University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

—An Apartment in the House of Caius Gracchus—a couch.
Enter Cornelia and Licinia, with a scroll, followed by Lucius, carrying lights.
Cor.
Will not you go to bed?

Lici.
Not till he comes.

Cor.
He must sup out.

Lici.
Well, I'll sit up for him.

Cor.
What, with those eyes, that look so ill prepared
To play the watcher?

Lici.
I will read, Cornelia,
And keep myself awake. I can't lie down;
Go you to bed, my mother.

Cor.
I'll not give you
Excuse for so uncall'd-for labour, by
Partaking it. Good night!

Lici.
Good night!
[Cornelia goes out, followed by Lucius.
I wish
He would come home! Why should he sup abroad
To-night? Most like, it is my brother's fault:
He never lets him rest with taking him
To Carbo's house—or Flaccus'—or some friends.
I would Licinius had a wife himself,
To keep him more at home. Cornelia 's right;
I'm half-asleep already. A heavy lid
Is strange companion to an anxious heart!
Come, thou, that canst discourse without a tongue,—
Cunning beguiler of the lonely! talk to me,
And, for my dear lord, help me to keep watch!

[She sits on the couch, and reads—grows gradually drowsier—the scroll falls from her hand, and she sleeps
Enter Caius Gracchus, without seeing her.
Caius.
What meant the boy by starting when he let
Me in? What's in my face to make him hold
His breath, and change his colour at? I thought
At first the house was not my own; never, yet,
Felt it so like my own! A hundred objects,
Day after day I've pass'd, with just as much
Of consciousness as they had not been here,
I now distinguish with a feeling of
Such recognition, as invest them with
The worth of things most precious.—What! Licinia!
Asleep, too! She is sitting up for me!
Come, now, Conspiracy, thou bold redresser
Of grievances, doubly stak'st thy life!
Thou wilt achieve beneath the peaceful brows
Of household eaves, that never thought to see it,
What were done better in the ruthless eyes
Of frowning battlements—and lead along
The streets, where children, wives, and matrons tread,
Mars' revels, fitter to be acted on
Some far-removed, unfrequented waste,—
Come, now! and, while the silken bands of sleep
Hold thy unconscious, unoffending victim,
Look on, and scan thy plea of conjuration,
And see if it be proof! Thou canst not do it!
Already is the ague creeping o'er
Thy flesh, at longer trial of the test
Would shake the weapon from thy hand, though clench'd
With thousand oaths! That I should see her thus!

Lici.
[In her sleep.]
Keep him in, mother! Let him not go forth!
They'll kill my Caius!

Caius.
She is dreaming of me.

Lici.
[At first in her sleep, then awaking and rushing forward.]
Oh, spare him! save him! give him to his wife!
Strike here—strike here!
[Caius catches her in his arms.
My Caius!—'Twas a dream!
But press me to thy heart; speak to me, Caius!
I know 'tis you; but press me—speak to me!
Oh! 'twas a fearful dream!

Cornelia.
[Entering.]
Who talks of dreams
At such an hour of night? Go, sleep and dream!

Lici.
O, mother! such a dream!—And dreams are omens!

Cor.
Omens, or not; dreams have precursors, well
As sequences! Your scaréd thoughts to-day
Were likely to give birth to pleasant dreams!
I marvel that you had one! One may dream,
Without the aid of sleep. You have been dreaming
E'er since you rose this morning; and the spectre
You saw with sealéd lids, just now, be sure
With open ones you started for yourself,—
And more than once before! Caius was out
All day—besieged with business that allow'd
No breathing-time. Look at him!—He's fatigued—
Worn out—wants rest! A seasonable time
To hold him, prating to him of a dream!
To bed, my son; for you must rise, I know,
Betimes. Licinia, if you love his health,
Don't waste the hour that's due to needful sleep,
And scant enough!—Away! Good night, Licinia!
Caius, to bed at once.—My son, good night!
[Licinia and Caius go out.
Good night, indeed! And is't my son whom, thus,
I bid good night, without a hope to see
The morning of his living face again?
He's pledged!—He has conspired! I took my measures
To gather note of all. No other course
Was left him. I'm content! Better my son
Die in confronting, than in bowing to,
The tyrant! But the chances?—There's no chance!
They'll fail him, as they fail'd Tiberius!
Though vain the struggle, yet 'tis fit 'twere made,
When bold injustice scoffs at laws, and 'gins
To ride it, rough-shod, o'er them! What's my son?
His noble name! that, scatheless, who shall dare
To call me motherless? A mother once,
Arming her son against his country's foes,
Gave him his shield, with charge to bring it back,
Or come back borne upon it. In my heart,
I feel two mothers, struggling! Was it thus
With her?—And, if it was, the nobler conquer'd;
And shall the weaker rule in Scipio's daughter?
My father answers, “No!”—Rome answers, “No!”
Cornelia, “No!” Caius is dead, [Caius enters.]
but not
His name! His enemies may strike at that,
But not a thousand blows could leave a scar!
He sided with the weak and wrong'd,—resisted
The wrongful and the strong,—in vain!—but, when
His country fell, he fell along with her!

Caius.
[Kneeling and catching Cornelia's hand.]
My mother!

Cor.
[Bursting into a passion of tears.]
Caius!—Oh! my son! my son!

[Curtain falls.