A Question | Page 4

for him. There's
nothing lacking, except to have Hymen--"
"To have Hymen unite them," interrupted Semestre. "There's no hurry
about heiresses; they don't let themselves be plucked like blackberries.
If she has scorned her country suitor, it may well seem desirable to
Protarch and all of you that Xanthe should prove more yielding, for
then our property would be joined with yours."
"It would be just the same as during Dionysius's lifetime."
"And you alone would reap the profit."
"No, Semestre, it would be an advantage to both us and you; for, since

your master had that unlucky fall from the high wall of the vineyard,
the ruler's eye is lacking here, and many things don't go as they ought."
"People see what they want to see," cried Semestre. "Our estates are no
worse managed than yours."
"I only meant to say--"
"That your Phaon seems to you well fitted to supply my master's place.
I think differently, and, if Lysander continues to improve, he'll learn to
use his limbs again."
"An invalid needs rest, and, since the deaths of your mistress and mine,
quarrelling never ceases--"
"We never disturb the peace."
"And quarrelling is even more unpleasant to us than to you; but how
often the shepherds and vine-dressers fight over the spring, which
belongs to us both, and whose beautiful wall and marble bench are
already damaged, and will soon be completely destroyed, because your
master says mine ought to bear the expense of the work--"
"And I daily strengthen him in this belief. We repaired the inclosing
wall of the spring, and it's only fair to ask Protarch to mend the
masonry of the platform. We won't yield, and if you--"
"If we refuse to do Lysander's will, it will lead to the quarrelling I
would fain prevent by Phaon's marriage with your Xanthe. Your master
is in the habit of following your advice, as if you were his own mother.
You nurse the poor invalid like one, and if you would only--"
"Lysander has other plans, and Phaon's father is seeking an heiress for
his son in Messina."
"But surely not for the youth's happiness, nor do I come to speak to you
in Protarch's name."
"So you invented the little plan yourself--I am afraid without success,

for I've already told you that my master has other views."
"Then try to win him to our side--no, not only to us, but to do what is
best for the prosperity of this house."
"Not for this house; only for yourselves. Your plan doesn't please me."
"Why not?"
"I don't wish what you desire."
"'I don't wish;' that's a woman's most convincing reason.
"It is, for at least I desire nothing I haven't carefully considered. And
you know Alciphron, in Syracuse, our master's oldest brother, did not
ask for the heiress, who probably seemed to him too insignificant for
his own family, but wanted our girl for his son Leonax. We joyfully
gave our consent, and, within a few days, perhaps to-morrow, the suitor
will come from Messina with your master to see his bride."
"Still, I stick to it: your Xanthe belongs to our Phaon, and, if you would
act according to Dionysius's wishes, like fair-minded people--"
"Isn't Alciphron--the best and wisest of men--also Dionysius's child? I
would give his first-born, rather than any one else, this fruitful soil, and,
when the rich father's favorite, when Leonax once rules here by
Xanthe's side, there'll be no lack of means to rebuild the platform and
renew a few marble benches."
Angered by these words, the old man indignantly exclaimed:
"You add mockery to wrong. We know the truth. To please Alciphron,
your foster-child, you would make us all beggars. If Lysander gives his
daughter to Leonax it will be your work, yours alone, and we will--"
Semestre did not allow herself to be intimidated, but, angrily raising
her myrtle-staff, interrupted Jason by exclaiming in a loud, tremulous
voice:

You are right. This old heart clings to Alciphron, and throbs more
quickly at the mere mention of its darling's name; but verily you have
done little to win our affection. Last autumn the harvest of new wine
was more abundant than we expected. We lacked skins, and when we
asked you to help us with yours--"
"We said no, because we ourselves did not know what to do with the
harvest."
"And who shamefully killed my gray cat?"
"It entered Phaon's dove-cote and killed the young of his best pair of
cropper pigeons."
"It was a marten, not the good, kind creature. You are unfriendly in all
your acts, for when our brown hen flew over to you yesterday she was
driven away with stones. Did Phaon mistake her for a vulture with
sharp beak and powerful talons?"
"A maid-servant drove her