 | The Tragedy of Zara |  |
13
ACT II.
SCENE I.
NERESTAN, CHATILLON.CHATILLON.
Matchless Nerestan! Generous, and Great!
You, who have broke the Chains of hopeless Slaves!
You, Christian Saviour! by a Saviour sent!
Appear, be known, enjoy your due Delight;
The grateful Weepers wait, to clasp your Knees,
They throng, to kiss the happy Hand, that sav'd 'em:
Indulge the kind Impatience of their Eyes,
And, at their Head, command their Hearts, for ever.
NERESTAN.
Illustrious Chatillon! this Praise o'erwhelms me;
What have I done, beyond a Christian's Duty?
Beyond, what You wou'd, in my Place, have done?
CHATILLON.
True—It is ev'ry honest Christian's Duty;
Nay, 'tis the Blessing of such Minds, as ours,
For others' Good, to sacrifice our own.—
Yet, happy they, to whom Heaven grants the Power,
To execute, like you, that Duty's Call!
For us—the Relicks of abandon'd War,
Forgot in France, and, in Jerusalem,
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Consign'd us to the Gloom of a damp Dungeon,
Where, but for you, we must have groan'd out Life;
And native France have bless'd our Eyes no more.
NERESTAN.
The Will of Gracious Heaven, that soften'd Osman,
Inspir'd me, for your sakes;—But, with our Joy,
Flows, mix'd, a bitter Sadness—I had hop'd,
To save, from their Perversion, a young Beauty,
Who, in her Infant Innocence, with me,
Was made a Slave by cruel Noradin;
When, sprinkling Syria, with the Blood of Christians,
Cæsarea's Walls saw Lusignan, surpris'd,
And the proud Crescent rise, in bloody Triumph:
From this Seraglio, having, young, escap'd,
Fate, Three Years since, restor'd me to my Chains;
Then, sent to Paris, on my plighted Faith,
I flatter'd my fond Hope, with vain Resolves,
To guide the lovely Zara, to that Court,
Where Lewis has establish'd Virtue's Throne;—
But Osman will detain her—yet, not Osman;
Zara, herself, forgets she is a Christian,
And loves the Tyrant Sultan!—Let That pass:
I mourn a Disappointment, still, more cruel;
The Prop of all our Christian Hope is lost!
CHATILLON.
Dispose me, at your Will—I am your own.
NERESTAN.
Oh, Sir! Great Lusignan, so long, their Captive,
That Last, of an Heroick Race of Kings!
That Warrior! whose past Fame has fill'd the World!
Osman refuses, to my Sighs, for ever!
15
Nay, then, we have been all redeem'd, in vain;
Perish that Soldier, who wou'd quit his Chains,
And leave his noble Chief, behind, in Fetters.
Alas! you know him not, as I have known him;
Thank Heaven, that plac'd your Birth, so far, remov'd,
From those detested Days of Blood, and Woe;
But I, less happy, was condemn'd, to see
Thy Walls, Jerusalem, beat down—and all
Our pious Fathers' Labours lost, in Ruins!
Heaven! had you seen the very Temple rifled!
The Sacred Sepulchre, itself, profan'd!
Fathers with Children, mingled, flame together!
And our last King, oppress'd, by Age, and Arms,
Murder'd—and bleeding, o'er his murder'd Sons!
Then, Lusignan, sole Remnant of his Race,
Rallying our fated Few, amidst the Flames,
Fearless, beneath the Crush of falling Towers,
The Conqu'rors, and the Conquer'd, Groans, and Death!
Dreadful—and, waving in his Hand, a Sword,
Red, with the Blood of Infidels—cry'd out,
This Way, ye faithful Christians! follow Me—
NERESTAN
How full of Glory was that brave Retreat!
CHATILLON.
'Twas Heaven, no doubt, that sav'd, and led him on;
Pointed his Path; and march'd, our Guardian Guide:
We reach'd Cæsarea—there, the general Voice
Chose Lusignan, thenceforth, to give us Laws;
Alas! 'twas vain—Cæsarea cou'd not stand,
When Sion's Self was fall'n!—we were betray'd;
And Lusignan condemn'd, to Length of Life,
In Chains, and Damps, and Darkness, and Despair:
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As if he cou'd not feel his Fate, himself,
But, as it reach'd his Followers:—And shall we,
For whom our gen'rous Leader suffer'd This,
Be, vilely, safe? and dare be bless'd, without him?
NERESTAN.
Oh! I shou'd hate the Liberty, he shar'd not:
I knew, too well, these Miseries, you describe,
For I was born, amidst 'em—Chains, and Death,
Cæsarea lost, and Saracens, triumphant,
Were the first Objects, which my Eyes e'er look'd on.
Hurried, an Infant, among other Infants,
Snatch'd, from the Bosoms of their bleeding Mothers,
A Temple sav'd us, till the Slaughter ceas'd;
Then, were we sent to this ill-fated City,
Here, in the Palace of our former Kings,
To learn, from Saracens, their hated Faith,
And be compleatly wretched.—Zara, too,
Shar'd this Captivity; we, both, grew up,
So near each other, that a tender Friendship
Endear'd her to my Wishes:—My fond Heart—
Pardon its Weakness! bleeds, to see her lost,
And, for a barb'rous Tyrant, quit her God!
CHATILLON.
Such is the Saracens', too fatal, Policy!
Watchful Seducers, still, of Infant Weakness.
Happy, that You, so young, escap'd their Hands!
But, let us think—May not this Zara's Int'rest,
Loving the Sultan, and, by him belov'd,
For Lusignan procure some softer Sentence?
The Wise, and Just, with Innocence, may draw
Their own Advantage, from the Guilt of others.
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How shall I gain Admission to her Presence?
Osman has banish'd me—but That's a Trifle;
Will the Seraglio's Portals open to me?
Or, cou'd I find That, easy, to my Hopes,
What Prospect of Success, from an Apostate?
On whom I cannot look, without Disdain;
And who will read her Shame, upon my Brow?
The hardest Trial of a gen'rous Mind
Is, to court Favours, from a Hand it scorns.
CHATILLON.
Think, it is Lusignan, we seek to serve.
NERESTAN.
Well—It shall be attempted—Hark! who's this?
Are my Eyes false? or, is it, really, She?
Enter Zara.
ZARA.
Start not, my worthy Friend! I come, to seek you;
The Sultan has permitted it; fear nothing:—
But, to confirm my Heart, which trembles, near you;
Soften that angry Air, nor look Reproach;
Why should we fear each other, Both, mistaking?
Associates, from our Birth, one Prison held us,
One Friendship taught Affliction, to be calm;
Till Heaven thought fit to favour your Escape,
And call you to the Fields of happier France;
Thence, once again, it was my Lot to find you,
A Pris'ner, here; where, hid, amongst a Crowd
Of undistinguish'd Slaves, with less Restraint,
I shar'd your frequent Converse;—
It pleas'd your Pity, shall I say your Friendship?
Or, rather, shall I call it generous Charity?
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Distressful Zara—you procur'd my Ransom,
And, with a Greatness, that out-soar'd a Crown,
Return'd, Yourself a Slave, to give Me Freedom!
But Heaven has cast our Fate, for different Climes;
Here, in Jerusalem, I fix, for ever:
Yet, among all the Shine, that marks my Fortune,
I shall, with frequent Tears, remember yours;
Your Goodness will, for ever, sooth my Heart,
And keep your Image, still, a Dweller, there.
Warm'd, by your great Example, to protect
That Faith, that lifts Humanity, so high,
I'll be a Mother to distressful Christians.
NERESTAN.
How!—You protect the Christians! You, who can
Abjure their saving Truth!—and, coldly, see
Great Lusignan, their Chief, die slow, in Chains?
ZARA.
To bring him Freedom, you behold me here,
You will, this Moment, meet his Eyes, in Joy:
CHATILLON.
Shall I, then, live, to bless that happy Hour?
NERESTAN.
Can Christians owe, so dear a Gift, to Zara?
ZARA.
Hopeless, I gather'd Courage, to entreat
The Sultan, for his Liberty—Amaz'd,
So soon, to gain the Happiness, I wish'd!
See! where they bring the good, old Chief, grown dim,
With Age, by Pain, and Sorrows, hasten'd on!
CHATILLON.
How is my Heart dissolv'd, with sudden Joy!
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I long to view his venerable Face,
But Tears, I know not why, eclipse my Sight!
I feel, methinks, redoubled Pity for him;
But I, alas! myself, have been a Slave;
And, when we pity Woes, which we have felt,
'Tis but a partial Virtue!
NERESTAN.
Amazement!—Whence this Greatness, in an Infidel!
Enter Lusignan, led in by two Guards.
LUSIGNAN.
Where am I? What forgiving Angel's Voice
Has call'd me, to revisit long-lost Day?
Am I with Christians?—I am weak—forgive me,
And guide my trembling Steps;—I'm full of Years,
Yet, Misery has worn me, more than Age.
[Seating himself.]
Am I, in Truth, at Liberty?
CHATILLON.
You are;
And every Christian's Grief takes end, with yours.
LUSIGNAN.
O, Light!—O! dearer, far, than Light! that Voice!
Chatillon! is it you?—my Fellow Martyr!
And, shall our Wretchedness, indeed, have end?
In what Place are we, now?—my feeble Eyes,
Difus'd to Daylight, long, in vain, to find you.
CHATILLON.
This was the Palace of your Royal Fathers,
'Tis, now, the Son of Noradin's Seraglio.
20
The Master of this Place—the mighty Osman!
Distinguishes, and loves to cherish, Virtue;
This gen'rous Frenchman, yet, a Stranger to you,
Drawn from his Native Soil, from Peace, and Rest,
Brought the vow'd Ransoms of Ten Christian Slaves,
Himself, contented, to remain a Captive:
But Osman, charm'd by Greatness, like his own,
To equal, what he lov'd, has giv'n him, You.
LUSIGNAN.
So, gen'rous France inspires her social Sons!
They have been, ever, dear, and useful to me!
Wou'd I were nearer to him—Noble Sir!
[Nerestan approaches.
How have I merited, that you, for me,
Shou'd pass such distant Seas, to bring me Blessings,
And hazard your own Safety, for my Sake?
NERESTAN.
My Name, Sir, is Nerestan—Born, in Syria,
I wore the Chains of Slav'ry, from my Birth;
Till, quitting the proud Crescent, for the Court,
Where warlike Lewis reigns, beneath his Eye,
I learnt the Trade of Arms:—The Rank, I hold,
Was but the kind Distinction, which he gave me,
To tempt my Courage, to deserve Regard.
Your Sight, unhappy Prince, wou'd charm his Eye;
That Best, and Greatest Monarch, will behold,
With Grief, and Joy, those venerable Wounds,
And print Embraces, where your Fetters bound you:
All Paris will revere the Cross's Martyr;
Paris, the Refuge, still, of ruin'd Kings!
LUSIGNAN.
Alas! in Times, long past, I've seen its Glory:
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Abreast, with Montmorency, and Melun,
D'Estaing, De Neile, and the far-famous Courcy;—
Names, which were, then, the Praise, and Dread, of War!
But, what have I to do, at Paris, now?
I stand upon the Brink of the cold Grave;
That way, my Journey lies—to find, I hope,
The King of Kings, and move Remembrance, there,
Of all my Woes, long-suffer'd, for his sake.—
You, gen'rous Witnesses of my last Hour,
While I yet live, assist my humble Prayers,
And join the Resignation of my Soul.
Nerestan! Chatillon! and you—fair Mourner!
Whose Tears do Honour to an old Man's Sorrows!
Pity a Father, the unhappiest, sure!
That ever felt the Hand of angry Heaven!
My Eyes, tho' dying, still, can furnish Tears:
Half my long Life they flow'd, and, still, will flow!
A Daughter, and three Sons, my Heart's proud Hopes,
Were, all, torn from me, in their tend'rest Years;
My Friend Chatillon knows, and can remember—
CHATILLON.
Wou'd I were able, to forget your Woe.
LUSIGNAN.
Thou wert a Pris'ner, with me, in Cæsarea,
And, there, beheld'st my Wife, and Two dear Sons
Perish, in Flames—They did not need the Grave,
Their Foes wou'd have deny'd 'em!—I beheld it;
Husband! and Father! helpless, I beheld it!
Deny'd the mournful Privilege, to die!
If ye are Saints in Heaven, as, sure! ye are!
Look, with an Eye of Pity, on That Brother,
That Sister, whom you left!—if I have, yet,
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Far from their lost, and, unassisting Father,
I heard, that they were sent, with Numbers more,
To this Seraglio; hence, to be dispers'd,
In nameless Remnants, o'er the East, and spread
Our Christian Miseries, round a faithless World.
CHATILLON.
'Twas true—for, in the Horrors of that Day,
I snatch'd your Infant Daughter, from her Cradle;
But, finding ev'ry Hope of Flight was vain,
Scarce had I sprinkled, from a publick Fountain,
Those sacred Drops, which wash the Soul from Sin;
When, from my bleeding Arms, fierce Saracens
Forc'd the lost Innocent, who, smiling, lay,
And pointed, playful, at the swarthy Spoilers!
With Her, your youngest, then, your only Son,
Whose little Life had reach'd the fourth, sad Year,
And, just, giv'n Sense, to feel his own Misfortunes,
Was order'd to this City.
NERESTAN.
I, too, hither,
Just, at that fatal Age, from lost Cæsarea,
Came, in that Crowd of undistinguish'd Christians.—
LUSIGNAN.
You?—came You thence?—Alas! who knows but you
Might, heretofore, have seen my Two, poor Children?
[Looking up]
Ha! Madam! that small Ornament you wear,
Its Form a Stranger to this Country's Fashion,
How long has it been yours?
ZARA.
From my first Breath, Sir—
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LUSIGNAN.
Wou'd you confide it to my trembling Hands?
ZARA.
To what new Wonder, am I now reserv'd?
Oh! Sir, what mean you?
LUSIGNAN.
Providence! and Heaven!
O, failing Eyes! deceive ye not my Hope?
Can this be possible?—Yes, yes—'tis She!
This little Cross—I know it, by sure Marks;
Oh! take me, Heav'n! while I can die with Joy—
ZARA.
O! do not, Sir, distract me!—rising Thoughts,
And Hopes, and Fears, o'erwhelm me!
LUSIGNAN.
Tell me, yet,
Has it remain'd, for ever, in your Hands?
What!—Both, brought Captives, from Cæsarea, hither?
ZARA.
Both, both—
NERESTAN.
Oh, Heaven! have I, then, found a Father?
LUSIGNAN.
Their Voice! their Looks!
The living Images of their dear Mother!
O, Thou! who, thus, canst bless my Life's last Sand!
Strengthen my Heart, too feeble for this Joy.
Madam! Nerestan!—Help me, Chatillon!
[Rising.
Nerestan! if thou ought'st to own that Name,
Shines there, upon thy Breast, a noble Scar,
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Surprising us, by Night, my Child receiv'd?
NERESTAN.
Bless'd Hand!—I bear it, Sir—the Mark is there!
LUSIGNAN.
Merciful Heaven!
NERESTAN.
[Kneeling.]
O, Sir!—O, Zara, kneel.—
ZARA.
[Kneeling.]
My Father?—Oh!—
LUSIGNAN.
O, my lost Children!
BOTH.
Oh!—
LUSIGNAN.
My Son! my Daughter! Lost, in embracing you,
I wou'd, now, die, lest this shou'd prove a Dream.
CHATILLON.
How touch'd is my glad Heart, to see their Joy!
LUSIGNAN.
Again, I find you—dear, in Wretchedness:
O, my brave Son!—and, Thou, my nameless Daughter!
Now, dissipate all Doubt, remove all Dread:
Has Heaven, that gives me back my Children—giv'n 'em,
Such, as I lost 'em?—Come they, Christians, to me?—
One weeps—and one declines a conscious Eye!
Your Silence speaks—Too well I understand it.
ZARA.
I cannot, Sir, deceive you—Osman's Laws
Were mine—and Osman is not Christian.—
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Oh! my misguided Child!—at that sad Word,
The little Life, yet mine, had left me, quite,
But that my Death might fix thee, lost, for ever.
Sixty long Years, I fought the Christian's Cause,
Saw their doom'd Temple fall, their Power destroy'd:
Twenty, a Captive, in a Dungeon's Depth,
Yet, never, for myself, my Tears sought Heaven;
All, for my Children, rose my fruitless Prayers:
Yet, what avails a Father's wretched Joy?
I have a Daughter gain'd, and Heaven an Enemy.
But, 'tis my Guilt, not hers—Thy Father's Prison
Depriv'd thee of thy Faith—yet, do not lose it:—
Reclaim thy Birthright—Think upon the Blood
Of Twenty Christian Kings, that fills thy Veins;
'Tis Heroes' Blood—the Blood of Saints, and Martyrs!
What wou'd thy Mother feel, to see thee, thus?
She, and thy murder'd Brothers?—Think, they call thee;
Think, that thou see'st 'em stretch their bloody Arms,
And weep, to win thee, from their Murderers' Bosom.
Ev'n, in the Place, where thou betray'st thy God,
He dy'd, my Child, to save thee.—Turn thy Eyes,
And see, for thou art near, his sacred Sepulchre;
Thou can'st not move a Step, but where He trod!
Thou tremblest—Oh! admit me to thy Soul;
Kill not thy aged, thy afflicted Father;
Take not, thus soon, again, the Life thou gav'st him;
Shame not thy Mother—nor betray thy God.—
'Tis past—Repentance dawns, in thy sweet Eyes;
I see bright Truth, descending to thy Heart,
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NERESTAN.
O! doubly bless'd! a Sister, and a Soul,
To be redeem'd, together!
ZARA.
O! my Father!
Dear Author of my Life! inform me, teach me,
What shou'd my Duty do?
LUSIGNAN.
By one short Word,
To dry up all my Tears, and make Life welcome,
Say, thou art Christian—
ZARA.
Sir—I am a Christian.
LUSIGNAN.
Receive her, gracious Heaven! and bless her, for it.
Enter Orasmin.
ORASMIN.
Madam, the Sultan order'd me, to tell you,
That he expects, you, instant, quit this Place,
And bid your last Farewell, to these vile Christians:
You, Captive Frenchmen, follow me;—for you,
It is my Task, to answer.—
CHATILLON.
Still, new Miseries!
How cautious Man shou'd be, to say, I'm happy!
LUSIGNAN.
These are the Times, when Men of Virtue, prove,
That, 'tis the Mind, not Blood, insures their Firmness.
ZARA.
Alas! Sir—Oh!—
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Oh, you!—I dare not name you:
Farewell—but, come what may, besure, remember,
You keep the fatal Secret:—for the rest,
Leave all to Heaven,—be faithful, and be blest.
End of the Second Act.
| The Tragedy of Zara | |