University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Gengis, Osman, Guards.
Gengis.
Have they clear'd up th'imposture of these slaves?
Their crime detected, and reveng'd my wrongs?
Say, is this phantom of a prince, their care,
Restor'd at last to Octar?

Osman.
All's confusion.
This steady Mandarine, at sight of torture,
Persisted in his answer undismay'd,
And seem'd upon his brow to carry truth.
His trembling wife by tears alone replied,
Still fairer, and more beautiful in grief.
Spite of our manly spirit, our rough souls
Were soften'd into pity: never ought
So beauteous struck our sight. This hapless fair
Demands to throw her at your Highness' feet.
“Let the great Conqueror of Kings but hear me!
“Let him protect an infant's innocence!
“Even in his anger I will hope for mercy;
“Since he's all-powerful he will be noble.
“Can he refuse the cries of the unhappy?”
'Tis thus she spoke; and I would fain have promis'd
That you'd admit her to your royal presence.

Gengis.
Yes, I will know what means this mystery.
[To his train.
Let her come; go, and strait conduct her hither.
Let her not think by whinings and complainings,
By deep-fetch'd sighs, and some few idle drops,
To blind the eyes of caution or revenge.
The women of this place can ne'er abuse me:
Too well, alas! I know their faithless tears,
And my firm heart hath long been steel'd against them.
She seeks a boon on which her fate depends.
And if she tries to practise on my faith,
She meets with certain death.

Osman.
My Lord, she comes.

Gengis.
What do I see! is't possible? O Heaven!
Do I not dream? and is't not all delusion?
'Tis Idamè; 'tis she, and my rapt soul—

SCENE II.

Gengis, Idamè, Octar, Osman, Guards.
Idamè.
Kill, kill, my Lord, a most unhappy woman!
Revenge is all your own, and I expect it,
But, O preserve from death a guiltless child!

Gengis.
Take comfort, Madam; lay these fears aside—
I am amaz'd, I own, as well as you—
Fortune, that governs all, deceiv'd us both,
And much the times are chang'd. But tho' high Heaven,
Of a rough Scythian, whom you lately scorn'd,
Has made the Conqueror of subject Asia,
Be not dismay'd. Your Emperor forgets
Th'affronts which here were thrown on Temugin.
This last remainder of a hostile race,
To vict'ry and my throne I sacrifice.
The quiet of the state demands his life,
And he must fall a victim. But the death
Of your own child you need not fear: Myself
From danger will protect him.

Idamè.
O misfortune!

Gengis.
But of the truth I must be satisfied:
With what delusion they would blind my rage,
And how yourself and husband would deceive me.

Idamè.
O pity the distresses of the wretched!

Gengis.
You know I ought to hate this rash offender.

Idamè.
Hate him! my Lord.

Gengis.
I've said too much.

Idamè.
Restore,
O quick restore the infant to my arms!
You've promis'd me, and have pronounc'd his safety.

Gengis.
His safety's in your hands: my glory's scorn'd,
My orders all contemn'd, and pow'r disgrac'd:
You know the full extent of all my wrongs.
To take away the victim to my rage,
To disobey my sovereign command
Is poor offence, to all my former wrongs.
'Tis not the insult of to-day alone
That justifies my rage. Your husband—husband!
Hell! hell! that name alone demands my vengeance.
What is this husband, that beneath his sway
Could bend your captive heart? what is this slave
That thinks to brave my fury? Let him come.

Idamè.
My virtuous husband, now the wretched cause
Of all my grief, has serv'd his God and King
With honest love, and I was happy in him.

Gengis.
In him?—when did you form this curst alliance?

Idamè.
While far from our blest walls, your prosp'rous fate
Remotest nations to your arms subdued.

Gengis.
Ay, in that day that Gengis was despis'd;
That day, that calls for vengeance on you both,
And bids me China with my hate pursue.

SCENE III.

Gengis, Octar, Osman, on one side. Idamè, Zamti, on the other, Guards.
Gengis.
Speak! are my sovereign commands obey'd?
Hast thou resign'd the Son o'th' Emperor?

Zamti.
I have fulfill'd my duty: it is done.

Gengis.
You know that I can punish fraud and insolence;
You know that nothing can escape my rage;
That if the Royal Infant you've conceal'd,
Spite of your artifice he'll soon be found,
And death alone shall answer for your crime.
[To his guards.
But I'll believe you: Go, and seize the child
This slave has render'd up a sacrifice.
Kill him.

Zamti.
Unhappy father!

Idamè.
Stay, Barbarians!
Ah! my good Lord, is this then your compassion,
And is it thus a Conqu'ror keeps his word?

Gengis.
Is't thus I am abused, and fool'd by slaves?
It is too much: hear now my last resolve.
Tell me this moment what this infant is,
Inform me the whole truth, or else he dies.

Idamè.
My son prevails; and if this sad confession
Which nature tears from my afflicted soul
Appears a new offence; and if for blood
Your soul still thirsts, strike here: for worse than death
Already racks my breast. Strike here, but save,
O save the generous the noble Zamti!
It is too true that our most Royal Master,
Who, but for Gengis, might have still surviv'd,
Committed to our care that sacred charge,
Honour'd by all but thee. Too many horrors
Follow'd your victory, too much, alas!
Has savage cruelty eclips'd your fame.
So many innocents all plung'd in blood,
The Emp'ror and his Queen, and five sons slain,
This mighty Empire by the sword laid waste,—
Could not so much of carnage glut your rage?
A stern barbarian came to ask the child,
That dearest pledge committed to our care,
Son of so many kings, our only hope.
My husband, at this cruel order, still retain'd
His faith inviolate, nor swerv'd from duty.
He gave up his own son. His tortur'd soul
The agonies of nature shook in vain;
In vain affection pleaded for a son.
You never should have known this fatal secret;
I should have more admir'd his noble firmness;
I should have copied it: But I'm a mother.
My soul could not sustain the cruel conflict,
And for a sacrifice resign my son.
Alas! my grief and violent despair
Too plainly spoke the weakness of a mother.
There stands the hapless father of the child,
Whose virtues were his only crimes. O spare
The babe, whose innocence could ne'er offend,
And spare the father, whose offence was virtue.
Me, punish me; who have at once betray'd
My husband and my king. O noble Zamti,
Thrice worthy all my love and admiration,
Forgive the weakness of maternal love.
If you die, so will I. At least forgive
That I from slaughter have preserv'd your son.

Zamti.
I forgive all: no more will I complain:
For my King's Son I have no more to fear.
He's plac'd in safety.

Gengis.
Traitor, slave, he is not.
Or bring him, villain, or your abject life
Shall answer for your crime.

Zamti.
My crime? it were
Indeed a crime, if I obey'd these orders.
The sov'reign voice of my right noble Masters
Speaks from the grave more loud than thy command.
You are my conqueror, but not my King.
If I ow'd you a subject's faith, to you
I would be faithful. Take my life, but still
Respect my zeal. I gave you up my son;
I could resign my dearest child a victim:
Can you then think I tremble for my life?

Gengis.
Away with him.

Idamè.
O, hear me!—

Gengis.
Drag him hence.

Idamè.
On me, on me vent all your rage. O Heav'n!
Could I have thought that by your cruel hand
I e'er should lose a King, a Son, and Husband?
What! will soft pity never touch your soul?

Gengis.
Go, follow him to whom your fate has bound you:
Follow your husband. Tears shall never move me,
Nor keen reproaches melt me to compassion.

Idamè.
This I foresaw: now all my hopes are flown.

Gengis.
No, Idamè: if in my own despight
Pity again should enter my weak heart,
You know the wrongs which must be satisfied.

SCENE IV.

Gengis, Octar.
Gengis.
Whence come these sighs? these doubtings whence? what God
Spoke in her, and maintain'd her sinking cause?
Is there a pow'r in virtue or in beauty
Above my high authority? ah! Octar,
Stay! for I fear, I tremble for myself:
I want a friend; my weak soul needs support.

Octar.
Since I must speak, receive my honest council:
If you would sacrifice this hostile race,
If the last branches from the wither'd trunk
You would lop off, delay not your revenge.
The cruel rigour of those bloody deeds,
Which must support a throne by conquest gain'd,
Should fall immediate; rapid, sure, and quick.
The bloody stream in torrents should descend.
Time restores peace and order; reconciles
The people to their fate; and wipes away
The bloody traces of their former woes.
They soon forgive, and ev'n forget their wrongs.
But when the blood's drawn from them drop by drop,
When the wound slowly clos'd, is soon again
Torn open by the hand of violence,
When slaughter seems to shape his course anew,
Then fierce despair stirs up to deeds of rage
Their coward souls, and makes a feeble race
A race of stubborn potent adversaries;
More dangerous, the more they are subdued.

Gengis.
But then this Idamè! this haughty woman!
Wife to a slave that braves me in my anger!

Octar.
You owe her no compassion, but revenge.
Your love for her, you own, was idle passion,
Of a light transient flame the hasty sparks:
Her foolish scorn, her anger, and the time,
Have in your breast its weak remains extinguish'd.
She's in your eyes a guilty wretch, the wife
Of a low criminal.

Gengis.
He shall be punish'd:
I should, I will have vengeance. Pity him!
What! spare a slave I hate! that braves me too!
My rival!

Octar.
Why is not his death pronounc'd?
You have him in your power, and yet he lives.

Gengis.
Just Heav'n! is't come to this? and does my heart,
Subdued by beauty, and disarm'd by tears,
Forego its rage, heave shameful sighs, and feel
Th'alarms of love? I rival to a slave!
A happy slave! and yet permit him live;
Yet know she doats upon him! Ah! I feel
Respect for Idamè ev'n in her husband:
I fear to plunge the dagger in his breast,
Lest the dire stroke should wound her bosom too.
Is it then true I love? is't I that sigh?
What is then love that has such sov'reign pow'r?

Octar.
I've only learnt to fight and to obey.
My cars, my steeds, my arrows and my quiver,
These are my only passions, only science;
To this capriciousness of soul a stranger.
I only know of victory and plunder;
That captives always to the victors yield.
This melting softness, to our race unknown,
Belies your fortune and your character.
What is't to you that one more slave attends
In bitterness of soul your dread decree?

Gengis.
I am aware how far my pow'r extends:
I may, too well I know, use violence.
But O! what cruel, what imbitter'd joy,
To force a heart that renders not itself!
To see those eyes that should be lighted up
With transport, sunk beneath a cloud of tears!
And to possess a slave who views your love
With horror, and the agonies of grief!
The monsters of the forests we inhabit,
See happier days, and know less barb'rous loves.
Spite of myself, my anger, and revenge,
The lovely Idamè subdued my soul.
I tremble that my heart should recollect it.
I was enrag'd; and yet her soul o'er mine,
Over my character, and sov'reign will,
Ruled with a pow'r more absolute and sure,
Than I received from war, and victory
Over an hundred kings dethron'd, enslav'd.
'Twas this enflam'd my rage and indignation:
But I'll for ever chase her from my heart;
I will forget her, my sole aim be glory—
Alas! she comes, she triumphs, and I love.

SCENE V.

Gengis, Octar, Osman.
Gengis.
The news? what says she? what does she resolve?

Osman.
Sooner to perish at her husband's side,
Than to discover where the child's conceal'd.
They swear to meet unmov'd the worst of deaths.
Her husband holds her trembling in his arms,
Supports her constancy, and steels her soul.
Thus let us die together, cry they; while around
The people weep, and seem to shake with horror.

Gengis.
Does Idamè demand her death of me?
Ah! bid her be of comfort; let her know
Each minute of her life is precious to me.
Enough: go, fly?

SCENE VI.

Gengis, Octar.
Octar.
What orders do you give
Touching this infant they conceal from vengeance?

Gengis.
Any.

Octar.
You should command your faithful guards
To force the Infant e'en from Idamè.

Gengis.
O hurt not Idamè: but haste, good Octar,
To make her haughty husband know my pow'r.
This Infant's blood were poor and low revenge,
My rage demands a nobler sacrifice.

Octar.
Zamti?

Gengis.
Ay, Zamti.

Octar.
Oh! beware, my Lord;
Nor let a thought so mean debase your soul.
Would you new firmness add to his despair?

Gengis.
I would preserve my Idamè: the rest
I leave to thee. Away!

Octar.
What would you do?
What is your hope?

Gengis.
To talk with her again,
To see her, love her, and of her be lov'd;
Or else to be reveng'd, and give her death—
Alas! you see the weakness of my heart:
Spite of my haughty soul, weak passion's slave
I threaten, love, despair, and madly rave.