John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  As for what I have said of astral or aërial spirits, it is no invention of mine, but taken from those who have written on that subject. Whether there are such beings or not, it concerns not me; it is sufficient for my purpose, that many have believed the affirmative; and that these heroic representations, which are of the same nature with the epic, are not limited, but with the extremest bounds of what is credible.

  For the little critics, who pleased themselves with thinking they have found a flaw in that line of the prologue,

  And he, who servilely creeps after sense, Is safe, &c.[M],

  as if I patronized my own nonsense, I may reasonably suppose they have never read Horace. Serpit humi tutus, &c. are his words: He, who creeps after plain, dull, common sense, is safe from committing absurdities; but can never reach any height, or excellence of wit; and sure I could not mean, that any excellence were to be found in nonsense. With the same ignorance, or malice, they would accuse me for using — empty arms, when I write of a ghost, or shadow; which has only the appearance of a body or limbs, and is empty, or void, of flesh and blood; and vacuis amplectitur ulnis, was an expression of Ovid’s on the same subject. Some fool before them had charged me in “The Indian Emperor” with nonsense in these words,

  And follow fate, which does too fast pursue;

  Which was borrowed from Virgil, in the eleventh of his Æneids,

  Eludit gyro interior, sequiturque sequentem[N].

  I quote not these to prove, that I never writ nonsense; but only to shew, that they are so unfortunate as not to have found it.

  VALE.

  PROLOGUE.

  Self-love, which, never rightly understood, Makes poets still conclude their plays are good, And malice, in all critics, reigns so high, That for small errors, they whole plays decry; So that to see this fondness, and that spite, You’d think that none but madmen judge or write. Therefore our poet, as he thinks not fit T’ impose upon you what he writes for wit; So hopes, that, leaving you your censures free,} You equal judges of the whole will be:} They judge but half, who only faults will see.} Poets, like lovers, should be bold and dare, They spoil their business with an over-care; And he, who servilely creeps after sense, Is safe, but ne’er will reach an excellence. Hence ’tis, our poet, in his conjuring, Allowed his fancy the full scope and swing. But when a tyrant for his theme he had, He loosed the reins, and bid his muse run mad: And though he stumbles in a full career, Yet rashness is a better fault than fear. He saw his way; but in so swift a pace, To chuse the ground might be to lose the race. They then, who of each trip the advantage take, Find but those faults, which they want wit to make.

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

  Maximin, Tyrant of Rome.

  Porphyrius, Captain of the Prætorian Bands.

  Charinus, the Emperor’s son.

  Placidius, a great officer.

  Valerius, } } Tribunes of the army. Albinus, }

  Nigrinus, a Tribune and conjurer.

  Amariel, guardian-angel to St Catharine.

  Apollonius, a Heathen philosopher.

  Berenice, wife to Maximin.

  Valeria, daughter to Maximin.

  St Catherine, Princess of Alexandria.

  Felicia, her mother.

  Erotion, } } Attendants. Cydnon, }

  SCENE — The camp of Maximin, under the walls of Aquileia.

  ACT I.

  SCENE I. — A Camp, or Pavilion Royal.

  Enter Maximin, Charinus, Placidius, Albinus, Valerius, Apollonius, and Guards.

  Max. Thus far my arms have with success been crowned, And found no stop, or vanquished what they found. The German lakes my legions have o’erpast, With all the bars which art or nature cast: My foes, in watery fastnesses inclosed, I fought alone, to their whole war exposed; Did first the depth of trembling marshes sound, And fixed my eagles in unfaithful ground; By force submitted to the Roman sway Fierce nations, and unknowing to obey; And now, for my reward, ungrateful Rome, For which I fought abroad, rebels at home.

  Alb. Yet ’tis their fear which does this war maintain; They cannot brook a martial monarch’s reign: Your valour would their sloth too much accuse; And therefore, like themselves they princes chuse.

  Plac. Two tame gown’d princes, who at ease debate, In lazy chairs, the business of the state; Who reign but while the people they can please, And only know the little arts of peace.

  Char. In fields they dare not fight, where honour calls; But breathe a faint defiance from their walls. The very noise of war their souls does wound; They quake, but hearing their own trumpets sound.

  Val. An easy summons but for form they wait, And to your fame will open wide the gate.

  Plac. I wish our fame that swift success may find; But conquests, sir, are easily designed. However soft within themselves they are, To you they will be valiant by despair: For, having once been guilty, well they know, To a revengeful prince they still are so.

  Alb. ’Tis true, that, since the senate’s succours came, They grow more bold.

  Max. That senate’s but a name: Or they are pageant princes which they make; That power they give away, they would partake. Two equal powers two different ways will draw, While each may check, and give the other law. True, they secure propriety and peace; But are not fit an empire to increase. When they should aid their prince, the slaves dispute; And fear success should make him absolute. They let foes conquer, to secure the state, And lend a sword, whose edge themselves rebate.

  Char. When to increase the gods you late are gone, I’ll swiftly chuse to die, or reign alone: But these half kings our courage cannot fright; The thrifty state will bargain ere they fight: Give just so much for every victory, And rather lose a fight than overbuy.

  Max. Since all delays are dangerous in war, Your men, Albinus, for assault prepare; Crispinus and Meniphilus, I hear, Two consulars, these Aquileians cheer; By whom they may, if we protract the time, Be taught the courage to defend their crime.

  Plac. Put off the assault but only for this day: No loss can come by such a small delay.

  Char. We are not sure to-morrow will be ours: Wars have, like love, their favourable hours. Let us use all; for if we lose one day, That white one, in the crowd, may slip away.

  Max. Fate’s dark recesses we can never find; But fortune, at some hours, to all is kind: The lucky have whole days, which still they chuse; The unlucky have but hours, and those they lose.

  Plac. I have consulted one, who reads heaven’s doom, And sees, as present, things which are to come. ’Tis that Nigrinus, made by your command A tribune in the new Pannonian band. Him have I seen (on Ister’s banks he stood, Where last we wintered), bind the headlong flood In sudden ice; and, where most swift it flows, In crystal nets the wond’ring fishes close. Then, with a moment’s thaw, the streams enlarge, And from the mesh the twinkling guests discharge. In a deep vale, or near some ruined wall, He would the ghosts of slaughtered soldiers call; Who slow to wounded bodies did repair, And, loth to enter, shivered in the air; These his dread wand did to short life compel, And forced the fates of battles to foretel.

  Max. ’Tis wonderous strange! But, good Placidius, say, What prophecies Nigrinus of this day?

  Plac. In a lone tent, all hung with black, I saw, Where in a square he did a circle draw; Four angles, made by that circumference, Bore holy words inscribed, of mystic sense. When first a hollow wind began to blow, The sky grew black, and bellied down more low; Around the fields did nimble lightning play, Which offered us by fits, and snatched the day. ‘Midst this was heard the shrill and tender cry Of well-pleased ghosts, which in the storm did fly; Danced to and fro, and skimmed along the ground, Till to the magic circle they were bound. They coursing it, while we were fenced within, We saw this dreadful scene of fate begin.

  Char. Speak without fear; what did the vision shew?

  Plac. A curtain, drawn, presented to our view A town besieged; and on the neighbouring plain Lay heaps of visionary soldiers slain. A rising mist obscured the gloomy head Of one, who, in imperial ro
bes, lay dead. Near this, in fetters, stood a virgin crowned, Whom many Cupids strove in vain to wound: A voice, — To-morrow, still To-morrow rung; Another, — lo, lo Pæan sung.

  Char. Visions and oracles still doubtful are, And ne’er expounded till the event of war. The gods’ foreknowledge on our swords will wait: If we fight well, they must foreshow good fate.

  To them a Centurion.

  Cent. A rising dust, which troubles all the air, And this way travels, shews some army near.

  Char. I hear the sound of trumpets from afar.

  [Exit Albinus.

  Max. It seems the voice of triumph, not of war.

  To them Albinus again.

  Alb. Health and success our emperor attends; The forces, marching on the plain, are friends. Porphyrius, whom you Egypt’s prætor made, Is come from Alexandria to your aid.

  Max. It well becomes the conduct and the care Of one so famed and fortunate in war. You must resign, Placidius, your command; To him I promised the prætorian band. Your duty in your swift compliance show; I will provide some other charge for you.

  Plac. May Cæsar’s pleasure ever be obeyed, With that submission, which by me is paid. Now all the curses envy ever knew, Or could invent, Porphyrius pursue! [Aside.

  Alb. Placidius does too tamely bear his loss; [To Charinus.

  This new pretender will all power engross: All things must now by his direction move, And you, sir, must resign your father’s love.

  Char. Yes; every name to his repute must bow; There grow no bays for any other brow. He blasts my early honour in the bud, Like some tall tree, the monster of the wood; O’ershading all which under him would grow, He sheds his venom on the plants below.

  Alb. You must some noble action undertake, Equal with his your own renown to make.

  Char. I am not for a slothful envy born; I’ll do’t this day, in the dire vision’s scorn. He comes: We two like the twin stars appear; Never to shine together in one sphere. [Exeunt Char. and Albinus.

  Enter Porphyrius attended.

  Max. Porphyrius, welcome; welcome as the light To cheerful birds, or as to lovers night; Welcome as what thou bring’st me, victory.

  Por. That waits, sir, on your arms, and not on me. You left a conquest more than half achieved, And for whose easiness I almost grieved. Yours only the Egyptian laurels are; I bring you but the reliques of your war. The Christian princess, to receive your doom, Is from her conquered Alexandria come; Her mother, in another vessel sent, A storm surprised, nor know I the event: Both from your bounty must receive their state, Or must on your triumphant chariot wait.

  Max. From me they can expect no grace, whose minds An execrable superstition blinds.

  Apol. The gods, who raised you to the world’s command, Require these victims from your grateful hand.

  Por. To minds resolved, the threats of death are vain; They run to fires, and there enjoy their pain; Not Mucius made more haste his hand to expose To greedy flames, than their whole bodies those.

  Max. How to their own destruction they are blind! Zeal is the pious madness of the mind.

  Por. They all our famed philosophers defy, And would our faith by force of reason try.

  Apol. I beg it, sir, by all the powers divine. That in their right this combat may be mine.

  Max. It shall; and fifty doctors of our laws Be added to you, to maintain the cause.

  Enter Berenice, the Empress; Valeria, daughter to the Emperor, and Erotion.

  Plac. The empress and your daughter, sir, are here.

  Por. What dangers in those charming eyes appear! [Looking on the Empress.

  How my old wounds are opened at this view, And in my murderer’s presence bleed anew!

  Max. I did expect your coming, to partake [To the Ladies.

  The general gladness which my triumphs make. You did Porphyrius as a courtier know; But as a conqueror behold him now.

  Ber. You know (I read it in your blushing face), [To Por.

  To merit, better than receive a grace: And I know better silently to own, Than with vain words to pay your service done.

  Por. Princes, like gods, reward ere we deserve; [Kneeling to kiss her hand.

  And pay us, in permitting us to serve. O might I still grow here, and never move! [Lower.

  Ber. How dangerous are these ecstacies of love! He shews his passion to a thousand eyes; He cannot stir, nor can I bid him rise. That word my heart refuses to my tongue! [Aside.

  Max. Madam, you let the general kneel too long.

  Por. Too long! as if eternity were so.

  [Aside.

  Ber. Rise, good Porphyrius — since it must be so.

  [Aside.

  Por. Like hermits from a vision I retire, [Rising.

  With eyes too weak to see what I admire. [Aside.

  Val. The empress knows your worth; but, sir, there be [To Porphyrius, who kisses her hand.

  Those who can value it as high as she. And ’tis but just (since in my father’s cause You fought) your valour should have my applause.

  Plac. O jealousy, how art thou eagle-eyed! She loves; and would her love in praises hide: How am I bound this rival to pursue, Who ravishes my love and fortune too! [Aside.

  [A dead march within, and trumpets.

  Max. Somewhat of mournful, sure, my ears does wound; Like the hoarse murmurs of a trumpet’s sound, And drums unbraced, with soldiers’ broken cries.

  Enter Albinus.

  Albinus, whence proceeds this dismal noise?

  Alb. Too soon you’ll know what I want words to tell.

  Max. How fares my son? Is my Charinus well? Not answer me! Oh my prophetic fear!

  Alb. How can I speak, or how, sir, can you hear? Imagine that which you would most deplore, And that, which I would speak, is it, or more.

  Max. Thy mournful message in thy looks I read: Is he (oh that I live to ask it!) dead?

  Alb. Sir —

  Max. Stay; if thou speak’st that word, thou speak’st thy last: Some God now, if he dares, relate what’s past: Say but he’s dead, that God shall mortal be.

  Alb. Then, what I dare not speak, look back and see.

  [Charinus borne in dead by soldiers.

  Max. See nothing, eyes, henceforth, but death and woe; You’ve done me the worst office you can do. You’ve shewn me destiny’s preposterous crime; An unripe fate, disclosed ere nature’s time.

  Plac. Assuage, great prince, your passion, lest you shew There’s somewhat in your soul which fate can bow.

  Por. Fortune should by your greatness be controuled: Arm your great mind, and let her take no hold.

  Max. To tame philosophers teach constancy; There is no farther use of it in me. Gods! — but why name I you! All that was worth a prayer to you is gone; — I ask not back my virtue, but my son.

  Alb. His too great thirst of fame his ruin brought; Though, sir, beyond all human force he fought.

  Plac. This was my vision of this fatal day!

  Alb. With a fierce haste he led our troops the way, While fiery showers of sulphur on him rained; Nor left he, till the battlements he gained: There with a forest of their darts he strove, And stood, like Capaneus defying Jove; With his broad sword the boldest beating down, While fate grew pale lest he should win the town; And turned the iron leaves of its dark book, To make new dooms, or mend what it mistook; Till, sought by many deaths, he sunk, though late, And by his fall asserted doubtful fate.

  Val. Oh my dear brother! whom heaven let us see, And would not longer suffer him to be!

  Max. And didst not thou a death with honour chuse, [To Alb.

  But impudently liv’st to bring this news? After his loss how did’st thou dare to breathe? But thy base ghost shall follow him in death. A decimation I will strictly make Of all, who my Charinus did forsake; And of each legion, each centurion Shall die: — Placidius, see my pleasure done.

  Por. Sir, you will lose, by this severity, Your soldiers’ hearts.

  Max. Why, they take pay to die.

  Por. Then spare Albinus
only.

  Max. I consent To leave his life to be his punishment. Discharged from trust, branded with infamy, Let him live on, till he ask leave to die.

  Ber. Let me petition for him.

  Max. I have said; And will not be intreated, but obeyed. But, empress, whence does your compassion grow?

  Ber. You need not ask it, since my birth you know. The race of Antonines was named the good: I draw my pity from my royal blood.

  Max. Still must I be upbraided with your line? I know you speak it in contempt of mine. But your late brother did not prize me less, Because I could not boast of images; And the Gods own me more, when they decreed, A Thracian shepherd should your line succeed.

  Ber. The Gods! O do not name the powers divine, They never mingled their decrees with thine. My brother gave me to thee for a wife, And for my dowry thou didst take his life.

  Max. The Gods by many victories have shewn, That they my merits and his death did own.

  Ber. Yes, they have owned it; witness this just day, When they begin thy mischiefs to repay. See the reward of all thy wicked care Before thee; thy succession ended there. Yet, but in part my brother’s ghost is pleased; Restless till all the groaning world be eased. For me, no other happiness I own, Than to have borne no issue to thy throne.

  Max. Provoke my rage no farther, lest I be Revenged at once upon the gods and thee.

  Por. What horrid tortures seize my labouring mind, O, only excellent of all thy kind, To hear thee threatened, while I idle stand! Heaven! was I born to fear a tyrant’s hand? [Aside.

  Max. [to Ber.] Hence from my sight! — thy blood, If thou dost stay —

  Ber. Tyrant! too well to that thou knowest the way. [Going.

  Por. Let baser souls from falling fortunes fly: I’ll pay my duty to her, though I die. [Exit, leading her.