University of Virginia Library

ACT III.—

SCENE I.

A Dungeon in the Palace.
Diophanes in Chains.
At dead of night, an iron door unclosing, enter Theodora.
Theo.
Hasten, adored Diophanes! Those chains
We will unlink, and disappoint the poniard
That thirsts relentless for thy life! I fear
Death will be busy midst these walls anon!
And oh! a thought—an agonizing thought,
Which I have idly struggled to discard,
Is forc'd on me, as if by some bad spirit
Infusing ill! Yet can there breathe on earth
A monster so unearthly? But just now,
Our sovereign, to recruit his languid frame,
(The Brahman so advised and so averr'd,)
From Rayer's hands a sparkling goblet took,
And drank It seem'd a balmy draught. Serinda
Stood by, and—so I construed—scarce disguised
The pleasure of a fiend! I caught her eye's
Malicious twinkling. Oh! I dread the treachery
Of that smooth Brahman, whom (Serinda's minion)
The king too confidently trusts—“the friend,
The royal counsellor, the sage Physician!
Alas! Heaven pardon me, if I suspect—
The prisoner! Straight to Calou, (by whose aidance
I enter here,) I hinted my suspicion.—
But my lamp quivers almost to extinction.
Haste, haste away.

Dio.
My Theodora! listen!
Thy precious life for me hast thou abandoned!
I fear thou art betrayed and lost. Hark, hark!
Low muttering voices. Vainly would we fly!
The massy doors close heavily upon us:
The bolts roll back into their iron places.
But summon all thy fortitude, my fair one!
Angel of light! The fiends—they cannot hurt thee!

SCENE II.

Beliarte. Dionysius. Calou.
Bel.
Too true! The signet of thy pliant sovereign
Hath been abused indeed! But wiles and witchcraft
Possess my palace. Yet if loyalty,
If ancient faith, averse from usurpation,
Still linger in one being here, thy son
Is free.

Cal.
Enough, enough my royal master!
The fleeting night hath warn'd thee to retire
To thy accustom'd slumbers. Cares press hard—
Too hard upon thee; and thy reverend age
Is sunk in sorrow. Let my arm sustain thee.

SCENE III.

The King's Bedchamber.
Beliarte. Diophanes. Theodora.
Bel.
Come hither, O, my child!—I would fain say
My children! For a few short minutes loosed
From durance so unmerited, to attend
My dying admonitions, and to hear
The adieus of tried sincerity—the blessings
Of friendship, of a parent's love, I call'd you.
My honest chamberlain (to whom your thanks
For this brief respite from your prison bonds
Are due) hath power, hath a determined spirit
Which shall break forth ('tis now rein'd in discreetly)
To vanquish all your enemies. A tone
Is his, a majesty of speech, a grandeur
Of sentiment, a high commanding mien,
From which the conscious villain shrinks aghast.
But to your dungeon tho' sent back, and menac'd
With every torture of protracted death,
Be firm, my children! Your Almighty Parent
Shall from the lion's mouth deliver you,
If it seem meet to His unerring wisdom.
Rich from the canopy that long hath shaded
The royal progeny of Malayala,
The Christian ensign may shine out emblazon'd,
Ere many a moon shall wane: and you, my children,
Who droop afflicted now, may sit beneath it,
Sceptred in glory! To my swimming eyes
The vision of such glory opens, fresh
From Heaven's own penciling. I am cheer'd!
Yet life
Is ebbing fast away—I go, where circled
By cherubim among the just, rejoices
Thy mother—my Arisbe.

Theo.
O my father!
Well may I call thee by that hallow'd name!
For thou hast nurtured me with all the affection
That parents feel for their own helpless offspring!
And now, when I deserv'd thy stern reproof,
Compassion to our frailty pardons faults
Which had but little claim to thy forgiveness.
That Dionysius with thy partial favour
Was blest, I knew full well,—the Prelate's son
Hence I would fain look up to, for protection.
To listen to his vows I deem'd no crime.
But secret interviews are fraught with danger.
And—no—not once again, by thee unsanctioned
Would I have hailed Diophanes! O guardian
Of infant years, and more of riper age,
O more than parent, whither shall I turn
Amid a thousand perils? Whither fly?
I see thy feebleness. Thy tongue essays
To speak to me one word of consolation,
Alas! I fear in vain.

Bel.
Come hither, children!
O let my last grasp join you hand in hand;
And I shall die in peace—if peace there be
To him who feels, and hath long felt the sense
Of having err'd—of having much offended;
Yet cannot (weak, and every instant weaker)
Repair the offence—yet cannot by its fruits
Perfect repentance. Steady to my trust
I should have bid thee shun the sculptured caverns
Whose hideous monsters yawn'd to amaze thy childhood!
Oft to my soul I cried—oft—(whispering peace
Where was no peace) “Thou art with God, tho' here,
We in the sight of men do specious homage:
Whilst I bow down in Rimmon's house, the Lord
Pardon me in this thing!”—Alas! my sin
Was more than thrice the Assyrian's! Where I bow'd
I bade thee bow! To cowardice baser far
Than his, I added my poor child's seduction!
What though in secret I unceasing taught thee
All that was just and lovely, and pourtray'd
To Theodora's heart, “the Christian graces,”—
'Twas not enough. Still, hath my bosom throbb'd
With joy, as I beheld thee to the Cross
Attached, and cherishing with fond delight,
The memory of thy sainted mother. Still—
Still have I comfort in the hope, that he,
Thy destin'd husband—But I faulter! Oh
My strength is well nigh gone!—

(He with difficulty joins their hands, and falls back senseless.)
Dio.
My Theodora!
Faint not. Thy sorrows shall my tenderest grief
Assuage, and I will mix my tears with thine,
That shall embalm our monarch's dear remains!
And if sedition, with a threatening aspect,
Marshal its ranks awhile, a sure asylum
Shall hold thee; till I lead thee forth to love
And honour, bidding thy foes fly before thee:
Till we have reach'd at length the Christian summit
To which thy father's dying hopes aspir'd.

(They are borne off by the Guards to separate prisons.)