University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FIRST.

Scene.—An apartment in the Palace of the Pharaohs at Memphis. Architecture Egyptian; a table on one side, and near it a sofa. Daybreak. Rameses III. discovered lying on a sofa; enter to him Osmandyas.
Osmand.
I'm here, dear brother; and may I inquire
What pressing business, what grave interests
Have made you ask ere daybreak for your slave?
What enterprises, or what perils, pray
Can trouble thus the rest of Egypt's king?
Is it that you're fatigued with royal pomp,
With all the quietude of peace at home,
And are already planning in your brain
New conquests,—visions of extended sway;
Or have you,—fortunately warn'd in time,—
Discover'd treason plotting 'gainst your life?
You answer not?—your cheek is wet with tears,
And smother'd sobs betray your agony.
Oh, tell me, pray, the secret of your woe!

King.
Alas, the vanity, the nothingness
Of regal pow'r;—like Sodom's baneful fruit
All fair without, and ashes all within!
Had I my choice,—though king and conqueror,
Before whose throne a hundred nations bow,
Whose mighty arm has fearlessly subdued
The sable denizens of Nubia
And Dongola, above the cataracts,
Before whose image incense-burning priests
Pay honours due to Deity alone;—
Had I my choice, I say, I'd give up all,—
My martial glory and my treasured wealth,
My kingdom, too, the fairest 'neath the sun,—
All this, and more I'd cheerfully give up,
Could I but one short night of sleep enjoy.

Osmand.
What means your Majesty by such discourse,—
So strange, so wild, and so unwonted? Speak!

King.
Oh, would I were an humble fisherman,
Whose cares are measured by his evening toil
Of spreading nets across the flooding Nile!
Then would I heedless let my little bark
Float freely down the stream, and listless lie
Gazing on nature's measureless expanse.
At night, too, when return'd—my labours o'er,
A shady fragrant bow'r would ope its doors
And show within a smiling, loving wife,
Anxious for my appearance,—children, too,
Ruddy with health, but buried all in sleep.
Oh yes;—for then, however poor and mean,
I should enjoy the bliss of being loved.

Osmand.
To what strange fancies are you yielding, Sire?
What,—you, a king, whose brows a sacred crown
Encircles,—you, before whose regal throne
Thousands on thousands bow,—you envy thus
The fortune of the poorest in your realm!
Till now I thought, as well in sooth I might,
That you were not less happy than renown'd;
In fact, that ne'er sat monarch on a throne
More happy,—as a husband, or a sire.

King.
But what, if all my miseries, my woes,
Result from these same dear domestic ties?

Osmand.
What mean you, Sire?

King.
Come,—sit you down awhile,
And let me now unveil to you the thoughts
Which I am tired of hiding in my breast.
A few days since, to Memphis I return'd
In triumph (I had been three years away),
With all the dazzling pomp of martial pride;
Ten captive kings chain'd to my chariot-wheels,
Surrounded by their weeping families;
And at each step gay flowers deck'd my path,
While joyous shouts of greeting rent the air
From nobles, priests, and people,—all alike.
For me, I listless gazed upon the crowd,
Rapt in the prospect of more real bliss
When I should once more clasp within my arms
The Queen—my wife—and my beloved boy.
At length, with straining eyes I spied the Queen,
And never did I feel my heart so throb
As when I gazed upon that peerless form,
That beauteous face of queenlike loveliness.
I flew to meet her: judge of my surprise!
No joyous outburst greeted me, no kiss,
No fond embrace: her smile was icy-cold,
And all her words were measured and restrain'd;
She stammer'd, seem'd confused, nay, even blush'd,
And trembled, as she led to me my boy.

Osmand.
Might I presume, your most devoted slave,
T' interpret this constraint, a few brief words
Will serve t' explain the conduct of the Queen.
On leaving, Sire, your love entrusted her
And placed entirely under her control
Your kingdom and your people's destinies,
To govern them as you had done yourself.
Nitocris is of proud Assyrian blood,
Right royal blood,—ambitious too,
And fond of exercising queenly sway.
When she had once enjoy'd the power, then
'T was natural she should leave it with regret.
Ere now, Sire, women have, as sovereigns,
Govern'd the world, and haply may again;
As, after Ninus, did Semiramis.

King
(sighing).
Ah! what a melancholy tale is thine!
The Queen is troubled then at my return:—
Nay, more;—while I've been toiling in the war,
And conquering our foes in Nubia,
Brought home, moreover, twenty vanquish'd kings
To offer them as presents at her feet,
She meanwhile wish'd for me but shame and death,
Cursing the Providence that guarded me,
And impiously pray'd I might be slain.
Good cause in sooth was there for such a wish;
For she had brought dishonour on my name,
By calling to her bed a paramour,
Whose base-born son—in secret by her rear'd—
Will some day after her ascend the throne.

Osmand.
Wretch!—why not send him to immediate death?

King.
That were a thankless task:—I could not! 'faith:
For, suddenly oppress'd with shame and grief,
My senses left me:—then, when I revived
And could have visited the criminal
With punishment condign, I still refused,
Thinking he might be but the humble tool
Of some more cunning, more designing foe.
What matters? I have drunk life's poison-cup
E'en to the dregs, and care not now to live.
Besides,—the Gods have will'd I shall not sleep;
And nightly am I haunted by dark dreams
And visions, far too horrid to describe;—
So I've just ask'd the priests t' interpret them,
And soon—for I behold the eastern gleam
That heralds sunrise—they'll their answer bring.
Meanwhile Nitocris, seized with just alarm,
Strives, though in vain, to penetrate my soul,
Cunningly watching ev'ry look and word,
Nay, shedding tears of well-affected grief,
As though she were a loving, loyal wife.
But still, however just my wrath may be,
I cannot on a bare suspicion slay
The partner of my throne. Her beauty, youth, and birth,—
My weakness, too,—alike restrain my hand
From striking her, as her misdeeds deserve.
But were a single proof to be alleged,
The smallest clue, whereby to trace the crime,
I'd instantly forget all former love,
And bare my arm such vengeance to inflict
As would strike terror through the universe.
Which done,—my fury quell'd,—I'll abdicate
The Pharaohs' throne, and to some distant land
Unhonour'd, unanneal'd, retire to die.

Osmand.
Some one approaches, Sire;—restrain yourself:—
The priests are come to pay you homage due.

King.
Beware; let not the secret slip your tongue.
I'll conceal the man beneath the king.

Enter Priests, followed by Nitocris and Ladies.
King.
Thrice honour'd priests, high favourites of Heav'n,
Of whose great laws you are th' interpreters;
The main support of kings and judges too,
Who by your words illuminate their minds,
Shedding around a midday brilliance;
Whose eyes, too, pierce the sable veil of night,
And read the future in the twinkling stars;—
Have you not yet interpreted my dream?

1st Priest.
May your designs, O King, be ever blest,
And may your doors be closed against all ill!
[Bows to the ground, then resumes.
I have, obedient to your high behests,
Lit up before th' Egyptian Apis' shrine
The fragrant incense, which refused to burn;
Ill omen! Next, we counsel sought of heav'n
And all its host; when, lo, your star we saw
Detach itself and rush across th' expanse,
Marking its passage by a train of gold
That lighted up all heav'n with brilliance,
And then beneath th' horizon sank in gloom.
Something portentous, strange, and terrible,
Foreshadow'd seems in your mysterious dream:
In fact, some direful peril we announce,
But what—or whence inflicted—we know not.

King.
A pit then yawns for me, beneath my feet;
But what hand is it that directs the work?
(To Queen.)
Do you know, Madam, whom I have to fear?

Nitocris.
What enemy can trouble you, my liege?
Who dares defy the lightning of your eye,
The thunder of your voice? Some silly dream
Has weigh'd your spirits down: but why thus fear,
So long as it cannot be understood?
Your priests,—your prophets too,—I grieve to see,
Cannot interpret these dark presages.
Methinks, though, mighty monarch, I could find
A gifted seer:—a prisoner of war he is,—
A youthful Jew; and he'll the riddle solve,
If you'll admit him to an audience.
His nation all admire his skill—his gifts;—
Nor does his voice e'er prophesy in vain,
For it is deem'd an echo sent from Heav'n.

1st Priest.
No lower int'rest guides us, gracious Queen,
Than a regard for great Rameses' fame,
And the prosperity of Egypt's realm.
I hope, indeed, this Jew may calm your fears,
And fathom these dark visions of our King.
It is to Heaven, I grant, that he ascribes
His knowledge:—but what title has his God
To be accredited by us or you?
Can lowly Judah venture to compete
With Egypt's world-renown'd philosophy?
And shall our deep-learn'd priests be forced to bow
Before a God whose power they deny?

King.
When lost,—alone,—amid the gloom of night,
We step, uncertain what path to pursue,
To reach, unharm'd and safe, our journey's end,
We eagerly accept of any aid,
However mean the hand that offers it.
The wise have fail'd; let's try th' unlearned now.
Where is this slave? let him be brought forthwith.

Nitoc.
Since early dawn, by my express command,
Pahiroth has been waiting at your gates.

King
(to an officer).
Hear you? Go, lead the Jewish pris'ner in!

[Seats himself on his throne; Nitocris and Priests, etc., standing on either side.
Rachel
(going to front, aside).
Lord of my fathers, through whose mighty wrath
Thy favour'd people have been captive led
Among the children of idolatry,
Deign now to give Pahiroth skill
And vindicate the honour of thy name:
Go with thy prophet, speaking by his mouth,
And give him with yon proud blaspheming king
The same high honours Joseph once enjoy'd.

[Retires to side of throne, behind Nitocris.
Enter a train of Courtiers, then Pahiroth.
Osmand.
With downcast eyes, respectful mien approach!
The great Rameses, Egypt's far-famed king,
Admits thee to his presence; let prudence wing thy words!
A dream disturbs him; canst interpret it?

Pahiroth.
I will, great monarch, if but Heav'n permit!

1st Priest.
Dost never speak then, save when Heav'n inspires?

Pahir.
What can I say, save as the oracle of Heav'n?
Let the King speak: I'll answer, if I may.

King.
Pris'ner,—the dream that troubled me is this:—
From out the centre of our earth rose up
In lonely majesty a stately tree,
Whose shadow from th' Equator to the Poles
Extended; while its branches, tow'ring high,
Reach'd to the starry canopy of heav'n,
And its wide-spreading, massy root embraced
With countless arms the kernel of the earth.
Among its branches, clothed with foliage
And teeming too, with fruit, perch'd countless birds,
Who there had built their nests and rear'd their young.
While 'neath its shelter lived the sons of men,
And every creature by its produce fed.
Anon, the scene was changed; a storm arose,
Red lightnings gamboll'd through the murky sky;
The forest-king was stricken from on high,
Its branches riven, scatter'd too, its leaves
Nor aught remain'd, save wither'd boughs.
A horrid wreck, ill-fated monument
Of fallen pride, with nothing to attest
Its former glory, and world-wide renown,
Except its trunk and earth-protected root;
The whole, save that, was levell'd to the ground.

Nitoc.
Merciful Heav'n! how ominous these words!

King.
Indeed, the tree fell, crashing to the ground,
As though it had been vengeance-struck from Heav'n.

Pahir.
(after a pause).
King, Queen, priests, courtiers, all attend and live,
For Heav'n inspires me to announce its will.
Egypt may mourn; her day of trouble's come!
The oppressor's fallen, his day too hath come,
A day of retribution for his crimes!
The idol from his pedestal is hurl'd;
The tyrant has become his people's scorn,—
And he, who aim'd to emulate the Gods,
As well as awe mankind,—who, not content
With kingly honours, coveted divine,—
Has sunk, heav'n-stricken, to the lowest depth.
Ye widow'd nations,—now are ye avenged,
Ye kings, upon whose necks his feet have trod,—
Behold the giant smitten by Heaven's wrath.

Osmand.
Wilt thou permit such insolence, O King?

King.
When I am silent, who shall dare to speak?

Pahir.
This wondrous tree, O King,—so large and strong,
Foreshadows thee, and thy fast-coming doom:—
Thy greatness and thy pride will have a fall,
E'en like the forest-king's in thy dream;
And all the nations, who beneath thy shade
Reposed, will in thy fall be crush'd as well.
Yea, woe to all who own thy despot sway.
Think not, however, tyrant, thou shalt die!
No;—thou shalt live,—though fallen, weak, and sad;—
Bereft, too, of that nobler faculty,
That bright intelligence and moral sense,
Which stamps man as the image of his God;
And dragging slowly—bound about your neck—
The heavy chain of your iniquities:
A terrible example to the world!

King.
Is this the doom that you announce for me?

Pahir.
Such, mighty prince, is Heaven's decree:—but mark:
Time hastens; yet you may redeem yourself.
Unloose the fetters of the captive kings;
Destroy the monster Apis' bloody shrine,—
And bow yourself before the God of Heav'n!

King
(calling to attendants).
What, oh! Away now to my treasury,
And fetch the sacred vessels all of gold,
The jewell'd cups, and massive goblets rare,
Which glitter'd in the temple of those Jews
Ere I despoil'd it:—bring them here, I say,
Let us from their worshipped goblets quaff
The mellow, gen'rous wines of Greece to-night:—
Thus shall we see, if all the threats you've made
Are based on truth, or merely empty boast.

Nitoc.
'Tis madness, King, to scorn these presages!

Pahir.
I call you all to witness,—princes, priests,
Nay, all,—look on yon miserable King!
His eye already glares with insane fires:—
Already is he smitten by the breath of Heaven.

King.
Thou, slave,—whate'er occurs,—shalt not enjoy
My sufferings;—for death this very hour
Shall be thy doom:—seize on the traitor, guards.
(To Osmand.)
You, brother, see my orders are obey'd.

Nitoc.
Nay, Sire,—let me entreat you—

King.
Leave me, Queen!

[Exit, looking with fury on the Queen, who follows him out, pleading. Pahiroth is led out; and just as Osmandyas is about to go out after him, Rachel stops him.
Rach.
A word,—for pity's sake, a single word!

Osmand.
Fair Rachel, is it thou? To what event
May I ascribe a pleasure so unwont,
So unexpected? For, methought, your heart,
Set free from its engagement, now abhorr'd
My person and my love alike,—nay, cursed
The fate that ever bound us:—prithee, speak!

Rach.
For pity's sake, Osmandyas, be still;
Forget the past, and all its dreams of love:
Thy scorn I cannot brook:—I'd sooner die.
But tell me of this seer.

Osmand.
What askest thou
Of him?

Rach.
His pardon!—have it, too, I must.

Osmand.
His pardon! Heard you not the King's command.
Remember,—such as he must be obey'd;
Or else my life may pay the penalty.

Rach.
But if it be a crime that he commands?

Osmand.
The monarch—not his victim—I regard.

Rich.
It were betraying kings to serve them thus!
Oh, be persuaded;—listen to my pray'r:
Behold my tears:—you can do all at will.
First, let the seer escape;—then tell the King,
Your brother, that the sentence of his wrath
Was duly executed:—go, prince, go,
And earn a blessing from this troubled heart.

Osmand.
Compliance with your prayer were my death:
Were it to be discover'd, I'm undone.

Rach.
Heav'ns! is it thus he treats my anguish'd soul!
Have I so little pow'r then o'er his heart?
Is't thus that when I urge him, all in tears,
To save the hope of captive Israel,
And hinder, too, a cruel butchery,
The iron-hearted wretch refuses me,
Alleging for excuse his selfish fear
Of losing credit with yon tyrant king?

Osmand.
(aside.)
Sorrow will make her soon my easy prey;
For I've revived a passion in her heart,
And now must hasten to complete my work.
(Aloud.)
I then of us am most to blame, it seems:—
'Tis I, who left you and renounced your love,
I, who deserve the name of perjurer
And traitor! (Changes his mood.)
I, unmoved by your distress!
Oh no;—the sight of it appals my heart.
Yes, Rachel, I cannot refuse your pray'r:
Pahiroth shall be saved, whate'er the risk.
My place at court, my life I'll sacrifice
To do your bidding:—yet I must request
A favour for the service you demand.

Rach.
A favour!—What?

Osmand.
To-morrow I depart,
Spite of myself call'd hence by some caprice
Of royalty:—your gratitude, I trust,
Will not deny a bliss I've long desired.
Pahiroth's life is yours, if you'll consent
To ask me in the gardens for 't to-night.

Rach.
I hear:—my honour, then, must be the price
At which alone you'll save the victim's life!
But should I e'en consent to these vile terms,
The palace is so strictly guarded, prince,
That to escape were quite impossible.

Osmand.
This obstacle I have provided for.
I know you maids of honour may not quit
The palace-precincts;—no one, save the Queen,
Has liberty to leave at any hour.
But, listen to the scheme I now propose:—
In order to deceive the sentinels
Anon, I'll send you, Rachel, a disguise
Precisely like th' apparel of our Queen,—
A gown like hers—a mantle, too, and train;
Nay, e'en a sparkling regal diadem,
Graceful adornment,—which of right were yours,
If beauty was sole warrant for a crown.

Rach.
But, then, my honour.

Osmand.
Psha! enough of this!
Your coldness and your hate I've borne too long.
My mind's resolved:—our ties shall be renew'd.
Crown my desires,—and I'll do aught you wish.
A trusty slave will bring you the disguise,
Attired in which, you'll easily pass out
Beyond the gardens. There will I await
Your coming, eager for a fond embrace.
What say you?—will you come?

Rach.
Oh, cruel one,
Will not these tears prevail?

Osmand.
Wilt come, I say?
Consent, and he is sav'd;—if not, he dies:
And mind,—a sign from me will seal his doom.

[Is going to side, as if sign the executioners to strike.
Rach.
Stay—stay:—I will—I'll do what you require:—
But you must by your god Osiris swear,
That if I come, Pahiroth's life is safe.

Osmand.
(lifting up his hands).
I swear it—by Osiris! It is well:—
Our oaths are pledged to it:—so now, adieu!

Rach.
(aside).
Fool! thinks he I'll endure his vile embrace?
No; I'll defeat his wicked purpose still;—
For 'neath my dress a dagger I'll conceal.

[Exit.
Osmand.
(alone).
Weak girl, what care I for thy love or hate?
Thou'rt on a road, the end of which is death.

Enter Hophrah.
Osmand.
(hastily).
What of the King?

Hoph.
I'm by his order here.
Nitocris first he banished; then, with flashing eyes
And rapt in thought, he paced the vestibule;
Next call'd to me:—“Go, Hophrah—quick, and tell
“My brother to reprieve yon slave, whose threats
“As little move me as his insolence:”
And then he hurried out to join his court,
Who hold high banquet, as his guests to-night,
Quaffing in goblets plunder'd from the Jews
Rich wine in scorn of Him they all adore.

Osmand.
'Tis well:—our sov'reign's will shall be obey'd:—
But, for your life,—bruit not abroad this act
Of mercy; for this slave deserv'd his doom,
And still shall see the sword hang o'er his head.
Meanwhile,—go, bring to me the serf's disguise,
That I may come or go unrecognized.
Beware, proud King;—for high as is thy state,
Ruin awaits thee, and a mournful fate!

Scene.—The Gardens of Rameses' Palace, with a View of the Nile, and Pyramids beyond. Night; moonlight.
Enter Rachel hastily, disguised as the Queen.
Rach.
Where am I? Whither leads this lonely path?
I'm lost in this dark, gloomy labyrinth.
What matter, though? The veil of night will hide
My sorrows from the world! Would it might last!
All hope has fled:—my crime, my shame, is known;
And I'm for ever lost. Upon his knees
The traitor was consoling me with honey'd speech,
Swearing by Heav'n he would respect my tears,—
When suddenly I saw the torch's flash,
And voices echo'd on the terraces;
Next I heard steps:—the Queen,—the King himself
Appear'd; and I should still have been unseen,
But for the tell-tale moon. I hear them still,
Methinks—but, no; (listens)
all's hush'd in silence now (pause).

My heart is bursting! Off, cursed diadem;
Off, purple vestures—fitted for a queen;
I loathe you all:—avaunt, all empty pomp!

[Throws off crown and mantle.
Enter Osmandyas, at back.
Osmand.
My Rachel!

Rach.
Heavens!—Oh, let us fly,—come,—come!

Osmand.
Fear not—'tis I, my love; all danger's pass'd.

Rach.
Where has the King gone?

Osmand.
First, he follow'd me
All through the gardens; but my rapid pace
Baffled pursuit;—then down a secret path
I darted, and escaped unrecognized.

Rach.
What fate remains for me—unhappy me?

Osmand.
Cheer up, sweet girl!—'twas me alone he saw;
I swear it, love;—so now, away back home,
And hide from ev'ry eye that sadden'd face.

Rach.
I'll try:—yes, I am going. (Totters.)
Ah!—too true:—
I cannot.

Osmand.
We must separate:—adieu!

[Exit. A pause.
Rach.
(calling).
Stay! Is Pahiroth safe? He hears me not—
He's gone—he flies from me: hard-hearted man!
And though, alas! I granted all he ask'd,—
He leaves me thus, a prey to mortal doubt.
But who comes here?
[Enter Pahiroth, led in by Hophrah, who retires to back.
(Falling on her knees.)
Pahiroth!—Heav'n-taught seer!

Pahir.
Call me thy brother, maid;—for such I am.

Rach.
Art free,—repriev'd from death?

Pahir.
Yes,—thanks to thee,
And thy kind efforts:—nay, deny it not;
For Hophrah told me, as he oped for me
My prison door, and bade me follow him.
Yes, I was mourning that my sudden flight
Had balk'd me of a moment's interview
To express in words my heart's deep gratitude.

Rach.
Away! at once, away!

Pahir.
So soon?

Rach.
At once!
Each moment you're in danger, while you're here.
I tremble for your life;—away!

Pahir.
Be calm,
Dear sister!

Rach.
(to Hoph.)
Hophrah,—see that no one comes.
(To Pahir.)
Know you the fate reserv'd for you?—'tis this:—
Beyond these gardens, mid a group of planes
And cypresses which peer above the rocks
A gloomy cavern lies, carved out by art,
And tenanted by those ill-fated men,
Whom royal anger dooms to cruel death
By torture:—in this horrible retreat
Are lions, tigers, prison'd here t' afford
The King, their master, cruel as themselves,
The savage joy of seeing them devour
Limb after limb the victims of his wrath.
Such tortures will be thine; so, fly at once:
Fly while you may, and to the desert go;
Nor venture back, till Rachel bids you come.

Pahir.
The innocent, whose hearts are free from guile,
Walk fearless through all peril, unalarm'd
By sword, or fire, wild beast, or tyrant's ire.
The King of Heav'n, good sister, 's at my side,
And cheers me on amid the deepest woe:
The Monarch should rather tremble; his fall,
Is certain; and ere many hours have pass'd,
These walls will see him prostrate on the ground.
The news you give, though, much surprises me;
'Tis not the King then who has pardon'd me?

Rach.
No; you have wounded him too cruelly:
If he should see you here, your death is seal'd.

Pahir.
Is't to Nitocris, then, I owe my life?

Rach.
Alas! the Queen has lost all influence;
Though what she had, she used in your behalf:
Your saviour is the brother of the King.
Yes, he was kind: my tears prevail'd with him;
And, Heav'n be prais'd you're free; what matter how?
Ask nothing more, but go without delay.

Pahir.
Well, well, one parting word, and I'll away.
Yes, child, and thou shouldst listen; for 'tis not
Thy brother who is speaking, but thy sire.

Rach.
My sire, my father! Dost thou know him, then?

Pahir.
Ere I left Judah, in a lonely hut
Retired from busy life, in solitude
I met the venerable man, who wept
At meeting me, whereon I questioned him
About his sorrows, bidding him submit
To Heaven's decree which visited our land
And made it subject to a foreign king:
Whereto the old man tranquilly replied;—
“Heaven's Sovereign chastises whom he will;
“And do whate'er he may, 'tis ever right.
“The source of my affliction is—my child,
“My only daughter, who has fled from me
“And now ne'er visits the paternal roof,
“Or seeks the blessing of her aged sire:
“Alas! if I should never see her more,
“'Twill be, because her conscience fears my gaze,
“And dreads that I may find her secret out.”
Such was the message, which I pledged myself
To whisper in your ear; and recollect,
Though courtly honours may detain you here,
Nature will still be heard. A father's voice
Invites you, Rachel; and you must obey.
A word from you could calm the tyrant's ire;
Your influence is great—employ it then
To get permission to revisit home,
And soothe your father's pains; now promise me you will?

Rach.
I cannot: yet, be well assured
I mourn my absence more e'en than himself:
But then—

Pahir.
Come now, unfold to me your griefs.

Rach.
Oh! would to Heaven!

Pahir.
Come, tell me!

Rach.
(hiding her face in her hands).
I cannot!

Pahir.
What urgent need, what hard necessity
Can thus arrest th' emotions of your heart?
Your father is alone—in trouble—aged.

Rach.
But then he said, I could not bear his gaze!
Oh, Heav'ns! should he but find my secret out;
That fatal secret, fraught with misery!

Pahir.
What drear presentiment of woe is this?
Is it of death you speak?

Hoph.
(coming forward hastily).
You must away,
Pahiroth; for I hear approaching steps,
And see the torches flash.

Rach.
(after looking out anxiously).
The King, the King!
Fly, prophet, fly, before it is too late.

Pahir.
What! ere I've learnt the secret of your grief?

Rach.
Why wish you so to know this mystery?

Pahir.
Promise at least you'll go and see your sire;
On that condition only will I fly.

Hoph.
They're coming! fly! (Pahir. still lingers.)


Rach.
(intensely anxious).
I'll promise all; but go!

Pahir.
(joyfully).
I will, I will. Heav'n bless thee, child; farewell!

[Exit, followed by Hophrah.
Rach.
(in great agitation).
Oh, I shall die!

[Exit.
Enter King hastily.
King
(calling furiously).
Nitocris! yes, 'twas she:
Hell's torments! her accomplice too I saw
Fly, panic-stricken, through the murky gloom.
I followed to chastise the insolent,
And had my arm upraised to fell the wretch,
When suddenly he darted down a path
And by some demon's aid escaped my grasp,
Nor could I recognize the caitiff's face;
Though by the ruddy torchlight I could see
He wore the vesture of my palace-slaves.
A slave betray me, oh, 'tis horrible;
That I, a mighty king, almost a God,
Should be dishonour'd by a base-born slave.
But who comes here?

Re-enter Hophrah.
Hoph.
Your Majesty's commands
Have been obey'd: your brother and the Queen
Will presently be here.

King
(after a pause, calmly).
I need, my friend,
Some proof of your devotion; tell me all:
You knew the Queen was guilty; and 'tis you
Whom I must thank for having given me
Ocular proof of her disloyalty.

Hoph.
(surprised).
I know her secrets, Sire! I dare to peer
Beneath the veil of royal privacy!
I've better learnt the duties of my post.
Whate'er you know, it is to chance, not me,
You owe it, Sire. You sleepless lay in bed;
And I suggested, that a silent walk
And the beauty of the starlit scene
Might somewhat calm your agitated frame;
This, Sire, is all I know—what would you more?

King
(agitated, mad).
Darker and darker is this horrid night;
The torchlight even casts a lurid glare:
Before my burning eyelids, too, there floats
A blood-red cloud, and on it writ, I see—
“Woe to thee, scoffer; for Pahiroth's God
“Is God alone of Heav'n and earth;” oh, oh!
Avaunt, thou vision: why comest thou
To madden me the more? (Pause.)
Ah, see! she comes:
Her bearing, too, betokens confidence.

Enter Nitocris, followed by two Guards.
Nitoc.
What means this violence, this clamour, Sire?
Am I awake, or has some demon-pow'r
Peopled my sleep with foul and hateful dreams?
Why is it, Sire, that I—your wife—the Queen—
The daughter, too, of kings, should thus be dragged,
And by your orders—like some caitiff slave
Or base-born rogue? Explain this mystery,
And say, proud monarch, why you've outraged thus
My queenly dignity?

King
(bitterly sarcastic).
Which sits so well,
Forsooth, upon so virtuous a dame.
His name? I pray.

Nitoc.
What means your Majesty?

King
(furiously).
No subterfuges! Come;—your answer?—quick!
Your guilt is proved; and soon shall vengeance dire
Be hurl'd, vile harlot, on your trait'rous head.

Nitoc.
My guilt!—in what?—of what am I accused?

King.
Audacious, artful wretch! the name, I say,
Of thine accomplice (with a burst)
, ay, thy paramour.
You understand me, madam, now,—his name?

Nitoc.
While you speak this in frenzied paroxysms,
I comprehend you not—nor are you, Sire,
In a fit state to listen to my words.
Good angels, guard the King from ev'ry harm! (is going out).


King
(stopping her).
Once more, I ask; what is the traitor's name?
Ah! silent! shall I slay thee in my wrath?

Nitoc.
Once more; what is it, Sire, that you would ask?

King.
Quick—speak—or else, this sword—But no:—
I'll moderate my ire. Some base-born slave
Was just now kneeling yonder at thy feet,
Within yon trellis'd walk;—I follow'd him;
But in the darkness he contrived t' escape.

Nitoc.
And you believed the odious calumny?
What witnesses have you? Who charges me
With crime?

King.
I am the witnesses; and these eyes
Are thy accusers! Now, for thy defence!

Nitoc.
What answer can I make to such a charge?

King.
Ah, she confesses that she's guilty, then?

Nitoc.
On my soul, I've strictly search'd my heart,
And scann'd the past memorials of my life,
To find, if possible, some fitting cause
For such insane excitement; but in vain.
When yesterday I left your presence, Sire,
Heart-stricken by the presages of woe
The seer foretold you, I retired forthwith,
To find some comfort, to my dear child's room,
And in his smiles endeavour'd to forget
My heavy trouble. Since the ev'ning star
Has risen until now, I've tranquilly
Kept watch beside his bed. (Going to the King.)
Who is this slave—
This shameless villain who has slander'd me?

King.
These eyes, I say, were witness to the fact;
And by their evidence art thou condemn'd.
What use then is it to address me thus?
Dost think the touching music of thy voice,
As formerly, will melt me to forgive?
I've long suspected thee,—long watch'd thy steps—
Thy looks—thy very heart; and have unveil'd
Its perfidy: which now my eyes confirm.
Hadst thou reveal'd to me thy paramour,
I might have pardon'd thee;—but as thy choice
Has been to brave my vengeance, thou shalt die.

Nitoc.
My sentence has beforehand been pronounced,
I see: but subterfuges and deceit
But ill become the monarch of the Nile.
Speak honestly your mind. You would be free;
You're weary of the chains of wedded life;
Nay, more:—I've heard your heart is thirsting for
Some new attachment; and moreo'er 'tis said,
Ere long another queen may occupy
My place upon your throne. Well; be it so,
And kill me, if you will; but sully not
That honour which was never until now
E'en doubted,—lest my infant child some day
Should scorn the mother who watch'd o'er his bed.

King.
What's this I hear? dost thou recriminate
Instead of begging mercy, and pretend
To cast a doubt on my fidelity?
'Fore Heav'n, Nitocris, I do love thee still,
As I have loved thee ever—constantly;
And no one e'er has won my heart from thee,
Much less aspired to fill thy place at court.
Thy crime will prove my death, as well as thine.
Farewell! I wish'd for thee undying fame,
And boundless power; but thy guilt has changed
My mildness into fury: now I hate
The entire race, and mean to be henceforth
No longer the protector of my realm
But an oppressor; yes, its scourge and curse,
To all alike—ruthless, inflexible,
And furious. Yea, let the flames of strife
Be lighted up, and blood in torrents flow,
Since 'tis thy will, O Queen, it should be so.

[Exit.
Nitoc.
(alone).
He's gone: and terror ties me to this spot.
What was 't he charged me with? A man, he said,
Was seen upon his knees before me—psha!
He must be mad: some demon must have lash'd
Rameses into this unhappy rage,
And put into his mouth that bitter taunt,
That filthy, base, and dastard calumny
He hurl'd at me. And yet he said, withal,
He loved me,—never other loved but me;
Nay, loves me still—as ever, constantly.
Faugh! if he loved me still, as he pretends,
He would not thus have heap'd on me foul wrong,
And harshly menaced me with a divorce:
Too well I know the secrets of his heart.
And yet, he scarcely would pretend a love
He does not feel: his heart's too proud for that.
No: I'll confront him,—see him face to face,
And ask his reasons: yes, he SHALL explain!
[Is going out, but her exit is opposed by Guards at sides.
Ah, soldiers. Am I, then, a prisoner?
It was my death, then, that his voice announced,
And when he left, he breathed his last farewell!

Enter Osmandyas, followed by a Slave bearing a dagger and a poison-cup.
Nitoc.
Your presence wakes me from a hideous dream
And calls me back to life. Conduct me, pray,
Into the monarch's presence. Heav'ns, you weep!

Osmand.
The King to his apartments has retired,
Nor may he be approach'd on pain of death.

Nitoc.
Let death strike ME then;—see the King I must.

Osmand.
Unhappy lady, you may not go hence.
My brother has decided on your doom;
Nor could our tears or prayers bend his will.
Death is your sentence; and a mute is here,
Bearing a dagger and a poison'd bowl.
But tell me, lady, injured as you are,
Will you yield up your honour and your life
To glut this butcher's gory appetite?
If so, with grief I leave you to your fate
And pity you; but if your heart rebels
Against this monstrous parricidal act,
And you resolve to brave his blood-red arm,
And vindicate your natural just rights,
As queen and mother both, I'll join your cause:
Nay, set you free, and help you to revenge.

Nitoc.
My senses surely have deceived me, prince!
I understand you not. The King, you say,
Has will'd that I should die; but why? I ask:
What crime have I committed? Come, explain.

Osmand.
A rival seeks your place upon the throne.

Nitoc.
(much agitated).
Oh, Heav'ns!—my son, my son!

[Weeps.
Osmand.
O'ercome your fears
And dry your tears: you may escape 'em now.
The people groan impatient 'neath the yoke
Of tyranny; and at a sign from you
Unnumber'd hosts will rise in your behalf,
And dash his misused sceptre to the ground.
I'm warden here, and give you leave to go.
First, summon to your aid the troops
Who, in Rameses' absence, form'd your guard,
And tell them of the danger threat'ning you.
Their swords forthwith will from their scabbards leap,
And all will fly t' avenge their injured Queen.

Nitoc.
What! you, the sov'reign's brother, counsel this?
You—his adviser and chief confidant?
No, prince; act not a traitor's part for me!

Osmand.
Nay, lady, you mistake my meaning quite.
I meant not to propose the tyrant's death.
No; let him live, and share with you the throne;
But let your powers be equal and alike;
Yourself as independent as himself.

Nitoc.
Your friendship blinds you to your duty, prince.
Wouldst have me plunge the realm in civil war?
Against a husband, too! Great Heaven forfend!

Osmand.
Must then the hideous sentence be fulfill'd?

Nitoc.
It must. I'd sooner die than owe my life
To an attempt of such o'erpow'ring guilt
As treason 'gainst the honour of his crown.
Farewell! and tell the King I pardon him
For having slander'd thus my loyalty.

Osmand.
Have you no other message, Queen, to give?

Nitoc.
Yes, one, good brother. I've an infant son,
The very thought of whom bids flow my tears;
I dare not see him—'t would unnerve my soul,
And quite unfit me for my coming pain.
Prithee take charge of him; and should the King
Resolve to sacrifice his interests
To some unjust stepmother, recollect
The charge I left you with my parting breath.

Osmand.
My life, my all, is his; but what can I
Avail against a madden'd, angry king?

Enter Rachel hastily, and out of breath.
Rach.
Ah, Madam!

Nitoc.
What?

Rach.
The prince, your son—

Nit.
Great Heav'n! what of him?—speak.

Rach.
Some soldiers came
At dead of night, and carried him away.

Nitoc.
My child?

Rach.
Alas, too true!

Nitoc.
Unhappy me!
Come, tremble not; but speak.

Rach.
Our prayers, our tears,
Avail'd not to dissuade them from the deed:
They took him to the King.

Nitoc.
I breathe again;—
His father!

Rach.
Say his murderer rather, Queen!
He purposes to sacrifice his child
At Apis' shrine. Some fiend has madden'd him.

Nitoc.
What! kill my child? and he the father, too!
Away then, dagger and poison-bowl;
For now I'll live. (To Osmand.)
Art willing, brother, still
To ope my prison door?

Osmand.
Queen, you are free:
Go forth then fearlessly; for trusty friends,
Assured by me, will win the populace,
And arm them to revenge your giant wrongs.

Nitoc.
Osmandyas, my eyes are open'd now:
Your caution proves to me some plot's afoot;
And your averted glance betrays your guilt.
What matters it to me? the interests
Of my beloved child are paramount.
Come on then, let us brave his fury wild;—
Unnatural tyrant, give me back my child!