-50_Rodogune-Act Three-Scene-2.htm

A hall in the palace.
Rodogune, Eunice.

RODOGUNE  

God gave my heart and mind; they are not hers
To force into this vile adultery.
I am a Parthian princess, of a race
Who choose one lord and cleave to him for ever
Through death, through fire, through swords, in hell, in heaven.

EUNICE

The Queen's too broken. It was Phayllus said it.
He has leaped into the saddle of affairs
And is already master. What can we hope for,
Left captive in such hands? Not Syria's throne
Shall you ascend beside your chosen lord,
But as a slave the bed of Timocles.

RODOGUNE

If we remain! But who remains to die ?
In Parthian deserts, in Antiochus' tents!
There we can smile at danger.

EUNICE

Yes, oh, yes!
Deserts for us are safe, not Antioch. Come.

Antiochus and Philoctetes enter from without.

ANTIOCHUS

I sought for you, Eunice, Rodogune.

To saddle! for our bridal pomp and torches

Are other than we looked for.

Phayllus enters from within with Theras.

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PHAYLLUS

Today, no later.
The Egyptian rebel ravishes our queen!
Help! help!

ANTIOCHUS  

Off, Syrian weasel!

He flings off Phayllus and goes out with
Eunice, Rodogune, Philoctetes.

PHAYLLUS

Theras, pursue them!

Theras hastens out; Phayllus

rushes to the window.

Antiochus escapes! Oppose him, sentinels.
A thousand pieces for his head! he's through.
O for a speedy arrow!

Timocles enters with Cleone.

TIMOCLES

Who escapes ?

PHAYLLUS

Thy brother, forcing with him Rodogune,
And with them fled Eunice.

TIMOCLES

Rodogune!

PHAYLLUS

By force he carried her.

TIMOCLES

O no, she went
Smiling and glad. O thou unwise Phayllus,
Why dost thou stay with me, a man that's doomed?
He will come back and mount his father's throne

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And rule the nations. Why would'st thou be slain?
All, all's for him and ever was. I have had
Light loves, light friends, but no one ever loved me
Whom I desired. So was it in our boyhood's days,
So it persists. He is preferred in heaven
And earth is his' and his humanity.
Even my own mother is a Niobe
Because he has renounced her.

PHAYLLUS

I understand,

Seeing this, the reason.

TIMOCLES

Why should he always have the things I prize ?
What is his friendship but a selfish need
Of souls to unbosom himself to, who will share,
Mirror and serve his greatness ? Yet it was he
The clear discerning Philoctetes chose;

Upon his shoulder leaned my royal uncle
Preferring him to admonish and to love;

On me he only smiled as one too light

For praise or censure. What's his kingliness

But a lust of grandiose slaughter, an ambition

Almost inhuman and a haughty mind

That lifts itself above the highest heads

As if his mortal body held a god

And all were mean to him ? Yet proudest men,

Thoas, Theramenes, Leosthenes,

Become unasked his servants. What's his love?

A despot's sensual longing for a slave,

Carnal, imperial, harsh, without respect,

The hunger of the vital self, not raised,

Refined, uplifted to the yearning heart.

Yet Rodogune, my Rodogune to him

Has offered up her moonlit purity,

Her secret need of sweetness. O she has

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Unveiled to him her sweet proud heart of love.
She would not look at me who worshipped her.
You too, Phayllus, go, Cleone, go
And serve him in his tents: the future's there,
Not on this brittle throne with which the gods
In idle sport have mocked me.

PHAYLLUS

There must be a man

Somewhere with this!

CLEONE

You shall not speak so to him.
Look round. King Timocles, and see how many
Prefer you to your brother. I am yours,
Phayllus works for you, princely Nicanor
Protects you, famed Callicrates supports.
Your mother only weeps in fear for you,
Not passion for your brother.

TIMOCLES

Rodogune
Has left me.

PHAYLLUS

We will have her back. Today
Began, today shall end this rash revolt.
Rise up. King Timocles, and be thyself,
Possess thy throne, recover Rodogune.

TIMOCLES

I cannot live unless you bring her back.

PHAYLLUS

That is already seen to. My couriers ride
Before them to Thrasyllus on the hills.
Their flight will founder there.

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TIMOCLES

O subtle, quick
And provident Phayllus! Thou, thou, deviser,
Art the sole minister for me. Cleone,
The gods have made thee wholly beautiful
That thou might'st love me.

He goes out with Cleone.

PHAYLLUS

Minister! That's something,

Not all I work for.

(to Theras who enters)

Well?

THERAS

He has escaped.
Your throw this time was bungled. Chancellor.

PHAYLLUS

I saw this rapid flight, but afterwards ?

THERAS

The band of Syrian Phliaps kept the gates.
We shouted loud, but he more quick, more high,
Like some clear-voiced Tyrrhenian trumpet cried,
"Syrians, I am your king," and they at once,
"Hail, glorious King!" and followed at his word,
Galloping, till on the Orient road they seemed
Like specks on a white ribbon.

PHAYLLUS

Let them go.
There's yet Thrasyllus. Or if he returns,
Though gods should help, though victory march his friend,
I am here to meet him.

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