University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Emperor's Palace.
Aurelian and Marcellus meeting.
Aurelian.
Speak; have I Leave to see her?

Marcellus.
Yes; my Lord.

Aurelian.
But when? How soon? For did the Hour, Marcellus,
Ride on the Tempest's Wing, the Speed of Light,
Its Swiftness were too slow. Yet, yet she comes not.

Marcellus.
What can these Transports mean? Are these Emotions
To tell the Empress, that her Lord returns
With Conquest to her Arms? Did Friendship send you
Its Messenger of Love? Did Constantine—

Aurelian.
He sent me not.

Marcellus.
My Lord!

Aurelian.
Nor do I come
A Messenger of Conquest, Joy, or Love.

Marcellus.
Then my worst Fears are true. Th'impetuous Passion
Flames forth again; again Maximian's Daughter—

Aurelian.
Is she not all her Sex's Pride would aim at,
Their various Arts of charming?

Marcellus.
Dear my Lord,
Tho' she were fairer, than th'ideal Beauty,
That warms the Lover's Hopes, or Poet's Fancy,
Yet shall the bright Temptation, (best Excuse
For human Frailty) melt away all Faith,
Allegiance, Honour, Duty? Oh! remember—

Aurelian.
What? That she now is wedded to another?
Another breathes my Transports o'er her Bosom,
Sighs out my Love, and drinks, with raptur'd Ear,
The Vows, that once were mine? If thou couldst charm
The Madman's Ravings; bid the Heart be still,
When Passion shakes us; or with Words of Wisdom
Pour on the feverish Sense the Balm of Health,
I then might listen to thee.

Marcellus.
Is this Aurelian!
The Pride of Rome! Th'Example of her Youth!
But I confess, this Language well befits
Your Commerce with Maximian; a Spirit made of Fire,
Whose fierce Ambition, and whose fell Revenge,
(He knows no other Passions) vex his Soul,
As adverse Winds, and meeting Tides at Sea
Roll the wild Waves on Heaps.

Aurelian.
Revenge! Ambition!
Whence can they rise? What Motives to enflame them?
Does he not share with our great Emperor
All but the Name of Empire, and its Cares?
What would a Father's Heart, howe'er ambitious,
More than to see the Homage of the Nations,
Paid to his Daughter's Virtues; to her Beauty?

Marcellus.
Her Greatness only brings to his Remembrance
His own was lost, when our late Emperor
Forc'd him to give her Hand to Constantine,
And, happily for Europe, wrested from him
Th'imperial Power. Since when, his Rage beholds
His Son, as the Usurper of his Throne:
Then, in his Zeal for the old Gods of Rome,
He hates him as a Christian. Should he tempt
Your Youth to join with his Despair, your Virtue,
I know the rich Reward.—

Aurelian.
Look, where she comes.
A rich Reward indeed. I pray you leave me,
And, at some better Leisure, every Secret
Of Confidence and Friendship shall be yours.

[Exit Marcellus.
Aurelian.
And is it mine,—ye Powers, why am I destin'd
To throw Disorder o'er that loveliest Form,
To fill those Eyes with weeping, and that Breast
With Anguish, beyond Thought?

Enter Fulvia.
Fulvia.
Aurelian, welcome.
Say to my Heart, my Constantine is well.
Give me the storied War, the Battle's Rage,
Tho' my Soul tremble at it. Shew my Hero
In all the bleeding Pride of glorious Danger,
How terribly! adorn'd. But ah! my Fears!
You do not feel my Transports. Down-cast Eyes!
Horror is in thy Face!

Aurelian.
'Tis in my Heart.

Fulvia.
Where is my Lord, my Emperor? Oh! speak.
Is he a Conqueror? Comes he Home in Triumph?

Aurelian.
Fame, Honour, Conquest, bind their Wreaths of Glory
Around his sacred Temples, and he comes
T'enjoy his Triumphs in his Fulvia's Arms.

Fulvia.
Why would you thus alarm me? I'm a Woman
In Tenderness and Love; in all Things else
A Roman Spirit, and Maximian's Daughter.
Still there's a Fear—(is it too big for Utterance?)
Heaves at your Heart. Such Silence speaks all Fears.

Aurelian.
Could my Despair, could my Distraction tell you,
What my Heart feels this Moment; how it bleeds;
Your Pity would forgive me, tho' I stain
Your Father's venerable Name with Blood;
Tho' I accuse—No—Honour, Faith, and Loyalty,
They only shall accuse him.

Fulvia.
Stop not thus.
Let not my Fears grow impious in their Wildness.
My Father—there th'alarming Tale began.
Maximian.—

Aurelian.
Too impatient to resume
Th'imperial Purple, he so late resign'd,
Thinking the little Fame, my Youth hath gain'd;
My Interest with the Legions; my Command
So near the Person of my royal Master,
Might aid his Purpose, with unbounded Hand
Threw out Ambition's Glories to my View,
With half the Throne of Universal Empire.—

Fulvia.
While Constantine, your Emperor—while he lives?
Where slept this fierce Desire or Power so long?
What wakes it now to Madness?

Aurelian.
When the Rage
Of Battle ceas'd, and Victory no longer
Stood hovering o'er us with uncertain Wing,
My Lord Maximian ask'd,—almost demanded,
The Government of these new German Conquests,
For his once favourite Freedman, Caius Lucius.

Fulvia.
That gloomy Fierceness! that unpitying Soldier!
But then, my Lord—

Aurelian.
Perhaps, with some Impatience,
Refus'd the warm Request. Grief, Shame, and Anger,
The Consciousness of Greatness, and the Pride,
That saw the Soldiers mourn for his Disgrace,
The Time, the Place, each Circumstance, deep smote
Your Father's Heart, and wak'd Ambition's Fires,
Tho' long, but ill, suppress'd. Hence the Proposal;
But when he saw my Soul start back with Horror,
And sicken at the Pomp of bad Ambition,
He shew'd me thee; that all-excelling Form;
Love threw his Colours o'er it (oh! forgive me)
To turn my Faith to Treason.

Fulvia.
Hold, my Lord.
Such Insolence of Language! Who am I?

Aurelian.
The Empress of the World; the sacred Awe
Of grateful Nations, of imperial Rome,
The Pride, the Joy—You are the Wife of Constantine.
Yet oh! remember, there was once a Time,
When other Loves approach'd you; when Maximian
Approv'd my Passion, authoris'd my Vows,
And gave my Wishes Leave to gaze upon you.

Fulvia.
No more. What Proofs of this black Deed? My Father!
Source of my Life.—'Tis Parricide to think it.

Aurelian.
The Doubt becomes your Piety. Behold
This Sword! A fatal Witness.

Fulvia.
'Tis not that,
My Lord's first Gift; his bridal-morning Present:
I must not, dare not think it; or 'twas given you
For some blest Purpose; to protect my Lord,
When, Oh! too prodigal of Life, he thinks not,
That Life is Love's and mine.

Aurelian.
With this he arm'd
My fearful Hand; with this he bad me strike,
(How shall I say) the Heart your Love delights in.
Then loud he cried, possess my Daughter's Beauties,
And share the World with me. I took it trembling,
Lest he might find some Slave, so lost to Honour,
As to obey his Guiltiness.

Fulvia.
My Lord,
If I have wrong'd your Virtue by suspecting—
Yet Nature claims her Rights, and awful bids me
Not trust too lightly to an Accusation,
That brands a Father's ever-honour'd Name
With Perfidy and Treason. O, my Constantine,
Is this thy Day of Triumph? This Return
For all thy Toils to bless a thankless World?
How shall thy Fulvia meet thee? Shall her Heart
With other Pantings, than with those of Love,
Receive its Lord, and tremble in his Arms?

Aurelian.
Oh! stop these soft Complainings. Even this Hour,
(Death sits upon its Wings, and fierce Revenge
Lashes its Speed) this Moment must determine
A Father's Fate, or—

Fulvia.
Husband's! How determine!
Am I the dire Reward, the Prize of Blood!
Horror on Horror! of my Husband's Blood!
Ye Powers, who make this Trial of my Weakness—
But, oh! what Form of Prayer—Heaven must not hear me!
Daughter or Wife—in Love or Nature impious:
In either Name a Force that pulls my Heart-strings.

Aurelian.
Each Instant I expect him; for he comes
To regulate the Honours of the Day.
Meet him with Smiles, with unsuspecting Looks;
Throw your Caresses round him, and awake,
With Nature's Voice, th'Affections she inspires.

Fulvia.
Meet him with Smiles! Thou cruel, cold Adviser!
No; with these Tears (for what can stop their flowing)
Or with the louder Sorrows of Distraction,
'Till Nature hear my Cries thro' all her Works.

Aurelian.
Oh! yet with calmer Temper: Sooth him, melt him,
With Prayers, with Tears; and when you urge him strongest,
Seem most to doubt; to disbelieve, to think
'Twas but a Start of Passion; of Ambition,
That Madness of the Brave. Let your Success
Insure the Peace of Nations; of the World;
And give you down to Fame a nobler Story,
Than yet your Sex can boast.

[Exit Aurelian.
Fulvia
alone.
What Fame? What Story?
To violate th'eternal Laws of Nature,
Her dearest, first Relations, Child and Parent;
To be myself th'Accuser, or behold
My wedded Lord—Oh! yet forbid it, Love—
Stabb'd in my Arms, reproaching me in Death,
A perjur'd, faithless Wife. Distraction guide me,
Where the Heart cannot chuse, and Reason dares not.

Enter a Messenger.
Messenger.
Madam, my Lord Maximian.

[Exit.
Fulvia
alone.
Now, my Soul,
Meet this new Trial firmly; this Dissembling,
That talks in Smiles, when the sad Heart's in Tears.

Enter Maximian.
Fulvia
, kneeling to him.
Witness this pious Tender of my Duty,
How gladly I behold my Father's Presence!
Thus may I ever see the laurel'd Wreath
Circling his Brows with Glory. Sure, my Lord,
[She rises.
(Ah! whence that Coldness, that averted Look!)
The fierce and hardy Germans are a Conquest
Worthy the ancient Majesty of Rome.

Maximian.
How did they dare rebel? Ye Powers immortal,
Who form'd th'imperial City to its Greatness,
How are we fall'n! The Majesty of Rome!
Shall it be deem'd a Conquest, to have quell'd
A single Nation? This Day's idle Pomp
Be number'd with the Triumphs we have seen,
When the World sunk beneath us? But our Eagles,
That us'd to soar with Empire on their Wings,
Now bend their Flight, like Birds of meaner Plume,
To stoop at worthless Triumphs; while our Emperor—

Fulvia
, aside.
Now, now the Cloud is opening into Thunder!

Maximian.
His Thoughts are Heavenward!—In his holy Zeal
For this new Sect, this Christian Superstition,
He has transferr'd th'eternal Seat of Empire,
From where the Gods had fix'd it, to this City,
Now honour'd with his Name. All-sovereign Jove,
Where are the Thunders that assert thy Godhead!
The Temples, where we offer'd to thy Name
The Vows of human Kind, can'st thou behold them
Defil'd, polluted, and not pour thy Wrath
Upon his Head, this Emperor of Christians?

Fulvia.
Oh! spare the dreadful Image. Gracious Heaven,
Throw your own Shield of Safety o'er his Life;
Protect him from the Schemes of fierce Ambition,
Unhallow'd Vengeance, and the midnight Treason,
That dares not rise to the fair Face of Day.

Maximian.
What would our Empress mean?

Fulvia.
Oh! shall the Sword—
It was a Soldier's Present to a Soldier—
To Deeds of Honour was it ever sacred;
Nor in the wild, tumultuous Hour of Fight
E'er stain'd its Lustre with a Coward's Blood,
But with distinguish'd Slaughter swept the Field;
And shall Maximian, for less noble Purpose,
Unsheath its Terrours? He, who oft hath led
The Roman War to Conquest! He, whose Life
Should guard the Life of Empire!—Shall my Father—

Maximian.
Coward Aurelian! Base, betraying Christian!
[Aside.
Who dares accuse me?

Fulvia.
Sir, your Daughter must not.

Maximian.
My Daughter? No, my Empress, as it seems,
The Wife of Constantine. Thou young Ingratitude—
Can'st thou forget—But I'll not bid the Gods,
Th'avenging Gods, remember how I've lov'd thee.
Go, Parricide, betray thy Father's Age
To Cruelty and Tortures. When my Heart
Shall burst in Death, when my strong Sinews crack
In agonizing Anguish, let your Eye
Delighted see my Torments, and your Ear
Enjoy my Groans.

Fulvia.
Oh! save me! save me, Nature,
From the dire Scene; from Horrors to distract me!
But I'll offend no more; for even my Grief,
Distraction and Despair, shall speak the Language
Of Duty and of Love. Yet hear them speak,
And then imagine, that last Night in Sleep
I saw my Father's Hand bath'd deep in Blood,
His Son's, his Emperor's Blood! How did I rend
The Air with Shrieks, and on his bleeding Corse
Pour my distracted Sorrows! While my Tears
Flow'd fast—(they flow'd in no unreal Streams)
Such as you see them now.

Maximian.
I see the Visions
Of a disorder'd Fancy, that has form'd
Its own wild Images of Grief and Terrour.
If there be aught more real in thy Story,
Give me to know the Slave, who dares accuse me.

Fulvia.
Accuse! What Accusation! Shall Maximian,
The Glory once, th'Example of the Brave,
Be in his Age accus'd, and, Oh! for ever
Be number'd with the Guilty, and their Crimes?
Better be lost to Fame, for ever lost!
No Eye to weep your Memory, not even mine!
Mine shall be clos'd in Death, or wildest Horrour
Sit gazing on its open Sense for ever.

Maximian.
Wild as the Dreams of Madness! Tell me, Madam—
But I'll not chide you for th'unkind Suspicions,
These visionary Terrours have inspir'd:
They too shall pass away in this Day's Triumph,
And Peace return to thy affrighted Spirit.

Fulvia.
Oh! never, never. These imagin'd Terrors
To me are real Anguish and Despair.
Oh! hear me, Sir! [Throwing herself on her Knees.]
Your Purpose—should it prosper—
What Horrors shall alarm your waking Sense,
Dwell on your Sleep, and fright your Dreams to Madness!
The Tempests of the Night shall rage within you,
And, when you hear the Thunder, cold pale Fear
Shall sit upon your Heart; shall stop its Beatings,
And freeze the Stream of Life! O Constantine!
[Rising.
While we are meditating Death, your Love,
Perhaps, is forming some fond generous Scheme,
To make your Fulvia happy, and to crown
Her Father's Days with Glory.

Maximian.
Ha! Can Constantine
Add to Maximian's Glory? Did there need
This second Outrage? Are my old Years thus,
O Curse of Age! insulted by my Child?

Fulvia.
Am I your Child? Will you and Nature own me?

Maximian.
Wer't thou not every Joy to every Sense,
That pours the Passions here? And now, Ungrateful—
Yet you can weep—Those Tears—can they be false ones?
How gladly would thy Father's Love believe them?
How gladly think, thou Fondness of my Soul,
Some Villain's Arts have wrought upon thy Weakness
To do this Act of Outrage on my Heart?

Fulvia.
Have I then wrong'd you?—How my Soul rejoices
In the sweet Hope! These, these, the Tears of Joy,
They, they alone, shall witness for my Truth;
They only shall implore Forgiveness for me.

Maximian.
I do believe them; they are Nature's Truth,
And thou the purest Bliss my Prayers e'er ask'd,
Or Heaven's large Bounty gave me. Pray, retire:
Dry these ill-omen'd Tears. Rely upon me:
Maximian never can forget his Honour!
Never forget a Father's Tenderness!
[Leads her out, returns and speaks.
Then all is lost; Revenge, Ambition, Empire,
Or henceforth to be held by vile Dependance
On a weak Girl's Affection; by dissembling.
He, who has led to War the Fate of Nations,
And sway'd th'Imperial Sceptre!—O Maximian,
How are thy Glories wither'd! Is it Fear?
Let me not think it—Can the Love of Life,
A poor, precarious, casual Hour of Breathing,
Subdue me thus? No, 'tis some nobler Passion:
Unsated Rage, and Vengeance on the Slave,
Whose Christian Fears betray'd me. If Albinus—
Should he betray me too, my Fame, my Life—
But that's a Trifle—my Revenge is lost.

Enter Albinus.
Maximian
, without looking back.
Who's there?

Albinus.
My ever-royal Lord—

Maximian, turning from Albinus.
Albinus!
Start at the Presence of a Friend! What Power
Can thus controul the Senses! My Confusion!
It doubles on me—To be seen! surpriz'd,
Thus, in my Soul's Disorder—in its Weakness!

Albinus.
I've stood thus long, my Lord, in silent Wonder—

Maximian.
There's an unsleeping Spirit here, Albinus,
That ceaseless talks to Memory, and tells me
I was an Emperor once.

Albinus.
A truly great one.

Maximian.
'Tis in my Dreams! It lives among my Slumbers,
While Fancy, wild Creation's various Mistress,
Forms my full Court, and bids them bend the Knee,
As if my Frowns were Death. The Lictors, Fasces,
Th'applauding Senate and Prætorian Guards,
Start at my Nod, to execute, to strike
At my great Bidding. But the glorious Vision,
Dazzling the Eye of Fancy, when I wake,
Melts into Air, and I'm again a Slave.

Albinus.
What Power can shake that Temper, which unmov'd
Rul'd the fierce Hour of Fight; like Ocean's God,
Who sits upon the Storm, and guides its Raging?

Maximian.
War is no more! O Rome, thy Arts are lost!
The honour'd Name of Soldier, and his Glory,
To shine in Arms, to dare the Front of Danger,
And follow Fortune through the doubtful Field,
Our Emperor needs thee not: His holy Warfare,
To quell the Passions, and subdue the Heart,
His Triumphs need thee not.

Albinus.
Call back, my Lord,
These Wanderings into Reason.

Maximian.
Why to Reason?
Will it not tell me I'm a Subject now?
To me as hateful as the Name of Slave.
Will it not tell me, that I dare not punish
A Villain who betrays me?

Albinus.
Sir! Aurelian!

Maximian.
And shall the Gods of Rome behold me kneel
Beneath the Throne of Constantine? (his Name
Darts like a burning Fever thro' my Veins!)
And shall I enter into vile Debate
To clear my insulted Honour! God of Vengeance,
Why did I trust thy Cause—for it was thine—
To any other Hand? I should myself
Have struck the destin'd Sacrifice at thine
And great Ambition's Altar!

Albinus.
Hark! his Trumpets!
He now is entering the triumphal Gate:
We must prepare to meet him.

Maximian.
Yes, and join
The universal Shout that calls him Lord,
Hail'd by his Christian Priests, right holy Flatterers!
The Conqueror of the World: While I, O Torture!
Beneath whose Name in War he rose to Empire,
Upon whose Ruins he has built his Fame,
Must wait upon his Fortune, and appear
To grace his Chariot-wheels, and swell his Triumphs!

Albinus.
Let us not lose, my Lord, this noble Heat
In idle Threats and Rashness. Yet ere Night
Something may be resolv'd of glorious Danger,
Worthy Maximian, of his Fortune worthy!
When the same rapid Moment, in its Flight,
Shall form and execute—

Maximian.
Despair shall execute what Hope had form'd.
Fall swift, ye Shades of Night; and all ye Powers,
Who wing the midnight Darkness, whom the Sun
With this his garish Light rebukes, appals,
Inspire our Councils, shed your Influence o'er them;
Then if I fall—let the Gods answer for it.

[Exeunt.