Chapter 6Scene 2

The same. Eunice, Rodogune.

Heaven had a purpose in my servitude! I will believe it.

EUNICE

One sees not now such men. What a calm royalty his glances wield! We are their subjects. And he treads the earth As if it were already his.

All must be. I have lived a slave, yet always held myself A nobler spirit than my Grecian lords; But when he spoke, O, when he looked at me, I felt indeed the touch of servitude And this time loved it.

EUNICE

O, you too, Rodogune!

I too! What do you mean? Are you, Eunice —

EUNICE I mean, our thorny rose Cleone too Has fallen in love with pretty Timocles.

You slanderer! But I thought a nearer thing That ran like terror through my heart.

EUNICE

And so You love him?

What have I said, Eunice? what have I said? I did not say it.

EUNICE

You did not say it, no! You lovely fool, hide love with blushes then And lower over your liquid love-filled eyes Their frightened lashes! Quake, my antelope! I’ll have revenge at least. O sweet, sweet heart, My delicate Parthian! I shall never have Another love, but only Rodogune, My beautiful barbarian Rodogune With the tall dainty grace and the large eyes And vague faint pallor just like twilit ivory.

My own Eunice!

They embrace. Phayllus enters.

PHAYLLUS (stroking his chin)

I always hated waste.

EUNICE Your steps too steal, Phayllus?

PHAYLLUS

I have a message.

EUNICE I do not like the envoy. Find another And I will hear it.

PHAYLLUS

Come, you put me out.

EUNICE Of your accounts? They say there is too much You have put out already for your credit.

PHAYLLUS You’re called. The Queen’s in haste, Cleone said.

Eunice goes. Parthian, will you be Syria’s queen or no? I startle you. The royal Timocles By your beauty strives ensnared. Don not your mask Of modesty, keep that for Timocles. I offer you a treaty. By my help You can advance your foot to Syria’s throne: His bed’s the staircase and you shall ascend, Nor will I rest till you are seated there. Come, have I helped you? Shall we be allies?

You speak a language that I will not hear.

PHAYLLUS Oh, language! you’re for language, all of you. Are you not Parthia’s daughter? do you not wish To sit upon a throne?

Not by your help, Nor as the bride of Syrian Timocles. What are these things you speak?

PHAYLLUS

Weigh not my speech, But only my sincerity. I have a tongue Displeasing to all women. Heed not that! My heart is good, my meaning better still.

Perhaps! But know I yearn not for a throne. And if I did, Antiochus is king And not this younger radiance.

PHAYLLUS

That’s your reason? You are deceived. Besides he loves you not Nor ever will put on a female yoke. Prefer this woman’s clay, this Timocles And by my help you shall have empire, joy, All the heart needs, the pleasures bodies use.

I need no empire save my high-throned heart, I seek no power save that of sceptred love, I ask no help beyond what Ormuzd gives. Enough. I thank you.

PHAYLLUS

You’re subtler than these Greeks. Must he then pine? Shall he not plead his cause?

I would not have him waste his heart in pain If what you say is true. Let him then know This cannot be.

PHAYLLUS

He will not take from me An answer you yourself alone can give.

I think you parry to be more attacked.

Think what you will, but leave me.

PHAYLLUS

If you mean that, The way to show it is to let him come. You feign and do not mean this, or else you would Deny him to his face.

I will; tell him to come.

PHAYLLUS I thought so. Come he shall. Remember me.

He goes out.

I did not well to bid him come to me. It is some passing fancy of the blood. I do not hear that he was ever hurt But danced a radiant and inconstant moth Above the Egyptian blossoms.

Timocles enters hastily, hesitates, then rushes and

throws himself at the feet of Rodogune.

TIMOCLES

Rodogune! I love thee, princess; thou hast made me mad. I know not what I do nor what I speak. What dreadful god has seized upon my heart? I am not Timocles and not my own, But am a fire and am a raging wind To seize on thee and am a driven leaf. O Rodogune, turn not away from me. Forgive me, O, forgive me. I cannot help it If thou hast made me love thee. Tremble not, Nor grow so pale and look with panic glances As if a fire had clutched thee by the robe. I am thy menial, thy poor trembling slave And thou canst slay me with a passing frown.

Touch not my hand! ’tis sacred from thy touch!

TIMOCLES It is most sacred; even the roseate nail Of thee, O thou pale goddess, is a mystery And a strange holiness. Scorched be his hand Who dares with lightest sacrilegious touch Profane thee, O deep-hearted miracle, Unless thy glorious eyes condone the fault By growing tender. O thou wondrous Parthian, Fear not my love; it grows a cloistered worship. See, I can leave thee! see, I can retire. Look once on me, one look is food enough For many twelvemonths.

Eunice returns.

EUNICE

You wrong your mother, cousin. Her moments linger when you are not there; Always she asks for you.

TIMOCLES

My mother! You gods, Forbid it, lest I weary of her love.

He goes.

EUNICE What was this? Speak.

Was Fate not satisfied With my captivity? Waits worse behind? It was a grey and clouded sky before And bleak enough but quiet. Now I see Fresh clouds come stored with thunder toiling up From a black-piled horizon.

EUNICE

Tell me all. What said Phayllus to you, the dire knave Who speaks to poison?

He spoke of love and thrones and Timocles; He spoke as selfish cunning men may speak Who mean some evil they call good.

EUNICE

And how Came Timocles behind him?

Called by him, With such wild passion burning under his lids I never thought to see in human eyes. What are these movements?

EUNICE

We move as we must, Not as we choose, whatever we may think. Your beauty is a torch you needs must carry About the world with you. You cannot help it If it burns kingdoms.

I pray it may not. God who only rulest, Let not the evil spirit use my love To bring misfortune on Antiochus.

Mentho enters.

MENTHO Which is the Parthian?

EUNICE

She.

MENTHO

Antiochus Desires you in his chamber with a bowl Of Lesbian vintage.

EUNICE Does he desire? The gods then choose their hour For intervention. Move, you Parthian piece.

Send someone else. I cannot go.

EUNICE

I think You have forgotten that you are a slave. You are my piece and I will have you move. Move quickly.

Surely he did not speak my name?

MENTHO Why do you fear, my child? He’s good and noble And kind in speech and gentle to his servants.

It is not him I fear, it is myself.

EUNICE Fear me instead. You shall be cruelly whipped Unless you move this instant.

Oh, Eunice!

EUNICE Whipped savagely! I’ll sacrifice so much For a shy pawn who will not move? Go, go, And come not back unkissed if you are wise.

She pushes Rodogune to the door and

she goes, followed by Mentho. His heart’s not free, nor hers, or else I’ld try My hand at reigning. As the gods choose. Through her I may rule Syria.