SCENE I.
ISMENIA, MÉROPE.
ISMENIA.
Let not, great queen, thy soul forever dwell
On images of horror and despair;
The storm is past, and brighter days succeed:
Long hast thou tasted heaven’s severest wrath,
Enjoy its bounties now: the gods, thou seest,
Have blessed our land with victory and peace;
And proud Messene, after fifteen years
Of foul division and intestine wars,
Now from her ruins lifts her towering front,
Superior to misfortune: now no more
Shalt thou behold her angry chiefs support
Their jarring interests, and in guilt alone
United, spread destruction, blood and slaughter,
O’er half thy kingdom, and dispute the throne
Of good Cresphontes: but the ministers
Of heaven, the guardians of our sacred laws,
The rulers, and the people, soon shall meet,
Free in their choice, to fix the power supreme:
If virtue gives the diadem, ‘tis thine:
Thine by irrevocable right: to thee,
The widow of Cresphontes, from our kings
Descended, must devolve Messene’s throne:
Thou, whom misfortunes and firm constancy
Have made but more illustrious, and more dear;
Thou, to whom every heart in secret tied —
MÉROPE.
No news of Narbas! shall I never see
My child again?
ISMENIA.
Despair not, madam: slaves
Have been despatched on every side; the paths
Of Elis all are open to their search:
Doubtless the object of your fears is placed
In faithful hands, who will restore to you
Their sacred trust.
MÉROPE.
Immortal gods! who see
My bitter griefs, will ye restore my son?
Is my Ægisthus living? have you saved
My wretched infant? O preserve him still,
And shield him from the cruel murderer’s hand!
He is your son, the pure, the spotless blood
Of your Alcides. Will you not protect
The dear, dear image of the best of men,
The best of kings, whose ashes I adore?
ISMENIA.
But wherefore must this tender passion turn
Thy soul aside from every other purpose?
MÉROPE.
I am a mother: canst thou wonder yet?
ISMENIA.
A mother’s fondness should not thus efface
The duty of a queen, your character,
And noble rank; though in his infant years
You loved this son, yet little have you seen
Or known of him.
MÉROPE.
Not seen him, my Ismenia?
O he is always present to my heart,
Time has no power to loose such bonds as these;
His danger still awakens all my fears,
And doubles my affection: once I’ve heard
From Narbas, and but once these four years past,
And that alas! but made me more unhappy.
“Ægisthus,” then he told me, “well deserves
A better fate; he’s worthy of his mother.
And of the gods, his great progenitors:
Exposed to every ill, his virtue braves,
And will surmount them: hope for everything
From him, but be aware of Poliphontes.”
ISMENIA.
Prevent him then, and take the reins of empire
In your own hands.
MÉROPE.
That empire is my son’s:
Perdition on the cruel step-mother,
The lover of herself, the savage heart,
That could enjoy the pleasures of a throne,
And disinherit her own blood! O no: Ismenia,
If my Ægisthus lives not, what is empire.
Or what is life to me! I should renounce them.
I should have died when my unhappy lord
Was basely slain, by men and gods betrayed.
O perfidy! O guilt! O fatal day!
O death! forever present to my sight!
Methinks even now I hear the dismal shrieks,
I hear them cry, “O save the king, his wife,
His sons;” I see the walls all stained with blood,
The flaming palace, helpless women crushed
Beneath the smoking ruins, fear and tumult
On every side, arms, torches, death, and horror:
Then, rolled in dust, and bathing in his blood,
Cresphontes pressed me to his arms, upraised
His dying eyes, and took his last farewell;
Whilst his two hapless babes, the tender fruits
Of our first love, thrown on the bleeding bosom
Of their dead father, lifted up the hands
Of innocence, and begged me to protect them
Against the barbarous murderers: Ægisthus
Alone escaped: some god defended him.
O thou who didst protect his infancy
Watch o’er and guard him, bring him to my eyes;
O let him from inglorious solitude
Rise to the rank of his great ancestors!
I’ve borne his absence long, and groaned in chains
These fifteen years: now let Ægisthus reign
Instead of Mérope: for all my pains
And sorrows past, be that the great reward.
SCENE II.
MÉROPE, ISMENIA, EURICLES.
MÉROPE.
Well! what of Narbas, and my son?
EURICLES.
Confused
I stand before thee; all our cares are vain;
We’ve searched the banks of Peneus, and the fields
Of fair Olympia, even to the walls
Of proud Salmoneus, but no Narbas there
Is to be found or heard of, not a trace
Remaining of him.
MÉROPE.
Narbas is no more,
And all is lost.
ISMENIA.
Whatever thy fears suggest
Thou still believest; and yet who knows but now,
Even whilst we speak, the happy Narbas comes
To crown thy wishes, and restore thy son.
EURICLES.
Perhaps his love, tempered with fair discretion,
Which long concealed Ægisthus from the eyes
Of men, may hide his purposed journey from thee:
He dreads the murderer’s hand, and still protects him
From those who slew Cresphontes: we must strive
By artful methods to elude the rage
That cannot be opposed: I have secured
Their passage hither, and have placed some friends
Of most approved valor, whose sharp eyes
Will look abroad, and safe conduct them to thee.
MÉROPE.
I’ve placed my surest confidence in thee.
EURICLES.
But what alas! can all my watchfulness
And faithful cares avail thee, when the people
Already meet to rob thee of thy right,
And place another on Messene’s throne?
Injustice triumphs, and the shameless crowd,
In proud contempt of sacred laws, incline
To Poliphontes.
MÉROPE.
Am I fallen so low:
And shall my son return to be a slave?
To see a subject raised to the high rank
Of his great ancestors, the blood of Jove
Debased, degraded, forced to own a master.
Have I no friend, no kind protector left?
Ungrateful subjects! have you no regard,
No reverence for the memory of Cresphontes?
Have you so soon forgot his glorious deeds,
His goodness to you?
EURICLES.
Still his name is dear,
Still they regret him, still they weep his fate,
And pity thine: but power intimidates,
And makes them dread the wrath of Poliphontes.
MÉROPE.
Thus, by my people still oppressed, I see
Justice give way to faction, interest still,
The arbiter of fate, sells needy virtue
To powerful guilt; the weak must to the strong
Forever yield: but let us hence, and strive
To fire once more their coward hearts to rage
And fierce resentment, for the injured blood
Of Hercules: excite the people’s love;
Flatter their hopes; O tell them, Euricles,
Their master is returned.
EURICLES.
I’ve said too much
Already; Poliphontes is alarmed:
He dreads your son; he dreads your very tears:
Restless ambition, that holds nothing dear
Or sacred but itself, has filled his soul
With bitterness and pride: because he drove
The ruffian slaves from Pylos and Amphrysa,
And saved Messene from a band of robbers,
He claims it as his conquest: for himself
Alone he acts, and would enslave us all:
He looks towards the crown, and to attain it
Would throw down every fence, break every law,
Spill any blood that shall oppose him: they
Who killed thy husband were not more revengeful,
More bloody, than the cruel Poliphontes.
MÉROPE.
I am entangled in some fatal snare
On every side, danger and guilt surround me:
This Poliphontes, this ambitious subject,
Whose crimes —
EURICLES.
He’s here: you must dissemble.
SCENE III.
MÉROPE, POLIPHONTES, EROX.
POLIPHONTES.
Madam,
At length I come to lay my heart before you:
I’ve served the state, and my successful toils
Have opened me a passage to the throne:
The assembled chiefs awhile suspend their choice,
But soon must fix it, or on Mérope,
Or Poliphontes: the unhappy feuds
That laid Messene waste, and filled the land
With blood and slaughter, all are buried now
In peaceful harmony, and we alone
Remain to part the fair inheritance.
We should support each other’s mutual claim;
Our common interest, and our common foes,
Love for our country, reason, duty, all
Conspire to join us, all unite to say
The warrior who avenged thy husband, he
Who saved thy kingdom, may aspire to thee.
I know these hoary locks, and wrinkled brow,
Have little charms to please a youthful fair one.
Thou’rt in the bloom of spring, and mayest despise
The winter of my days; but statesmen heed not
Such fond objections: let the royal wreath
Hide these gray hairs, a sceptre and a queen
Will recompense my toils: nor think me rash,
Or vain, you are the daughter of a king,
I know you are, but your Messene wants
A master now; therefore remember, madam,
If you would keep your right, you must — divide it.
MÉROPE.
Heaven, that afflicts me with its bitterest woes,
Prepared me not for this, this cruel insult:
How darest thou ask it? wert thou not the subject
Of great Cresphontes? thinkest thou I will e’er
Betray the memory of my dearest lord,
To share with thee his son’s inheritance,
Trust to thy hands his kingdom and his mother?
Thinkest thou the royal wreath was made to bind
A soldier’s brows?
POLIPHONTES.
That soldier has a right
To rule the kingdom which his arm defended.
What was the first that bore the name of king,
But a successful soldier? he who serves
His country well requires not ancestry
To make him noble: the inglorious blood,
Which I received from him who gave me life,
I shed already in my country’s cause,
It flowed for thee; and, spite of thy proud scorn,
I must at least be equal to the kings
I have subdued: but, to be brief with you,
The throne will soon be mine, and Mérope
May share it with me, if her pride will deign
To accept it: I’ve a powerful party, madam.
MÉROPE.
A party! wretch, to trample on our laws:
Is there a party which thou darest support
Against the king’s, against the royal race?
Is this thy faith, thy solemn vows, thy oath,
Sworn to Cresphontes, and to me; the love,
The honor due to his illustrious shade,
His wretched widow, and his hapless son;
The gods he sprang from, and the throne they gave?
POLIPHONTES.
‘Tis doubtful whether yet your son survives;
But grant that, from the mansions of the dead,
He should return, and in the face of heaven
Demand his throne, believe me when I say
He would demand in vain; Messene wants
A master worthy of her, one well proved,
A king who could defend her: he alone
Should wield the sceptre who can best avenge
His country’s cause: Ægisthus is a child,
Yet unexperienced in the ways of men,
And therefore little will his birth avail him;
Naught hath he done for us, and naught deserved:
He cannot purchase at so cheap a rate
Messene’s throne, the right of power supreme
Defends no more the gift of nature, here
From son to son; it is the price of toil,
Of labor, and of blood; ‘tis virtue’s meed,
Which I shall claim: have you so soon forgot
The savage sons of Pylos and Amphrysa,
Those lawless plunderers? Think on your Cresphontes,
And your defenceless children whom they slew:
Who saved your country then? Who stopped their fury?
Who put your foes to flight, and chased them hence?
Did not this arm avenge that murdered lord
Whom yet you weep? these, madam, are my rights,
The rights of valor: this is all my rank,
This all my title, and let heaven decide it.
If thy Ægisthus comes, by me perhaps
He may be taught to live, by me to reign:
Then shall he see how Poliphontes guides
The reins of empire. I esteem the blood
Of great Alcides, but I fear it not;
I look beyond Alcides’ race, and fain
Would imitate the god from whom he sprung:
I would defend the mother, serve the son;
Be an example to him, and a father.
MÉROPE.
O, sir, no more of your affected cares;
Your generous offers, meant but to insult
My hapless son; if you would wish to tread
In great Alcides’ steps, reserve the crown
For his descendant: know, that demi-god
Was the avenger of wronged innocence;
No ravisher, no tyrant; take thou care,
And with his valor imitate his justice;
Protect the guiltless, and defend your king,
Else shalt thou prove a worthless successor.
If thou wouldst gain the mother, seek the son;
Go, bring him to me; bring your master here,
And then perhaps I may descend to you:
But I will never be the vile accomplice,
Or the reward, of guilt like thine.
SCENE IV.
POLIPHONTES, EROX.
EROX.
My lord,
Did you expect to move her? Does the throne
Depend on her capricious will? Must she
Conduct you to it?
POLIPHONTES.
‘Twixt that throne and me,
Erox, I see a dreadful precipice
I must o’erleap, or perish: Mérope
Expects Ægisthus; and the fickle crowd,
If he returns, perhaps may bend towards him.
In vain his father’s and his brothers’ blood,
Have opened wide my passage to the throne;
In vain hath fortune cast her friendly veil
O’er all my crimes; in vain have I oppressed
The blood of kings, whilst the deluded people
Adored me as their friend, if yet there lives
A hateful offspring of Alcides’ race:
If this lamented son should e’er again
Behold Messene, fifteen years of toil
At once are lost, and all my hopes o’erthrown;
All the fond prejudice of birth and blood
Will soon revive the memory of Cresphontes,
A hundred kings for his proud ancestors,
The boasted honor of a race divine,
A mother’s tears, her sorrows, her despair,
All will conspire to shake my feeble power:
Ægisthus is a foe I must subdue:
I would have crushed the serpent in his shell,
But that the diligent and subtle Narbas
Conveyed him hence, e’er since that time concealed
In some far distant land, he hath escaped
My narrowest search, and baffled all my care:
I stopped his couriers, broke the intelligence
‘Twixt him and Mérope; but fortune oft
Deserts us: from the silence of oblivion
Sometimes a secret may spring forth; and heaven,
By slow and solemn steps, may bring down vengeance.
EROX.
Depend, undaunted, on thy prosperous fate;
Prudence, thy guardian god, shall still protect thee:
Thy orders are obeyed; the soldiers watch
Each avenue of Elis and Messene:
If Narbas brings Ægisthus here, they both
Must die.
POLIPHONTES.
But say, canst thou depend on those
Whom thou hast placed to intercept them?
EROX.
Yes:
None of them know whose blood is to be shed,
Or the king’s name whom they must sacrifice.
Narbas is painted to them as a traitor,
A guilty vagabond, that seeks some place
Of refuge; and the other, as a slave,
A murderer, to be yielded up to justice.
POLIPHONTES.
It must be so: this crime and I have done;
And yet, when I have rid me of the son,
I must possess the mother: ‘twill be useful:
I shall not then be branded with the name
Of a usurper; she will bring with her
A noble portion in the people’s love:
I know their hearts are not inclined to me;
With fears dejected, or inflamed with hope,
Still in extremes, the giddy multitude
Tumultuous rove, and interest only binds them,
That makes them mine. Erox, thy fate depends
On my success; thou art my best support:
Go, and unite them; bribe the sordid wretch
With gold to serve me, let the subtle courtier
Expect my favors; raise the coward soul,
Inspire the valiant, and caress the bold;
Persuade and promise, threaten and implore:
Thus far this sword hath brought me on my way;
But what by courage was begun, by art
We must complete; that many-headed monster,
The people, must be soothed by flattery’s power:
I’m feared already, but I would be loved.
END of the FIRST ACT.