University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene, a Chamber.
Herodian meeting Halak.
Her.
Welcome, my friend, I've waited your return
With anxious expectation—Have you seen
This new-discover'd star that all men gaze at,
This wonder of the time—my Arab brother,
And, as report proclaims, my king that shall be?

Hal.
I have not seen him.

Her.
What do you collect
From those who have been happily advanc'd
To that high honour?

Hal.
All agree in this—
His form is manly, his demeanour bold,
His language very nature, and his manners
Those of the savage hordes with whom he liv'd.

Her.
Such is Alcanor—Now resolve me, you
That have such long experience of mankind,
And have been train'd in courts, what do you counsel?
Shall I oppose myself to this barbarian,
Whom the strong hand of Rome, and his base mother
Have rais'd to sudden power, or meanly fly,
And leave my wretched parent at his mercy?

Hal.
Here to abide were absolute destruction,
Yet to desert a title, sacred deem'd
For endless generations, would be treason
Against yourself and heav'n—My counsel is,
That you repair to Rome, and at the foot
Of Cæsar's throne, where kings are fain to kneel,
Put up your suit, and urge your ancient right.

Her.
Well you advise, and reason must approve;
But in the weakness of my heart I waver;
For know, my friend, in this distracted bosom,
There is a tyrant passion holds command,
And I am beauty's slave. In my late exile,
It was my chance to harbour with a Syrian,
Philotas nam'd, a hospitable man;
He, when Seleucus, his unhappy monarch,
Died, as you know, in wretchedness and want,
Took to his charge the daughter of his master,
An orphan relict, my ador'd Glaphyra:
To her my vows are pledg'd, to her I promis'd
Instant return. How then can I abandon
All that my heart holds dear?

Hal.
Alas, my prince,
What can I say? Love is no hero's passion;
But if your word is pass'd, behold me ready
To execute your will, whether it be
That I should go to Rome in your behalf,
Or to the Syrian beauty that enslaves you:
Nor toils, nor dangers, no, not death itself,
Can shake my constancy, when you demand it.

Her.
Thus to my heart, my grateful heart I press you,
Bravest and best of friends! And now in candour
Hear and forgive my weakness, whilst I own,
That, haunted as my fancy is with horrors,
I would not fail my promise to Glaphyra,
And go to Rome were I to gain its empire,
Such agonizing dreams, such dreadful visions
Have haunted me this night—Methought I saw
Glaphyra struggling in the brutal arms
Of that false Syrian, in whose charge I left her;
Methought I heard her screams, by which awaken'd,
And, leaping from my couch, I seiz'd my sword,
And in my frenzy rush'd to her defence,
Whilst terror shook each joint, and even now,
So strong the impression dwells upon my mind,
I cannot shake it from me.

Hal.
'Twas the shock
Of last night's scene with your imprison'd mother,
That bred these fearful and distemper'd thoughts;
But come with me—Your person is unknown,
We will devote an hour to observation,
And then prepare for what we may resolve on.

[Exeunt.
Scene changes to the Palace.—A State Apartment.
Augusta enters, and is met by Barzilla, who attempts to kneel and is prevented. Guards attend.
Aug.
[The Guards withdraw.

Bar.
And I have kept your trust religiously.

Aug.
I will not doubt it.

Bar.
I have hope you do not.

Aug.
No, on my life! I know you to be faithful;
Let that suffice! Is the young man here with you?

Bar.
He waits your pleasure—

Aug.
Why that downcast look,
That melancholy tone—Reveal thy thoughts!
Art not content? If my preventive bounty
Hath left thee nothing for thyself to wish,
Adopt another's wants, invent desires;
Be satisfaction henceforth turn'd to surfeit,
And let imagination weary out
Thy tongue with asking, ere my hand with giving.

Bar.
Below ambition, yet above caprice;
Thy servant seeks not to obtrude a wish.

Aug.
Why then thou art content; but art thou also
Mindful of former days, and that sad state
Of mournful want, in which my bounty found thee?
Is it still present to thy mind, how low
Misfortune's leading hand had press'd thee down
In life's profound decline, when I confided
Alcanor, then an infant, to thy care?
Set him before me.

Bar.
I obey—but look
To see the merest child of nature, one
As void of courtly manners, as of craft;
For never yet in cities hath he dwelt,
But with the wand'ring Ishmaelite in camps,
And what should he of this great world have learnt
More than a shepherd's boy, or how can I
Train up a prince for empire and Augusta?

Aug.
Talk not to me in this desponding style;
Look, look! is that Alcanor whom I see
Clad in his Arab mantle?—Hah! he comes—
Is this your shepherd-boy, your child of nature?
Art cannot mend such nature—
Alcanor enters.
Speak, Barzilla!
Tell him to pay his homage to his mother.

Bar.
Son, you are now in presence of the queen.

Alc.
Well, if I am, what do your forms require
Of him that is in presence of a queen?

Aug.
When, for the first time, you approach a mother,
What does your nature dictate?

Alc.
To inquire
Why I have been deserted by that mother,
From infancy till now—this nature dictates.

Aug.
Imperious fate forbade that I should pay thee
The duties of a mother: fourteen years
I was immur'd in prison.

Alc.
'Twas my father,
Herod, the king now dead, that sent you thither,
And do you mourn for him?—So would not I.

Bar.
Check your bold tongue! You speak you know not what.

Alc.
I speak what nature dictates, as she bade me;
Such are not apt to err. Your modes I know not,
But we, the world's free denizens, who range
With flocks and herds in common, where fresh pasture
And welcome springs invite, must keep men honest
By rendering wrong for wrong, and death for death,
Our law and our religion is revenge.

Aug.
If, as you speak, you act, you'll find full cause,
When you come forth into this faithless world,
To put your Arab maxims into practice.

Alc.
Barzilla, tell the queen how I chastis'd
The wretch, that would have forc'd the Syrian damsel.

Aug.
Tell it thyself.

Alc.
I'm ill at such relations—

Aug.
I'll hear it from none other.

Alc.
So it chanc'd,
We harbour'd by the way with one Philotas—
Barzilla knew the man—At dead of night,
When all but villainly was laid to rest,
A female scream awaken'd me from sleep;
Instant I snatcht my sword, and quick, as thought,
Ran where the cry directed; there I found
A damsel struggling in the lustful arms
Of that old caitiff—To his heart, at once,
I drove my rapier, and redeem'd the maid:
'Tis so we children of the desert act—
Barzilla knows the rest.

Aug.
Relate the rest.

Bar.
The prince hath briefly told, what briefly pass'd.
I deem'd it needful to resume our march
Without a moment's loss; nor could I leave,
In that extremity, the rescued damsel,
Half dead with terror, to abide the dangers,
That needs would follow that intemperate act.

Aug.
You brought her with you?

Alc.
Yes, that charge was his;
The women and the camels were his care;
I and my Arab horsemen kept aloof.
Beauty, like hers, was only to be trusted
With purity and continence like his.

Aug.
Of what condition is she, slave or free?

Bar.
Of royal birth, the daughter of Seleucus,
That hapless prince, who, when dethron'd by Cæsar,
Was fain to labour for his bread in Rome.
Her name Glaphyra—

Aug.
Set her in my sight!
A maid so father'd claims our best protection.

[Exit Barzilla.
Alc.
Did I not well?

Aug.
Thou didst.

Alc.
Barzilla chided;
But why should vengeance pause when virtue suffers?
He was as swift to sin, as I to punish:
I'll not repent the deed.

Aug.
To rescue innocence
Needs no repentance; but beware of love,
It is not beauty, 'tis ambition now
With bridal smiles, that weds thee to a throne.

Alc.
I know not what love is—I never felt it;
But this I know, no object half so lovely
Ere met my sight before—Lo, where she comes!

Barzilla conducts Glaphyra.
Aug.
Why 'tis a form compounded of all beauty,
Simplicity with elegance combin'd,
And virgin dignity—Illustrious maid;
With pity we have heard the sad recital
Of your misfortunes, and with all respect
Due to your high descent, we bid you welcome;
And much it glads us, happy fortune brought
Our princely son so timely to your rescue.

Alc.
Speak not of that—banish that painful subject!

Gla.
'Tis delicate, 'tis generous on your part
To spare me the recital; but if words
Could speak my gratitude, I'd not be silent.

Aug.
Barzilla, I would speak with you apart.

[They withdraw.
Gla.
Prince, I perceive in thy sequester'd haunts
Thou hast convers'd with virtue—Oh, persist;
Keep her for ever near, loose not her hand,
Lead her to courts, to councils, on the throne
Make her thy consort, and, when night comes on,
Place that one faithful centinel beside thee,
And thou shalt sleep secure.

Alc.
Rude though I am,
So thou wilt teach me, I will strive to please thee.
What have I seen amongst thy sex but thee?
External shapes of things, that walk and move
With nature's due proportions, but unpolish'd
And barbarous as myself: they catch the eye,
Thou ear, eye, heart; they are but earthly beings,
Thou art all soul, a purifying spirit,
And mak'st me a new creature.

Gla.
Oh, no more:
I must not hear this language.

Alc.
Tell me then
How I must speak; teach me a purer language,
That, when I put up prayers for thee in absence,
I may adopt it.

Gla.
Friendship.

Alc.
Ah! what's friendship?
To my own sex 'tis proper and apportion'd;
I've pledg'd it to Barzilla, the wild tribes,
Hundreds of wandering Arabs have my friendship;
The very brutes, in some degree, possess it;
But thou, fair maid, for whom my heart conceives
A new sensation, thou should'st so describe it,
That other object may not claim or share it.

Aug.
Break off their conference! His heart is caught.

[Apart to Barzilla.
Bar.
Lady, the queen invites you to retire;
Considerate of your health, she has provided
To entertain you in the private chamber.

Alc.
She has done well—Glaphyra's spirit needs,
And my repose demands it—Leave me, leave me!

[To Glaphyra, who directs a look of acknowledgment to him, and departs. Exeunt Augusta and Glaphyra.
Alcanor and Barzilla remain.
Alc.
Friend of my life, protector of my honour,
I know it is to thee I owe this rescue;
But have a care! The conquest was not easy,
And courage, brought too often to the test,
At last may fail—then I am lost for ever,
And all thy cares have been bestow'd in vain.

Bar.
Child of my hopes, I trust thou wilt not yield
To baseness, which thy noble heart abhors.
Yet (I will own it to thee) when I saw
The crimson tumult rush into thy cheeks,
And thy fond eyes drink streams of soft desire
From the fair Syrian, my heart trembled for thee.

Alc.
No, if her form, though fair, could so defile
The sanctuary of my honour, by my soul,
This weapon, which I wear, should rip it out,
Though it entwin'd my heart.

Bar.
Yet take this caution—
Some vices in their infancy usurp
A virtuous semblance; hell-born lust awhile
Its goatish ugliness can varnish o'er
With cherub smiles of love; by soft approach
And playful dalliance spreads its lurking fires;
Then, like the infuriate Syrian, whom you slew,
Bursts into flame and deals destruction round.

Alc.
Truly you speak my fears; I look about
This new-found world with horror—Beauty here,
With tempting smiles, allures me to dishonour—
There gaunt ambition's spectre haunts my sight,
Rapine and lust and murder howl around me,
Those fiends that lurk beneath a throne—Farewell
To those calm hours, when each returning day
On Amram's banks, we call'd the golden sun
Up to the east, and met the dewy breath
Of morning issuing from the flowery vale—
These are for ever gone.

Bar.
And what can empire
Give in exchange, for these so peaceful scenes?

Alc.
Power to dispense my mercies to mankind,
And blessings dealt me by approving heaven.

Bar.
Then hear me, heaven! And if my breath has fann'd
The native spark of this etherial fire,
That burns within him, grant my earnest prayer—
Nourish the sacred flame, and as thy hand
Hath rais'd it high, oh, keep it ever bright,
That, like a beacon on the mountain's top,
His high-enthroned virtue may be seen
Clear and unsullied by a guilty world!

Alc.
Oh, still be near me, still direct my course,
And, what you've rais'd, support!

Bar.
I'll not forsake thee;
And should the false lights of this treach'rous world
Divert (which heaven forbid!) thy youthful course
From the warm chase of glory, in that moment
I will come forth, recal thy devious steps
Back to the saving point, from which they stray'd,
And put thee in the glorious track again.