 | The Sybil or the Elder Brutus |  |
44
ACT IV.
A Street in Rome with the Temple of Mars in view.The Sybil.
Hail, Rome! arise, thou mistress of the world!
From her Cumean cavern once again
The Sybil hails thee with prophetic voice.
Tarquin, the seventh and the last of kings,
Pass off, begone! The fool, the fool expels thee.
Thus, thus I cast a spell into the air—
Lo! the charm works; the sun himself is sick,
And dimly glimmers through a lurid cloud.
The Fates will have more blood. Hide, hide thine eyes,
Oh mother Nature; weep thyself to water,
Ere the terrific vision bursts upon thee,
And the stern father dooms his son to death—
Oh justice, horrible to human feelings!—
And now behold! the father falls—he dies—
Brutus himself expires—Th' adulterous prince
And the fierce consul meet, they fight, they fall—
See where they lie! their broken arteries spout,
And the parcht earth drinks up their mingling blood.
And you, ye senators in Mars's fane,
First-born of freedom, here assembled, hail!
From farthest Ganges to the western isles
Your's is the world. Prepare your necks, ye nations,
Stoop to the yoke—The Sybil's word is fate.
[Exit.
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Lucre.
Hail, venerable Roman! are the people
Still sitting in assembly?
Val.
They have chosen
A senate of the prime nobility,
And nominated Consuls for the year
Great Brutus and thy injur'd son-in-law,
With every office, form and ordination,
That constitute a state for peace or war.
Lucre.
Prais'd be the Gods! sorrowing I have inurn'd
Lucretia's chaste remains, and from her ashes
Now see the phœnix liberty arise.
What more hath life to give?
Val.
Live for thy country.
Within this temple Rome's first senate meets:
There, on the awful stage where wisdom acts,
Reverend with years, Lucretius will complete
And round the sacred circle.
Lucre.
Ah, Valerius,
What can a sorrow-broken heart conceive
Worthy of Rome and Brutus? Yet I'll enter.
Wilt thou not lead the way?
Val.
Some business waits me,
Which being dispatch'd I'll follow—
[Exit Lucre.
Now, Centurion,
Are all things well?
Cent.
All things are well. Last night
It was my fortune on the watch to encounter,
And with some loss to take an armed band
Of citizens, revolting to the army
Of your dethroned tyrant.
Val.
Call forth Brutus,
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[Lictors enter the temple.
'Tis to Brutus,
His Country's father, you must make report.
Oh shame! that any should be found so lost
To glory. Where have you bestow'd your prisoners?
But hark! the Consul comes—To him your answer
Will be address'd more fitly.
Brutus comes forth preceded by his Lictors bearing the fasces.
Health to Brutus!
Shame and confusion to the foes of Rome!
Now without preface, soldier, to your business.
Cent.
As I kept watch before the Latian gate,
Ere break of day, an armed company
Burst on a sudden through the barrier guard,
Pushing their course for Ardea. Straight alarm'd
I wheel'd my cohort round and charg'd them home:
Sharp was the conflict for a time and doubtful,
Till, on the seizure of Tarquinia's person,
A young patrician—
L. Jun.
Hah! patrician?
Cent.
Such
His dress bespoke him, though to me unknown.
L. Jun.
Proceed!—What more?
Cent.
The lady being taken,
This youth, the life and leader of the band,
His sword high waving in the act to strike,
Dropt his uplifted weapon, and at once
Yielded himself my pris'ner—Oh Valerius,
What is amiss that thus the Consul changes?
L. Jun.
Why do you pause? Go on!
Cent.
Their leader seiz'd,
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Possesses wholly, nor as I believe
Hath a word pass'd his lips, to all my questions
Still obstinately shut.
L. Jun.
Set him before me.
[Exit Centurion.
Val.
Oh! my brave friend, horror invades my heart.
L. Jun.
Peace, peace! contain thyself.
Val.
I know thy soul
A compound of all excellence, and pray
The mighty Gods to put thee to no trial
Beyond a mortal bearing.
L. Jun.
No, they will not—
Nay, be secure they cannot. Prithee, friend,
Look out, and if the worst that can befal me
Be verified, turn back and give some sign
What thou hast seen—Thou canst excuse this weakness,
Being thyself a father.
[Val. gives the sign.
Hah! enough:
I understand thee—Since it must be so,
Do your great pleasure, Gods! Now, now it comes!
[Titus and Tarquinia are brought in guarded.
Tit.
My father! Give me present death, ye Powers!
Cent.
What have I done? Art thou the son of Brutus?
Tit.
No, Brutus scorns to father such a son.
Oh! venerable judge, wilt thou not speak?
Turn not away; hither direct thine eyes,
And look upon this sorrow-smitten form,
Then to thine own great heart remit my plea,
And doom as nature dictates.
Val.
Peace, you'll anger him—
Be silent and await! Oh suffering mercy,
Plead in a father's heart and speak for nature!
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Oh, earth, earth, earth! if in thy boundless stores,
Parent of all things living, thou hast treasur'd
One healing drop of mercy, on the heart
Of this relentless father let it fall,
And melt the rock within him. Turn him, Gods,
Turn him to what yourselves delight in most,
To pity, to forgiveness. Ye blest stars,
Whom grateful mortals rais'd to the bright spheres
In which ye shine, and gave you names in Heaven,
Mildly benignant as ye are, ye will not
Withhold your influence: And thou, changeful moon,
Thou, that can'st sway our senses at thy will,
Make wisdom foolish, and make folly wise,
Oh, virgin Goddess, as thou hast restor'd
The long-lost mind of Brutus, touch it now
With mercy mild as thine own silver beams!
[Brutus turns away from his son, waves his hand to the Centurion as a signal to remove him to a further distance, and then addresses himself to Valerius.
L. Jun.
Valerius!—
Val.
What would'st thou, noble Roman?
L. Jun.
'Tis said thou hast pull'd down thine house, Valerius,
The stately pile that with such cost was rear'd.
Val.
I have, but what doth Brutus thence infer?
L. Jun.
It was a goodly structure: I remember
How fondly you survey'd its rising grandeur,
With what a fatherly delight you summon'd
Each grace and ornament, that might enrich
The child of your creation, till it swell'd
To an imperial size, and overpeer'd
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Under its lofty walls in huts and hovels,
Like emmets at the foot of tow'ring Ætna:
Then, noble Roman, then with patriot zeal,
Dear as it was and valued, you condemn'd,
You levell'd the proud pile; and in return
Was by your grateful countrymen sirnam'd.
And shall to all posterity descend—
Poplicola.
Val.
Yes, Brutus, I conceive
The awful aim and drift of thy discourse,
But I conjure thee to reflect—
L. Jun.
Away!
Doth no one but Valerius love his country
Dearer than house, or property, or children?
Come to the Senate, there thou'lt see if Brutus
Earn not a name as glorious as Poplicola.
Soldier, meanwhile guard faithfully your pris'ner;
The Senate will determine on his fate.
[Going.
Tar.
Stop, turn and hear the daughter of your king!
I speak for justice—mercy thou hast none.
If it be treason in a night like this,
When Tarquin's palace blazes to the skies,
And you, the masters and the lords of Rome,
Bid murder scour the streets—if then to fly,
When you have fir'd the roof upon the heads
Of undefended women, be a crime
To your new state and self-created Senate,
I am your criminal; single in guilt,
Singly I claim your judgment—
L. Jun.
You have said:
Here let your plea conclude.
Tar.
For him—your son—
By tears, entreaties, by the threats of death,
With dagger drawn and pointed at my heart,
By the resistless energy of love,
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From your stern summons to defend and save
A helpless fugitive—And doth there live,
Who calls himself a man, that had done less
For a fond woman? I preserv'd his life,
Who shall condemn him for protecting mine?
L. Jun.
We try the crime; the motive Heav'n will judge.
My honour he hath stabb'd—I pardon that.
He hath done more, he hath betray'd his country—
That is a crime which every honest heart,
That beats for freedom, every Roman feels,
And the full stream of justice must have way.
Tar.
Because thy soul was never sway'd by love
Can'st thou not credit what his bosom felt?
L. Jun.
I can believe that beauty such as thine
May spread a thousand fascinating snares
To lure the wavering and confound the weak;
But what is honour, which a sigh can shake?
What is his virtue, whom a tear can melt?
Truth, valour, justice, constancy of soul—
These are the attributes of manly natures:
Be woman e'er so beauteous, man was made
For nobler uses than to be her slave.
Tar.
A glorious cause no doubt you take in hand,
And most auspiciously your freedom dawns,
Hard, unrelenting man! Are these the fruits
Of filial piety, and hath thy son
Wearied the Gods with prayers, till they restor'd
A mind, and gave thee reason? Would to Heaven,
They'd giv'n thee mercy too! 'twould more become thee
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Thy lictors, haughty Consul, or thy robes
Dipt in the blood—oh horror!—of a son—
L. Jun.
No more—By all the Gods, I'll hear no more.
Tit.
A word for pity's sake—Before thy feet,
Humbled in soul, thy son and prisoner kneels.
Love is my plea; a father is my judge;
Nature my advocate—I can no more:
If these will not appease a parent's heart,
Strike thro' them all, and lodge your vengeance here.
L. Jun.
Break off! I will not, cannot hear thee further.
The affliction nature hath impos'd on Brutus,
Brutus will suffer as he may—Enough
That we enlarge Tarquinia. Go, be free!
But go from Rome, go to your father's court;
There your bright eyes may play their harmless fires
Around the flattering circle, here your beauty
With mortal anguish wrings the parent's heart,
And death and ruin ambush in your smiles.
Lictors, secure your prisoner; point your axes,
And follow to the temple: For the lady,
Be it your care, Centurion, to provide
Safe conduct out of Rome.—Now to the Senate.
[Exit.
Val.
Ill-fated youth, I have a father's heart
Within this breast, that melts at your contrition,
And fain would be your advocate with Brutus,
Yet trembles at the rigour of his justice.
Be patient, and in nature place your hope.
[Exit.
Cent.
Come, lady, you must part.
Tar.
Part! must we part?
You shall not tear him from me; I will die
Embracing the sad ruin I have made.
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You've heard the Consul.
Tar.
Thou hast heard the King,
Fought for him whilst he led you on to conquest.
Thou art a soldier, and should'st spurn an office,
Which malefactors, tho' condemn'd for murder,
Would rather die by torture than perform.
Tit.
Hear, I conjure thee, hear! If thou dost wish
That I should meet the peril of my fate
With any manly firmness, or dost cherish
A hope, how faint soe'er, that I should 'scape it,
By that hope I conjure thee to accord
To Brutus, and accept his promis'd safeguard.
Your words, your looks, your beauty feeds his wrath;
In that fair face he reads my guilty love,
And pity flies his heart; let passion pause;
Leave me to solitude, to silence leave me;
Then nature's gentlest whispers may be heard.
Tar.
Say'st thou? Conduct me to the dreariest waste
That ever melancholy madness trod,
And let my swelling heart in silence burst;
Plunge me in darkneis, shroud this fatal form
In everlasting night, I am content.
Lo! I obey—This is the test of love;
This is the sacrifice—I part to save thee.
Tit.
See, I am warn'd—farewell, my life's last joy!
When my eyes lose thy image, they may look
On death without dismay. To those blest Powers,
Who gave thee every virtue, every grace,
That can ensure perfection, I commit thee.
[Exit with Lictors.
Tar.
'Tis past! Now, misery, I am all thine own.
[Exit with Centurion.
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The Temple of Rhæa with the tomb of Servius Tullus, late King of Rome. Lamps burning.
Priestess of Rhæa, Virgins of the Temple.
Priest.
Daughters of Rhæa; since the lords of Rome
Have to your holy hands consign'd the charge
Of their now captive queen, inform your priestess
How your sad prisoner abides her durance.
Is her great soul yet humbled, or indignant
Doth it still breathe defiance and contempt?
1 Virg.
Sullen and silent she resolves on death:
She will not taste of nourishment.
Priest.
Alas!—
I cannot doubt but you have urg'd her to it.
1 Virg.
Much, but to none effect—Lo! here are viands—
[Pointing to a table.
All means have been attempted—See, she comes!
Tullia enters.
Tul.
When the breath stops, the body shall have peace;
But who can tell me where the soul shall go?
Which of you, virgins, can resolve that question?
Priest.
I pray you, royal lady, be entreated
To take some nourishment.
Tul.
I tell you no.
The wants of nature are below my thoughts:
I am myself a spirit; I live on air,
And meditation is my proper diet.
Priest.
Think what a train of weary hours have pass'd
Since you had taste of food.
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'Tis well! so many
Being gone by, the fewer are to come.
Priest.
If it were only in regard of us,
Not of yourself, consent.
Tul.
Kind-hearted souls!
Carry your trenchers to the hungry cells
Of starving debtors, so your charity,
Wasted on me, shall cheer a thankful heart.
Priest.
How can you live to meet your royal husband,
To fold your children in your arms again,
If you resist support?
Tul.
Hah! well remember'd—
What news from Ardea? Will he march for Rome?
Hark! do you hear his trumpet? Is he coming?
Uncover!—This is hope, and worth the feeding—
What have you done? Oh, this is luxury.
Methinks you take me for a queen, when thus
You tempt my palate. Who serv'd in these dainties?
Priest.
Your willing ministers, the sisterhood
Of your own Goddess Rhæa.
Tul.
Why 'tis well.
But doth your king know of this bounty, virgins?
Priest.
What king? We comprehend you not.
Tul.
What king?
Brutus, the king of Rome. Knows he of this?
Priest.
What shall we say? Yes, Brutus knows of this.
Tul.
And would he I should eat?
Priest.
He would.
Tul.
Amazement!
Doth he not wish my death?
Priest.
By these means never:
He wills you to support life's fainting frame
With all due nourishment.
Tul.
Merciful villain!
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All food he touches turn to poison, Gods,
Though it lay waste creation. Subtle traitor!
Yes, he would have me live to page his triumphs:
I know the utmost of his mercy—No;
I will not live; I will not page his triumphs;
I'll starve, I'll die the death—Bear off your viands;
I will not taste, though immortality
Were grafted to each atom—Take them hence!
Priest.
If such be your resolve, let the crime fall
On your own head! We are free.
Tul.
Hark, what is that?
Heard you that groan?
Priest.
It is your fancy's coinage;
We heard no groan.
Tul.
Again!—'Tis deep and hollow:
It issues from the vault—Set the door open!
Unbar it, I command you. By the Gods,
The voice is more than human which I hear—
Open, I say!
Priest.
It is your father's tomb.
Tul.
My father! righteous Gods, I kill'd my father,
And these deep groans are his. Daughters of Rhæa,
Have you not heard the parricidal act?
Was it not told you how I drove my steeds
Spangled with blood across my father's trunk,
Dragging his breathing carcass at my wheels?
Yes, I did this—I was the wretch who did it;
I did not think of heaven and heavenly justice,
Ambition was my God—Now, now it comes—
Horrible retribution!
Priest.
Wretched daughter,
If thou hast done this deed, prepare thy spirit
By wholesome meditation for atonement,
And let no passion interrupt the task
Of penitence and prayer.
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I'll pray no more.
There is no mercy in the skies for murder,
Therefore no praying, none; 'tis all in vain:
I have a plea for my impenitence—
Madness: I tell thee, woman, I am mad;
These groans have made me mad; all the night through
They howl'd distraction to my sleepless brain.
You've shut me up with Furies to torment me,
And starv'd me into madness. I am famish'd;
Hunger hath made me furious—Oh, some food—
For charity some food!
Priest.
Behold 'tis here!
'Tis at your lips, and courts you to receive it.
Tul.
'Tis false! it is no food; 'tis all a cheat
Invented to torment me; should I taste
Or touch it only, instantly your spirits
Would howl and hiss me into worse perdition
Than hell hath yet a name for—I'll go forth—
Ah no, I'm giddy—Sick to death and giddy—
Sleep, sleep, relieve me! Lead me to the couch.
[They lead her to a Couch on which she reclines.
Priest.
A sleep which is death's prelude falls upon her;
Or is it death itself? She breathes. How awful
Is that still pause the ling'ring spirit makes
Before it wings its flight! Mark, virgins, mark!
Now to the altar of your Goddess Rhæa,
And there with expiatory hymns and prayers
Invoke a requiem to her parting soul.
[Exeunt Priestess and Virgins.
Solemn Music at a distance. When it ceases, the Sybil appears.
Syb.
Sleep'st thou, detested parricide? Sleep on!
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And the grim Furies haunt thy soul with dreams,
Worse than thy waking terrors. See, she shakes!
Death's pangs convulse her heart. Yet, ere she die,
By dread commission from the avenging Fates
I must command this stony vault to open,
And give its miserable relics up.
Come forth, thou phantom of a murder'd king,
And look upon thy daughter!—Hah! 'tis here!
[Ghost of Servius Tullus comes forth.
Wake, impious daughter, and behold thy father!
[Tullia starts out of sleep.
Tul.
Strike me, great Gods, oh, strike me with your bolts!
What do I see?—'Tis he; it is my Father!
Do I yet live?—Am I awake?—Begone!
Wilt thou not hence? Take off thine eyes; they kill me.
Nay, then 'tis done—Earth, earth, receive and hide me.
[She falls to the ground and expires.
Syb.
Hence, shadowy terror, hence! The fates dismiss thee.
Death strikes his victim, and my task concludes.
[Curtain falls.
| The Sybil or the Elder Brutus | |