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The colonnade of a house in Antioch, overlooking the sea.
Antiochus, Philoctetes.
ANTIOCHUS
The summons comes not and my life still waits.
PHILOCTETES
Patience, beloved Antiochus. Even now
He fronts the darkness.
ANTIOCHUS
Nothing have I spoken
As wishing for his death. His was a mould
That should have been immortal. But since all
Are voyagers to one goal and wishing’s vain
To hold one traveller back, I keep my hopes.
O Philoctetes, we who missed his life,
Should have the memory of his end! Unseen
He goes from us into the shades unknown:
We are denied his solemn hours.
PHILOCTETES
All men
Are not like thee, my monarch, and this king
Was great but dangerous as a lion is
Who lives in deserts mightily alone.
Admire him from that distance.
ANTIOCHUS
O fear and base suspicion, evillest part
Of Nature, how you spoil our grandiose life!
All heights are lowered, our wide embrace restrained,
God’s natural sunshine darkened by your fault.
We were not meant for darkness, plots and hatred
Reading our baseness in another’s mind,
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But like good wrestlers, hearty comrades, hearty foes,
To take and give in life’s great lists together
Blows and embraces.
PHILOCTETES
A mother’s love, a mother’s fears
Earn their excuse.
ANTIOCHUS
I care not for such love.
O Philoctetes, all this happy night
I could not sleep; for proud dreams came to me
In which I sat on Syria’s puissant throne,
Or marched through Parthia with the iron pomps
Of war resounding in my train, or swam
My charger through the Indus undulant,
Or up to Ganges and the torrid south
Restored once more the Syrian monarchy.
It is divinity on earth to be a king.
PHILOCTETES
But if the weaker prove the elder born ?
If Timocles were Fate’s elected king?
ANTIOCHUS
Dear merry Timocles! he would not wish
To wear the iron burden of a crown;
If he has joy, it is enough for him.
Sunshine and laughter and the arms of friends
Guard his fine monarchy of cheerful mind.
PHILOCTETES
If always Fate were careful to fit in
The nature with the lot! But she sometimes
Loves these strange contrasts and crude ironies.
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ANTIOCHUS
Has not nurse Mentho often sworn to me
That I, not he, saw earth the first ?
PHILOCTETES
And when
Did woman’s tongue except in wrath or malice
Deliver truth that’s bitter?
ANTIOCHUS
Philoctetes,
Do you not wish me to be king?
PHILOCTETES
Why left I then
Nile in his fields and Egypt slumbering
Couchant upon her sands, but to pursue
Your gallant progress sailing through life’s seas
Shattering opponents till your flag flew high
Sole admiral-ship of all this kingly world ?
But since upon this random earth unjust
We travel stumbling to the pyre, not led
By any Power nor any law, and neither
What we desire nor what we deserve
Arrives, but unintelligible dooms
O’ertake us and the travesty of things,
It is better not to hope too much.
ANTIOCHUS
It is better
To lift our hopes heaven-high and to extend them
As wide as earth. Heaven did not give me in vain
This royal nature and this kingly form,
These thoughts that wear a crown. They were not meant
For mockery nor to fret a subject’s heart.
Do you not hear the ardour of those hooves ?
My kingdom rides to me.
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He hastens to the other end of the colonnade.
PHILOCTETES
O glorious youth
Whose young heroic arms would gird the world,
I like a proud and •’anxious mother follow,
Desiring, fearing, drawn by cords of hope and love,
Admire and doubt, exult and quake and chide.
She is so glad of her brave, beautiful child,
But trembles lest his courage and his beauty’
Alarm the fatal jealousy that watches us
From thrones unseen.
Thoas and Melitus enter from the gates.
THOAS
Are these the Syrian twins?
PHILOCTETES
The elder of them only, Antiochus
Of Syria.
THOAS
Son of Nicanor! Antiochus
The high Seleucid travels the dull stream
And Syria’s throne is empty for his heir.
ANTIOCHUS
A glorious sun has fallen then from heaven
Saddening the nations, even those he smote.
It is the rule of Nature makes us rise
Despite our hearts replacing what we love,
And I am happy who am called so soon
To rule a nation of such princely men.
Are you not Thoas ?
THOAS
Thoas of Macedon.
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ANTIOCHUS
Thoas, we shall be friends. Will it be long
Before we march together through the world
To stable our horses in Persepolis?
He turns to speak to Timocles who has
just entered and goes into the house.
MELITUS
This is a royal style and kingly brow.
THOAS
The man is royal. What a face looks forth
From under that bright aureole of hair!
TIMOCLES
I greet you, Syrians. Shall I know your names ?
MELITUS
Melitus. This is Thoas.
TIMOCLES
Melitus?
Oh yes, of Macedon.
MEHTUS
No, Antioch.
TIMOCLES
It is the same.
We talked of you in Alexandria and in Thebes,
All of you famous captains. Your great names
Are known to us, as now yourselves must be
Known and admired and loved.
MELITUS
Your courtesy
Overwhelms me; but I am no captain, only
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The King’s poor chamberlain, your servant come
To greet you.
TIMOCLES
Not therefore less a cherished friend
Whose duty helps our daily happiness. ,
Thoas, your name is in our country’s book
Inscribed too deeply to demand poor praise
From one who never yet has drawn his sword
In anger.
THOAS
I am honoured. Prince. Do not forget
Your mother is waiting for you after eighteen years.
TIMOCLES
My mother! O, I have a mother at last.
You lords shall tell me as we go, how fair
She is or dark like our Egyptian dames,
Noble and tall or else a brevity
Of queenhood. And her face — but that, be sure,
Is the sweet loving face I have seen so often
In Egypt when I lay awake at night
And heard the breezes whispering outside
With many voices in the moonlit hours.
It is late, Thoas, is it not, a child to see
His mother when eighteen years have made him big?
This, this is Paradise, a mother, friends
And Syria. In our swart Egypt ’twas no life, —
Although I liked it well when I was there;
But O, your Syria! I have spent whole hours
Watching your gracile Syrian women pass
With their bright splendid faces. And your flowers,
What flowers! and best of all, your sun, not like
That burning Egypt, but a warmth, a joy
And a kind brightness. It will be all pleasure
To reign in such a country.
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ANTIOCUS
(returning from the house)
Let us ride
Into our kingdom.
TIMOCLES
Antioch in sweet Syria,
The realm for gods, and Daphne’s golden groves,
And sweet Orontes hastening to the sea!
Ride by me, Melitus, tell me everything.
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