University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—The Garden of the Castle.
Enter Procida and Fernando.
Fern.
Now, sir, your will with me?

Pro.
That's right! I am glad
Thou darest not call me father! 'Tis a sign
Thou hast a sense of shame, and that's a virtue,
Although a poor one, fitter far to weep at
Than smile at. You have done your father's will?
You are ready for that oath?

Fern.
I'll not deny
My disobedience, sir.

Pro.
You'll not deny?
You can't!—You have married her! Yet, if my son,
Though in the one engagement thou hast fail'd,
Thou, yet, wilt keep the other.

Fern.
Take that oath?
I cannot now!

Pro.
You can!—You ought!—You shall!

Fern.
I am a man, sir!

Pro.
Ay? What kind of one?

Fern.
May be a weak one; yet I dare abide
The issue of my weakness, and I will.
Not breaking trust with those, it has misled
To knit their fates to mine.

Pro.
You call this manhood?
Ay, in a man not worth the name of one!
How darest thou prate of keeping trust to me,
With whom thou hast so vilely broken trust?
So lately, too! Thou promisedst yesterday
To bring me back my son to me! Where is he, sir?
Why must I come to seek him, and, instead,
Behold a recreant!

Fern.
Better, sir, we part,
Than hold discourse on terms unequal thus,
That I must bear, alone, and you inflict.

Pro.
No! We won't part! You come along with me!

Fern.
Never!

Pro.
As you're my son, I'll have it so!

Fern.
I'll not forsake the woman of my soul,
Who to my bosom hath herself surrender'd.
Come woe! Come shame! Come ruin! True to me,
I'll not forsake her! Yea, come death, I'll clasp her
Long as my breast can heave!

Pro.
You think this manhood
Again? Sir! 'tis not what a man dares do,
Nor what's expected from him by a man,
But what Heaven orders him to do,—'tis that
He should do. Heaven expects we keep its laws;
May we make league then with the foes of Heaven?
Or having made it, may we keep it? No!—
Else we shall forfeit heaven! This base alliance
Is even such a league. Break it!

Fern.
No!

Pro.
No?—
Listen, degenerate boy! I'll tell thee that,
In tearing which from me thou dost as bad
As though my breast thou shouldst rip open, and
Pluck out my heart alive! You never knew
A mother?

Fern.
I remember there was one
Upon whose breast I used to lie.

Pro.
'Twas she.
She had a mother's breast—the heart, within,
Becoming its fair lodge—adorning it
With all the sweet affections of her sex,
And holy virtues that keep watch for them!
Thou art like her! Dost thou mark? Thou art like her now;
And so, I saw thou wast, upon her lap;
A little baby looking up at her!
Thou wast her first child, and her only one!
Thou mayst believe she loved thee!

Fern.
Does she live?

Pro.
No; did she live, I were not now, perhaps,
Debating with thee. Thou hadst granted her
What thou deniest me. Wouldst thou behold her?
Look here! Was that a woman?

[Drawing a miniature from his breast.
Fern.
O, how fair!

Pro.
Was that a woman?

Fern.
Yes!

Pro.
No, boy! She was
An angel!

[Putting up the miniature.
Fern.
Let me look again!

[Procida holds it to Fernando, who takes it, and after looking at it, is about to kiss it.
Pro.
Forbear!
Thou shalt not kiss it! No, nor breathe upon it!
There is contact on thy lips, at thought of which,
Had she survived the ruin of my hold,
And now were living, that sweet face, thou seest
The limning of, had to the 'haviour turn'd
Of deadly loathing!—of black horror!—aught
That's removed farthest from that smile of Heaven!
Had any mock'd that face, what were he to thee?

Fern.
An enemy!

Pro.
Had any smitten it?

Fern.
I had lopp'd his hand off, and then smitten him
To the heart!

Pro.
Had any brought the blush upon it—
The burning blush which innocence endures,
Compell'd by him who does a deed so damn'd
That murder spurns it, will not bide with it?

Fern.
I had hack'd him limb from limb!—slain him by inches!

Pro.
Thou hadst!

Fern.
I had!

Pro.
Back to the castle, then;
To the room I brought thee from, the festal room,
Where for thy nuptials they keep holiday,
And when thou meet'st the master of the mirth,
The Governor—the father of thy wife—
Him thou art now a son to—tell him—mark me!
Tell him—that very—that identical man—
He was the miscreant, to thy mother did
That very shame!—then nerve thy filial arm,
And hack him limb by limb and inch by inch,
As though in every atom lay the heart
Of the accursed spoiler.—Go!—Do that,
And then come back; and kiss thy mother's face!

Fern.
I hear, and doubt I hear.

Pro.
Then list again,
And doubt no more. 'Twas during a brief truce.
He was my guest—a guest 's a sacred thing;
But, if he is, a host is sacred too.
Thy mother vied with me in ministering to him
The rites of hospitality—and what
Was the return?—Such love indulged for her,
As meditated bane of life to me!
He did not dare to breathe it—he but look'd it!
She saw what troubled her, and like a wife
Perfect in honour—of herself best guardian—
At once refused her presence on some plea
That warded chance of quarrel, while it balk'd
Licentiousness of opportunity.
This when the truce was ended, told she me.
Dost thou breathe thick?—I do, and must take breath,
For what's to come. You listen, do you not?
You look like stone!

Fern.
I know not what I am!

Pro.
Well!—War again.—Where was your father?—Where
Behoves a loyal subject be—in the ranks
Of the king when he takes the field.—You know we lost
The day. Palermo, Syracuse, Messina,
All bent the knee to the conqueror. Was I
His subject? No!—Was I a rebel to him?
No!—Why then should I be proscribed?

Fern.
Proscribed!

Pro.
I was so!—Keep thy wonder! What's behind
Will want it. Through the arts of that same man—
Of him that's now thy father through thy union
With his pernicious child—was thy own father
Proscribed. Have patience! His possessions cast
At the feet of a licentious soldiery
To scramble for and ravage.

Fern.
Infamy!

Pro.
I say again have patience. “Infamy!”
No, not at all—not worth a passing frown,
The deed 's to come. My castle yet remain'd;
That, the arch-spoiler to himself reserved
For plunder—for thy mother shelter'd there!
She was the quarry which this bird of prey
Had mark'd out for his pounce—which, when he saw
'Twas sure, he made!—swept down with ruthless wing,
When none was near to cleave him ere he struck,
Or scare him from his prey! Do you hear a shriek?

Fern.
Sir?

Pro.
Do you hear a shriek?

Fern.
No.

Pro.
Are you sure?

Fern.
I am; for never do I hear a shriek
But my heart leaps as through my breast 'twould burst
Its way! I cannot bear to hear a shriek!

Pro.
Thou heard'st thy mother's! as the ravisher
Waved o'er thy head his coward blade, through terror
At thy impending death, to win from her,
What, sooner than yield up, she had lost, herself,
A hundred thousand lives!—She swoon'd away!
My heart turns sick, and my brain reels! Thy arm!—
Away! thou worse than matricide—Thy touch
With a new horror strings my nerves anew!

Fern.
Why was this tale reserved?—not told before?

Pro.
Because I found thee apt, as I believed,
In taking up the hint of honour; nor
Admitted fear it could be thrown away.
Life's strong in me to tell the tale and live!
How she contrived escape, to tell it me,
It matters not—the last word cost her dear—
'Twas bought with her last breath.—You come with me?

Fern.
I am a dooméd man!—My lot, on earth,
Is cast in utter misery!—For me,
Not in the wide world blooms that blessed spot
I can find comfort in!

Pro.
Find Duty, boy;
And take thy chance for comfort!

Fern.
I can't leave her!
Do wrong to her, did ever good to me!
I took her for all chance, and through all chance
I'll cleave to her! In cloud I wedded her,
And thunder shall not scare me from her now!
No blame is hers.—I swear that she is good.
Loves holily as heartily. Is a gem
Of crystal truth—a mine of every ore
Of excellence—a paragon of worth,
Well as a paragon of loveliness!
Is she her father's hand or foot, that you
Or I should spurn her for her father's fault?
High Heaven framed her, as it frames us all,
Not of the temper of our parentage,
But of the attributes itself vouchsafes us.
Heaven framed her to be loved—if to be loved,
Then, cherish'd!—I have sworn to cherish her—
I'll keep my oath!—I will not give her up.

Pro.
Then, must I leave thee to thy fate!

Iso.
[Entering.]
Stop, sir!
You are John of Procida!

Pro.
I am.

Iso.
The foe
Of France; and, chiefly, of a son of hers
Who calls me child.

Pro.
I am the foe of France,
And chiefly foe of him thou speakest of.

Iso.
What madness brought thee hither?

Pro.
Madness?—Right!
Hope of reclaiming a degenerate son,
Spell-bound by love where it behoves him loathe!

Iso.
Your life's in jeopardy!—You are discover'd!
Come in there!—Gentlemen, you'll guard him safely,
And suffer none to question him or touch him;
Nor must you leave him till he is thoroughly
Beyond the reach of danger.

Pro.
Gracious powers!
Do you rebuke me?—is it thus you show it?

Iso.
You are my enemy—and yet my father!
Father to him—to me a dearer self!
I'll answer with my life, sir, for the safety
Of every hair of your head.

Pro.
Fernando!

Fern.
Sir?

Pro.
Come hither!—Lady, place your hand in mine.
These hands that met, till now, against my will,
Now, with my will, I join, and add thereto
My blessing!—May I, Heaven?—I ask too late!
'Tis done!—A promise, lady!

Iso.
It is given!

Pro.
See that it be fulfill'd. You will repair
To-night, ere at the zenith stops the moon,
There, westward of Messina, on the coast,
Where, when the waves and winds are boisterous,
The fishermen their little fleets embay,
And, in their snug huts nestling at their ease,
Smile and grow jocund at the storm without.
You know the place?

Iso.
I do—I will be there!

Pro.
And so will I—and you shall find a friend!

[They go out severally.