 | Alcanor |  |
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ACT IV.
Alcanor, Herodian.Her.
Alcanor, when we parted at the prison,
Such was the scene, so powerful were my feelings,
I could not speak to you, and even now,
Conscious you look not to the praise of men,
I'll not oppress your ear, or waste your time
With a display of words—You have done nobly;
Henceforth I am your brother, not your rival.
Alc.
I know not what I've done, that should demand
That sacrifice from you: I found you here
Under my roof, a brother—Had I found
My direst enemy, could I have harm'd him?
I found a hapless woman in my prison,
I let her out—Could any man do less?
If, in pursuit of what my heart inspir'd,
My heart has led me right, why praise me for it?
When virtue seeks more than its own reward,
It becomes vanity—I will not hear you.
Her.
Oh, blessed solitudes, oh, sacred haunts
Of uncorrupted nature, where the eye,
Ranging the interminable wild, discovers
Nor fence, nor landmark to confine its scope,
But all it sees possesses, till the soul,
Expanding with the space it contemplates,
Grows like the scene, magnificent and vast.
Alc.
Yes, in the desert, which has been my school,
We think and act at large; but like the plant,
That, shrinking at the touch, folds up its leaves,
So, in its contact with a guilty world,
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Its wide-expanded feelings—Therefore fly,
Before my mother's policy prevents it;
Whilst yet my power protects you, speak your wishes,
And speak your wants—My hand is open to you.
Her.
'Tis nobly offer'd—By my father's bounty,
Whilst Mariamne reign'd, I was endow'd
With fair possessions in the vale of Sharon:
Thither, so you confirm the royal grant,
My wishes point—Ambition I renounce.
Alc.
If that contents you, I confirm the grant.
What have you more to ask?
Her.
Illustrious youth,
By virtue more exalted than by fortune,
Of heaven I've much to ask on your behalf,
Of you my benefactor nothing more,
But simply your permission and safe conduct
For my departure hence.
Alc.
Whither to go?
Her.
I have a friend some two days journey off,
Beside the Merom lake—his name Philotas—
Alc.
Well, what of him?
Her.
I lay my heart before you—
Philotas has in trust its dearest treasure—
An orphan maid—
Alc.
Go on!—Her name?—
Her.
Glaphyra.
Alc.
You love her, and you left her with Philotas?—
Her.
I did.
Alc.
Why then you left her with a villain.
Her.
Uphold me, heaven! has he betray'd his trust?
Alc.
He was in act to do it, when I sav'd her;
Whilst she was struggling in his arms I kill'd him,
I struck him to the heart, and sav'd Glaphyra.
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Oh, let me kneel, and call on heaven to bless you!
[Is about to kneel.
Alc.
Forbear! Man was not born to be ador'd,
And you, perhaps, are kneeling to a demon:
Stand up! you know not what is passing here.
Answer me truly—Are you married to her?
Her.
I am not married, but our faith is pledg'd.
Alc.
Leave me; escape! begone upon the moment,
Before the fire that's kindling shall consume you—
Oh, through my head, my heart! Lost, lost for ever!
[Exit abruptly.
Barzilla enters.
Bar.
Hah! what is this?
Her.
Oh, good Barzilla, save him!
He rages with a passion for Glaphyra,
And I, unhappily for his repose,
Have own'd myself possess'd of her affections.
Bar.
Away! you'll find Glaphyra at the castle;
She's with the queen your mother—be prepar'd
For instant flight. Lose not a moment's time;
But leave your cause to me.
Her.
Angels inspire you
With powers of soft persuasion to appease him!
[Exit.
Alcanor re-enters.
Alc.
Where is he going? Call him back, Barzilla!
Bar.
Why; for what purpose?
Alc.
I revoke my mercy:
He tempts me past my bearing—Stay me not:
The vessel of my peace is tempest-torn,
Whelm'd by conflicting passions, rack'd with love,
And gulf'd in deep despair.
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Are you a man?
Alc.
Away! I never will resign Glaphyra:
He shall not live, that dares dispute my title.
Bar.
Your title! What's your title to Glaphyra,
If she has pledg'd her heart—the tyrant's title,
The title of the wolf to seize the lamb?
I tell you, sir, you are about to do
The very deed, for which you kill'd Philotas.
Alc.
'Tis false. Who dares to call my love a crime?
Recal the odious word!
Bar.
No, I avow it:
Commit what crime you may, I'm not afraid
To give it its true name.
Alc.
Down on your knees,
Beg for your life! Hence from my heart for ever!
All memory of your friendship I cast off.
Lo, I am arm'd: escape whilst yet you can:
You tread upon your grave—
Bar.
I care not; strike!
Here is my heart—Strike, parricide, but know
You kill your father.
Alc.
Hah! my father?—Yes;
I've call'd you father—
Bar.
By the eternal truth,
I am your father: your intemperate rage
Has wrung the secret out: Augusta's son,
Whose princely name you bear, died in his birth,
And poverty corrupted my weak virtue
To substitute my infant in his place.
Alc.
Did you do this?
Bar.
I did this guilty deed:
Unseen of all, in the dead hour of night,
Tempted by dire necessity, I took thee,
A smiling infant, from thy mother's breast,
And gave thee to Augusta, in the place
Of her lost hope expiring at her side.
Alc.
I'll hear no more; the fable is too gross:
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Or, if there were, it cannot be Barzilla.
Could I believe that you had been this monster,
Who sold your child, barter'd your blood for shekels,
And brooded o'er a lie for twenty years,
By the Great Power that made me, I'd not live
To meet the direful curse, that must pursue
And overtake the son of such a father.
Bar.
Your sword was in your hand, your visage wild;
I trembled at the sight—
Alc.
Lo, I am calm:
The horror that hangs o'er me, has subdued
And made all lesser passions sink before it.
If truth you told, few hours are left for me,
And, when I drop the sceptre, death receives me;
There I shall meet my judge—Here then I pause
Upon the awful interim, prepar'd
So to employ it, as shall best atone
To him, whose right, unconscious, I usurp'd.
[Exit.
Augusta enters.
Aug.
Ah! have I found you? Do you turn aside
And hang your head? What sullen discontent
Has seiz'd the sage philosopher of Shinar,
The great Gamaliel of the wilderness?
Does your boy-king rebel, and has the Syrian
Conjur'd another passion up, to rival
Your fine new-fangled maxims of forbearance
And self-denial? Have Glaphyra's eyes,
Arm'd with almighty love, taught him a lesson
Not to be found in your morality?
Bar.
Oh, most unnatural father that I am!
Lost, hopeless wretch! for ever be accurs'd
The hour in which, by sordid bribes allur'd,
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I took your dead Alcanor, and impos'd
My living babe upon the credulous king.
Now, now the dreadful retribution falls
On my devoted head—Never again
Shall I enfold him in these aged arms:
I have disclos'd the fatal secret to him;
He knows me for his father, and I sink
Under his filial curses to the grave,
The murderer of my son.
Aug.
Oh, where was then
Heav'n's vengeance? Why did not the lightning strike
Or e'er that word had pass'd thy perjur'd lips,
Bound by so many and such solemn oaths
To an eternal secresy? Thou traitor!—
To thine ownself as faithless as to me—
To thine own son—Dost think he will believe thee?
No, he shall not; I'll out-face thy confession,
And thou shalt find, that I have still the power
To punish the betrayer of my trust—
Away! begone! I hold no talk with traitors.
[Exit Barzilla.
As Barzilla goes out, Serapion appears.
Aug.
Approach, Serapion!
Ser.
Behold your slave!
I live but to obey you.
Aug.
Slave, methinks
Thou'rt an Egyptian. When our royal Herod
Met Antony and his imperial mistress
At Samosata, thou wast in the train
Of that fair reveller—'Twas then, Serapion,
Thy better stars preferr'd thee to my service.
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Blest be the time! If you, my royal lady,
Bear it in mind, how should your slave forget it?
Aug.
Men of thy cast, they say, will promise fair,
And shrink from the performance—Tell me now,
If I were haunted with a walking spirit,
Whom I would lay to rest, dar'st thou administer
A spell to quiet it?
Ser.
I dare do any thing,
That thou dar'st counsel.
Aug.
Nay, thou shalt not feed
On airy promises—Here, take this jewel—
What, man, accept it!
Ser.
My thrice-bounteous lady,
There needs not this to bind me to thy service.
Aug.
That stone might grace the diadem of Cæsar,
Yet is it but a foretaste of my bounty.
Be faithful, and thou shalt be drench'd in gold,
Steep'd to the lips in treasure, blazing bright,
Like Mammon's altar, pil'd with glittering ore,
The offerings of idolatry to sin.
Ser.
Who bleeds for this?
Aug.
Barzilla.
Ser.
Hah! Barzilla?—
Aug.
Doth it revolt thee? In the western tower
He sleeps this night: thou art most private there;
Know'st every passage, and can'st thread the maze,
That darkling winds around the vaulted pile,
Commodious for the deed thou tak'st in hand.
Ser.
Say'st thou this night? He sleeps his last—
Aug.
But swear,
Swear to perform it!
Ser.
By each sacred thing,
That can record or sanctify my oath,
I swear—
Aug.
'Tis well! You med'cine my sick soul,
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Ingratitude has made—He falls; he dies—
But see the king!—remember, and be faithful.
[Exit Serapion.
Alcanor enters to Augusta.
Aug.
Welcome, my son! you come upon a wish.
Alc.
I come to call your conscience to account.
It has been told me I am not your son.
Aug.
And who is he that dares avow that falsehood?
Alc.
Barzilla.
Aug.
Yes; Barzilla has his motives:
You may ev'n thank yourself for that deception:
You've turn'd the brain of that old doting man,
Who having foster'd you these twenty years,
Now fain would father you. 'Tis all a plot,
To sink your high-born energy of soul
By peasant principles, and to melt down
The bright imperial ore, of which I form'd you,
To his base dross. Some sudden start of passion,
Some gust, that gave his apathy alarm,
Drove him to this resource.
Alc.
I do confess
'Twas when he urg'd me to resign Glaphyra,
And had so gall'd my spirit by reproaches,
That in my rage I was about to kill him.
Aug.
There, there the artifice convicts itself.
Why did he feign himself to be your father?
He trembled for his life. When I advis'd
The seizure of your rival, and prepar'd
Glaphyra to receive you in her arms,
Why, but to keep your noble mind in bondage,
Did he oppose my counsels, and persuade you
To enlarge Herodian, and renounce Glaphyra?
But you shall still possess her—The true parent
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Your generous passion with the freezing maxims
Of cold forbearance—rules unfit for kings.
Alc.
Is he a king, within whose bosom reigns
A tyrant passion, that enslaves his reason?
Aug.
Is he a man, who lends his easy faith
To fictions, that would not deceive a child?
And what does he deserve, who would degrade
The son of Herod to a peasant's brat?
Were you his son, would he conspire against you?
No, 'tis because he knows you to be mine,
That, in his malice against me your mother,
He leagues with those, who call Judæa's throne
The throne of David, and would pull you from it.
Strike then, while yet you may, oh, strike these traitors;
Live, reign, be happy, know me for thy mother,
Or fly with him, and be a wretch for ever!
Alc.
No, 'tis too late for flight; having advanc'd,
I never can go back: all that I am
I must for ever be, or cease to be:
Having once been a king, I will not live
Detected, an impostor, at the mercy
Of my triumphant rival, and behold
Oh, worse than death! Glaphyra in his arms.
Aug.
Hah! is it so? Does she reject Alcanor,
Her brave defender, and prefer Herodian?
Alc.
Oh, fatal truth! I have preserv'd her honour,
He has possess'd her heart.
Aug.
Where is your spirit?
Where is that brave revenge, of which you boasted?
Alc.
Ah, if I am thy son, forbear to tempt me:
Should not a mother turn my heart to mercy,
Not to revenge?
Aug.
Should not a mother save
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Take nature's answer from a mother's lips—
I would—Can mercy point that saving way?
'Tis not in mercy's power: to justice then
Turn thy revolving thoughts; inquire of reason,
Ask if 'tis fitting to supplant a son,
To give a son's fair birthright to his rival,
And sacrifice thy life to save Herodian's:
Does heav'n prescribe such mercy to a mother?
I'll not believe it does: I, like thyself,
Was once weak pity's dupe, and mark what follow'd—
Twice sev'n long years of dark imprisonment—
If the example terrifies, avoid it,
And profit by experience dearly purchas'd.
Alc.
Urge me no farther. Leave me to reflection.
What you have said has sunk into my heart;
I do believe Barzilla has deceiv'd me.
Aug.
Be confident of that. He is a traitor:
Think no more of him.
Alc.
Had I never left
Arabia's deserts, never seen Glaphyra,
Love and ambition had been harmless passions,
And I been happy.
Aug.
Be advis'd by me,
And you shall still be happy.
Alc.
Oh, too much,
Too much already—I will hear no more.
Aug.
Farewell! remember, in the western tower
Herodian sleeps—
[Exit Augusta.
Alcanor
alone.
What then? There let him sleep!
Avaunt, seducer! let my virtue struggle.
Strengthen my soul, just heav'n! Let him awake
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Laughing shall rise; round him the dancing hours
Shall tread their sportive measures—his the day
And every day—Night and despair are mine.
| Alcanor | |