by John Dryden
Ber. Of death’s contempt heroic proofs you give; But, madam, let my weaker virtue live. Your faith may bid you your own life resign; But not when yours must be involved with mine. Since then you do not think me fit to die, Ah, how can you that life I beg deny!
S. Cath. Heaven does in this my greatest trial make, When I, for it, the care of you forsake; But I am placed, as on a theatre, Where all my acts to all mankind appear, To imitate my constancy or fear: Then, madam, judge what course I should pursue, When I must either heaven forsake, or you.
Por. Were saving Berenice’s life a sin, Heaven had shut up your flight from Maximin.
S. Cath. Thus with short plummets heaven’s deep will we sound, That vast abyss where human wit is drowned! In our small skiff we must not launch too far; We here but coasters, not discoverers, are. Faith’s necessary rules are plain and few; We many, and those needless, rules pursue: Faith from our hearts into our heads we drive, And make religion all contemplative. You on heaven’s will may witty glosses feign; But that which I must practise here is plain: If the All-great decree her life to spare, He will the means, without my crime, prepare. [Exit St Cath.
Por. Yet there is one way left! it is decreed, To save your life, that Maximin shall bleed; ‘Midst all his guards I will his death pursue, Or fall a sacrifice to love and you.
Ber. So great a fear of death I have not shown, That I would shed his blood to save my own; My fear is but from human frailty brought, And never mingled with a wicked thought.
Por. ’Tis not a crime, since one of you must die, Or is excused by the necessity.
Ber. I cannot to a husband’s death consent, But, by revealing, will your crime prevent. The horror of this deed Against the fear of death has armed my mind, And now less guilt in him than you I find. If I a tyrant did detest before, I hate a rebel, and a traitor more: Ungrateful man, Remember whose successor thou art made, And then thy benefactor’s life invade. Guards, to your charge I give your prisoner back, And will from none but heaven my safety take. [Exit with Valerius and Guards.
Por. [Solus.] ’Tis true, what she has often urged before, He’s both my father, and my emperor! O honour, how can’st thou invent a way To save my queen, and not my trust betray! Unhappy I, that e’er he trusted me! As well his guardian-angel may his murderer be. And yet —— let honour, faith, and virtue fly, But let not love in Berenice die. She lives! —— That’s put beyond dispute, as firm as fate; Honour and faith let argument debate.
Enter Maximin and Valerius talking, and Guards.
Max. ’Tis said, but I am loth to think it true, [To Por.
That my late orders were contemned by you: That Berenice from her guards you freed.
Por. I did it, and I glory in the deed.
Max. How, glory my commands to disobey!
Por. When those commands would your renown betray.
Max. Who should be judge of that renown you name, But I?
Por. Yes, I, and all who love your fame.
Max. Porphyrius, your replies are insolent.
Por. Sir, they are just, and for your service meant. If for religion you our lives will take, You do not the offenders find, but make. All faiths are to their own believers just; For none believe, because they will, but must. Faith is a force from which there’s no defence; Because the reason it does first convince: And reason conscience into fetters brings; And conscience is without the power of kings.
Max. Then conscience is a greater prince than I, At whose each erring call a king may die! Who conscience leaves to its own free command, Puts the worst weapon in a rebel’s hand.
Por. Its empire, therefore, sir, should bounded be, And, but in acts of its religion, free: Those who ask civil power and conscience too, Their monarch to his own destruction woo. With needful arms let him secure his peace; Then, that wild beast he safely may release.
Max. I can forgive these liberties you take, While but my counsellor yourself you make: But you first act your sense, and then advise; That is, at my expence you will be wise. My wife I for religion do not kill; But she shall die — because it is my will.
Por. Sir, I acknowledge I too much have done, And therefore merit not to be your son: I render back the honours which you gave; My liberty’s the only gift I crave.
Max. You take too much —— but, ere you lay it down, Consider what you part with in a crown: Monarchs of cares in policy complain, Because they would be pitied, while they reign; For still the greater troubles they confess, They know their pleasures will be envied less.
Por. Those joys I neither envy nor admire; But beg I from the troubles may retire.
Max. What soul is this which empire cannot stir! Supine and tame as a philosopher! Know then, thou wert adopted to a throne, Not for thy sake so much as for my own. My thoughts were once about thy death at strife; And thy succession’s thy reprieve for life.
Por. My life and death are still within your power; But your succession I renounce this hour. Upon a bloody throne I will not sit, Nor share the guilt of crimes which you commit.
Max. If you are not my Cæsar, you must die.
Por. I take it as the nobler destiny.
Max. I pity thee, and would thy faults forgive; But, thus presuming on, thou canst not live.
Por. Sir, with your throne your pity I restore; I am your foe, nor will I use it more. Now all my debts of gratitude are paid, I cannot trusted be, nor you betrayed. [Is going.
Max. Stay, stay! in threatening me to be my foe, You give me warning to conclude you so. Thou to succeed a monarch in his seat!
Enter Placidius.
No, fool, thou art too honest to be great! Placidius, on your life this prisoner keep: Our enmity shall end before I sleep.
Plac. I still am ready, sir, whene’er you please, [To Por.
To do you such small services as these.
Max. The sight, with which my eyes shall first be fed, Must be my empress’ and this traitor’s head.
Por. Where’er thou stand’st, I’ll level at that place My gushing blood, and spout it at thy face. Thus, not by marriage, we our blood will join; Nay more, my arms shall throw my head at thine. [Exit guarded.
Max. There, go, adoption: I have now decreed, That Maximin shall Maximin succeed: Old as I am, in pleasures I will try To waste an empire yet before I die: Since life is fugitive, and will not stay, I’ll make it fly more pleasantly away. [Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Enter Valeria and Placidius.
Val. If, as you say, you silently have been So long my lover, let my power be seen: One hour’s discourse before Porphyrius die, Is all I ask, and you too may be by.
Plac. I must not break The order, which the emperor did sign.
Val. Has then his hand more power with you than mine?
Plac. This hand, if given, would far more powerful be Than all the monarchs of the world to me: But ’tis a bait which would my heart betray; And, when I’m fast, will soon be snatched away.
Val. O say not so; for I shall ever be Obliged to him, who once obliges me.
Plac. Madam, I’ll wink, and favour the deceit; But know, fair cozener, that I know the cheat: Though to these eyes I nothing can refuse, I’ll not the merit of my ruin lose: It is enough I see the hook, and bite; But first I’ll pay my death with my delight. [Kisses her hand, and exit.
Val. What can I hope from this sad interview? And yet my brave design I will pursue. By many signs I have my rival found; But fortune him, as deep as me, does wound. For, if he loves the empress, his sad fate More moves my pity, than his scorn my hate.
To her Placidius, with Porphyrius.
Plac. I am, perhaps, the first, Who, forced by fate, and in his own despite, Brought a loved rival to his mistress’ sight.
Val. But, in revenge, let this your comfort be, That you have brought a man who loves not me. However, lay your causeless envy by; He is a rival, who must quickly die.
Por. And yet I could, with less concernment, bear That death of which you speak, than see yo
u here. So much of guilt in my refusal lies, That, debtor-like, I dare not meet your eyes.
Val. I do not blame you, if you love elsewhere: And would to heaven I could your sufferings bear! Or once again could some new way invent, To take upon myself your punishment: I sent for you, to let you know, that still, Though now I want the power, I have the will.
Plac. Can all this ocean of your kindness be Poured upon him, and not one drop on me?
Val. ’Tis poured; but falls from this ungrateful man, Like drops of water from a rising swan. Upon his breast no sign of wet remains; He bears his love more proudly than his chains.
Por. This thankless man his death will soon remove, And quickly end so undeserved a love.
Val. Unthankful as you are, I know not why, But still I love too well, to see you die. Placidius, can you love, and see my grief, And for my sake not offer some relief?
Plac. Not all the gods his ruin shall prevent; Your kindness does but urge his punishment. Besides, what can I for his safety do? He has declared himself your father’s foe.
Val. Give out he has escaped, and set him free; And, if you please, lay all the fault on me.
Por. O, do not on those terms my freedom name! Freed by your danger, I should die with shame.
Plac. I must not farther by your prayers be won: All I could do, I have already done. [To her.
Val. To bring Porphyrius only to my sight, Was not to show your pity, but your spite: Would you but half oblige her you adore? You should not have done this, or should do more.
Plac. Alas! what hope can there be left for me, When I must sink into the mine I see? My heart will fall before you, if I stay; Each word you speak saps part of it away. —— Yet all my fortune on his death is set; And he may love her, though he loves not yet. He must — and yet she says he must not die. — O, if I could but wink, I could deny!
To them Albinus.
Alb. The emperor expects your prisoner strait; And with impatience for his death does wait.
Plac. Nay, then it is too late my love to weigh; Your pardon, madam, if I must obey. [Exit Albinus.
Por. I am prepared; he shall not long attend.
Val. Then here my prayers and my submissions end. Placidius, know, that hour in which he dies, My death (so well I love) shall wait on his.
Plac. O, madam, do not fright me with your death!
Val. My life depends alone upon his breath. But, if I live in him, you do not know How far my gratitude to you may go. I do not promise — but it so may prove, That gratitude, in time, may turn to love. Try me —
Plac. Now I consider it, I will: [Musing a little.
’Tis in your power to save him, or to kill. I’ll run the hazard to preserve his life, If, after that, you vow to be my wife.
Val. Nay, good Placidius, now you are too hard: Would you do nothing but for mere reward? Like usurers to men in want you prove, When you would take extortion for my love.
Plac. You have concluded then that he must die? [Going with Porphyrius.
Val. O stay! if no price else his life can buy, My love a ransom for his life I give: Let my Porphyrius for another live. [Holding her handkerchief before her face.
Por. You too much value the small merchandise: My life’s o’er-rated, when your love’s the price.
Enter Albinus.
Alb. I long have listened to your generous strife, As much concerned for brave Porphyrius’ life. For mine I to his favour owed this day; Which with my future service I will pay.
Plac. Lest any your intended flight prevent, I’ll lead you first the back-way to my tent; Thence, in disguise, you may the city gain, While some excuse for your escape I feign.
Val. Farewell! I must not see you when you part: [Turning her face away.
For that last look would break my tender heart. Yet — let it break — I must have one look more: [Looking on him.
Nay, now I’m less contented than before; For that last look draws on another too; Which sure I need not, to remember you. For ever — yet I must one glance repeat; But quick and short as starving people eat. So much humanity dwell in your breast, Sometimes to think on her who loves you best. [Going — he takes her hand and kisses it.
Por. My wandering steps wherever fortune bear, Your memory I in my breast will wear; Which, as a precious amulet, I still Will carry, my defence and guard from ill. Though to my former vows I must be true, I’ll ever keep one love entire for you; That love, which brothers with chaste sisters make: And by this holy kiss, which now I take From your fair hand — This common sun, which absent both shall see, Shall ne’er behold a breach of faith in me.
Val. Go, go! my death will your short vows restore; You’ve said enough, and I can hear no more. [Exeunt Val. one way, and Por. and Alb. another.
Plac. Love and good nature, how do you betray! Misleading those who see and know their way! I, whom deep arts of state could ne’er beguile, Have sold myself to ruin for a smile. Nay, I am driven so low, that I must take That smile, as alms, given for my rival’s sake.
Enter Maximin, talking with Valerius.
Max. And why was I not told of this before?
Val. Sir, she this evening landed on the shore; For with her daughter being prisoner made, She in another vessel was conveyed.
Max. Bring hither the Egyptian princess strait. [To Plac.
And you, Valerius, on her mother wait. [Exit Val.
Plac. The mother of the Egyptian princess here!
Max. Porphyrius’ death I will a while defer, And this new opportunity improve, To make my last effort upon her love — [Exit Plac.
Those, who have youth, may long endure to court; But he must swiftly catch, whose race is short. I in my autumn do my siege begin; And must make haste, ere winter comes, to win. This hour — no longer shall my pains endure: Her love shall ease me, or her death shall cure.
Enter at one door Felicia and Valerius, at the other St Catharine and Placidius.
S. Cath. O, my dear mother!
Fel. With what joy I see My dearest daughter from the tempest free!
S. Cath. Dearer than all the joys vain empire yields, Or than to youthful monarchs conquered fields! Before you came — my soul, All filled with heaven, did earthly joys disdain: But you pull back some part of me again.
Plac. You see, sir, she can own a joy below.
Max. It much imports me that this truth I know.
Fel. How dreadful death does on the waves appear, Where seas we only see, and tempests hear! Such frightful images did then pursue My trembling soul, that scarce I thought of you.
Plac. All circumstances to your wish combine: Her fear of death advances your design. [To Max.
Fel. But to that only power we serve I prayed, Till He, who bid it rise, the tempest laid.
Max. You are a Christian then! [To Felicia.
For death this very hour you must prepare: I have decreed no Christian’s life to spare.
Fel. For death! I hope you but my courage try: Whatever I believe, I dare not die. Heaven does not, sure, that seal of faith require; Or, if it did, would firmer thoughts inspire. A woman’s witness can no credit give To truths divine, and therefore I would live.
Max. I cannot give the life which you demand: But that and mine are in your daughter’s hand: Ask her, if she will yet her love deny, And bid a monarch, and her mother, die.
Fel. Now, mighty prince, you cancel all my fear: My life is safe, when it depends on her. How can you let me languish thus in pain! [To St Cath.
Make haste to cure those doubts which yet remain. Speak quickly, speak, and ease me of my fear.
S. Cath. Alas, I doubt it is not you I hear! Some wicked fiend assumes your voice and face, To make frail nature triumph over grace. It cannot be — That she, who taught my childhood piety, Should bid my riper age my faith deny; That she, who bid my hopes this crown pursue, Should snatch it from me when ’tis just in view.
Fel. Peace, peace! too much my age’s shame you show: How easy ’tis to teach! how hard to do! My labouring thoughts are
with themselves at strife: I dare not die, nor bid you save my life.
Max. You must do one, and that without delay; Too long already for your death I stay. I cannot with your small concerns dispense; For deaths of more importance call me hence. Prepare to execute your office strait. [To his Guards.
Fel. O stay, and let them but one minute wait! Such quick commands for death you would not give, If you but knew how sweet it were to live.
Max. Then bid her love.
Fel. Is duty grown so weak, [To St Catharine.
That love’s a harder word than death to speak?
S. Cath. Oh!
Fel. Mistake me not; I never can approve A thing so wicked as the tyrant’s love. I ask you would but some false promise give, Only to gain me so much time to live. [Privately to St Catharine.
S. Cath. That promise is a step to greater sin: The hold, once lost, we seldom take again. Each bound to heaven we fainter essays make, Still losing somewhat, till we quite go back.
Max. Away! I grant no longer a reprieve.
Fel. O do but beg my life, and I may live. [To St Cath.
Have you not so much pity in your breast? He stays to have you make it your request.
S. Cath. To beg your life —— Is not to ask a grace of Maximin: It is a silent bargain for a sin. Could we live always, life were worth our cost; But now we keep with care what must be lost. Here we stand shivering on the bank, and cry, When we should plunge into eternity. One moment ends our pain; And yet the shock of death we dare not stand, By thought scarce measured, and too swift for sand: ’Tis but because the living death ne’er knew, They fear to prove it as a thing that’s new. Let me the experiment before you try, I’ll show you first how easy ’tis to die.
