 | Alcanor |  |
5
ACT I.
Night. The Entrance of a Prison.Augusta enters, attended by Sameas, with a Guard bearing Torches.
Aug.
Advance your torches to the dungeon's mouth—
And is it here my beauteous rival dwells?
Is it within these melancholy walls
That Mariamne, Herod's matchless queen,
Once the bright wonder of the gazing world,
Ambition's victim, now despairing pines?
Sam.
Such was the will of Herod, and, though dead,
Yet, whilst his stern decree stands unrevok'd,
Here she must dwell, nor view the light of heaven,
Till mercy beams upon her.
Aug.
I would see
How gracefully the heroine wears her chains:
Twice seven long years she triumph'd on my throne.
I would fain see, if those all-conquering eyes,
Whose fires extinguish'd mine, maintain their lustre.
Sam.
Is this a triumph worthy of Augusta?
What joy can it reflect on Judah's queen
To mark the faded cheek, the languid eye,
6
In that fair face, whence every charm is fled?
Aug.
If there be comfort to a wounded spirit
In a proud rival's fall, give my revenge
What name you may, it must be nature still:
Therefore no more, but lead me to the dungeon.
Sam.
Herod is laid in earth, your princely son
Is destin'd to possess Judæa's throne;
Rome crowns your wishes, fortune smiles upon you;
But, if your happiness is not complete,
Until contrasted with the gloomy scene
That here awaits you, enter, and enjoy
All the delights that horror can bestow.
[They enter the prison.
Halak enters, followed by Herodian.
Her.
Stop, venerable stranger, and be pleas'd
In courtesy to tell me, if 'tis here,
Within this gloomy mansion, that your queen,
The royal Mariamne, is imprison'd.
Hal.
Sir, though in prudence I might stand excus'd
From a reply, I shall not treat your question
With that contempt; nor you with such mistrust—
'Tis here that Mariamne is imprison'd.
Her.
Oh, heav'n and earth!—but sure, or I mistake,
Or in those features, spite of all the change,
That time has wrought, my memory still can trace
An ancient valued friend—Are you not Halak?
Hal.
I am, and if my old eyes don't betray me,
I now behold Herodian, and the son
Of that dear saint, whom these dark cells entomb.
Her.
I am Herodian—this full heart can witness
I am the son of that ill-fated mother,
And the excluded heir of Judah's throne.
7
Thou art the heir; the covenant of heaven
Is with the house of David—Oh, my prince,
Let me embrace thy knees—
Her.
Rise, rise and say
If I may enter here, and vent my sorrows
On that maternal bosom, where I hung
In helpless infancy—Oh, what is nature,
If son forgets the mother, that has fed him?
Hal.
Alas, my prince, if here you seek to enter,
The walls shall answer to your suit, as soon
As those who guard them; fruitless were the time,
And full of danger, spent in that attempt:
Better it were, in this important crisis,
To seek those loyal friends, whose sage advice
Might guide your counsels, and protect your person,
Or e'er your brother, slave-born, base Alcanor,
From his Arabian desarts shall return,
As shagged Esau from his chase of old,
And claim an elder birthright.
Her.
Will heaven suffer
That exil'd Ishmaelite to reign in Judah,
And let the bondman lord it o'er the free?
Hal.
Alas, the will of Cæsar is our law.
What is Judæa, what is all the world
But one vast province of imperial Rome?
And though I doubt not but our Sanhedrim
Would, with once voice, decree the throne to you,
Yet now, so venal are the Roman tyrants,
Line but an Æthiop's sooty hand with gold,
And he shall buy the diadem of Herod.
Her.
Where is the record of my elder claim?
Unjust and cruel as my father was
To the unhappy tenant of that dungeon,
Yet I must think, he never would prefer
Augusta's Idumean son to me,
A prince descended from the loins of David.
8
So swift, so instant was the mortal shaft,
That struck your father's heart, death gave no warning,
But sprung at once with fury on his victim,
As 'twere his purpose to preclude repentance.
Her.
Horrible consummation!—Were you present?
If so, relate the manner.
Hal.
Words would fail me;
The feelings of a son could ill endure it.
High on his throne he sate in regal state,
His proud heart swelling, whilst applauding crowds,
With impious acclamation, cried—A God!
A present God!—When on the word behold!
Down fell this idol god, gasping, convuls'd,
With dreadful agonies, down from his throne
Death-struck he fell, and lay outstretch'd, a corpse
Welt'ring in blood, too terrible for sight.
Her.
It was the hand of heav'n—there lies the sin;
There dwells the cause, that drew this judgment down;
It was the wailing of my wretched mother
In bitterness of soul, that cried against him;
It was the spirit of that hermit-saint,
Whose sacred blood bedew'd these impious walls,
That his dissever'd head might grace the revels
Of a lewd capering minstrel—He it was,
That, from the quiver of unerring death,
His swiftest arrow drew, and bade him strike.
Sameas comes forth from the prison.
Sam.
Guards, to your posts! Whoe'er you are, withdraw,
And stand at distance till the queen has pass'd!
Her.
Oh, my foreboding heart!
9
No more: retire!
This cloister will conceal us—Nay, be quick!
[Halak and Herodian withdraw.
Augusta comes forth with Attendants.
Sam.
Well, royal lady, you have seen your prisoner—
And let me hope, the pitiable sight
Has mov'd your heart to mitigate her sufferings.
Aug.
Sameas, I rather should have thought your office
Was more concern'd with justice than with pity;
But I perceive Herod mistook your nature,
When he impos'd this cruel task on one,
Whose yielding heart is turn'd with every tear,
That a fair woman sheds.
Sam.
I can be firm,
Though not unfeeling: you have seen the dungeon,
In which the wreck of all, that once was great,
And beautiful, and happy, is ingulf'd:
There was no preparation on our part;
Your visit was unlook'd for: did you find
One secret solace in that dismal dwelling,
One ray of light, by charitable stealth,
Let in to cheer the darkling wretch within it?
If in your vengeance you could reap delight,
From contemplation of a suffering creature
In the last stage of misery, sure I am
You have enjoy'd that transport in perfection.
Aug.
How else should perishable nature stand
A siege of woes, so numberless as mine,
If dreams of dear revenge, and one faint spark
Of hope still glimmering through the dreary void,
Had not upheld me? Six years I had reign'd
In Herod's heart, his consort and a queen;
10
Me he repudiates, and espouses her—
Nor is this all—She rises in her power,
And, unrelenting, bars me in a prison
For twice sev'n years—My infant son meanwhile
Driv'n to Arabia's deserts—What are wrongs,
If these are not?
Sam.
In their full force I own them,
I feel them to be wrongs, and do admit,
Not to retaliate injuries like these
Would be an instance of such rare forbearance,
A virtue so sublime, as few have reach'd.
Aug.
Yet, sure I had some sense of that forbearance,
When as I enter'd, and in silence stood
Contemplating her melancholy state,
The tear of pity trickled down my cheek,
And all the woman rush'd into my heart:
The glimmering lamp shone faintly on her face,
And ghastly pale it seem'd—Advancing then
I was about to speak, when lifting up
Her heavy eyes, she fix'd a look upon me,
That chok'd my swelling throat, and stopp'd my speech.
Sam.
Ah, who that so can picture human woes,
And had the power, would want the will to heal them?
Aug.
What would you have me do?
Sam.
Would it be much,
If you indulge her with the common blessings—
Air, and the light of heaven?
Aug.
Let her enjoy them.
I grant your suit for both.
Sam.
Herod is dead;
What danger can accrue, if, to relieve
Her solitary hours, some gentle friend
11
And with my life I'll answer for her safe-guard.
Aug.
On that condition, be it as you wish!
Sam.
Humbly I give you thanks. I've been importunate,
But mercy is the brightest ornament
That royalty can wear.
Serapion enters, and kneels to Augusta.
Ser.
Hail, gracious queen,
Imperial lady, I have joyful tidings;
Your princely son Alcanor is arriv'd
In health and safety.
Aug.
Hah, my son, my son—
Saw you the prince—Comes good Barzilla with him?
Ser.
I saw him enter Cæsarea's gates,
Barzilla by his side; his Arab guard
On their fleet coursers rang'd, their lances couch'd,
In moony phalanx follow'd—'Twas a sight
To draw all eyes upon them—
Aug.
Is he comely,
Gallant, and graceful? Doth he wear a look
High and beseeming of his royal birth?
Ser.
All that your heart can wish Alcanor is.
Sam.
There, now you see the blessed fruits of mercy—
How quick the recompense succeeds the act.
Aug.
Yes, Sameas, now the bright'ning prospect cheers me,
Now the sun smiles, the land in view looks joyful,
And happily we ride before the gale,
O'er swelling seas with full and fav'ring tide,
Into the haven of prosperity—
12
But temper caution with what grace you may.
[Exit attended.
Halak brings Herodian forth.
Hal.
You may come forth—She's gone.
Sam.
Stand!—Who are these?
Whence come you, and how dare you here intrude,
On this forbidden ground?—Halak! Amazement!
Hal.
Regard us not as spies—We are in truth
Lovers of mercy, and as such your friends.
Sam.
Why did you hide yourselves within that cloister?
Was it to listen to our conference?
Hal.
Not for that purpose—yet I own we heard it.
Her.
We heard—the son of Mariamne heard
Your intercession for his suffering mother,
And will record it in his grateful heart,
So long as life and memory are vouchsaf'd him.
Sam.
The son of Mariamne! Can it be?
Halak, you should be honest—Is this so?
In solemn truth declare!
Hal.
You know me well;
No conscious falsehood ever stain'd my lips:
In very truth, the rightful heir of Herod,
The son of Mariamne, stands before you.
Sam.
With soul affianc'd to his sacred right,
I pay my homage on my bended knee.
Her.
Had I the pow'r, I'd bid thee rise to honour,
But take my thanks—'Tis all I can bestow.
Sam.
Prince, have you fortitude to meet the sight,
That I can shew you—your imprison'd mother?
13
I have; I feel that heav'n will give me strength
To kneel and ask a blessing—
Sam.
Oh, forbear;
You must not speak to her, you must stand off
At distance, where her feeble sight can't reach you.
This is my counsel, prince, and in regard
Of your mind's peace, I urge you to observe it.
Now, Halak, mark me—From this door she'll issue,
And when I give the signal of her coming,
Draw off and stand apart.
[Enters the prison.
Her.
Ah, my good friend,
He must know little of the human heart,
Who thus requires me to control its feelings.
Hal.
Yet t'would be well to arm yourself, my prince,
With as much constancy as you can summon.
Her.
I'm fully arm'd—but what can fence off nature?
Had heaven decreed me to a private station,
I might have seen my parents, full of years,
Yield their last breath, and close their eyes in peace;
That had been triumph in the conscious trust
Of their election to a happier state:
But what is now my lot? A father there,
Venting his impious vaunts, struck down by heaven,
A god this moment, and the next a corpse—
Here, at the dungeon's mouth, the living tomb
Of an imprison'd mother, whilst I stand,
Waiting the ghastly vision to appear,
Where is the son, who, in a scene like this,
If he has human feelings, can foreknow
Where passion may transport him the next moment?
14
Hal.
Here, here! this over-hanging roof will hide us—
Her.
No, I'll not stir—Spell-bound, I'm rooted here.
Sameas leads Mariamne from the Prison.
Sam.
Fear nothing—we are now without the walls;
A little further on you'll meet the breeze!
'Tis now the evening hour, when the pale shades
Of near approaching night have melted down
Day's gaudy tints, for sight like yours too strong—
Lift up your eyes, and tell me what you see.
Mar.
Nothing distinctly: all is mist around me:
But I perceive a stream of air so subtle,
It penetrates each pore, and though I shrink,
As if immers'd in water, it revives me.
Whom must I thank for this?
Sam.
The queen permits it,
In pity for your sufferings.
Mar.
Has she pity?
Is it not rather you that have persuasion?
You have a feeling heart, and many a time,
When you have brought me food, I have look'd up,
And, by the lamp's pale light, have seen the tear
Drop on the bread you gave me—Oh, that drop
Made sacred what it fell on, and methought,
Whilst there was one kind heart that pitied me,
Life was not totally bereft of comfort.
Her.
Halak, give way! I can refrain no longer.
Mar.
What voice is that? I heard the name of Halak—
Sam.
Lo, he is present!
Mar.
Let me hear him speak.
15
My ever-honour'd mistress, I am Halak,
Your poor old servant, who has never fail'd
To visit this sad mansion day by day,
Sueing for leave to pay his mournful duty—
But all in vain—
Mar.
Yes, yes, the voice is Halak's;
My ear is faithful to its friendly tones—
Your goodness too I know, worthiest of men,
And now my eyes recover their lost function,
And I can see you—Oh this, this is comfort!—
I see another there, I see a form
Familiar to my dreams, a kind of spirit,
Which in the midnight horrors of my cell,
When all was dark around me, self-illumin'd,
As the blest angels are, has beam'd upon me,
In likeness of a son—
Her.
That son is present,
And, kneeling at your feet, implores a blessing.
Mar.
Beloved of my soul—Would heav'n that now
Thus sinking in these arms I might expire!
[She falls upon his neck as he kneels.
Her.
Help me to raise her!
Mar.
No; they'll take me from thee,
And shut me up in darkness—Oh, my son,
A little longer the death-dealing angel
Will free this spirit, whilst I hang upon thee,
And let thy filial bosom be my grave.
Her.
Call not on death! The power, that gives us life,
Can make that gift a blessing, and permit us
To build our best deservings upon patience
Under the trials of his chast'ning grace.
Mar.
Enough! thou'st said it; thy inspiring words
Have arm'd me to endure—Sameas, where art thou?
Behold me ready: Lead me to my dungeon!
16
Not to your dungeon; though I may not set
Your person free, your comforts are enlarg'd;
Nor am I limited in time so strictly,
But that you may enjoy some minutes more
Of converse with your son—but longer stay
Here would incur remarks, that might impede
Your farther privilege; therefore be ready
To follow where I lead; these friends so dear—
They shall support you, and have leave to enter.
| Alcanor | |