Part 2 / Act 5 — Scene I.—A Prison dimly lighted.

Pro. (gazing upon him earnestly.) Can he Then sleep? Th’ overshadowing 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. Raim. (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. Raim. 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. Raim. 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. Raim. 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? Raim. 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? Raim. O father! now I feel What high prerogatives belong to Death. He hath a deep though 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 dewdrop. 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.—O pitying Heaven! Speak to my soul with some dread oracle, And tell me which is truth. Raim. 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. O 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. Raim. Yet, on the 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. Raim. “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 the 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 deathbed She gave thee to my arms. Raim. 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! Raim. 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. Raim. I am prepared. Pro. ’Tis well. [Exit Procida. Raim. 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.