 | The Prophet's Curse |  |
32
ACT THE SECOND.
Scene.—A hall in the palace at Memphis; caryatides, or pillars in the shape of men, supporting the entrance at back; other similar pillars, in Egyptian style, on either side. Stage darkened.Enter Rachel hurriedly, with Hophra.
Rach.
And must I fly thus hurriedly?
Hoph.
At once!
The danger you are in brooks not delay.
In sooth, you should rejoice to quit this roof;
For, ruled by some fell, fatal influence,
Its walls already totter to their fall.
Nitocris is in arms against her lord;
And fire and slaughter soon will soil these courts.
To rescue you from these, Osmandyas
Solicits you, through me, to fly at once.
Rach.
What, fly? and leave Nitocris' infant child,
His mother absent 'mid the din of war!
I cannot—dare not leave my sacred charge.
Hoph.
Your father, Rachel, is expecting you;
Impatient counts each minute you delay,
And longs to clasp you in his loving arms.
Wilt let him wait in vain?
Rach.
What, has he heard
Of my return?
Hoph.
He has; and should he not
Before to-morrow's dawn embrace his child,
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He'll haply think you 've fallen in the fray.
Rach.
Enough; I'll go then: to delay were ill.
(Aside.)
My torments I must bear, however great,
And from his anxious gaze conceal my shame;
Yea, stoop to falsehood; for, were he to know
My fatal secret, he would break his heart.
I'll fly to him—Heaven grant no more to part.
[Exit.
Enter Osmandyas stealthily, from back.
Osmand.
She's gone!
Hoph.
She is, prince; nor did she upbraid.
Osmand.
'Tis well; for her then we have nought to fear.
What says, what does the King?
Hoph.
He's still abed,
Watching for sunrise. Thinking, too, the Queen
Has suffered, enjoying his revenge.
Osmand.
Yon sentinels are bribed?
Hoph.
Ay, and removed.
Osmand.
Hast given notice to the trusty bands
That camp outside the gates,—across the Nile,—
That they will haply be required to-night?
Hoph.
Yes; all are ready.
Osmand.
(exultingly).
Why then, I've reached at last.
The goal of my ambition, and can glut
This ulcer'd heart with vengeance. Hark! what's that?
Didst hear aught, Hophrah?
Hoph.
No, prince; not a sound.
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'Tis nearly dawn; yet nought has yet been done.
Where is the Arab slave of whom you spake?
Hoph.
At hand; he waits your pleasure, prince, without.
Osmand.
And you are sure of his fidelity?
Hoph.
I'll stake my life on it.
Osmand.
Admit him then.
[Hophra goes to side and enters with Elhakim.
(To Slave.)
'Tis well: your prompt obedience pleases me.
All has succeeded; and the time has come
For finishing the work you undertook.
Your victim's ready, and must not escape.
Yes; see you (points to left)
; yonder must you strike the blow.
Say, is your courage screw'd up to your work,
Or do vague terrors agitate your heart?
Elhakim.
Here (bares his breast)
, feel it, prince: its pulse is calm as yours.
Osmand.
'Tis well; yet recollect, you know the King
But by report, or distantly beheld;
You now will see him near; and see to this:—
Let not his frowns, his words, or threat'ning glance
Intimidate or turn you from the deed:
Be like the eagle—gazing on the sun.
Elhak.
I will. Whate'er he be,—a conqueror
Or slave,—I fear him not; he's but a man:
Were he a lion even, he should die.
Osmand.
Here; take this dagger, and await my sign.
Elhak.
Gods of my native deserts, well ye know
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Nor is it greed of gold that drives me thus
To do the bidding of this fratricide.
No; higher motives guide me—dire revenge
For children murder'd, and a wife borne off,
By fiendlike ravishers before my eyes.
Osmand.
'Tis well. His crimes are writ upon his face.
Observe exactly my commands, and wait
With ears attentive—dagger, too, in hand—
For the appointed signal; he's asleep,
So all escape's impossible—you see.
Once more, be on th' alert: and now adieu!
(Aside.)
We now shall see whether the seer spoke true!
[Exit, Hophra following.
Elhak.
(alone).
They're gone! Away, ye wicked ones, away!
And treason crowd on treason, till the sun
Blush crimson, horror-stricken by your deeds!
I'll strike the death-blow when and how I please:
But kill him sleeping! play the coward thus!
I cannot, dare not. 'Tis my wish, besides,
That he should perish, conscious of his sins,
And penitent. No, I will wake the wretch;
If he resist—why, all the better (starts)
. Ah!
Enter King, left.
King.
The stars have paled; the moon, too, it hath set
In blood;—all's quiet—all asleep. I'll go.
Elhak.
What sound was that? Methought I heard a voice.
Ah, who comes here?
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(groping his way in the dark).
All's silent: not an eye
Is waking now to notice my escape.
Quick, quick; this hated palace let me leave.
Elhak.
No crown upon his brow,—such mean attire!
Can it be he? I cannot see his face.
King.
Now will I go (is going).
Elhak.
(stopping him).
Hold, there!
King.
Oh, pity me,
And let me hence.
Elhak.
This cannot be the King:
He ne'er would plead for mercy. Who goes there?
Speak instantly, or I will slay you: speak!
King.
Have pity, stranger! Who am I, you ask.
A wretched slave, endeavouring to escape
From thraldom. Oh, betray me not!
Elhak.
What! I betray you? fear not that, my friend;
For I'm a slave myself, and feel for you.
Begone, at once, from 'neath this cursed roof
So foully stain'd with crime. The way is clear;
And see you tarry not. I've bus'ness here—
To wreak my vengeance.
King.
Is 't the King you seek?
Elhak.
Away now, while you may!
King.
What is 't you want
With him?
Elhak.
That, friend, to-morrow will unfold.
King.
He whom you seek is now no longer there.
Erewhile, afflicted by a hideous dream
About a giant tree, whose sudden fall
Predicted—so a saucy Jew alleged—
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And sad. Anon, another vision came:—
A woman in the gardens secretly
Stealing along its walks, whom presently
The moon reveal'd as his adult'rous wife.
Then changed the scene; for next he saw the Queen
Lie poison'd on her bed,—his son, too, stretch'd
Upon the fun'ral bier. These fearful dreams,
Like demons haunting him, have rack'd his brain;
Till lastly, hating e'en his regal state,
And casting off his crown and purple robe,
He has assumed the habit of a slave.
You would have speech with him? behold him—here!
Elhak.
What! you the King!
King.
That title I abjure.
Betray'd by her I love; insulted too,
And hated by my people, I would fly,
And in the desert hide me from the world;
There all my pride and glories past forget,
And live an anchoret within a cave.
Elhak.
What! this the tyrant—this the conqueror—
This the oppressor of our Arab tribes?
Shades of my children and my sainted wife,
Come, aid me now, and nerve this wav'ring arm!
King.
What! mourn you, like myself, a wife—a child?
Heav'ns, what is that? a dagger in your hand!
Whose life would you destroy, unhappy man?
Art bent on murdering some hated foe?
Oh, shed not blood! Heaven's vengeance will pursue
The murderer, and visit him with ills
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Whom conscience haunts, presenting scenes of blood,
And spectre-victims of my cruelty.
But hold! I wish'd t' escape: yon gate is closed.
Elhak.
Weak thought! escape's impossible, O King!
Bethink thee of thy danger. See this blade
That glitters o'er your head; 'twas given me
To murder you; so now prepare to die.
And who, suppose you, bade me do this deed?
Your brother!
King.
Ah, 'tis thou, Osmandyas,
Dear brother! How could I mistake thy voice?
My brain's bewilder'd—I've forgotten all.
Elhak.
Not so have I. Come, recollect yourself.
I'm not your brother: look at me; I'm not;
But this I am—the arm of vengeance sent
By outraged justice 'gainst a tyrant's life.
You tremble! ah, you understand me now.
King.
What noise is that? Hark, it approaches us,
Like billows breaking on the ocean-shore!
Elhak.
Fond fool! why trifle thus in thy last hour?
It is the signal of th' insurgent troops—
The signal I awaited for your death.
King.
Not so: they're wailing voices from the tomb
For her so lately dead.
Elhak.
(with a burst).
Nitocris lives
To tear you from your sceptre and her child;
The child you ravish'd from her mother's breasts.
But why delay? Your time has come: I've sworn
To slay you.
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Peace! yon gleaming weapon hide,
And with abated breath your voice restrain.
Hush—hush—I say. Ah! they're approaching us.
They come, they come; support me, or I faint.
See how they crowd upon me—all my foes—
In serried ranks from every country round,
From Nubia and the East to furthest Ind:
And hark! I hear the widows', orphans' wail;
See spectres grinning at me from their graves,
Gaunt victims of my gory headsman's axe.
Avaunt! I did it not; stare not on me
With those unnat'ral, spectral, sightless orbs!
Elhak.
Unhappy King! his misery disarms
My vengeance; he's the victim of Heaven's wrath,
And Heaven shall deal with him as it may please.
I will not interfere. Osmandyas
Must find some other hand more firm than mine
To do the deed:—my hate's to pity turn'd.
(To King.)
Come, hapless madman, come, I'll save thy life.
Away, then—let us leave this scene of strife.
[Exeunt by side-door.
Enter Osmandyas, Priest, and others at back.
Osmand.
Come, holy priests, and valiant warriors too,
Come; let us die to save, or else avenge
Our sov'reign.
Enter Nitocris from side.
1st Priest.
Wretched Queen! what hast thou done?
What demon-spirit has aroused thee thus?
What ferment of revolt and civil war,
Fired up by thee, is raging through the land?
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Against a king!—Oh, fear'st thou not Heaven's wrath?
Nitoc.
The demon that aroused me yonder stands!
[Pointing to Osmand.
Osmandyas there urged me to the deed.
Osmand.
I urged you, Queen? 'Fore Heaven it is a lie!
Your proofs—your witnesses—where are they?—come!
Nitoc.
For yonder traitor, I too much despise
His baseness, e'en to contradict his tale.
To you alone, good Priest, will I reply.
Last night Rameses sentenced me to death
In passion only—for no other cause—
'Tween knife and poison giving me the choice;
And to my lips I had already raised
The fatal cup when, suddenly, I heard
My darling boy was likewise doom'd to die.
The mother-spirit in me fired t' avenge
My child; and to my body-guards I flew,
Calling on them to arm in our defence.
Thank Heav'n, my child is saved, and to their camp
They have return'd by my express command.
But for the boy, he's with them, in their charge.
This now accomplish'd, it was my design
To yield myself to custody again.
Osmand.
(sneeringly).
A plausible excuse, indeed—but false!
Queen, if your soldiers have return'd to camp,
It is because they saw we were prepared,
And able to resist. If it be true—
And they have done no more—'tis fortunate.
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But I've my doubts until I've seen the King.
Nitoc.
I'm waiting his arrival like yourself.
Osmand.
Why comes he not? What obstacle unseen
Detains his Majesty? Is he asleep?
That may not be:—the clash of swords upraised—
The din of war within these regal walls
Would have awaken'd him. Why comes he not?
His chamber's yonder, princes—go and look!
I dare not; for this fatal night I fear.
(Turning to Nitoc.)
But why so pale, Queen? I accuse not you.
Nitoc.
(passionately).
No, wretch, but I do you!—You've murder'd him!
Priest.
Murder'd! Great Heaven forfend!—Here Hophrah comes;
He haply may resolve these hideous doubts.
Enter Hophrah.
Osmand.
Ah, Hophrah, tell us—where's the King?
Hoph.
Alas!
The King, your brother, prince—
Osmand.
Heavens! is he dead?
(In an undertone)
He has been slain as I suspected, then.
Hoph.
No—he still breathes.
Osmand.
(aside).
Hell-furies!
Nitoc.
He is saved!
Kind Heaven be praised!
Priest.
Come—quick—explain thyself.
Why troubled thus?—why look so terror-stricken?
What has befallen him?
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The dream—the dream!
Osmand.
What! is he wounded?
Hoph.
No; but what's far worse,
His reason has deserted him!—he's mad.
Osmand.
What say you?—mad!
Hoph.
His dream, Pahiroth's threat,
And the revolt, combined, have rack'd his brain,
And reft him of his reason. Only now
I met him, stagg'ring through the vestibule
With wild and frenzied look, disorder'd dress,
And brow uncrown'd. He recognized me not,
But in his gestures, air, and strange discourse
He show'd alike an intellect diseased.
Nitoc.
Unhappy me! I'll fly. (Is going.)
Hoph.
Nay, stay—he comes!
Enter King, supported by two Attendants.
King.
Where are you leading me?—whom see I here?
What means yon crowd?—why look they so at me?
Priest.
Our looks, O King, portray our love for you,
And our respect—alas! our fear as well.
King.
Why mock me with the name of King, old man?
Methought you would have pitied my sad fate.
Priest.
Thou art indeed a king, my son; and here,
Upon my bended knee, I homage pay. (Kneels.)
King.
Dost wish my death, then?
Priest.
Why suspect it, Sire?
King.
No act of treason would surprise me now!
Priest.
Cheer up, O King!—the rebels are disarm'd,
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Your fears are needless; the conspirators
Had no design upon your sacred life.
King.
Nay; one of them—a Nubian slave, methought—
With gleaming poniard menaced me with death.
Priest.
Murd'rous attempt! What saved you from his fangs?
King.
A bolt from Heaven palsied the regicide arm;
Conscience-struck, he gave me up the steel!
[Shows the dagger.
Priest.
Too certain proof of crime! Who arm'd this slave?
Nitoc.
(pointing to Osmand., who is horror-struck).
See! 'twas Osmandyas!
Osmand.
(starting, then sarcastically).
Nay, ask the Queen!
Priest.
Heaven's justice aid me! (To King.)
Yes, I understand.
Struck by remorse, the murderer himself
Rescued his victim. Did he tell you, Sire,
Who bade him do the deed?
King
(bewildered).
He tell me—he?
I cannot say;—I do not recollect:
Nay, more, I'd gladly rid me of the thought.
Priest.
Pray, spoke he of your brother or the Queen?
King.
My brother!—have I one? No, nor a son.
I am alone—alone—in the wide world. (Weeps.)
Nitoc.
(going to him in tears).
My King—my husband—be thyself again!
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Yon murderer—said he not who order'd him,
And paid him for his sacrilegious act?
Where is he now; or whither did he go
On leaving you? Come! furnish us some clue
Whereby to catch this monster!—pray, reflect!
King
(looking at Nitoc., bewildered).
Who is this woman?—whence is it? My heart
Thus echoes back the music of her voice,
And in her face my wilder'd eyes behold
Some loved familiar image of the past.
How is 't she frightens me—yet fascinates?
Tell me, fair lady—art of mortal mould,
Sensible to touch as sight? These lines
That channel thy fair visage, are they tears?
Tell me your name!
Nitoc.
He asks my name;—alas! (Weeps.)
Osmand.
(whispering to King).
Beware, O King! Some fiend possesses you.
What! know you not the features of the Queen,—
Her, whom you erewhile condemn'd to die?
What! think you she does not deserve her doom,
Or will you pardon her—because a queen?
King.
What is 't he says?
Osmand.
Your wrath is easily
Appeased;—her lover, too—wilt pardon him?
'Twas in the garden, recollect, last night,
You watch'd the dalliance that was your shame.
Nitoc.
His face lights up; his eyes with fury gleam!
King.
What, thou, Nitocris—thou, the harlot-queen!
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To which I sent thee?—'Twas thy cursed art
Which kindled up the fire that scorches me:
'Twas thou that cover'd me with burning shame,
And yet thou blushest not to look on me.
But tremble, wretch! I still am king, and now
Will prove it.
[Proceeds tottering towards the throne. Osmand. going to help him, he repulses him.
Leave me—I shall go alone!
(To Priest.)
Thou shalt decide, High Priest:—this wife of mine
Has been a rebel—an adultress, too!
Hophrah, like me, was witness to her crime,
And can point out both place and time, her look and mien.
Come—justice, friends!
All
(pointing to Nitocris).
Yea—justice on the Queen!
[Curtain falls.
| The Prophet's Curse | |