Mazeppa. Help! help! for heaven's sake release me!
Act II. Scene III.
Lord Byron is a great and an original genius; he has a depth of thought and a force of
expression that are truly admirable. In aiming at too much conciseness, he is often harsh and
obscure, while his artificial pauses, his rapid and sometimes unnatural transitions, give to
his poetry an air of pedantry and affectation. Upon many occasions he is exquisitely simple and
pathetic ; his simile of the Kashmeer Butterfly, and that fine passage, "He who
hath bent him o’er the dead,” cannot easily be paralleled. But it is in “
Lord Rochester) it had been to leave on record his deep contrition for having poisoned the minds of future generations. The following character of Lord Byron as a poet, was written before he had inflicted upon the world that witty, but scandalously immoral work, "
The story of Mazeppa we learn from two sources— Voltaire’s History of Charles XII., and Lesur’s “
schoolin which he had acquired his skill in horsemanship, drops an expression that raises the curiosity of Charles, who puts to the ‘‘ old Hettman” a question that produces the recital. Lord Byron confines his narrative to Mazeppa’s intrigue with the beautiful young wife of a Polish count, the discovery of their amours, the revenge of the jealous husband, who sentences the Tartar to be lashed to the back of a wild horse, and left to his fate—the description of that perilous journey, his rescue by the Cossacks, and subsequent good fortune. All these are told in Lord Byron’s wonted strain of eloquence and passion. The story winds up with a versification of the ancient motto, ‘
'nil desperandum.
Mazeppa has found his way to the stage; with the accompaniments of appropriate scenery,
alternately savage and splendid; gorgeous processions, dresses and decorations; gallant knights
and ladies fair; banquets, tournaments, and real horses. The story has been considerably varied
and amplified, to bring these powerful auxiliaries into full play ; and an imposing spectacle
is the result. Olinska, daughter of the Castellan, is beloved by Mazeppa, who passes under the
name of Cassimir. Her father has, however, provided a more substantial suitor, in the person of
the Count Palatine ; who, being too magnificent a potentate to leave his palace
Who is the
daring intruder ?—He throws off his disguise, proclaims his titles—the Poles and Tartars go at
it pell-mell—Mazeppa wins his bride by force of arms, and the piece concludes amidst
conflagration and rejoicings. This splendid drama was first produced at the Royal Amphitheatre,
Westminster, under the management of Messrs. Ducrow and West, Easter, 1831; and is written by
Mr. Milner, the author of Massaniello.
It is but common justice to remark how effectively every piece is got up at this theatre. The equestrian performances are without parallel in the annals of horsemanship; and the scenery and decorations may vie with the proudest metropolitan,
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POLES
- —Rich dress of the reign of Louis XIV ; —A full-skirted tunic of dark blue cloth, superbly embroidered with gold—full trunks of the same, edged with lace—russet boots—broad embroidered scarf—orange-coloured belt—high srowned, broad-brimmed hat, turned up in front, with brilliant rosette, and profusely trimmed with red feathers—yellow gauntlets.
- .—Similar dress of light blue, embroidered with silver—white feathers, silk stockings— white shoes.
- —(Mazeppa, as the page.) White tunic, half full sleeve, puffed, slashed with crimson and black velvet, the tunic entirely trimmed with crimson and black velvet—white tight pantaloons—white shoes, with crimson rosettes—sbort mantillo worn over the left arm, of crimson cloth, trimmed with ermine —octagonal cap of crimson, with hanging pouch.
- .—Green embroidered tunic, with scarlet mantillo—tight green pantaloons—black short boots—lancer’s cap.
- .—Tight vest of green cloth, trimmed with gold face—enormously full breeches of ditto—red stockings—black shoes—red rosettes.
- .—Various-coloured tunics, embroidered, and trimmed with fur—mantillos, also trimmed with fur—tall chimney-pot caps, with pouches covered with yellow cloth, and embroidered and trimmed with fur—tight pantaloons, embroidered boots.
- .—Knights in full and in half armour—Heralds, with heraldic coats—the Servants in tunics —Pages, exactly the same as Cassimer—the Pages of Premislas, similar, but the colours light blue and green, with white fur.
- —Tunic-coats trimmed with fur—tall chimney- pot hats, trimmed with ditto—modern arms.
- —{First Dress}: A short Polish pelisse of green Velvet, superbly trimmed and embroidered with gold, and edged with white fur over a short white dress—Polish octagonal cap of the same, with hanging pouch. {Second Dress}: A train-dress of white satin, embroidered with deep trimming of fur—brilliant coronet, from which hangs a spacious veil.
- .—Old-fashioned dress—tight body—full skirt of slate-coloured cloth, trimmed with black velvet—white handkerchief over the neck—round cap of black velvet, coming with a point over the forehead, and ornamented in the front with jewels,
- .—Tight body of scarlet cloth, edged with black fur, and trimmed with black——yellow buttons—light blue shirt, with broad red stripe at bottom —blue stockings—square topped Polish cap of scarlet, edged with black fur—black tassels.
- As Olinska’s first dress, varying the eolour.
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TARTARS.
- MAZEPPA.—{First Dress}: Black robe, entirely enveloping the person—black helmet—black-red plume. {Second Dress}: Flesh legs,: arms and body—short tight trunks—half body of brown cloth. {Third Dress}: White Turkish shirt and trowsers, embroidered and spangled—vest, with long broad tabs of pale blue velvet, richly spangled and embroidered with silver— shawl-scarf of orange, embroidered and fringed with silver— red boots—full Tartar helmet—cap of gold, surmounted with a diadem, and bird of Paradise plumes. {Fourth Dress} : Long plain Turkish robe bound round with a sash—plain turban.
- .—First dress: Long shirt of white, hanging full, with embroidery at the bottom—green and gold vest, with long broad tabs of dark green velvet, richly embroidered in gold— very spacious flowing mantle of white cloth, with a border of green and golf embroidery, and gold fringe—very large high turban in white, finished at bottom by a laurel-wreath in green foil. {Second dress}: Same as Mazeppa’s last dress.
- . —Vest and fly of black cloth, trimmed with red and gold—short full Turkish trunks of black and red stripe, taken up with gold studs—Tartar helmet cap, with red crape hanging from it, over the shoulders —red scarf—red sandals—round shield of black, with gold edge and bosses.
- —Long white robes and turbans.
- —Fresh legs and arms —sheepskin vests—short trunks —conical caps of the same.
- —Skirts of striped and various-coloured linens—capes of sheepskin—large conical hats covered with leaves, weeds, &c
As Performed at the Royal Amphitheatre Westminster Bridge, under the Management of Messrs. Ducrow and West, on Easter Monday, 1831.
The Court- Yard of the Castle of Laurinski, bounded by the buildings of the castle, its moat, and adjacent lake - it is approached by a series of drawbridges, over the moat and branches of the lake - in the background, the distant country - castle gates, L. 3rd E. - two large windows, L., the nearest of which has a practicable balcony, L. S. E. - the moon seen to set - lights are observable in the castle windows, which are gradually extinguished as the morning advances
Cassimir! thou here? Hence, hence! wert thou discovered, think how fearfully my father’s wrath would fall on the clandestine suitor to his child.
What can Cassimir dread, ennobled and emboldened by thy love?
It cannot be a noble or a worthy love, that thus, beneath the mask of night, must steal to lay its homage on the shrine.
Dost thou reproach my rash presumption?
No; but my own unworthy cowardice. Cassimir, I will no more of this; no longer stoop to tremblingly conceal affections, in which my soul should glory: no! at my father’s feet, I will avow it all - will plead thy gallant services - thy exalted deeds - charge him, as he values my happiness or peace, to grant Olinska’s hand where her fond heart is pledged, and gain a son who’ll be an honour to his name.
To thee and to thy love I do commit me! but, rather than see thee sacrificed to another, or brook a rival in thy much-prized love, -
But see, the dawn advances; the moon has sunk behind yon hoary hills; the glimmering lights are one by one expiring; and the hum of busy menials speaks approaching day. Away, my love, away!
May all propitious powers smile down upon the pleadings of thy virtuous love, waft thy soft breathings deep to thy father’s heart, and win him to our cause; then should thy doating Cassimir, in the broad blaze of day, boast of his bliss, and be all Poland’s envy.
But what an odd freak of our Lord Castellan to choose such a day as this for the attempt to subdue the unbreakable, fiery, wild Tartarian horse, so long the terror of all our grooms, and the executioner of so many rough-riders.
Let the Castellan waste no more time, labour, nor life about him; but send the devil on all fours back to his native Tartary. I tell you what, godfather, there never was a native of that country, whether walking on one pair of legs or two, that ever came to any good by being in a better. Look, now, at that young Tartar fellow, Cassimir, picked up, as I have heard, in a wood, some eighteen years ago, after one of their barbarous incursions –
A living contradiction to your assertion; risen by his good qualities to be the favourite page, the idol of all the women, and the envy of all the men.
Not of all the men, godfather; for my part, I think his brother, the wild horse, the more amiable barbarian of the two. Let my lady beware, or she may find, too late, that she has caught a Tartar.
No muttering, sirrah: you spoke of me.
What says the slave?
Why, as you know that my Lady Olinska is going to be married to the Count Palatine Premislas, one of the richest and most powerful noblemen in Poland –
How said you? married, married to another?
Another! what other? - Why, she was never married before, was she?
A despatch late last night, conveyed to the Castellan’s chamber after he had retired - ay, ay, it’s we folks of consequence in the establishment that come at the earliest intelligence - bless your heart, the envoy is expected to-day, to make the formal proposal to my lady.
Against this blow support me, heaven! She never will, she never shall be his!
Sha’nt she, though? - There, I think, you’ll find yourself mistaken, young fellow; not that you need to put yourself into such a taking about it, for 1 dare say, as you are her favourite page, she will prevail on the Palatine to make you one of his esquires.
I thank you for appreciating me so justly. Godfather, mark my words, that man will never come to any good. Oh, that the Castellan would clap him on the back of his brother devil, the Tartarian horse, and send them off to Tartary, or Tartarus.
Tush, fool! the Lady Olinska approaches - away, to speed the preparations for the festival. -
Pitied! you, you to be pitied! when there’s nothing talked of through all the castle, but your approaching nuptials with a young nobleman so rich and so –
Those nuptials never can take place. My heart, my soul, each energy of my existence - all, all is Cassimir’s.
Cassimir’s! heavens! a friendless youth, an orphan boy, a foundling Tartar.
The idol of my fond affections! This very morning, yielding to the prayer of Cassimir, I
went to make
I condemn you! oh, my dear young lady, my bosom can harbour none but the tenderest
sentiments towards you, nor entertain any wish except to do you service.
Some one approaches - ah, ‘tis he, ‘tis Cassimir! Great heaven, how agitated!
Before her, then, pronounce my fate.
Your fate!
Yes: on you, and on this moment, depend the destinies of my life.
What mean you?
We must fly: the deserts of Tartary, where I first drew breath, offer us an assured retreat. Here, where the bonds that unite us are to be torn asunder, have I not the right to require of Olinska, who has chosen me for her husband, that she should seek with me, in my own country, that happiness which is denied us here?
How, with barbarians? sworn foes of my country - never, never!
Then let this hated rival tremble.
Listen to me, Cassimir.
I care not for life; I am ready to sacrifice it but 1 will not perish alone.
It would be your duty to punish, but I am willing to excuse. I call to mind his uniform good conduct, his courage, and fidelity, which deserve reward: - I name him officer of men-at-arms, whom I am sending to Warsaw, to be incorporated in the royal guard. He will depart to-morrow at daybreak.
My lord, permit me –
Rudzoloff, I rely on you to see my wishes fulfilled. Away, now; and prepare for your appearance at the approaching fête.
Enough, my lord.
I find, by the Count Palatine’s despatch, that this proposed marriage is likewise sanctioned by the sovereign himself.
The Count Premislas wished to come, even on the instant, and present to thee his homage; but an ancient custom does not permit a Palatine of Poland to offer his vows in person, till after a solemn ceremony. The countess’s coronet must be presented to the intended, and she return her ring in exchange. From that moment, she is his affianced bride. The envoy of the count this day will come on the important mission.
How, my father! this very day?
Even so. Prepare for his reception, my daughter; obedience should be easy, when honours and fortune are its reward.
My lord, a splendid cavalcade of knights and warriors even now is discerned from the
battlements
Let him be conducted hither, with all the honour due to his noble master. Bid my pages and officers of my household attend me here. Olinska, be mindful of your duty.
The Count Premislas!
Deign to accompany me, count: every thing is prepared to receive you with the honours due to him who, becoming my son, will presently have a right to command, where now he is a guest. Never could your arrival have been better timed. This day I had prepared a solemn tourney, in which the pages of my household and friendly knights will contend in those manly sports which form the warrior’s earliest lesson. To this festivity your presence will add a tenfold brilliance. Forward, and prepare the arena.
Count, with the utmost joy, I shall attend you.
A Gothic Apartment in the Castle.
Well; so, my Lady Olinska is going to be married - I wish I was going to be married; for then I should no longer be a maid: no, indeed, I’d be a mistress, as my husband would be pretty quickly convinced. There’s that lout, Drolinsko, has been casting sheep’s eyes at me for months past; but the dolt scarcely knows his own mind, I fancy. There’s but one reason I can conceive for having any thing to say to such a numskull: if I married him, he’d save me the trouble of making a fool of him, for he’s ready made to my hand. Give me a dashing spirited fellow, I say, who would run away with you in spite of fathers, uncles, cousins - ay, for the matter of that, in spite of yourself.
Well, now, for my part, I don’t know what a likely young woman, such as you, can meet more suited to her wants and inclinations than a tidy husband.
A husband!
Such a thing as me! what the devil do you mean by that? Why, what’s the matter with me? I’m all right and tight, snug and comfortable, as any young woman could desire.
No, Drolinsko, you want one very material article to make a man of you.
No, you don’t say so.
Not that it’s so essential to a husband.
Well, I’m glad to hear that, at any rate.
Want it there, do I? Now it strikes me very forcibly, that if I were your husband, you would furnish me with something more than I should want there.
Now, if you were anything like such a person as the Tartar, Cassimir –
The Tartar, Cassimir! Only to hear the women talk. Well, St. Ignatius help their taste, I say. He’s a sort of a wild beast; and all the women are weaving nets and meshes to catch him; and if they can’t tame him, he’s a wild devil indeed. But I’ve stopped Mr. Cassimir’s pranks for a while.
You stop him, Drolinsko?
I don’t think he’ll find it so. The slave had the presumption to intrude on the Lady Olinska’s privacy, whilst taking a walk on the terrace of the castle, and even to touch her hand.
Like a spirited young fellow, as he is.
There I caught him - so did her father.
The father did not seem inclined to say much; but I gave Mr. Tartar pretty plainly to understand, that if ever he attempted the like liberty again, he would incur a pretty considerable portion of my displeasure.
I’d a good mind to give him a bit of a shaking, then.
You give Cassimir a shaking! why, you’d shake in your shoes if he did but raise a finger.
I say, Zemila, how provokingly beautiful you do look, to be sure. Do you know, I should so like to –
Well, then, why don’t you take courage and try.
Egad! that’s a pretty fair invitation, and here I go.
Smack for smack, my fine fellow, all over the world, is fair play, you know.
That’s what you call giving a modest young man proper encouragement, I suppose.
Recollect, Drolinsko, that till a recruit has learned to stand fire, he’s never fit for the field of action.
(C.) Then it must be with a crown of thistle and dandelion, ornamented with a pair of ass’s ears.
Hark, that’s the first signal; hasten to take your place.
My soul’s in arms, and eager for –
The encounter?
No; for the sumptuous banquet that is to take place afterwards.
My friends, display before us your address and courage - these noble sports are the image of war - learn from them to defend your prince and country. My daughter will crown the conqueror - let the signal be given for the games to begin.
Cassimir , it is with pleasure I behold you the victor: I have before remarked your courage and address; I have distinguished you from the crowd of my pages: merit always thus my favour, and new rewards will be the result. The evening’s shadows, now gathering o’er the valley, remind us to conclude our sports, and taste the banquet’s joys. Now let the trumpet speak the contest o’er, and, in the joyous goblet’s cheering draught, let each pledge his antagonist in sincerity and friendship.
What matter’s that to thee?
What is thy will?
Thy death.
Wouldst thou be my murderer?
No; I would meet thee in equal encounter of man to man.
Thou shalt know that when thou art conquered.
This arrogance –
Befits a jealous and offended man.
What can you be?
Your rival.
Till yesterday I believed so.
Not to thee, but to thy honours and thy titles.
Dar’st thou insult me?
I have told thee but the truth; my sword shall do the rest.
Rash intruder! Think’st thou a Palatine will deign to measure swords with an unknown, doubtless unworthy of that honour.
My sword shall teach thee whether I be worthy.
Hence, or my servants shall chastise thy boldness.
Coward! were our arms but equal –
I yield.
I tell you, the unknown, who stole the armour, is in that gallery - see, behold him - there, there he is.
Great heaven! The Palatine assassinated.
You shall obtain it; and whoever the murderer may prove, it shall be terrible.
We’ve got him! he’s taken! he’s taken!
Remove the mantle that conceals the wretch.
Cassimir!
My suspicions were, then, true - let him die
Well, Drolinsko, what dismal fate has happened to you now?
Dismal fate, indeed! the dismal fate has not happened to me; but it might have done - I am perpetually led into predicaments by my unquenchable courage.
Or your unquenchable thirst, which, Drolinsko?
There, his lordship has ordered them to bring out the wild Tartar horse, and strap
Cassimir to his back. Lord love you, there stood the poor wretches
Tore! my poor dear fellow, are you seriously hurt? what did he tear?
Why, he tore what I won’t venture to mention.
Hasten to my lord, entreat him to forego his purpose, ere half his household is destroyed.
Why, truly, it seems as if the wild horse would make the castle an hospital. His countryman, Mr. Cassimir, began that game; but, thank heaven, we are likely to get rid of them both, now. I’ve often said the best thing our Lord Castellan could do, would be to bind them back to back, and set them off to their own country together. Egad! if we don’t run, we shall miss the sight, and the opportunity of wishing our Tartar friends good- by for ever.
All is as my lord commanded.
Bring forth the miscreant.
(C.) Unworthy girl! all power on earth were ineffectual to assuage my vengeance.
You plead in vain. - Bring forth the untamed steed.
Yet, dearest father, in mercy hear me.
Now launch the traitor forth, and let the story of his fate strike terror throughout Poland!
Moving panorama of the course of the Dneiper River, running from L. U. E, to R. U. E. - on the flat is seen its banks, with a tract of wild country - a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning, hail and rain.
Exhausted nature for a moment stays his furious course. Eternal heaven! where will these
horrors end? Oh! would I were released from suffering, if but in the endless calm of death.
Ah! again he urges on his wild career.
A Rude Tartar Landscape - a marshy thicket interspersed with shepherds’ huts.
What, ho! Koscar! Koscar! The sun mounts high in the heavens, and chides thy sluggishness.
Ah! my sweet sister, thou abroad so early?
Our gods preserve thee. Some hours since I led my herd to a secluded track amidst the
mountain heights that look towards Poland –
What has raised thee, friend, from thy couch, so soon?
Oh! I have been to pay my morning tribute to our prophet king; to beg his paternal blessing, and ask the assistance of his potent prayers.
Prophet-king! well, it’s a strange mixture of trades. Most kings, I reckon, find enough to do without wandering out at nights upon the mountain tops, counting the stars, and seeking wondrous visions.
Fie, Koscar! fie! how can you suffer your rude tongue to speak thus irreverently of him, whom all our tribes revere. Ever was AbderKhan a mild and gracious monarch; but since that fatal time, when on the fields of Poland he lost his only son, his mind has taken a strange and solemn turn - he is inspired by the gods of Tartary - in wondrous visions, its future destiny’s unfolded to his view.
Why, if my two eyes have the slightest knowledge of the business attached to their situation in my head, I have this very morning seen the Volpas.
You terrify me out of my senses Koscar - what can you mean?
I saw him sitting, or rather lying, on a furious wild horse, that bore him with more than lightning speed from rock to rock, o’er precipice, through stream, and plunged with him into the deep and foaming torrent of the Dnieper.
Hark, hark! What mean those sounds?
It is the trampling of a furious steed.
I came to seek our king: knowest thou where I may find him, gallant Zemba?
Our king? Our prophet, rather say, my chief.
Ay, doating driveller; when he must needs take up one character, ‘twere well he had laid down the other - a warlike people are not to be ruled by a seer of visions.
At least they get little by it.
From a race of warriors we are descended to a nation of vile shepherds; living upon the scanty sustenance our herds afford, or labour can extort from our rude sterile soil. When has the spoil of any neighbouring people yielded glory to our arms, or booty to our soldiers? Oh! for the days when Polish and Hungarian wealth was the just prey of those whose valour best deserved it!
No, ever since he lost his infant son, he dreads the very name of Poland.
And spends his time in idle reveries, and superstitious dreams of inspiration. Not content to be obeyed, he likewise would be worshipped.
So he is almost, by the poor simple shepherds; but for us warriors –
You cannot but despise such driveling imposture - you shall not longer be the victims of a cheat to whom your judgment never could be dupe. The hour is at hand when the Tartarian sceptre shall be snatched by an arm that’s bold enough to seize, and strong enough to wield it. This very day I will, in the name of our assembled tribes, demand that he proclaim his successor. There is but one he dare to name, and once pronounced his heir, he soon shall find I will not tardily await the enjoyment of the power already dropping from his doating hand.
I’ve seen him! I’ve seen him! I am sure I have.
Whom have you seen, idiot?
Why, the Volpas, to be sure, the dreaded Volpas.
Driveller! what mean you?
I mean, my lord, that I believe the evidence of my own two eyes: I saw him on a horse about twice as big as an elephant, who leaped from one rock to another, a league apart - the whirlwind of dust that he kicked up reached to the skies -
Dolt! weary not thus my patience; but assemble your shepherd tribes here in the valley: our aged Khan has a revelation to make of the utmost importance - obey me quickly, and await your monarch’s bidding.
We shall do so, my lord - he is our friend and our protector; and if anything can oppose the fury of the persecuting demon,’twill be the efficacy of his prayers.
Ha! I see he approaches. Haste you to bring your comrades, whilst I assemble our choicest warriors to hear from his inspired lips the future destiny of Tartary.
The Plains or Steppes of Tartary, bounded by rocky eminences, the last of a chain that separates it from Poland - rocky pathways, broken by cataracts, over which are thrown rude alpine bridges - and in the foreground are marshy plants, brushwood, and a few scattered trees.
How fares our honoured master? What anxious cares have occupied his thoughts through the past night, and from his tent led his adventurous steps?
Deep thoughts for my loved people’s welfare: and, oh! in those wild regions 1 have visited, such mighty revelations from the skies have on my wrapped soul descended -
What means my honoured lord?
Methought I saw a fair and lovely bird, the very type of innocence and peace, wing its swift light through the expanse of heaven a dark and ravenous eagle darted forth, and quick pursued the affrighted helpless wanderer, with eager haste and threatening talons. In its distress and woe, the persecuted warbler sought shelter in my bosom, which readily was open to receive it; but the destroyer even there assailed its destined prey, and struck its talons deep into my heart.
Yet be not cast down; for threatened evils often pass away, nor shed one drop of bitterness on our protected heads.
Not for myself, I fear, but for my people; for hope and fear to me have been denied since
my loved
No, sire, no: yet live to bless thy people.
But in one hope I live, a hope thou’lt say akin to madness, but which the gods have planted in my sorrowing heart, and nourish still with those soft whisperings, breathed from the heavens above. Thou sawest me in that hour, Olgar - thou sawest my gleaming scimetar hew down myriads of Polish foes, who had surprised our little camp; when my infant was held within their grasp, how like a maddened lion my eager rage sought access to their phalanx’s centre - once, once, I saw an uplifted dagger gleam against his throat. Gods! how my steel, like the fell lightning’s flash, struck through opposing numbers to that monster’s heart. At once I saved and lost him - hurried back by overpowered and retreating hosts, I never saw my angel babe again.
You yet believe he lives?
I do, I do! in hallowed visions constantly I see him, my diadem encircling his brow - like a celestial halo does that blessed thought shed a bright gleam of comfort o’er my soul - with patience I await the hour, assured that I shall see it - Mazeppa shall return, shall be the joy of his long- sorrowing sire, and the glory of his rescued people.
See, sire, where the shepherd tribes approach, to lay their morning homage at your honoured feet.
Be their humble repast prepared; their simple wants, at least, their king can yet supply, and to avert each threatened danger, they shall not need his prayers.
Sovereign of Tartary, thy people, deeply sympathizing with thy childless loneliness, have yet a care for their own future peace and happiness; and, lest the sceptre, which in the course of nature must soon drop from thy enfeebled grasp, should prove a source of discord and disaster, they expect that thou wilt name one of thy chiefs whom thou deemest worthy to succeed thee on the throne.
Doubt not I shall do my people justice - a solemn
Psha! childrens’ tales! you can’t believe what they say of the Volpas - I thought you had more sense.
Believe! I don’t believe, but I know it. It never appears but at the forewarning of wonderful events. The very mention of the terrible Volpas turns all the milk I have been drinking into vinegar. The ravager! the destroyer! - Come, come, no more talk, but the song of the Volpas.
There! see now! I thought what would come of such profane ditties: the devil is no person to be jested with. You have sung a song in his honour, and he is now coming to thank you for it - yes, yes, sure enough, the Volpas is at hand this time.
What means this wild alarm, my children? These screams of abject terror?
Ah, sire, save us, save us! An awful visitation - the Volpas, the Volpas is at hand.
Dismiss this idle fear, and dread no fiend but that which vice has planted in the human
heart. The voice of heaven now surely speaks in the thunder of the elements; its awful
secrets shall this day be known; its pleasure and your future fate by my voice be declared;
Chiefs and Elders, attend me to assist me in my prayers; do you, my children, secure your
steeds from the fury of the elements. Sound now your shells, and call them around you - let
the seats of our armed tribes spread beneath the palm-grove, where I, with our chosen guests
and elders, may consult the messenger of heaven.
Koscar, call up the steeds affrighted and dispersed by the storm; your sounding-shells,
pealing along the echoes will bring them quickly around us.
Ah! He is not one of our tribes. Let me hasten to our Prophet-Khan, whose mild benignant
spirit will lavish more effectual succour than my weak aid can offer.
What meant that strange and fearful vision which, amidst the dashes of the storm, gleamed on our affrighted view?
Perhaps it is a fellow creature.
It must be the Volpas; he’s only taking a nap, and will wake up more savage than ever. I’ll take care how I go nigh him. Back, the Khan approaches.
Where is the wounded and exhausted stranger? Why stand ye idle and indifferent, when, perhaps, your cares might succour human woe?
Human woe! Oh, no, please your highness, it’s no human woe, but that horrid inhuman beast, the Volpas.
Assist me, friends, to raise the object of our pity, and convey him to a timely shelter.
Loose those dreadful cords, I say. See, see the gushing stream that mingles with the flood is draining from my heart! Why do those gnarling wolves howl on so hideously? They are upon us! - their ravening tusks tear off my flesh! Ha! that precipice, - that must be swift destruction! We reach its brink! - Lost! lost for ever?
Methinks this wild delirium speaks ill for his recovery.
Peace, thou malignant fiend, whose withering breath would blast my new-born hopes! See, the pallid hue of death now brightens into health. Raise him with care, and be he to yon foremost tent conveyed, henceforth the seat of royalty.
A Tartarian Landscape adjacent to the great Encampment, which is seen in the distance.
In vain does yonder hoary dotard dream his new-found fondling shall defeat my purpose and enjoy the throne. Too long have we been slaves, the groveling slaves of superstition. You all have sworn to see your leader on the throne, nor can I fear the firm determination of such gallant warriors can be diverted by so poor an artifice. Will you uphold me still?
We will! we will!
Then am I still the sovereign of Tartary. For this poor impostor, - my dagger shall
quickly remove that trivial obstacle. To me the guard of the royal tent has been confided.
Soon will I teach the Prophet- Khan to know that his weak delusions can never turn from his
affirmed resolve the unshrinking soul of Thamar. On to our purpose, warriors. [
The Interior of a rude Tartar Tent, hung with characteristic arms and armour - on the flat, R. C., hangs a large metal Shield, used to strike signals on.
Let all our armed tribes, at earliest dawn, be assembled around my tent, that of the
prince’s first returning sense I may apprise them, and proclaim him to my people.
Thanks to the guard I chose for their protection, our entrance hither has been easy and
noiseless. Fate
He raves - he wakes - back, back: delay our purpose, till returning slumber render it secure from all alarm.
Another, and a surer plan has glanced across my mind. The Khan himself shall perish; the crime, charged on this new-found stranger, hurls him at once to irretrievable ruin, and who can then dispute the throne with Thamar?
Thy child, fond dotard! The easy dupe thou art to yonder rash impostor, proves thee unfit to reign. Think not the destiny of Tartary is thus to be surrendered to thy childishness, or yon adventurer’s audacity - the chiefs of Tartary would have a warrior king!’tis me they have selected. And, ere I snatch, somewhat too rudely, perhaps, the tottering crown that trembles on thy aged brow, wisely surrender it.
To thee, insidious monster? Never! I have now an heir to prop the drooping glories of my house; and ere 1 would surrender one tittle of his just rights, traitor, thou shouldst hew me piecemeal! Least of all would I abandon my beloved people to the ambitious fury of such a wretch as thou art.
Yet, ere our daggers drain thy aged veins of all their poor remains of life, be wise and yield - affix thy seal to this parchment, renouncing all title to the throne, and stamping him thou callest thy son, a foul impostor: this do and live - and oh! be sure thy death is but the prelude to that foundling boy’s, who never shall dispute with me the crown.
Your threats I scorn. The spirit that has often led me on to victory, shall nerve me still, nor do I dread to meet a host of coward traitors, such as Thamar.
Thou hast pronounced thy doom.
Thy king defies thee, still; I strike for my own right and for my boy’s, and heaven will assist my arm.
Cowards and villains! the garb of Tartar warriors, and two of you against an aged feeble man! he, too, whose kindness rescued me from death, and soothed my sufferings.
Yet do I laugh thy power to scorn, for hundreds now without await but my nod to shed their life-blood in my cause.
Millions will strike in mine.
A father! ha! does that sacred sound, like heaven descended dews, speak comfort to my
heart!
No longer must the glad, the important task be now delayed. Assembled Tartars, priests, warriors, people - behold and mark me: in this brave youth, who has even now saved your sovereign’s life, know and revere Mazeppa, my long lost, only son, your sovereign prince - hail my boy, Mazeppa, King of Tartary.
Extensive Tartar Encampment.
If thy love be worthy of your love, then head our tribes and tear her from thy rival - a long arrear of vengeance does my soul count against Polish foes; and to the dread amount, how awful an increase thy wrongs, my child, inspire. For thee and for thy cause again I’ll strike; this aged arm shall bear the warrior’s steel, and perhaps I yet may fall in shielding thee.
Thou shalt behold and share my joyous triumph - I fight for my Olinska and my love.
I, for my much-loved child and my revenge. Behold the steed, fated by heaven to bring you to your native land and throne, again awaits you; he bore you to my arms - let him now bear you to your triumph.
He was the instrument of torture, - let him now be the messenger of vengeance. On to the Polish frontier; I cannot know repose whilst my Olinska’s fate’s uncertain - I can feel no glory till from a rival’s I’ve conquered her.
Then, with to-morrow’s dawn the march begins. Drive all our cattle within the lines - be every soldier ready at his post; for ere two suns have set behind those Polish mountains, our force shall beneath the tyrant’s wall make him to tremble in his strong hold of power and rue the day he injured child of mine. -
A Gothic Chamber in the Castle of the Castellan, in Poland.
Bid my nurse come to me.
See, lady, where your father comes.
Quickly conceal that packet, and wonder, nurse, at thy Olinska’s fortitude - her apathy;
that she who loved, and as I did Cassimir, can yield obedience to his
Olinska, your imprudence might have caused the ruin of your father: but Count Premislas, restored to life, has deemed the act of Cassimir merely a presumptuous vassal’s crime, without your sanction. But the pretender has been punished. And now, Olinska, I trust I may confide in your entire submission.
Implicitly!
That pledge disarms my wrath - my child, the past is all forgiven, forgotten - come to thy father’s arms, who now can call thee once again his daughter.
Father!
My child, my dearest child, may heaven’s peace attend thee.
May thy prayer be heard, my father: ‘ere long, thy child will cease to suffer.
Hark thee, my child; yon trumpets speak the bridegroom ready, the cortege prepared. Throughout my castle’s precincts, this day all wears one universal face of joy.
Heaven for ever bless thee, sweet Olinska! Come, come, my child, away with thoughts of gloom; share thou the triumph which on every side courts thy acceptance.
Father, again thou’st bless’d me; I can bear it all.
A Hall of the Castle of Laurinski.
I am clean an altered man. I feel myself already puffed up and swelling with my new
dignity, even as 1 hope ere long my body shall be stuffed and swelled with the perquisites of
office. I was a huntsman - I am a
Ah! Mr. Drolinsko, you look quite a different person from what you used to be.
And I am a different person, too, Mrs. Zemila: know that I am placed at the head of the victualling department - that I am chief officer of the mouth, and general purveyor for the belly - I’ve got you all under my thumb, now; only look as I would not have you, and I clap you all on short allowance - offend me, and the soup’s all turned over - insult my dignity, and all the fat’s in the fire. I shall astonish you all.
No absurdity that you can commit can possibly astonish me.
Oh! I’m a clever fellow at noseing out a good thing. There was I, early this morning, wandering out into the wood beyond the castle; my teeming brain on fire with the grand devices which this day shall produce - what should I meet with, but a group of wandering Tartars; I’ve engaged them to come to the festival - what do you think of that, now?
Why, that my lord will break your head, and have you kicked out of the place - you know he hates the very name of Tartar.
These are jovial fellows, innocent as lambs; for a mouthful of broken victuals they’ll dance such dances, and show us such singular manœuvres and evolutions - I mean it to be the principal feature of the whole festival. And now what do you think of me in my new robe of office?
Why, I’ve heard that fine feathers make fine birds; but, my poor Drolinsko, though decked out with all the plumage of the peacock, you can’t prevent us from finding out that you are but a sorry jackdaw.
Well, miss, at any rate, you’re a pretty good re- semblance of a magpie. - Come, I think that wasn’t so much amiss of me - she’ll find that it’s awkward playing with edged tools.
Edged tools, indeed! - tool thou art, my poor
Any thing in life, lovely Mrs. Zemila: is it that I shall reserve a good place for you to see the sports?
No:’tis simply this, Drolinsko, that thou wilt not, if thou canst help it, make thyself so
monstrously ridiculous as to occasion me to die with laughing.
That young woman has some good points about her, but she is marvelously deficient in politeness.
Well, now you’ve filled your bellies, I hope it has relieved your imaginations.
Trust us, sir, we do not need excitement.
Well, now, I suppose you’ve made up your minds to do something a little out of the way on this occasion?
Be sure, we shall astonish you.
Well, so do, I like to be astonished; and on this occasion I wish every thing to be new and uncommon.
You shall witness one of the strangest sights that has for many a long day regaled your curiosity.
I should like the very walls to caper.
Caper! they shall fly.
Come, come, none of your nonsense now, you are going too far - I’m not so soft as all that comes to.
‘Tis necessary you should furnish me with the key of the great gates - my two comrades here I leave with you - I will hasten to rejoin the rest - hold ourselves in readiness, adjacent to the castle, and on your signal rush forward to effect the grand tableau.
I’ll go and fetch you the key; you’re a jolly old blade, you are, too - no chicken - but
there seems stuff in you yet. I’ll be with you again in the spitting of a part- ridge.
Back, fellows, back - see where the bride approaches.
But this dejection scarce fulfils your promise to your father - all was to be submission.
It is submission, nurse – submission I have learned by trampling on every feeling of my heart. I shall obey my father - let him not require more than I can perform.
[
Ah! that’s another of my contrivances, that you’d never suspect, godfather. Those, why those, bless you, are wandering Tartars, introduced by me.
Tartars! introduce Tartars here! why, it’s more than your head’s worth - let but the Castellan know it.
Ay, it’s plain to see you’re a fellow of no pith and enterprise. He may think what he likes about Tartars, but if these fellows don’t caper him into good-humour, he’s a sulkier dog than I take him for.
Doubt not that we will overcome all his displeasure.
Belike, fair lady, I do bethink me of a tale of a poor Tartar lad, bred up in Polish climes, who rashly loved a noble lady – ‘twas a fault in him, but oh! who ever looked upon that fair one’s beauty and her worth, must have forgiven him, knowing that to see and not to love was scarcely possible. Her father found it in him a crime not to be pardoned, and sentenced him to a most cruel death.
By miracle he was saved, and, like the Polar needle, true to his first affection, back he rushed, impatient still to lay his homage at the adored one’s feet. But, oh! death-blow to his hopes! torture more cruel than all before he’d suffered, he found her perjured, faithless, voluntarily about to give her hand unto another.
Ah! had he known her tears, her anguish, the silent calm despair with which, unable to resist, she yielded to her parent’s harsh commands, enforced under the penalty of his awful curse - how like a victim to the sacrifice she did approach the altar, - he would not, could not, dare not, to condemn her.
Had she, then, no remedy to save herself from such accursed pollution?
Yes, and a noble one: which, rather than betray her first fond vows, she’s resolute to clutch at -
Zounds! This Tartar gipsy has contrived to astonish my lady already.
The tales of our country have a wild and wondrous force, well calculated to awake the feelings thus.
Your pardon, lady, - had we not better on?
I attend you, Rudzoloff.
Now, mind, you fellows, be at your posts.
The dearest feelings of our hearts are pledged to be so.
He shall, he shall! Oh, to attain that end, how joyfully thy father would shed his latest crimson drop -
The Gardens of Laurinski, closed in the back by terraces, the last of which is entered, L. through a spacious gate of golden bars - its other end communicates with a wood - the whole extent is bounded on the L. by the buildings of the castle - from the topmost terrace, near the great gate, a spacious flight of steps, L., which leads down to the stage.
Now, honoured father, how speeds the glorious work?
Even as should the deed on which depends thy happiness. Our troops are all at hand, and eager for the attack. Yes, my son, thy triumph is assured - here, on the haughty despot’s battlements, he shall surrender thee thy love, or thou shalt tear her from his arms, amidst their blackened ruins.
All is prepared for the ceremony - I will be on the spot. Do thou, with our bands, at the
signal, like the whirlwind’s blast, sweep opposition into dust.
Thy father and thy people shall not fail thee; -
What insolent intruder dares thus to break, with barbarous scoffings, on our solemnity?
Cassimir!
Cassimir, Mazeppa, one - thy vengeful tyranny but doomed me to my glory: the wild horse bore me to the throne of Tartary: and now, Mazeppa, King of Tartary, proudly returns to claim his early love.
Stay, monsters! stay your uplifted hands! - Let
Then be revenge and slaughter our word! and let devastated Poland speak Mazeppa mounted to the throne of Tartary!