University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Zamti
solus.
Etan too long delays his sad return.
I long, yet fear, to know the deed's dispatch'd;
I wish, yet dread, his coming. Oh! my son,
My dear, dear infant! art thou then destroy'd?
Have they made up this horrid sacrifice?
I could not to the Scythian's butcher hand
Myself deliver you. Heav'n give me strength
To hear the sad success of my attempt,
And hide the anguish of my tortur'd soul?

SCENE II.

Zamti, Etan,
Zamti.
My friend!—I understand—your tears explain it.

Etan.
Your hapless son—

Zamti.
Ah! speak of him no more;
Speak of our Monarch's son, the hope o'th' Empire.
Say, is he safe?

Etan.
The holy monuments
Of his great ancestors from hostile eyes
His life and woes conceal. To you he owes
A life, whose dawn in heaviness comes on:
Too fatal gift perhaps.

Zamti.
He lives: enough.
O you, my Royal Masters, to whose shades
My only child I sacrifice, forgive
A father's tears!

Etan.
Within these conquer'd walls
Your sorrows speak too loudly.

Zamti.
Oh! my friend,
In what sad mansion shall my grief have vent?
And how shall I sustain the first approach,
Bitter upbraidings, yellings, wild despair,
And imprecations of a furious mother?
Let us at first, if possible, deceive her!

Etan.
The ruffians, in her absence, took your son,
And to the cruel victors strait convey'd him.
I flew immediately to save, if possible,
Th'endanger'd Orphan.

Zamti.
Tell her, my good Etan,
That we have sav'd the heir of China; tell her,
Our boy is safe; and thus with kind delusion
Win her, if possible, to fond belief.
Alas! that truth so often should be cruel!
Mankind adore it; and it makes them wretched.
Come then, my Etan!—Heav'n! my wife approaches,
And death and madness stare within her eyes.

SCENE III.

Zamti, Idamè.
Idamè.
What have I seen? Barbarian! is it possible?
Did you command this horrid sacrifice?
Ah! no, I can't believe it; angry heav'n
Ne'er fill'd your bosom with such cruelty;
You cannot be more hard and barbarous
Than the rough Tartar. Canst thou weep then, Zamti?

Zamti.
Ah! weep with me, my Idamè; but try
To save your King.

Idamè.
How! sacrifice my son?

Zamti.
Such is our hapless lot: but think, dear wife,
That Citizen's a holier tie than Mother.

Idamè.
Rules nature then so feebly in your breast?

Zamti.
Alas! too strong; but weaker than my duty:
I would preserve our child; but more, much more,
To my unhappy master's blood I owe.

Idamè.
No, I disclaim this savage strength of soul.
I've seen these walls in ashes, this high throne
O'erturn'd, and wept our monarch's hapless fate:
But by what madness, still more horrible,
Will you bring on a poor wife's death, and shed
The blood of your own child, they not demand?
Our kings interr'd, and vanish'd into dust,
Are they your gods, and do you dread their thunder?
And have you sworn to these weak gods intomb'd
To sacrifice your son? Alas! my Zamti,
The great and small, the subject and the monarch,
Distinguish'd for a time by idle marks,
Equal by nature, equal by misfortune,
Each bears enough, that bears his own distress.
It is our part, amid this gen'ral wreck
To gather up our sad remains.—Good heav'n!
Where had I been, if my credulity
Had fall'n into the net was spread before me!
If by the Orphan's side I had remained,
My infant-victim would to butcher hands
Have been deliver'd; I no more a mother
Had fall'n beneath the knife that kill'd my child.
Thanks to my love, that troubled and unquiet
Call'd me, like instinct, to the fatal cradle!
I found them carrying off my lovely babe,
And with a mother's fury tore him from them.
Barbarian! ev'n the cruel ravishers
Wanted thy savage firmness. To a slave,
Whose breast with nursing care has long sustain'd
His little life, the precious charge I gave.
Thus have I sav'd from death the child and mother,
Nay more, my Zamti, sav'd th'unhappy sire.

Zamti.
How! is my son then living?

Idamè.
Yes, thank heav'n!
Kind, in thine own despight, to bless thee still.
Repent you of your rashness.

Zamti.
God of heaven!
Forgive this joy that will not be repress'd,
And for a moment mixes with my grief.
O my dear Idamè, his days are few:
In vain you would prolong his life, in vain
Conceal this fatal off'ring. On demand,
If we not render up his forfeit life,
The jealous tyrants soon will be reveng'd;
And all the citizens with us destroy'd
Too sadly shall repay thy cruel care.
Enclos'd by soldiers, there's no refuge left;
And my poor boy, thou fondly striv'st to save,
Cannot be rescued from the hand of slaughter.
He must die.

Idamè.
Stay! dear Zamti, stay, I charge thee!

Zamti.
Ah!—he must die.

Idamè.
Must die! hold, on thy life!
Fear my despair and fury, fear a mother.

Zamti.
I know no fear but to betray my duty.
Abandon yours; me and my life abandon
To the detested conqu'ror's impious rage.
Go, ask my death of Gengis; go, he'll grant it.
Bathe in a husband's blood your hands, and fill
With monstrous deaths this day of parricide.
Horror on horror's head still heap, at once
Betray your God, your Country, and your King.

Idamè.
My king! what claim have monarchs in the grave?
Owe I my blood a tribute to their ashes?
Or does a subject's duty bind thee more,
Than the strong ties of father and of husband?
Nature and marriage are the first of laws,
The duties, and chief bonds of all mankind:
These laws descend from heav'n, the rest are human.
O make me not abhor the blood of kings!—
Yes, save the Orphan from the victor's sword,
But save him not by parricide. O let
His days be bought at any other price,
Far from abandoning, I fly to aid him.
I pity him. O pity thou thyself,
Pity thy guiltless infant, and O pity
His poor distracted mother, who doats on thee!
No more I threaten; at thy knees I fall.—
O hapless father, dear though cruel husband.
For whom I scorn'd, which haply you remember,
The man whom fortune now has made our master;
Grant me the offspring of our purest love;
Nor O! oppose the strong and tender cries
Of love, that even now shake all your frame!

Zamti.
Ah! do not thus abuse thy power o'er me,
Nor join with nature to oppose my duty.
O thou too weak of soul! if you but knew!—

Idamè.
Yes I am weak; a mother should be so.
Yet thou should'st not upbraid my soul of weakness,
Were I to follow thee to death or torture:
And if, to glut the bloody victor's rage,
The mother's murder may redeem the child,
I'm ready: Idamè shall ne'er complain;
And her heart beats as nobly as thy own.

Zamti.
Alas! I know thy virtues.

SCENE IV.

Zamti, Idamè, Octar, with Guards.
Octar.
Dare ye, slaves,
Resume the pledge that I commanded from you?
Follow them, soldiers, and the child conceal'd
See they resign. Away, your Emp'ror comes:
Here bring the victim to your master's feet.
Soldiers observe them.

Zamti.
We'll obey your orders:
We will resign the infant.

Idamè.
Never, never.
No, I'll not yield him up, but with my life.

Octar.
Away with that bold woman. Lo, the Emperor!
Let not these captive slaves approach his presence.

SCENE V.

Gengis, Octar, Osman, Soldiers.
Gengis.

SCENE VI.

Gengis, Octar.
Gengis.
Could'st thou believe
That fate would lift me to this height of glory?
I trample on this throne, and here I reign,
Where late I scarcely durst uplift my eyes:
Here in this palace, this proud city, where
Mix'd with the vulgar crowd, and seeking refuge,
I underwent the scorn, which in distress
The stranger takes of th'haughty citizen.
A Scythian they disdain'd, with shame and outrage
Receiv'd my ill-form'd wishes. Nay, my Octar,
A peevish woman here refus'd that hand
Beneath whose pow'r now trembles all mankind.

Octar.
Why, now exalted to this height of glory,
When the whole world lays prostrate at your feet,
Comes o'er your memory this idle thought?

Gengis.
My soul, I do confess, was always hurt
With the affronts my humble fortune suffer'd.
I never knew but this one thought of anguish,
And here believ'd my soul would find repose.
But 'tis not in the splendor of my fortune,
The pleasure fame, or love, they say, bestows.
I feel an indignation, that's below me;
And yet methinks, I'd have her know her king,
Make her look up from baseness, to his glory,
Whose tenderness her folly turn'd to rage;
That when she sees the lot she might have shar'd,
Her fury and despair may give me vengeance.

Octar.
My ear, my Lord, has ever been accustom'd
To cries of fame and victory; of walls
O'erturn'd and smoaking at your feet: Of love
And all these tender tales I nothing know.

Gengis.
No, since the hour my soul was here subdued,
Since all my fierceness was so poorly conquer'd,
I guarded my firm heart from the return
Of that mean softness, which they here call Love.
You, Idamè, I own, within this breast
Mad'st an impression I ne'er knew till then.
In our rough females of the frozen North
There is no beauty that enchains the soul.
Those savage consorts of our hardy labours
Are barb'rous, rude, robust, and masculine.
Bur here a new infection seiz'd my soul,
Darting from th'eyes of Idamè: Her words,
Her looks breath'd tenderness. Her scorn,
I thank it, nourish'd this my noble fury,
And her disdain releas'd me from her bonds.
This tyrant charm, this sov'reign of the heart
Would have destroy'd my honour. My whole soul
Is due to glory. I've subdued the world,
Instead of wasting in mean love my days.
No, this disgraceful wound, I once endur'd,
Shall ne'er re-enter this offended breast.
I banish the low thought: a woman rule me!
No, I'll forget her, will not see her, Octar.
Let her at leisure mourn her foolish scorn;
Enquire not of her, I forbid thy search.

Octar.
Here more important cares call out upon us.

Gengis.
Yes, I reflect too deeply on these errors.

SCENE VII.

Gengis, Octar, Osman.
Osman.
The sacrifice, my Liege, was just prepar'd,
And the guards rang'd in order all around;
But an event, which I expected not,
Demands new orders, and suspends his fate:
A woman all-distract, and bath'd in tears.
Came raving to the guard with out-stretch'd arms;
And pierc'd our ears with her alarming cries.
Stop, 'tis my son you would assassinate:
'Tis my son; they deceive you in the victim.
The black despair that spoke within her eyes,
Her face, her voice, her cries, and exclamations,
Her rage, intrepid in the midst of grief,
Were the plain marks of nature and a mother.
But then, at our command, appear'd her husband,
Not less distress'd and wretched than herself,
But dark, and all-collected in his grief:
You have, he cried, the last of all our kings,
Strike, that's the child whose blood was your demand.
His eyes, while thus he spoke, ran o'er with tears:
The woman, struck with horror at his words,
Long time remain'd without speech, life, or motion;
But she no sooner felt returning life,
Than, O my son! restore my son! she cry'd.
Griefs so sincere were never counterfeit,
Such bitter tears delusion never shed.
Doubt and confusion overwhelm'd us all,
And here I came to know your dread commands.

Gengis.
I shall discover this weak artifice,
And who deceives me surely feels my vengeance:
What? would this race of slaves delude their Lord?
And must their blood begin to stream again?

Octar.
This woman cannot baffle your high prudence.
The Emp'ror's infant offspring was her care;
Fond of her master's children, love and grief
And fond enthusiasm equals nature.
Her grief so unaffected aids th'imposture:
But soon discovering her hidden purpose,
This cloud of darkness shall clear up before you.

Gengis.
What is this woman?

Octar.
Wife, they say, my Lord,
To a grave chief, one of those letter'd sages
All Asia treats with rev'rence and respect;
Who proud of th'honours of their sacred laws,
Upon their vain tribunal dar'd to brave
A hundred kings. Their croud's innumerable;
But now they're all in chains, and own the force
Of laws more sovereign. This haughty slave
Is Zamti call'd, who o'er the infant watch'd
Due to the sacrifice.

Gengis.
Examine them,
And make this guilty pair confess the truth.
Moreover let our guards, their post preserv'd,
Watch, where our prudent caution lately plac'd them.
Let none escape: they talk of a surprise,
And some attempt from Corea. Soldiers too
Upon the river-banks have late been seen.
See, if these wretches will provoke their fate,
And rouze the sleeping lion from his den:
See, if while earth owns Gengis for its Lord,
The rebel world must groan beneath his sword.