University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Street in Rome, with the Temple of Mars in view.
Enter Brutus and Collatinus, as Consuls, with Lictors, Valerius, Lucretius, and numerous followers.
Br.
You judge me rightly, friends. The purpled robe
The curule chair, the lictors' keen edg'd axe,
Rejoice not Brutus;—'tis his country's freedom:
When once that freedom shall be firmly rooted
Then, with redoubled pleasure, will your Consul
Exchange the splendid miseries of power,
For the calm comforts of a happy home.

Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
All health to Rome, her Senate and her Consuls.

Br.
Speak on—What message hast thou to impart?

Mess.
I bring intelligence of Sextus Tarquin,
Who, on arriving at a neighbouring village
Was known, and by the people ston'd to death.

Br.
Now, Lucretia!
Thy ghost may cease to wander o'er the earth
And rest in peace!

Luc.
Heaven's ways are just!

Col.
Yet I regret the villain should be slain
By any hand but mine!

Enter a Centurion.
Cent.
Health to Brutus!
Shame and confusion to the foes of Rome!

Br.
Now, without preface, soldier, to your business.

Cent.
As I kept watch at the Quirinal gate
Ere break of day, an armed company
Burst on a sudden through the barrier guard
Pushing their course for Ardea. Straight alarm'd
I wheel'd my cohort round and charg'd 'em home:
Sharp was the conflict for a while and doubtful,
Till, on the seizure of Tarquinia's person,
A young Patrician—

Br.
Hah! Patrician?

Cent.
Such
His dress bespoke him, though to me unknown.

Br.
Proceed!—What more?

Cent.
The lady being taken,
This youth, the life and leader of the band,
His sword high waving in the act to strike,
Dropt his uplifted weapon, and at once
Yielded himself my prisoner.—Oh, Valerius
What have I said, that thus the Consul changes?

Br.
Why do you pause? Go on.

Cent.
Their leader seiz'd,
The rest surrender'd. Him, a settled gloom
Possesses wholly, nor as I believe
Hath a word pass'd his lips, to all my questions
Still obstinately shut.

Br.
Set him before us.

[Exit Centurion.
Val.
Oh, my brave friend, horror invades my heart.

Br.
Silence. Be calm.

Val.
I know thy soul
A compound of all excellence, and pray
The mighty gods to put thee to no trial
Beyond a mortal bearing.

Br.
No, they will not—
Nay, be secure, they cannot. Pr'ythee, friend,
Look out, and if the worst that can befal me
Be verified, turn back, and give some sign
What thou hast seen—Thou can'st excuse this weakness
Being thyself a father.
[Valerius gives the sign.
Ha!—Enough:
I understand thee:—Since it must be so,
Do your great pleasure, gods! Now, now it comes!

Titus and Tarquinia are brought in, guarded. Titus advances. Tarquinia remains in the back ground.
Ti.
My father!—Give me present death, ye powers!

Cent.
What have I done!—Art thou the son of Brutus?

Ti.
No—Brutus scorns to father such a son!
Oh, venereble judge, wilt thou not speak?
Turn not away; hither direct thine eyes,
And look upon this sorrow-stricken form,
Then to thine own great heart remit my plea,
And doom as nature dictates.

Val.
Peace, you'll anger him—
Be silent and await! Oh, suffering mercy,
Plead in a father's heart and speak for nature!

Brutus turns away from his son, waves his hand to the Centurion to remove him to a farther distance, and then walks forward and calls Collatinus down to him.
Br.
Come hither, Collatinus. The deep wound
You suffer'd in the loss of your Lucretia,
Demanded more than fortitude to bear;
I saw your agony—I felt your woe—

Col.
You more than felt it;—you reveng'd it too.

Br.
But, ah, my brother Consul,—your Lucretia
Fell nobly, as a Roman spirit should—
She fell, a model of transcendant virtue.

Col.
My mind misgives. What dost thou aim at, Brutus?

Br.
(almost overpower'd)
—That youth—my Titus—was my age's hope—
I lov'd him more than language can express—
I thought him born to dignify the world.

Col.
My heart bleeds for you—He may yet be sav'd—

Br.
(firmly)
Consul,—for Rome I live,—not for myself,
I dare not trust my firmness in this crisis
Warring 'gainst every thing my soul holds dear!
Therefore return without me to the senate—
I ought not now to take a seat among them—
Haply my presence might restrain their justice.
Look that these traitors meet their trial straight,—
And then dispatch a messenger to tell me
How the wise fathers have dispos'd of—Go!—

Collatinus goes out on one side, attended: —and as Brutus is departing on the other side, Tarquinia rushes forward.
Tar.
Stop,—turn and hear the daughter of your king!
I speak for justice—mercy thou hast none.
For him, your son,
By gratitude and love I drew him off!
I preserv'd his life—
Who shall condemn him for protecting mine?

Br.
We try the crime; the motive, Heaven will judge.
My honour he hath stabb'd—I pardon that.
He hath done more—he hath betray'd his country.
That is a crime which every honest heart
That beats for freedom, every Roman feels,
And the full stream of Justice must have way.

Tar.
Because thy soul was never sway'd by love
Can'st thou not credit what his bosom felt?

Br.
I can believe that beauty such as thine
May spread a thousand facinating snares
To lure the wavering and confound the weak:
But what is honour, which a sigh can shake?
What is his virtue, whom a tear can melt?
Truth,—valour,—justice,—constancy of soul,—
These are the attributes of manly natures:—
Be woman e'er so beauteous, man was made
For nobler uses than to be her slave.

Tar.
Hard, unrelenting man! Are these the fruits
Of filial piety,—and hath thy son
Wearied the gods with pray'rs, till they restor'd
A mind, and gave thee reason? Would to Heaven
They'd given thee mercy too! 'twould more become thee
Than these new ensigns, Brutus; more than all
Thy lictors, haughty consul,—or thy robes
Dipt in the blood,—oh horror!—of a son!—

Br.
No more—By all the gods, I'll hear no more.

Ti.
A word for pity's sake. Before thy feet,
Humbled in soul, thy son and prisoner kneels.
Love is my plea: a father is my judge;
Nature my advocate!—I can no more:
If these will not appease a parent's heart,
Strike through them all and lodge thy vengeance here!

Br.
Break off! I will not, cannot hear thee further.
The affliction nature hath impos'd on Brutus,
Brutus will suffer as he may.—Enough
That we enlarge Tarquinia. Go, be free!
Centurion, give her conduct out of Rome!
Lictors, secure your prisoner. Point your axes.
To the senate—On!
[Exit Brutus.

Cent.
Come, lady, you must part.

Tar.
Part! Must we part?
You shall not tear him from me; I will die
Embracing the sad ruin I have made.

Cent.
You've heard the consul.

Tar.
Thou hast heard the king,
Fought for him while he led you on to conquest.
Thou art a soldier, and should'st spurn an office
Which malefactors, though condemn'd for murder,
Would rather die by torture than perform.

Ti.
If thou dost wish
That I should 'scape the peril of my fate
I conjure thee to accord
To Brutus, and accept his promis'd safeguard.
Your words, your looks, your beauty, feed his wrath.
In that fair face he reads my guilty love,
And pity flies his heart; let passion pause;
Leave me to solitude, to silence leave me;
Then nature's gentlest whispers may be heard.

Tar.
Say'st thou? Conduct me to the dreariest waste
That ever melancholy madness trod,
And let my swelling heart in silence burst;
Plunge me in darkness, shroud this fatal form
In everlasting night, I am content!
Lo! I obey! This is the test of love;
This is the sacrifice:—I part to save thee!

Ti.
See I am warn'd. Farewell, my life's last joy!
When my eyes lose thy image, they may look
On death without dismay. To those blest powers,
Who gave thee every virtue, every grace
That can ensure perfection, I commit thee.

They embrace and are torn asunder. Titus is carried off by the Lictors on one side, and Tarquinia by the Centurion and Guards, on the other.

SCENE II.

Rome.
An Apartment in the House of Brutus.
Enter Brutus.
Br.
(alone.)
Like a lost, guilty wretch, I look around
And start at every footstep, lest it bring
The fatal news of my poor son's conviction!—
Oh Rome, thou little know'st—No more. It comes.

Enter Valerius.
Val.
My friend, the senate have to thee transferr'd
The right of judgment on thy son's offence.

Br.
To me?

Val.
To thee alone.

Br.
What of the rest?

Val.
Their sentence is already pass'd.
Ev'n now, perhaps, the Lictors' dreaded hand
Cuts off their forfeit lives.

Br.
Say'st thou that the senate have to me referr'd
The fate of Titus?

Val.
Such is their sovereign will.
They think you merit this distinguish'd honor:
A Father's grief deserves to be rever'd:
Rome will approve whatever you decree.

Br.
And is his guilt establish'd beyond doubt?

Val,
Too clearly.

Br.
(with a burst of tears)
Oh, ye gods! ye gods!
(collecting himself)
Valerius!

Val.
What would'st thou, noble Roman?

Br.
'Tis said thou hast pull'd down thine house, Valerius,
The stately pile that with such cost was rear'd.

Val.
I have, but what doth Brutus then infer?

Br.
It was a goodly structure: I remember
How fondly you survey'd its rising grandeur,—
With what a—fatherly—delight you summon'd
Each grace and ornament, that might enrich
The—child—of your creation,—till it swell'd
To an imperial size, and overpeer'd
The petty citizens, that humbly dwelt
Under its lofty walls, in huts and hovels,
Like emmets at the foot of towering Etna:
Then, noble Roman, then with patriot zeal,
Dear as it was and valued, you condemn'd
And level'd the proud pile; and in return
Were by your grateful countrymen sirnam'd,
And shall to all posterity descend,—
Poplicola.

Val.
Yes, Brutus, I conceive
The awful aim and drift of thy discourse—
But I conjure thee, pause! Thou art a father.

Br.
I am a Roman Consul!—What, my friend,
Shall no one but Valerius love his country
Dearer than house, or property, or children?
Now, follow me;—and in the face of Heaven
I'll mount the judgment-seat: there see, if Brutus
Feel not for Rome as warmly as Poplicola.

[Exeunt Brutus and Valerius.

SCENE THE LAST.

Exterior of the Temple of Mars. Senators, Citizens, Collatinus, Lucretius, discovered. At the left of the stage a Tribunal, with a Consular chair upon it. Brutus enters, followed by Valerius;—he bows as he passes, and ascends the Tribunal.
Br.
Romans, the blood which hath been shed this day
Hath been shed wisely. Traitors who conspire
Against mature societies, may urge
Their acts as bold and daring; and tho' villains,
Yet they are manly villains—But to stab
The cradled innocent, as these have done,—
To strike their country in the mother-pangs,
Of struggling child-birth, and direct the dagger
To freedom's infant throat,—is a deed so black,
That my foil'd tongue refuses it a name.
[A pause.
There is one criminal still left for judgment.
Let him approach.
Titus is brought in by the Lictors, with their axes turned edgeways towards him.
Pris—on—er—
The voice of Brutus falters and is choaked, and he exclaims with violent emotion.
Romans! forgive this agony of grief—
My heart is bursting—Nature must have way—
I will perform all that a Roman should—
I cannot feel less than a father ought!
He becomes more calm. Gives a signal to the Lictors to fall back, and advances from the Judgment-seat to the front of the Stage, on a line with his Son.
Well, Titus, speak—how is it with thee now?
Tell me, my son, art thou prepar'd to die?

Ti.
Father, I call the powers of heaven to witness
Titus dares die, if so you have decreed.
The gods will have it so.

Br.
They will, my Titus:
Nor heav'n, nor earth, can have it otherwise.
The violated genius of thy country
Rears its sad head and passes sentence on thee!
It seems as if thy fate were pre-ordain'd
To fix the reeling spirits of the people,
And settle the loose liberty of Rome.
'Tis fix'd;—oh, therefore, let not fancy cheat thee:
So fix'd thy death, that 'tis not in the power
Of mortal man to save thee from the axe.

Ti.
The axe!—Oh heaven!—Then must I fall so basely?
What, shall I perish like a common felon?

Br.
How else do traitors suffer?—Nay, Titus, more—
I must myself ascend yon sad tribunal—
And there behold thee meet this shame of death,—
With all thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee.—
See thy head taken by the common axe,—
All,—if the gods can hold me to my purpose,—
Without a groan, without one pitying tear.

Ti.
Die like a felon?—Ha! a common felon!—
But I deserve it all:—Yet here I fail:—
This ignomy quite unmans me!
Oh, Brutus, Brutus! Must I call you father
Yet have no token of your tenderness,
No sign of mercy? Not even leave to fall
As noble Romans fall, by my own sword?
Father, why should you make my heart suspect
That all your late compassion was dissembled?
How can I think that you did ever love me?

Br.
Think that I love thee by my present passion,
By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here,
These sighs that strain the very strings of life,—
Let these convince you that no other cause
Could force a father thus to wrong his nature.

Ti.
Oh, hold, thou violated majesty!
I now submit with calmness to my fate.
Come forth, ye executioners of justice—
Come, take my life,—and give it to my country!

Br.
Embrace thy wretched father. May the gods
Arm thee with patience in this awful hour.
The sov'reign magistrate of injur'd Rome
Bound by his high authority, condemns
A crime, thy father's bleeding heart forgives.
Go—meet thy death with a more manly courage
Than grief now suffers me to shew in parting,
And, while she punishes, let Rome admire thee!
No more. Farewell! Eternally farewell!—

Ti.
Oh, Brutus! Oh, my father!—

Br.
What would'st thou say, my son?

Ti.
Wilt thou forgive me!—Don't forget Tarquinia
When I shall be no more.

Br.
Leave her to my care.

Ti.
Farewell, for ever!

Br.
For ever.
[Brutus re-ascends the Tribunal.
Lictors, attend!—conduct your prisoner forth!

Val.
(rapidly and anxiously)
Whither!

All the characters bend forward in great anxiety.
Br.
To death!— (All start.)
When you do reach the spot
My hand shall wave, your signal for the act,
Then let the trumpet's sound proclaim it done!
Titus is conducted out by the Lictors. A dead march,—which gradually dies away as it becomes more distant. Brutus remains seated in a melancholy posture on the Tribunal.
Poor youth! Thy pilgrimage is at an end!
A few sad steps hath brought thee to the brink
Of that tremendous precipice, whose depth
No thought of man can fathom. Justice, now
Demands her victim! A little moment
And I am childless.—One effort and 'tis past!—
He rises and waves his hand, convuls'd with agitation, then drops on his seat and shrouds his face with his toga. Three sounds of the trumpet are heard instantly. All the characters assume attitudes of deep misery.—Brutus starts up wildly, descends to the front in extreme agitation, looks out on the side by which Titus departed, for an instant, then, with an hysterical burst, exclaims.
Justice is satisfy'd and Rome is free!

[Brutus falls. The characters groupe around him.