University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A Colonnade in Rome.
Enter Matilda and Damianus.
Mat.
You falter—your lip quivers—and methinks
'T is not the first time you have verged on this,
And found no resolution shape your speech!
But why leave Rome? why separate yourself
From Gregory's confidence, to brood alone
Within some distant monastery's cell?

Dami.
I do grow old and care-worn, noble lady,
And weak of health.

Mat.
Sure, 't is not envious spleen
At the o'erwhelming glory of the change
Wrought by one man, while thou art left behind
At bottom of the hill, round which of yore
Ye both paced side by side, gazing towards heaven.

Dami.
Ah, no! I would but seek that state once more.
The pleasant, peaceful, bird-awakened days
Of learned solitude; the deep-mossed groves
In Clugny, where together we oft read
The words of earth's great patriarchs, and the lore
Of many a clime, were to my satisfied heart
More natural far than bickering crowns of power.
I, therefore, crave your influence with the Pontiff,
For prompt permission to depart.

Mat.
What need
Of influence, good father?

Dami.
Pray you, grant it,
And question me no deeper.

Mat.
You have some enmity, some secret fear,
At bottom of this wish.

Dami.
(wildly).
I do confess it!
My life long since hath been made up of fear,
Which all my thoughts and feelings rush to feed,
Turning my nature thus against myself.
Question me not; I dare not utter more;
But gain permission that I may depart—
And be you ever blessed!

[Exit.
Mat.
This is most strange!
Oft have I marked a deep awe trench his face,
And fill his cheek with shadows, while he gazed
On Gregory. I deemed 'twas reverence
For those all-subjugating qualities:
But now he stammers and shakes with fear aghast,
As though a phantom should step through the wall,
Or rise up from the earth beneath his feet,
And take him by the hair! Why, why is this?
A worthy, learned, close-conforming monk,
And high in confidence, might well expect
Preferment; yet, with shuddering tones he sues
To hide his days in some far monastery!
Gregory appals his thought: they 're oft alone;
And Damianus knows his deep designs—
Has always known them—and, perchance, could tell
Of deeds whose face would blacken in the light.
Where will this lead me! to what dreadful doubts?
My full-branched faith in Gregory hath been shaken,
And I have lost the fruit of all my life.
What if this being, whom I 've ever held
The paragon of all that 's great in nature,
Turn out half devil in that secret soul
Which lurks beneath man's human secrecy,
And feeds itself on humours all corrupt,
That burst in action? Dreadful, blighting thought!
Ye monstrous phantasies! ye unknown crimes!
Ye images, whose vague limbs alternate
Substance and shade, yet in your passage o'er
Imagination's deep-stained, troublous pool,
Shed germs that, as they fall, shriek into life!
Bloody realities and harsh facts of earth,
That startle us like spectres, being so plain,
But never deemed so near!—fade, fade away
From my confused and aching brain, or cease
To follow on my flight! Oh, let me think ye
The haunting shapes of mine own wickedness,
Or the sad fancies forced upon my heart
By Godfrey's cruel taunts! Would he were here!
I grieve, I weep that we are thus estranged.

[Exit.
[Voices outside.
Enter a Rabble, and Officers with Centius.
Cen.
Shout, blindfold energies! ye would rather howl,
Could ye but understand that your own cause
Falls with your champion.

[Rabble shout.
Offi.
Forward to banishment!

Cen.
Ay, banishment! Ye hear that? shout again!
Why are ye silent? Am I not the man
Who, for the popular welfare and defence,
Cast his patrician rank into the scale;
His wealth, his reputation, heart, and hope;
And poised his life o'er peril? Why are ye mute?
Have I not failed in all? Where are your taunts?

Offi.
On, towards the northern gates!

Voices.
Return! return!

Cen.
True sympathy is pitched too high for scorn,
And pity smiles on man's ingratitude.
I will return as with a meteor's speed,
When opportunity shakes hands with hope!

[Exeunt clamorously.