University of Virginia Library

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.