LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Shelf. .ZaB^Z7 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. BEATRICE A TRAGEDY IN FOUR ACTS. BY / / BOSTON, MASS.: , ^p. oA y^'j;^ N. Wilson & Co., Publishers, V ^ ''uV 112 Beach Street. ^^Xj^WAjHW'^'^ / COPVRICHTED, 1892. A^Z rights reserved. TMP92-008692 INTRODUCTION. -THE storv of Beatrice is founded just before the period of Pericles' supreme 1 control of the Government of Athens, and extends until within a few years before his death, /. e., between 470 and 432 B. C. . , r ,• Philotas, an ambitious but unscrupulous scoundrel, having become tired of his beautiful young wife Adrene, and ashamed of his child on account of his deformity, had them abducted sixteen years before the opening of the first scene of the play. Adrene was sold into slavery, but the boy was kept by Mardonius, Chief of the pirate gang, with whom he lived until his ambition to become a sculptor led him to abandon their reckless life and seek his fortune in Athens. The fact of his leaving the pirates leads Mardonius to demand the balance of the money Philotas was to pav for the abduction of his wife and child. The place of meeting was at a secluded spot in Alimus, on the coast of Greece, where the mother and child lived happily be- fore their abduction. Philotas is brought to Mardonius by his men. At first he refuses to accede to the demand of the pirates, but agrees to do their bidding when threatened with the exposure of his villany. Adrene, who has escaped from her captivity, visits the scene of her former home, where she meets Philotas, and takes him to task for his brutality. Thinking she is in league with the pirates, and that they have deceived him regarding her death, he strangles her. Troilus, whose name has been changed by Mardonius to Agoracritus, visits the place to take a farewell of his childhood's home, when he is recognized by his dying mother, who, before her death, tells him of the brutal act of Philotas, but left him ignorant of his relationship, hearing which, he swears revenge. In Athens, Agoracritus works at copying the statues in the Parks, and lives in a cave outside the city, with Beatrice, a child whom he found in the arms of a woman whom he supposed was killed by lightning. Cassandra, daughter of the wealthy Timotheus, having met Agoracritus m the parks of Athens, engaged in copying statues, became greatly interested in his career, which interest soon ripened into love, and through her influence Phiedias consents to receive him as a pupil, she informing Agoracritus of this fact while in the park, fronting the Temple of Eumenides. A tempest approaching, she leaves for home. Agoracritus remaining to finish the copy upon which he is engaged, but is soon interrupted in his labor bv a number of people who seek shelter in the park, and who stone him, making him break his work. Enraged at these acts he takes hold of the miscreant, but is stopped by Philotas from doing further harm. Philotas has, by this time, obtained an enviable position in the government of Athens, but his identity is unknown to Agoracritus. He at first threatens the sculptor with impris- onment, but changing his mind, orders him to leave the city. While alone the storm rages; Agoracritus is nearly heartbroken by the sentence, but is encouraged by the appearance of his adopted child. While in each other's embrace, Cassandra suddenly enters and warns him of the approach of several officers, headed by Philotas, who, with the rabble, were returning to arrest him for assaulting a citizen. Agoracritus, learning of Philotas' identity, springs upon him, but is overpowered by the officers. Hearing Cassandra's cry for him to seek shelter in the Temple of Eumenides, where the fugitive is safe, he releases himself from their grasp and gains this asylum, leaving his pursuers powerless to do him further harm. By the influence of Cassandra, Agoracritus obtains a pardon and is received as a pupil by Phiedias, under whose instruction he becomes a sculptor of great ability, and during the ten years which elapse between the second and third acts, has become an idol of the people, while Beatrice has developed into a famous beauty, of whom Aspasia, the mistress of Pericles and a leader of fashion, is jealous. During this period Cassandra has been given by her father to Philotas in marriage, but the par- ticulars of the affair is unknown to Agoracritus, who thinks she has trifled with his love. A banquet is given by Aspasia in honor of Agoracritus, the real purpose, however, being to get Beatrice under the control of Philotas. Agoracritus and Cas- sandra meet at this feast, for the first time since her marriage, when an explanation follows, and they resign themselves to their hopeless love. During the festivitives of the banquet Cassandra becomes insane and rushes from the scene; she is followed by Ago- racritus and a few others, when, at a signal from Philotas, an old woman named Cretheus and a number of people enter. Cretheus, claiming Beatrice as her daughter, attempts to force the child to leave with her. Beatrice's cries are heard by Agoracritus, who rushes to her assistance. Philotas, by a speech to the people, tells them not to tolerate interference by Agoracritus, who has no legal claim upon her. Agoracritus calls upon the people to show their justice, and demands proof of Cretheus' relation, ship. The appeal wins the people and turns the tide of public approval in his favor, and he is allowed to keep Beatrice until proofs are furnished. In the last Act, Alcibi- ades notifies Agoracritus that the claim of Cretheus is only a scheme of Philotas and Aspasia to ruin Beatrice and give her in the power of Philotas, who desires her as his mistress, and unless Agoracritus can prove the relationship of the child they would obtain their purpose. He also informs him -of the death of Cassandra. Agora- critus tells Beatrice of the truth of his relationship and the manner in which she was found. Cretheus precedes the party who were to take the child, and overhears the confession. Agoracritus and Beatrice leave the room, when Aspasia, Philotas and others enter. Agoracritus is called upon to restore the child to the woman, but Cretheus stops them with the declaration that Beatrice is not hers, but the daughter of Aspasia, she being nurse to Aspasia fifteen years before, the child being taken from her when she lay unconscious from the effects of a stroke of lightning. Aspasia calls upon Agoracritus for her daughter, when he draws aside a curtain and discloses the dead form of Beatrice lying at the foot of a statue of Nemesis (which had been executed by Agoracritus under the supervision of Philotas, for the Government, the marble being left by the Persians during their unsuccessful invasion of Greece, and from which a Venus was to be carved), Beatrice being the model, but Agoracritus altered it to a Nemesis to commemorate his revenge. After exposing his work Agoracritus springs upon Philotas and stabs him, telling him, as he does so, of the murder of his mother. Philotas, dying, recognizes Agoracritus and tells him he is his father. He then takes his own life. It may be unnecessary to inform my readers that the incidents in this drama have no historical value, being purely ideal. The only truth being the fact that Agoracritus of Paros, a favorite pupil of Phiedias, after being invited in competition with an Athenian sculptor, to make a statue of Venus, and his work being given second honors, so exasperated him that he altered the statue to a Nemesis. What remains of this work of art was discovered a few years ago, and is now in the \'atican Museum. DRAMATIS PERSONS. MALES. Agoracritus. — A deformed sculptor. Philotas. — His father, MardoniUS. — Chief of the pirates. Appementus. — His heutenant. Bethoron. — > „ > Pirates. DORISCUS. — S Alcibiades. — An Athenian soldier. TiMOTHEUS. — Father of Cassandra. FEMALES. Adrene. — First wife of Philotas and mother of Troilus, who was afterward named Agoracritus. Cassandra. — Daughter of Timotheus, second wife of Philotas. ASPASIA. — Filling the place of wife to Pericles. Beatrice. — Adopted child of Agoracritus. Cretheus. — Nurse. Citizens, guests, soldiers, ballet girls, musicians, etc. BEATRICE. ACT I. SCENE: NIGHT. A dilapidated dwelling and garden on the coast of Alimus. The harbor in the background. A number of pirates lounging around, drinking. SONG, n RATES. To-day we'll haste to quaff our wine as if to-morrow ne 't- would shine, But if to-morrow comes, why then we'll haste to quaff our wine again. For death may come with brow unpleasant, May come when we least wish him present, And beckon to the sable door, and grimly bid us drink no more. {All laugh loudly) . DORISCUS. The night is hot, fill full. APPEMENTUS. More wine, ye slaves ! ALL. Aye! Aye! More wine. {Slaves fill goblets) . BETHORON. I'll wager an hundred drachma this journey is fruitless. What say you Doriscus? DORISCUS. He will not come. (^Drinks). APPEMENTUS. Philotas will be all too anxious to yield to our demand for neglect of tribute. Mardonius' love for the boy, Agoracritus, has kept us from our share of the booty. BETHORON. Sixteen years ago, when in our galley we carried off mother and son, by the order of Philotas, the chief promised immedi- ate division. DORISCUS. When the mother was sold as a slave in Persia, did we not account us satisfied? BETHORON. The boy, too, would have brought a good price. APPEMENTUS. We consented to Mardonius keeping Agoracritus as his share. DORISCUS. And where is that prize now? Left the chief so that he could make statues in- Athens. Ha! Ha! APPEMENTUS. I wish the boy had stayed with us. BETHORON. What good was he? APPEMENTUS. You know full well, than he, none of us was braver. He'd face the Furies themselves. ( Whistles heard, instantly all confusion). BETHORON (/// cliff). 'Tis Mardonius, ( Enter Mardonius) . MARDONIUS. Appementus, is every avenue of approach guarded? APPEMENTUS. It is, Mardonius. I, myself, have looked to the guard. MARDONIUS. We are dealing with one who would not hesitate to take advantage of us, and are on forbidden grounds here. Doriscus, see that the boats are in readiness. An attempt may be made to surprise and overpower us. (Exit Dorisais over cliff). Bethoron, you watch the approach of this Philotas, and conduct him hither. Comes he attended, give warning. Appementus stays with me. The rest out of sight, but keep within hearing. (Exit all but Mardonius and Appementus). It nears the ap- pointed hour. We'll take no risks with Philotas. This is not the first time that I have dealt with such as he. He will not refuse to come, when old Mardonius calls. Ha, ha ! When we abducted his wife and child, he claimed their presence kept him from wealth and power. Since then he has gained both, so it is but fair that he should pay tribute to those who aided him. Let me see, Appementus, how many years have gone by since then? APPEMENTUS. Some sixteen, Mardonius. MARDONIUS. Ye gods, how time flies. (Looks at house scrutinisingly .) It has wrought great changes here. Methinks I hear the mother's shriek as we tore the child from her arms. A fitting spot for a meeting with the husband and father, Philotas. No signal? APPEMENTUS. None ; he will not come. MARDONIUS {fiercely). Not come! not come! Why — Oh patience, Mardonius, patience ! APPEMENTUS. You are in a strange mood to-night, chief. MARDONIUS. The parting with the boy, Agoracritus, APPEMENTUS. You have taken hundreds of brats and sold them. MARDONIUS. True, but I took to this one from the first, for his Spartan courage and his talents. APPEMENTUS. He was a strange one. MARDONIUS {enthiisiastically) . Such grit — we all liked him, did we not Appementus? APPEMENTUS. He had few enemies among us. MARDONIUS. True, true. Ah, I cherished the hope he would one day take my place-at the head of my band. Poor boy, I hope his Hfe will be happy ; ours did not hold his heart, so I gave him his freedom. ( Loud lohistle tvithouf) . APPEMENTUS. The signal. MARDONIUS. 'Tis he. Retire Appementus, but keep close at hand. {^Exit Appemeiitits). Now, then, to see of what kind of metal this brave General Philotas is made. {Philotas enters) . MARDONIUS. So, Philotas, you did not fear to meet old Mardonius? PHILOTAS. Fear? (^looking about suspiciously). Why have you sent for me? MARDONIUS. I have business with you, my brave Philotas. PHILOTAS. Transact it with the utmost haste. My absence from the city will be noticed. MARDONIUS. I have sent for you to demand full settlement for removing certain incumbrances from Philotas' path. PHILOTAS. Why have you chosen this spot? MARDONIUS. So that the aspiring Philotas might better appreciate the great service rendered him. PHILOTAS. Cease, Mardonius. Wh}' have you been silent all these years ? MARDONIUS. Our generous natures permitted us not to trouble Philotas while he was poor. Through our aid he is now at the pinnacle of fame, and we demand our due. PHILOTAS. What sum do you ask? MARDONIUS. Five thousand drachma, PHILOTAS. You are mad, Mardonius. MARDONIUS. Not SO. PHILOTAS. And this money is to be paid — MARDONIUS. Within a month, at this spot. PHILOTAS {aside). I will seemingly comply, and in the meantime devise a way to circumvent them all. (Aloud). I yield to Mardonius on condition that you give me assurance that the woman and child are dead. MARDONIUS. The woman was sold into Persia. Troilus is dead. PHILOTAS. You are not playing me false? MARDOXIUS. No. PHILOTAS {aside). Free, free at last ! At last the demon of uncertainty has glided from off my path. {^Alond). And now, I think this in- terview may come to an end. My galley waits, Mardonius, Remember, we meet again. MARDONIUS. Within a month. {Going up cliff). PHILOTAS. Within a month. MARDONIUS. Fail not, or Athens may know that their rising idol sold a trusting wife and a helpless child into slavery. ( Exit Ma rdo n ins ) . PHILOTAS {implying a threat). We will meet again, but not alone — cursed be you, Mar- donius. Adrene dead — the child dead — what have I to fear? At the appointed time these several galleys by me commanded, will encompass and destroy the pirate crew, who share with me the secret of my life'. Ah ! the pages of history record not the deeds of its noblest heroes, it is to the memory of its destroyers, whose hands have reeked with its heart's warm blood, that humanity builds its grandest towers. Ask it to name the reward it offers the benefactors of our race, and it will scornfully answer, "death and persecution." Well, I have made myself the trusted friend and adviser of Pericles. (Shouts of the pirate crew hi the distance; Philotas pauses and listens; shouts continued. Philotas goes up cliff, looking off). Mardonius is setting sail, he has given me. his trust. You ghoulish fiends ! I'll keep faith with you, meet you within a month. Within a month, but not alone. (Exit off cliff) . {Enter Adrcne). ADRENE. This is the hour when Death's twin sister, Sleep, sits heaviest on the senses, when, wrapt in its soothing folds, life's pains and pleasure are alike forgot. How chill the night air falls upon me ; even the stars have vanished, as though wearied of their ceaseless vigil, have wrapt their forms in cloud-woven sheets and sunk to peaceful slumber. A fitting time for me, a fugitive from bondage, lured by affection, to seek those fields on whose rich verdure in years long past I have often stayed my hunger. Alas ! I find the pastures where my love would feed, overgrown with weeds, and those childish scenes which in fond remembrance always retain their freshness, now marked by desolation. Ah, me ! Here is the house, but void of life. Ah, you deserted walls ! If you could speak, what tales you could unfold ! But you are silent, and the injustice you have witnessed must remain a secret to all but to those who suffer. My child ! my child ! where are you to-night? There is the room where oft I lulled him into peaceful, childish sleep, but those walls no more enclose his form, perhaps the grave performs that office now. Ah, me ! why will clouds obscure our sunlight? Why has the dirge of sorrow the power to hush the song of happiness? {PJiilotas comes down, Adrene starts and listens). Did I hear a footstep? But why should I fear? That step again, some one is approaching, I must secrete my- self until they pass. I have no wish to be seen, {^Hides be- hind wall of house. During Philotas' soliloquy, Adrene has quietly moved to the doorway, and stands there zvith the moon- light streaming upon her) . {Philotas comes down cliff) . PHILOTAS. Methinks I heard a voice. {Pause). A voice akin to Adrene's. {Pause). There it is again. {Listens ivith fear). The unsounding blow of silence shatters my nerves, I will away to my galley. These quiet scenes of nature give no solace to a mmd corrupt by ambition. Philotas ! PHILOT.\S {startled). Ad rene ADRENE. Have I taken on an unnatural form that you stand amazed? PHILOTAS. Adrene, not dead ! ADRENE. Vile wrecker of my life, what brings you to this spot at this still hour of night? Do your brutal acts haunt you? Does sleep refuse its office? Where is my child, you monster? Oh that the gods would for a moment grant me strength to tear your form apart ! Incestuous beast ! Does that breast contain no heart? Has vice and crime taken such possession of you that nothing but your shape remains? PHILOTAS. Cease this tirade, or I'll dumb your voice by force. ADREXE. Threaten as you will, monster, I care not. I defy you ; you have done your worst. You have wrecked my life, and doomed me to a living death. Lured me from my home when a girl, and with your lying tongue poured such tales of love in my ears, that I forgot the world held 'aught but you. PHILOTAS. Cease, ill may betide you. ADRENE. Oh, that words could express the hate that I bear you ! Tell me, fiend, where is my child, from whose birth commenced your brutality? Answer, where is he? So that I may acquaint him with your cursed deeds and invoke his vengeance. Where is he, speak ! PHILOTAS. Ask the pirate gang, whose tool you are, perhaps they can tell you. ADRENE. You sold that tender child to pirates? Was it not enough to wreak your hatred on me? Must you also destroy my child? Oh, ye gods, if you have vengeance stored that was not too great to hurl at crime yet committed by man, launch it at his cursed head, and scatter to the wind the form of this monster. PHI LOTAS. Enough, I'll hear no more. {Strangles her). ADRENE. Help, Help ! PHILOTAS. Your cries are useless, I have my wish. My hands now clasp your throat, and I'll not release my hold till death shall make you silent. Curse you! {Throws her on the stage). I, the aspiring Philotas, play pupil to a woman who has oft bid me follow a conscience well directed. Ha ! Ha ! How I hate the word ! That mawkish sentiment, which at the contempla- tion of great deeds hides its -pale face in fear, then waits to see if success attends the act before it gives approval. Why, it is on the ashes of their conscience men build ambition's towers. Why, then, should I build mine upon a less secure foundation? I put on the clownish garb of honesty, and with unnatural tricks and antics amuse a thieving world — oh, no, my ambi- tion leads me not in untrodden paths, the beaten track best suits me. Now I am free, and nothing stands to hinder me from power. But how has it been attained? Thought never planned a deed so base, but it could find a heartless ghoul standing in readiness to execute; such an one am I. I, who, was my form as dark shaded as my heart, its shadow would eclipse the sunlight. Farewell, you simpering, love-sick fool, all fears of your presence to avert my plans are now ended. {Exit). {Enter Ago racri tics). AGORACRITUS. This is the place, but like the body of a friend whose motion death has stilled, the life that gave it thought and expression has vanished. Is the sight of this deserted spot the only reward of my toilsome journey? Why this longing in the human breast to visit its childhood's home? Is it the remembrance of the pure joys we experienced, ere the rasping friction of man's injustice blunts our finer sensibilities and lowers the scale of action, or is it because the divine part of our nature, which philosophers term the soul, when freed from earth by death, love to linger o'er these spots, hallowed by such sweet recollections, and thus by the invisible chord of sympathy draw the minds of their late loved ones toward them, a longing that not only hugs us in our waking hours, but even when sable-mantled sleep wraps us in its folds and makes us unconscious of Time's shifting scenes, paints with its silent hand in life-like colors those cher- ished scenes on our minds, whose beauty make us oblivious ,to all else. It was but a short time since, when sleeping under the spreading branches of an olive tree, that this unseen artist began his work. I dreamed that once again I was a child ; a mother's care still guarded me ; in playful glee around those now deserted halls I ran, till, tired of my play, I sought her arms, and with my head reclining on her breast, listened to her song, a gentle lullaby. While enjoying the ecstacy of maternal love, the thrill of pleasure stirred the tide of consciousness, and I awoke to find myself still an outcast, the moon and stars my silent watchers. Oh, that the sweet vision had but lasted until my eyes had grown weary, and this throbbing heart had ceased to beat ! Home, it is the last time that I shall ever visit you. I will walk around, gaze in the windows, and in imagination see the form of her whose blessed smile shall light its walls no more. (Walks doivn garden path). That form — can it be? {Rises to her feet by the aid of the rocks). AGORACRITUS {returning). Farewell, dear spot, the thought of once more gazing upon you has cheered long, weary hours, but the chief attraction has vanished. Home, without a mother's face to brighten it, is as gloomy as the canopy of heaven when obscured by the thunder clouds. ADRENE {aside). 'Tis he. AGORACRITUS {seeing her by the dim light) . Ah, what is that ! Thou midnight visitor to this deserted home, if flesh and blood make up your form, or matter finer than that of which we mortals dream compose your shape, speak ! If the melodious pipes of speech hold lodgment in your throat, announce the purpose of your coming. I fear you not, then why fear me? If human passions animate you, if you are an outcast, hungry, homeless and friendless, be not afraid ; in all these, aye, more, you have a counterpart in me. ADRENE. Whom do you seek? AGORACRITUS. That voice ! A short time since I heard it in my dreams. Who are you, speak, and break this terrible suspense. ADRENE. Your mother. AGORACRITUS. That word, with accents steady, again voice out, that I may feel assured illusion's folly no longer laughs at reason. ADRENE. Troilus, fear not. AflORACRITUS. Troilus, at the mention of that name all doubts have van- ished, and in the heart long shadowed in despair the flickering light of hope shines out. My mother ! My mother ! {^Embraces her). ADRENE. My child ! My child ! For this great pleasure let us thank the gods. AGORALRITUS. Of all their favors unto mortal, none greater ere was granted. ADRENE. So great, my child, that its fulfilment has almost dumbed my voice, and bereft my limbs of motion. AGORACRITUS {taking her to a seat in the garden). Here, mother, is a seat on which in years gone by you have often sat; recline upon it, and while the midnight air stirs the leaves in gentle murmurs at its intrusion, I'll listen to the music of your voice. Relate your life since last we met. ADRENE. The thought of once more seeing you has sustained me through weary years of captivity, from which I recently escaped. AGORACRITUS {violently). You have been in captivity? ADRENE. Yes, a slave, with all the horror the name implies. AGORACRITUS. The cause, mother? Who did this? I will tear his black- ened heart from out his breast. ADRENE. Calm thyself, anger is but insanity's frail mask. AGORACRITUS. How can I be calm when I listen to your wrongs, mother? ADRENE. They are almost ended, AGORACRITUS. That does not banish the remembrance of the treachery. His name, my mother? ADRENE {fain/Iy). Think no more of what he has done ; support me with your arms, I grow weaker. AGORACRITUS. You are ill, dear mother, this is not the place for you. I must take you hence. ADRENE. Wearied of my long journey, I sought this, my former home, that under this midnight sky, with the sweet recollections of my early life for companion, I could close my eyes in death. ACiORACRlTUS. Death ! Speak not of that stern separator. ADRENE. I am dying. Already I feel those beating throbs that meas- ure out our lives, grow fainter. Hold me firmer. I have seen he who sold me, he has just completed his work. AGORACRITUS. Mother, there are marks of violence upon your throat. Who did this? Oh, ye gods, what beastly hearts the human form conceals ! Who did this? (Adre}ie swoons). Speak to me, mother. ADRENE {recoverijig). The chilly hand of death grows colder. His name, mother? Philotas. Philotas ! AGORACRITUS. ADRENE. AGORACRITUS. ADRENE. Press your lips to mine, there let me sleep. (^Dies). AGORACRITUS. Dead, dead, and I am left alone. Philotas ! Ye gods, ye gods, if in your hands you hold the thread of life, and spin it at your will, snap not the chord too quick that holds this wretch to earth. When once I clutch his throat, draw life out, let slow- ness govern action, aye, prolong it as you will, I will not relax my hold until my hands shall teach him how a hunchback takes revenge. ENU ACr I. ACT II. Scene. — One of the Parks in Athens, in which are seen several statues. The Temple of Eumenides in the distance. i^Entei' Cassandra, hnyking a round expectantly) . CASSANDRA. Not here? He was to finish the copy for me, and it is now past the hour of appointment ; something detains him. How happy you will be, Agoracritus, when you hear the good news I bring, and to make you happy is my only thought, — but how will our love end? {Enter Agoracritus) . Agoracritus? AGORACRITUS. Daughter of Timotheus, I am late, but you seem surprised at my coming. CASSANDRA. You know the thought of pleasure in anticipation often agitates us. We are thrilled much more when pleasure comes upon us unexpected. AGORACRITUS. Does my presence give you such pleasure? CASSANDRA. How can you ask? But you have my copy, may I look at it? AGORACRITUS {handing her the copy). I fear that to the eyes of those who have admired the works of the masters, it will show but Httle merit. CASSANDRA. I fear you are too severe a critic of your abihty; I should say that this work possesses great merit, but I suppose my judgment in such matters has but little weight, since to him who can create, alone belongs the right to criticise. AGORACRITUS. In that you differ from the majority of people. Art al- ways finds its severest censure from those having the least ability to create. CASSANDRA. A mere pretence, thinking that by finding fault with the work of others to assume to the eyes of the world the posses- sion of ability that nature never gave them. The criticism of him who can show the imperfections of the work of others in his own superior creations, are alone worthy of notice. Don't your friends think as I? AGORACRITUS. Friends? Deformity and poverty possess no power to attract to their holder, friendship. CASSANDRA. Do not speak of your deformity, it is but slight. It is your great love of the beautiful that magnifies it. AGORACRITUS. It is kindness that forms your words, but I am too conscious of the imperfections of my shape to be deceived. The friend- ship of the world I never expect. Copying these beautiful statues serves to divert my mind from those unpleasant thoughts, for when alone in the cave I call my home, on Mount Hymettus, the remembrance of them often overpowers me. CASSANDRA. But your parents, are they dead? AGORACRITUS. Cassandra, to no mortal have I told the secret of my life. My father I never knew, my mother was murdered, and to avenge her death is the incentive that urges me on, often against my will ; without it, my love for you and my art would not sustain me in my privations. CASSANDRA. Hush, let Time inflict punishment with the stinging blows of memory ; rather let the knowledge that the gods have given you great talent be the prompter to stir you onward. Live happy in my love and your art; the reward of genius is sure to attend you, AGORACRITUS. I have already had the first part of that reward. CASSANDRA. In what way? AGORACRITUS. In being cursed while living, the latter part, in being praised when dead, concerns me less. CASSANDRA. And you have no desire to leave behind a name that shall stand famous in art? AGORACRITUS. Why should I? Fame holds no power to check the dissolv- ing forces of nature, to gild with joy or taint with sorrow the dreams" of those who sleep the silent sleep of death. CASSANDRA. Though we may often suffer, we cannot deny that life holds many pleasures. AGORACRITUS. Neither do I. If the flower possess a repugnant odor, yet we may admire the beauty of its form and color. I am but a plain man, and a poor painter of human nature ; my sketches I make in black and white, their coloring I leave to those who succeed in buying without detection the honor of the world, with counterfeit money, which stands as a rebuke to the ability of the gods who have declared that these can only be purchased with pure and honest coin. CASSANDRA. Why hold such a dreary view of life? AGORACRITUS. I trust life will always turn its brightest side towards you, Cassandra, but do not be too sanguine; friends oft prove treacherous. CASSANDRA. I think mine never will. AGORACRITUS. I hope not ; but should it ever happen, I could give you advice that would help sustain you when you recoil beneath the blow. CASSANDRA. Let me hear it. AGORACRITUS. Place confidence in no one ; credit your friends with carrying beneath the cloak of policy the basest traits of human nature. If the cloak be always worn, think that self-interest and principle prompts their action ; should they become exposed to view, you would be spared the suffering of misplaced confidence. CASSANDRA. I cannot think that you would always follow this advice yourself. Do you think that I would prove treacherous to you ? AGORACRITUS. A beautiful woman's charms are irresistible ; under their influence wise men put on the garb of fools, and natural cowards aspire to heroic deeds. Their glow can melt the icy case of virtue, while their touch seduces truth. CASSANDRA. Then you admit that you are susceptible to female charms? AGORACRITUS. I suppose I am part human. CASSANDRA. Part human, do not talk so. AGORACRITUS. Why not? How does this hunchback trunk appear by the side of well-formed manhood? A creature so hideously deformed that it would seem as though nature, in anger at the human race, wishing to show^^how loathsome it could make a human form appear, had in its construction made visible its most terrible conception. CASSANDRA. Your deformity is so slight that to affection's eye its crooked lines reflect no shadow ; but forgive me, my dear, for not telling you that I have the promise of Phiedias that you shall have his instructions. AGORACRITUS. You have done this for me, Cassandra? I cannot realize that an object of ridicule like me can hold the affections of one so beautiful. CASSANDRA. To me you are all that is good ; my heart was yours from the first. AGORACRITUS. Darling, I fear something may happen to change your love, our positions in life are so different. CASSANDRA. True love, Agoracritus, like withered, rose leaves spread, retain their fragrance although the flower is dead. It forms for the heart a rich repast, on which to feed while life shall last. AGORACRITUS {kissing her) . I could press forever the lips that gave forth such sweet sound ; but you must away, a tempest is approaching, already the people are seeking shelter. CASSANDRA. Farewell for the present. AGORACKITUS. Farewell. (Ca.'sa;n/ra zvithdraws a few steps, then taking a flower from her breast, kisses it and gives it to Agoracritus ; she then exits). AGORACRITUS {pressing tJie flower to his lips). May the gods of Athens ever bless you ! I promised her I should complete this copy, it will take but a few moments. (Becrins to work on a small statuette). Oh, Philotas, this kmd- ness" gives your life a longer term for action. {While he ts working the rabble rush in shouting, -The hunchback, the hunch- back," and throw dirt at htm) . Stop, do not torment me, I am busy. RABBLE. The hunchback, the hunchback ! AGORACRITUS. Why will you persist in tormenting me? I love you all, and would not harm you. Go and leave me. RABBLE. The hunchback, oh, look at the hunchback ! {One oft/ie men throws a stone ivhich strikes Agoracritus, causing him to let his work fall, breaking it). AGORACRITUS. Fiends, demons ! {He rushes at one of the men and catches him by the throat). Curse you, you stone me for amusement. {Enter Philotas, pulling Agoracritus from the man). PHILOTAS. Villain, release that man. AGORACRITUS. He Struck me with a stone and made me break my work. PHILOTAS. Is that the reason why you would kill him ? AGORACRITUS. I would not kill him, the coward. PHILOTAS. The prison is the place for you, you deformed dog, and there you will go. AGORACRITUS. I, to prison, what mean you? PHILOTAS. This is the second time you have been the centre of such a scene. I will now see that you are placed where you can do no further harm. AGORACRITUS (aside). To prison! My child would starve. {Aloud). Oh, have mercy! You see before you a creature hunted by man and despised by the gods, one on whose care a tender child depends for bread and happiness ; do not increase her misery by sending me to prison. PHILOTAS. If not to prison, then you must leave the city. AGORACRITUS. Leave Athens, and return to the old life? Never. PHILOTAS. Silence ! Leave the city, I say, and remember, if you are again found within its walls, you go to prison. Now go. {Exit Philotas,folloK