 | Brutus Ultor |  |
Scene II.
—Outside the Senate.Enter Publius and Vindex.
Vindex.
Thus it befell. My mistress sent me to her
brother's house to look for the young masters. I'm
familiar there, and I ran from chamber to chamber.
Winded and shaking, I stopped—I'm old now, and my
breath goes. It was all empty in the great hall; but
just in the recess, where the parchments lie by, there
were feet, and whispering. I listened; it's a habit I've
got, when folk drop their voices, to make up to them. I'd
not been behind the black chest for a moment, before I
heard such words! I peeped out; there were only seven
men, but—oh!—close to me, so that his robe brushed my
face, was Titus, and he laughed. It went through me—
and a cup passing round; he would not drink, I noted
that, though he jested; Tiberius took it.—It was slave's
blood, but the vileness was in their hearts. I just hid
myself in the dark, and trembled. There was an oath,
and the scratch of writing. When I looked out again,
they were gone.
Publius.
Titus, Tiberius—his very sons!
Vindex.
I lay dazed and groaning. Then a hurry fell
on me. I sprang to my feet. The master, so noble, so
betrayed, the city, the happy folk! I thought of the
comely boys, and was torn like a lion's prey. I knew not
what to do; I wept and fled. In the street the people
were singing, and I reached your door.
Publius.
No time to lose!
Vindex.
But the master!—what will he do? I'm a
wine-pourer;—but I cannot pour out the blood of their
young lives. It's no business of mine. Oh, it's murderous!
See, he comes . . . and he's smiling.
[Senators pass.
[Enter Brutus, attended by Lictors.]
Brutus.
[To Senator.]
Greatly I rejoice
That in this matter justice hath been done,
And the king's wealth restored.
Senator.
You won the grace.
[They part.
He darkens as he sees us. Vindex, speak!
Vindex.
My tongue's cut to the roots—I've told you all—I can't remember.
Publius.
Slave, no skulking back.
[Holds Vindex.
Brutus.
What ails you? Danger to the state, a foe?
Publius.
Both.
Brutus.
From what quarter?
Publius.
Yours.
Brutus.
I dwell against
The northern wall. Etruscans?
Publius.
In your home
The danger hides.
Brutus.
Vindex, be brief, my man.
What does he mean?
Vindex.
Master, forgive me, master!
Brutus.
Not my old slave a traitor! 'Tis not so.
Vindex.
I am a traitor, not to you, my dearest lord;
not to the city; but, forgive me, forgive me, I'm betraying
the young masters.
Brutus.
Titus, Tiberius? 'Tis womanish
So long to speak of nothing. I demand
What brings you here.
Publius.
They plot against the State.
Brutus.
Who?—'Tis impossible.
Publius.
Your sons.
Brutus.
Come forth,
Lictors!—This month I'm consul.—Go, arrest
At their own home—you said?—the two young men,
My sons, and bear to prison.
Publius.
Not alone
They have offended. The Aquilian house
Hath urged them to rebellion.
Brutus.
Seize the band,
And save the city. Publius, go forth.
[Exeunt Publius and Lictors.
Vindex.
Look not like that, master. They'll escape,
because of their age and foolishness. Yet I saw them
sign the papers. Slay me!
Brutus.
Vindex, run home,—their mother. . . . Vindex, run!
Vindex.
Where are you going, master? What shall you do?
Brutus.
Stand, stand!
Vindex.
I think he's witless, but I must be gone.
There's no compression about his lips, that makes him
look so strange. Oh, that I might die this moment!
[Looking after him.]
May the gods aid him!
Exit.
Brutus.
The last lictors sway
Round the street corner—they are out of sight,
And . . . this is terror. I've not known before
What makes the coward fly. I'll walk alone,
Down by the Tiber; yon's a quiet path.
[Walks by the river.
What counsel one can take in solitude,
What resolution! I must suffer all
Before I see her; it must all be past.
Here, by the river-side, I will estrange
My heart from Publia, and subdue my wrath
Against the traitors;—'tis their mother's looks
I fear. Thou cradle of young Romulus,
How often I have brought my lads to learn,
Here, by the yellow mud, our hero's birth.
Tiber, I will not now pollute thy stream
Even with their ashes. I would hurl them down
The Capitol, to rot
With other refuse, but the law forbids.
For them, the fasces and the axe; for me,
The infamy of fatherhood. The curse
That rises in me will obliterate
All memory, design, intelligence:
Lave me, O Tiber, lave me from my blood!
Genii
of the River.
Waves ever streaming,
Stream never gone,
Tranquilly gleaming,
Tiber rolls on.—
Storm and distraction
Dye deep its tides,
Of root-guarded sides;
Terror and anguish
Swell high its crests,
Crops rot and languish,
Vines are depressed.
Wait:—all its raving
Stoops to our will;
Old channels laving,
Tiber is still.
Brutus.
There's order, iteration, in these tides,
Storm, and tranquillity. . . . Were it enough
To banish them, efface them from the realm,
And afterward have hope, in mine old age,
Their country would recall them for fair deeds
Of distant honour? Is it possible
They yet might rank as honourable men?
I thought not so when yesterday I doomed
A stripling, though his father, weak and old,
Shook with entreating sobs. My sons, my own,
Ye have no father left to plead for you;
I'm consul for this month—and, see, the rods
Flash blindingly betwixt us! I may weep.
Genii
of the Trees.
With gently-heavèd branches green,
With rustling airs, and doves remote,
That sigh and chaunt,
The woods lie peaceful; none may note,
In their still haunt,
Sign of the stress and whirlwind that have been.—
Yet winter bows them down,
Blasting them with his frown,
And breaking with his lash;
And storm and thunder crash
Through alleys, wild with sound,
Trampling the leafy ground.
Pause:—and with foliage re-dressed,
And honour by the milder winds allowed,
The trees rejoice;
Again the sunbeams through the shadows crowd;
With soothèd voice,
Again the boughs harmoniously rest.
Brutus.
What means this secret comfort and control,
'Tis Earth's. She gave to me the rule of Rome;
I kissed her fragrant sod. She kisses me
Now with her deep, cool breath, and would confide
To me another trust—to rule myself.
'Tis like my mother's eyes that day I knew
How in her heart she felt I should not fail
In doing some boy's duty that I shunned,
Yet never told me, and I did it straight.
Genii
of the Air.
Sunset shines across the air,
Clouds are furled;
Breezes hardly touch the fair,
Outstretched world.—
Yet oft through vales
Of night, dark-faced,
It rains and hails;
From arm unbraced,
The anger of the wrathful god is hurled.
Stay:—the heaven is clear,
White, serene;
Tempests disappear,
Calm is seen.
Brutus.
[Looking up.]
O stream, O earth, O air, there is a song
Born in my heart that answers ye, a strain
From high Olympus: 'tis the peace of law
Fulfilled, the blessedness of destiny
Embraced, the apprehension of that joy
That plants the gods above vicissitude.
'Tis from the deep, clear ether. I am calm.
[Re-enter Publius. Brutus rises to meet him.]
You bring me further tidings, Publius,
Of this conspiracy.
Publius.
The parchment signed
With all the traitors' names. The truth is here.
O Brutus, look and weep!
Brutus.
No, you mistake.
Anger, not tears; deep, operative wrath!
I'll read the scroll.
[Exit.
—How changed! A dreadful face,
Like the wax-moulded features of our sires
We carry at a funeral. Alas,
He surely cannot dream . . . . Nay, I'm a fool.
[Exit.
| Brutus Ultor | |