University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Roman Street. A Group of Patricians conversing in front.
CETHEGUS, LENTULUS, ETC.
CETHEGUS
(speaking as he enters).
We loiter here. I come from Catiline,
To give you welcome in his name, and bid
The banquet wait no longer.

LENTULUS.
Has he won?

CETHEGUS.
My life upon't, we're masters of the field!
The people hung on every word he spoke,
As if he were no mortal; but a god,
Sent down in the declining age of Rome,
To teach it ancient glory.

LENTULUS.
'Tis told loftily—

CETHEGUS.
Envious as ever!—'Tis told honestly.
You should have seen him in the Campus Martius,—
In the tribunal,—shaking all the tribes
With mighty speech. His words seem'd oracles,
That pierced their bosoms; and each man would turn,
And gaze in wonder on his neighbour's face,
That with the like dumb wonder answer'd him:
Then some would weep, some shout; some, deeper touch'd,
Keep down the cry with motion of their hands,
In fear but to have lost a syllable.
The evening came, yet there the people stood,
As if 'twere noon, and they the marble sea,
Sleeping, without a wave. You could have heard
The beating of your pulses while he spoke,—
But, when he ceased, the shout was like the roar
Of Ocean in the storm.

LENTULUS.
He lingers yet.
Delay looks ominous.

CETHEGUS.
As I left the plain
That smooth-tongued Cicero was in full harangue;
And, just before I reach'd the walls, I heard
The shouts again. The business must be done.
On, to the palace! On.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Banquet in Catiline's Palace. Couches along the sides. Statues of Jove, Juno, and Minerva, on Thrones at the extremity of the Hall. Singers and Slaves in the distance. The Guests, crowned with Chaplets of Roses and Myrtle, lying on the Couches. The Singers advance and chaunt.
CHORUS.

Catiline suddenly enters the Hall; the Guests shout, “The Consul!” He advances hastily and moodily to the front: they come from the Couches, and surround him; he flings himself into a Chair.
CATILINE.
Are there not times, Patricians! when great states
Rush to their ruin? Rome is no more like Rome,
Than a foul dungeon's like the glorious sky.
What is she now? Degenerate, gross, defiled;
The tainted haunt, the gorged receptacle
Of every slave and vagabond of earth:
A mighty grave, that luxury has dug,
To rid the other realms of pestilence;
And, of the mountain of corruption there,
Which once was human beings, procreate
A buzzing, fluttering swarm; or venom tooth'd,
A viper brood: insects and reptiles only!

[The group draw back in surprise.
CETHEGUS.
We wait to hail you Consul.

LENTULUS
(aside.)
He's undone!

CATILINE.
Consul! Look on me—on this brow—these hands;
Look on this bosom, black with early wounds:
Have I not served the state from boyhood up,
Scatter'd my blood for her, labour'd for, loved her?
I had no chance; wherefore should I be Consul?

LENTULUS.
So: Cicero still is master of the crowd?

CATILINE.
Why not? He's made for them, and they for him:
They want a sycophant, and he wants slaves.
Well, let him have them;—think no more on't, friends.
The wine there! (calls).
—If our tree is stript in Rome,
May it not branch elsewhere? Give me a cup:—
Here's to old Teucer's memory!

CETHEGUS
(starting forward with a cup)
Here, I pledge
Coriolanus!

CATILINE.
No! my hasty friend!
Old Teucer!—He, that, when his country's fields
Could find no room for him, let loose his sail
To the first wind; pitch'd his enfranchised tent
On the first desert shore, and drank his cup
As cheerfully upon the pebbled sand,
As in the sculptured halls of Telamon!
Has not the hymn begun? To supper, friends! [With sudden emotion.

Patricians! they have push'd me to the gulf;
I have worn down my heart, wasted my means,
Humbled my birth, barter'd my ancient name,
For the rank favour of the senseless mass
That frets and festers in your commonwealth:
Ay, stalk'd with bended head and out-stretch'd hand,
Smiling on this slave, and embracing that,
Doing the candidate's whole drudgery.

LENTULUS.
Proud Catiline! (aside).
—'Tis but the way with all.

CATILINE
(turning on him).
What is 't to me, if all have stoop'd in turn?
Does fellowship in chains make bondage proud?
Does the plague lose its venom, if it taint
My brother with myself? Is 't victory,
If I but find, stretch'd by my bleeding side,
All who came with me in the golden morn,
And shouted as my banner met the sun?
I cannot think on't.—There's no faith in earth!
The very men with whom I walk'd through life,
Nay, till within this hour, in all the bonds
Of courtesy and high companionship,
They all deserted me; Metellus, Scipio,
Emilius, Cato, even my kinsman Cæsar,—
All the chief names and senators of Rome,
This day, as if the Heavens had stamp'd me black,
Turn'd on their heel, just at the point of fate,
Left me a mockery, in the rabble's midst,
And followed their plebeian consul, Cicero!

CETHEGUS.
Nay, Catiline, you take this chance defeat
Too heavily; you'll have 't another year.

CATILINE.
No! I have run my course. Another year!
Why taunt me, sir? No—if their curule chair,
Sceptre, and robe, and all their mummery,
Their whole embodied consulate, were flung,
Here, at my feet,—and all assembled Rome
Knelt to me, but to stretch my finger out,
And pluck them from the dust,—I'd scorn them all.—
This was the day to which I look'd through life;
And it has fail'd me—vanish'd from my grasp,
Like air.
I must not throw the honourable stake,
That, won, is worth the world,—is glory, life;
But, like a beaten slave, must stand aloof,
While others sweep the board!

CETHEGUS.
A year is nothing.

CATILINE.
'Tis fix'd!—Past talking now!—By Tartarus!
From this curst day I seek and sue no more:
If there be suing, it shall be by those
Who have awoke the fever in my veins.
No matter!—Nobles, when we deign to kneel,
We should be trampled on. Sinews and swords,—
They're the true canvassers:—The time may come!—
Never for me!—My name 's extinguished—dead—
Roman no more,—the rabble of the streets
Have seen me humbled,—slaves may gibe at me.

LENTULUS.
Then Cicero's victor.

CETHEGUS
(repelling him).
Let him rest.—Away!

CATILINE
(musing).
Crime may be clear'd, and sorrow's eyes be dried;
The lowliest poverty be gilded yet;
The neck of airless, pale imprisonment
Be lighten'd of its chains! For all the ills
That chance or nature lays upon our heads,
In chance or nature there is found a cure:
But self-abasement is beyond all cure!
The brand is there, burn'd in the living flesh,
That bears its mark to the grave:—That dagger's plunged
Into the central pulses of the heart;
The act is the mind's suicide, for which
There is no after-health—no hope—no pardon!—
My day is done. What stops the feast?—Come on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Grove.—Moonlight.
Hamilcar, alone; he enters abruptly and perturbed.
HAMILCAR.
[He listens.

[Cethegus comes in.
CETHEGUS.
Ho! prince of darkness—emperor of the Nile—
Star-gazer!—you are welcome to them all;—
Rome is no place for you! put on your wings,
And perch upon the moon! You left us all
Just in our glory.

HAMILCAR.
'Twas a noble set!

CETHEGUS.
Rome has none better;—all patrician blood,
Glowing with Cyprus' wine,—wild as young stags—
Bold as bay'd boars—haughty as battle steeds—
Keen as flesh'd hounds—fire-eyed as mounting hawks—

HAMILCAR.
'Twill be a glorious day that lets them soar.
How was 't with Catiline?

CETHEGUS.
He seem'd to feel
The fiercest joy of all; pledged Heaven and Earth
In brimming goblets; talk'd a round of things,
Lofty and rambling as an ecstacy;
Laugh'd, till his very laughter check'd our mirth,
And all gazed on him; then, as if surprised,
Marking the silence, mutter'd some excuse,
And sank in reverie; then, wild again,
Talk'd, drank, and laugh'd—the first of Bacchanals!

HAMILCAR.
That looks like madness (aside).
He has been abused:
The consulate was his by right.

CETHEGUS.
By right;
Ay, or by wrong!—had I been Catiline,
I should have knock'd out Cicero's brains.

HAMILCAR
(advancing to him).
Speak low;
The trees in Rome are spies. It may be done.—
The great Patricians hate him, though some few
Lacquey his steps. Were Catiline but roused
To draw the sword, this talker would be left
Bare as his pedigree.

CETHEGUS
(in surprise).
Raise war in Rome?

HAMILCAR.
No,—but take down the consul's haughtiness;
Make the Patricians what they ought to be,
Rome's masters; and restore the forfeitures
Now in plebeian hands.

CETHEGUS.
Show me but that;
And I am his, or your's, or any man's.
My fortune's on my back; the usurers
Have my last acre in their harpy hands.

HAMILCAR.
You must have Catiline, for he has all
That makes such causes thrive—a mighty name,
One that the youth will cling to; a bold tongue—
A bolder heart—a soldier's skill in arms—
A towering and deep-rooted strength of soul,
That, like the oak, may shake in summer's wind,
But, stript by winter, stands immoveable.

CETHEGUS.
He's a tried soldier.

HAMILCAR.
A most gallant one!

CETHEGUS.
You've seen him in the field?

HAMILCAR.
Ay, fifty times,—
I'the thickest fight; where all was blood and steel;
Plunging through steeds unrider'd, gory men
Mad with their wounds, through lances thick as hail,
As if he took the ranks for idle waves!
Now seen, the battle's wonder; now below,
Mowing his desperate way, till, with wild shrieks,
The throng roll'd back, and Catiline sprang out,
Red from the greaves to the helm.

CETHEGUS.
He shall be ours!
Then, Rome is full of mal-contents; the land
Cumber'd with remnants of the war; the slaves
Will crowd to his first call; then, in his house
He has the banner that the Marian troops
Still worship like a god;—but he will call
The act conspiracy.

HAMILCAR.
Jove save us all!

CETHEGUS.
How now, Hamilcar?

HAMILCAR
(going).
Fare you well, my lord. [He suddenly returns.

Conspiracy! Is not the man undone?
All over bankrupt, broken right and left—
Within this week he'll be without a rood,
A roof, a bed, a robe, a meal to eat!
Conspiracy! He's levell'd;—on the earth!
His last denarius hung upon this day,
And now you have him. This day has dissolved
His last allegiance. Go—you'll find him now
Tormented, like the hound that bays the moon,
Foaming to see the pomp beyond his reach.

CETHEGUS.
He has forsworn the world!

HAMILCAR.
'Tis laughable!

CETHEGUS.
If he draw back!

HAMILCAR.
Draw back! You'll find him flame.
Go to the banquet, ere they all break up;
Yet, should he chill,—provoke him—stir dispute—
Seize on his hasty word. The revellers there
Will take it for command; and thus his name
Be mix'd with tumult, till the lion snared
Is forced to battle.

CETHEGUS.
Then, to Catiline!
I may be king or consul yet.

HAMILCAR.
Away!

[Cethegus goes.
HAMILCAR.
[Draws his dagger.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

A Street: the Portal of Cicero's Palace at one Side. A Crowd of Patricians from the Banquet, with Garlands on their Heads, and Torches and Swords in their Hands, rush in tumultuously, led by Cethegus. They stop and gather round him as he addresses them.
FIRST PATRICIAN.
Silence!

CETHEGUS.
Roman youth!

SECOND PATRICIAN
(keeping back the crowd).
Gallant Cethegus speaks—

CETHEGUS.
Patricians! Shall the tale be told in Rome,
That upstarts should engross the consulate?

FIRST PATRICIAN.
By Romulus! it is a common shame
To every nobleman!

CETHEGUS.
Who's Cicero?
A peasant; an Arpinian. No man knows
This Consul's grandfather. A talking slave,
That makes his bread by squabbles in the courts.

SECOND PATRICIAN.
A dastard! that wears armour in the streets,
To make the rabble roar for him.

CETHEGUS.
Come on!
Yonder's the upstart's house. There's not a rogue
That rubs our horses' heels, or sweeps our gates,
But may be consul now. There's not a year,
But some base Sabine, or Apulian clown,
Will beard us at the elections. All he wants
Is cunning, and low flattery of the tribes,
To seize the fasces.

THIRD PATRICIAN.
We must have him down.

FOURTH PATRICIAN.
We'll fire the house, and give the orator,
More than his father had, a funeral pile.

CETHEGUS.
Now to your work, Patricians! If his guards—

SECOND PATRICIAN
(recoiling).
Troops in the house?

CETHEGUS.
Ay—lictors, Greeks, and slaves!
We'll storm his garrison; we'll make him show
His generalship!

THIRD PATRICIAN
(laughing).
He was a general once.

FIRST PATRICIAN.
Ay, in Cilicia; where he swears he fought—

CETHEGUS.
The highwaymen! [Shouts and laughing.

Now strike—for Catiline!

[They rush within the Gates. The Scene closes.