University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE FIRST.

Raymond, Bianca.
Ray.
What would'st thou now? retire to thy apartments:
Leave me; I shall return here instantly.

Bi.
And may I not go with thee?

Ray.
No.

Bi.
Ah, why? ...

Ray.
Thou canst not.

Bi.
Dost thou disregard me thus?
Oh dear departed days, where are ye gone?
Then from thy side thou didst not banish me;
Nor didst thou ever move but I moved with thee,
Blessing thy never solitary steps!
Wherefore do I displease thee? and in what
Have I offended thee? Thou fliest from me;
And, what is worse, thou drivest me from thy presence.
Ah, then, the sound of this my once-loved voice,
No longer reaches, much less penetrates,
Thy alienated heart! I will pursue thee,
If only at a distance ...

Ray.
But what fear'st thou?
Or what dost thou suspect? ...

Bi.
Thou know'st.

Ray.
I know
That thou lov'st me, that thee I also love;
Love thee far more than thou canst comprehend.
My lips divulge it not; but every gesture,
My looks, my countenance, my heart declare it.
Now, if I chase thee from me, or avoid thee,
I do it, since I wish to afflict thee less
With my calamities; ... what solace, say,
Canst thou give me?

Bi.
Cannot I weep with thee?

Ray.
To see thee waste away thy life in tears,
In useless tears, redoubles my affliction.
I fly from all society thou seest;
And to myself am burthensome.

Bi.
I see
Far more than this; too certainly I see
That thou mistrustest me.

Ray.
I tell thee not
All my misfortunes? ...

Bi.
Thy misfortunes, yes;
But not their remedies. With some great scheme
Thy heart is labouring: and thou deemest not
That thou should'st tell it me? Conceal it then.
I ask of thee alone to follow thee;
And thou refusest it? I may, perchance,
A little help, but never injure thee.

Ray.
What say'st thou? ... Nothing in my heart I hide ...
Except my rage, as useless as 'tis ancient.

Bi.
But yet this long uninterrupted night,
Which scarcely yet the rising dawn disperses,
How different, ah, how very different,
Was it to thee from all preceding nights!
Not one brief moment did calm sleep descend
Upon thy weary eyes. Thou closed'st them
To deceive me the better; but the thick,
And frequent pantings of thy breast; thy sighs
Suppress'd by force; thy face alternately
Inflamed with fire, or bathed in hues of death; ...
All I observed, yes, all; for love watch'd with me:
I'm not deceived: in vain thou would'st conceal ...

Ray.
And vainly dost thou rave.—Above my head,
'Tis true, that genial and profound repose
Spread not its wings; but this oft happens to me.
And who the blessedness of sleep enjoys
Where tyrants dwell? Eternally on high,
Above the head of slaves, a naked sword
Hangs by a slender thread. Save idiots, here
No other men repose.

Bi.
What wilt thou say
Of thy so sudden starting from thy pillow?
Is this thy wonted hour? The shades of night
Were undiminish'd yet, when thou already
Hadst leap'd abruptly from thy bed, like one
Whom unaccustom'd care consumes. Towards me
Did not I see thee afterwards direct,
Sighing, thy humid eyes? and scarcely risen,
Thy children one by one embrace? embrace!
Nay, rather to thy breast a thousand times
Glue them, devouring them with eager kisses;
Convulsed with agony, did not I see thee,
With copious torrent of paternal tears,
Their little breasts and faces inundate?
Thou erewhile so ferocious? Thou, a man
Whose eyes are never visited by tears?
Shall I see these things, and not apprehend
That something vast and ominous lies hid
In the recesses of thy labouring heart?

Ray.
... I wept?

Bi.
And thou deniest it?

Ray.
I wept? ...

Bi.
With undropt tears thine eyes are humid still.
If in this breast thou shedd'st them not, ah where? ...

Ray.
Feel, feel, these eyes are dry; ... no tears are there ...
And if erewhile I wept ... I wept the fate
Of the poor children of an outraged father.
Must I incessantly not weep their birth,
And their existence? Wretched little ones!
What fate in this long death, which we call life,
Awaits you! To increase your infamy,
Ye are at once the tyrants' slaves and nephews ...
I ne'er embrace you but I weep for this ...
These pledges of our love, let them be dear
To thee, oh consort; since I, with a love,
Love them too different from thy love; and now
Too different from these corrupted times.
Yet, notwithstanding, weep their destiny; ...
And, to their father, take especial heed
They be not like, if it can comfort thee
Rather to bring them up to servitude,
Than to the practice or the love of virtue.

Bi.
Oh Heaven! ... what words! ... my sons! ... alas! ... In danger?

Ray.
If peril rises, I confide them to thee.
Do thou withdraw them from the tyrants' rage
Should it be ever needful.

Bi.
Woe is me!
Now I perceive, I understand, and now
Am certain. Art thou come, oh fatal day?
Now is the mighty enterprise mature:
Thou wouldest change the state.

Ray.
... And if I would,
Have I sufficient strength for such a deed?
I would perchance accomplish it; but oh,
These are the visions of a maniac ...

Bi.
Ah! ill thou feignest: those beloved lips
Are not accustom'd to deceive thy consort.
That thou dost undertake a mighty task
My terror tells me; and those various,
Tremendous workings of thy countenance,
That in a crowd in quick succession throng,
Despairing agony, compassion, rage,
Hatred, revenge, and love. Ah, by those children,
Which thou, spite of thyself, dost so much love;
Not by myself, oh no! for I am nothing;
And by thy eldest child, our growing hope,
Our mutual precious hope, I do conjure thee,
At least, in part, reveal to me thy thoughts!
Only convince me thou'rt exempt from danger,
And I am pacified: if 'tis not so,
Suffer me at thy side. Ah! how ought I
To save thy children, if I do not know
What peril threatens them? I fall, I fall,
Prostrate before thee: I will never rise
Till thou dost speak. If thou mistrustest me,
Slay me at once; if, on the other hand,
Thou dost confide in me, why art thou silent?
I am thy wife, and nothing else: ah speak.

Ray.
... Lady, ... oh rise! Thy terror represents
Dangers to thy affrighted phantasy,
At present far removed. Arise, return;
Continue with thy children: I to them
Will also come ere long: leave me.

Bi.
Ah no! ...

Ray.
Leave me; 'tis my command.

Bi.
Abandon thee?
Ah! rather kill me: by no other means
Shall this fond grasp be loosen'd ...

Ray.
Cease.

Bi.
Oh Heaven!

Ray.
Desist; or I ...

Bi.
I will pursue thy steps.

Ray.
Ah wretched me! Behold my father here!
Behold my father.