses and stable and all.

[Curtain rises]

GLAUCUS

[Sings] We sampled his cheeses and bunk’d in his den,

But when he came home he ate six of our men.—

“People don’t come a-foot when they come to see me:

Now where did you leave the old frigate?” cried he.

(Chorus)

GLAUCUS

It was a big pickle, we forged a big lie:

“A thunderbolt struck her, Sir Cyclops,” said I;

“Tore a hole in her timbers as wide as a door;

She sank to the bottom and we swam ashore.”

(Chorus)

GLAUCUS

So we punch’d out his eye with a stake while he snored,

Then broke for the landing and scrambled aboard.—

His rock was a load for a twenty-mule team:

“Heave hard there”! I shouted; “heave hard, Polypheme!”

(Chorus)

GLAUCUS

First time he shot high; and the swashing great wave

Sent her back on a dance to the mouth of his cave.

His second fell short: ’twas a booster behind

And scooted her for’ard, quite well to our mind.

(Chorus)

Never fear for your ship if you handle her right;

She will scamper all day and eats nothing at night.

Stick her nose in the sand, she is safe in the stall;

She’s a carriage and horses and stable and all.

CIRCE

Our friend Glaucus would usurp the role of his captain, apparently, when he celebrates that famous scene, Ulysses.

ULYSSES

And right welcome is he to any glory he may borrow therefrom. Verily there was little enough for me to boast of in the adventure.

GLAUCUS

It’s true the commander got us into the scrape, madam, if he will allow me; but there would need a longer song than any we have sung yet to tell the whole story, how cleverly he got us out of it.

THERON

Damme! a great song! Not a word about the tipple that did it all!

ELPENOR

And the sheep-ride too.

A VOICE

Ay, ay!—’twas the tipple that did for him. Let the old sinner play blind-man’s buff with his bell-wether now!

ULYSSES

Enough!

Now the cry homeward and the forward glance

Shall banish retrospect. These claim our care.

Fair winds suffice not;

Nor the good hopes by gracious friends inspired,

Where prudent counsel fails.

CIRCE

Most timely said!

Experience ends not with each wondrous hap.

Ye know not yet, good men, your several fates

Cradled beyond my island’s guardian pale.

Obedience and true caution shall avail you

Not less because your course be pointed clear.

These save while they endure.—

But now our ancient welcome is exchanged

For farewell greetings. Nor indeed comes song

Amiss at such an hour.

[She claps her hands twice and THRATTIS enters with her lute, standing by the sideboard. While the attention of all is thus drawn away MYRTO gives the sign to EURYLOCHUS, who slips out unobserved.]

CIRCE

Our guests have just sung a gay song in honor of their ship, Thrattis. Perchance thou canst match it with one from thine own store.

[THRATTIS smiles faintly and begins a slow prelude upon her instrument in a minor key.]

ELPENOR

She knows how to make it cry.

THERON

Hush, boy; mar not the music!

[The girl sings slowly with irregular pauses and interludes at significant points in the recital. The music itself is marked by chromatic changes, with the last two stanzas taking on distinctly the character of a funeral march. Before that part of the performance is reached PHILEMON and XENIAS, taking advantage of the rapt attention of the company, steal out unnoticed.]

THRATTIS

Sea-wind o’er the ripples crept;

His cool breath my temples swept;

Sea-wind whisper’d, as I slept

Near to the wave.

From his caverns, hollow-toned,

Sea-wind mock’d my dream and moan’d.

In my sleep I turn’d and groan’d

As in the grave.

Through lank grasses, swaying slow,

Peering with green eyes a-glow

Sea-wind stole and mutter’d low:

“Wake not! sleep on,

If my vision thou wouldst share:—

The split mast; the lightning’s glare;

Shrouds whirl’d wildly in mid-air!

See! her helm gone,

The vessel plunges. Lo! again

Caught by the deadly hurricane,

Crackling bolt and hissing rain,

The hull spins round;

Breaks, sinks! One man breasts the tide;

Clutches spar and climbs astride;

A sea-courser seems to ride.—

Vague depths profound

With white feet the others tread;

Seek on ocean’s floor their bed;

Or, to rude shores blindly led,

Full nigh they draw;

Ram-like, butt the flinty stones.

The gray sea a dirge intones,

Whilst the fat casing of their bones

Dumb fishes gnaw.”

ULYSSES

[After a pause, when the chords struck in conclusion of the song have ceased to sound]

The maid hath not sailed the south seas in vain, upon my soul, Circe!

GLAUCUS

By the twin gods, ye would think she came straight from Davy Jones’ locker, let out alive!

CIRCE

’Tis a brief step from life to death: why then

Shall not the venturous errant fancy feign it

Thrice taken and retraced? From death to life

Were as from sleep to waking; nor, if dreams

Might linger on the skirts of such a change,

Should they unheeded pass.—

The words of CIRCE are interrupted by the entrance at the Right rear doorway of EURYLOCHUS and GRAEA bearing the rustic couch upon which the form of PHILINNA is extended as upon a bier. As they enter, GRAEA, who sustains the rear end at the head of the sleeper, swings to her right backward and the two bearers set the couch and its burden down by CIRCE’S side in full view of the company. EURYLOCHUS quickly resumes his seat among the men, while the swine-maiden, wearing her long whip coiled as a girdle round her waist, retires to a position near the lute-girl, where the two remain standing side by side. Mikkos, who had sprung into the room close behind the bearers, is seized by MYRTO and tied fast with shortened chain to the spokes of her wheel. The form and features of PHILINNA are motionless as in death. She is clothed in her gauzy dress of noonday. The banqueters in profound silence gaze with horror at the apparition. CIRCE, laying hand upon her wand, faces her guests steadily with a trace of irony in her look, while a few notes of solemn music fall from the lute of THRATTIS.

ULYSSES

[Half rising from his chair with gesture of inquiry and deprecation]

What!—Circe? Thy Philinna?—is this death?

Forbid it, ye kind gods!

CIRCE

Philinna?—or Philinna’s shade?

Ask thine own followers, great commander; ask

Pale Hecate’s twin votaries!

ULYSSES

[Who has risen to his feet and scanning the company perceives for the first time that not all his men are present]

Ha! what? Philemon? Xenias?—where?

EURYLOCHUS

[Saluting] They encountered us, sir, as we ascended hither bearing the sleeping maid. They were on their way to seize her, but when they saw themselves cheated of their prey they cried out and fled incontinently to the woods.

ULYSSES

Great Zeus! no flight shall save them! Up, Eurylochus!

[With a stern gesture of command]

Take Glaucus and three others of your watch; go forth; seek out, arrest the caitiffs! Put them in irons and wait for us on board!

[EURYLOCHUS and GLAUCUS stand up, several other men spring to their feet as volunteers. Mikkos exhibits excitement, and GRAEA slowly uncoils the whip from her waist. THERMIA turns pale and cannot conceal her agitation.]

CIRCE

[Lifting her wand gently] Hold, Ulysses! Hold!

Refrain; bend not thy thoughts to chains

Or cruel punishment. Are they not even now

By failure and humiliation scourged?

ULYSSES

[To whom EURYLOCHUS and GLAUCUS are looking expectantly]

Never! Never!

The door behind the dais opens, a golden light fills the passage-way thus revealed, and MERCURY, brilliantly arrayed as in the second scene of the play, stands forth upon the platform. His step gives no sound; and, as he extends his hands (one holding the winged wand) gently forward over the company, all the men feel the soothing influence without turning their heads to observe its source; while ULYSSES, and the others who stand, sink quietly to their seats in motionless attitude. ULYSSES slightly bows his head. The inmates of the palace are not affected like the guests; they maintain their former demeanor; but CIRCE lowers her hand with the wand to the table before her.

MERCURY

By the Father sent

I come this time, to loose the tangled web

Of crossing motive, Circe, in thy bowers.

He in the scales of fate the fortunes weigh’d

Of these thy mortal visitors all, thine own,

Of thy beloved nymphs; and bade me speed,

Taking my wand, wherewith for woe or weal

I seal men’s eyes and, when I will, unseal.

The offending youths—already are they

Themselves in closer toils of slumber caught

Than the charm’d herb upon the maiden brought.

At my behest their living phantoms glide;

Upward or downward their blind steps I guide.

[Without turning, the god raises his wand gently with backward movement of the hands, and in the wide opening behind him the forms of PHILEMON and XENIAS appear, standing side by side. Their eyes are closed; their features pallid in the weird light; their look is of complete unconsciousness. THRATTIS strikes major chords.]

Their fault the Father pardons; and decrees

They shall be toss’d no more on billowy seas,

But to their lives’ end tread the enchanted soil

Which of its bloom they plotted to despoil.

[MERCURY sways the wand slowly from behind forward, and the two sleepers (PHILEMON first, XENIAS close behind him) guided by the spell pass across the dais, gliding down behind the banqueters until they reach a position between THERMIA and PHILINNA’S couch. Their footsteps give no sound; their movement is mechanical; in the place indicated they stand stiff and motionless with closed eyes.]

MERCURY

Arise, Ulysses!

[ULYSSES stands up; and simultaneously his men all rise silently to their feet.]

Now thy waiting bark

Swims in the darkling haven; but full soon

Eos her saffron portals will unbar

And wake the convoy breezes. Tarry not!—

Thy crew the Father’s stern assignments claim;

I sign them to march, FORWARD! in his name.

[The funeral march which closed the song of THRATTIS is played softly, and the men pass out behind MERCURY in single file, moving noiselessly and with the utmost precision, as if under the hypnotizing influence of the wand waved above them. The company of EURYLOCHUS marches first, headed by their leader and GLAUCUS, THERON and ELPENOR bringing up the rear. The other company, excepting PHILEMON and XENIAS, immediately follows. ULYSSES, who has donned his helmet, begins to speak as the last man passes and the music ceases.]

ULYSSES

To gloom of future fates beholden fast,

The parting hour yet beckons toward the past.

What blessings lay beneath rapt moments hidden

Now to the pictured memory rise unbidden;

Each, as with pointed stylus’ steely smart,

Prick’d and deep graven on the shrinking heart.—

Farewell! O sorceress benign, farewell!

He knows not life, who knows not CIRCE’S spell.

[ULYSSES turns and goes out. The music begins again in the major key. MERCURY, poised upon one foot in an attitude similar to that presented by a familiar statue of the god, leans far forward with wand pointed straight at the sleepers. PHILINNA opens her eyes and slowly rises to a sitting posture on her couch. PHILEMON and XENIAS open their eyes and draw long breaths. PHILINNA, turning first toward CIRCE, with one hand clasps the left hand of the Enchantress; then, with the other, recognizing PHILEMON, takes his right. THERMIA, when XENIAS wakes, seizes his left hand with her own, and with a joyous look lays her right upon his shoulder. The two youths have themselves joined hands. MYRTO seated, whom Mikkos strives to reach, holds him firmly at arm’s length by the collar. GRAEA, standing beside THRATTIS, whip in hand, glares fiercely at the exit.

The countenance of CIRCE is deeply sad. Her wand lies relinquished upon the table. She continues to gaze, as if into vague distance, in the direction of her departed guest.]

CURTAIN

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Table of Contents

CIRCE

PERSONS REPRESENTED

ACT ONE

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

ACT TWO

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

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