VOLTAIRE: 60+ Works in One Volume - Philosophical Writings, Novels, Historical Works, Poetry, Plays & Letters. Вольтер. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Вольтер
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For sacred is the power of punishment,

       ’Tis a king’s duty; he alone must wield

       The sword of justice, the throne’s best support,

       That to his people and to you he owes;

       Midst hymen rites the murderer’s blood shall flow,

       A great sacrifice.

      mérope.

       My hand alone

       Shall strike the fatal blow: though Poliphontes

       Reigns o’er Messene, he must leave to me

       The work of vengeance: let him keep my kingdom,

       But yield to me the right of punishment:

       On that condition, and on that alone,

       I will be his: go, and prepare the rites:

       This hand, fresh bleeding from the traitor’s bosom,

       Shall at the altar join with Poliphontes

      erox.

       Doubtless, the king, whose sympathetic heart

       Feels for your woes, will readily consent.

      SCENE VII.

       Table of Contents

      mérope, euricles, ismenia.

      mérope.

       O Euricles, this vile detested marriage.

       Whate’er I promised, ne’er will come to pass:

       This arm shall pierce the savage murderer’s breast,

       And instant turn the dagger to my own.

      euricles.

       O! madam, let me by the gods conjure you—

      mérope.

       They have oppressed me sorely; I have been

       Too long the object of their wrath divine:

       They have deprived me of my dearest child,

       And at their altars shall I ask a husband?

       Shall I conduct a stranger to the throne

       Of my forefathers? Wouldst thou have me join

       The hymeneal to the funeral torch?

       Shall Mérope still raise her weeping eyes

       To heaven, that shines no more on my Ægisthus?

       Shall she wear out her melancholy days

       Beneath a hateful tyrant, and expect

       In tears and anguish an old age of sorrow?

       When all is lost, and not even hope remains,

       To live is shameful, and to die, our duty.

       End of the Second Act.

      ACT III.

      SCENE I.

       Table of Contents

      narbas.

       O grief! O horror! O the weight of age!

       The youthful hero’s warm imprudent ardor

       Was not to be restrained; his courage burst

       The inglorious chains of vile obscurity,

       And he is lost to me, perhaps forever.

       How shall I dare to see my royal mistress!

       Unhappy Narbas! hither art thou come

       Without Ægisthus; Poliphontes reigns,

       That subtle, proud artificer of fraud,

       That savage murderer, who pursued us still

       From clime to clime, and laid the snares of death

       On every side, fixed on the sacred throne,

       Which by his crimes so oft he hath profaned,

       The proud usurper sits, and smiles secure:

       Hide me, ye gods, from his all-piercing eye,

       And save Ægisthus from the tyrant’s sword:

       O guide me, heaven, to his unhappy mother,

       And let me perish at her feet! Once more

       I see the palace, where the best of kings

       Was basely slain, and his defenceless child

       Saved in these arms; and after fifteen years

       Shall I return to fill a mother’s heart

       With anguish? Who will lead me to the queen?

       No friend appears to guide me: but behold,

       Near yonder tomb I see a weeping crowd,

       And hear their loud laments! Within these walls

       Forever dwells some persecuting god.

      SCENE II.

       Table of Contents

      narbas, ismenia.

      At the farther end of the stage several of the queen’s attendants, near the tomb of Cresphontes.

      ismenia.

       What bold intruder presses thus unknown

       To the queen’s presence, and disturbs the peace

       Of her retirement? comes he from the tyrant,

       A spy upon our griefs, to count the tears

       Of the afflicted?

      narbas.

       Whosoe’er thou art,

       Excuse the boldness of a poor old man;

       Forgive the intrusion; I would see the queen,

       Perhaps may serve her.

      ismenia.

       What a time is this

       Which thou hast chosen to interrupt her griefs!

       Respect a mother’s bitter sorrows; hence,

       Unhappy stranger, nor offend her sight.

      narbas.

       O, in the name of the avenging gods,

       Have pity on my age, my misfortunes:

       I am no stranger here: O, if you serve

       And love the queen, forgive the tears that long

       Have flowed for her, and trust a heart that feels

       For Mérope as deeply as thy own.

       What tomb is that where you so late did join

       Your griefs?

      ismenia.

       The tomb of an illustrious hero,

       A wretched father, and a hapless king,

       The tomb of great Cresphontes.

      narbas.

       [Going towards the tomb My loved master!

       Ye honored ashes!

      ismenia.

       But Cresphontes’ wife

       Is more to be lamented still.

      narbas.

       What worse

       Could happen to her?

      ismenia.