The Two Lovers of Heaven: Chrysanthus and Daria by Pedro Calderón de la Barca (smart books to read txt) 📖

From this instant Until thy return, I promise Not to leave his side.

POLEMIUS.
Aurelius . . .

AURELIUS. My good lord.

POLEMIUS.
Art sure thou knowest In this mountain the well-hidden Cave wherein Carpophorus dwelleth?

AURELIUS. Him I promise to deliver To thy hands.

POLEMIUS.
Then lead the soldiers Stealthily and with all quickness To the spot, for all must perish Who are there found hiding with him:- For the care with which, ye Heavens! I uphold the true religion Of the gods, their faith and worship, For the zeal that I exhibit In thus crushing Christ's new law, Which I hate with every instinct Of my soul, oh! grant my guerdon In the cure of my son's illness! [Exeunt Polemius and Aurelius.

CLAUDIUS (to Escarpin). Go and tell my lord Chrysanthus That I wish he would come with me Forth to-day for relaxation.

ESCARPIN. Relaxation! just say whither Are we to go forth to get it; Of that comfort I get little-

CLAUDIUS. Outside Rome, Diana's temple On the Salarian way uplifteth Its majestic front: the fairest Of our Roman maids dwell in it: 'T is the custom, as thou knowest, That the loveliest of Rome's children Whom patrician blood ennobles, From their tender years go thither To be priestesses of the goddess, Living there till 't is permitted They should marry: 't is the centre Of all charms, the magic circle Drawn around a land of beauty- Home of deities-Elysium!- And as great Diana is Goddess of the groves, her children Have to her an altar raised In the loveliest cool green thicket. Thither, when the evening falleth, And the season is propitious, Various squadrons of fair nymphs Hasten: and it is permitted Gallant youths, unmarried also, As an escort to go with them. There this evening will I lead him.

ESCARPIN. Well, I doubt that your prescription Is the best: for fair recluses, Whose sublime pursuits, restricted To celestial things, make even The most innocent thought seem wicked, Are by no means likely persons To divert a man afflicted With this melancholy madness: Better take him into the thickest Throng of Rome, there flesh and bone Goddesses he 'll find, and fitter.-

CLAUDIUS. Ah! you speak but as the vulgar: Is it not the bliss of blisses To adore some lovely being In the ideal, in the distance, Almost as a vision?-

ESCARPIN.
Yes; 'T is delightful; I admit it, But there 's good and better: think Of the choice that once a simple Mother gave her son: she said: "Egg or rasher, which will I give thee?" And he said: "The rasher, mother, But with the egg upon it, prithee". "Both are best", so says the proverb.

CLAUDIUS. Well, if tastes did n't sometimes differ, What a notable mistake Providence would have committed! To adore thee, sweetest Cynthia, [aside Is the height of all my wishes: As it well may be, for am I Worthy, worship even to give her? [Exeunt.


SCENE THE SECOND A Wood near Rome.


(Enter NISIDA and CHLORIS, the latter with a lyre).

NISIDA. Have you brought the instrument?

CHLORIS. Yes.

NISIDA.
Then give it me, for here In this tranquil forest sphere, Where the boughs and blossoms blent, Ruby blooms and emerald stems, Round about their radiance fling, Where the canopy of spring Breathes of flowers and gleams with gems, Here I wish that air to play, Which to words that Cynthia wrote I have set-a simple note.

CHLORIS. And the song, senora, say, What 's the theme?

NISIDA.
A touching strain,- How a nightingale in a grove Singing sweetly of his love, Sang its pleasure and its pain.

Enter CYNTHIA (reading in a book).

CYNTHIA (to herself). Whilst each alley here discloses Youthful nymphs, who as they pass To Diana's shrine, the grass Turn to beds of fragrant roses,- Where the interlac`ed bars Of these woods their beauty dowers Seem a verdant sky of flowers- Seem an azure field of stars. I shall here recline and read (While they wander through the grove) Ovid's 'Remedy of Love.'

NISIDA (to Chloris). Hear the words and air.

CHLORIS.
Proceed.

NISIDA (singing). O nightingale, whose sweet exulting strain Tells of thy triumphs to the listening grove, Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain. But no; but no; for if thou sing'st of love, Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain.

CYNTHIA (advancing). What a charming air! To me What an honour! From this day I may well be vain, as they May without presumption be, Who, despite their numerous slips, Find their words can please the ear, Who their rugged verses hear Turn to music on thy lips.

NISIDA. 'T is thine own genius, not my skill, That produces this effect; For, without it, I suspect, Would my voice sound harsh and shrill, And my lute's strings should be broken With a just and wholesome rigour, For presuming to disfigure What thy words so well have spoken. Whither wert thou wending here?

CYNTHIA. Through the quiet wood proceeding, I the poet's book was reading, When there fell upon my ear, Soft and sweet, thy voice: its power, Gentle lodestone of my feet, Brought me to this green retreat- Led me to this lonely bower: But what wonder, when to listen To thy sweetly warbled words Ceased the music of the birds- Of the founts that glide and glisten? May I hope that, since I came Thus so opportunely near, I the gloss may also hear?

NISIDA. I will sing it, though with shame.

(Sings) Sweet nightingale, that from some echoing grot Singest the rapture of thy love aloud, Singest with voice so joyous and so proud, All unforgetting thou mayst be forgot, Full of thyself and of thy happy lot! Ah! when thou trillest that triumphant strain To all the listening lyrists of the grove, Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain! But no; but no; for if thou sing'st of love. Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!

Enter DARIA.

DARIA. Ah! my Nisida, forbear, Ah! those words forbear to sing, Which on zephyr's wanton wing Thou shouldst waft not on the air. All is wrong, how sweet it be, That the vestal's thoughts reprove: What is jealousy? what is love? That they should be sung by thee? Think this wood is consecrated To Diana's service solely, Not to Venus: it is holy. Why then wouldst thou desecrate it With thy songs? Does 't not amaze Thee thyself-this strangest thing- In Diana's grove to sing Hymns of love to Cupid's praise? But I need not wonder, no, That thou 'rt so amused, since I Here see Cynthia with thee.

CYNTHIA.
Why Dost thou say so?

DARIA.
I say so For good cause: in books profane Thou unceasingly delightest, Verse thou readest, verse thou writest, Of their very vanity vain. And if thou wouldst have me prove What I say to thy proceeding, Tell me, what 's this book thou 'rt reading?

CYNTHIA. 'T is The Remedy of Love. Whence thou mayst perceive how weak Is thy inference, thy deduction From my studious self-instruction; Since the patient who doth seek Remedies to cure his pain Shows by this he would grow better;- For the slave who breaks his fetter Cannot surely love his chain.

NISIDA. This, though not put quite so strong, Was involved in the conclusion Of my lay: Love's disillusion Was the burden of my song.

DARIA. Remedies and disillusions, Seek ye both beneath one star? Ah! if so, you are not far From its pains and its confusions: For the very fact of pleading Disillusion, shows that thou 'Neath illusion's yoke doth bow,- And the patient who is needing Remedies doth prove that still The sharp pang he doth endure, For there 's no one seeks a cure Ere he feels that he is ill:- Therefore to this wrong proceeding Grieved am I to see ye clinging- Seeking thou thy cure in singing- Thou thy remedy in reading.

CYNTHIA. Casual actions of this class That are done without intention Of a second end, to mention Here were out of place: I pass To another point: There 's no one Who with genius, or denied it,- Dowered with mind, but has applied it Some especial track to go on: This variety suffices For its exercise and action, Just as some by free attraction Seek the virtues and the vices;- This blind instinct, or this duty, We three share;-'t is thy delight Nisida to sing,-to write Mine,-and thine to adore thy beauty. Which of these three occupations Is the best-or those that need Skill and labour to succeed, Or thine own vain contemplations?- Have I not, when morning's rays Gladdened grove and vale and mountain, Seen thee in the crystal fountain At thyself enamoured gaze? Wherefore, once again returning To our argument of love, Thou a greater pang must prove, If from thy insatiate yearning I infer a cause: the spell Lighter falls on one who still, To herself not feeling ill, Would in other eyes seem well.

DARIA. Ah! so far, so far from me Is the wish as vain as weak- (Now my virtue doth not speak, Now but speaks my vanity), Ah! so far, I say, my breast Turns away from things of love, That the sovereign hand of Jove, Were it to attempt its best, Could no greater wonder work, Than that I, Daria, should So be changed in mind and mood As to let within me lurk Love's minutest, smallest seed:- Only upon one condition Could I love, and that fruition Then would be my pride indeed.

CYNTHIA. What may that condition be?

DARIA. When of all mankind, I knew One who felt a love so true As to give his life for me, Then, until my own life fled, Him, with gratitude and pride, Were I sure that so he died, I would love though he were dead.

NISIDA. Poor reward for love so great Were that tardy recollection, Since, it seems, for thy affection He, till life is o'er, must wait.

CYNTHIA. Soars thy vanity so high? Thy presumption is above All belief: be sure, for love No man will be found to die.

DARIA. Why more words then? love must be In my case denied by heaven: Since my love cannot be given Save to one who 'll die for me.

CYNTHIA. Thy ambition is a thing So sublime, what can be said?- Better I resumed and read, Better, Nisida, thou shouldst sing, This disdain so strange and strong, This delusion little heeding.

NISIDA. Yes, do thou resume thy reading,