University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Julian, and an armed Follower.
Ju.
Ho; here bring Guglielmo instantly.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Julian.
Ju.
Does Salviati then return to Florence?
Why should he stir from Rome? How dares he plant
His footsteps in these thresholds? Does he thus
Despise our hatred, and our power, and us?—
But yet, if he returns, his hardihood
Springs certainly from force, ... from borrow'd force.—
Yes, now 'tis indispensable to use
All stratagems to frustrate those results,
Which, having once befall'n, we should in vain
For reparation strive. Be Guglielmo
First summon'd to our presence; haply he,
Exhausted by the infirmities of age,
May by the bait of flattery be surprized
To indiscreet confession. To these traitors
Since Salviati now has join'd himself,
The messenger of papal subtlety,
All circumspective vigilance is needful;
And with profuse professions we must seek
A reinforcement of preventive measures,
And time to adapt them to the exigence.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Guglielmo, Julian.
Ju.
Oh, Guglielmo, thou who dost possess,
More than all other men, the precious fruit
Of a long life, and a long life well spent,
Experience and wisdom; who dost know,
Dost understand, and canst discriminate
The modern and the antiquated rights
Of this our country; listen to my words.
Already, by the power which now is mine,
I am not blinded, nor have I consign'd
To iniquitous forgetfulness the name
Of citizen; I know full well how brief,
And how unstable are the gifts of fortune.
I know ...

Gu.
What thou may'st be who knows? 'Tis true,
Thou dost appear more lenient than thy brother;
But so corrupted is the vulgar mind,
That though it fears thee less, it does not thence
Detest thee less than he. Perchance a tyrant,
Who forces to obey a race enslaved,
Is more acceptable than one who stoops
To dupe them to obedience.

Ju.
I confess
Lorenzo oft is culpably incautious;
Nor is thy Raymond so invincible
As he believes himself. Let us confer,
Soften'd by more conciliatory thoughts.—
Thou knowest that the citizens, inform'd
And apprehensive of the ancient licence,
Committed to our trust the superflux
Of liberty; from whence the nobler parts
Have since remain'd eternally untouch'd ...

Gu.
How hast thou a plain argument perplex'd
With subtle phrases destitute of sense!
There is a simple name for servitude.
Call those who yield to despots slaves at once.

Ju.
And to thy freedom give the name of licence.
I came not for these flimsy arguments.

Gu.
'Tis true, that folly only fights in words.

Ju.
Then listen to me ere I illustrate
This truth with deeds. A fervid virulence
Consumes thy Raymond's heart: with youth and power
Lorenzo also feels life's pulse beat high.
To thee, thy son, and to thy entire race,
May ruin thence result: but also thence
Our ruin may result by treacherous means.
I speak not of Lorenzo as a brother;
Nor speak thou as a father of thy son.
We're citizens, and thou the best. Now say,
Should we not strenuously exert ourselves
To hinder tumults, bloodshed, and disgrace?
And thou the more so now, as thou art placed
In most alarming danger? Thou who dar'st
Call servitude, th'observance of the laws,
Perceivest, that amid new broils, to you
The load will rather be increased than lessen'd.
Be thou at once a citizen and father:
Make thy son somewhat yield: if he alone
Confess that he is less than we, with this
Lorenzo will be pacified. It is
Allotted to thee with one word of thine
To frustrate each pernicious consequence.

Gu.
Who could make Raymond yield? And should I do it,
E'en if I could?

Ju.
At once confess to me:
If thou wert sovereign here, and thou didst see
Thy power contemn'd by us, as ours is now
By him, what punishment wouldst thou inflict?

Gu.
I should esteem that I in ruling here
So much more grievously insulted others,
That of each insult offered to myself
I should take no account. Of liberty,
What less part can be left to those who lose it
Than to lament its loss? Each man should speak,
Were I in your place, as his judgment dictates;
But act alone conformable to mine.
Silent, alone are formidable, foes:
And scatter'd poison injures not its object.
Frankly I speak to thee: I do not deem
My son for lofty enterprises fit:
Ah, were he so! Thou would'st not hear me thus
Address thee abjectly; nor hadst thou seen
Me tremble and obey.—'Gainst foes like us,
Contempt, when managed with dexterity,
('Tis but too true) is adequate defence.
Behold, it seems to me, that, though no tyrant,
I can prescribe to thee, with decent skill,
The laws of tyranny, the stratagems,
The conduct, and the principles sublime.

Ju.
What would'st thou say to me? And know I not,
As well as thou dost know, this son of thine?

Gu.
And dost thou fear him?

Ju.
Fear'd, I fear again.—
To simulate, or to dissimulate,
Were idle now. Let us for once renounce
In words, what always we renounce in deeds,
Maxims fallacious as they're plausible:
Not from our country, not from laws, or freedom,
But from self-love, and self-utility,
And apprehensions of contingent loss,
Let each of us, with more sincerity,
And with more wisdom, take his rule of conduct.
Lorenzo all the qualities possesses,
By which a new state is increased and sway'd,
Except forbearance and timidity:
Nature hath form'd me in another mould;
And that which is deficient in himself
In me is perhaps excessive: but confess,
Art thou not e'en more timorous than I?
Do not I see the spirit of mistrust,
And apprehension, in thy smallest actions?
I know, no base of some eternal rock
Is in the restless main more firmly placed,
Than Raymond and Lorenzo stand unmoved
In their resolves: in nature they are equal,
Yet not in power: but equal is our fear.
As with my brother I exert myself,
Do thou exert thyself with this thy son.
Perhaps we may yet see other times. Few years
Hast thou to live; yet these thou would'st desire,
Though burthensome and comfortless, to spend:
Thou hast supported such ... Would'st thou preserve them?

Gu.
The terror of a tyrant, and a father,
No one would place in counteracting scales
Save he who is a tyrant and a father.
I feel my own alarm; thine, thou alone
Canst feel and estimate. Paternal fear,
Which is the most excusable, to-day
Surmounts the other. Far as I avail
I will exert myself, that Raymond chuse
Spontaneous exile; and 'twere best he did so;
For not for vengeance, but for fresh injustice,
In these abhorred walls will he remain.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Lorenzo, Julian, Guglielmo.
Lo.
Julian, what dost thou? Dost thou spend in words
The time that others spend in deeds? ...

Ju.
At last
This old man yields to my persuasive speech.
Dost spurn at peace before I've made it sure?

Lo.
Who talks of peace? Lo, Salviati comes,
The source of all disturbance, the contriver
Of every guilty, circumventive plot.

Ju.
I know it; but meanwhile ...

Lo.
And dost thou know,
That from the south he brings arm'd warriors here?
In truth no martial race: to whom we ought
To shew ourselves, and only shew ourselves.
At the first lightening of our shields, at once
Their fenny cloud will be dispersed. Indeed,
What courage founded not in others fears,
Was e'er display'd by Rome?

Gu.
And what, my lord?
Can one defenceless citizen's return
From Tyber's banks excite suspicion in thee?
And to your detriment would Rome now arm,
Who so infrequently and clumsily
Combats, and only in her own defence?

Lo.
More than one hero hath been made to tremble
Before the pope's perfidious myrmidons.
'Mid roses, and 'mid lilies, they conceal
Daggers and poison. It is true, their arms
Would, if foreseen, be always impotent.—
Ye satellites of Rome, I leave you here:
Plot ye till I return. My brother, come;
Let us depart. We will afterwards
With these resume our conference: but first
Let those pale quivering banners that display
The surreptitious keys, seized or dispersed,
Or burn'd, or trampled in the squalid filth,
Fall by our hands. We should first somewhat shake
The putrid aged trunk on which fraud leans;
Since it belongs to ages more remote
To eradicate it wholly.—Let us go.—
With joys my heart leaps up in thrusting thee
Against an open enemy, oh sword!
And only I regret, if thou disdain
To smite the back of hostile fugitives,
That thou must here return fasting from blood.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Guglielmo.
Gu.
He has a lofty soul; a soul too great
For tyranny. He doubtlessly will reign,
Except he fall a victim to our swords.
But reign, reign at thy pleasure; thou shalt be
Quickly resembling thy perfidious brother;
Crafty, flagitious, apprehensive, cruel;
In short, what ought to be, and is, who reigns.
Now light already thickens, and my son
Comes not to me; nor Salviati comes.
But of the Roman troops not yet in march
How could Lorenzo hear? This enterprise
Which we project is hard to execute;
And doubtful its success. But yet the rage,
The vengeance, temper'd with sagacity,
Of Raymond, reassure me.—Let me seek him ...

SCENE THE SIXTH.

Raymond, Salviati, Guglielmo.
Gu.
Oh! tell me in what posture are our hopes?

Ray.
Almost completed.

Sal.
Heaven, at length, smiles on us:
My hopes are more than realized.

Gu.
Far more
Than I was heretofore, ye find me ready,
And for an ample vengeance. Insolence!
Here Julian took upon himself erewhile
To covenant with me for our disgrace;
And afterwards Lorenzo joined his brother,
Threat'ning and arrogant. I spake to him
Now doubtful words, indignant now, now feign'd;
For the most part in servile tones disguised,
To tyrants so acceptable: they deem
No crime so dire as that of fearlessness.
I would not rouse suspicion in their souls;
They think me full of fear—But tell me how
The secret of the foreign armament
Hath thus in part transpired? Lorenzo seems,
'Tis true, to view it with consummate scorn,
And to account it th'ineffectual fruit
Of home-bred intrigues foster'd by ourselves.
Such confidence assists us; and though Julian
Hath intimated that he apprehends
Domestic discontents, he fancies not
The vengeance so inevitably near,
Or so alarming as it is. Ah say,
Is our success then certain? What assailant,
What arms, what means, where, when? ...

Ray.
Hear thou the whole.
Meanwhile with wonder be not stupified
At what Lorenzo knows. We artfully,
Their forces to divert, at first proclaim'd
The foe's approach. But in the vulgar ear
The arms of Rome exclusively resound.
“The holy Sixtus sends a little aid
“To rescue from their recent servitude
“The oppress'd Tuscan.”—The report behold,
In consequence of which I hoped, the tyrants
A scanty, but an open force expecting,
Would turn towards this alone their anxious thoughts;
And rightly I conjectured. To the camp,
At dawn of day, Lorenzo hastes to go;
But too inevitably will arise
That dawn for him, destined to be his last.
Both shall be slain to-morrow. I have chosen
A few, but stubborn both in hand and heart,
For the great enterprise. Anselmo, Albert,
Napoleon, and Bandini, and thy son.
Rinato vile, dishonouring our race,
Refused to be one of this noble band.

Gu.
Coward! and should he now betray us? ...

Ray.
Oh,
Could he imagine that! but, free from vice,
He has no virtue: speak of him no more.—
Ready for every signal, Anselm' keeps
His armed men; but wherefore they know not:
We shall commence th'attack at the same time
That he shall occupy the greater forum,
The palace; and the many avenues
Thitherward tending; thence the populace
Invite to freedom: we meanwhile shall join them ...

Gu.
But in one place t'inflict on them one death
Do you expect? Woe, if an interval,
E'en of one moment, 'twixt the blows elapse!

Ray.
Ere from these walls they issue to the camp,
At dawn of day, both to the church will go
T'implore Heaven's aid to their tyrannic arms:
There shall they both be slain.

Gu.
What do I hear?
In the house of God?

Sal.
Yes, in the house of God.
What victim can we offer to the skies
More welcome than an immolated tyrant?
Hath he not set th'example to defy
Men, laws, and nature, and high Heaven itself?

Gu.
Thou speakest truly; yet with human blood
To desecrate the altars ...

Sal.
Human blood,
The blood of tyrants? They on human blood
Who feed? And for such monsters shall there be
A sacred refuge? Turpitude be safe
There, where eternal justice has its throne?
Were they both wreathed around their Maker's image,
For this I would not sheathe my lifted sword.

Gu.
The people, who behold with other eyes
Actions like these, with thundering voice will call us
Irreverent, sacrilegious homicides.
This universal prejudice alone
Our enterprise may thwart, or wrest from us
All its advantages ...

Ray.
On th'other hand
This interval alone can serve our purpose:
There is no superfluity of time:
To-morrow they are sacrificed, or never.
That which is needful is t'ensure the blows;
Nor any place adapted to ensure them
Is there like this.—Considerest thou the people?
More than with anger, with astonishment
All innovation they are apt to view.
We will give orders, that, at the same moment
In which we draw our swords, the sacred roof
Shall echo with the anathemas of Rome.

Gu.
'Tis true, the name of Rome may do much here.
But which of us the honour shall obtain
Of the first blow? What post shall I fill up?
Wrath, impulse, courage, here alone suffice not.
Rather a will extravagantly warm
May injure here.—A cold ferocious valour,
A prompt and steady hand, a face unmoved,
A heart whose element is human blood,
A mute inflexibility of lip,
Men should have these who are tyrannicides.
A motion, nod, or look inopportune,
Nay, e'en a thought, may break the fatal charm,
The destined victim's confidence may thwart,
Time for the deed, the perpetrator's courage.

Ray.
We have ourselves arranged the first attack:
The first blow shall be mine: to quench their thirst
Then the less resolute shall venture forth,
Soon as the dastard tyrants on the earth,
Weltering in blood, praying for life, shall fall.
Father, the signal heard, if thou repair
Where stands Anselmo, thou wilt aid us much,
Far more than in the temple; from whose shelter,
Soon as the blow is hurl'd, we shall rush forth.
I grieve that I alone cannot at once
Both of them murder.—Oh! what saidst thou, father?
A prompt and steady hand? This very steel
Shall sooner fail than my right-hand and heart.

Gu.
Why emulating thee can I not strike?
'Tis true, too true, alas! that, weak with age,
My tremulous limbs to my untrembling heart
May give the lie. Thou art a light from Heaven
To dissipate my doubts: thou hast thought well:
For all hast well provided; and in vain
I speak. It pleases me that the first blows
Ye have awarded to yourselves alone.
How much I envy you! I only fear'd
Thou would'st refuse, with victims so impure,
To stain thy sacerdotal hand ...

Sal.
How ill
Thou knowest me! Behold my dagger; see it;
'Tis no less sacred than the hand that grasps it:
The holy Sixtus having bless'd it first,
To me consign'd it. Interchangeably
The same hand grasp'd the crosier and the sword:
T'extinguish tyrants, and their impious slaves,
The mighty God of battle arm'd himself,
The right-hand never fallible, and dire,
Of his anointed priests. These arms I grasp,
These consecrated, homicidal arms,
Shall hang one day an offering on these altars.
A fury more than human hath inflamed me:
And though I bring an arm unused to blood,
That heaven-descended fury, to the heart
Which I have chosen to pierce, shall guide my hand.

Gu.
And hast thou chosen then? ...

Sal.
Lorenzo.

Gu.
Ah!
The most ferocious?

Ray.
Though I had preferr'd
To slay the strongest, yet have I agreed
In this t'indulge him. Furthermore, I thought
That most assuredly the abject Julian
Would fence his cowardice in hidden mail;
Whence, as the enterprise most difficult,
Him I accepted. Thou shalt have Lorenzo;
The guilty Julian is my destined prey:
E'en now I grasp him: now within that breast,
Receptacle of treachery and fraud,
The sword I plunge up to the very hilt.
The signal to unsheathe, and to assault,
Will be the sacred moment, when, by hymns
Chaunted in whispers, from his high abode
The son of God mysteriously drawn down,
Enters the consecrated element.—
Now thou know'st all: as soon as thou shalt hear
The tolling of the saintly bell, rush forth;
And then remember, that our enterprise
Has been defeated, or is perfected.

Gu.
I will do all.—Let us now separate:—
Oh Night, thou last of slavery or life,
Hasten thy flagging and invidious course!—
Do thou meanwhile inflexibly, oh son,
Distrust Bianca: love doth often make
A woman's heart consummate in discernment.
And thou, oh Salviati, recollect,
That if thy first blow should be found abortive,
Lorenzo is not one to give thee time,
Or opportunity, to aim a second.