 | Constantine |  |
26
ACT III.
Fulvia.With what paternal Tenderness he sooth'd me!
With every dear Assurance, that his Heart
Abhorr'd such Cruelty. Then earnest press'd me
To ask the Emperor to make Aurelian
Commander of his Guards. Now, now, my Soul,
Whence are the ceaseless Fears that shake thee thus?
Whence are these strange Forebodings?
Enter Constantine.
Constantine.
Why, my Fulvia,
While the full Voice of Triumph, o'er thy Name,
Swells higher into Rapture; while the Bowl
Pours forth its purple Spirits to thy Beauties,
Why seek this Solitude? Why shun the Joys,
That you alone inspire? How has my Love
Unwittingly offended? Does Maximian,
(Why startled at his Name?) Does he believe
My Friendship insincere? Why does your Eye
Gaze with so soft an Earnestness upon me?
And now it melts into a mingled Stream
Of Tenderness and Sorrow!
Fulvia.
'Tis because
This is, perhaps, my last, last Look of Tenderness,
And all the rest is Sorrow.
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By our Friendship,
Its mutual Trust and Confidence of Heart—
Or shall I urge the Husband's sacred Rights?
No; I disclaim all Rights, but those of Love:
Then, in the Name of all its chaste Endearments,
Its holy Raptures, its mysterious Joys,
Tell me thy Fears; tell me thy Sorrows, Fulvia:
I have a Right of Love to share them with you.
Fulvia.
Why did I move you thus? O Sir, forgive me!
It may be, 'tis the Weakness of my Sex.
But they, who hate our Faith, revile its Worship,
And treat its pure Simplicity with Scorn,
Are they fit Guardians of your sacred Person,
The Lord of our Religion? When I see
These Worshippers of Jove, whose dire Example
Can justify even Treason, can my Heart,
Even in thy Arms, in your's and Love's Protection,
Can it speak Peace and Safety to its Fears?
Constantine.
How amiable those Fears! Tho' form'd by Fancy,
Their Colouring is of Love! Yet are they not,
[Turning to her.
(Whate'er their Gods) the noblest Worth of Rome,
And in their Breasts that great Divinity,
Their Country's Love?
Fulvia.
Let them enjoy your Bounty:
Let every Honour their Ambition aims at,
Reward their Worth. But not to them alone
Your Life's expos'd: This ever-open Palace,
Even to the meanest, boldest of Mankind,
Unfolds its Gates!
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Are they not all my Subjects?
What have I done? What Acts of Tyranny,
What violated Laws, what bold Oppressions
Invade their Rights, that I should fear their Presence?
O Misery of Princes, when they dread
Whom most they ought to love! You know, my Fulvia,
You know your Power is Sovereign o'er my Will;
Yet, pr'ythee, do not make a Coward of me.—
Oh! spare my Fame, nor brand it with Ingratitude
To them, by whom that Fame may be immortal!
Fulvia.
Yes, thou Unkind, these Tears—I will obey you—
Shall flow no more! My Heart shall beat no more!
I will repress these Terrors; will not start
Even at the Shrieks of Murder—Oh, my Brain!
See there, my Lord! It hovers o'er your Head!
A Poniard streaming Blood! The goary Drops
Glare thro' the midnight Darkness! Earth and Heaven!
That Hand!—O Nature, universal Parent,
Whose is that Hand? Does Mercy dwell in Heaven!
I'll gaze no more—Oh! hide me in thy Bosom,
Lest my Brain turn, and I run mad for ever.
Constantine
aside.
Sure this is more than Fancy; more than Fear!
They are the Words of Fate! Awake; look up:
All shall be well. But these, the Sons of Riot,
Whose bold Intemperance hath alarm'd you thus,
Shall they not feel my Rage?—Be sure ye shall—
The Vengeance of my Love.
[Turning back, as if speaking to them.
Fulvia.
And can their Groans,
When Life is on the Rack, and stretch'd with Pain,
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(I would restrain them) flow for their Intemperance?
Does not this Wildness, this Distraction tell you,
What my Tongue cannot utter?
Constantine.
If the Danger
Be mine alone, and aim not at my Love,
Let it descend in Thunders on my Head;
Let it appear in any other Form,
Than in thy Griefs!—There my Soul sinks in Weakness—
And in thy Fears I feel my Heart a Coward.
Fulvia.
And yet, a little longer, hear! Oh! hear me!
Is there not one among our Christian Chiefs,
Loyal as brave; the rising Hope of Rome;
The Glory of the War, the Soldier's Praise,
The Soul of all their Actions? Would you give them
A General worthy of them; or in War
To lead them on to Conquest, or in Peace
With liberal Spirit to reward their Toils,
Give the Command of the Prætorian Cohorts
To your Aurelian, and in him alone
You place a Guard of Virtues round your Person.
Constantine.
Oh! why those Tears? You do not need their Aid
To bid my Heart obey you. Could you doubt,
(I must reproach you) could you doubt your Power,
And did you doubt my Love? But the Request
Is due to my Aurelian, and to Friendship.
Enter Maximian.
Maximian.
Friendship! A Commerce between Fools and Knaves
Of sordid Flattery, and weak Believing.
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[To Constantine.
Fulvia.
Sav'd him! From what?
Maximian.
His Friends: From the dire Schemes
Of deepest Hell; for where, where else can Treason,
That aims its Dagger at the Life of Princes,
Where else can it inhabit?
Fulvia.
Sir! of Treason!
That aims its Dagger at the Life of Princes!
Constantine.
Why do you thus oppress her Sex's Weakness?
You fright her gentle Spirit into Frenzy.
Fulvia
to Constantine.
Now let me claim your Promise. Let Aurelian
Command the Palace-guards: Let him assemble
All who are firm to Honour and Allegiance,
All who are true to Loyalty.
Maximian.
Aurelian!
Command the Palace-guards!
Fulvia.
Is he not honest?
Why do you start? Is he not true to Honour?
Does he not love my Lord? Is he not loyal?
Maximian.
So I once thought Marcellus. He seem'd honest:
Of Honour much he talk'd; of Friendship much;
(He was Aurelian's Friend) and much of Loyalty.
O Constantine, thy Clemency of Temper—
How has it been abus'd! Now, Sir, let Justice
Assume a firmer Spirit. As for me,
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Of all my Love—should she fall off from Goodness,
In spite of Nature's powerful Throbbings here,
This Hand should vindicate thy Wrongs and mine.
Constantine.
What strange Insinuation! Can a Father
Delighted view such Images of Horrour?
No more, my Lord, of this mysterious Language—
Enter Albinus.
Or you, Albinus, give me all the Story;
Its every Circumstance, its deepest Guilt.
Albinus.
My Lord Maximian—
Constantine.
Why do'st look at him?
Why with that Air of Anger and Reproach?
Albinus.
Because it better had become his Wisdom,
To thank high Heaven in Silence for your Safety,
Than thus to rend your Heart, where it must feel,
Most sensibly, the Pangs of Love and Friendship.
Constantine.
Friendship and Love! Why are they nam'd with Traytors?
In my Aurelian's Friendship for Marcellus,
I feel for his Distress. But why my Love?
They did not dare—'tis impious to believe it—
They did not dare to violate that Temple,
Where Virtue dwells with Beauty. But Marcellus—
What had his Age, his Wisdom with such Crimes!
Could his Ambition?—No, some secret Villain
Of bolder Hopes—By Heaven, that Look confirms it!
Oh! give him to my Rage, my Vengeance give him;
The Justice of my Love.
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aside.
Alas! my Father!
Constantine
to Fulvia.
Why do you tremble thus? Why does your Eye
Melt into Tears? Thy Husband's Love is round thee;
His Arms thy soft Security. Albinus,
Give me his Name; nor let me ask again.
Albinus.
There is, my Lord—Why is it mine to name him?—
In horrid Violation of all Faith,
Allegiance, Gratitude—
Fulvia
to Albinus.
Albinus, stop
This dreadful Preparation. Hear him not;
[To Constantine.
Or, ere you hear, resolve no Act of Blood
Shall stain this Day of Triumph. Oh! let Mercy
Add to its pious Joys an holier Sacrifice,
Than could we set Arabia's Hills on Fire,
And wast their mingled Odours up to Heaven.
Constantine.
Each Moment that delays my just Resentment,
Is a new Wrong, an Injury to thee.
[Turning to Albinus.
Albinus.
My Lord—
Constantine.
No more; nor trifle with my Anger.
Albinus.
Then hear—O Virtue, Honour, hear it not!—
This Traytor's Name—this Traytor is—Aurelian.
Constantine.
Ye sacred Powers of Friendship, hover o'er me!
Maximian, speak to my astonish'd Spirit!
My Fulvia, tell me 'tis impossible:
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That Honour, Wisdom, Virtue (sure Aurelian
Possess'd them all) should arm themselves against me!
But shall the Oaths of Traytors; they, who own'd
The purpos'd Guilt of Murder; shall their Oaths
Weigh down a Life of Friendship? Tell me, Sir,
(For I will know) what Hell-invented Arts
Thus wrong the Man I love?
Albinus.
What Arts, my Lord!
I hope, my Honesty is unsuspected.
Constantine.
Who shall be unsuspected? Who is honest,
If my Aurelian's false?
Maximian.
Here, Constantine,
Thy guardian Genius cries aloud, beware:
No farther tempt your Fate; inquire no more:
This is the utmost Limit of your Happiness:
Here you may stop with Honour; all beyond
Is Misery and Shame.
[Constantine looks at Albinus, as commanding him to speak.
Albinus.
Sir, I obey you;
But 'tis a Tale so full of Fear and Wonder,
Perhaps, of Falshood too, that I could wish
No other Ear might hear it.
Constantine
to Maximian.
Good my Lord,
Leave us alone. My Fulvia's gentle Spirit
Will gladly quit the Scene. One little Hour,
[Turning to the Empress.
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And all the rest is yours; is Love's and yours.
[He leads her out.
Maximian
aside.
'Tis now your Cause, ye Gods, and see it prospers.
[As Maximian is going out, he seems strongly agitated, gazing earnestly after his Daughter.
Constantine
, observing it.
Starting! confus'd! The stern Maximian tremble!
While from the fiery Fierceness of his Eye
A Look of wild Compassion at the Empress
Shot forth its Softness.
Albinus.
Tho' Maximian's Manners
Are of the sterner Kind, he has an Heart—
No Father softer. To behold his Daughter
In such unwonted Agonies of Sorrow—
Constantine.
Oh! she is all her Sex's Tenderness!
I've known her weep to hear a well-feign'd Tale
Of one, who fell from Honour. If Aurelian—
If he's a Traytor, are they not most lovely,
These pious Sorrows of Esteem and Friendship?
Albinus.
Friendship, Esteem, I thought were manly Virtues,
Too firm for Woman's wayward, wandering Spirit.
But if the Empress, Sir.—
Constantine.
The Empress, Sir!
Why is she nam'd? Why these licentious Hints
Against her Sex? Say, wherefore is her Name
Insulted with their Weakness, with their Frailties?
Albinus.
Insulted, Sir! Long may you think her virtuous;
Long may she live untainted, unsuspected.
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Untainted! Unsuspected! Think her virtuous!
Roman, take heed. Tho' I believe thee honest,
And love that Soldier's Plainness in thy Manners,
Yet dare not, for thy Life—By my just Rage,
Thy Life shall answer for a Thought, that wrongs her.
Albinus.
Sir, I obey you gladly; for I know not
A greater Curse to any honest Heart,
Than to think ill of others.
Constantine.
Ill of whom?
Not of my Wife? my Fulvia? Is she not
A noble Proof, where Men may see, and wonder
At Woman's perfect Worth? Still, still thy Looks
Are darken'd o'er with some mysterious Mischief!
You are a Christian; Truth is your Religion;
You are a Soldier; Honour's your Profession:
You were my Father's Friend; he lov'd, esteem'd you:
By his great Name, by every sacred Power,
(If aught be sacred now) Allegiance, Honour,
Let me conjure thee, tell me thy worst Meanings.
Albinus.
It was my Sense of Honour and Allegiance,
That prompted me thus far. Were I a Courtier,
I might have learn'd (not thus abrupt and bold)
With silken Language to have cloth'd my Purpose.
But, Sir, I am a Soldier, rough, and simple,
And now in plain, blunt Honesty must tell you—
Yet if the distant Fear can shake you thus,
Will not the glaring Certainty of Shame—
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What uninvented, unimagin'd Tortures
Have I to dread? My Heart is on the Rack.
Albinus.
Would I could give it Ease. Alas! my Lord,
You saw Maximian; saw the Agitation,
That shook his Frame. It was the Father's Fondness
Labouring to disbelieve against Conviction.
But such the Proofs—sure they were strong indeed,
If he condemn'd; if he could think her guilty.
And yet a moment's Pause. There is a Circumstance,
That throws its Light—its Light of Hope around us.
Did she this Morning, Sir, the Empress ask you
To make Aurelian Captain of your Guards?
Constantine.
She did.
Albinus.
Your Wife! your Empress, Sir? your Fulvia!
Constantine.
What means this passion'd Repetition? She;
Fulvia; my Wife.
Albinus.
To place him near your Person!
Sure, not with much Intreaties?
Constantine.
Yes; most earnest.
Albinus.
Then Hell's Intelligence is true.
Constantine.
Now, tell me,
Why did you ask?
Albinus.
What did I ask, my Lord?
In this Confusion Memory no longer
Holds its firm Seat.
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I'll tell you then. You ask'd me,
Whether my Wife with strong Intreaties press'd me
To make Aurelian Captain of my Guards.
Albinus.
Oh! my dear Lord forget it, lest th'Idea
Murder your sweetest Slumbers, and unfix
The seated Throne of Reason; for they swore,
(When sure the Soul speaks Truth) in Death's last Pangs,
When wide Eternity was opening on them—
They swore your Wife had promis'd, even with Tears,
With every Art, and Subtlety of Woman,
To make the bold Request.
Constantine.
Why? wherefore bold?
Albinus.
I cannot—must not tell you—Sir, they swore,
That his Attendance on your sacred Person
Might with more Ease; more frequent Opportunity—
Constantine.
Ha! dare not for thy Soul. One added Thought
Carries such Ruin, such Perdition with it—
Albinus.
And yet what Harm, my Lord? Their frequent Meetings,
No Doubt, were pious ones: to give Success
To our new Faith, and propagate its Doctrines.
Such as this Morn—but that, perhaps, was Zeal;
'Twas Friendship's Warmth; to tell of your Return.
Constantine.
What of this Morning? Where? What frequent Meetings?
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Here in the Palace, two full Hours, at least,
The Empress was in private with Aurelian.
Jocund he seem'd, as one, who gain'd some Point
Of highest Moment. Doubtless, then he urg'd
Th'unwary Princess to this bold Request;
And such his Form; such Shews of manly Virtue—
Constantine.
His Form! Why that deceive her? But this Morning—
See her in private, two long Hours, and more!
Leave his Command; leave that officious Zeal,
With which he ever waited on our Person?
Leave them? for what? For a religious Council?
For holy, pious Meetings?
Albinus.
Dear my Lord—
Constantine.
She was most just; most faithful to her Promise.
With more than Woman's Arts; with Tears, Distraction;
With frenzy'd Terrors, with the Shrieks of Murder;
With fancy'd Visions—All ye Powers of Hell,
Where could she learn? Where was she practis'd thus?
Albinus.
In Truth, 'tis somewhat strange. Yet still, my Lord,
Appearances, most probable, are oft
Most false. Truth is of simpler Kind.
And unperplex'd with Circumstance. Aurelian
Has every Shew of Worth; is brave and wise,
And tho' he lov'd the Empress, 'twas before,
That Marriage made her yours.
Constantine.
Oh! well remember'd.
Yes; we were Rivals once, and sure his Passion
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He lov'd to Madness—for he lov'd like me.
Fool that I was; dull Fool. I thought his Friendship
Conquer'd his Love; but, oh! that Thought how vain
My own Heart proves. Amidst these wildest Transports
My Reason hates; my Glory sickens at her,
Yet still my Soul's in Love. With lavish Tongue
She dwelt upon his Praise—“The Soldier's Pride;
“The rising Hope of Rome”—O blushes Wanton!
Thy Tears, thy Terrours now want no explaining,
Nor those strong Cries for Mercy.
Albinus.
Most amazing!
Is't possible! These Transports for a Woman?
A false one too! To see you thus afflicted
O'ercomes thy Soldier's Firmness.
Constantine.
What Affliction?
Thou see'st it not. 'Tis in my Heart? my Head;
'Tis in my Brain. Thro' every beating Pulse
It drinks my vital Blood. Thro' every Sense
It pours the gushing Sorrow fast upon me.
Albinus.
Had I suspected you could feel it thus,
Were it not better have conceal'd her Riots?
Her loosest, most luxurious—
Constantine.
Villain, hold,
Is this a Scene, and for an Husband's Eye?
By Hell, thou dost insult me. Hence; begone.
Yet stay; thy natural Fierceness may assist me.
If thou did'st ever know an Art of Cruelty;
Or if, from Nature, thou abhor'st all Mercy,
Aid my Revenge. and let Aurelian feel—
40
That he may feel, if possible, the Pangs,
That rend my Heart. And thou, O Jealousy,
Invok'd, arise from thy profoundest Hell,
(To no mean Scenes of Horrour art thou call'd)
Arise, and with thee bring thy kindred Fiends.
Revenge and Murder. I'll employ them all.
Vengeance and Blood! O Woman! Woman! Vengeance!
[Exeunt.
| Constantine | |