University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Hall of a Public Building.
Procida, Montalba, Guido, and others, seated as on a Tribunal.
Procida.
The morn lower'd darkly, but the sun hath now,
With fierce and angry splendour, thro' the clouds
Burst forth, as if impatient to behold
This, our high triumph.—Lead the prisoner in.
(Raimond is brought in fettered and guarded.)
Why, what a bright and fearless brow is here!
—Is this man guilty?—Look on him, Montalba!

Montalba.
Be firm. Should justice falter at a look?

Pro.
No, thou say'st well. Her eyes are filletted,
Or should be so. Thou, that dost call thyself—
—But no! I will not breathe a traitor's name—
Speak! thou art arraign'd of treason.

Raimond.
I arraign
You, before whom I stand, of darker guilt,
In the bright face of heaven; and your own hearts
Give echo to the charge. Your very looks
Have ta'en the stamp of crime, and seem to shrink,
With a perturb'd and haggard wildness, back
From the too-searching light.—Why, what hath wrought
This change on noble brows?—There is a voice,
With a deep answer, rising from the blood
Your hands have coldly shed!—Ye are of those
From whom just men recoil, with curdling veins,
All thrill'd by life's abhorrent consciousness,
And sensitive feeling of a murderer's presence.
—Away! come down from your tribunal-seat,
Put off your robes of state, and let your mien
Be pale and humbled; for ye bear about you
That which repugnant earth doth sicken at,
More than the pestilence.—That I should live
To see my father shrink!

Pro.
Montalba, speak!
There's something chokes my voice—but fear me not.

Mon.
If we must plead to vindicate our acts,
Be it when thou hast made thine own look clear;
Most eloquent youth! What answer canst thou make
To this our charge of treason?

Rai.
I will plead
That cause before a mightier judgment-throne,
Where mercy is not guilt. But here, I feel
Too buoyantly the glory and the joy
Of my free spirit's whiteness; for e'en now
Th'embodied hideousness of crime doth seem
Before me glaring out.—Why, I saw thee,
Thy foot upon an aged warrior's breast,
Trampling our nature's last convulsive heavings.
—And thou—thy sword—Oh, valiant chief!—is yet
Red from the noble stroke which pierced, at once,
A mother and the babe, whose little life
Was from her bosom drawn!—Immortal deeds
For bards to hymn!

Guido.
(aside.)
I look upon his mien,
And waver.—Can it be?—My boyish heart
Deem'd him so noble once!—Away, weak thoughts!
Why should I shrink, as if the guilt were mine,
From his proud glance?

Pro.
Oh, thou dissembler!—thou,
So skill'd to clothe with virtue's generous flush
The hollow cheek of cold hypocrisy,
That, with thy guilt made manifest, I can scarce
Believe thee guilty!—look on me, and say
Whose was the secret warning voice, that saved
De Couci with his bands, to join our foes,
And forge new fetters for th'indignant land?
Whose was this treachery?
(Shows him papers.
Who hath promised here,
(Belike to appease the manès of the dead,)
At midnight to unfold Palermo's gates,
And welcome in the foe?—Who hath done this,
But thou, a tyrant's friend?

Rai.
Who hath done this?
Father!—if I may call thee by that name—
Look, with thy piercing eye, on those whose smiles
Were masks that hid their daggers.—There, perchance,
May lurk what loves not light too strong. For me,
I know but this—there needs no deep research
To prove the truth—that murderers may be traitors
Ev'n to each other.

Pro.
(to Montalba.)
His unaltering cheek
Still vividly doth hold its natural hue,
And his eye quails not;—Is this innocence?

Mon.
No! 'tis th'unshrinking hardihood of crime.
—Thou bear'st a gallant mien!—But where is she
Whom thou hast barter'd fame and life to save,
The fair Provençal maid?—What! know'st thou not
That this alone were guilt, to death allied?
Was't not our law that he who spared a foe,
(And is she not of that detested race?)
Should thenceforth be amongst us as a foe?
—Where hast thou borne her?—speak!

Rai.
That heaven, whose eye
Burns up thy soul with its far-searching glance,
Is with her; she is safe.

Pro
And by that word
Thy doom is seal'd.—Oh God! that I had died
Before this bitter hour, in the full strength
And glory of my heart!

(Constance enters, and rushes to Raimond.)
Constance.
Oh! art thou found?
—But yet, to find thee thus!—Chains, chains for thee!
My brave, my noble love!—Off with these bonds;
Let him be free as air:—for I am come
To be your victim now.

Rai.
Death has no pang
More keen than this.—Oh! wherefore art thou here?
I could have died so calmly, deeming thee
Saved, and at peace.

Con.
At peace!—And thou hast thought
Thus poorly of my love!—But woman's breast
Hath strength to suffer too.—Thy father sits
On this tribunal; Raimond, which is he?

Rai.
My father!—who hath lull'd thy gentle heart
With that false hope?—Beloved! gaze around—
See, if thine eye can trace a father's soul
In the dark looks bent on us.

Con.
(After earnestly examining the countenances of the judges, falls at the feet of Procida.)
Thou art he!
Nay, turn thou not away!—for I beheld
Thy proud lip quiver, and a watery mist
Pass o'er thy troubled eye; and then I knew
Thou wert his father!—Spare him!—take my life!
In truth a worthless sacrifice for his,
But yet mine all.—Oh! he hath still to run
A long bright race of glory.

Rai.
Constance, peace!
I look upon thee, and my failing heart
Is as a broken reed.

Con.
(still addressing Procida.)
Oh, yet relent!
If 'twas his crime to rescue me, behold
I come to be the atonement! Let him live
To crown thine age with honour.—In thy heart
There's a deep conflict; but great nature pleads
With an o'ermastering voice, and thou wilt yield!
—Thou art his father!

Pro.
(after a pause.)
Maiden, thou'rt deceived!
I am as calm as that dead pause of nature
Ere the full thunder bursts.—A judge is not
Father or friend. Who calls this man my son?
—My son!—Ay! thus his mother proudly smiled—
But she was noble!—Traitors stand alone,
Loosed from all ties.—Why should I trifle thus?
—Bear her away!

Rai.
(starting forward.)
And whither?

Mon.
Unto death.
Why should she live when all her race have perish'd?

Con.
(sinking into the arms of Raimond.)
Raimond, farewell!—Oh! when thy star hath risen
To its bright noon, forget not, best beloved,
I died for thee!

Rai.
High heaven! thou seest these things;
And yet endur'st them!—Shalt thou die for me,
Purest and loveliest being?—but our fate
May not divide us long.—Her cheek is cold—
Her deep blue eyes are closed—Should this be death!
—If thus, there yet were mercy!—Father, father!
Is thy heart human?

Pro.
Bear her hence, I say!
Why must my soul be torn?

(Anselmo enters, holding a Crucifix.)
Anselmo.
Now, by this sign
Of heaven's prevailing love, ye shall not harm
One ringlet of her head.—How! is there not
Enough of blood upon your burthen'd souls?
Will not the visions of your midnight couch
Be wild and dark enough, but ye must heap
Crime upon crime?—Be ye content:—your dreams,
Your councils, and your banquettings, will yet
Be haunted by the voice which doth not sleep,
E'en tho' this maid be spared!—Constance, look up!
Thou shalt not die.

Rai.
Oh! death e'en now hath veil'd
The light of her soft beauty.—Wake, my love;
Wake at my voice!

Pro.
Anselmo, lead her hence,
And let her live, but never meet my sight.
—Begone!—My heart will burst.

Rai.
One last embrace!
—Again life's rose is opening on her cheek;
Yet must we part.—So love is crush'd on earth!
But there are brighter worlds!—Farewell, farewell!

(He gives her to the care of Anselmo.
Con.
(slowly recovering.)
There was a voice which call'd me.—Am I not
A spirit freed from earth?—Have I not pass'd
The bitterness of death?

Ans.
Oh, haste away!

Con.
Yes! Raimond calls me.—He too is released
From his cold bondage.—We are free at last,
And all is well—Away!

(She is led out by Anselmo.
Rai.
The pang is o'er,
And I have but to die.

Mon.
Now, Procida,
Comes thy great task. Wake! summon to thine aid
All thy deep soul's commanding energies;
For thou—a chief among us—must pronounce
The sentence of thy son. It rests with thee.

Pro.
Ha! ha!—Men's hearts should be of softer mould
Than in the elder time.—Fathers could doom
Their children then with an unfaltering voice,
And we must tremble thus!—Is it not said,
That nature grows degenerate, earth being now
So full of days?

Mon.
Rouse up thy mighty heart.

Pro.
Ay, thou say'st right. There yet are souls which tower
As landmarks to mankind.—Well, what's the task?
—There is a man to be condemn'd, you say?
Is he then guilty?

All.
Thus we deem of him
With one accord.

Pro.
And hath he nought to plead?

Rai.
Nought but a soul unstain'd.

Pro.
Why, that is little.
Stains on the soul are but as conscience deems them,
And conscience—may be sear'd.—But, for this sentence!
—Was't not the penalty imposed on man,
E'en from creation's dawn, that he must die?
—It was: thus making guilt a sacrifice
Unto eternal justice; and we but
Obey heaven's mandate, when we cast dark souls
To th'elements from amongst us.—Be it so!
Such be his doom!—I have said. Ay, now my heart
Is girt with adamant, whose cold weight doth press
Its gaspings down.—Off! let me breathe in freedom!
—Mountains are on my breast!

(He sinks back.
Mon.
Guards, bear the prisoner
Back to his dungeon.

Rai.
Father! oh, look up;
Thou art my father still!

Guido
(leaving the Tribunal, throws himself on the neck of Raimond.)
Oh! Raimond, Raimond!
If it should be that I have wrong'd thee, say
Thou dost forgive me.

Rai.
Friend of my young days,
So may all-pitying heaven!

(Raimond is led out.
Pro.
Whose voice was that?
Where is he?—gone?—now I may breathe once more
In the free air of heaven. Let us away.

[Exeunt omnes.