University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Idamè, Asseli.
Asseli.
How? is all lost? are all our hopes then fled?
And are you still a captive and a slave?
Alas! 'twere better not to have incens'd
This Conqueror. What could a feeble woman,
A helpless child, against such force and pow'r
In vain opposing weakness?

Idamè.
Now all's o'er.
I've done my duty, strove with vain attempt
To wrestle with my fate: It will not be.
I am again a slave, and doom'd to wear
The tyrant's chains.

Asseli.
Again the hapless Orphan
Becomes his prey, and dies as soon as born;
And Zamti must partake the Infant's fate.

Idamè.
The hour of both approaches: if their death
Is yet delay'd, 'tis only to prepare
More grievous torments for them. My dear son
Perhaps must follow them. The haughty victor
Call'd me before him, to increase my woes.
His very looks shot terror and dismay:
Full oft he rais'd his arm, all red with blood,
Against the Orphan, and my hapless son.
I all in tears fell prostrate at his feet,
And lay 'tween him and th'objects of his rage:
But he with roughness threw me from before him,
And with dire threats and angry looks departed,
Then soon again return'd still more enrag'd:
Now cried for vengeance, now delay'd his purpose,
While round him stood a train of savage warriors,
Who seem'd to ask his orders for my death.

Asseli.
Gengis would never give such horrid orders:
Your husband, whom he hates, still lives; the Orphan
To th'hand of slaughter is not yet resign'd.
Ask but for pardon, all will be forgiven.

Idamè.
No, all his furious love is turn'd to rage.
Oh! had you seen him double my distress,
Swear his fixt hate, and mock me in my tears!—

Asseli.
This rage, a word, a tear from you abates.
This conquer'd lion, that roars thus in his chain,
Did he not love, would never threaten hate.

Idamè.
Or love or hate, 'tis time to end that life
Which without horror I cannot preserve.

Asseli.
Ah! what do you resolve?

Idamè.
When angry Heav'n
Has fill'd the measure of our miseries,
It oft supports us in the blackest grief,
And gives us courage equal to our woes.
Amid the horrors of the present hour
I feel my soul with unknown strength dilate;
I fear no more this conqu'ror of mankind;
But on myself alone my fate depends.

Asseli.
But then this son, this object of your fears,
Will you abandon him?

Idamè.
Ah! there you touch
My tenderest part, you pierce me to the soul.
O horrid sacrifice! does ought remain
That can be done to save him from destruction?
Perhaps the tyrant, proud in his success,
By Kings encircled humbled to the dust,
Amid the crowd of wretches in his train,
Will not reflect on my unhappy child:
Or see perhaps with aspect less severe
The guiltless child, whose mother once he lov'd.
In that one hope I rest; the soothing thought
Flatters my soul in death. If me he lov'd,
He will not hate my ashes; when I'm dead,
He'll not pursue my son.

SCENE II.

Idamè, Asseli, Octar.
Octar.
Stay, Idamè;
Here wait the Emperor. [To his train.]
Guards, watch those infants;
See, that none enter here, none hence depart.
Do, you retire.

[To Asseli.
Idamè.
Will the Emperor
See me again? I must obey; yet wish
That with my husband I might first confer.
Perhaps the conqueror, his rage appeas'd,
Will render justice to a hapless pair.
Alas! I see that my request is vain,
And conquest is with you inexorable.
Is then compassion in your climes unknown?
And may I not your friendly voice implore?

Octar.
When th'Emperor has spoke, to implore's a crime.
You are not now beneath your ancient kings,
Who could abate the rigour of their laws:
The sword reigns now; nor pray'rs, nor tears we know.
He speaks, and all earth trembles and obeys.
Stay, and attend the order of the Emperor.

SCENE III.

Idamè
, sola.
God of the wretched! who behold'st my woes,
Amid these horrors O support my soul!
O give me firmness! pour into my bosom
The virtues of the husband you have giv'n me!

SCENE IV.

Gengis, Idamè,
Gengis.
No, I have not enough display'd my rage,
Enough made humble your rash haughtiness,
Enough reproach'd the baseness of that heart,
Which answers mercy with ingratitude.
You do not see the height of your offending,
Nor think on what a dreadful point you stand,
Nor know the horror that inspires my breast:
You, whom I've madly lov'd, but ought to hate;
You, who've betray'd me, and I ought to punish?

Idamè.
Punish me: but, O punish me alone!
The only boon I ask of my destroyer,
Whose flinty heart, nor pray'rs, nor tears can melt.
Ah, quench your rage and fierceness in my blood!
Destroy a woman faithful to her duty;
And let her torments end.

Gengis.
Ah! no, I cannot.
Too cruel Idamè! O could I end
The tortures more severe that rack my soul!
I came to punish; and can pardon all.
Pardon!—I pardon you!—no, fear my vengeance.
Your Monarch's Son, and yours are in my power.
I mention not that abject slave your husband,
Your love is cause enough that he should die.
He has betray'd me, brav'd me, been a rebel,
And merited ten thousand deaths. Your pray'rs
Have stay'd that arm, that should fall heavy on him.
Ev'n to this hour the traitor lives. But now
No more will I implore my slave, my captive.
Forget him, or he dies. Your stubborn heart
Has now no mean pretext to screen its purpose:
He is no more your husband, now condemn'd.
Yes, he shall fall; for ever break the chain
That binds him to you, by a shameful death.
'Tis you constrain it: you, that faithful wife,
With idle scruples seal your husband's death.
I know, I might, all-cover'd with his blood,
Force you submit, and grant my utmost wish.
But know this Savage, Scythian, this Destroyer,
Has sentiments as noble as your own.
Fate, Idamè, designs us for each other,
And my soul longs for gentle sway o'er thine.
Abjure your marriage; and that very hour
Your son shall rank as mine. On your decree
The destiny of more than one depends:
Of your King's Son, now doom'd full soon to die,
And of your husband, whom your voice may save.
His son's fate, your's, nay mine itself, on you
Depends; for Gengis loves you, doats upon you.
And yet beware that you oppose me not,
Insult not the fond weakness of my soul,
For even now rage chides my tenderness,
And threatens danger, while I talk of love.
Tremble at my love, my very kindness fear.
My soul is too familiar with revenge,
And I shall punish you, because I've lov'd.
Forgive me; for I rave, and then, alas!
I threaten most, when most I would implore.
O, soothe to peace this conflict of my soul!
One word from you this Empire's fate decrees,
But this important word you must pronounce.
O, quick pronounce it! and inform my heart,
If it must burn with love, or hatred tow'rds you.

Idamè.
Nor love nor hatred should inflame it now.
Your love's unworthy both of you and me:
You owe me justice: if you are a King,
I will demand it, ev'n against yourself.
I do not mean to brave your sov'reign pow'r,
But rather grace and dignify your greatness,
And you in secret must applaud me for it.

Gengis.
'Tis well: you chuse my hate then: and shall have it.
My bosom pants and already for revenge.
I know you not; and wrathful indignation
Awakes the cruelty that slept within me.
Your prince, your husband, and your infant son,
Shall answer with their blood your rebel scorn.
Gengis condemns, but Idamè is the cause.

Idamè.
Barbarian!

Gengis.
'Tis resolv'd; they are no more.
Your sometime Lover's now an angry Master:
A bloody, merciless, fierce enemy,
Whose hatred rises equal to your scorn.

Idamè.
I fall then at this angry Master's feet,
Whom Heav'n has made my King; and on my knees
Implore him to comply with one request.

Gengis.
Cruel! rise Idamè: I'm all attention.
O! could I tell my soul you would relent!
What would you? speak.

Idamè.
That Gengis would permit
My husband to confer with me in secret.

Gengis.
Your husband to confer—

Idamè.
Deny me not:
This conference shall be our last; that o'er,
You better shall interpret my resistance.

Gengis.
No, 'twere not meet you should consult with him:
Yet I'll permit this interview. Perhaps
His haughty soul hath better learnt its duty,
And taught him to forego the fatal honour
Of rivalling the Conqu'ror of mankind.
He hid his Prince, when I in fury sought him;
He has possess'd my Idamè. What crimes!
And yet he lives, is pardon'd, if you ask it.
You fix his fate; his death, or his divorce.
Yes, he shall see you. Octar, watch this gate.
Alas! what doubts perplex my tortur'd soul!
O! shall I yet be happy in her love?

Idamè
sola.
I feel new spirit glow within my breast,
That constancy I doubted of till now.

SCENE V.

Zamti, Idamè.
Idamè.
O thou, whom next to Heaven I revere,
Mortal more great and noble in my eyes,
Than all the Conqu'rors, men have rais'd to Gods;
The horror of our fate too well you know:
Our doom is fixt, and our last hour is come.

Zamti.
I know it.

Idamè.
Twice you've try'd with vain attempt
To save the offspring of our hapless Kings.

Zamti.
Ah! think of it no more: all hope is lost.
Fail not in the performance of your duty,
I die in peace.

Idamè.
What fate attends my son?
Forgive this thought, that flows from my despair;
Forgive my sighs, and think but of my courage.

Zamti.
Our Kings are dead, our Country is enslav'd.
To die, is happiness: lament not me,
But, O bewail the wretches doom'd to live.

Idamè.
They mean you, Zamti, a most shameful death.

Zamti.
Well, let it come. I wait their savage orders.
They dally with my miseries too long.

Idamè.
Attend me, Zamti. Cannot we then die
Without a tyrant's order? At the altar
The ox is sacrific'd; the criminal,
Like a vile slave, is dragg'd to punishment;
But the great, Zamti, their own fate determine,
Nor from a haughty master wait their death.
Why, why attend the hour of death from him?
Man was not born for such a base dependance.
No, copy rather the brave constancy
Of our intrepid neighbours. They support
The rights of nature, live while free, but die
Rather than suffer slav'ry or dishonour.
To live disgrac'd is bitter to their souls,
Nor dread they ought so much as infamy.
The noble Japonese ne'er meanly waits
A haughty Ruler's voice to speak his death.
We have instructed those brave Islanders.
Nor let us blush to learn their virtues too;
To learn like them to die.

Zamti.
O matchless woman!
I praise thy constancy, and sure such woes
May warrant this transgression of our Laws.
I had already form'd this noble purpose;
But without arms, slaves, victims, and alone,
There are no means of death but from our Tyrants.

Idamè
, drawing a dagger.
Slaves! victims!—There—take this—with me be free;
Strike and deliver us.

Zamti.
O Heaven! with thee?

Idamè.
Yes, tear this breast, this heart they would dishonour.
My feeble arm, still traitor to its purpose,
Could not with steady aim direct the blow.
Do thou with nobler firmness guide its point,
And greatly sacrifice a faithful wife;
Then, cover'd with her blood, beside her fall.
In my last moments I'll embrace my husband,
And Gengis shall with jealousy behold us.

Zamti.
Yes, Idamè, thy virtues stand the trial,
And thou display'st the warmest marks of love.
Thrice-worthy wife, this last farewell receive—
The dagger now,—and turn thine eyes aside.

Idamè
, giving him the dagger.
There—now strike here: nay, pause not, nor delay.

Zamti.
I cannot do't.

Idamè.
You must.

Zamti.
O horror!

Idamè.
Strike:
Strike here, then turn the poinard on yourself.

Zamti.
Then copy me.

Idamè
, seizing his arm.
Here, Zamti, here—

SCENE VI.

Gengis, Octar, Idamè, Zamti, Guards.
Gengis.
[Accompanied by his Guards, and disarming Zamti.]
Hold, hold!
Stay your rash hand! O Heav'n! what would you do?

Idamè.
Deliver ourselves from thee, and end our woes.

Zamti.
Will you not let us even die in peace?

Gengis.
O hold!—All-gracious Heaven, King of Kings!
To whom my soul now lifts itself in pray'r,
Witness of all my wrongs, and all my weakness,
By whom such States and Monarchs I've subdued,
Shall I at length grow worthy of my glory?—
You move my anger, Zamti, thus to reign
Over a heart that once felt love for me,
A heart that I adore. Your faithful wife
Had rather fall a sacrifice to duty,
Fall by thy hand, than share a throne with me.
But you shall both endure and own my pow'r,
Perhaps do more.

Idamè.
What more can vengeance do?

Zamti.
What new device to add to our afflictions?

Idamè.
Why, are we not already doom'd to die?

Gengis.
Your doom is fix'd, and you shall know your fate.
You have done justice, I'll do justice too.
What I have now beheld, I scarce believe:
Your firmness I admire, and am your convert.
Upon the throne to which my arms have rais'd me,
I blush to see, how much I fall below you.
In vain by my exploits in war distinguish'd,
I am degraded; and would equal you.
I knew not, the best conquest man could make
Was to subdue himself: to you I owe it.
Rejoice with me that you could change my soul,
I come to re-unite, and to protect you.
Watch, happy husband, o'er the guiltless life
Of your King's Son: to your care I resign him.
By right of conquest I might have destroy'd him,
But I lay down that right I late abus'd.
With all a father's care I'll henceforth guard
The Orphan and your Son. Fear not my faith.
I was but Conqueror, you have made me King.
To Zamti.
Of the Laws here, be thou th'interpreter;
With ministry right-worthy of thyself.
Teach reason, justice, and morality.
The victors let the vanquish'd rule! let wisdom
Preside o'er courage! triumph o'er rude force,
That owes you homage! I will give th'example.
Your Sov'reign, all invincible in arms,
Shall own himself obedient to your Laws.

Idamè.
What do I hear? O Heav'n! can this be true?

Zamti.
Now, you indeed are worthy of your glory;
Nor shall your captives groan beneath your yoke.

Idamè.
What could inspire so noble a design?

Gengis.
Your Virtues. These to friendship turn'd my hate,
And taught me, To be good, is to be great.