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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I’ve too much cause to weep.

      poliphontes.

       Dry up your tears;

       He dies this moment: soldiers, do your office.

      mérope.

       [Coming forward.

       O spare him, spare him.

      ægisthus.

       Ha! she pities me.

      poliphontes.

       Despatch him.

      mérope.

       O he is—

      poliphontes.

       Strike.

      mérope.

       Stay, barbarian,

       He is—my son.

      ægisthus.

       Am I thy son?

      mérope.

       [Embracing him.

       Thou art:

       And heaven, that snatched thee from this wretched bosom,

       Which now too late hath opened my longing eyes,

       Restores thee to a weeping mother’s arms

       But to destroy us both.

      ægisthus.

       What miracle

       Is this, ye gods?

      poliphontes.

       A vile imposture: thou

       His mother? thou, who didst demand his death?

      ægisthus.

       O if I die the son of Mérope

       I die contented, and absolve my fate.

      mérope.

       I am thy mother, and my love of thee

       Betrayed us both; we are undone, Ægisthus;

       Yes, Poliphontes, the important secret

       At length is thine; before thee stands my son,

       Cresphontes’ heir; thy master, and thy king;

       The offspring of the gods, thy captive now;

       I have deceived thee, and I glory in it;

       ’Twas for my child: but nature has no power

       O’er tyrants’ hearts, that still rejoice in blood:

       I tell thee, ’tis my son, ’tis my Ægisthus.

      poliphontes.

       Ha! can it be?

      ægisthus.

       It is; it must be so;

       Her tears confirm it: yes, I am the son

       Of Mérope, my heart assures me of it:

       And, hadst thou not disarmed me, with this hand

       I would chastise thee, traitor.

      poliphontes.

       ’Tis too much;

       I’ll bear no more: away with him.

      mérope.

       [Falling on her knees.

       Behold

       Thus low on earth the wretched Mérope

       Falls at your feet, and bathes them with her tears:

       Doth not this humble posture speak my griefs,

       And say I am a mother? O I tremble

       When I look back on the dire precipice

       I have escaped, the murder of my son;

       Still I lament the involuntary crime

       Didst thou not say thou wouldst protect his youth,

       And be a father to him? and yet now

       Thou wouldst destroy him: O have pity on him:

       Some guilty hand bereaved him of a father;

       O save the son, defend the royal race,

       The seed of gods: defenceless and alone

       He stands before thee: trample not on him,

       Who is unable to resist thy power;

       Let him but live, and I am satisfied;

       Save but my child, and all shall be forgotten:

       O he would make me happy even in woe;

       My husband and my children all would live

       Once more in my Ægisthus: O behold,

       His royal ancestors with me implore thee

       To spare the noble youth, and save thy king.

      ægisthus.

       Rise, madam, rise, or I shall never believe

       Cresphontes was my father; ’tis beneath

       His queen, beneath the mother of Ægisthus

       To supplicate a tyrant; my fierce heart

       Will never stoop so low: undaunted long

       I braved the meanness of my former fortune,

       Nor am I dazzled by the splendid lustre

       Of these new honors; but I feel myself

       Of royal blood, and know I am thy son.

       Great Hercules, like me, began his days

       In misery and sorrow; but the gods

       Conducted him to immortality,

       Because, like me, he rose superior to them:

       To me his blood descends; O let me add

       His courage, and his virtues; let me die

       Worthy of thee; be that my heritage!

       Cease then thy prayers, nor thus disgrace the blood

       Of those immortal powers from whom I sprang.

      poliphontes.

       [To Mérope.

       Trust me, I bear a part in your misfortunes,

       Feel for your griefs, and pity your distress;

       I love his courage, and esteem his virtue;

       He seems well worthy of the royal birth

       Which he assumes; but truths of such importance

       Demand more ample proofs; I take him therefore

       Beneath my care, and, if he is thy son,

       I shall adopt him mine.

      ægisthus.

       Thou, thou adopt me?

      mérope.

       Alas! my child!

      poliphontes.

       His fate depends on thee:

       It is not long since, to secure his death.

       Thou didst consent to marry Poliphontes;

       Now thou wouldst save him, shall not love do more

       Than vengeance?

      mérope.

       Ha! barbarian!

      poliphontes.

       Madam, know

       His life, or death, depends on thy resolve:

       I know your love, your tenderness, too well,

       To think you will expose to my just wrath

       So dear an object by a harsh refusal.

      mérope.

       My lord, at least let me be free, and deign—

      poliphontes.

       He is your son, or he’s a traitor,