University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Palace.
Marcella, Antonina, Junius.
Ant.
Methinks these walls are changed with their inhabitants;
Dark do they seem, and hateful to the sight.
Is this the place where sedulous attention,
Obsequious homage, and the voice of gladness
Pursued our steps? Where each beholder's eye
Caught at our transient looks? our transient smiles?

Mar.
The change is in ourselves. The fickle croud
Surrounding greatness, like the flies of June
Ope to the sun their many-coloured wings;
When damps arise, and evening dews descend,
They sicken, and are seen no more.

Ant.
Unused to fear, I tremble, and my knees
Unstable, scarce support my aged frame.
Who passes yonder? Decius! Tho my soul
Abhors communication with that traitor,
He may be useful.—Decius!

Dec.
Who are ye,
That in despite of happiness and joy
Enter these walls array'd in weeds of sorrow?

Ant.
O affecttation vile! Insulting meanness!
From thee that question? Know'st thou not the daughter
Of Belisarius? Oft hast thou before him
Duck'd low thy pliant head, often to her,
Often to me, cringed like a fawning spaniel.
Are happiness and joy within these walls?
False as thou art, thou wilt not dare assert it.
The fate of heroes hangs in dread suspense,
And all who feel one glimmering ray of virtue
Grieve in their hearts. Narbal and all his slaves,
Tho clad in smiles, are tortured with anxiety.
Justinian, Theodora, have their fears.

Dec.
Was it thy purpose to upbraid me thus?
Shame to my easy nature which obey'd
The call of pride. Vain woman! to the winds
Cast thy reproaches. Decius hears no more.

[Exit
Ant.
Thou groveling miscreant hence!
Enter Eumenes.
Say, are our features
Unknown to thee? are we so soon forgotten?

Eum.
Forget you! know you not! The sun shall cease
To roll in heaven, e'er I forget the family
Of Belisarius, and of Phorbas.

Mar.
Worthy,
Kind, kind Eumenes!—Decius cross'd our way—
We hoped by his assistance to have gain'd
Admission to the empress. He most tauntingly,
Most cruelly, ask'd who we were.

Ant.
'Tis true, 'tis true by heaven!
Excuse me O Eumenes! not like him
Art thou, the hungry flatterer of greatness,
The needy vassal of a slavish courtier.
Forgive the peevish error of my tongue,
Designed for him, not thee: the stroke oblique
Aim'd at another, sprung from inward pride,
And female spleen. Alas! alas! Eumenes!
Suppliants we come; wilt thou from Theodora
Humbly request an audience?

Eum.
If the dart
Of death were pointed to oppose my entrance.
Tho much I fear she will not see you, much
If seen, her ear will be to your request
Most marble-nerved.

Ant.
Yet try her I conjure thee.

Eum.
Is there a task Eumenes would refuse
At thy desire? I will return with speed,
And bear her answer.

[Exit.
Ant.
Tender-natured man!
I for thy sake retract the rash opinion
Which I had well nigh form'd, and think there may be
Some honesty remaining in a court.

Mar.
Will she admit us think'st thou?—Hark! he comes!
Was she e'er moved by melting pity?—Hark!
I marvel at his stay.—Oh! for a tongue
Of most persuasive eloquence, to move
As music did of old, the rocks and trees,
Obedient to the magic strain!—I fear
All will be frustrate.—How I dread this interview!
Not yet! not yet!—She will not surely see us.
Oh! she is stern, and not to be intreated.
I had methought conn'd in my mind a lesson;
But it is flown—quite lost—confusion reigns.
Poor Junius!—oh! thy mother's heart, my boy,
Is torn asunder.—Generous Eumenes!
Enter Eumenes.
Will she admit us? How did she receive thee?
What said she? Did she frown upon thy message?

Eum.
Most noble, and revered! too rash was I.
Propitious is the hour. To Theodora
I proffer'd your petition; she, with calmness,
By the soft motion of a gentle smile
Only disturb'd, bade me to introduce you.

Ant.
Supporter of the weak! whose words revive
The drooping heart of sorrow, be our guide!
Should'st thou be e'er unhappy, may'st thou find
A friend congenial with thyself, to pity,
And lend thee succour! Rather may'st thou ne'er
Need his assistance! O ye gods shower down,
Shower down your choicest blessings from above,
And crown his days with happiness and peace!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Theodora
(alone.)
The eclipse is pass'd; and our imperial light
May shine at length unrivall'd. Heaven is just.
And pride laid low affords a spectacle,
On which the greatness it before insulted
Can look well pleased: e'en if religion join'd not
To give her plaudit to the final ruin
Of hated pagan foes.—They bore the sway—
Justinian and myself were but as toys,
Or secondary adventitious ornaments
To grace their diadem; the homagers,
And shadows of their power; the substance their's.
And do they claim my pity? It is well.

Enter Eumenes, Flavia, &c.
Eum.
Most gracious empress! Belisarius' wife,
His daughter, and the son of youthful Phorbas.

Theo.
Leave us; this tender interview requires
No prying eye.
[Exit. Eumenes.
Most welcome! nay believe me,
That thus as supplicants you come before us
Our heart feels no displeasure.

Ant.
O Theodora! prostrate at thy feet
[They kneel.
See that ill-fated wretch, who heretofore
Was honour'd with that dearest name, thy friend!

Theo.
Nay rise.—Our friend, and the illustrious daughter
Of our renowned General at our feet!
It shall not be.

Mar.
Bent lowly to the earth
By dire calamity, we rise no more,
Unless thou stretch thy hand benignant forth,
And raise us up to life.

Theo.
Name your request.

Ant.
And need I name it? Think O Theodora
What pangs we feel. The father and the husband,
Loyal and innocent, dragg'd from our arms
By their relentless foe; in chains; immured
Within yon hateful walls, the traitor's mansion.
O bleeding fame! O agony intolerable!
Of which ne'er may the faintest portion touch
Thy royal bosom!

Theo.
Wherefore kneel to me?
I am no deity.—Mistaken worshippers!
Go, offer up your prayers to thund'ring Baal;
To pale Astarte! or your houshold gods.
Where are your crouds of slaves? your robes of state?
This garb of mourning! Doth this suit an empress?
Her, who aspired to Theodora's station?
Named you my former friendship? This your pride
Long time has cancell'd. Now the crime, the guilt
Of those you plead for, sink you to a depth
Which mercy's peering eye in vain would fathom.

[Exit.
Marcella
(starting up.)
False woman! guilt! thine is the curse, the stain
Of spotted infamy.—Hah! Antonina!
And are we here! and have we knelt before her!
Guilt! guilt!—Oh! wherefore didst thou bring us hither!
My heart! my head!—Haste! let us hence with speed.
Here serpents dwell, ingratitude, deceit,
And every odious monster.—Let us hence.

Ant.
Cease my Marcella! dearest boy! weep not.

Mar.
And what is her religion! cruelty.
Proud too, she call'd us—But I now am calm;
This undeserved treatment hurts me not.
Yet am I proud; proud of my innocence;
Of thee my Junius, of thy father proud.
But pomp, and grandeur, wealth, and glittering toys,
Never for their intrinsic merit prized,
Now vanish into nothing.—Riches court
The hand of fools—the base may rise to power.
The humble and the innocent are here,
O'erwhelm'd with misery.—Away! Away!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Prison.
Belisarius, Phorbas, (in chains.)
Bel.
Deluded Prince!
Oh! ill-condition'd state of empire! girt
By interest and deceit, a constant cloud
The regal throne envelops. At a distance
Stands truth, and weeps. An eye, like lightning keen,
And as the sun, commanding, is required
To pierce through, or disperse the incircling gloom,
And see the lovely mourner in her tears.

Phor.
How are we fallen! the virid leaves of hope
Sear'd in their prime! O days of bliss o'erpast!
Which now but deeper tent the wounds of anguish!

Bel.
Shall we of courage at a distance boast?
And when become the inmates with misfortune,
Cast back a wistful look to happiness?
Shrinking beneath the rigorous embrace
Of our too stern companion?—Conscious virtue
Irradiating the chosen mind, forbids it
To share the common fate.

Phor.
Nor do I faint.
Nor shall thy son, my father, from thy side
In this severest conflict backward turn
His coward step.—Yet while resentment burns,
I cannot but invoke revenge, and hurl
Pernicious curses on the heads of those
Who caused our ruin.

Bel.
Will they aught avail?
Sprung from the impetuous ardour of thy youth,
Will they e'er reach their bosoms? Tho I plead not
For brutal apathy, yet patience gives
A nobler triumph, in her awful silence
Far more expressive, than the tumid look,
And boistrous words of anger.—Curse them not.

Phor.
Perfection is not mine.

Bel.
Nor mine, nor any man's.
Yet, what a glorious aim! seeing the fane
On yonder towering eminence, to labour
Up the rough passage, till we gain the height
Allotted to humanity!—The mind
Of busy malice hastens on our fate;
'Tis her's forever to be base and treacherous;
But our's the few short moments which remain,
To study how with dignity to live,
With dignity to die.

Phor.
Again I rise.
Again my father I emerge, and shake
Despondence from me.—Hark! the jarring door!
And footsteps which the echoing vault rebounds!
Let the dark murtherer enter—we're prepared.

Enter Eumenes, and Guards.
Eum.
Ungrateful are my tidings.

Bel.
Speak them boldly.

Eum.
I come, alas! to bear thy son from hence
To speedy execution.

Bel.
Him alone!

Eum.
Such are my orders.

Bel.
Lead the victim forth!
Never was soul more spotless offer'd up
To the pure gods: fit sacrifice for heaven.

Phor.
Behold that best, that bravest of mankind!
He taught me how to live, and, harder task,
Hath taught me how to die.

Bel.
Let me embrace thee.
I could have wish'd thee slain in glorious battle,
Slain for thy country.—But to fall unjustly
Is no mean fate. Thank heaven thou dost not merit
The stroke of death. These tears which bathe my cheek
Would then have sprung from a less noble motive,
For thy polluted honour. These are nature's,
Which cannot part unmoved from what it loves.

Eum.
Would I could lengthen out his date of life
Till nature brake the seal! But fate withstands;
Nor will Justinian's orders brook delay.

Phor.
O Belisarius! should relentless malice,
Afraid to touch thy sacred head, stop short
In it's mid course; let thy Marcella know
My dying thoughts were fix'd on her—My son!
O fate!—But hence vain murmurs!—This embrace—
Receive my gratitude, affection, duty.
May the just gods thro this dark maze of care
Lead forth thy steps!—Cherish my memory!
To thee, and to the virtuous I bequeath it.
Farewell! I go where coward fraud prepares
No subtle web, nor violence its chains.
Perhaps to mix with heroes; where at least
The plagues of this infested world exist not,
Self-blinded folly, and wide-wasting vice.

[Exeunt.
Bel.
Dear youth! thy blood alone can ne'er assuage
The thirst of hot revenge.—Hapless old man!
I should have gone before him—o'er my ashes
He should have dropp'd the filial tear.—Alone!
Yet not without resource; while still within
The voice of conscience soothes oppressive grief.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

The House of Belisarius.
Antonina, Marcella, Junius.
Ant.
What can detain the lingering step of Caius?
He cannot too be false.

Mar.
Oh! Antonina!
Horror and death and treachery are around us;
Life is a whirlpool of perfidious wickedness,
We, the light straws that float upon the river,
Are soon ingulph'd and lost amid it's waves.
For me, I wait my dissolution calmly;
The death of Phorbas is my fated signal.—
My Junius too must perish—O my son
The barbarous wretch who triumphs o'er thy father,
Will slay thee too.

Jun.
You shall protect me.

Mar.
None
But tygers, or the pard, would injure thee.
But men are brutal, and humanity
Dwells in the howling wilderness.—My comfort!
E'en in the depth of my affliction! Image
Of thy dear father, come into my arms!

Ant.
Who enters there?

Mar.
It is the faithful Caius.
Hah! if thy face be index to thy soul,
Some dreadful news thou bear'st.

Caius.
Forgive me both!
Much-injured, honour'd women! I am destined
The oracle of ill.

Ant.
Say what?—

Mar.
Are they alive? or—

Caius.
Belisarius lives.
But Phorbas is no more.—As in my turn
Of guard, I waited on the emperor's person,
Narbal being present, with an hasty step
Eumenes enter'd; see, he cried, the sword
Which duty brings, stain'd with the blood of Phorbas!
So ever fall thy enemies!—Justinian
Thank'd him, and they retired.

Ant.
Will not the earth
Ope wide, and swallow them up quick! Ye heavens!
Is justice then with you an empty name!
That they yet live, and taint the vital air
With their pernicious crimes!—Marcella! Hah!
Her arms are rigid; and her eyes roll wild.
My daughter! heaven forefend?—accursed traitors!—

Mar.
Come near my son; come near; tread softly tho.
Thy father lies here on the couch of death.

Jun.
Why look you thus? why grasp my hand so hard?

Ant.
O my dear daughter! what dost thou behold?
Thy eye is riveted on viewless space.
Alas! she heeds me not.—This did I fear.
She ne'er before tasted afflictions cup,
And now drinks deep indeed.

Mar.
Hark! Hark! He speaks.
His face is pale; but listen, listen, listen.
Wilt not attend to him?—See where he sits!
And hear him while he speaks? I could methinks
Give ear forever to his honey'd sounds.
Listen my son—He'll teach thee to be good—
To drive away deceit—to bear a soul
Which may be read, as the pure stream is seen
Thro the pellucid ice.—I'll sit me down
And rest, I have watch'd long.

Ant.
O friend! in us thou see'st the vanity
(To Caius.
Of human things. Where's Belisarius now?
For thirty years the empire's surest bulwark?
Preserver of the universal state?
Where is he now? in chains, in a dark dungeon.
What is his wife? a wretch who scarcely lives.
His daughter? run distracted. His brave son-in-law?
Murder'd. The comfort of his age? the boy
Of his fond soul?—Oh! my good friend! these thoughts
Cannot be borne; fiercely they goad the mind,
And shatter every faculty.—Good Caius,
Take, lead him forth.—Poor child! thy fate is worst.
Thou hast most years to run in this bad world.
[Exit Caius with Junius.
My daughter!

Mar.
Stand aside—come not between us—
The sun is set—cold blows the evening air.
Away ye horrid spectres! Are ye gone?
'Tis well—'tis well. Hah! they are here again.
'Tis Narbal, and Eumenes.—Save me! save me!
They wave their swords in triumph.—Where is my lord?
Where have ye laid him?—O thou bloody corse!
(falling on the ground.)
Do I embrace thee?—No—ye shall not part us.

Ant.
Marcella! calm! oh! calm this extacy!

Mar.
'Tis the old tyrant all this while.— (springing up)

What would ye?
Let go your hold; what, three to murther me!
What have I done?—Oh! art thou come my hero?
Phorbas shall guard me gainst you all.—Strike on
My gallant warrior! there they fall! they fall!
Spare him! no—kill him tho he grasp thy knees.—
Plead'st thou thy hoary hair old emperor!
The hair of Belisarius too was white
As the fine-sifted snow.—Kill Narbal first—
O traitor dog! triumph! and victory!
Oh! well didst thou acquit thee—let me strain thee
With close embrace to my applauding heart.—
Who hath done this? who hath removed the bodies?
My Lord! my Lord! nay, wherefore dost thou shun me?
What folly's this? nay, I shall overtake you.
(running out, Phorbas meets her.)
Hah! who art thou? and whence?

Phor.
Gods! is it thus?
Marcella! Lo! thy Phorbas!

Ant.
Can it be?
Mysterious providence! my son!—behold
The poor Marcella!—Joy and grief will urge
Me too to frenzy.—O my son! my son!
How didst thou?—Yet I ask not—unto her
Be all thy care directed now.

Phor.
O agony!
What dost thou hear? Why dost thou dart thine eye
Swift thro the vaulted space of yonder heaven?

Mar.
Music! sweet music! Hist! 'tis here—'tis gone,
'Twas joy pass'd by upon a rapid sun-beam!
A Love bestrides each dancing mote—they haste
To Theodora—have you heard the news?
The good Justinian sleeps in earth, and Narbal
Is now the jolly bridegroom.

Phor.
O ye powers!
Here look with pity! view your sweetest work!
Restore! restore!—

Mar.
Silence! Revenge hath pierced
Her heart—the shaft sticks deep—despair
Hath thrown his cold and frosty arms about her.
See! madness raving, clanks his iron chains,
And beckons her to yon high mountain top!
She falls—down—down—it was a desperate leap.

Phor.
Heart-rending sight! my trembling knees would sink
Did not the thoughts of vengeance yet support me.
Oh! I will let it loose.—Thou dearest woman!
Look on me!—Now ye gushing streams pour down!
Empty your fountains! for I would within
Keep nought but fire.

Mar.
Why weep you? have you lost
A darling husband you? and you a wife?
Oh! I could tell you such a tale of woe—
But I can bear misfortunes manfully.
Yet weep—weep—for my eyes refuse their office.
I'll save your tears, and pour them o'er his tomb—
For he was worthy—

Phor.
Oh! no more, no more.
Lest I take root e'en here; or turn to stone
By thy all-potent magic petrified.
View me Marcella! Know'st thou not thy husband?
I am thy Phorbas.

Mar.
Oh! I know thee well.—
Thou art the ghost of Phorbas—do not weep—
I soon will come to thee.—Hist! I will tell thee
What thou know'st not; grim death is overwearied,
And Narbal hired, his place supplies—the gods
Look down with fear, and tremble in their heaven.
Would I could weep! my eyes are scorch'd and dry,
And not a single little drop will flow
At my desire.—But art thou he indeed!
Art thou my Phorbas! As I am alive
Thou shouldst be he; none of the sons of men
But he, e'er wore that look humane, or beam'd
Forth from his eyes the soul-bewitching ray
Of mild compassion.—Oh! my head is giddy.
I prate I know not what.—Is my boy dead?
Poor little Junius dead, that thou thus weep'st?
I'm all in error Phorbas—tell me, tell me,
Is my boy dead?—My starting tears now flow,
And I will shed them o'er his grave forever,
Like ill-starr'd Niobe.

Phor.
Weep on—weep on.
Oh! blessed be the dawn of opening reason!
He lives Marcella; I am he indeed;
Thy ever-loving husband.

Mar.
So thou art.—
But did Eumenes' sword pierce deep? The wound
Was desperate.—Who was thy kind surgeon? who?
Oh! let me know, and I will follow him
A thousand miles on my bare knees to thank him.
My mother!—Oh! but Junius then is slain—
The son, and not the father.—Bloody Narbal!
Could nought suffice thee but the infant's death?
A mother's curse upon thee!—Fly! fly! fly!
Narbal and death still dog us at the heels.
What! linger you?

Phor.
All will be marr'd again.—
Support her Antonina; lead her in.
Thou hast behold thy son Marcella; he
Is well, and wishes to embrace thee.

Mar.
Nay,
Deceive me not I pray you. I am a woman,
And very credulous.—Weak—weak too—thank you.
I have supported you e'ernow my mother,
And will whene'er you need.

[Exeunt.