University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Scene continues.
Enter Horatia and Valeria.
Horatia.
Alas, how easily do we admit
The Thing we wish were true! yet sure, Valeria,
This seeming Negligence of Curiatius
Betrays a secret Coldness at the Heart.
May not long Absence, or the Charms of War
Have damp'd, at least, if not effac'd his Passion?
I know not what to think.

Valeria.
Think, my Horatia,
That you're a Lover, and have learn'd the Art
To raise vain Scruples, and torment yourself
With every distant Hint of fancied Ill.
Your Curiatius still remains the same.
My Brother idly trifled with your Passion,
Or might perhaps unheedingly relate
What you too nearly feel. But see, your Father.

Horatia.
He seems transported; sure some happy News
Has brought him back thus early: O my Heart!
I long, yet dread to ask him; speak, Valeria.

Enter Horatius.
Valeria.
You're soon return'd, my Lord.

Horatius.
Return'd, Valeria!
My Life, my Youth's return'd, I tread in Air.
—I cannot speak; my Joy's too great for Utterance.
—O I cou'd weep!—my Sons, my Sons are chosen
Their Country's Combatants, not one, but all.

Horatia.
My Brothers said you, Sir?

Horatius.
All three, my Child,
All three are Champions in the Cause of Rome.
O happy State of Fathers! thus to feel
New Warmth revive, and springing Life renew'd
Even on the Margin of the Grave!

Valeria.
The Time
Of Combat, is it fix'd?

Horatius.
This Day, this Hour
Perhaps decides our Doom.

Valeria.
And is it known
With whom they must engage?

Horatius.

Horatia.
My gracious Father, with Surprize and Transport
I heard the Tidings, as becomes your Daughter.
And like your Daughter, were our Sex allow'd
The noble Privilege which Man usurps,
Could die with Pleasure in my Country's Cause.
But yet permit a Sister's Weakness, Sir,
To feel the Pangs of Nature, and to dread
The Fate of those she loves, however glorious.
And sure they cannot all survive a Conflict
So desperate as this.

Horatius.
Survive! by Heaven
I could not hope that they should all survive.
No, let them fall; if from their glorious Deaths
Rome's Freedom spring, I shall be nobly paid
For every sharpest Pang the Parent feels.
Had I a thousand Sons, in such a Cause
I could behold them bleeding at my Feet,
And thank the Gods with Tears!

Enter Publius Horatius
Publius.
My Father!

[Offering to kneel.
Horatius.
Hence!
Kneel not to me—stand off; and let me view
At Distance, and with reverential Awe,
The Champion of my Country!—O, my Boy,
That I should live to this—my Soul's too full;
Let this and this speak for me.—Bless thee, bless thee!
[Embracing him.
But wherefore art thou absent from the Camp?
Where are thy Brothers? has the Alban State
Determin'd? is the Time of Combat fix'd?

Publius.
Think not, my Lord, that filial Reverence,
However due, had drawn me from the Field,
Where nobler Duty calls: a Patriot's Soul,
Can feel no humbler Ties, nor knows the Voice
Of Kindred, when his Country claims his Aid.
It was the King's Command I should attend you,
Else had I staid 'till Wreaths immortal grac'd
My Brows, and made thee proud indeed to see
Beneath thy Roof, and bending for thy Blessing,
Not thine, Horatius, but the Son of Rome!

Horatius.
O virtuous! Pride!—'tis Bliss too exquisite
For human Sense!—thus, let me answer thee.
[Embracing him again.
Where are my other Boys?

Publius.
They only wait
'Till Alba's loit'ring Chiefs declare her Champions,
Our future Victims, Sir, and with the News
Will greet their Father's Ear.

Horatius.
It shall not need,
Myself will to the Field. Come, let us haste;
My old Blood boils, and my tumultuous Spirits
Pant for the Onset. O for one short Hour
Of vigorous Youth, that I might share the Toil
Now with my Boys, and be the next my last!

Horatia.
My Brother!

Publius.

Horatia.
Methinks, a Lover
Might take th'Advantage of the Truce, and bear
His kind Complaints himself, not trust his Vows
To other Tongues, or be oblig'd to tell
The passing Winds his Passion.

Publius.

Horatius.
[Having talked apart with Valeria.
Tis truly Roman.—Here's a Maid, Horatia,
Laments her Brother lost the glorious Proof
Of dying for his Country.—Come, my Son,
Her Softness will infect thee, prithee, leave her.

Horatia.
[Looking first on her Father, and then tenderly on her Brother.

Enter Tullus Hostilius, Valerius, and Guards.
Valerius.
The King, my Lord, approaches.

Horatius.
Gracious Sir,
Whence comes this Condescension?

Tullus Hostilius.
Good old Man;
Could I have found a nobler Messenger,
I would have spared myself th'ungrateful Task
Of this Day's Embassy, for much I fear
My News will want a Welcome.

Horatius.
Mighty King!
Forgive an old Man's Warmth—They have not sure
Made choice of other Combatants.—My Sons,
Must they not fight for Rome?

Tullus Hostilius.
Too sure they must.

Horatius.
Then I am blest!

Tullus Hostilius.
But that they must engage
Will hurt thee most, when thou shalt know with whom.

Horatius.
I care not whom.

Tullus Hostilius.
Suppose your nearest Friends
The Curiatii were the Alban Choice,
Could you bear that? Could you, young Man, support
A Conflict there?

Publius.
I could perform my Duty,
Great Sir, tho' even a Brother should oppose me.

Tullus Hostilius.
Thou art a Roman! Let thy King embrace thee.

Horatius.
And let thy Father catch thee from his Arms.

Tullus Hostilius.
[To Publius.
Know then that Trial must be thine. The Albans
With Envy saw one Family produce
Three Chiefs, to whom their Country dared entrust
The Roman Cause, and scorn'd to be outdone.

Horatia.
Then I am lost indeed; was it for this,
For this, I pray'd!

[Swoons.
Publius.
My Sister!

Valeria.
My Horatia!

Horatius.
O scolish Girl, to shame thy Father thus!
Here, bear her in. —I am concern'd, my Sovereign,
That even the meanest Part of me should blast
With impious Grief a Cause of so much Glory.
But let the Virtue of my Boy excuse it.

Tullus Hostilius.
It does most amply. She has Cause for Sorrow.
The Shock was sudden, and might well alarm
A firmer Bosom. The weak Sex demand
Our Pity, not our Anger; their soft Breasts
Are nearer touch'd, and more expos'd to Sorrows
Than Man's experter Sense. Nor let us blame
That Tenderness which smooths our rougher Natures,
And softens all the Joys of social Life.
We leave her to her Tears. For you, young Soldier,
You must prepare for Combat. Some few Hours
Are all that are allow'd you. But I charge you
Try well your Heart, and strengthen every Thought
Of Patriot in you. Think how dreadful 'tis
To plant a Dagger in the Breast you love;
To spurn the Ties of Nature, and forget
In one short Hour whole Years of virtuous Friendship.
Think well on that.

Publius.
I do, my gracious Sovereign;
And think the more I dare subdue Affection
The more my Glory.

Tullus Hostilius.
True; but yet consider,
Is it an easy Task to change Affections?
In the dread Onset can your meeting Eyes
Forget their usual Intercourse, and wear
At once the Frown of War, and stern Defiance?
Will not each Look recall the fond Remembrance
Of Childhood past, when the whole open Soul
Breath'd cordial Love, and plighted many a Vow
Of tend'rest import? Think on that, young Soldier,
And tell me if thy Breast be still unmov'd?

Publius.
Think not, O King, howe'er resolv'd on Combat,
I sit so loosely to the Bonds of Nature,
As not to feel their Force. I feel it strongly.
I love the Curiatii, and would serve them
At Life's Expence: But here a nobler Cause
Demands my Sword: For all Connections else,
All private Duties are subordinate
To what we owe the Public. Partial Ties
Of Son, and Father, Husband, Friend, or Brother,
Owe their Enjoyments to the public Safety,
And without that were vain.—Nor need we, Sir,
Cast off Humanity, and to be Heroes
Cease to be Men. As in our earliest Days,
While yet we learn'd the Exercise of War,
We strove together, not as Enemies,
Yet conscious each of his peculiar Worth,
And scorning each to yield; so will we now
Engage with ardent not with hostile Minds,
Not fired with Rage, but emulous of Fame.

Tullus Hostilius.
Now I dare trust thee; go, and teach thy Brothers,
To think like thee, and Conquest is your own.
This is true Courage, not the brutal Force
Of vulgar Heroes, but the firm Resolve
Of Virtue, and of Reason. He who thinks
Without their Aid to shine in Deeds of Arms,
Builds on a sandy Basis his Renown;
A Dream, a Vapour, or an Ague Fit
May make a Coward of him.—Come, Horatius,
Thy other Sons shall meet thee at the Camp,
For now I do bethink me 'tis not fit
They should behold their Sister thus alarm'd.
Haste, Soldier, and detain them.

[To one of the Guards.
Horatius.
Gracious Sir,
We'll follow on the instant.

Tullus Hostilius.
Then Farewel.
When next we meet, 'tis Rome and Liberty!

[Exit with Guards.
Horatius.
Come, let me arm thee for the glorious Toil.
I have a Sword whose Light'ning oft has blaz'd
Dreadfully fatal on my Country's Foes;
Whose temper'd Edge has cleft their haughty Crests,
And stain'd with Life-blood many a reeking Plain.
This shalt thou bear; myself will gird it on,
And lead thee forth to Death or Victory.
[Going.
—And yet, my Publius, shall I own a Weakness;
Tho' I detest the Cause from whence they spring,
I feel thy Sister's Sorrows like a Father.
She was my Soul's delight.

Publius.
And may remain so.
This sudden Shock has but alarm'd her Virtue,
Not quite subdued its Force. At least, my Father,
Time's lenient Hand will teach her to endure
The ills of Chance, and Reason conquer Love.

Horatius.
Should we not see her?

Publius.
By no means, my Lord;
You heard the King's Command about my Brothers,
And we have Hearts as tender sure as they.
Might I advise, you should confine her closely,
Lest she infect the Matrons with her Grief,
And bring a Stain we should not wish to fix
On the Horatian Name.

Horatius.
It shall be so.
We'll think no more of her. 'Tis Glory calls,
And humbler Passions beat Alarms in vain.

[Exit.
As Horatius goes off, Horatia enters at another Door.
Horatia.
Where is my Brother?—O my dearest Publius,
If e'er you lov'd Horatia, ever felt
That Tenderness which you have seem'd to feel,
O hear her now!

Publius.
What would'st thou, my Horatia?

Horatia.
I know not what I would—I'm on the Rack,
Despair and Madness tear my lab'ring Soul.
—And yet, my Brother, sure you might relieve me.

Publius.
How, by what means? By Heaven, I'd die to do it.

Horatia.
You might decline the Combat.

Publius.
Ha!

Horatia.
I do not
Expect it from thee. Prithee look more kindly.
—And yet, is the Request so very hard?
I only ask thee not to plunge thy Sword
Into the Breast thou lov'st, not kill thy Friend,
Is that so hard?—I might have said thy Brother.

Publius.
What canst thou mean? Beware, beware, Horatia.
Thou know'st I dearly love thee, nay thou know'st
I love the Man with whom I must engage.
Yet hast thou faintly read thy Brother's Soul,
If thou can'st think Entreaties have the Power,
Tho' urg'd with all the Tenderness of Tears,
To shake his settled Purpose: They may make
My Task more hard, and my Soul bleed within me,
But cannot touch my Virtue.

Horatia.
'Tis not Virtue
Which contradicts our Nature, 'tis the Rage
Of over-weening Pride. Has Rome no Champions
She could oppose but you? Are there not thousands
As warm in Glory, and as tried in Arms,
Who might without a Crime aspire to Conquest,
Or die with honest Fame?

Publius.
Away, away;
Talk to thy Lover thus. But 'tis not Caius
Thou would'st have infamous.

Horatia.
O kill me not
With such unkind Reproaches. Yes, I own
I love him, more—

Publius.
Than a chaste Roman Maid
Should dare confess.

Horatia.
Should dare! What means my Brother?
I had my Father's Sanction on my Love,
And Duty taught me first to feel it's Power.
—Should dare confess!—is that the dreadful Crime?
Alas but spare him, spare thy Friend, Horatius,
And I will cast him from my Breast for ever.
Will that oblige thee?—only let him die
By other Hands, and I will learn to hate him.

Publius.
Why wilt thou talk thus madly? Love him still:
And if we fall the Victims of our Country
(Which Heaven avert!) wed, and enjoy him freely.

Horatia.
O never, never. What, my Country's Bane!
The Murderer of my Brothers! may the Gods
First tear me, blast me, scatter me on Winds,
And pour out each unheard-of Vengeance on me!

Publius.
Do not torment thyself thus idly—Go,
Compose thyself, and be again my Sister.

Re-enter Horatius [with the Sword]
Horatius.
This Sword in Veii's Field—What dost thou here?
Leave him I charge thee, Girl—Come come, my Publius,
Let's haste where Duty calls.

Horatia.
What, to the Field?
He must not, shall not go; here will I hang—
O if you have not quite cast off Affection,
If you detest not your distracted Sister—

Horatius.
Shame of thy Race, why dost thou hang upon him?
Would'st thou entail enternal Infamy
On him, on me, on all?

Horatia.
Indeed I would not.
I know I ask Impossibilities;
Yet pity me, my Father!

Publius.
Pity thee?
Begone, fond Wretch, nor urge my Temper thus.
By Heaven I love thee as a Brother ought.
Then hear my last Resolve; if Fate, averse
To Rome, and us, determine my Destruction,
I charge thee wed thy Lover; he will then
Deserve thee nobly. Or if kinder Gods
Propitious hear the Prayers of suppliant Rome,
And he should fall by me, I then expect
No weak Upbraidings for a Lover's Death,
But such Returns as shall become thy Birth,
A Sister's Thanks for having sav'd her Country.

[Exit.
Horatia.
Yet stay—Yet hear me, Publius—But one Word—

Horatius.
Let go thy hold, rash Girl, thou'l't tempt thy Father
To do an Outrage might perhaps distract him.—

Horatia.
Alas, forgive me, Sir—I'm very wretched,
Indeed I am—Yet I will strive to stop
This swelling Grief, and bear it like your Daughter.
Do but forgive me, Sir.

Horatius.
I do, I do—
Go in, my Child, the Gods may find a Way
To make thee happy yet. But on thy Duty,
Whate'er Reports may reach, or Fears alarm thee,
I charge thee come not to the Field.

Horatia.
I will not,
If you command it, Sir. But will you then,
As far as cruel Honor may permit,
Remember that your poor Horatia's Life
Hangs on this dreadful Contest?

Horatius.
Lead her in.

[Exit Horatia.
Horatius.
[Looking after her.
Spite of my boasted Strength, her Griefs unman me.
—But let her from my Thoughts. The Patriot's Breast
No Hopes, no Fears, but for his Country knows,
And in her Danger loses private Woes.

[Exit.