Gycia Part 4

_Meg._ (_advancing with formal bows_). My lady, I am enchanted (_bows again; then takes several steps to the right, then to the left, and bows_). What a wonderful good fortune! Ever since I had the honour to see you just now, I have only lived in the hope of seeing you again.

_Mel._ (_curtsying_). Oh, my lord, you great courtiers can find little to interest you in our poor little Court and its humble surroundings.

_Meg._ Madam, I beg! not a word! I was just thinking that you exactly resembled the late divine Empress.

_Mel._ Oh, my lord, forbear! The Empress! and I have never been out of Cherson! You flatter me, you flatter me, indeed. That is the way with all you courtiers from Constantinople. Now, if you had said that my Lady Gycia was beautiful----

_Meg._ My dear lady, I do not admire her in the least. She has no manners, really--nothing, at any rate, to attract a man of the great world; a mere undeveloped girl, with all the pa.s.sion to come. No, no, my good lady, give me a woman who has lived. We courtiers know manners and breeding when we see them, and yours are simply perfect, not to say Imperial.

_Mel._ What a magnificent nature! Well, to say the truth, the Lady Gycia is not at all to my taste. It is a cold, insipid style of beauty, at the best; and she is as self-willed and as straitlaced as a lady abbess. I suppose she is well matched with the Prince Asander?

_Meg._ Well, he is a handsome lad enough, and virtuous, but weak, as youth always is, and pliable. Now, for myself, I am happy to say I am steadfast and firm as a rock.

_Mel._ Ah, my lord, if all women saw with my eyes, there would not be such a run after youth. Give me a mature man, who has seen the world and knows something of life and manners.

_Meg._ What an intelligent creature! Madam, your sentiments do you credit. I beg leave to lay at your feet the a.s.surance of my entire devotion.

_Mel._ Oh, my lord, you are too good! Why, what a dear, condescending creature!--the manners of a Grand Chamberlain and the features of an Apollo!

_Meg._ Permit me to enrol myself among the ranks of your humble slaves and admirers (_kneels and kisses her hand_). But hark! the music, and I must marshal the guests to the banquet. Permit me to marshal you.

[_Exeunt with measured steps._

SCENE IV.--_The garden without the banqueting-room. Moonlight. The sea in the distance, with the harbour._

ASANDER _and_ GYCIA _descend the steps of the palace slowly together.

Music heard from within the hall._

_Asan._ Come, Gycia, let us take the soft sweet air Beneath the star of love. The festive lights Still burn within the hall, where late we twain Troth-plighted sate, and I from out thine eyes Drank long, deep draughts of love stronger than wine.

And still the minstrels sound their dulcet strains, Which then I heard not, since my ears were filled With the sweet music of thy voice. My sweet, How blest it is, left thus alone with love, To hear the love-lorn nightingales complain Beneath the star-gemmed heavens, and drink cool airs Fresh from the summer sea! There sleeps the main Which once I crossed unwilling. Was it years since, In some old vanished life, or yesterday?

When saw I last my father and the sh.o.r.es Of Bosphorus? Was it days since, or years, Tell me, thou fair enchantress, who hast wove So strong a spell around me?

_Gycia._ Nay, my lord; Tell thou me first what magic 'tis hath turned A woman who had scoffed so long at love Until to-day--to-day, whose blessed night Is hung so thick with stars--to feel as I, That I have found the twin life which the G.o.ds Retained when mine was fas.h.i.+oned, and must turn To what so late was strange, as the flower turns To the sun; ay, though he withers her, or clouds Come 'twixt her and her light, turns still to him.

And only gazing lives.

_Asan._ Thou perfect woman!

And art thou, then, all mine? What have I done, What have I been, that thus the favouring G.o.ds And the consentient strength of hostile States Conspire to make me happy? Ah! I fear, Lest too great happiness be but a snare Set for our feet by Fate, to take us fast And then despoil our lives.

_Gycia._ My love, fear not.

We have found each other, and no power has strength To put our lives asunder.

_Asan._ Thus I seal Our contract with a kiss.

[_Kisses her._

_Gycia._ Oh, happiness!

To love and to be loved! And yet methinks Love is not always thus. To some he brings Deep disappointment only, and the pain Of melancholy years. I have a lady Who loves, but is unloved. Poor soul! she lives A weary life. Some youth of Bosphorus Stole her poor heart.

_Asan._ Of Bosphorus saidst thou?

And her name is?

_Gycia._ Irene. Didst thou know her?

_Asan._ Nay, love, or if I did I have forgot her.

_Gycia._ Poor soul! to-day when first we met, she saw Her lover 'midst thy train and swooned away.

_Asan._ Poor heart! This shall be seen to. Tell me, Gycia, Didst love me at first sight?

_Gycia._ Unreasonable, To bid me tell what well thou knowest already.

Thou know'st I did. And when did love take thee?

_Asan._ I was wrapt up in spleen and haughty pride, When, looking up, a great contentment took me, Shed from thy gracious eyes. Nought else I saw, Than thy dear self.

_Gycia._ And hadst thou ever loved?

_Asan._ Never, dear Gycia.

I have been so rapt in warlike enterprises Or in the nimble chase, all my youth long, That never had I looked upon a woman With thought of love before, though it may be That some had thought of me, being a Prince And heir of Bosphorus.

_Gycia._ Not for thyself; That could not be. Deceiver!

_Asan._ Nay, indeed!

_Gycia._ Oh, thou dear youth!

_Asan._ I weary for the day When we our mutual love shall crown with marriage.

_Gycia._ Not yet, my love, we are so happy now.

_Asan._ But happier then, dear Gycia.

_Gycia._ Nay, I know not If I could bear it and live. But hark, my love!

The music ceases, and the sated guests Will soon be sped. Thou must resume thy place Of honour for a little. I must go, If my reluctant feet will bear me hence, To dream of thee the livelong night. Farewell, Farewell till morning. All the saints of heaven Have thee in keeping!

_Asan._ Go not yet, my sweet; And yet I bid thee go. Upon thy lips I set love's seal, thus, thus.

[_Kisses her. They embrace._

Good night!

_Gycia._ Good night!

[_Exit_ GYCIA.

_Enter_ IRENE _unperceived._

_Asan._ Ah, sweetest, best of women! paragon Of all thy s.e.x, since first thy ancestress Helen, the curse of cities and of men, Marshalled the hosts of Greece! But she brought discord; Thou, by thy all-compelling sweetness, peace And harmony for strife. What have I done, I a rough soldier, like a thousand others Upon our widespread plains, to have won this flower Of womanhood--this jewel for the front Of knightly pride to wear, and, wearing it, Let all things else go by? To think that I, Fool that I was, only a few hours since, Bemoaned the lot which brought me here and bade me Leave my own land, which now sinks fathoms deep Beyond my memory's depths, and scarce would deign To obey thee, best of fathers, when thy wisdom Designed to make me blest! Was ever woman So gracious and so comely? And I scorned her For her Greek blood and love of liberty!