University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Rome.
A court belonging to Tarquin's palace. In the front a grand entrance, with folding gates closed.
Enter Tullia.
Tul.
(alone)
Gods! whither shall a frantic mother fly?
Accursed siege of Ardea! Tarquin, Tarquin,
Where art thou? Save thy wife, thy son, thy city?

Enter Titus.
Ti.
Where is the prince; where's Sextus?

Tul.
Where? Oh, heavens!
His madness hath undone us! Where is Sextus?
Perhaps ev'n now the barbarous ruffians hurl him
Alive into the flames, or piecemeal drag
Along the rebel streets his mangled trunk—

Ti.
No more. I'll save him, or avenge—

(Going, Horatius meets and stops him.)
Hor.
Turn, noble Roman, turn;
Set not your life upon a desperate stake.
Hark, they are at thy gates!

Tul.
Does my son live?

Hor.
Furious he sprang upon the rabble throng,
And hew'd his desperate passage: but the time
Admits no further question—Save yourself!

Tul.
Let the tide enter;
Let the vile rabble look upon the eyes
Of majesty, and tremble. Who leads them on?

Hor.
Your new nam'd fool, your Brutus.

Ti.
Death! my father!

Tul.
Brutus in arms!
Oh, Sybil! Oh, my fate! farewell to greatness!
I've heard my doom.

Ti.
Earth, earth, inclose me!

Tul.
Hark! it bursts upon us!

[Shouts are heard.
Hor.
Ha! nearer yet! now be propitious, Mars!
Now, nerve my arm with more than mortal fury
Till the dissembler sink beneath its vengeance.
[Exit Hor.

Tul.
Fly? save my child—save my—save your Tarquinia.

Ti.
Or die, defending.
[Exit Titus.

Tumult becomes very violent, and the battering at the gate and wall commences.
Tul
Ah! if amidst my legions I might fall
Death were not then inglorious; but to perish
By the vile scum of Rome—hunted by dogs—
Baited to death by brawling, base mechanics—
Shame insupportable.

The gate and wall are shattered down. The palaces behind are in flames. The soldiers and populace rush over the ruins. Brutus appears in the midst of them and advances to the front.
Br.
Seize the parricide! (They advance and surround her.)


Tul.
Avaunt! I am your queen.

Br.
Tarquins! we cast you from us.

Tul.
Give me a sword and let me fall like Tullia.

Br.
No, we reserve our swords for nobler uses
Than to make war with women: To the Tarquins,
To your adulterous son we leave that shame.

Tul.
If then 'twill better sate thy cruelty,
Precipitate me quick into those flames,
And with the wreck of empire mix my ashes.

Br.
Take her to Rhea's Temple, take her hence
And lodge her with her ancestors.

Tul.
Ye gods!
My father's sepulchre!—I'll not approach it.

Br.
'Twill furnish wholesome recollection. Hence!

Tul.
Not to that fatal place! Send me not thither!

Br.
'Tis fix'd.

Tul.
Choose the most loathsome dungeon—there confine me,
Or give me death instead. My heart recoils
Against that temple.

Br.
There, and only there,
By your dead father's tomb, you must abide
The judgment of the state.

Tul.
Then, by the gods
Whom, for the last time, I invoke,—whose shrines
I've incens'd o'er and o'er, though now forsaken,
Now at my utmost need,—if no means else
Of ready death present themselves
No particle of food shall pass these lips,
Till, in the void of nature, hungry madness
With blank oblivion entering, shall confound
And cancel all perception.

[Exit Tullia, guarded.
Enter Titus, who meets Brutus as he is going off.
Ti.
Turn, oh my father,
And look upon thy son.

Br.
What would'st thou? speak!

Ti.
If thou hast reason, oh, have mercy also!
But if in madness thou hast done this deed—

Br.
I am not mad, but as the lion is,
When he breaks down the toils that tyrant craft
Hath spread to catch him. Think not we will suffer
These monsters to profane the air of Heaven.
Shall Titus, then, oppose our great design?
Shall Brutus meet a recreant in his son?
Banish this folly!—Have a care—I know thee,
There is a lurking passion at thy heart.
Which leaves but half a soul for Rome and me!

Ti.
You wrong me. Like a Roman I exult
To see Lucretia's murder thus aveng'd—
And like a son glory in such a father!
Yet hear me through.—Nay, do not frown, but hear me.

Br.
Go on; confess thy weakness and dismiss it.

Ti.
'Twas in the sleep of my dear father's reason,
When Tarquin's freed-man in a saucy mood
Vented vile jests at thy unhappy weakness,
Stung to the quick, I snatch'd a weapon up
And fell'd him to my foot.

Br.
Why, 'twas well done.
The knave was saucy and you slew him.—On!

Ti.
'Twas on this very spot Tarquinia stood,
And when the wrathful father had denounc'd
Immediate death on this my filial act,
She with the tongue of interceding pity,
And tears that stream'd in concert with her suit,
Implor'd, prevail'd, and gave me life—and love.

Br.
'Tis well. Behold, I give her life for life:
Rome may be free altho' Tarquinia lives—
This I concede; but more if thou attemptest,—
By all the gods!—Nay, if thou dost not take
Her image, though with smiling cupids deck'd,
And pluck it from thy heart, there to receive
Rome and her glories in without a rival,
Thou art no son of mine, thou art no Roman.
[Exit Brutus.

Enter Tarquinia.
Tar.
Save, save me, Titus! Oh, amid the crash
Of falling palaces, preserve Tarquinia
Or, do I meet in thee a double rebel,
Traitor alike to me and to your king?
Speak, I conjure thee! Will the son of Brutus
Now take me to his pity and protection,
Or stab with perfidy the heart that loves him!

Ti.
Cruel suspicion! Oh, ador'd Tarquinia
I live but to preserve you. You are free:
I have my father's sanction for your safety.

Tar.
I scorn a life that is preserv'd by Brutus!
I scorn to outlive parents, brothers, friends!
I'll die with those
Whom this dire night hath murder'd.

Ti.
Who are murder'd?
Whom hath the sword of Brutus slain? Not one
Of all thy kindred—

Tar.
Say'st thou? Lives my mother?

Ti.
She lives—and Sextus,—even he escapes
The storm which he has rais'd, and flies to Ardea.

Tar.
Speed him, ye gods, with eagle swiftness thither!
And may those thunders which now shake the walls
Of tottering Ardea, like a whirlwind burst
On this devoted city, whelm its towers,
And crush the traitorous hive beneath their ruins!
Now, Titus, where is now thy promis'd faith?
Didst thou not swear no dangers should divide us?

Ti.
I did; and, constant to my oath, behold me
Thy faithful guardian in this night of terrors.

Tar.
Be still my guardian; snatch me from these terrors,
Bear me to Ardea, be the friend of nature,
And give the rescued daughter to the arms
Of her protecting parent; thus you gain
The praise of men, the blessing of the gods,
And all that honour, all that love can grant.

Ti.
Despair! Distraction I Whither shall I turn me!

Tar.
Why do you waver? Cast away this weakness;
Be glorious in your cruelty and leave me.
By all the demons who prepare the heart
To rush upon the self-destroying steel,
The same dire moment which gives thee to Brutus,
Gives me to death.

Ti.
Horror! Tarquinia, hold!

Tar.
Lo! I am arm'd.—Farewell!—How I have loved you
My death shall witness,—how you have deceiv'd me
Let your own conscience tell.—Now to your father!
Now go and mingle with the murderers;
Go, teach those fiends what perjury can do,
And shew your hands bath'd in Tarquinia's blood:
The filial deed shall welcome you to Brutus,
And fill his gloomy soul with savage joy.

Ti.
Take, take the hence for ever! Let me lose.
In these dear arms the very name of son,
All claims of nature, every sense but love!

Tar.
The gods that guard the majesty of Rome,
And that sweet power, whose influence turns thy heart
To pity and compliance, shall reward
And bless thee for the deed!

Ti.
Can he be blest
On whom a father's direful curse shall fall?

Tar.
A madman's imprecation is no curse.
Be a man.

Ti.
Oh, while thy love upholds me, I can stand
Against the world's contempt; remember, only,
For whose dear sake I am undone; remember
My heart was honour's once.

Tar.
And shall be ever.
Come, I will shew thee where bright honour grows,
Where thou shalt pluck it from the topmost branch,
And wear it in its freshest, fairest bloom.

[Exeunt Titus and Tarquinia.

SCENE II.

A Street in Rome.
Enter Horatius and Celius.
Hor.
Brutus and Collatinus are appointed
To sovereign sway, as consuls for the year.
Their self elected senate meets to-morrow.
Tho' some remain, too honest for their views,
These for security exact conditions—
They ask a chief whose well establish'd fame
May win the hearts of this inconstant people;
A chief so brave, that should we prove victorious
He may compel the king to keep his faith;
Or, if we fall, boldly revenge our deaths—
And such a chief I've found.

Cel.
Indeed!—In whom?

Hor.
The consul's son—his much lov'd son\—young Titus.

Cel.
What! to rebel against his father's power!

Hor.
Aye he is ours. This very night, Tarquinia
Will lead him forth to the Quirinal gate
Whence they straight hasten to the camp at Ardea.
Impetuous youth is wrought upon with ease.
Though 'tis his father's frown upon his love,
And early vows pledg'd to the fair Tarquinia,
Alone which prompt him thus to head our band,
Once in our pow'r, we'll mould him to our ends;
His very name will prove a tower of strength,
And Rome, once more, shall be restor'd to Tarquin.

Cel.
Bravely resolv'd!—But tell me—where's the Queen?

Hor.
A captive and confin'd in Rhea's temple,
Watch'd by the vestals, who there guard the flame
Upon the tomb where lies her murder'd father.
Unhappy Queen! our swords shall soon release thee!
Come! Hence at once! The hour draws near—away—
Ere two days pass these reptiles shall be crush'd
And humbled Rome sue for its monarch's pardon.

[Exeunt Horatius and Celius.
Enter Lucretius and Valerius.
Val.
That was Horatius 'parted, was it not?

Luc.
The same.

Val.
Am I deceiv'd? Methinks I heard
Something like discontent and treason mutter'd.

Luc.
I fear all is not safe. Assembled groups
Of Tarquin's friends have been seen close in conference
Muttering his name aloud. Aye, and some base
Degenerate Romans call'd for a surrender.

Val.
Horatius' arts may justly wake suspicion:—
And Rome, we know, is still disgrac'd by many
Too base, too sordid, to be bravely free.
Let us go forth and double all the guards,
See their steps watch'd and intercept their malice.

Luc.
Nay—there is safer course than that—arrest them!

Val.
The laws and rights we've sworn to guard, forbid it!
Let them be watch'd. We must not venture farther.
To arrest a Roman upon bare surmise
Would be at once to imitate the tyrant
Whom we renounce and from his throne have driven!

[Exit Lucretius and Valerius.

SCENE III.

Rome.
The Temple of Rhea, with a large central door leading to the Tomb of Servius Tullius, late King of Rome. On one side of the stage a statue of Rhea, and on the other, a statue of Vesta, with altars and incense burning before each.
Priestess of Rhea. Virgins of the Temple.
Pr.
Daughters of Rhea, since the lords of Rome
Have to your holy hands consign'd the charge
Of their now captive Queen, inform the Priestess
How your sad prisoner abides her durance.
Is her proud soul yet humbled, or indignant
Doth it still breathe defiance and contempt?

Vir.
Sullen and silent she resolves on death:
She will not taste of nourishment. She comes

Enter Tullia.
Pr.
I pray you, royal lady, be entreated—

Tul.
I tell you, no!

Pr.
Think what a train of weary hours have pass'd
Since you had taste of food.

Tul.
'Tis well!
The fewer are to come.

Pr.
How can you live to meet your royal husband,
To fold your children in your arms again
If you resist support?

Tul.
Hah! well remember'd!
What news from Ardea? Will he march for Rome?
Hark! Do you hear his trumpet? Is he coming?
Aye, this is hope and worth the feeding.
'Tis well. 'Tis well.
But, tell me—doth the king know of this kindness?

Pr.
What king? we comprehend you not.

Tul.
What king?
Brutus, the king of Rome,—knows he of this?

Pr.
He does.

Tul.
And would he I should live?

Pr.
He would.

Tul.
Merciful villain!
Yes, he would have me live to page his triumphs:
I know the utmost of his mercy—
Subtle traitor!
I'll not taste food, tho' immortality
Were grafted to each atom—Hark! What's that?
Heard you that groan?

Pr.
It is your fancy's coinage.

Tul.
Again! 'Tis deep and hollow:
It issues from the vault—Set the door open!
Open, I say.

Pr.
It is your father's sepulchre.

Tul.
My father! righteous gods, I kill'd my father
Horrible retribution!

Pr.
Wretched daughter,
If thou hast done this deed, prepare thy spirit
By wholesome meditation for atonement,
And let no passion interrupt the task
Of penitence and prayer.

Tul.
I'll pray no more.
There is no mercy in the skies for murder,
Therefore no praying, none.
I have a plea for my impenitence—
Madness!
These groans have made me mad; all the night through
They howl'd distraction to my sleepless brain!
You've shut me up with furies to torment me,
And starv'd me into madness. Hark! again!
Unbar the door! Unbar it! By the gods
The voice is more than human which I hear!
I'll enter there—I will be satisfied
Altho' the confirmation should present
His awful form—
She rushes forward. The Priestess and Vestals in confusion and alarm, spring to the bar, which, falling with a crash the door flies open, and discovers a monumental figure of Servius Tullius with lamps burning on each side of it, Tullia recoils, shrieks, and exclaims,
Tis he! It is my father!

She falls and expires. The others groupe around her, and the Curtain falls to soft music