Complete Works of Samuel Johnson
Page 604
He knew Irene’s truth.
MUSTAPHA.
The sultan knows it;
He knows, how near apostasy to treason —
But ’tis not mine to judge — I scorn and leave thee.
I go, lest vengeance urge my hand to blood,
To blood too mean to stain a soldier’s sabre.
[Exit Mustapha.
IRENE, to her attendants.
Go, blust’ring slave — He has not heard of Murza.
That dext’rous message frees me from suspicion.
SCENE VIII.
Enter HASAN, CARAZA, with mutes, who throw the black robe upon IRENE, and sign to her attendants to withdraw.
HASAN.
Forgive, fair excellence, th’ unwilling tongue,
The tongue, that, forc’d by strong necessity,
Bids beauty, such as thine, prepare to die.
IRENE.
What wild mistake is this! Take hence, with speed,
Your robe of mourning, and your dogs of death.
Quick from my sight, you inauspicious monsters;
Nor dare, henceforth, to shock Irene’s walks.
HASAN.
Alas! they come commanded by the sultan,
Th’ unpitying ministers of Turkish justice,
Nor dare to spare the life his frown condemns.
IRENE.
Are these the rapid thunderbolts of war,
That pour with sudden violence on kingdoms,
And spread their flames, resistless, o’er the world?
What sleepy charms benumb these active heroes,
Depress their spirits, and retard their speed?
Beyond the fear of ling’ring punishment,
Aspasia now, within her lover’s arms,
Securely sleeps, and, in delightful dreams,
Smiles at the threat’nings of defeated rage.
CARAZA.
We come, bright virgin, though relenting nature
Shrinks at the hated task, for thy destruction.
When summon’d by the sultan’s clam’rous fury,
We ask’d, with tim’rous tongue, th’ offender’s name,
He struck his tortur’d breast, and roar’d, Irene!
We started at the sound, again inquir’d;
Again his thund’ring voice return’d, Irene!
IRENE.
Whence is this rage; what barb’rous tongue has wrong’d me?
What fraud misleads him? or what crimes incense?
HASAN.
Expiring Cali nam’d Irene’s chamber,
The place appointed for his master’s death.
IRENE.
Irene’s chamber! From my faithful bosom
Far be the thought — But hear my protestation.
CARAZA.
’Tis ours, alas! to punish, not to judge,
Not call’d to try the cause, we heard the sentence,
Ordain’d the mournful messengers of death.
IRENE.
Some ill designing statesman’s base intrigue!
Some cruel stratagem of jealous beauty!
Perhaps, yourselves the villains that defame me: —
Now haste to murder, ere returning thought
Recall th’ extorted doom. — It must be so:
Confess your crime, or lead me to the sultan;
There dauntless truth shall blast the vile accuser;
Then shall you feel, what language cannot utter,
Each piercing torture, ev’ry change of pain,
That vengeance can invent, or pow’r inflict.
[Enter Abdalla: he stops short and listens.
SCENE IX.
IRENE, HASAN, CARAZA, ABDALLA.
ABDALLA, aside.
All is not lost, Abdalla; see the queen,
See the last witness of thy guilt and fear,
Enrob’d in death — Despatch her, and be great.
CARAZA.
Unhappy fair! compassion calls upon me
To check this torrent of imperious rage:
While unavailing anger crowds thy tongue
With idle threats and fruitless exclamation,
The fraudful moments ply their silent wings,
And steal thy life away. Death’s horrid angel
Already shakes his bloody sabre o’er thee.
The raging sultan burns, till our return,
Curses the dull delays of ling’ring mercy,
And thinks his fatal mandates ill obey’d.
ABDALLA.
Is then your sov’reign’s life so cheaply rated,
That thus you parley with detected treason?
Should she prevail to gain the sultan’s presence,
Soon might her tears engage a lover’s credit;
Perhaps, her malice might transfer the charge;
Perhaps, her pois’nous tongue might blast Abdalla.
IRENE.
O! let me but be heard, nor fear from me
Or flights of pow’r, or projects of ambition.
My hopes, my wishes, terminate in life,
A little life, for grief, and for repentance.
ABDALLA.
I mark’d her wily messenger afar,
And saw him sculking in the closest walks:
I guess’d her dark designs, and warn’d the sultan,
And bring her former sentence new-confirmed.
HASAN.
Then call it not our cruelty, nor crime;
Deem us not deaf to woe, nor blind to beauty,
That, thus constrain’d, we speed the stroke of death.
[Beckons the mutes.
IRENE.
O, name not death! Distraction and amazement,
Horrour and agony are in that sound!
Let me but live, heap woes on woes upon me;
Hide me with murd’rers in the dungeon’s gloom;
Send me to wander on some pathless shore,
Let shame and hooting infamy pursue me,
Let slav’ry harass, and let hunger gripe.
CARAZA.
Could we reverse the sentence of the sultan,
Our bleeding bosoms plead Irene’s cause.
But cries and tears are vain; prepare, with patience,
To meet that fate, we can delay no longer.
[The mutes, at the sign, lay hold of her.
ABDALLA.
Despatch, ye ling’ring slaves; or nimbler hands,
Quick at my call, shall execute your charge;
Despatch, and learn a fitter time for pity.
IRENE.
Grant me one hour. O! grant me but a moment,
And bounteous heav’n repay the mighty mercy,
With peaceful death, and happiness eternal.
CARAZA.
The pray’r I cannot grant — I dare not hear.
Short be thy pains. [Signs again to the mutes.
IRENE.
Unutterable anguish!
Guilt and despair, pale spectres! grin around me,
And stun me with the yellings of damnation!
O, hear my pray’rs! accept, all-pitying heav’n,
These tears, these pangs, these last remains of life;
Nor let the crimes of this detested day
Be charg’d upon my soul. O, mercy! mercy!
[Mutes force her out.
SCENE X.
ABDALLA, HASAN, CARAZA.
ABDALLA, aside.
Safe in her death, and in Demetrius’ flight,
Abdalla, bid thy troubled breast be calm.
Now shalt thou shine, the darling of the sultan,
The plot all Cali’s, the detection thine.
HASAN to CARAZA.
Does not thy bosom (for I know thee tender,
A stranger to th’ oppressor’s savage joy,)
Melt at Irene’s fate, and share her woes?
CARAZA.
Her piercing cries yet fill the loaded air,
Dwell on my ear, and sadden all my soul.
But let us try
to clear our clouded brows,
And tell the horrid tale with cheerful face;
The stormy sultan rages at our stay.
ABDALLA.
Frame your report with circumspective art:
Inflame her crimes, exalt your own obedience;
But let no thoughtless hint involve Abdalla.
CARAZA.
What need of caution to report the fate
Of her, the sultan’s voice condemn’d to die?
Or why should he, whose violence of duty
Has serv’d his prince so well, demand our silence?
ABDALLA.
Perhaps, my zeal, too fierce, betray’d my prudence;
Perhaps, my warmth exceeded my commission;
Perhaps — I will not stoop to plead my cause,
Or argue with the slave that sav’d Demetrius.
CARAZA.
From his escape learn thou the pow’r of virtue;
Nor hope his fortune, while thou want’st his worth.
HASAN.
The sultan comes, still gloomy, still enraged.
SCENE XI.
HASAN, CARAZA, MAHOMET, MUSTAPHA, ABDALLA.
MAHOMET.
Where’s this fair traitress? Where’s this smiling mischief,
Whom neither vows could fix, nor favours bind?
HASAN.
Thine orders, mighty sultan, are perform’d,
And all Irene now is breathless clay.
MAHOMET.
Your hasty zeal defrauds the claim of justice,
And disappointed vengeance burns in vain.
I came to heighten tortures by reproach,
And add new terrours to the face of death.
Was this the maid, whose love I bought with empire?
True, she was fair; the smile of innocence
Play’d on her cheek — So shone the first apostate —
Irene’s chamber! Did not roaring Cali,
Just as the rack forc’d out his struggling soul,
Name for the scene of death, Irene’s chamber?
MUSTAPHA.
His breath prolong’d, but to detect her treason,
Then, in short sighs, forsook his broken frame.
MAHOMET.
Decreed to perish in Irene’s chamber!
There had she lull’d me with endearing falsehoods,
Clasp’d in her arms, or slumb’ring on her breast,
And bar’d my bosom to the ruffian’s dagger.
SCENE XII.
HASAN, CARAZA, MAHOMET, MUSTAPHA, MURZA, ABDALLA.
MURZA.
Forgive, great sultan, that, by fate prevented,
I bring a tardy message from Irene.
MAHOMET.
Some artful wile of counterfeited love!
Some soft decoy to lure me to destruction!
And thou, the curs’d accomplice of her treason,
Declare thy message, and expect thy doom.
MURZA.
The queen requested, that a chosen troop
Might intercept the traitor Greek, Demetrius,
Then ling’ring with his captive mistress here.
MUSTAPHA.
The Greek, Demetrius! whom th’ expiring bassa
Declar’d the chief associate of his guilt!
MAHOMET.
A chosen troop — to intercept — Demetrius —
The queen requested — Wretch, repeat the message;
And, if one varied accent prove thy falsehood,
Or but one moment’s pause betray confusion,
Those trembling limbs — Speak out, thou shiv’ring traitor.
MURZA.
The queen requested —
MAHOMET. Who? the dead Irene?
Was she then guiltless! Has my thoughtless rage
Destroy’d the fairest workmanship of heav’n!
Doom’d her to death, unpity’d and unheard,
Amidst her kind solicitudes for me!
Ye slaves of cruelty, ye tools of rage,
[To Hasan and Caraza.
Ye blind, officious ministers of folly,
Could not her charms repress your zeal for murder?
Could not her pray’rs, her innocence, her tears,
Suspend the dreadful sentence for an hour?
One hour had freed me from the fatal errour!
One hour had say’d me from despair and madness.
CARAZA.
Your fierce impatience forc’d us from your presence,
Urg’d us to speed, and bade us banish pity,
Nor trust our passions with her fatal charms.
MAHOMET.
What hadst thou lost, by slighting those commands?
Thy life, perhaps — Were but Irene spar’d,
Well, if a thousand lives like thine had perish’d;
Such beauty, sweetness, love, were cheaply bought
With half the grov’ling slaves that load the globe.
MUSTAPHA.
Great is thy woe! But think, illustrious sultan,
Such ills are sent for souls, like thine, to conquer.
Shake off this weight of unavailing grief,
Rush to the war, display thy dreadful banners,
And lead thy troops, victorious, round the world.
MAHOMET.
Robb’d of the maid, with whom I wish’d to triumph,
No more I burn for fame, or for dominion;
Success and conquest now are empty sounds,
Remorse and anguish seize on all my breast;
Those groves, whose shades embower’d the dear Irene,
Heard her last cries, and fann’d her dying beauties,
Shall hide me from the tasteless world for ever.
[Mahomet goes back, and returns.
Yet, ere I quit the sceptre of dominion,
Let one just act conclude the hateful day —
Hew down, ye guards, those vassals of destruction,
[Pointing to Hasan and Caraza.
Those hounds of blood, that catch the hint to kill,
Bear off, with eager haste, th’ unfinished sentence,
And speed the stroke, lest mercy should o’ertake them.
CARAZA.
Then hear, great Mahomet, the voice of truth.
MAHOMET.
Hear! shall I hear thee! didst thou hear Irene?
CARAZA.
Hear but a moment.
MAHOMET.
Hadst thou heard a moment,
Thou might’st have liv’d, for thou hadst spar’d Irene.
CARAZA.
I heard her, pitied her, and wish’d to save her.
MAHOMET.
And wish’d — be still thy fate to wish in vain.
CARAZA.
I heard, and soften’d, till Abdalla brought
Her final doom, and hurried her destruction.
MAHOMET.
Abdalla brought her doom! Abdalla brought it!
The wretch, whose guilt, declar’d by tortur’d Cali,
My rage and grief had hid from my remembrance:
Abdalla brought her doom!
HASAN.
Abdalla brought it,
While yet she begg’d to plead her cause before thee.
MAHOMET.
O, seize me, madness — Did she call on me!
I feel, I see the ruffian’s barb’rous rage.
He seiz’d her melting in the fond appeal,
And stopp’d the heav’nly voice that call’d on me.
My spirits fail; awhile support me, vengeance —
Be just, ye slaves; and, to be just, be cruel;
Contrive new racks, imbitter ev’ry pang,
Inflict whatever treason can deserve,
Which murder’d innocence that call’d on me.
[Exit Mahomet; Abdalla is dragged off.
SCENE XIII.
HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA.
MUSTAPHA to MURZA.
What plagues, what tortures, are in store for thee,
Thou slug
gish idler, dilatory slave!
Behold the model of consummate beauty,
Torn from the mourning earth by thy neglect.
MURZA.
Such was the will of heav’n — A band of Greeks,
That mark’d my course, suspicious of my purpose,
Rush’d out and seiz’d me, thoughtless and unarm’d,
Breathless, amaz’d, and on the guarded beach
Detain’d me, till Demetrius set me free.
MUSTAPHA.
So sure the fall of greatness, rais’d on crimes!
So fix’d the justice of all conscious heav’n!
When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,
Mistake shall blast, or accident destroy;
Weak man, with erring rage, may throw the dart,
But heav’n shall guide it to the guilty heart.
EPILOGUE.
BY SIR WILLIAM YONGE.
Marry a Turk! a haughty, tyrant king!
Who thinks us women born to dress and sing
To please his fancy! see no other man!
Let him persuade me to it — if he can;
Besides, he has fifty wives; and who can bear
To have the fiftieth part, her paltry share?
’Tis true, the fellow’s handsome, straight, and tall,
But how the devil should he please us all!
My swain is little — true — but, be it known,
My pride’s to have that little all my own.
Men will be ever to their errours blind,
Where woman’s not allow’d to speak her mind.
I swear this eastern pageantry is nonsense,
And for one man — one wife’s enough in conscience.
In vain proud man usurps what’s woman’s due;
For us, alone, they honour’s paths pursue:
Inspir’d by us, they glory’s heights ascend;
Woman the source, the object, and the end.
Though wealth, and pow’r, and glory, they receive,
These are all trifles to what we can give.
For us the statesman labours, hero fights,
Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious nights;
And, when blest peace has silenc’d war’s alarms;
Receives his full reward in beauty’s arms.
The Poems
St. Marys Church, Islington. In November 1784 Johnson left London for the last time on a visit to the home of his friend George Strahan, the Vicar of St. Marys. The author’s final moments were filled with mental anguish and delusions. In return for Strahan’s kindness, Johnson bequeathed him many prized volumes and a personal diary manuscript, which Strahan later published in full as ‘Prayers and Meditations’.