 | Mustapha |  |
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ACT II.
SCENE I.
Mustapha, Achmet, Heli, Osman, Soldiers.Mustapha,
at the door of the tent, to the soldiers who had followed him.
My friends and fellow-soldiers, I accept
Well pleas'd, these kind expressions of your love;
As meant in honor of our common Lord,
While thus you grace his son. But leave me now,
And each attend his duty.—Heli, go,
Watch near Emira; bid her be of comfort:
Say all is well.—Good Osman, find my brother,
My Zanger: I would meet him here.—Oh Achmet!
Faithful instructor of my youth in arms,
These shouts, this honest transport of the army,
That had been musick in the front of battle,
Is discord here!
Achmet.
Now by fair faith and honor!
I felt my heart spring high within my bosom,
And answer to th' effusions of their joy.
Their shouts, their acclamations swell'd to passion.
Mustapha.
Ah, friend—these acclamations will undo me!
Achmet.
What says my Prince?
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For those, whom sovereign power
Beholds with jealous eye, to be belov'd
Is to be guilty!
Achmet.
What can malice forge
To raise a doubt against you? Have you not
Fulfill'd all duties of a son and servant?
In peace, most true and loyal to your father:
In war, your sword has ever been employ'd,
And ever with success, against his foes.
What would he more?—Suspected? no, my Lord,
The Sultan truely loves you.
Mustapha.
Bred in camps,
Train'd in the gallant openness of truth
That best becomes a soldier; thou, my friend,
Art happily a stranger to the baseness,
The infamy of courts.—Achmet, the Caspian,
When terrible with tempest, is less fatal
To the frail bark that plows it, than a court
To innocence and worth. A stepdame's hatred,
Hatred implacable, because unjust;
A Vizir, meanly cunning, coolly cruel,
Grown old in arts of treachery and ruin,
Pursue me, hunt me down! And what can I,
Unpractis'd in all guile, oppose to dark
And deadly rage?—the breath of publick praise!
An empty name—that will but speed my ruin!
Achmet.
Why should they be your foes? why hate the worth
That never injur'd them?—Forgive me, heaven!
Could I believe so basely of mankind,
I would renounce their fellowship, and seek
The silvan wild, to herd with nobler brutes.
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A face of peace and silence.
Mustapha.
Such the silence,
The fearful stillness, ere the thunder bursts!
Else whence this boding solitude? this tent
By all forsaken, even the meanest slaves?
As we had sent the pestilence before,
Our mortal harbinger!—But be it so.
True valor, friend, on virtue founded strong,
Meets all events alike.
Achmet.
Ah, Prince, 'twas cruel—
Forgive my honest love—'twas most unkind
To hide these apprehensions from your friend:
And now, too late, disclose the fatal secret.
But was it not most rash, if such your fears,
Most wilful, unsupported by your troops,
To meet this danger?
Mustapha.
Achmet—I can die:
But dare not disobey a father's orders.
Achmet.
The Vizir moves this way.
Mustapha.
Then, O my soul!
Wake all thy powers, and arm me strong within;
That honesty and honor, bravely plain,
May strike confusion through his hollow smile,
And vizor'd malice.
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SCENE II.
Mustapha, Rustan, Achmet, Basha.Rustan.
May the Power we serve,
Most merciful and gracious, crown my Lord,
Thro' length of years, with brightness and renown!
To see your Highness here my soul has long,
Has warmly wish'd.
Mustapha.
Because—thou art my friend.
Rustan.
Heaven knows with what fond warmth my willing tongue,
Still prompted from the heart, has painted forth
Your matchless virtues; that exalted courage,
That generous prudence, rival of your courage,
Which aged warriors wonder at with envy!
But my applause is poor, and sinks beneath
The mighty subject: Fame herself is proud
To celebrate that hero, whose sole arm
Sustains the throne of godlike Solyman,
His glory and defence!
Mustapha.
Thou know'st me not.
He who can listen, pleas'd, to such applause,
Buys at a dearer rate than I dare purchase,
And pays for idle air with sense and virtue.
Art thou indeed my friend? then shew it nobly;
As man, by deeds like these thy tongue extols:
As subject, in true duty to thy Sovereign.
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What amiable modesty! The Sultan
Must needs, my Lord—
Mustapha.
Conclude this prefacing:
And to your business.
Rustan.
Sir, your Royal Father—
Mustapha.
Proceed.
Rustan.
'Tis only—
Mustapha.
What?
Rustan.
The Emperor orders
This Basha may receive your sword.
Mustapha.
My sword!
Rustan.
Such his command.
Mustapha.
And, as he knows this Rustan
My kindest advocate, my warmest friend,
The man who sounds my praise aloud to heaven,
He sends him on this errand!
Rustan.
Born to serve,
With absolute obedience to perform
My master's will, his faithful slave presumes not
To ask a reason for it.
Mustapha.
Heaven and earth!
My sword?
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What would your Highness have me say
In answer to this order?
Mustapha.
Take it, Vizir—
And tell my Lord and Father, that a son
Who loves his person, venerates his virtues.
Durst ne'er dispute his pleasure—nor does now.
Say, this good sword has truly been employ'd
Against his foes.—Achmet, it was the gift
With which his fondness grac'd my early hand!
Which I had hop'd to part with but in death!
Stay. If thou art a friend, add this one truth,
Add boldly—when his sacred will demands
The life he gave me; this unhappy son,
Suspected as he is, will yield that life
With equal resignation. Thou wilt say so?
Rustan.
By heaven, I will.
Mustapha.
So, in thy latest hour,
That heaven, who sees us both, deal with thy soul!
SCENE III.
Mustapha, Achmet.Mustapha.
Oh friend!
Achmet.
Perdition on the doubling traitor!
Was it by arts like these he rose to greatness?
To envy'd power? How low beneath all scorn
This court-dissimulation sinks mankind!
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Fly, Achmet, to Emira; greet her from me
With love's most sacred vows—But smooth this news
With all the kind deceit, the virtuous falshood,
That friendship bids us use, to save from anguish
The tender bosom of the fair we love.
SCENE IV.
Mustapha, Zanger.Zanger.
Mustapha!
Mustapha.
Zanger!
Zanger.
Brother of my love—
O greatly, dearly welcome!
Mustapha.
O my Zanger!
My heart has sicken'd to transfuse itself
Into thy faithful bosom. Friendship mourn'd,
And found himself unblest for want of thee,
Thou soul of tenderness, to wake anew
His holy flame, and light it into rapture.
Zanger.
O more than brother! O my nobler self!
I swear by honor, by the sacred instinct
That nature kindled in my infant breast,
That taste improv'd, and reason makes immortal;
My soul that languish'd for thee, finds her powers
Restor'd to health and vigor in thy presence:
Nor more refreshing are the dews of heaven
To Araby's dry desart, than to me
Thy sight and wish'd return!
Mustapha.
May fame renounce
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Beyond renown; beyond th' applauding shouts
Of myriads in the lawrel'd front of war.
Zanger.
O thou hast fir'd my soul! thy voice recalls
The days of glory, when I trac'd thy steps
Thro' honor's rugged paths to noble danger!
The watch by night; the weary march by day;
The battle's open rage; the dark assault,
Where unknown perils dwelt; the sum of toils,
That fame imposes, and ambition courts!
Mustapha.
Ah, Zanger—those blest days are fled for ever!
Zanger.
What says my friend?
Mustapha.
Alas! I am no more
That brother of the war, whose honest name
Thy partial love has lavishly adorn'd.
Zanger, in me thine eyes behold a slave,
Disgrac'd! disarm'd!
Zanger.
O my presaging heart!
The Vizir—
Mustapha.
He.
Zanger.
Blue plagues upon him!—yes,
I have of late, I have observ'd his visage
O'ercast with dark reserve; his speech ambiguous,
Broken, and shifting quick, or pausing short.
Even when he talk'd no more, fell mischief lour'd
And boded in his silence. But I thought not—
How could fair Honor think, his hell-born arts
Took aim at you?—It is not, cannot be.
Our father loves you to your worth's extent:
Then who dares be your foe?
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I have not learnt
By what pernicious tales the Sultan's ear
Hath been abus'd: nor can thy plainness think,
Thy honest soul, what arrows of the dark
Close Hatred shoots with; various, secret, sudden,
And fatal every shaft. Some three moons past,
A present of delicious fruit was brought me,
The first and fairest of the bounteous year;
Season'd with complements of high regard,
And profer'd love. I bad the bearer taste
What seem'd most exquisite. 'Twas sure my genius
That gave the strong alarm. Th' unwary slave
Ate freely—But, O heaven! the lightning's flash
Scarce swifter kills. His ghastly eye-balls roll'd;
Convulsions shook his frame—he groan'd! he died!
Expir'd before mine eyes!—O noble Zanger,
The hand from whence that mortal present came
I must not, will not guess!
Zanger.
Do not, my brother:
Lest I should spurn all human ties, and curse
Whom nature bids me reverence. Filial virtue!
Forgive the direful thought that wakens here—
Away—to harbor it were parricide—
Alas! my brother, friendship makes me impious!
And now, thy sight, whence I had hop'd all joy—
Thy sight distresses me—Why didst thou come?
O cruel rashness!—wherefore art thou here?
To heap damnation on their heads! on mine
Horror and sure despair!
Mustapha.
Look on me, Zanger.
Thy virtuous softness, while it charms, distracts me.
Let me not see thy tears—they melt away
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To wound thy gentle nature with this tale—
I am, by heaven—I should have lock'd it up
Even from my own reflection for thy sake.
Turn this way, hear me, friend.—Had I not come,
Not paid obedience to a father's order,
I had avow'd a guilt that fled the light,
And merited the fate I meanly shun'd:
Nay more, had furnish'd to my honor's foe
Sure arms against my self; to stab me, Zanger,
Thro' all succeeding ages, in my fame?
And what are thousand temporary deaths
To one, one cureless wound that bleeds for ever?
Well, Osman.
SCENE V.
Mustapha, Zanger.Osman.
Sir, the Emperor approaches.
His orders are, Prince Zanger should retire:
He would confer with you in private.
Zanger.
Brother!
Mustapha.
[Embracing.
Zanger! heaven only knows or when or where
We meet again—Find Achmet out: the secret
That most imports my soul, he can disclose.
Friendship will teach thee how to act.—Farewel.
SCENE VI.
Mustapha.He comes. A nameless terror stirs my soul,
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Why should I fear? The man of guilt alone
Should feel disorder—'Tis but nature's frailty;
Th' unbidden trembling of the various heart,
Where hopes and fears arise, and pass by turns.
SCENE VII.
Solyman, Mustapha.Solyman.
Mustapha, sit—My order is obey'd:
And thou art come.
Mustapha.
While life informs this frame,
Your will, my Lord—
Solyman.
It now enjoins thee silence.
Attentive mark my words, till I command
An answer.—When that Power, whose will is fate,
First call'd me to the cares of royalty;
And when those cares had waken'd me to thought,
To grave reflection; Ignorance, I found,
Black, heavy, total, had o'erspread my realms.
Her steril darkness, to a people rude
As nature at the birth of human-kind,
Seem'd venerable; seem'd the proper state
Of greatness: and as blindness is most vain,
The proud Barbarians, all they knew not, scorn'd.
Amid this general night, I turn'd my view
Back to th' enlighten'd time of Greece and Rome;
The times of science and of glorious deed:
And saw, with pleasing wonder, to what heights
Instruction and example lift the mind!
Their story I revolv'd; and reverent own'd
Their polish'd arts of rule, their human virtues;
The lustre and the dignity of man.
Till, what I long admir'd, at last I try'd
To emulate: nor found the trial vain.
Hence was my soul with nobler aims enlarg'd
In war and peace. Heaven seconded my cares:
My neighbours fear'd, my subjects blest, my sway:
But chief my family, where blood-stain'd Rage
No longer rioted in scenes of death.
Attentive mark my words, till I command
An answer.—When that Power, whose will is fate,
First call'd me to the cares of royalty;
And when those cares had waken'd me to thought,
To grave reflection; Ignorance, I found,
Black, heavy, total, had o'erspread my realms.
Her steril darkness, to a people rude
As nature at the birth of human-kind,
Seem'd venerable; seem'd the proper state
Of greatness: and as blindness is most vain,
The proud Barbarians, all they knew not, scorn'd.
Amid this general night, I turn'd my view
Back to th' enlighten'd time of Greece and Rome;
The times of science and of glorious deed:
And saw, with pleasing wonder, to what heights
Instruction and example lift the mind!
Their story I revolv'd; and reverent own'd
115
The lustre and the dignity of man.
Till, what I long admir'd, at last I try'd
To emulate: nor found the trial vain.
Hence was my soul with nobler aims enlarg'd
In war and peace. Heaven seconded my cares:
My neighbours fear'd, my subjects blest, my sway:
But chief my family, where blood-stain'd Rage
No longer rioted in scenes of death.
Thee, of my sons the eldest, best belov'd,
I cherish'd with distinguish'd fondness; rear'd
In arts and arms; with morals and with honor
Season'd thy tender thought: whence, to my self
I hop'd a worthy son; and to mankind,
When fate should summon me, an equal master.
This have I done: but where is my reward?
What hope, what comfort to my age remains,
If thou, impatient to ascend my throne,
Wouldst rather, now, invade it, than await
Till time and right have made it fairly thine?
Speak: thou hast leave.
I cherish'd with distinguish'd fondness; rear'd
In arts and arms; with morals and with honor
Season'd thy tender thought: whence, to my self
I hop'd a worthy son; and to mankind,
When fate should summon me, an equal master.
This have I done: but where is my reward?
What hope, what comfort to my age remains,
If thou, impatient to ascend my throne,
Wouldst rather, now, invade it, than await
Till time and right have made it fairly thine?
Speak: thou hast leave.
Mustapha.
For this indulgence, Sir,
To heaven and you I bend my heart in thanks:
And as I would deserve it, all my words
Shall be to holy truth severely just.
To heaven and you I bend my heart in thanks:
And as I would deserve it, all my words
Shall be to holy truth severely just.
E'er since reflection beam'd her light upon me,
You, Sir, have been my study. I have plac'd
Before mine eyes, in every light of life,
The Father and the King. What weight of duty
Lay on a son from such a parent sprung;
What virtuous toil to shine with his renown;
Has been my thought by day, my dream by night.
True to the fair example in my view—
Forgive the boast of youth—my aim has been
To merit rather than to wear a crown.
I courted fame, but as a spur to brave,
To honest deeds: and who despises fame,
Will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it.
But first, and ever nearest to my heart,
Was this prime duty; so to frame my conduct
Towards such a father, as, were I a father,
My soul would wish to meet with from a son.
And may Reproach transmit my name abhor'd
To latest time—if ever thought was mine
Unjust to filial reverence, filial love!
You, Sir, have been my study. I have plac'd
Before mine eyes, in every light of life,
The Father and the King. What weight of duty
Lay on a son from such a parent sprung;
What virtuous toil to shine with his renown;
Has been my thought by day, my dream by night.
True to the fair example in my view—
Forgive the boast of youth—my aim has been
116
I courted fame, but as a spur to brave,
To honest deeds: and who despises fame,
Will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it.
But first, and ever nearest to my heart,
Was this prime duty; so to frame my conduct
Towards such a father, as, were I a father,
My soul would wish to meet with from a son.
And may Reproach transmit my name abhor'd
To latest time—if ever thought was mine
Unjust to filial reverence, filial love!
Solyman.
But yet, the genius of imperial rule,
All-incommunicable, knows no equal;
Nay knows no second. Thou hast borne thy self
Above a subject's state: by secret arts,
By dangerous popularity, hast dar'd
To taint my armies, and divide their homage.
Too well I know the native bent of man:
From towering thoughts to traitorous designs
He climbs apace. If I at last must fear
A rival in my slave (for such thou art)
Thy virtues all are crimes. And were there none,
Not one of Othman's blood to heir his empire;
By that eternal Mind who form'd my soul!
If guilt is found upon thee—true, thy father
Will be unhappy—but thou art undone!
Mustapha.
And may that Power, whose ever-waking eye
Explores the depth of human hearts, and sees
Each wish, each secret purpose, rising there,
Disclose all mine before you!—O my father,
Source of my being, ever lov'd and honor'd,
Yes, let Inquiry, rigorous Inquiry,
Call the whole tenor of my life to tryal,
117
Have stain'd me but in thought; let open shame,
Let tortures such as wait the wretch accurs'd,
The parricide, attone their guilt.
Solyman.
This wears
A face of virtue.—Mustapha—the father
Would favor thee: the judge must know no biass:
Their differing titles call me separate ways;
And each would have its due.
Mustapha.
My failings, Sir,
Will want th' indulgence of a father's love:
My honesty of heart dares well abide
The judge's searching eye.—O think, my Lord;
Why am I here alone? Had my own thoughts
Borne evidence against me, would I thus
Provoke examination? thus embrace
Perhaps the nobler, but th' unsafer, part?
For I have foes—
Solyman.
What foes? Be warn'd, and know,
By charging others, guilt would screen himself.
Mustapha.
Look on me, Sir. Suspected tho' I be,
I am your son: I still inherit from you
A generous pride that cannot stoop to baseness,
The baseness of a lye. Most true, my foes
Had form'd a dark design against my life.
Solyman.
Ha! what design?
Mustapha.
By poison to destroy me.
Solyman.
Poison? astonishment!
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And of a kind
Exalted to such power, such deadly keenness,
That he, the slave who first essay'd its rage,
Tasted at once and died!
Solyman.
Merciful heaven!
Mustapha.
My people saw, and trembled to behold
The horrid scene!
Solyman.
I tremble too—O Nature!
A parent cannot banish thee for ever—
Was no enquiry made? Canst thou not guess
This cruel foe?
Mustapha.
I can forgive, my Lord.
Solyman.
What should I think?—Thy brothers are thy friends.
My Roxolana—but 'tis profanation
To mention her. She never was thy foe.
Mustapha.
I never gave her cause.
Solyman.
Her faith to me
I oft have prov'd, and ever found sincere,
Her tongue too has been lavish in thy praise:
By heaven, it has.
Mustapha.
Betwixt my foes and me
Let heaven be judge.—But if their arts can win
On him, a father whom my soul reveres
With all the sanctity of truth and love,
To think me base, ungrateful and unjust:
Hear, Honor! and approve me while I swear—
[Kneels.
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As he is—Pangs like mine were well exchang'd
For death's short agonies—
Solyman.
Forbid it, Virtue!
Thou must not talk thus.
Mustapha.
Had I perish'd then,
I should have clos'd mine eyes in peace—convinc'd,
You never thought me false—convinc'd, my fate,
Unmerited, untimely, would have drawn
A tear of pity from a parent's eye—
Alas! my Lord—
Solyman.
O Mustapha—my son!—
For such again thou art, belov'd! endear'd!
I mix my tears with thine.
Mustapha.
My king and father!
'Tis joy, 'tis bliss too powerful clouds my sight
With this soft moisture.
Solyman.
Hence each doubt and fear,
Children of dark distrust. My soul receives thee
To love and confidence.—And now, my son—
But whence these horrid shouts?—Osman, what news?
SCENE VIII.
Solyman, Mustapha.Osman.
My Lord, a sudden mutiny spreads swift
Among the troops. The Janizaries chief
Croud from their tents, and cry to arms.
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Confusion!
To arms?—Speak, Mustapha, what may this mean?
Mustapha.
So heaven befriend my soul as I am lost
In horror and amaze—But haste, my Lord,
And meet bold treason in its mid career.
SCENE IX.
Solyman, Mustapha, Osman,Rustan.
Appear, great Emperor, or all is lost.
The traitors arm'd, and furious in their rage,
Surround your tent—
Solyman.
How!—Mustapha, I will not
Pronounce thee guilty—But this hour must fix
The name of son or parricide upon thee.
Mustapha.
Sir, I provoke the tryal.
SCENE X.
Rustan.Curst event!
The danger imminent and sure is mine.
Should they demand my head—By hell! 'tis theirs.
To save himself, the Sultan will resign
His minister: that fatal policy
Long custom has made sacred—Dire Ambition!
By following thee, I headlong urge my fate,
And change secure repose for wretched state.
The End of the Second Act.
| Mustapha | |