University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—A PRISON.
MAJONE, SICARDI.
SICARDI.
Most fortunate prevention! had Verino
Once gained admittance to the troubled King,
His grief, his age, and proofs of service past,
Might have destroyed our hopes, and cancelled all
The King's suspicions on the guilt of Raymond!

MAJONE.
It might Sicardi; had not my precaution
Rendered such interview impossible.
O had you seen the proud old man repulsed
Grief, disappointment, anger, and despair
Convulsed his shattered frame.—Homeward at length
His servants bore him, overwhelm'd with rage,
And wanting power to threaten, or complain:
Soon as reviving nature gives him strength,
Hither I know he'll hasten to his son,

SICARDI.
Would you then meet him here?

MAJONE.
He shall not find me;
I came to place—but be it now thy care!
Find me some trusty soldier, who may watch
The son and father when they next shall meet,
And bring me instant tidings of their purpose.

SICARDI.
I fly, my Lord, to execute your wish.

MAJONE.
Stay, my Sicardi! I would have a letter
Despatched to Raymond from a friend unknown,
To heighten still their fear, and further urge them
To deeds of desperation—

SICARDI.
I, my Lord,
Live but to aid your great designs.

MAJONE.
My friend,
Prepare to reap, with me, the golden fruit!
Yet is our plan imperfect, till our arts
Can lead the King, by glaring marks of guilt,
To order Raymond to immediate death.

SICARDI.
And sudden it must be; suspicion else
May fire the troops, who worship as their idols
Verino, and his son.

MAJONE.
Thou sayst, Sicardi
Raymond oft quitted the expiring prince—

SICARDI.
Yes, my dear Lord, unable to support
That scene of agony, and pressed, I think,
To leave the chamber, by the calm Uberto,
Who wished not such a witness of the scene.

MAJONE.
The priest did wisely—

SICARDI.
Yet perchance, my Lord,
Raymond was present at the latest pang;
For oft he would return, and oft retire
Unable to assist the shrieking youth,
Before whose final moment, my quick zeal
Had brought me to your lordship.

MAJONE.
'Tis no matter;
His frequent absence from the dying boy
Will answer my design:—Canst thou not forge
A scroll, short, incoherent, and confused?
Broken by pain, and dictated in death?
Such from the Prince?—but haste, my good Sicardi,
Dispose our sentinel, and meet thy friend
Where more securely we may join our counsels;
And, like the unseen spirits of destruction,
From thickest clouds send forth our secret shafts,
Strike our blind foes, and triumph in their fall.

SCENE II.

RAYMOND,
(entering)
Amid the tumults of tempestuous life,
Tho' strange events confound the wond'ring mind,
Thou, virtue, art unmoved! How should I joy
To quit this troubled scene, but that thy voice
Forbids the thought, and whispers to my soul
Its task is unperformed! O thou blest spirit!
Thou murdered friend, whose blood is charged on him
Who would have bought thy being with his own!
Support, inspire me, and instruct thy Raymond
How best to satisfy thy injured shade!

(Raymond retires to the farther part of the Stage.)

SCENE III.

VERINO.
(entering)
Is this a mansion for Verino's son?
And menaced with the rack!—hold, reason, hold!

SCENE IV.

VERINO, RAYMOND,
RAYMOND,
(coming forward.)
My noble father, welcome to thy son!
Still have I from my earliest years enjoyed
Thy tenderest care, and still my grateful soul
Has sought thy praise, and gloried in thy love.

VERINO.
Thou hast, my Raymond, thou excelling youth!
Joy of thy old fond father! but, alas!
I come not now, as in our happier days,
To pour a warrior's spirit in thy breast,
To fire thy soul, and point the way to fame:
I come, my child, the messenger of horror!

RAYMOND.
O speak, my Lord! whatever fate be mine,
'Twill yet be pleasure to a mind oppressed
To learn that fate from you.

VERINO.
Couldst thou believe,
The King rejects me!—has refused to see
The loyal servant, who, with truth unshaken,
Thro' the long course of no inglorious life,
Has fought his battles, and upheld his power.
He has denied me, what a slave might challenge,
The privilege to speak, and dooms my child
To infamy and torture.

RAYMOND.
Then no more
Must Raymond hope to see his Prince revenged.

VERINO.
I still have friends, have honest valiant friends,
Who yet shall save us from that scene of horror:
The generous spirits, who at my command
Have rushed to conquest, will defend that virtue
Which led them on to glory! They will join
In brave resentment with an injured father.

RAYMOND.
O! let me die in agonies more fierce
Than nature e'er endured, rather than lead
My honored father to forget his duty;
To stain the glories of a life well spent,
And perish in rebellion!

VERINO.
Not preserve thee!
Not save thee from the rack! am I a father?
Can I be deaf to nature, when she bids me
Obey her strongest law, and haste to guard
My darling child from ignominious death?
From that ungrateful, that unworthy King.—

RAYMOND.
He was a father too: and mourns a child,
Whose virtues charmed the world—perhaps already
He has condemned his own too easy faith,
Which wronged your son: ere now perhaps he seeks
To sooth his sorrows with your faithful counsel,
And calls for comfort on his friend Verino!

Enter an OFFICER.
OFFICER.
I have engaged at hazard of my life,
To give this letter to Lord Raymond's hand!

(Exit.
VERINO.
What means, my Raymond, this mysterious paper?

RAYMOND
reads
The King, misguided by thy bitterest foes,
Believes thee guilty; and resolves by torture
To force thee to confession: still they fear,
Lest the wronged army should demand its idol:
Hence 'tis decreed securely in thy prison,
This night to execute their horrid purpose.
If yet thou canst, regard this friendly warning,
And fly to join a numerous band, who wait thee
With anxious ardor, and a fixed resolve
To guard thy life, or perish in thy cause!

VERINO.
Wilt thou not listen to the noble call
Of generous friendship? not attempt to fly
From death, from shame, from torture?

RAYMOND.
No! my Father:
If I must die; I doubt not but hereafter,
Time, who ne'er fails, tho' slow, to draw the veil
From truth's bright image, will inform the world,
And do full justice to my injured honor.

VERINO.
And shall these eyes, that have beheld thy triumphs,
That from thy childhood to this fatal hour
Have gazed with transport on thee, shall they see
Thy graceful form with agony distorted,
And lost in blood and horror?—
Perhaps, my Raymond, when convulsive anguish
Writhes thy torn limbs, and nature sinks beneath it,
Perhaps thy lips may speak—thou knowst not what—

RAYMOND.
If to ourselves our strength be known, my mind
Is proof 'gainst every pang: But thou, my father,
Thou shalt not suffer, not a moment suffer
A fear so deadly to a a heart like thine:
No! take my dagger, and by one kind blow
Anticipate, elude the shameful sentence!
So thou shalt 'scape the horrid scene, whose image
Thus harrows up thy soul; so shall thy son,
Unlike a criminal, and worthy thee,
Yield his last breath with pleasure in thy sight,
And bless the hand, that saves him from disgrace.

VERINO.
By Heaven 'tis well:—thy spirit has awaked
New powers within my soul: Yes! noble youth!
Since cruel destiny alike denies thee
To live with honor, or with brave revenge
To fall, as suits a soldier, in the field,
I will defeat the malice of our foes;
I will, tho' nature shudders at the thought,
I will preserve thee from—

RAYMOND.
Behold my breast.

VERINO.
And can this arm, that in thy tender years
So oft, with exquisite delight has borne thee,
Proud of its little charge—can it forget,
That heaven ordained it to protect thy being,
Not shed thy blood!—what would thy mother say,
Had death not saved her from this dreadful hour?

RAYMOND.
O she could never, never poorly wish
Her son should linger out a few sad moments
To die dishonoured.

VERINO.
No! thou shalt not be so—
Be firm my heart! be firm!

RAYMOND.
Strike! strike, my Father!

VERINO.
'Tis but a blow, and thou art placed beyond
The grasp of power!

RAYMOND.
Complete thy generous purpose!

VERINO.
I will, I will—O Heaven! and has the grave—
Stay, blessed spirit!—yet a moment stay!—
Gone! Vanished!—O!—

RAYMOND.
What would my father? speak!
Whence is this wild amazement in thine eyes!
This perturbation!—

VERINO.
Sawst thou not thy mother?
Her troubled spirit shot in anger by!

RAYMOND.
Believe me, sir, 'tis idle mockery all!
The mere creation of a mind disordered!

VERINO.
It may, it must be so:—but the sad image
Has withered all my little strength:—This hand,
This faltering hand, as soon could force a passage
To the dark centre of the earth—as wound
The bosom of my child.

RAYMOND.
Then let me aid
That failing arm, unequal to thy soul;
Give me the dagger!

VERINO.
Though my heart be frozen,
I will deliver thee. Not shed thy blood,
I cannot that—nor see my slaughtered boy
Expiring at my feet: yet I will free thee—
A friendly poison—aye—without a pang!

RAYMOND.
I will receive it as the dearest gift
Of a kind father's love.

VERINO.
Farewell! farewell!
No racks—no tortures—no disgraceful death—
No—our inhuman foes—they shall not triumph—
Pride of my soul! they shall not—no my child,
I fly to set thee free—Farewell for ever.

(Exit.

SCENE V.

RAYMOND,
alone.
Yes! thou sure end of sorrow! friendly refuge
From persecution, tyranny, and pain!
I will embrace thee, death! will eager rush
To thy protecting shade, since hope no more
Can give to fading life those flattering colours,
Which please, tho' false, and cheat us into joy.
My dreams are vanished, my delusive dreams
Of future years! all pregnant with delight,
And sweet connubial love! for I must leave thee,
Leave thee defenceless in this world of trouble,
Thou lovely partner of my faithful heart!
Yet ere my lingering soul is severed from thee,
I fain would press thee with a dying hand,
Leave on thy lips one parting kiss, and yield
My latest breath in fervent prayers, that Heaven
May sooth the sufferings of my loved Eudora.

SCENE VI.

RAYMOND, EUDORA.
EUDORA,
entering.
My Lord! my husband! take me to thy arms,
And let us part no more! but let me still
Thro' every fortune be thy dear companion!
Now, as I entered here, I thought I heard,
Or love deceived me with a fancied sound,
Thy lips pronounce my name.

RAYMOND.
Thou heardst aright,
Thou, ever present to my constant mind!
Tho' deepest horrors, shame, and death, and anguish
Press me on every side, still is thy image
First in my thoughts, and nearest to my soul.
I wish to tell thee,—but, by Heaven, I cannot—
How shall I teach my tongue to wound thine ear
With such a tale?

EUDORA.
What! has infernal falsehood
Reached thy dear life?

RAYMOND.
Thy fears too well inform thee:
Yes! I must die—if, ye almighty powers,
If ye regard the prayer, the righteous prayer
Of innocence oppressed, O hear me now!
For every ill which you have heaped on me,
Pour down a blessing on this beauteous head,
Let not affliction—

EUDORA.
Think, yet think my Lord,
Canst thou not 'scape from these detested walls?
Canst thou not fly unseen? O I will follow thee
Thro' every peril, to the utmost verge
Of this wide earth; to some far happier clime,
Unstained by falsehood, and to guilt unknown.

RAYMOND.
Vain is thy matchless tenderness and love:
O! I must tell thee all—my open soul
Can never hide a single thought from thee,
But summon all thy fortitude, I pray thee,
And hear it like thyself! E'en now, my father
Distracted told me, that the king misled,
Dooms me to death—'tis said, that in my prison
This night, the rack—

EUDORA.
O tyranny accurst!
Distraction! horror! what thy limbs be torn!
Thou, thou endure the torture!

RAYMOND.
Never, never!
Banish the dreadful image from thy fancy.
We are prepared against it.

EUDORA.
Tell me Raymond!

A SERVANT,
entering.
My Lord Verino sends—

RAYMOND.
Enough! my friend,
I know thy message: give me what thou bring'st,
And say in answer to my noble father,
I bless him for a thousand proofs of kindness,
But chiefly for the last.

(Exit Servant.
EUDORA.
O speak, my Raymond,
Explain these horrid mysteries, while yet
My reason holds, and I have sense to hear thee!

RAYMOND.
Compose this wild emotion of thy soul!
Thou shalt not see me sunk to the condition
Of vilest criminals, and made a prey
To the stern ministers of blood and torture:
My father's love has armed me well against them;
I wait, Eudora, but to take a long,
A last farewell of thee, and then my soul,
Enfranchised by this friendly drug, shall soar
Beyond oppression, and elude its power.

EUDORA.
Must thou destroy thyself? think what it is
To die unbidden! to throw off obedience,
And in defiance of divine command,
Rush to the presence of offended Heaven!
Thus humbly on my knees let me entreat thee
To weigh the rash design!

RAYMOND.
Can my Eudora
Be thus unmindful of her husband's honor?
Can she, with tears, entreat him to preserve
A few sad moments of precarious life
To die disgraced, in agony and shame!

EUDORA.
O witness, Heaven! that I have ever prized
Thy honor as thy life!—they both may yet

RAYMOND.
Thy grief, my love, o'erwhelms thy troubled reason:
Life stands no longer in thy husband's choice:
I die to shun dishonorable death;
The rack's prepared—no power—

EUDORA.
Yes, Raymond, yes!
There is a power: that all-protecting hand,
Which oft has saved thee in the rage of battle,
And turned the uplifted falchion from thy head,
May still preserve thee. I conjure thee, do not
Resign that hope! do not, by blindly yielding
To fierce despair, distract thy wretched wife,
Forsake thy children; and distrust thy God!

RAYMOND.
I must not hear thee, for thy pleasing voice
Has known so long the passage to my soul,
That it may steal on my unguarded reason,
And lead me to forget the call of honor,
The expectations of a generous father.
He saw me doomed to infamy and torture,
And sends me freedom; shall he hear that I,
In weak compliance with a woman's tears,
Dare not embrace the remedy he gives?
Shall he despise me for an abject coward?
Despise the son, whom yet he fondly thinks
Firm like himself, and resolutely brave!

EUDORA.
O Raymond, say! what is it to be brave?
'Tis, to maintain the glorious cause of truth;
To fear not man; but, strong in conscious virtue,
And the protection of approving Heaven,
To stand unshaken in the sternest hour
That puts to proof the temper of his soul.

RAYMOND.
By Heaven, thy words have changed my every sense,
And thou appearst to my enlightened eyes
A guardian angel, speaking with a voice
Of eloquence divine; inspired by thee,
And surely thou art virtue's self, my soul
Shall quit its hasty purpose—Thou hast armed me
With nobler courage—I can now despise,
And calmly meet the terrors of my fate.

EUDORA.
O blessed change! illusion now has left
Thy noble mind; thou art thyself again:
Some Heavenly spirit checks my rising fears,
And whispers to me, we shall yet be happy:
But let me haste, nor lose these precious moments;
I'll force admittance to our royal master,
Will set thy innocence, thy worth before him,
And visit thee again with life and honor!
Exit Eudora.