University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Almida alone.
ALMIDA.
Whither uncertain did I bend my steps?
Whence is this shivering? can it be remorse?
Remorse for what? 'tis only guilt should know it.
Sophia speak, am I in all obey'd?

[to Sophia, who enters.
SOPHIA.
The slave is gone, and with him bears your letter.

ALMIDA.
The secret of my life is in his hands;
I know his zeal, and ever found him trusty:
“Thus chance will have it so, we sometimes owe
“Our all to those, whom fate has placed the lowest.
This faithful slave, tho' born in Syracuse,
Springs from a race of Saracens; and knows
The laws and languages of either nation,
And every various path of Etna's mountains.
Grant him kind Gods with steps unmark'd to pass
Yon hostile camp. To him I owe the notice
Of Tancred's private voyage to Sicilia.
As yet, by some cross accident prevented,
Oft has he tried in vain to reach his presence.
What varied sorrows! Fate at last is weary;
Thus to pursue, to keep us thus asunder.
My note, in secret trusted to the Moor,
Shall reach Messina ere to-morrow dawn.

SOPHIA.
The step is perilous. But Tancred's name
Is not once mention'd in your cautious letter;
And tho' it rose so often to your soul,
You wisely ne'er indulg'd it to your pen;
Thus should your letter by the Saracens
Be stopt or read, 'twou'd be of no importance;
Never was love with prudence more united,
Or bolder without rashness; yet my breast,
I know not why, is full of apprehension.

ALMIDA.
Heaven sends me Tancred, wouldst thou have me fear?

SOPHIA.
Yet I could wish that its protecting goodness
Had in some happier spot decreed your meeting.
Brave as he is, can Tancred singly stem
Oppression's tide? Ah! what will here support him
Against the rage of foes combin'd?

ALMIDA.
His glory!

SOPHIA.
His rival's pow'r is great.

ALMIDA.
Dismiss thy fears,
Lest they infect me too. Hast thou forgot
My mother dying, join'd our willing hands?
Tancred is mine, nor is there ought on earth,
Has pow'r or right my sentiments to change.
How oft did we regret this fatal island!
In Cæsar's court, beneath the smile of love
To these sad shores, which now my soul abhors,
With vain desire we turn'd our longing eyes!
Ah! little did I think my cruel fate
Had doom'd me wife to Tancred's deadliest foe.
'Tis right at least, that he should know this outrage,
And learn from me, his loss, and my curst fate.
O that my power was equal to my wish!
I love my father, and respect his age;
Else should my voice awake and arm the people,
Against this Orbassan, who thus enslaves us:
“Envious and base, dares he pretend my hand?
“And must I tamely bear it, meanly yield?
Where, Syracusa, is thy vaunted freedom,
Thy pompous boast of hating tyranny?
Can there be tyrants, more accurst, more odious,
Than those who lord it o'er the free-born mind,
And bid us hate, and love, at their command!

SOHPIA.
This very day I hear a dreadful edict
Is by the senate issued against Tancred;
And death attends whoever dares infringe it.

ALMIDA.
At first, Sophia, I with trembling heard it,
But generous love inspires the manly purpose,
The firm design. My soul adores in Tancred,
A hero's worth, and emulates his virtues.

SOPHIA.
This law severe seems meant to awe the people.
Its horrid purpose points not sure at you.

ALMIDA.
It points at Tancred. Barbarous and unjust,
This jealous law is worthy of our masters.
It was not thus that his brave ancestors
Reign'd in the hearts of those their valour conquer'd.
They won by force, then triumph'd by their mercy.
How different now! a stern suspicious senate,
Where black distrust, and timid councils reign!
Weak, proud, and stormy, by the people hated,
Would fright us to submission. Ah! Sophia,
Perhaps I err; for love with all its train,
Of mingled fears and wishes, rules my bosom;
My soul is full of Tancred; far from him
Joyless I live, and tread an empty world.

SCENE II.

In the fore Scene, Almida, Sophia. In the back Scene, Arnolph and Knights.
ARNOLPH.
Woe to a wretched father! 'tis too true!
Just gods! I hop'd to die without dishonour.
Thou wretch be gone—

[to his daughter.
ALMIDA.
My father!

ARNOLPH.
Father!
Dar'st thou pronounce that name, thou traitress,
False to thy blood, thy country, and thy honour!

ALMIDA.
Oh my Sophia! I am lost.

[leaning on Sophia.
ARNOLPH.
Yet stop;
Weep'st thou thy crime?

ALMIDA.
I weep our mutual woes.

ARNOLPH.
Canst thou deny thy hand, perfidious?

ALMIDA.
No.

ARNOLPH.
Then see thy guilt, in thy own writing trac'd.
She answers not—

ORBASSAN.
Confusion ties her tongue.

ALMIDA.
Oppression thus misjudges oft her victims,
And ere she strikes, defames the destin'd wretch:
I blush not to avow—

ARNOLPH.
Ah 'tis too much!
Firmness in guilt excludes thee even from pity,
Hence and attend thy doom. Some other hand
Must close these wretched eyes.

[Almida goes out, supported by Sophia.

SCENE III.

Arnolph, Knights.
ARNOLPH.
Most noble lords,
Almida's crime is to my shame too certain,
Yet in this bosom to the state devoted,
Kind nature has its rights. Think not a father
With broken heart can mingle in your councils.
Nor can you sure expect, this trembling hand
Her death should sign; 'tis a dire act my heart
Shrinks from with horror!

LOREDAN.
We revere your sorrows,
Nor would we irritate your deep affliction;
But you have seen yourself that guilty letter.
The slave that carried it to Solyman,
Stopt and surpriz'd just as he reach'd the camp,
But with his life gave up the fatal secret.
The state was lost. Our solemn oaths, our peril,
Permit no weak regards, no false compassion,
Nor does the law inexorable listen
To the soft pleadings of paternal pity.
Our country summons us with awful voice,
Nor can we disobey.

ARNOLPH.
I understand you,
And know too well the fate that waits Almida.
Yet she was once my daughter, and your bride;
[to Orbassan.
To you I leave her cause; nothing remains
For a sad father, but to die before her.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Knights.
CATANIO.
To seize Almida are our orders given;
'Tis dreadful sure to see such matchless beauty,
The only hope of two illustrious houses,
Adorn'd with youth in all its prime of charms,
Shut up with shame in an untimely grave;
But 'tis our faith prophan'd, the state betray'd,
That cries aloud for vengeance. In these walls
The trait'ress call'd a hostile foreign foe:
Greece and Sicilia blushing have beheld
A light inconstant sex forsake their honour,
Nay, even their God, for these vile Mussulmen;
But that the daughter of a noble knight,
To you betroth'd, [to Orbassan]
the torch of Hymen lighted,
That she should execute so foul a complot!
Our country sullied with a crime so new,
Demands an act of unexampled justice.

LOREDAN.
With deep regret I own her death is lawful;
Great is her guilt, and from her rank augmented,
We know th'ambitious hopes of Solyman;
He wants not talents to deceive and win,
By specious, dazzling arts the easy mind.
To him these words flagitious were address'd,
Reign in our states. They leave no room for doubt.
To Orbassan.]
I for your honour must suppress the rest.
Where is the knight, who for this guilty fair
Will deign our ancient custom to fulfil,
And risk his life or glory in her cause?

CATANIO.
We feel your wrongs, Orbassan, as our own;
But Solyman shall bleed to wash this stain.
Forget the traitress; her approaching fate
Amply repays your outrage.

ORBASSAN.
Ah! it shocks me;
Guilty or innocent, her hand was mine:
I hear advancing steps; ye Gods! 'tis she,
To shameful death by guards remorseless led!
My soul indignant rises, for a moment
Let me in private see her.

SCENE V.

Knights.
(Almida at a distance, surrounded by guards.)
ALMIDA.
Gracious powers!
Forsake me not in these last dreadful moments!

ORBASSAN.
Leave us my friends.

[to the knights.
CATANIO.
Speak to her, but remember
Our altars, honours, and our laws are outrag'd;
The state demands unwillingly its victim.

ORBASSAN.
None more than I these truths important feel;
Retire.

[to the guards.
[Exeunt Catanio and Loredan.

SCENE VI.

Almida, Orbassan.
ALMIDA.
Whence this intrusion? are you come
With insult to embitter my last moments?

ORBASSAN.
I bear a soul superior to such vileness.
Distinguish'd by my choice, your hand was mine;
Love was perhaps my secret guide. I know not
If tenderness or pity yet pleads for you,
Or if my heart has shook indignant off
The lover's weakness: but my haughty soul
Ill brooks the slightest notion of dishonour.
I will not stoop to think I was betray'd
For a vile tyrant, whom our faith abhors,
The state's most deadly foe! A crime so odious
Is for our country's honour and for yours,
But most for mine, too base; I'll not believe it:
All Syracusa views in me your husband,
And in your honour I respect my own;
My glory wounded calls me to defend it;
The laws of chivalry ordain these combats,
And heaven's decision hangs upon our sword.
Behold me ready—

ALMIDA.
You!

ORBASSAN.
Me, and I hope
(This step avow'd by knighthood's martial laws)
Will teach the heart you ow'd me to deserve me.
I'll not examine if your soul, deceiv'd
By arts delusive, knew a moment's weakness;
Or if aversion bid you shun our union.
The noblest minds are ever the most grateful;
From the remembrance of a former error,
Virtue takes deeper root; nor will I henceforth
Distrust you, or myself, by low suspicion;
But this suffices not: I have a right,
From pride, or love, to wish a softer feeling.
Our laws require the solemn force of oaths,
And one I claim; not such as stern constraint
Dictates to weakness, or exacts from fear;
The poor evasion of the coward soul,
That, self-deceiv'd, prophanes the sacred altar.
Answer without reserve my noble frankness,
I should with scorn reject a heart divided;
I can die for you, but I must be lov'd!

ALMIDA.
Plung'd as I am in misery's deep abyss,
Scarcely myself, beset with death and horror!
This gen'rous, manly, unexpected offer
Fills my sad breast with gratitude and wonder!
And near that grave, which soon shall close around me,
My dying soul shall reverence and esteem you—
But learn to know me too. My heart has wrong'd you,
Yet scorns the thought of treachery or baseness.
I've not betray'd my honour, or the state;
Nor you have I betray'd—I ow'd you nothing;
No faith I plighted, nor have you a right
This heart to question, or arraign its feelings.
Know then 'tis cold, ungrateful, not perfidious;
I cannot love you, or on terms like these
Your proffer'd aid accept. Too well I know
The unrelenting rigour of your laws,
My tyrants flinty breasts; nor will I here,
With hollow boast, or Stoic affectation,
Pretend to view unmov'd the death that waits me.
My life was dear, I blush not to avow it;
Nay more, I shiver at the fatal thought
Of my black fate, of my sad father's sorrows!
Yet in this scene of complicated woes,
Spite of my weakness, never can I stoop
To buy a lengthen'd life at truth's expence.
This frank avowal must I know offend you;
Yet guiltier far, unworthy of myself,
I should deserve your scorn, if I abus'd you.
Forgive the seeming harshness of my words,
I cannot own you as a destin'd husband,
Or a defender. My approaching fate
This outrage will avenge—

ORBASSAN.
My vengeance, Madam,
Extends no farther than my country's wrongs;
I can repay disdain with calm contempt,
Can smile at arrogance; nay more, forget it.
My arm was ready to defend, to save you,
But to your honour and my own acquitted,
You view me henceforth only as a judge,
Firm to my duty, to our laws obedient;
Like them insensible, and deaf to pity,
Unmov'd by anger, or by weak regret.

SCENE VII.

Almida. Soldiers at a distance.
ALMIDA.
'Tis done—I die, a self-devoted victim!
Thou only being who deserv'st my love!
For whom I wish'd to live, for thee I die,
For thee condemn'd—'tis well—then be it so!
Ha! all this infamy—a woeful father
Sunk to the tomb with shame! these chains—a scaffold!
Torments and death! can I support their horrors?
My soul shakes in me! hence unworthy terrors,
For Tancred I expire, and at this thought
Death loses all its anguish. They may snatch
A few unhappy moments, but disgrace
Or punishment it is not theirs to give;
My soul's above them, there they cannot reach me:
In this dread hour of fate one good remains,
The voice of virtue chearing from within;
Let this suffice! ah, Tancred! what a day
Is this for thee! Sophia! [to Sophia, who enters]
how thy sight
Revives my sinking heart! they have not then
Deny'd me this last comfort!

SOPHIA.
My lov'd mistress!
Would I had died before this cruel day!

ALMIDA.
I see the ministers of death approach;
My soul's last wishes bear to Tancred; tell him,
That faithful to our vows for him I die;
That his lov'd image, present to my soul,
Sooth'd every pang, and rendered death less bitter.