Act.

Par.

Never?

Thou art angry!

Act. Away! have I not cause enough for anger?
Thy parents now grow old, and long for rest;
Thy father, a poor armourer, in the fields,
Labours and toils all day;

Then must he hammer at the forge by night;

And when the tillage rests, that cannot he,
But sets out, laden heavily, as now,
with arms,
To offer them for sale in neighbouring villages.

Par. Poor father!

Act. Poor, poor, indeed! Then I remain at home,
'Tis true; yet go I forth in thought, and carry
With him the burden of the goods: with him I pant
Up the rough mountain's slippery path, and feel
The pelting storms which soak his weary limbs,
And think, that even now, in the dark valley
The wild Allobroges or fierce Allemanni
Attack him, rob him, murder him, perhaps !
Par. O mother, mother!

But thou,

Act. So must I weep, and weep. Thou whom he loves, for whom he e'en would die, For whom he risks his blood, his limbs, his life, Thou, thou mightst spare him from all weariness, Mightst dry my tears, make happy our old age, Be so thyself. But no! thou canst, yet wilt not. Go, go, thou selfish and ungrateful child! [Exit into house Par. [After a pause.] Ungrateful! no, ye gods, that

am I not.

Ungrateful to my father! No! and yet

For me does the rough storm beat on his head;
For me he staggers 'neath his heavy loads,
And totters, panting up the mountain sides.
Yes, yes; I'll show my mother she is wrong;
It shall not be. But yet what would I do?
Unite myself to age, to avarice?
That is to die! to die, 'twere better far!

And once the future lay so bright before me:

There shone the scarce-form'd hope, the mystic joy;

Let all be fancy, love be but a dream ;

All is a fable that adorns our life,

And but the passing day alone is real!

Well, be it so.

Parthenia wakes to duty!

And now, sweet visions of my youth, farewell!
My father now shall labour hard no more,

Shall rest.

Ah! who comes here? 'tis Polydor!

I'll fly, yet no! I will remain: if my happiness

Must be put up for sale, then let the price

Be well secured for which I barter it.

What looks he?

And I his wife.

[Pauses

pride, ill-temper, avarice,
It makes my heart grow cold.
[She approaches her spinning-wheel, at which

Enter POLYDOR.

she sits to work.

Pol. [Soliloquizing.] This will not do, the slave impover

ishes me;

There is no doing without a wife, it must be.

Par. [Aside.] Does he not look as though he had the weight O' the world upon his thoughts? and yet I wager

He only thinks on pigs and geese.

Pol. Nothing replaces Kallinike to me:

She was a true heart, she could work, could save!
But then the armourer's daughter, - could she?
Ah, she is there herself! she's young, she's pretty:
So-yes-no— well, so be it.

[Approaching and addressing PARTHENIA

Good day, fair maid. Good day!

Par. Say, rather, evening, while the Sun is sinking. Pol. Can it be evening while thy bright eyes shine? Par. Away, sir, with fine words! we will speak plainly. They tell me you propose to marry me.

Pol. Ah! that is plain,

that's coming to the point.

Alas! her fond impatience cannot wait.
Yes, yes, such is my thought.

Par. My mother told me so: and yet I wonder
Thy choice should fall on me; how soon, it seems,
You have forgotten Kallinike!

Pol. Forgotten? No, indeed; a man like me
Forgets not gold, nor goods, nor the worth of goods,
And that was she to me; yet weighty reasons
Press on me a new choice, my children

Par. Ay, poor orphans!

Pol. Poor they are not; but they are troublesome,
Gluttonous pigs, — wild, rude, unruly boys.

Shall I, at great expense, hire a schoolmaster
From Samos or Miletus? Gentleness

Best rules rough strength, and thou indeed art gentle.
Par. Gentle! O yes, as gentle as a Lamb

Led to the sacrifice.

Pol. Besides, I'm often far from home; my business Now calls me to the market, now to the harbour:

And shall a slave meanwhile keep house for me,

And farm, and warehouse? guard my well-fill'd coffers?
That only can a wife, only a true wife.

And then, too, I grow old, am often sick:

And who would tend me then? make ready for me
The warm room, and prepare my drink and physic?
Ah! only a fond wife.

Par.

"O, my poor heart!

Pol. 'Tis thou shalt be that wife, and thou shalt make

me

Strong, young again; thy love, my pretty rosebud,—

Par. Away! and listen now to me:

Thou know'st my father tills the fields by day,

And at the anvil works by night, and then

Upon his shoulders carries to a distance
His wares for sale; that he is now in years,

And wants repose: say, then, when I am thine,-
Say, wilt thou think of my poor father?

Pol. Ay, certainly I will; how could I otherwise? Yes, yes, I will, — I will think of thy father.

Par. And do? what wilt thou do for him?

Pol. O, he shall be advanced, for he will be My father-in-law, the father-in-law of Polydor, Of the rich Polydor; and from the gods

My lineage springs:

Think what an honour; from the gods, my child!

Par. But honour gives not food: what wilt thou do?
Pol. Well, in the first place, buy, as hitherto,
His wares at a good price.

Par. At a good price! —That is, good for thyself.
Well, and what more?

Pol. What more! Why, then again, then will I—
Observe me now, and bear in mind, girl, - know
I'll take thee without dowry, yes, entirely
Without a dowry; true as thou'rt alive,

I'll take thee, ay, without a drachma !

Par. But what do for my father?
Pol.

To do? and plenty, too, I think.

Par.

Is not that

No more?

Pol. No more! almost too much.

Par. By all the gods, yes, it is quite too much ; And so, good evening.

[Going

Pol. No, stay,—thou shalt not go without an answer. Par. An answer thou shalt have, and mark it well: Procure your children, sir, a schoolmaster

At any price, and whence you please; a slave
To guard your house, attend to bolts and bars;
Shouldst thou fall sick, there, at the corner yonder,
Go, bid the huckster sell thee wholesome herbs;
Mix for thyself thy medicine and thy drink:
But know, for me there grows no bitterer herb
On Earth than sight of thee! Now mark it well-

This is my answer, thou poor, heartless miser!

So fare thee well, descendant of the gods! [Exit into house.

Pol. [Standing looking after her for a time.] What's
that? did I hear right? she turns me out?
Me, the rich Polydor! The armourer's child
Scorns me, the rich descendant of the gods,
As though I were her father's fellow-workman ;
Disdains me ! mocks me! There's no bitterer herb
On Earth than sight of me! Yes, and it shall
Be bitter to thee, and to others, too.
I'll have revenge! What shall I do? I'll take
No more swords of him, I'll buy up the rights
Of all his creditors, summon him to justice;
I will; I'll drive him from his house and home,
Ay, from the city,-- him and his saucy child.
That will !! Yes; I'll force out his last drachma.
O, I'll not rest until I've had revenge!

[Exit.

ACT II. SCENE I.

The camp of the Alemanni in the Cevennes Mountain.

CHARACTERS: INGOMAR, the barbarian and chief of the Alemanni; PARTHENIA, who has given up herself to the barbarians as a ransom for her father, MYRON. MYRON has been sent back to Massilia, whence he was captured; and, as he is forced along amid the jeers and taunts of the Alemanni, PARTHENIA looks toward him, and speaks:

Par. O, I shall never see him more!
Ing.

For a silly old man, got now a foolish

What! have we

And timid weeping girl? I've had enough

Of tears.

Par.

I will not,

Enough, indeed, since you but mock them!

no, I'll weep no more.

[She quickly dries her eyes, and retires to the background

Ing. That's good; come, that looks well:

She's a brave girl! she rules herself, and, if