 | Virginius |  |
SCENE II.
—Virginius's House.Enter Virginius and Servia.
Virginius.
And is this all you have observed? I think
There's nothing strange in that. An L and an I
Twined with a V. Three very innocent letters
To have bred such mischief in thy brain, good Servia.
Come, read this riddle to me.
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You may laugh,
Virginius; but I'll read the riddle right.
The L doth stand for Lucius; and the I,
Icilius; which, I take it, will compose,
“Lucius Icilius.”
Virginius.
So it will, good Servia.
Servia.
Then, for the V; why, that is plain, “Virginia.”
Virginius.
And now, what conjuration find you here?
Servia.
What should I find, but love? The maid's in love;
In love, and it is with Icilius. Look, the wreath
Is made of roses, that entwines the letters.
Virginius.
And this is all?
Servia.
And is it not enough?
You'll find this figuring where'er you look:
There's not a piece of dainty work she does—
Embroidery, or painting—not a task
She finishes, but on the skirt, or border,
In needle-work, or pencil, this, her secret,
The silly wench betrays.
Virginius.
Go, send her to me—
Stay! Have you spoken to her of it?
Servia.
I!
Not I, indeed; I left that task to you—
Though once I ask'd her what the letters meant.
She laugh'd, and drew a scratch across them; but
Had scarce done so, ere her fair visage fell,
For grief that she had spoil'd the ciphers—and
A sigh came out, and then almost a tear;
And then she look'd as piteous on the harm
That she had done, as she had done it to
A thing had sense to feel it. Never after
She let me note her at her work again.
She had good reason!
Virginius.
Send her to me, Servia.
[Servia goes out.
There's something here, that promises to bring me
Anticipation of my wish. I think
Icilius loves my daughter—nay, I know it;
And such a man would challenge for her husband;—
And only waited, till her forward spring
Put on, a little more, the genial likeness
Of colouring into summer, ere I sought
To nurse a flower, which, blossoming too early,
Too early often dies; but if it springs
Spontaneous, and, unlook'd for, woos our hand
To tend and cherish it, the growth is healthful;
And 'twere untimely, as unkind, to check it.
I'll ascertain it shortly—soft, she comes.
Enter Virginia.
Virginia.
Well, father, what's your will?
Virginius.
I wish'd to see you,
To ask you of your tasks—how they go on—
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You did. I hope you never play
The truant?
Virginia.
The truant! No, indeed, Virginius.
Virginius.
I am sure you do not—kiss me!
Virginia.
O my father!
I am so happy when you're kind to me!
Virginius.
You are so happy when I'm kind to you!
Am I not always kind? I never spoke
An angry word to you in all my life,
Virginia! You are happy when I'm kind!
That's strange; and makes me think you have some reason
To fear I may be otherwise than kind—
Is't so, my girl?
Virginia.
Indeed, I did not know
What I was saying to you!
Virginius.
Why, that's worse
And worse! What! when you said your father's kindness
Made you so happy, am I to believe
You were not thinking of him?
Virginia.
I—
[Greatly confused.
Virginius.
Go fetch me
The latest task you did.
[Virginia goes out.
It is enough
Her artless speech, like crystal, shows the thing
'Twould hide, but only covers. 'Tis enough!
She loves, and fears her father may condemn!
Virginia.
[Re-entering with a painting.]
Here, Sir.
Virginius.
What's this?
Virginia.
'Tis Homer's story, father,
Of brave Achilles parting from Briseis.
Virginius.
You have done it well. The colouring is good,
The figures well design'd. 'Tis very well!—
Whose face is this you've given to Achilles?
Virginia.
Whose face?
Virginius.
I've seen this face! Tut! tut! I know it
As well as I do my own, yet can't bethink me
Whose face it is!
Virginia.
You mean Achilles' face?
Virginius.
Did I not say so! 'Tis the very face
Of—No! no! Not of him. There's too much youth
And comeliness, and too much fire, to suit
The face of Siccius Dentatus.
Virginia.
Oh!
You surely never took it for his face!
Virginius.
Why, no; for now I look again, I'd swear
You lost the copy, ere you drew the head;
And, to requite Achilles for the want
Of his own face, contrived to borrow one
From Lucius Icilius. [Enter Dentatus.]
My Dentatus,
I am glad to see you!
Den.
'Tis not for my news, then.
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Your news! What news?
Den.
More violence and wrong from these new masters of
ours—our noble decemvirs—these demi-gods of the good
people of Rome! No man's property is safe from them.
Nay, it appears we hold our wives and daughters but by the
tenure of their will. Their liking is the law. The senators
themselves, scared at their audacious rule, withdraw themselves
to their villas, and leave us to our fate. There are
rumours, also, of new incursions by the Sabines.
Virginius.
Rome never saw such days!
Den.
And she'll see worse, unless I fail in my reckoning.
Is that Virginia? I saw her not before. How does the fair
Virginia? Why, she is quite a woman. I was just now
wishing for a daughter.
Virginius.
A plague, you mean.
Den.
I am sure you should not say so.
Virginia.
Indeed he should not; and he does not say so,
Dentatus—not that I am not a plague,
But that he does not think me one, for all
I do to weary him. I am sure, Dentatus,
If to be thought to do well is to do well,
There's nothing I do ill; but it is far
From that! for few things do I as I ought—
Yet everything is well done with my father,
Dentatus.
Virginius.
That's well done, is it not, my friend?
[Aside.
But if you had a daughter, what would you do with her?
Den.
I'd give her to Icilius. I should have been just now
torn to pieces, but for his good offices. The gentle citizens—
that are driven about by the decemvirs' lictors, like a herd of
tame oxen, and, with most beast-like docility, only low applauses
to them in return—would have done me the kindness
to knock my brains out; but the noble Icilius bearded them
singly, and railed them into temper. Had I a daughter
worthy of such a husband, he should have such a wife, and a
patrician's dower along with her.
Virginius.
I wish to speak with you, Dentatus. Icilius is a
young man, whom I honour; but so far only as his conduct
gives me warrant. He has had, as thou knowest, a principal
hand in helping us to our decemvirs. It may be that he is
what I would gladly think him; but I must see him clearly,
clearly, Dentatus. If he has acted with the remotest understanding,
touching the views of these new tyrants, that we are
cursed withal, I disclaim him as my friend! I cast him off for
ever!
[Virginius and Dentatus go out.
Virginia.
How is it with my heart? I feel as one
That has lost everything, and just before
Had nothing left to wish for! He will cast
Icilius off!—I never told it yet;
But take of me, thou gentle air, the secret—
And ever after breathe more balmy sweet—
I love Icilius! Yes, although to thee
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To scan my looks, nor voice to echo me,
Nor e'en an o'er-apt ear to catch my words;
Yet, sweet invisible confidant, my secret
Once being thine—I tell thee, and I'll tell thee
Again—and yet again. I love Icilius!
He'll cast Icilius off!—not if Icilius
Approve his honour. That he's sure to do;
He speaks, and looks, and moves a thing of honour,
Or honour never yet spoke, look'd, or moved,
Or was a thing of earth! O come, Icilius!
Do but appear, and thou art vindicated.
Icilius, entering.
Virginia! sweet Virginia! Sure I heard
My name pronounced. Was it by thee, Virginia?
Thou dost not answer! Then it was by thee—
O! wouldst thou tell me why thou namedst Icilius!
Virginia.
My father is incensed with thee. Dentatus
Has, told him of the new decemvirate,
How they abuse their office. You, he knows,
Have favour'd their election, and he fears
May have some understanding of their plans.
Icil.
He wrongs me then!
Virginia.
I thank the gods!
Icil.
For me!
Virginia? Do you thank the gods for me?
Your eye is moist—yet that may be for pity.
Your hand doth tremble—that may be for fear;
Your cheek is cover'd o'er with blushes! What,
O what can that be for?
Virginia.
Icilius, leave me!
Icil.
Leave thee, Virginia! O, a word—a word
Trembles upon my tongue, which, if it match
The thought that moves thee, now, and thou wilt let me
Pronounce that word, to speak that thought for thee,
I'll breathe, though I expire in the ecstasy
Of uttering it.
Virginia.
Icilius, will you leave me?
Icil.
Love! Love! Virginia! Love!—If I have spoken
Thy thought aright, ne'er be it said again,
The heart requires more service than the tongue
Can, at its best, perform. My tongue hath served
Two hearts—but lest it should o'erboast itself,
Two hearts with but one thought! Virginia!
Virginia, speak!
[Virginia covers her face with her hands.
O, I have loved thee long;
So much the more ecstatic my delight,
To find thee mine at length.
Virginia.
My secret's yours.
Keep it and honour it, Icilius.
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Virginius.
Icilius here!
Virginia.
I ask thee now to leave me!
Icil.
Leave thee! who leaves a treasure he has coveted
So long, and found so newly, ere he scans it
Again, and yet again; and asks and answers,
Repeats and answers, answers and repeats,
The half-mistrustful half-assured question—
And is it mine, indeed?
Virginia.
Indeed! indeed!
Now leave me!
Icil.
I must see thy father first,
And lay my soul before him.
Virginia.
Not to-night!
Icil.
Now worse than ever, dear Virginia!
Can I endure his doubts; I'll lay my soul
Naked before him—win his friendship quite,
Or lose myself for ever.
[Going, is met by Virginius.
Virginius.
Stop, Icilius!
Thou seest that hand? It is a Roman's, boy;
'Tis sworn to liberty—It is the friend
Of honour. Dost thou think so?
Icil.
Do I think Virginius owns that hand!
Virginius.
Then you'll believe
It has an oath deadly to tyranny,
And is the foe of falsehood! By the gods,
Knew it the lurking-place of treason, though
It were a brother's heart, 'twould drag the caitiff
Forth. Darest thou take that hand?
Icil.
I dare, Virginius.
Virginius.
Then take it! Is it weak in thy embrace?
Returns it not thy gripe? Thou wilt not hold
Faster by it than it will hold by thee!
I overheard thee say, thou wast resolved
To win my friendship quite—Thou canst not win
What's thine already! You will stay, my boy,
And sup with us to-night?
Den.
To be sure he will!
Virginius.
And, hark you, Sir,
At your convenient time, appoint a day
Your friends and kinsmen may confer with me—
There is a bargain I would strike with you.
Come, to the supper-room. Do you wait for me
To lead Virginia in, or will you do it?
Come on, I say; come on. Your hand, Dentatus.
[They go out.
| Virginius | |