Part 19

The Indian Emperor is the first of Dryden's plays which exhibited, in a marked degree, the peculiarity of his stile, and drew upon him the attention of the world. Without equalling the extravagancies of the Conquest of Granada, and the Royal Martyr, works produced when our author was emboldened, by public applause, to give full scope to his daring genius, the following may be considered as a model of the heroic drama, A few words, therefore, will not be here misplaced, on the nature of the kind of tragedies, in which, during the earlier part of his literary career, our author delighted and excelled.

The heroic, or rhyming, plays, were borrowed from the French, to whose genius they are better suited than to the British. An analogy may be observed between all the different departments of the belles lettres; and none seem more closely allied, than the pursuits of the dramatic writer, and those of the composer of romances or novels. Both deal in fictitious adventure; both write for amusement; and address themselves nearly to the same class of admirers. Nay, although the pride of the dramatist may be offended by the assertion, it would seem, that the nature of his walk is often prescribed by the successful impression of a novel upon the public mind. If we laugh over low adventures in a novel, we soon see low comedy upon the stage: If we are horror-struck with a tale of robbers and murder in our closet, the dagger and the green carpet will not long remain unemployed in the theatre; and if ghosts haunt our novels, they soon stalk amongst our scenes. Under this persuasion, we have little doubt that the heroic tragedies were the legitimate offspring of the French romances of Calprenede and Scuderi. Such as may deign to open these venerable and neglected tomes, will be soon convinced of their extreme resemblance to the heroic drama. A remarkable feature in both, is the ideal world which they form for themselves. Every sentiment is lofty, splendid, and striking; and no apology is admitted for any departure from the dignity of character, however natural or impressive. The beauty of the heroine, and the valour of the hero, must be alike resistless; and the moving spring, through the whole action, is the overbearing passion of love. Their language and manners are as peculiar to themselves, as their prowess and susceptibility. The pastoral Arcadian does not differ more widely from an ordinary rustic, than these lofty persons do from the princes and kings of this world. Neither is any circumstance of national character, or manners, allowed as an apology for altering the established character, which must be invariably sustained by the persons of the heroic drama. The religion, and the state of society of the country where the scene is laid, may be occasionally alluded to as authority for varying a procession, or introducing new dresses and decorations; but, in all other respects, an Indian Inca, attired in feathers, must hold the same dignity of deportment, and display the same powers of declamation, and ingenuity of argument, with a Roman emperor in his purple, or a feudal warrior in his armour; for the rule and decorum of this species of composition is too peremptory, to give way either to the current of human passions, or to the usages of nations. Gibbon has remarked, that the kings of the Gepidae, and the Ostrogoths in Corneille's tragedy of Attila, are profound politicians, and sentimental lovers;--a description which, with a varying portion of pride, courtesy, and heroism, will apply to almost all the characters in plays drawn upon this model.

It is impossible to conceive any thing more different from the old English drama, than the heroic plays which were introduced by Charles II. The former, in labouring to exhibit a variety and contrast of passions, tempers, or humours, frequently altogether neglected the dignity of the scene. In the heroical tragedy, on the other hand, nothing was to be indecorous, nothing grotesque: The personages were to speak, not as men, but as heroes; to whom, as statuaries have assigned a superiority of stature, so these poets have given an uniform grandeur of feeling and of expression. It may be thought, that this monotonous splendour of diction would have palled upon an English audience, less pleased generally with refinement, however elegant, than with bursts of passion, and flights of novelty. But Dryden felt his force in the line which he chose to pursue and recommend. The indescribable charms of his versification gratified the ear of the public, while their attention was engaged by the splendour of his images, and the matchless ingenuity of his arguments. It must also be admitted, that, by their total neglect of the unities, our ancient dramatic authors shocked the feelings of the more learned, and embarrassed the understanding of the less acute, among the spectators. We do not hold it treason to depart from the strict rules respecting time and place, inculcated by the ancients, and followed in the heroic plays. But it will surely be granted to us, that, where they can be observed, without the sacrifice of great beauties, or incurring such absurdities as Dennis has justly charged upon Cato, the play will be proportionally more intelligible on the stage, and more pleasing in the closet. And although we willingly censure the practice of driving argument, upon the stage, into metaphysical refinement, and rendering the contest of contrasted passions a mere combat in logic, yet we must equally condemn those tragedies, in which the poet sketches out the character with a few broken common-places, expressive of love, of rage, or of grief, and leaves the canvas to be filled up by the actor, according to his own taste, power, and inclination.

The Indian Emperor is an instance, what beautiful poetry may be united to, we had almost said thrown away upon, the heroic drama. The very first scene exhibits much of those beauties, and their attendant deformities. A modern audience would hardly have sate in patience to hear more than the first extravagant and ludicrous supposition of Cortez:

As if our old world modestly withdrew; And here, in private, had brought forth a new.

But had they condemned the piece for this uncommon case of parturition, they would have lost the beautiful and melodious verses, in which Cortez, and his followers, describe the advantages of the newly discovered world; and they would have lost the still more exquisite account, which, immediately after, Guyomar gives of the arrival of the Spanish fleet. Of the characters little need be said; they stalk on, in their own fairy land, in the same uniform livery, and with little peculiarity of discrimination. All the men, from Montezuma down to Pizarro, are brave warriors; and only vary, in proportion to the mitigating qualities which the poet has infused into their military ardour. The women are all beautiful, and all deeply in love; differing from each other only, as the haughty or tender predominates in their passion. But the charm of the poetry, and the ingenuity of the dialogue, render it impossible to peruse, without pleasure, a drama, the faults of which may be imputed to its structure, while its beauties are peculiar to Dryden.

The plot of the Indian Emperor is certainly of our author's own composition; since even the malignant assiduity of Langbaine has been unable to point out any author from whom it is borrowed. The play was first acted in 1665, and received with great applause.

CONNECTION OF THE INDIAN EMPEROR TO THE INDIAN QUEEN [A].

[Footnote A: This argument was printed, and dispersed amongst the audience upon the first night of representation. Hence Bayes is made to say, in the Rehearsal, that he had printed many reams, to instil into the audience some conception of his plot.]

The conclusion of the Indian Queen (part of which poem was wrote by me) left little matter for another story to be built on, there remaining but two of the considerable characters alive, viz. Montezuma and Orazia. Thereupon the author of this thought it necessary to produce new persons from the old ones; and considering the late Indian Queen, before she loved Montezuma, lived in clandestine marriage with her general Traxalla, from those two he has raised a son and two daughters, supposed to be left young orphans at their death. On the other side, he has given to Montezuma and Orazia, two sons and a daughter; all now supposed to be grown up to mens' and womens' estate; and their mother, Orazia, (for whom there was no further use in the story,) lately dead.

So that you are to imagine about twenty years elapsed since the coronation of Montezuma; who, in the truth of the history, was a great and glorious prince; and in whose time happened the discovery and invasion of Mexico, by the Spaniards, under the conduct of Hernando Cortez, who, joining with the Traxallan Indians, the inveterate enemies of Montezuma, wholly subverted that flourishing empire;--the conquest of which is the subject of this dramatic poem.

I have neither wholly followed the story, nor varied from it; and, as near as I could, have traced the native simplicity and ignorance of the Indians, in relation to European customs;--the shipping, armour, horses, swords, and guns of the Spaniards, being as new to them, as their habits and their language were to the Christians.

The difference of their religion from ours, I have taken from the story itself; and that which you find of it in the first and fifth acts, touching the sufferings and constancy of Montezuma in his opinions, I have only illustrated, not altered, from those who have written of it.

PROLOGUE

Almighty critics! whom our Indians here Worship, just as they do the devil--for fear; In reverence to your power, I come this day, To give you timely warning of our play. The scenes are old, the habits are the same We wore last year, before the Spaniards came[A]. Now, if you stay, the blood, that shall be shed From this poor play, be all upon your head. We neither promise you one dance, or show; Then plot, and language, they are wanting too: But you, kind wits, will those light faults excuse, Those are the common frailties of the muse; Which, who observes, he buys his place too dear; For 'tis your business to be cozened here. These wretched spies of wit must then confess, They take more pains to please themselves the less. Grant us such judges, Phoebus, we request, As still mistake themselves into a jest; Such easy judges, that our poet may Himself admire the fortune of his play; And, arrogantly, as his fellows do, Think he writes well, because he pleases you. This he conceives not hard to bring about, If all of you would join to help him out: Would each man take but what he understands, And leave the rest upon the poet's hands.

[Footnote A: Alluding to the Indian Queen, in which the scene is laid before the arrival of the Spaniards in America, and which was acted in 1664, as this was in 1665.]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

INDIAN MEN.

MONTEZUMA, _Emperor of Mexico_. ODMAR, _his eldest son_. GUYOMAR, _his younger son_. ORBELLAN, _son of the late Indian Queen by TRAXALLA_. _High Priest of the Sun_.

WOMEN.

CYDARIA, _MONTEZUMA'S daughter_. ALMERIA, } _Sisters; and daughters to the late_ ALIBECH, } _Indian Queen_.

SPANIARDS.

CORTEZ, _the Spanish General_. VASQUEZ, } _Commanders under him_. PIZARRO, }

SCENE--_Mexico, and two leagues about it_.

THE INDIAN EMPEROR.

## ACT I.

## SCENE I.--_A pleasant Indian country_.

_Enter_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _with Spaniards and Indians of their party_.

_Cort_. On what new happy climate are we thrown, So long kept secret, and so lately known; As if our old world modestly withdrew, And here in private had brought forth a new?

_Vasq._ Corn, oil, and wine, are wanting to this ground, In which our countries fruitfully abound; As if this infant world, yet unarrayed, Naked and bare in Nature's lap were laid. No useful arts have yet found footing here, But all untaught and savage does appear.

_Cort._ Wild and untaught are terms which we alone Invent, for fashions differing from our own; For all their customs are by nature wrought, But we, by art, unteach what nature taught.

_Piz_. In Spain, our springs, like old men's children, be Decayed and withered from their infancy: No kindly showers fall on our barren earth, To hatch the season in a timely birth: Our summer such a russet livery wears, As in a garment often dyed appears.

_Cort_. Here nature spreads her fruitful sweetness round, Breathes on the air, and broods upon the ground: Here days and nights the only seasons be; The sun no climate does so gladly see: When forced from hence, to view our parts, he mourns; Takes little journies, and makes quick returns.

_Vasq_. Methinks, we walk in dreams on Fairy-land, Where golden ore lies mixt with common sand; Each downfal of a flood, the mountains pour From their rich bowels, rolls a silver shower.

_Cort_. Heaven from all ages wisely did provide This wealth, and for the bravest nation hide, Who, with four hundred foot and forty horse, Dare boldly go a new-found world to force.

_Piz_. Our men, though valiant, we should find too few, But Indians join the Indians to subdue; Taxallan, shook by Montezuma's powers, Has, to resist his forces, called in ours.

_Vasq_. Rashly to arm against so great a king, I hold not safe; nor is it just to bring A war, without a fair defiance made.

_Piz_. Declare we first our quarrel; then invade.

_Cort_. Myself, my king's ambassador, will go; Speak, Indian guide, how far to Mexico?

_Ind_. Your eyes can scarce so far a prospect make, As to discern the city on the lake; But that broad causeway will direct your way, And you may reach the town by noon of day.

_Cort_. Command a party of our Indians out, With a strict charge, not to engage, but scout: By noble ways we conquest will prepare; First, offer peace, and, that refused, make war.

[_Exeunt_.

## SCENE II.--_A Temple_.

_The High Priest with other Priests. To them an Indian_.

_Ind_. Haste, holy priest, it is the king's command.

_High Pr_. When sets he forward?

_Ind_. He is near at hand.

_High Pr_. The incense is upon the altar placed, The bloody sacrifice already past; Five hundred captives saw the rising sun, Who lost their light, ere half his race was run. That which remains we here must celebrate; Where, far from noise, without the city gate, The peaceful power that governs love repairs, To feast upon soft vows and silent prayers. We for his royal presence only stay, To end the rites of this so solemn day.

[_Exit Ind_.

_Enter_ MONTEZUMA; _his eldest son_, ODMAR; _his daughter_, CYDARIA; ALMERIA, ALIBECH, ORBELLAN, _and Train. They place themselves_.

_High Pr_. On your birthday, while we sing To our gods and to our king, Her, among this beauteous quire, Whose perfections you admire, Her, who fairest does appear, Crown her queen of all the year, Of the year and of the day, And at her feet your garland lay.

_Odm_. My father this way does his looks direct; Heaven grant, he give it not where I suspect!

[MONTEZUMA _rises, goes about the Ladies, and at length stays at_ ALMERIA, _and bows_.

_Mont_. Since my Orazia's death, I have not seen A beauty, so deserving to be queen As fair Almeria.

_Alm_. Sure he will not know [_To her brother and sister, aside_. My birth I to that injured princess owe, Whom his hard heart not only love denied, But in her sufferings took unmanly pride.

_Alib_. Since Montezuma will his choice renew, In dead Orazia's room electing you, 'Twill please our mother's ghost that you succeed To all the glories of her rival's bed.

_Alm_. If news be carried to the shades below, The Indian queen will be more pleased, to know, That I his scorns on him, who scorned her, pay.

_Orb_. Would you could right her some more noble way!

[_She turns to him, who is kneeling all this while_.

_Mont_. Madam, this posture is for heaven designed, [_Kneeling_. And what moves heaven I hope may make you kind.

_Alm_. Heaven may be kind; the gods uninjured live. And crimes below cost little to forgive: By thee, inhuman, both my parents died; One by thy sword, the other by thy pride.

_Mont_. My haughty mind no fate could ever bow, Yet I must stoop to one, who scorns me now: Is there no pity to my sufferings due?

_Alm_. As much as what my mother found from you.

_Mont_. Your mother's wrongs a recompence shall meet; I lay my sceptre at her daughter's feet.

_Alm_. He, who does now my least commands obey, Would call me queen, and take my power away.

_Odm_. Can he hear this, and not his fetters break? Is love so powerful, or his soul so weak? I'll fright her from it.--Madam, though you see The king is kind, I hope your modesty Will know, what distance to the crown is due.

_Alm_. Distance and modesty prescribed by you!

_Odm_. Almeria dares not think such thoughts as these.

_Alm_. She dares both think and act what thoughts she please. Tis much below me on his throne to sit; But when I do, you shall petition it.

_Odm_. If, sir, Almeria does your bed partake, I mourn for my forgotten mother's' sake.

_Mont_. When parents' loves are ordered by a son, Let streams prescribe their fountains where to run.

_Odm_. In all I urge, I keep my duty still, Not rule your reason, but instruct your will.

_Mont_. Small use of reason in that prince is shown, Who follows others, and neglects his own.

[ALMERIA _to_ ORBELLAN _and_ ALIBECH, _who are this while whispering to her_.

_Alm_. No, he shall ever love, and always be The subject of my scorn and cruelty.

_Orb_. To prove the lasting torment of his life, You must not be his mistress, but his wife. Few know what care an husband's peace destroys, His real griefs, and his dissembled joys.

_Alm_. What mark of pleasing vengeance could be shown, If I, to break his quiet, lose my own?

_Orb_. A brother's life upon your love relics, Since I do homage to Cydaria's eyes: How can her father to my hopes be kind, If in your heart he no example find?

_Alm_. To save your life I'll suffer any thing, Yet I'll not flatter this tempestuous king; But work his stubborn soul a nobler way, And, if he love, I'll force him to obey. I take this garland, not as given by you, [_To MONT_. But as my merit and my beauty's due. As for the crown, that you, my slave, possess, To share it with you would but make me less.

_Enter_ GUYOMAR _hastily_.

_Odm_. My brother Guyomar! methinks I spy Haste in his steps, and wonder in his eye.

_Mont_. I sent thee to the frontiers; quickly tell The cause of thy return; are all things well?

_Guy_. I went, in order, sir, to your command, To view the utmost limits of the land: To that sea-shore where no more world is found, But foaming billows breaking on the ground; Where, for a while, my eyes no object met, But distant skies, that in the ocean set; And low-hung clouds, that dipt themselves in rain, To shake their fleeces on the earth again. At last, as far as I could cast my eyes Upon the sea, somewhat, methought, did rise, Like blueish mists, which, still appearing more, Took dreadful shapes, and moved towards the shore.

_Mont_. What forms did these new wonders represent?

_Guy_. More strange than what your wonder can invent. The object, I could first distinctly view, Was tall straight trees, which on the waters flew; Wings on their sides, instead of leaves, did grow, Which gathered all the breath the winds could blow: And at their roots grew floating palaces, Whose outblowed bellies cut the yielding seas.

_Mont_. What divine monsters, O ye gods, were these, That float in air, and fly upon the seas! Came they alive, or dead, upon the shore?

_Guy_. Alas, they lived too sure; I heard them roar. All turned their sides, and to each other spoke; I saw their words break out in fire and smoke. Sure 'tis their voice, that thunders from on high, Or these the younger brothers of the sky. Deaf with the noise, I took my hasty flight; No mortal courage can support the fright.

_High Pr_. Old prophecies foretel our fall at hand, When bearded men in floating castles land. I fear it is of dire portent.

_Mont_. Go see What it foreshows, and what the gods decree. Meantime proceed we to what rites remain.-- Odmar, of all this presence does contain, Give her your wreath, whom you esteem most fair.

_Odm_. Above the rest I judge one beauty rare, And may that beauty prove as kind to me, [_He gives_ ALIBECH _the wreath_. As I am sure fair Alibech is she.

_Mont_. You, Guyomar, must next perform your part.

_Guy_. I want a garland, but I'll give a heart: My brother's pardon I must first implore, Since I with him fair Alibech adore.

_Odm_. That all should Alibech adore, 'tis true; But some respect is to my birthright due. My claim to her by eldership I prove.

_Guy_. Age is a plea in empire, not in love.

_Odm_. I long have staid for this solemnity, To make my passion public.

_Guy_. So have I.

_Odm_. But from her birth my soul has been her slave; My heart received the first wounds which she save: I watched the early glories of her eyes, As men for daybreak watch the eastern skies.

_Guy_. It seems my soul then moved the quicker pace; Yours first set out, mine reached her in the race.

_Mont_. Odmar, your choice I cannot disapprove; Nor justly, Guyomar, can blame your love. To Alibech alone refer your suit, And let her sentence finish your dispute.

_Alib_. You think me, sir, a mistress quickly won. So soon to finish what is scarce begun: In this surprise should I a judgment make, 'Tis answering riddles ere I'm well awake: If you oblige me suddenly to chuse, The choice is made, for I must both refuse: For to myself I owe this due regard, Not to make love my gift, but my reward. Time best will show, whose services will last.

_Odm_. Then judge my future service by my past. What I shall be, by what I was, you know: That love took deepest root, which first did grow.

_Guy_. That love, which first was set, will first decay; Mine, of a fresher date, will longer stay.

_Odm_. Still you forget my birth.

_Guy_. But you, I see, Take care still to refresh my memory.

_Mont_. My sons, let your unseemly discord cease, If not in friendship, live at least in peace. Orbellan, where you love, bestow your wreath.

_Orb_. My love I dare not, even in whispers, breathe.

_Mont_. A virtuous love may venture any thing.

_Orb_. Not to attempt the daughter of my king.

_Mont_. Whither is all my former fury gone? Once more I have Traxalla's chains put on, And by his children am in triumph led: Too well the living have revenged the dead!

_Alm_. You think my brother born your enemy; He's of Traxalla's blood, and so am I.

_Mont_. In vain I strive. My lion-heart is with love's toils beset; Struggling I fall still deeper in the net. Cydaria, your new lover's garland take, And use him kindly for your father's sake.