University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Guglielmo, Raymond.
Ray.
To suffer, always suffer? oh my father,
Is this the only counsel thou canst give me?
Art thou become so thoroughly a slave,
That thou no longer feel'st the heavy wrongs,
The insults of the Medicean yoke?

Gu.
Oh, son, I feel all keenly; and far more
I feel the public than my private wrongs.
But yet what should I do? To such a pitch
Florence by party-spirit is reduced,
That the most inoffensive word may be
Fatal to us, propitious to our tyrants.
Oh infirm state! it is too evident,
That thou canst now change only for the worse.

Ray.
Ah! tell me where is now the state? Or how,
If there be one, it can be worse? Can we
Be said to live? Live those, who full of fear,
Who abject, and suspicious, drag along
Their infamous and pining days? To us
What injury can arise? That in the place
Of shameful and inefficacious tears,
Blood should perchance be shed? And what? Dost thou
Call shedding blood the greatest injury?
Thou, that, a thousand times, with noble joy,
To me, a child, the ancient times recalledst,
And execratedst these degenerate days;
Thou now like every vulgar recreant here,
Submittest to the yoke thy passive neck?

Gu.
There was a time, I seek not to deny it,
When, urged by intolerance of our many wrongs,
And full of anger, and elastic spirits,
I would have sacrificed, without a thought,
My wealth, my honours, and my life, to crush
The usurpation of new tyrants, raised
On our misfortunes: to the fire of youth
All things seem easy; so they seemed to me.
But finding to my great designs few friends,
And those few friends of wavering constancy;
Beholding every year that tyranny
Struck deeper roots in this impoverished soil;
And lastly being a father; all induced me,
To safer, but less elevated schemes,
To turn my thoughts. The tyrants would have found
In me a weak, and ineffectual foe:
Hence sought I their alliance. I bestow'd
On thee their sister's hand. Since we no more
Flourish'd beneath the shade of liberty;
I hence would see thee, and thy future son
Placed in the covert of the plumes, at least,
Of tyranny's audacious, spreading wings.

Ray.
Protection infamous, and insecure.
Bianca, although sister of the tyrants,
Is thence not insupportable to me:
Her, and the sons which she to me has given,
Though nephews of the tyrants, I hold dear.
My blameless wife I blame not for her brothers;
Thyself I blame alone, in having mix'd
Their blood with ours, oh father. In this act
I would not thwart thy purpose: but at last
Thou seest the fruits of such servility:
By this alliance thou didst hope to reap
Honour and influence; and we thence have reap'd
Contempt, disparagement, and infamy.
The citizens abhor us, and with reason;
We are the tyrants' kinsmen; thence have they
Exchanged their hatred towards us for contempt;
And we, who were not citizens, deserve it.—

Gu.
Thou hadst found me, in other climes, oh son,
A spur to illustrious deeds, and not a check.
What it has cost my not ignoble heart
To smother indignation, and to feign
An insincere attachment, thou thyself
Canst best conceive. E'en from thy infancy
I have, 'tis true, discover'd in thy heart
The seeds of irritable independence:
At first, I must confess, I saw with joy
This bias of thy soul; but far more oft
I inwardly regretted, when in thee
I contemplated afterwards a soul
Too free and lofty. Thence it seem'd to me
That the consummate sweetness of Bianca
Was not ill qualified to mitigate
Thy perilous impetuosity.
At length thou wert a father; and art still so,
As I am to my sorrow ... Ah! that I
Had never been so! Then at once with her,
And for her, had my country seen me die.

Ray.
And dared'st thou make me a father, where
To be a father, is to be a slave?

Gu.
Ah then at least our servitude was doubtful.

Ray.
Our infamy indeed was less confirm'd ...

Gu.
'Tis true; I hoped, since to our common wrongs,
All remedies were fruitless and too late,
That thou might'st pass thy days in quietness,
Blest in a father's and a husband's feelings ...

Ray.
But, e'en though I were sprung from other blood,
Can any being tranquilly enjoy
Domestic transports in a place like this?
I was not, no, assuredly to these
Vain trappings of vain magistracy, born,
Which make him seem the first who is the last.
For this perchance the tyrants have to-day
Assay'd to take them from me: trappings these,
So much the more disgraceful, as they are
The cloak of simulated liberty.
'Twas infamous to invest me with them; now
'Twill be as infamous to rob me of them:
Oh, cursed destiny!

Gu.
Report of this
Is spread; it even reached my ears; but I
Cannot believe it, no ...

Ray.
Why not believe it?
Have not they shewn us more offensive insults?
Possessions seized, dost thou no more remember,
Our statutes changed, alone to aim at us?
Since we ignobly made ourselves their kinsmen,
We've always been more exquisitely injured.

Gu.
Hear me, oh son: and to my hoary age,
My long experience, trust. The just disdain
Which in the deep recesses of my heart
I also cherish, with rash impotence
Exhaust not thou: we yet awhile may bear:
I ne'er can think that they would take from thee
A dignity conferr'd, whate'er it be.—
But yet, should they all bounds of sufferance pass,
Be silent thou: full oft revengeful words
Defeat revengeful deeds. A lofty silence
Is the precursor of a lofty vengeance.
The courteous carriage of the tyrants towards us
Gives thee a precedent for valid hate.
Meanwhile, oh son, I would alone exhort,
And teach thee, to endure ... Nor afterwards,
Shall I disdain, if one day it be needful,
To learn from thee how to direct the blow.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Raymond.
... I dare not trust in him ... Let Salviati
First to these shores return.—My father
Discovers nothing of my purposes:
He knows not that to-day it pleases me
Rather to exasperate than appease these tyrants.—
Ah father! would'st thou fain now be to me
A master of endurance? Art thou he,
Than whom thy country formerly had not
A more intrepid champion? How propense,
Gelid old-age, art thou to servitude!—
Ah! if nought else by length of years is learn'd,
But how to tremble, to obey, to endure,
In silence to endure; rather than learn
Such abject arts, I chuse the bitterest death.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Bianca, Raymond.
Bi.
Consort, at last I find thee. Ah, with whom
Would'st thou be, if thou fliest e'en from me?

Ray.
Here, with my father, I at length conversed
A short time since: but I have not thence gain'd
Alleviation to my wrongs.

Bi.
He is,
Though good in all things else, the best of fathers:
He fears not for himself; but all his fears
Are for his children roused. The generous old man
Smothers, for us, the anger in his breast.
Believe not, no, that valour is exhausted,
Or intrepidity in him subdued:
Ah! suffer then that I repeat it to thee;
He is the best of fathers.

Ray.
Oh! perchance,
Thou would'st insinuate that I am not like him?
Thou know'st if nothing else avail'd, thy prayers
Were ever potent to restrain my wrath;
Thy prayers alone, Bianca, thy chaste love,
And thy maternal tears. I esteemed thee
Companion sweet, not sister of my foes ...
But, does it seem to thee, to-day, that still
I ought to hold my peace? To-day, decreed
To see my forfeiture without pretext
Of this my popular dignity? When we
Are doomed as fugitives to quit this dwelling,
Asylum sacred once to public freedom?

Bi.
Powerful they are; what boots it then with words
To exasperate those who answer not, and act?
Thy silence, better far than menaces,
Might now appease them.

Ray.
And would I appease them? ...
—But to appease them nothing now avails ...

Bi.
Nothing? ... Of one blood am not I with them? ...

Ray.
I know it; and I grieve for it; be silent;
Recall it not to mind.

Bi.
And what? For this,
Art thou, or hast thou been, less dear to me?
Am not I ready, if to endure their sway
Is irksome to thee, wheresoe'er thou wilt
To follow thee? or if thy haughty soul
Scorn'd not to have in me a means of peace,
Am I less ready for thyself to speak,
To weep, to pray, and even, if I ought,
By dint of force to make my brothers yield?

Ray.
To pray for me? and whom to pray to? tyrants?—
Canst thou intend it, lady? and canst thou
Expect that I permit it?

Bi.
Riches, power,
Arms, partizans, hast thou, whence openly
Thou canst make head against them? ...

Ray.
In my breast
A hate I cherish, equal to their hate;
Courage superior far.

Bi.
Alas! what say'st thou?
Would'st thou perchance attempt? ... Ah! thou may'st lose
Father, and consort, children, honour, life ...
And what canst thou acquire? Within thy heart
The flattering expectation cherish not:
No genuine wish in this vile people lives
For pristine austere liberty: from me
Trust this assertion. Trust to me. I, born,
And in the lap of nascent tyranny
Brought up, all its dependencies I know.
Tools thou wilt find by thousands and by thousands,
In their discourse ferocious, in their deeds
Contemptible, in time of danger nothing,
Or skilful only in betraying thee.
I am not so unnatural and cruel
That I abhor my brothers; yet far less
Have they been loved by me, since I have seen
Their arrogance towards thee; that arrogance
Galls my afflicted spirit. If I am
Compell'd by thee to make the fatal choice
'Twixt thee and them, by thee I am a mother,
Thy wife am I, thou art oppress'd, ... I cannot,
Nor ought I hesitate. But thou, awhile,
Do thou resolve on nothing: the enterprize
To make thee, if not happy, safe at least,
Leave it to me; let me at least attempt it.
Or do I not perchance yet fully know
How I, the consort of a citizen,
Ought to address a tyrant? Yet perchance
Do I not know how far I may unite
To not invalid reasons, lofty prayers?
Mother, wife, sister, am I not? In whom,
If not in me, canst thou confide?

Ray.
Oh heaven!
Lady, thy words afflict me. Peace would I
Also obtain; but not with infamy.
What to thy brothers could'st thou say for me?
That I deserve not insult? Well they know it;
Hence they insult me: that I brook not wrongs?
Why make that known which only from my lips
They ought to know?

Bi.
Ah! ... if to them thou speakest ...
Alas! ...

Ray.
What fear'st thou? True it is, that I
Can never change my soul: but, if I will,
I can be silent. Thou, beloved Bianca,
Thou, and my sons, are always in my thoughts:
Impetuous, intolerant, audacious,
If I was born, yet not on this account
Do I let slip a word by accident:
Compose thyself; I also wish for peace.

Bi.
Yet from thy countenace do I infer
Thy heart is shaken by a frightful storm ...
In thee I see no forerunners of peace.

Ray.
I am not joyful; but in me suspect not
Cruel designs.

Bi.
I fear; yet know not why.

Ray.
Because thou lovest me.

Bi.
Oh heaven! ... and with
What love! ... Ah! that the path to real fame
Were opened to thee now! ... But we are doom'd
To drag out life in a corrupted age.
Submission is our glory; and self-love
Our only virtue. What would'st thou effect?
One man could not regenerate a people,
And coadjutors here thou wilt not find.

Ray.
Hence I pine inwardly, and hence ... am silent.

Bi.
Ah come, and let us elsewhere turn our steps:
My brothers sometimes place their judgment-seat
In these apartments.

Ray.
This is the retreat,
I know, in which to lying praise their ears
They open, and their bosoms close to pity.

Bi.
Come then with me; and mingle with the poison
That subtly creeps through every throbbing vein,
Some soothing balsam. Thou hast not to-day
Embraced our children yet. Ah come, I pray thee:
And with their innocent and silent kisses
Let them, far better than I can with words,
Remind thee that thou art a father still.

Ray.
Ah, could I, as to-day I recollect
The name of father, that of man forget!—
But, let us now depart.—Thou shalt have proof
Whether my children are beloved by me.—
Ah, thou know'st not, (and may'st thou never know)
To what extremities his children drive
A real father; how he may be goaded
To their destruction by o'erweening fondness.