University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—A Prison, dimly lighted.
Raimond sleeping. Procida enters.
Procida.
(gazing upon him earnestly.)
Can he then sleep?—Th'o'ershadowing night hath wrapt
Earth, at her stated hours—the stars have set
Their burning watch; and all things hold their course
Of wakefulness and rest; yet hath not sleep
Sat on mine eyelids since—but this avails not!
—And thus he slumbers!—“Why, this mien doth seem
“As if its soul were but one lofty thought
“Of an immortal destiny!”—his brow
Is calm as waves whereon the midnight heavens
Are imaged silently.—Wake, Raimond, wake!
Thy rest is deep.

Raimond.
(starting up.)
My father!—Wherefore here?
I am prepared to die, yet would I not
Fall by thy hand.

Pro.
'Twas not for this I came.

Rai.
Then wherefore?—and upon thy lofty brow
Why burns the troubled flush?

Pro.
Perchance 'tis shame.
Yes! it may well be shame!—for I have striven
With nature's feebleness, and been o'erpower'd.
—Howe'er it be, 'tis not for thee to gaze,
Noting it thus. Rise, let me loose thy chains.
Arise, and follow me; but let thy step
Fall without sound on earth: I have prepared
The means for thy escape.

Rai.
What! thou! the austere,
The inflexible Procida! hast thou done this,
Deeming me guilty still?

Pro.
Upbraid me not?
It is even so. There have been nobler deeds
By Roman fathers done,—but I am weak.
Therefore, again I say, arise! and haste,
For the night wanes. Thy fugitive course must be
To realms beyond the deep; so let us part
In silence, and for ever.

Rai.
Let him fly
Who holds no deep asylum in his breast,
Wherein to shelter from the scoffs of men!
—I can sleep calmly here.

Pro.
Art thou in love
With death and infamy, that so thy choice
Is made, lost boy! when freedom courts thy grasp?

Rai.
Father! to set th'irrevocable seal
Upon that shame wherewith ye have branded me,
There needs but flight.—What should I bear from this,
My native land?—A blighted name, to rise
And part me, with its dark remembrances,
For ever from the sunshine!—O'er my soul
Bright shadowings of a nobler destiny
Float in dim beauty through the gloom; but here,
On earth, my hopes are closed.

Pro.
Thy hopes are closed!
And what were they to mine?—Thou wilt not fly!
Why, let all traitors flock to thee, and learn
How proudly guilt can talk!—Let fathers rear
Their offspring henceforth, as the free wild birds
Foster their young; when these can mount alone,
Dissolving nature's bonds—why should it not
Be so with us?

Rai.
Oh, Father!—Now I feel
What high prerogatives belong to death.
He hath a deep, tho' voiceless eloquence,
To which I leave my cause. “His solemn veil
“Doth with mysterious beauty clothe our virtues,
“And in its vast, oblivious folds, for ever
“Give shelter to our faults.”—When I am gone,
The mists of passion which have dimm'd my name
Will melt like day-dreams; and my memory then
Will be—not what it should have been—for I
Must pass without my fame—but yet, unstain'd
As a clear morning dew-drop. Oh! the grave
Hath rights inviolate as a sanctuary's,
And they should be my own!

Pro.
Now, by just heaven,
I will not thus be tortured!—Were my heart
But of thy guilt or innocence assured,
I could be calm again. “But, in this wild
“Suspense,—this conflict and vicissitude
“Of opposite feelings and convictions—What!
“Hath it been mine to temper and to bend
“All spirits to my purpose; have I raised
“With a severe and passionless energy,
“From the dread mingling of their elements,
“Storms which have rock'd the earth?—And shall I now
“Thus fluctuate, as a feeble reed, the scorn
“And plaything of the winds?”—Look on me, boy!
Guilt never dared to meet these eyes, and keep
Its heart's dark secret close.—Oh, pitying heaven!
Speak to my soul with some dread oracle,
And tell me which is truth.

Rai.
I will not plead.
I will not call th'Omnipotent to attest
My innocence. No, father, in thy heart
I know my birthright shall be soon restored;
Therefore I look to death, and bid thee speed
The great absolver.

Pro.
Oh! my son, my son!
We will not part in wrath!—the sternest hearts,
Within their proud and guarded fastnesses,
Hide something still, round which their tendrils cling
With a close grasp, unknown to those who dress
Their love in smiles. And such wert thou to me!
The all which taught me that my soul was cast
In nature's mould.—And I must now hold on
My desolate course alone!—Why, be it thus!
He that doth guide a nation's star, should dwell
High o'er the clouds in regal solitude,
Sufficient to himself.

Rai.
Yet, on that summit,
When with her bright wings glory shadows thee,
Forget not him who coldly sleeps beneath,
Yet might have soar'd as high!

Pro.
No, fear thou not!
Thou'lt be remember'd long. The canker-worm
O'th'heart is ne'er forgotten.

Rai.
“Oh! not thus—
I would not thus be thought of.”

Pro.
Let me deem
Again that thou art base!—for thy bright looks,
Thy glorious mien of fearlessness and truth,
Then would not haunt me as th'avenging powers
Follow'd the parricide.—Farewell, farewell!
I have no tears.—Oh! thus thy mother look'd,
When, with a sad, yet half-triumphant smile,
All radiant with deep meaning, from her death-bed
She gave thee to my arms.

Rai.
Now death has lost
His sting, since thou believ'st me innocent.

Pro.
(wildly.)
Thou innocent!—Am I thy murderer then?
Away! I tell thee thou hast made my name
A scorn to men!—No! I will not forgive thee;
A traitor!—What! the blood of Procida
Filling a traitor's veins!—Let the earth drink it;
Thou wouldst receive our foes!—but they shall meet
From thy perfidious lips a welcome, cold
As death can make it.—Go, prepare thy soul!

Rai.
Father! yet hear me!

Pro.
No! thou'rt skill'd to make
E'en shame look fair.—Why should I linger thus?
(Going to leave the prison he turns back for a moment.
If there be aught—if aught—for which thou need'st
Forgiveness—not of me, but that dread power
From whom no heart is veil'd—delay thou not
Thy prayer:—Time hurries on.

Rai.
I am prepared.

Pro.
'Tis well.
[Exit Procida.

Rai.
Men talk of torture!—Can they wreak
Upon the sensitive and shrinking frame,
Half the mind bears, and lives?—My spirit feels
Bewilder'd; on its powers this twilight gloom
Hangs like a weight of earth.—It should be morn;
Why, then, perchance, a beam of heaven's bright sun
Hath pierced, ere now, the grating of my dungeon,
Telling of hope and mercy!

[Exit into an inner cell.