Complete Works of Anatole France
Page 403
Our union imperfect be for ever.
O thrice unfortunate, who found’st me fair,
Return no more, return but to despair.
Light not his way, O stars, to any port!
Breezes who swell his sails in gentle sport,
Night’s mystic breath, if in you I may find
A soul and understanding dear and kind,
Visit his sacred bark who comes to claim
Me, who alas! may no more speak his name.
And if he sleep and dream of love and me
Let him not wake to bitter memory,
But sigh away my image from his eyes.
Let him forget! One day ‘neath sunset skies
Some tranquil hearth may smile when he shall come,
Some maiden he shall find and lead her home.
Happier than I, if holding him less dear,
Ah, that ‘twere possible....
A distant chorus of youths, singing a bridal song.
Hymen, Hymen, fair and fleet,
Hesperus is high.
Come, the darkened hours fly,
Haste on shining feet.
DAPHNE.
... but I seem to hear
A choir invisible and far-off cries
Which hail a virgin to new-risen skies.
The chorus draws near.
Come, for night is short withal,
Fit for lovers’ vows.
Hasten, bearing on thy brows
Thy green coronal.
DAPHNE.
With festal flowers, see, their locks are crowned,
For she has promised and is faithful found.
Chorus nearer.
Come, O ruler shod with gold,
Hymenaios hail!
See, the virgin yet is pale
At thy greeting bold.
DAPHNE.
Friends come not near, oh, draw not nigh, dear friends.
Yet unadorned, though one on me depends,
On my sad brow no sweet amaracus
Entwines its heavy blossoms odorous.
“The chorus goes its way, and — more distant...
Beauty shines from out her form
Meet for thine intent;
Hymen, ever draw content
From her bosom warm.
DAPHNE.
Where fades their song, where leads their festal rout?
My lover’s friends will never seek me out!
Would I not, I, within the chamber brought,
Have spread a fragrance with ambrosia fraught?
Thine alien bride, O Hippias, will she prove
Of heart more faithful, better worth thy love?
O silent night, O lonely hour and cold!
On earth and on mankind I loose my hold.
[She detaches her gold ring from her finger.
O fountain, where, men say, in days of yore
The nymphs knew depths of love beyond our lore,
O childhood’s fount, O dear and sacred spring,
Receive a Christian maid’s last offering.
O spring be faithful — in thy bosom cold
Hide for all time my loosened ring of gold.
With other hopes did I receive this ring.
[She throws her ring into the fountain.
Rejoice, O God, who lovest suffering!
PART II.
The portico of the house of HERMAS. The columns are covered with red stucco to within reach, The entablature is of white marble. Outside can be seen among climbing plants a Hermes in wood. Under a veil which screens the hot sunlight, women slaves are seated. Some are spinning wool, others weave stuff or broider hangings, THEOGNIS the bishop enters. He wears a low mitre and carries a crozier of white wood.
SCENE I.
Female slaves, the bishop THEOGNIS.
THEOGNIS.
May peace be with you, daughters. At your sight
I know your hearts incline to do the right;
Busied about your tasks you clearly strive
Like honey-bees in a well-ordered hive.
Pleasing it is to see the shuttle speed
In hands that spin for those who are in need.
Praise to Kallista, mistress whose wise will
Orders such work and thus employs your skill.
Say, Phrygia, thou on whom her love is spent,
Is it, then, past, the malady which bent
The head and knees of one so strong in good,
Even as sleep dispels a troublous mood?
[Enter KALLISTA — the women slaves go away.
SCENE II.
KALLISTA and THEOGNIS.
KALLISTA.
Bishop Theognis, peace be thine till death.
How doth this household, founded in the faith,
After the twelvemonth it must wait and yearn,
With all rejoicing welcome thy return!
O Pastor, let my hands embrace thy knees!
What kept thee, were it not the faithless seas?
THEOGNIS.
A Tyrian vessel swift on agile oars
Took me unerringly to distant shores.
My dazzled eyes have seen that sight untold
Egyptian Alexandria, built of gold;
Its citizens, its statued palaces;
Its writings of the Gentiles and the wise
In cedar stored, a city of the dead;
And, praised be God, have six times witnessed
His Holy Word in contest overcome
The long-lived lie, tradition’s foolish hum.
But to his flock the shepherd comes afresh.
The illness, then, that hath consumed thy flesh
Hath left thee, woman, and no longer grieves?
God, at His will, afflicts us and relieves.
Restored to health thou think’st to pay thy vows
With tender gift, the daughter of thy house.
Thy welcome letter thus acquainted me.
KALLISTA.
What comes to pass I may not keep from thee.
Great things hath God accomplished for my good.
To thee I trust this child in whom my blood
Stirs, O Theognis, that thy saving hand
Ordain her lectrice in the novice band.
THEOGNIS.
Yea, I will lead her to the sacred house
As bride-elect of the Immortal Spouse.
But, thou art prudent, ere thou canst afford
An offering agreeable to the Lord
There needs a victim glad to pay the price,
A joyful heart, and prompt to sacrifice.
The virgin in the Canticles they bring
Perfumed with myrrh and sweet oils to the King:
In such wise should the bride of Him above
Exhale like precious nard her proffered love.
Say then, O woman, does thy Daphne grieve?
Her family, her home, these can she leave;
Her occupations, joys, and friends renounce,
All lingering hopes and loves permitted once?
Even as the traveller parts at break of day,
Girded her vestal robe, to take her way
Leaning upon the staff of Faith, where He
Awaits and calleth to her, “Come to Me!”
KALLISTA.
Know, then, my daughter, who abounds in grace,
No longer thinks or moves in this world’s ways.
From mirth and tears withdrawn she long hath ceased
To share the pagan festival and feast,
Her father’s joys. Sequestered all the year
She knows interior peace and silent prayer.
This vain and empty world she doth reject.
THEOGNIS.
Praise be to God! The mark of the elect!
The Master saith, “Who loves Me and would see
My Kingdom must leave all and follow Me.”
To-morrow when the Lord His heavens shall fill
With stars, and night descend, and all be still,
Wh
en I have offered Divine Sacrifice
At martyrs’ tombs who sing in Paradise,
My pastoral staff shall knock upon thy door;
At the third hour, then, welcome me once more,
Give me the child close-veiled and girdled well
That I may lead her whither God doth dwell,
And there her sacred hopes shall be attained
By imposition of hands and rites ordained.
O woman, thou shalt see her years increase,
Virgin and deaconess, and wax in peace,
Carrying folded in the linen stole
The bread of orphans and the widow’s dole,
And offering each day the altar wine
The solemnizing priest shall make divine.
Glad tree, transplanted to the sacred sward,
To blossom and bear fruit before the Lord!
O woman, blessèd be thy womb, and blessed
The Holy Trinity thou hast confessed!
KALLISTA.
So may it be. — [THEOGNIS goes.
SCENE III.
KALLISTA.
Chorus of vine-dressers singing in the road.
The god ferments, and, floating on the brink
Of the deep vat, our wooden cups are swirled.
O friends, I seem to be, the while I drink,
One with the gods, the masters of the world.
KALLISTA.
They chant their songs obscene.
Our song shall rise upon another scene
When to the heavenly vintage, child, we bear
Our purple grapes, where angel feet and fair
The fragrant must shall tread, and mystic wine
Flow thence, a liquor for the use divine.
Chorus.
If Myrrhina in mockery unbenign
Approach and laugh, and flee as flees the kid,
A naiad mingles with the blessed wine
Who loves me true, nor doth my kiss forbid.
SCENE IV.
HERMAS.
Crushed in the vat, the grapes spurt forth their blood!
Woman, thy thought is clouded by thy mood,
Though wits to thee the gods have not denied.
Surely the wife whose home is yet her pride,
Rejoiceth when the master’s stores increase.
Be glad to-day and take thy proper ease.
A heavy vintage. Io! the black grapes
Brim o’er the press — the heady flow escapes;
Iacchus smiles. The household he befriends,
And the strong back of youthful manhood bends
Under the basket filled by smiling maids,
Maidens whose locks the leafy tendril braids.
They, too, sustain the heavy loads of fruit,
But in the winepress with light rosy foot
Tread not the grapes, where youths, and they alone,
Crush out the wine to song of measured tone.
For with firm foot the winepress must be trod
Ere the rich hidden juices will exude.
The elders, whose dry lips the wine anoints,
Feel a sly warmth unlock their stiffened joints;
They dance and shake abroad their hoary hair,
In shade of woods the maiden sleepeth, fair.
The young man goes in quest. Iacchus bids,
Inciting him to do unlawful deeds.
Let us enjoy the good the gods provide!
And Daphne, she my glory and my pride,
Daphne, my daughter, crown of mine old age,
Should smiling come and in our joys engage.
KALLISTA.
Hermas, our real joy in suffering lies,
It but seems sadness to your human eyes;
Holy it is and hidden. “Watch and pray.”
And “Woe to the scoffer,” so the Scriptures say.
Not as the widow, thou, who, comforted,
Goes to the feast, singing, with unveiled head.
Daphne with flowers for the banquet crowned
Drinks not with Gentiles when the cup goes round.
Hermas! with mirth and song time goes apace,
The hour is nigh... none saved except by grace!
HERMAS.
I am no augur, and thy words remain
Unread — a mortal man must guess in vain.
The very Sphinx, fertile in riddled lure,
Enwrapped her rhymes in darkness less obscure.
Thy wits are troubled by some god, maybe;
Maybe a charm or poison works in thee.
[KALLISTA goes forth.
SCENE V.
HERMAS.
Woman is often ailing and distraught,
And evil humours work upon her thought,
And, if at times she hath the gift to see
Things that the gods veil in obscurity,
Yet fury and raving speech and wantonness
Work in her blood and spoil her graciousness.
Such ill is held inspired; but all things ill
Mean that some god possesses us at will.
A god lends woman charm us men to tame,
A god, again, acquaints her youth with shame;
Yet in her spring a virgin’s fancies roam,
For some old nurse, at nightfall, in the home,
Lets drop the distaff; her lips pendulous
Moisten no more the thread, but garrulous,
Tell of a fair god dying in his youth.
The wound smiles red upon the pallor smooth
Of his so comely side, fragrant as myrrh.
The maiden lists; she sees, the words so stir.
Of Dionea hears the old belief,
How with dishevelled hair unbound, in grief,
She calls and weeps; how by her sweet mouth touched
Awakes to life the dear god rosy-couched.
Women each year, though husbands look askance,
Thus weep Adonis with loud utterance,
And to the sounding cymbal, sad and slow,
Go fill the shady groves with sounds of woe.
Others seek Krestos in sepulchral night.
Yet are these gods not fair in name or sight
Whom death hath spoiled, and who demand our tears.
The gods I serve are joyous. Hence these cares.
Give me dark wine, and spiced food to eat.
A slave approaches.
Child, deck my brow with hyacinth, and set
All Syrian perfumes on the maple board.
Zeus, and Lyaeos, thou his son, our lord,
Of this, your wine, I first libation pour
To you, then fill the flower-wreathed cup once more.
Wine wakens godlike thought in aged men,
And makes them live their happy past again.
Memory is sweet to one whose life was full,
Dead men drink not, their days are dark and null.
Mussels are good when eaten in the shell,
Shell-fish, moreover, child, grow plump and swell
When the new moon above their ocean bed
Lifteth her thin white horn far overhead.
Artemis walks with those who rule our sphere;
Her pale untainted face makes dark things clear.
Endeavour, child, to learn from such as I
Our gathered knowledge of the woods, the sky,
The clouds, the mountains, and the great grey sea;
Thou, when these mighty things inhabit thee,
Do thou thy task with swiftness and with skill
Like a good servant, none shall use thee ill.
I see a stranger nearing my abode
Welcome and salutation be bestowed!
The gods his guide. Run, child, whoe’er he be
Tell him his coming hither honours me,
And that my prosperous house shall pour him wine.
SCENE VI.
HERMAS and HIPPIAS.
HIPPIAS.
Greeting threefold, old Hermas, father mine! —
HERMAS.
Hippias of Thera, Lakon’s son, well met!
Greeting! To kindly gods I am in debt
Who to my house restore thy cherished head!
And that these eyes, whence light has all but fled,
A happy dream should see, thee disembarked!
With a white stone this happy day be marked!
O son of Lakon, wreath of ivy green,
Ancestral vessels, cups of silver sheen,
Meat, and all fruits, and dark wine shall be laid
For thee, that, thy just hunger being stayed,
Thou mayst acquaint me, dear and honoured guest,
How fares thy father, first of men and best.
HIPPIAS.
He tends his vine and oft he speaks of thee,
But years have sapped his vigour.
HERMAS.
It must be.
What thou art now so was he once. There rise
Old days, our early youth, before mine eyes.
Tall was he, of thy stature at thine age;
Of equal brow. The elders held him sage
Ere yet the virgin beard showed on his lip.
Firmly he bore the wine-skin on his hip.
For men in those days were more vigorous far,
And better men, than their descendants are.
He is a happy man, thy father! Good is life!
For from a mighty spirit we derive.
The boy will throw the knuckle-bones and jest.
The youth, the ardent blood within his breast
Unquiet, by dusk willows seeks the maid.
White-haired, with load of many years o’erweighed,
Within the porch, under the starlit night,
In wise discourse the old man takes delight.
Whether thy days bring honey or black gall
Accept the thread of life Fate spins for all.
He whose disordered passions end his breath
Hath wished to live, and known not life but death.
Beware of vain desire and keen regret.
HIPPIAS.
Great longing fills my heart, for it is set
On her who is thy daughter, honoured friend,
On her I love and on the wished-for end.
My heart is hers, in her my sole delight.
Far have I roamed, seen the Ausonian might,
Tibur, Neapolis, Paestum, and the coast
Of far Anconia, lands the Caesars boast,
Gardens, arbutus groves, and mulberries,
And orchards rosy with all fruitful trees,
The bounteous corn-lands and the clustered vine
Turning the sunlight on the hills to wine.
The grape grows kindly in a loosened earth
Where rainy skies bring growth of barren worth.
I lent attentive ear to native speech,
But long the days and empty, out of reach