Part 7 (1/2)
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.--_The same._
MEGACLES, COURTIERS; _afterwards_ ASANDER.
_Meg._ Well, my lords, two years have pa.s.sed since we left our Bosphorus, and I see no sign of our returning there. If it were not for that delightful Lady Melissa, whose humble slave I am always (Courtiers _laugh_), I would give all I am worth to turn my back upon this scurvy city and its republican crew. But my Lord Asander is so devoted to his fair lady--and, indeed, I can hardly wonder at it--that there seems no hope of our seeing the old sh.o.r.es again. I thought he would have been off long ago.
_1st Court._ A model husband the Prince, a paragon of virtue.
_2nd Court._ Well, there is no great merit in being faithful to a rich and beautiful woman. I think I could be as steady as a rock under the like conditions.
_3rd Court._ Well, mind ye, it is not every man who could treat the very marked overtures of the fair Lady Irene as he did. And he had not seen his wife then, either. No; the man is a curious mixture, somewhat cold, and altogether constant, and that is not a bad combination to keep a man straight with the s.e.x. Poor soul! do you remember how she pursued him at Bosphorus, and how she fainted away at the wedding? They say she is coming back speedily, in her right mind. She has been away ever since, no one knows where. That solemn brother of hers conveyed her away privily.
_1st Court._ I hate that fellow--a canting hypocrite, a solemn impostor!
_2nd Court._ So say we all. But mark you, if the Lady Irene comes back, there will be mischief before long. What news from Bosphorus, my Lord Megacles?
_Meg._ I have heard a rumour, my lord, that his Majesty the King is ailing.
_1st Court._ Nay, is he? Then there may be a new King and a new Queen, and we shall leave this dog-hole and live at home like gentlemen once more.
_3rd Court._ Then would his sacred Majesty's removal be a blessing in disguise.
_2nd Court._ Ay, indeed would it. Does the Prince know of it?
_Meg._ I have not told him aught, having, indeed, nothing certain to tell; but he soon will, if it be true. But here his Highness comes.
_Enter_ ASANDER.
My Lord Asander, your Highness's humble servant welcomes you with effusion.
[_Bows low._
_Asan._ Well, my good Megacles, and you, my lords. There will be ample work for you all ere long. The Lady Gycia is projecting a great festival in memory of her father, and all that the wealth of Cherson can do to honour him will be done. There will be solemn processions, a banquet, and a people's holiday. Dost thou not spy some good ceremonial work there, my good Megacles? Why, thou wilt be as happy as if thou wert at Byzantium itself, marshalling the processions, arranging the banquet, ushering in the guests in due precedence, the s.h.i.+powner before the merchant, the merchant before the retailer. Why, what couldst thou want more, old Trusty? [_Laughs._
_Meg._ Ah, my Lord Prince, your Highness is young. When you are as old as I am, you will not scoff at Ceremony. This is the pleasantest day that I have spent since your Highness's wedding-day. I thank you greatly, and will do my best, your Highness.
_Asan._ That I am sure of, good Megacles. Good day, my lords, good day. [_Exeunt_ MEGACLES _and_ Courtiers.
_Enter_ Messenger.
_Mess._ My Lord Asander, a messenger from Bosphorus has just landed, bringing this letter for your Highness.
_Asan._ Let me see it. (_Reads_) ”Lysimachus to Asander sends greeting. Thy father is failing fast, and is always asking for his son. Thou art free, and must come to him before he dies. I have much to say to thee, having heard long since of a festival in memory of Lamachus to be held shortly. I will be with thee before then. Be ready to carry out the plan which I have formed for thy good, and will reveal to thee. Remember.”
My father ailing?
And asks for me, and I his only son Chained here inactive, while the old man pines In that great solitude which hems a throne, With none but hirelings round him.
Dearest father, I fear that sometimes in the happy years Which have come since, my wandering regards, Fixed on one overmastering thought, have failed To keep their wonted duty. If indeed This thing has been, I joy the time has come When I may show my love. But I forget!
The fetters honour binds are adamant; I am free no more. Nay, nay, there is no bond Can bind a son who hears his father's voice Call from a bed of pain. I must go and will, Though all the world cry shame on my dishonour; And with me I will take my love, my bride, To glad the old man's eyes. My mind is fixed; I cannot stay, I cannot rest, away From Bosphorus. (_Summons_ Messenger) Go, call the Lady Gycia.
(_Resumes_) Ay, and my oath, I had forgotten it.
I cannot bear to think what pitiless plot Lysimachus has woven for the feast.