University of Virginia Library

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.