 | The Roman Father |  |
1
ACT. I.
SCENE I.
A Room in Horatius's House.A Soldier crosses the Stage, Horatia following.
Horatia.
Stay Soldier.—As you parted from my Father,
Something I overheard of near Concern,
But all imperfectly. Said you not Alba
Was on the Brink of Fate, and Rome determin'd
This Day to crush her haughty Rival's Power,
Or perish in th'Attempt?
Soldier.
'Twas so resolv'd
This Morning, Lady, ere I left the Camp.
Our Heroes are tir'd out with ling'ring War,
And half-unmeaning Fights.
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Alas! I hop'd
The kind Remorse which touch'd the kindred States,
And made their Swords fall lightly on the Breasts
Of Foes they could not hate, might have produc'd
A milder Resolution!—Then this Day
Is fix'd for Death or Conquest?—
[He bows.
—To me Death
Whoever conquers!—I detain you Sir;
Commend me to my Brothers, say, I wish—
But wherefore should I wish; the Gods will crown
Their Virtues with the just Success they merit.
—Yet let me ask you, Sir—
Soldier.
My Duty, Lady,
Commands me hence; ere this they have engag'd;
And Conquest's self would lose its Charms to me,
Should I not share the Danger.
As the Soldier goes out, enter Valeria.
Valeria.
[looking first on the Soldier and then on Horatia]
My dear Horatia, wherefore wilt thou court
The Means to be unhappy, still enquiring
Still to be more undone? I heard it too;
And flew to find thee, ere the fatal News
Had hurt thy quiet, that thou might'st have learnt it
From a Friend's Tongue, and dress'd in gentler Terms.
Horatia.
O I am lost, Valeria, lost to Virtue.
Ev'n while my Country's Fate, the Fate of Rome.
Hangs on the Conqueror's sword, this Breast can feel
A softer Passion, and divide its Cares.
Alba to me is Rome. Would'st thou believe it,
I would have sent by him thou saw'st departing
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Denied its Office, and this Rebel Heart
Ev'n dreaded their Success. O Curiatius,
Why art thou there, or why an Enemy!
Valeria.
Forbear this self-reproach, he is thy Husband,
And who can blame thy Fears? if Fortune make him
Awhile thy Country's Foe, she cannot cancel
Vows register'd above. What though the Priest
Had not confirm'd it at the sacred Altar;
Yet were your Hearts united, and that Union
Approv'd by each consenting Parent's Choice.
Your Brothers lov'd him as a Friend, a Brother;
And all the Ties of Kindred pleaded for him;
And still must plead, whate'er our Heroes teach us
Of Patriot-strength: Our Country may demand
We should be wretched, and we must obey;
But never can require us not to feel
That we are miserable, Nature there
Will give the Lie to Virtue.
Horatia.
True; yet sure
A Roman Virgin should be more than Woman.
Are we not early taught to mock at Pain,
And look on Danger with undaunted Eyes?
But what are Dangers? what the ghastliest Form
Of Death itself?—O were I only bid
To rush into the Tiber's foaming Wave
Swollen with uncommon Floods, or from the Height
Of yon Tarpeian Rock, whose giddy Steep
Has turn'd me pale with Horror at the Sight,
I'd think the Task were nothing; but to bear
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To fear, to doubt, and to despair as I do?—
Valeria.
And why despair? have we so idly learned
The noblest Lessons of our Infant Days,
Our Trust above? Does there not still remain
The Wretch's last Retreat, the Gods, Horatia?
'Tis from their awful Wills our Evils spring,
And at their Altars may we find Relief.
Say, shall we thither?—look not thus dejected,
But answer me. A Confidence in them,
Even in this Crisis of thy Fate, will calm
Thy troubled Soul, and fill thy Breast with Hope.
Horatia.
Talk not of Hope; the Wretch on yonder Plain
Who hears the Victor's Threats, and sees his Sword
Impending o'er him, feels no surer Fate,
Tho' less delay'd than mine.—What shou'd I hope?
That Alba conquer?—Curst be every Thought
Which looks that Way, the Shrieks of captive Matrons
Sound in my Ears!—
Valeria.
Forbear, forbear, Horatia;
Nor fright me with the Thought. Rome cannot fall.
Think of the glorious Battles she has fought;
Has she once fail'd, tho' oft expos'd to Danger;
And has not her immortal Founder promis'd
That she should rise the Mistress of the World?
Horatia.
And if Rome conquers, then Horatia dies.
Valeria.
Why wilt thou form vain Images of Horror,
Industrious to be wretched? Is it then
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And Curiatius live? He must, he shall;
Protecting Gods shall spread their Shields around him,
And Love shall combat in Horatia's Cause.
Horatia.
Think'st thou so meanly of him?—No, Valeria,
His Soul's too great to give me such a Trial;
Or could it ever come, I think, myself,
Thus lost in Love, thus abject as I am,
I should despise the Slave who dar'd survive
His Country's Ruin. Ye immortal Powers!
I love his Fame too well, his spotless Honour,
At least I hope I do, to wish him mine
On any Terms which he must blush to own.
—What means that Shout?—might we not ask, Valeria?
Didst thou not wish me to the Temple?—Come,
I will attend thee thither; the kind Gods
Perhaps may ease this throbbing Heart, and spread
At least a temporary Calm within.
Valeria.
Alas, Horatia, 'tis not to the Temple
That thou would'st fly; the Shout alone alarms thee.
But do not thus anticipate thy Fate;
Why should'st thou learn each Chance of varying War,
Which takes a thousand Turns, and shifts the Scene
From Bad to Good, as Fortune smiles or frowns?
Stay but an Hour perhaps, and thou shalt know
The whole at once.—I'll send—I'll fly myself
To ease thy Doubts, and bring thee News of Joy.
Horatia.
Again, and nearer too—I must attend thee.
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Hark! 'tis thy Father's Voice, he comes to cheer thee.
Enter Horatius, and Valerius.
Horatius.
[entering]
News from the Camp my Child!—
[seeing Valeria]
Save you, sweet Maid!
Your Brother brings the Tidings, for alas
I am no Warrior now; my useless Age
Far from the Paths of Honour loiters here
In sluggish Inactivity at home.
Yet I remember—
Horatia.
You'll forgive us, Sir,
If with Impatience we expect the Tidings.
Horatius.
I had forgot; the Thoughts of what I was
Engross'd my whole Attention.—Pray, young Soldier,
Relate it for me; you beheld the Scene,
And can report it justly.
Valerius.
Gentle Lady,
The Scene was piteous, tho' its end be Peace.
Horatia.
Peace? O my flutt'ring Heart! by what kind Means?
Valerius.
'Twere tedious, Lady, and unnecessary
To paint the Disposition of the Field;
Suffice it we were arm'd, and Front to Front
The adverse Legions heard the Trumpet's Sound:
But vain was the Alarm, for motionless
And wrapt in Thought they stood, the kindred Ranks
Had caught each others Eyes, nor dar'd to lift
The fault'ring Spear against the Breast they lov'd.
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Preparing to engage, when once again
They hung their drooping Heads, and inward mourn'd.
Then nearer drew, and at the third Alarm
Casting their Swords and useless Shields aside
Rush'd to each others Arms.
Horatius.
'Twas so, just so,
(Tho' I was then a Child, yet I have heard
My Mother weeping oft relate the Story)
Soft Pity touch'd the Breasts of mighty Chiefs
Romans and Sabines, when the Matrons rush'd
Between their meeting Armies, and oppos'd
Their helpless Infants, and their heaving Breasts
To their advancing Swords, and bade them there
Sheath all their Vengeance.—But I interrupt you,—
Proceed, Valerius, they would hear th'Event.
—And yet methinks the Albans—pray go on.
Valerius.
Our King Hostilius from a rising Mound
Beheld the tender Interview, and join'd.
His friendly Tears with theirs; then swift advanc'd
Ev'n to the thickest Press, and cried, My Friends,
If thus we love, why are we Enemies?
Shall stern Ambition, Rivalship of Power,
Subdue the soft Humanity within us?
Are we not join'd by every Tie of Kindred,
And can we find no Method to compose
These Jars of Honour, these nice Principles
Of Virtue, which infest the noble Mind?
Horatia.
There spoke his Country's Father! this transcends
The Flight of Earth-born Kings, whose low Ambition
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And blast Creation!—how was it receiv'd?
Valerius.
As he himself could wish, with eager Transport.
In short, the Roman and the Alban Chiefs
In Council have determin'd, that since Glory
Must have her Victims, and each rival State
Aspiring to Dominion scorns to yield,
From either Army shall be chose three Champions
To fight the Cause alone, and whate'er State
Shall prove superior, there acknowledg'd Power
Shall fix th'imperial Seat, and both unite
Beneath one common Head.
Horatia.
Kind Heaven, I thank thee!
Blest be the friendly Grief that touch'd their Souls!
Blest be Hostilius for the generous Counsel!
Blest be the meeting Chiefs! and blest the Tongue,
Which brings the gentle Tidings!
Valeria.
Now, Horatia,
Your idle Fears are o'er.
Horatia.
Yet one remains.
Who are the Champions, are they yet elected?
Has Rome—
Valerius.
—The Roman Chiefs now meet in Council,
And ask the Presence of the Sage Horatius.
Horatius.
[after having seem'd some time in Thought]
Yet still methinks, I like not this, to trust
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Three Combatants!—'tis dangerous—
Horatia.
[in a Fright]
My Father!
Horatius.
I might perhaps prevent it—
Horatia.
Do not, Sir,
Oppose the kind Decree.
Valerius.
Rest satisfied,
Sweet Lady, 'tis so solemnly agreed to,
Not even Horatius's Advice can shake it.
Horatius.
And yet 'twere well to end these civil Broils:
The neighb'ring States might take Advantage of them.
—Would I were young again! how glorious
Were Death in such a Cause!—and yet, who knows,
Some of my Boys may be selected for it—
Perhaps may conquer—grant me that, kind Gods,
And close my Eyes in Transport!—Come, Valerius,
I'll but dispatch some necessary Orders,
And strait attend thee.—Daughter, if thou lovest
Thy Brothers, let thy Prayers be pour'd to Heaven,
That one at least may share the glorious Task!
[Exit.
Valerius.
Rome cannot trust her Cause to worthier Hands.
They bade me greet you, Lady;
[To Horatia]
Well, Valeria,
This is your Home I find; your lovely Friend
And you, I doubt not, have indulg'd strange Fears,
And run o'er all the horrid Scenes of War.
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Tho' we are Women, Brother, we are Romans,
Not to be scared with Shadows, tho' not Proof
'Gainst all Alarms, when real Danger threatens.
Horatia.
[with some Hesitation.]
My Brothers, gentle Sir, you said were well,
Saw you their noble Friends the Curiatii?
The Truce perhaps permitted it.
Valerius.
Yes, Lady,
I left them jocund in your Brothers Tent,
Like Friends, whom envious Storms a-while had parted,
Joying to meet again.
Horatia.
Sent they no Message?
Valerius.
None, Fair-one, but such general Salutations,
As Friends would bring unbid.
Horatia.
Said Caius nothing?
Valerius.
Caius?
Horatia.
Ay, Caius,—did he mention me?
Valerius.
'Twas slightly, if he did, and 'scapes me now—
O yes, I do remember, when your Brother
Ask'd him in Jest, if he had ought to send,
A Sigh's soft Waftage, or the tender Token
Of Tresses breeded to fantastic Forms
To sooth a love-sick Maid, (your Pardon, Lady,)
He smil'd, and cry'd, Glory's the Soldier's Mistress.
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Sir, you'll excuse me—something of Importance—
My Father may have Business—O Valeria
[Aside to Valeria.
Talk to thy Brother, know the fatal Truth
I dread to hear, and let me learn to die,
If Curiatius has indeed forgot me.
[Exit.
Valerius.
She seems disorder'd!
Valeria.
Has she not just Cause?
Can you administer the baneful Potion,
And wonder at th'Effect?
Valerius.
You talk in Riddles!
Valeria.
They're Riddles, Brother, which your Heart unfolds,
Tho' you affect Surprize. Was Curiatius
Indeed so cold? poor, shallow Artifice,
The Trick of hopeless Love! I saw it plainly.
Yet what could you propose? An Hour's Uneasiness
To poor Horatia; for be sure by that Time
She sees him, and your deep-wrought Schemes are Air.
Valerius.
What could I do? this Peace has ruin'd me;
While War continued, I had Gleams of Hope,
Some lucky Chance might rid me of my Rival,
And Time efface his Image in her Breast.
But now—
Valeria.
Yes, now you must resolve to follow
Th'Advice I gave you first, and root this Passion
Entirely from your Heart; for know she doats,
Ev'n to Distraction doats on Curiatius;
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Will now endear him more.
Valerius.
Cruel Valeria,
You triumph in my Pain!
Valeria.
By Heaven I do not,
I only would extirpate every Thought
Which gives you Pain, nor leave one foolish Wish
For Hope to dally with. When Friends are mad,
'Tis most unkind to humour their Distraction;
Harsh Means are necessary.
Valerius.
Yet we first
Should try the gentler.
Valeria.
Did I not? ye Powers!
Did I not sooth your Griefs, indulge your Fondness,
While the least Prospect of Success remain'd?
Did I not press you still to urge your Suit,
Intreat you daily to declare your Passion,
Seek out unnumber'd Opportunities,
And lay the Follies of my Sex before you?
Valerius.
Alas, thou know'st, Valeria, Woman's Heart
Was never won by Tales of bleeding Love:
'Tis by Degrees thy sly Enchanter works
Assuming Friendship's Name, and fits the Soul
For soft Impressions, ere the fault'ring Tongue,
And guilty-blushing Cheek, with many a Glance
Shot inadvertent, tells the secret Flame.
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True, these are Arts for those who love at leisure,
You had no Time for tedious Stratagem;
A dang'rous Rival prest, and has succeeded.
Valerius.
I own my Error—yet once more assist me—
Nay, turn not from me; by my Soul I mean not
To interrupt their Loves—Yet should some Accident,
'Tis not impossible, divide their Hearts,
I might perhaps have Hope: Therefore 'till Marriage
Cuts off all Commerce, and confirms me wretched,
Be it thy Task, my Sister, with fond Stories,
Such as our Ties of Blood may countenance,
To paint thy Brother's Worth, his Power in Arms,
His Favour with the King, but most of all
That certain Tenderness of Soul which steals
All Womens hearts, then mention many a Fair,
No matter whom, that sighs to call you Sister.
Valeria.
Well, well, away—Yet tell me, ere you go,
How did this Lover talk of his Horatia?
Valerius.
Why will you mention, the ungrateful Subject?
Think what you've heard me breathe a thousand Times
When my whole Soul dissolv'd in Tenderness;
'Twas Rapture all; what Lovers only feel,
Or can express when felt. He had been here,
But sudden Orders from their Camp detain'd him.
Farewel, Horatius waits me—but remember,
My Life, nay more than Life, depends on you.
[Exit.
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Poor Youth! he knows not how I feel his Anguish,
Yet dare not seem to pity what I feel.
How shall I act betwixt this Friend and Brother?
Should she suspect his Passion, she may doubt
My Friendship too; and yet to tell it her
Were to betray his Cause. No, let my Heart
With the same blameless Caution still proceed,
To each inclining most as most distrest,
Be just to both, and leave to Heaven the rest!
[Exit.
| The Roman Father | |