University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The Street.
Enter Valeria and a Servant.
Valeria.
[in Disorder.
Regard not me.—Did you not say, my Brother
Was here? Where is he?—Yet I know not why
I wish him here, but that my bursting Heart
May vent its Griefs, and find a Refuge for them.

Servant.
Madam, my Lord approaches.

Enter Valerius.
Valeria.
O Valerius,
Horatia, poor Horatia's lost for ever;
Her unrelenting Brother—

Valerius.
Dearest Sister,
Compose your Fears. She has escap'd his Rage.
But now I saw her Father, and his Care
Has sav'd her from the Blow, and begs your Aid
To sooth her tortur'd Mind.

Valeria.
What says my Brother?
How sav'd? alas, too sure she dies this Moment.
She had no Father there; these Eyes beheld
The fatal Stroke, and these sad Arms receiv'd her.
Nor had I left her now but to obey
Her own Command, and by Intreaties force
Her cruel Brother to her.

Valerius.
[With Amazement.
When was this?
Where was it?—Say, Valeria—

Valeria.
When I left you
To seek some diff'rent Way our hapless Charge,
Led by the Noise from Street to Street I ran,
And came at last where through the gather'd Crowd
I saw but could not reach her. Wild she seem'd,
Struggling with all that would oppose her Passage,
And trying every Method to provoke
Her Brother's Fury: With dire Blasphemies,
Which shock'd my trembling Soul, her Tongue profan'd
Each awful Name, and not a God escap'd
Her imprecating Rage.

Valerius.
Well, well, enough;
But come to him.

Valeria.
Silent awhile he stood,
As the dead Calm before the Thunder rolls,
Nor answer'd to her Rage: Then, rous'd at once,
As if some Inspiration touch'd his Soul,
His Bosom heav'd, he rais'd his Eyes to Heav'n,
Then burst in Tears, and whilst he wept he drove
The Poiniard to her Heart, and thus, he cried,
Thus perish all the Enemies of Rome!

Valerius.
Thou seem'st to plead his Cause.

Valeria.
Alas, my Brother,
I speak but what I saw.

Valerius.
Where was her Father?

Valeria.
I know not, but some Chance, they said, detain'd him;
He scarce had left the Crowd, and thought her safe.

Valerius.
Scarce left the Crowd, and thought her safe?—O Gods,
'Twas I, 'twas I detain'd him; in that Moment
The horrid Deed was done.—Where are they now?

Valeria.
I hope with her. She fear'd some fatal Violence,
And therefore beg'd me to intreat them to her.

Valerius.
And have you seen them? Are they Friends?

Valeria.
O no,
I found them high in Wrath: The poor old Man
Torn with contending Passions threaten'd oft
Destruction on his Son, who with Disdain
Laid bare his Breast, and bade him strike the Blow.
The Patriot then took Place, and he would wish
He never had a Daughter. My Approach
Alarm'd them both; but Publius soon resum'd
His wonted Firmness, bade her Father go
And mingle Tears with hers, he would not see her,
Nor dared pollute his Conquests with her Presence.
Hast thou no Heart, the Father cried, and look'd
Unutterable Sorrow; at which Sight
He yielded, and obey'd. I left them then
To seek you out.—My Brother, you regard not
What I have said.—You hear me not.

Valerius.
Valeria,
Revenge is busy here. Yes, thou proud Chief,
In spite of all the Glories which surround thee,
I yet may crush thy Pride!

Valeria.
You will not kill him?

Valerius.
Kill him, Valeria!—'Tis no common Death
Which he shall die: I will have noble Vengeance.
The Thought delights my Soul!

[Going.
Valeria.
What Thought, my Brother?
Nay tell me, or you go not.—Stay at least
'Till you hear more.—I feel Horatia's Wrongs
As strong as you.—
[Exit Valerius.
He's gone. Tho' my Heart bleeds
For my poor dying Friend, I must pursue him.
His fatal Rashness may distress her more,
And bring fresh Sorrows on an aged Sire
Oppress'd too much already.

[Exit.

SCENE the last.

A Room in Horatius's House.
Horatia on a Couch, and Attendants.
Horatia.
Cease, cease your cruel Aid, ye shall not save me.
My utmost Wish is Death, and I will have it.
Enter Horatius and Publius.
Yet, let me thank you for this little Life
Your Art prolongs, 'till I have made my Peace,
And ask'd Forgiveness here,

Horatius.
My Child, my Child!

Horatia.
What means this Tenderness?—I thought to see you
Inflamed with Rage against a worthless Wretch,
Who has dishonour'd your illustrious Race,
And stain'd its brightest Fame. In Pity look not
Thus kindly on me. O behold me, Sir,
With that stern Aspect my wrong'd Brother wears,
And I may then support this dreadful Parting:
For I have injur'd you.

Horatius.
Thou has not, Girl;
I said, 'twas Madness; but he would not hear me.

Horatia.
O wrong him not, his Act was noble Justice.
I forc'd him to the Deed: For know, my Father,
It was not Madness, but the firm Result
Of settled Reason, and deliberate Thought.
I was resolved on Death, and witness Heaven,
I'd not have died by any Hand but his
For the whole round of Fame his Worth shall boast
Thro' future Ages. Nought but this, my Father,
Could reconcile us; I forgive him now
The Death of Curiatius; this last Blow
Has cancell'd that, and he's once more my Brother.

Horatius.
What hast thou said? Were't thou so bent on Death?
Was all thy Rage dissembled?

Horatia.
All, my Father,
All but my Love was false; what that inspired
I utter'd freely, and still hate the Cause
Which has undone us, tho' I know 'twas Virtue.
But for the rest, the Curses which I pour'd
On Heav'n-defended Rome, were merely Lures
To tempt his Rage, and perfect my Destruction.
Heav'n! with what Transport I beheld him mov'd,
How my Heart leap'd to meet the welcome Point,
And leave its Sorrows there!

Horatius.
Unkind Horatia!
Had'st thou no Pity on thy Father's Age?
Could'st thou to ease thy Griefs abandon his,
And leave him Childless.

Horatia.
Childless? gracious Powers,
Can he be Childless from whose happy Loins
Rome's great Deliverer sprung, and still survives
To bless and cherish him.

Horatius.
He does indeed,
And I'm asham'd to think how I neglect him.—
Forgive me, Boy; she has unman'd my Virtue.
Yet can I see her thus, and not remember
Her thousand little tender Arts, which sooth'd
The Cares of Age, and led me gently through
The Evening of my Days?

Horatia.
Forget them, Sir,
They all are nothing now; this last dire Act
May justly shut me from your Breast for ever.
Turn, turn to him; there blooms the kind Support
Of your remaining Life. What tho' he bends
His stern Regards on me, who have deserv'd them?
He is by Nature gentle, mild, and loving,
Will greatly pity your deserted State,
And pay a double Duty.

Horatius.
Wherefore then
Would'st thou provoke his Rage, and make me look
With Horror on him?

Horatia.
'Tis on me, not him,
That thou should'st look with Horror; 'twas my Act,
Not his.—

Horatius.
O foolish Nature, how it struggles here
Against the force of Reason!—Save me, Boy,
From the dire Conflict: when I look this way,
[To his Son.
'Tis Reason's Triumph; Justice sanctifies
Paternal Love, and Glory crowns the whole.
But when I turn to her, I feel my Strength
Again relapse, and scarce can bless the Hand
Which sav'd my Country.

Horatia.
Then, there's nought remains,
But thus to rid you of the only Clog,
[Tearing off her Bandages.
Which keeps Affection from its proper Sphere,
And shackles Coward Virtue.—But forgive me!

Publius.
My Sister, stay; I charge thee live, Horatia.
O thou hast planted Daggers here!

Horatia.
My Brother!
Can you forgive me too? then I am happy.
I dared not hope for that. Ye gentle Ghosts
That rove Elysium, hear the sacred Sound!
My Father and my Brother both forgive me!
I have again their Sanction on my Love.
O let me hasten to those happier Climes
Where unmolested we may share our Joys,
Nor Rome, nor Alba, shall disturb us more!

Enter Valeria.
[In a Fright.
O Sir, O my Horatia—yet thou livest,
And may'st recover all.

Horatius.
What mean you, Lady?

Valeria.
All Rome, my Lord, has ta'en th'Alarm, and Crowds
Of Citizens enrag'd are posting hither
To call for Justice on Horatius' Head.

Horatia.
For what?

Valeria.
For thee.

Horatia.
O Heavens! why Numbers of them
Beheld his Provocation.

Valeria.
True they did;
But my unhappy Brother—

Horatius.
What of him?

Valeria.
Alas he loved Horatia, and her Loss
Has urg'd him to this Frenzy.

Horatius.
What of him?
Does he arraign my Son?

Valeria.
He leads the Crowd,
And, as he pleases, sways their giddy Minds:
Paints the dire Tale in all its Pomp of Sadness,
And wakes Compassion by each varied Art
Of winning Eloquence. Around the King
They press in thousands; his Authority,
Tho' aided with strict Promises of Justice,
Can scarcely calm their agitated Minds.
—But she shall live, and all be well again.

[Turning tenderly toward Horatia.
Horatia.
O no, it cannot be—detested Parricide!
Could'st thou not die without the added Guilt
Of murdering all thy Race?—O Sir—O Brother!
Can ye behold me now, and not recall
Your kind Forgiveness?—Can ye—will ye?—Speak!
—But do not curse me, Sir!
—Yet why, my Father,
Why stand you thus amaz'd? The Laws are yours;
What Right can they pretend, ungrateful Men?
Has not a Roman Father Power to take
The Lives of all his Children?—He but acted
By your Command—O take the Deed on you!

Publius.
My Sister stay, and you, my Father, hear me.
I'll end this Strife, and die since they require it.
Heaven knows how willingly!
But let not Ignominy stain my Wreaths,
Let me not fall a public Spectacle
Dragg'd like a Criminal to Justice. No,
My Father, save me from that dreadful Scene,
Assume the generous Right the Laws allow you,
And take this forfeit Life with Honour from me.

[Offering him his Sword.
Horatius.
True, and it shall be so. Yes, yes, my Children,
We'll die together.

Horatia.
[Rising from the Couch.
O forbear, forbear!—
Was this Pang wanting to compleat my Fate!
In Pity to yourselves, to the dear Honour
Of your unspotted Names!—O blind old Man
Darest thou lift up thy sacrilegious Hand
Against the Chief, the God that saved thy Country.
[A Noise without.
Alas they're here—help me, I die—O now
My Father, now exert thy utmost Force
With them, and shew thyself indeed a Roman;
Not with thy Sword.

1st Citizen.
[Without.
We must not be denied.

2d Citizen.
We will have Justice.

Valerius.
We demand Horatius.

Horatia.
Would I could live!—it will not be—

Horatius.
My Daughter!

Horatia.
Regard not me—There, there employ thy Power.
'Tis my last Prayer—Valeria, I adjure thee
By the just Gods, proclaim him innocent—
They'll think my Father partial—O remember
Remember, dear Valeria—Brother—Father!

[Dies.
Valeria.
She's gone, she's dead!

Publius.
Then Fate has done it's worst.
Where are these Citizens?

Horatius.
Valeria,
Publius, look there—look yonder—what a Sight!
Is it for this we wish for Length of Days!—
O my poor bleeding Boys, how much I envy
Your happier Lot!

[Noise without.
Enter Tullus, Valerius, and Citizens.
Valerius.
See! Fellow Citizens, see where she lies
The bleeding Victim—

Tullus.
Stop, unmanner'd Youth!
Think'st thou we know not wherefore we are here?—
Seest thou yon drooping Sire?

Horatius.
[Turning hastily towards them.
Permit them, Sir.

Tullus.
What can he mean? Some other time, Horatius.

Horatius.
O no, this Instant.

1st Citizen.
He seems eager for it.
He sides with us.

Tullus.
Well, be it so. I know not
What he intends; but if he meets my Wishes,
His strong unlabour'd Eloquence of Grief
May move them more than Reason's subtlest Force.
What would ye, Romans?

Valerius.
We are come, dread Sir,
In the behalf of murdered Innocence
Murdered by him, the Man—

Horatius.
Whose conquering Arm
Has saved you all from Ruin. O Shame, Shame!
Has Rome no Gratitude? Do ye not blush
To think whom your insatiate Rage pursues?
Down, down, and worship him.

1st Citizen.
Does he plead for him?

2d Citizen.
Does he forgive his Daughter's Death?

Horatius.
He does.
And glories in it, glories in the Thought
That there's one Roman left who dares be grateful.
If you are wrong'd, then what am I? Must I
Be taught my Duty by th'affected Tears
Of Strangers to my Blood? Had I been wrong'd
I know a Father's Right, and had not ask'd
This ready talking Sir to bellow for me,
And mouth my Wrongs in Rome.

Valerius.
Friends, Countrymen,
Regard him not, his Griefs have hurt his Reason.
'Tis true that Publius has preserv'd his Country;
But must one glorious Act exalt him quite
Beyond all Laws, and give a boundless Scope
To his o'erweening Cruelty? ere long
He'll claim a privilege to murder all
Who dare oppose his Will; and when his Sword
Has spread with mangled Carcases your Streets,
He'll tell you 'twas that Sword which saved his Country.

Horatius.
Injurious Youth: That Sword which saved his Country
Was never drawn but in his Country's Service.
Some of you must remember, you I'm sure
Servilius you were there, and must remember
With what dire Curses this unhappy Girl—
I will not call her mine—pursu'd us all,
And dar'd insult the Majesty of Rome.

1st Citizen.
Yes, yes we all remember.

Horatius.
'Twas for that,
For that he kill'd her; 'twas not him she injur'd,
'Twas in your Cause he kill'd her, not his own;
And must he die for that? if 'tis a Crime
To vindicate your Honour, he indeed
Has been most guilty; 'twas for that he Fought,
For that he kill'd his Friends the Curiatii;
If that's a Crime, O let him die for that,
Not for his Justice on a guilty Girl,
And he shall fall contented.

Valerius.
Guilty Girl?
How guilty? Madness has a Privilege
To talk unpunish'd, and was ne'er till now
Arraign'd severely.

Horatius.
Mad? She was not mad;
Believe me, Friends, she own'd it ere she died,
Confess'd she did it to provoke his Vengeance
Deliberately guilty.

Valerius.
Citizens,
Friends, Countrymen, regard not what he says.
Stop, stop your Ears, nor hear a frantic Father
Thus plead against his Child.

Horatius.
He does belie me,
What Child have I?—Alas, I have but One,
And him ye would tear from me.

All Citizens.
Hear him, hear him!

Publius.
No, let me speak. Think'st thou, ungenerous Youth,
To hurt my Quiet?—I am hurt beyond
Thy Power to harm me. Death's extremest Tortures
Were Happiness to what I feel.—Yet know
My injur'd Honour bids me live, nay more,
It bids me even descend to plead for Life.
—But wherefore waste I Words. 'Tis not to him
But you, my Countrymen, to you I speak,
He lov'd the Maid.

Citizens.
How, loved her?

Horatius.

1st Citizen.
He shall be saved.
Valerius has misled us.

All.
Save him, save him!

Horatius.
I thank you, Friends.

Valerius.
What mean ye, would ye save
A Murderer from Death?—I'll not be held,
[To his Sister.
It was no Crime to love her, I will speak.
—If Justice moves you not, yet dread th'Event.
Fear ye not Heaven and the avenging Gods
Who gave him up to Shame, and urg'd him on
To stain his Conquests with a Sister's Blood.—

Horatius.
Away, away; is he the first whose Arm
Was stained with Kindred Blood? and dar'st thou talk
In Rome thus idly? What's our Founder then,
If he's a Murderer? Heaven approved the Death
Of Remus, as deliberate as this.—

Tullus.
Enough, enough!
With Reverence speak we of those mighty Names
Which stand enroll'd above. All Acts of Blood
Must not be deem'd as Murders. 'Tis the Intent
And not the Action constitutes the Crime.
My Friends, and Fellow Citizens, I praise
That Zeal for Justice in you, which permits not
The Blaze of Fame, or Gratitude itself
For Actions which might move inferior Minds,
To blind or weaken its determin'd Force.
Tho' here perchance it err. Behold this Youth
So late your Glory, with what conscious Shame
He sees himself reduced for one rash Act,
The Crime of Virtue, to solicit here
A Life which he contemns. He loved the Maid
With a fond Brother's Love; and had he felt
No nobler Passion, she had still survived.
That other Passion was his Love of you.
Say, shall he die for that? For 'tis to you
He makes his last Appeal.
Or grant it were a Crime, the worst of Crimes,
You might with Ardor seize the happy Power
Which Fortune now allows you. Could you else
Have rais'd your Gratitude to his Desert?
Fate seems to have found out this only Means
By which you could reward him. Life for Life
You may return him now, for Freedom, Freedom.

1st Citizen.
We did declare him free, but this Valerius
Would interrupt our Will.

2d Citizen.
Rome glories in him!

Tullus.
Or turn this Way, if yet a Doubt remains.
Behold that virtuous Father, who could boast
This very Morn a numerous Progeny,
The dear Supports of his declining Age.
Then read the sad Reverse with pitying Eyes,
And tell your conscious Hearts they fell for you.

Horatius.
I am o'erpaid by that, nor claim I ought
On their Accounts; for by high Heaven I swear
I'd rather see him added to the Heap
Than Rome enslaved.

1st Citizen.
O excellent Horatius.

2d Citizen.
O worthy Father!

3d Citizen.
Were he ten Times guilty,
The Son of such a Sire might pass unpunish'd,

Tullus.
Then I pronounce him free. And now, Horatius,
The Evening of thy stormy Day at last
Shall close in Peace. Here, take him to thy Breast.

Horatius.
My Son, my Conqueror!—'Twas a fatal Stroke,
But shall not wound our Peace. This kind Embrace
Shall spread a sweet Oblivion o'er our Sorrows:
Of if in After-times, tho' 'tis not long
That I shall trouble you, some sad Remembrance
Should steal a Sigh, and peevish Age forget
Its Resolution, only boldly say
Thou saved'st the State, and I'll intreat Forgiveness.

Tullus.