  [On the terrace beside the house are seated Persephone, Maia, and Chloris. The afternoon is rapidly waning, and lights are seen to twinkle on the farther shore of the sea. As the twilight deepens, from just out of sight a man's voice is heard singing as follows:] As I lay on the grass, with the sun in the west, A woman went by me, a babe at her breast; She kissed it and pressed it, She cooed, she caressed it, Then rocked it to sleep in her elbow-nest. She rocked it to rest with a sad little song, How the days were grown short, and the nights grown long; We must haste, she sang, while the sky is bright, While the paths are plain and the town's in sight, Lest the shadows that watch us Should creep up and catch us, For the dead walk here in the grass at night. [The voice withdraws farther down the woods, but from a lower istance, in the clear evening, the last stanza is heard repeated. The Goddesses continue silent, until the voice has died away.] Chloris. Rude words set to rude music; but they seem to penetrate to the very core of the heart. Maia. Are you sad to-night, Chloris? Chloris. Not sad, precisely; but anxious, feverish, a little excited. Persephone. Hark! the song begins again. [They listen, and from far away the words come faintly back: For the dead walk here in the grass at night.] Maia. The dead! Shall we see them? Chloris. Why not? These barbarians appear to avoid them with an invincible terror, but why should we do so? Maia. I do not feel that it would be possible for Chloris. We do not know of what we speak, for it may very well be that the barbarians have some experience of these beings. Their influence may be not merely malign, but disgusting. Maia. How ignorant we are! Chloris. Surely, Persephone, you must be able to give us some idea of the dead. Were they not the sole occupants of your pale dominions? Persephone. It is very absurd of me, but really I do not seem to recollect anything about them. Maia. I suppose you disliked living in Hades very much? Persephone. Well, I spent six months there every year, to please my husband. But a great deal of my time was taken up in corresponding with my mother. She was always nervous if she did not hear regularly from me. I really feel quite ashamed of my inattention. Maia. You don't even recall what the inhabitants of the country were like? Persephone. I recollect that they seemed dreadfully wanting in vitality. They came in troops when I held a reception; they swept by.... I cannot remember what they were like—— Chloris. It must have been dreary for you there, Persephone. Persephone. Well, we had our own interests. I believe I did my duty. It seemed to me that I must be there if Pluto wished it, and I was pleased to be with him. But—if you can understand me—there was a sort of a dimness over everything, and I never entered into the political life of the place. As to the social life, you can imagine that they were not people that one cared to know. At the same time, of course, I feel now how ridiculous it was Maia. Demeter, of course, never encouraged you to make any observation of the manners and customs of Hades. Persephone. Oh, no! that was just it. She always said: "Pray don't let me hear the least thing about the horrid place." You remember that she very strongly disapproved of my going there at all—— Chloris. Yes; I remember that Arethusa, when she brought me back my daffodils, told me how angry Demeter was—— Persephone. And yet she was quite nice to my husband [There is a pause. Maia rises and leans on the parapet, over the woods, now drowned in twilight, to the sea, which still faintly glitters. She turns and comes back to the other two, standing above them.] Maia. I, too, might have observed something as I went sailing over the purpureal ocean. But I was always talking to my sisters. The fact is we all of us neglected to learn anything about death. Chloris. We thought of it as of something happening in that world of Hades which could never become of the slightest importance to us. Who could have imagined Maia. Well, now we shall have to accept it, to be prepared for its tremendous approach. Chloris [after a pause]. Perhaps this famous "death" may prove after all to be only another kind of life. [Rising and approaching Maia.] Don't you think this is indicated even by the song of these barbarians? Besides, our stay here must be the ante-chamber to something wholly different. Maia. We can hardly suppose that it can lead to nothing. Chloris. No; surely we shall put off more or less Persephone. One of our priests in Hades, I do remember, sang that silence was a voice, and declared that even in the deserts of immensity the soul was stunned and deafened by the chorus and anti-chorus of nature. Chloris. What did he mean? What is the soul? Maia. I must confess that in this our humility, our corporeal degradation, instead of feeling crushed, I am curiously conscious of a wider range of sensibility. Perhaps that Chloris. In that case, to slough the sheaths of the body, one by one, ought to be to come nearer to the final freedom, and the last coronation and consecration of existence may prove to be this very "death" we dread so much. Persephone. I can fancy that such conjectures as these may prove to be one of the chief sources of satisfaction in this new mortality of ours: the variegated play of light and shadow thrown upon it. Well, Maia. And some of us, depend upon it, will be able to persuade ourselves that we alone can use our eyesight in the pitch profundity of darkness, and these will find a peculiar pleasure in tormenting the others who have less confidence in their imagination. [They seat themselves, and are silent. Far away is once more faintly heard the song, and then it dies away. A long silence. Then, a confused hum of cries and voices is heard, and approaches the terrace from below. The Goddesses start to their feet. From the left appear Silvanus, Alcyone and Fauna, bearing the body of Cydippe, which they place Chloris [in an excited whisper]. Is this our first experience of the mystery? Fauna and Alcyone. She is dead! She is dead! Maia. The first of the immortals to succumb to the burden of mortality! Silvanus. Where is Æsculapius? Call him, call him! Maia. He cannot bring back the dead. Persephone. What has happened? Cydippe is livid, Silvanus [to Chloris]. She was gathering a little posy of your wild flowers—eyebright, and crane's bills and small blue pansies, when—— Fauna. There glided out of the intertwisted fibres of the blue-berries a serpent—— Alcyone. Grey, with black arrows down the spine, and a flat, diabolical head—— Fauna. And Cydippe never saw it, and stretched out her hand again, and—see—— Silvanus. The viper fixed his fangs here, in the blue division of the vein, here in her translucent wrist. See, it swells, it darkens! Fauna. And with a scream she fell, and swooned away, and died, turning backwards, so that her hair caught in the springy herbage, and her head rolled a little in her pain, so that her hair was loosened and tightened, and look, there are still little tufts of blue-berry leaves in her hair. Silvanus. But here comes Æsculapius. [They all greet Æsculapius, who enters from the left, with his basket of remedies.] Persephone. Ah! sage master of simples, this is a problem beyond thy solution, a case beyond thy cure. Æsculapius [to the goddesses]. You think that Cydippe is dead? Maia. Unquestionably. The savage viper has slain her. Æsculapius. Then prepare to behold what should seem a greater miracle to you than to me. But, first, Silvanus, bind a strip of clothing very tightly round the upper part of her arm, for no more than we can help of those treasonable messengers must fly posting from the wound to Cydippe's heart. Persephone [sententiously]. It can receive no more such messages. Æsculapius. I think you are mistaken. And now, Fauna, a few drops of water in this cup from the trickling spring yonder. That is well. Stand farther away from Cydippe, all of you. Persephone. What are those pure white needles you drop into the water? How quickly they dissolve. Ah! he lays the mixture to Cydippe's wound. She sighs; her eyelids close; her heart is beating. What is this magic, Æsculapius? Æsculapius. Do not tell your husband, Persephone, or he will complain to Zeus that I am depriving him of his population. But if there is magic in this, there is no miracle. [To [They carry Cydippe forth. Persephone, Maia, and Æsculapius remain.] Maia. Then—she was not dead? Æsculapius. No; it was but the poison-swoon, which precedes death, if it be not arrested. Maia. How rejoiced I am! Persephone. One would say your joy had disappointed you. Maia. No, indeed, for I am attached to Cydippe, but oh! Persephone, it is strange to be at the very threshold of the mystery—— Persephone. And to have the opening door shut in our faces? Perhaps ... next time ... they may not be able to find Æsculapius. |
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