University of Virginia Library

ACT. IV.

SCENE I.

A Grot in the Garden of Brutus.
CALPHURNIA, TORBILIUS.
CALPHURNIA.
'Tis near the appointed Hour:

TORBILIUS.
I judge, tis past.

CALPHURNIA.
Then Heaven, that loves its Likeness, wake for Cæsar,

TORBILIUS.
In this Out-Grot, they meet:—In that adjoining,
Curio has close conceal'd his chosen Guard,
Each Moment strength'ning, by admitted Files:
Hence vocal Windings, which pervade the Rock,
Swell whisp'ring Sounds to Loudness.

CALPHURNIA.
How look'd Portia?

TORBILIUS.
Sad—till she heard your animating Name:
Then, like a Sun-beam, radiant thro' a Mist,
She smil'd away her Anguish.

CALPHURNIA.
—At her Approach,
Leave me Torbilius.

TORBILIUS.
—Who then guards you hence?

CALPHURNIA.
I mark'd th' impending Ivy, o'er the Arch—
Grieve, not tho' Pride repell'd thy honest Purpose,
Nor fear the endangering Fate of stubborn Brutus:
My Friendship, in alarming Portia's dread,
Will caution, and preserve him.—Go:—she's here.

[Exit Torbilius bowing to Portia, whom he meets ent'ring.

SCENE II.

CALPHURNIA, PORTIA.
PORTIA.
This mournful Grot ne're touch'd my Taste till now:
But present Friends bring Sunshine to the Soul.
And Seats of Horror change to Scenes of Bliss.
'Twas fortunate, thou call'dst thy Portia, hither!
Brutus is sad to-day, and Purposes
Retirement, here, beneath this sullen Shade:
Our Presence will relieve him.

CALPHURNIA.
—Stop him, Portia!
Let me not find him:—save my Eyes that Horror!

PORTIA.
Good Heaven!—what has he done?

CALPHURNIA.
Stay not, to ask:
Even that lost Moment may be fatal to him.
Go; bid him guard his Ear from cruel Cassius:
Time will permit no more; go warn him—save him.—
If thou delay'st a Moment, Fate o'ertakes him;
And staying but, till Cassius comes—he dies.

PORTIA.
Be clear in Pity to my beating Heart;
Brutus has been traduced.—He loaths all Falsehood:

CALPHURNIA.
Shunning the Falsehood loath'd, he may be safe.

PORTIA.
He comes.—Now, hear him justify his Fame,
From this foul Charge—and vindicate thy Goodness.

CALPHURNIA.
No.—Tis thy Weight must shake his concious Soul.
Save his endanger'd Name, and bless my Notice.

PORTIA.
I cannot move:—forgive my trembling Knees,
My Heart restrains their Power.

CALPHURNIA.
Alas! I pity Thee:
Rest, and recall thy Spirits, and receive him.
[Aside.]
Now, to my fatal Post.—

[Exit.

SCENE III.

PORTIA.
(alone.)
(After an astonish'd Pause.)
—Some dreadful Meaning!
And my too wakeful Fears confirm it just:
Cassius, of late, with warm, assiduous Art,
Flatters my Brutus, whom his Envy shun'd:
Cassius is wily, proud, malicious, bitter!
Burns, with ungovern'd Hate: and brooks not Cæsar.
Associate Vice may taint the soundest Virtue:
And Honour bleeds, shou'd Cæsar fall by Brutus!
Not that my patriot Heart disclaims the Roman!
I, who was born to Liberty's great Guardian,
By right of Nature, shun tyrannic Sway:
Yet Brutus—twice offending—twice forgiven,
Twice, forfeited to Cæsar's Clemency,
His own lost rights to Justice:—shou'd he, then,
Quench the kind Light, he lives by, the rash Murderer
Kills his own Fame, and dies to every Virtue;

SCENE IV.

PORTIA, BRUTUS
BRUTUS.
Who call'd thee hither Portia?

PORTIA.
Rome's kind Gods.

BRUTUS.
In Haste they summon'd, and, in Haste they left thee.
Was it, because they saw Calphurnia with thee?
And shun Society with Cæsar's Friends?

PORTIA.
Ne're may the Gods forsake the Friends of Cæsar,
Since Brutus more than all Men, such, by Gratitude,
Merits Protection from the Powers, who love it.—
Does Cassius move in Grots?

BRUTUS.
Why ask'st thou that?

PORTIA.
Romans, who meditate the Death of Cæsar,
And owe him not their Lives, may mean no Murder.

BRUTUS.
Torbilius is a Traitor:—Rome is bought,
And all those guardian Gods, who lov'd her Liberty.
Forsake her, and support the Cause of Cæsar.

PORTIA.
Rome bought?—and Traitors?—If I watch thy Look:
Rage, and Despair, have dim'd thy Eyes with Anguish,
If I regard thy Language,—Death dwells, there,
And, like a Groan, at Midnight, frights my Fancy.
Stay I would ask.

BRUTUS.
Ask nothing;—'tis a Time
For Action:—keep thy Words for idler moments

[is going.
PORTIA.
(Holding him.)
Hark! tis thy Fate, that calls the.

BRUTUS.
I have heard it:
Why woud'st thou thus restrain me?—thoughtless Portia!
Be wiser.—All the Lives of Rome's best Friends
Demand me! Theirs the Fate, that calls!—Away:—
Honour, and Oaths, and Death, and Glory—call me.

PORTIA.
(Still holding him.)
By Heaven! you go not, till you first relieve me,
From this dark Torment, which your Words implant:
I'll know, what Friends? what Oaths?

BRUTUS.
Loosen thy Hold:
Nay, if thou stay'st me, my unwilling Strength
Must break ungently from this ill-tim'd Rashness.

(Forces himself away)
PORTIA.
(With a Dagger)
Turn, Brutus! turn,—regard this silent Pleader?
If thou woud'st wish to spare the Breast of Portia,
Dread the determin'd Hand of Cato's Daughter.

BRUTUS.
What wou'd thy Madness hint? what means that dagger.

PORTIA.
(Pointing a Dagger to her Breast.)
Stir, not a Step.—Thy first vain Start to seize me,
Plunges Deliverance to my rescued Heart,
Which unconfiding Brutus loves to torture.

BRUTUS.
What would thy Soul-distracting Purpose frame?

PORTIA.
The bloody Secret, thou conceal'st from Portia,
Thou shar'st, with every vulgar Friend of Rome.

BRUTUS.
(Suspended, and amaz'd.)
Why woud'st thou bid me license future Scorn,
To haunt my hated Name?—Make me not faithless,
Lest Songs teach Times to come my Hearts fond weakness;
That, to a Woman's Tongue, resign'd a Secret,
Which sunk the World's last Hope;—and gave up Rome.

PORTIA.
Where sleeps the Spirit of thy stern Forefather?
Whose awful Firmness, sculptur'd into Life,
Frowning thro' Stone, disclaims degenerate Rome!
Teach him, some God! that Cato call'd Me Daughter.
Brutus believes me light, like vulgar Woman!
Oh!—'twas for this, the sorrowing Shade resought me;
Hinted Futurity, through mystic Night,
And shew'd me, Brutus wou'd be Mine—no more.
Find, in that dreadful Warning, how He judg'd:
Feel, what he thought of his own Portia's Daring.
Trusting the Fortitude, he gave—He knew,
That Cato's Daughter could not dread to hear
The worst, that Cato's Spirit dar'd to tell.

BRUTUS.
Generous, I know thou art;—But thou art Woman:
Secrets of State, and Blood, o'erload your Minds.

PORTIA.
Tis the false Reasoning of a Sex, that wrongs us:
Why shou'd a Secret's weight o'erload the Heart
Of Portia—yet, disturb not that of Brutus?
All, thou can'st wish me, thou shalt find, I am:
All, thou can'st suffer, thou shalt feel, I dare.
Poorly, perhaps, thou think'st, the Fear of Wounds,
And Pain, and Sword's, and threat'ning Death, might shake me!
—Judge,—by this willing Blow—
(Strikes the Dagger into her Left Arm, which Brutus, advancing swiftly, snatches from her.)
—off—off—by Heaven
Thy Failure had transferr'd it to my Heart.
Learn, from this bleeding Proof, that,—when I shrink
from Thoughts of Death, I fear not for my own.

BRUTUS.
What has thy Pride's ill-grounded Rashness done!
Oh! let me Mend that error of thy Hand:—
Bind up th' ungentle Wound, and call Aid to thee.

PORTIA.
Never!—tho' Death divide us!—Never—never
Shall Portia veil this Mark, how Brutus lov'd her;
Till, to Redeem her Life, he trusts her Vertue.

BRUTUS.
Perish the Pride of such a dear-bought Fame,
As costs my widow'd Heart the Life of Portia!
—Read that dire List.
(Gives her the Roll.)
Till my Return conceal it:
And weigh those mighty Names, against One Cæsar.

PORTIA
[Permitting Brutus to bind her Arm with his Handkerchief.)
Must Cæsar die?

BRUTUS.
—Twas sworn.

PORTIA.
—Did Brutus swear.

BRUTUS.
He did:—A dreadful Oath!—ask what, hereafter.
Bound to the Gods, those angry Souls of Rome.
Submitting to my Hand, the public Vengeance,
Kill Cæsar, instant,—or permit his Life,
As Brutus warrants, or with-holds, the Blow.

PORTIA.
Then, Cæsar cannot die.—He pardoned Brutus.

BRUTUS.
Oh! I cou'd tell thee Wonders!—But the Help,
I fly to send thee.—and their forfeit Lives,
Whose Rashness I must warn, permit no more.
Portia, farewell:—If e're we meet again,
I will complain, of thy impatient Ardor,
And thou shalt justify the Heart of Brutus.

[Exit hastily

SCENE V.

PORTIA. (alone.)
PORTIA.
Live, Cæsar! live, and reign!—Tho' Cato's Blood.
Calls for Revenge;—and a whole People's Rights,
Usurp'd, absolve one bold Assumer's Fall;—
The Hand of Brutus must not stain Rome's Justice;
Nor, with detested Murder, pay back Mercy.
(Peruses the Paper.)
Heaven! what confederate Power! what Names, least likely,
Start from this dreadful Roll, and threaten Cæsar!
—Wou'd I were still a Stranger to this Secret!
Yet, that unknown,—who had dissuaded Brutus?
Is he dissuaded?—let me weigh that Question.
Who knows but, while I speak, th' appointed Hour
Impends!—It Does!—Farewell, he said—and left me!
Farewell!—then added—if again we meet!
If!—Heaven! what meant that if?—tis plain he doubted,
Whether we ever were to meet, or No!

SCENE VI.

To PORTIA, enter CALPHURNIA, with TORBILIUS, CURIO, and Soldiers.
CALPHURNIA.
Never, unhappy Portia!—Far divided
Be Innocence like Thine, from Guilt and Murder!
Teach thy reluctant Heart, to give up Brutus:
For never will thy Eyes behold him more.
(Portia fix'd in Amazement, lets fall the Roll, which Torbilius takes up, looks into, and offers to Calphurnia.)
Let not the hated Scroll pollute my Touch!
Fly with it, hence—bear it, with Speed to Cæsar:
Tell him, Torbilius! how the Gods have sav'd him:

TORBILIUS.
Happy, to miss thy Name, lov'd Brutus, here!
Well-vers'd in Cæsar's Pity,—glad, I go.

[Exit.

SCENE VII.

PORTIA, CALPHURNIA, SOLDIERS.
PORTIA.
Oh!—

CALPHURNIA.
Wife of Brutus!

PORTIA.
—Chill'd to Stone, by Horror,
Kindly, thou wak'st me, with that powerful Name.
And my recov'ring Breath implores thy Mercy.

CALPHURNIA.
The Wife of Cæsar speaks: Absolve her Justice:
Had the too dreadul Danger been Calphurnia's,
Then, had my willing Pity met thy Prayer:
Sav'd, whom thou lov'st, and lost a Third vain Mercy,
But thou hast heard it! Brutus murders Cæsar!
—Yes Cassius!—bloody Cassius!—I have wrong'd thee:
The Foe but wish'd Revenge:—The Friend resolv'd it.

PORTIA.
What does thy angry Virtue mean to do?

CALPHURNIA.
—Blast his vow'd Guilt, and force him to be safe.
Round, from the neighb'ring Grot, rush Cæsar's friends,
Rapid for Interception:—If they find him,
Try thy wish'd Power: reclaim his Will, from Cassius,
Whom if his Fate has driven him, now, to join,
By all my Fear for Cæsar's Life—he dies!

PORTIA.
Detain him, all ye Powers, who pity Woe!

(Enter Curio with other Soldiers.
CURIO.
Vain was our speed:—There is an Iron Door,
That, opening to a Vault, beneath these Rocks,
Leads toward th' Æmilian Baths:—'scap'd thro' that Passage,
E'ere now, he rises in the Shade of Rome.

(Portia faints.)
CALPHURNIA.
(To a Soldier.)
See! th' unhappy Sufferer faints!—support her:
(To Curio, in a lower Voice.)
Mean Time, while slow-returning Sense forsakes
Her pitied Ear, whose Sighs my Soul deplores,
Curio!—The blank Commission, Cæsar gave thee,
Claims, from my Hand, a Name, to guide thy Duty:
(Receives the Table-Book, from Curio, writes in, and returns it to him.)
Brutus becomes the Void, with bloody Grace;
Take it, and know thy Hour.

PORTIA.
Bless'd, ye kind Rocks!
Bless'd, be your guardian Echos! That have swell'd
Death's Murmurings to my Ear:—If my Strength fail not,
Home, on the Wings of Love, and Fear, I'll fly:
Brutus shall live; and every God shall guard him.

(Starts up and goes out.)
CALPHURNIA.
Restrain her, Curio!—The preventive Love,
This weeping Vertue bears her sentenc'd Lord,
Wou'd warm him from the Fate, his Guilt compells.
(Curio brings her back.)
Come—guide th' afflicted Trembler to my Palace.

PORTIA.
No.—Kill me, here:—Earth has no Place, so fit
For Portia's Death, as where her Brutus left her:
Art thou a Soldier? hear me:—All the Brave
Have Hearts to weep the Woe, their Hands have caus'd.
But Man is cruel.—Hear, Calphurnia!—Thou
Art Woman:—Thou art Cæsar's tender Wife.
Measure another's Mis'ery, by thy own.
Pause but, to think thyself the Wife of Brutus;
'Twill plead my Cause, and force thee to forgive.

CALPHURNIA.
Cou'd Portia so forgive the sought, sworn, Death
Of Him, beyond whose Life she shuns to live?
Knock at thy own Heart's Door, and find mine justified:
Yet, bleeds my social Soul, and feels thy Fate;
Poor, suffering Excellence! And wretch, unguilty!

PORTIA.
Oh! I can never by a Wretch, by Thee!
I am thy Friend:—Dwell on that Thought, Calphurnia:
Even, when the Cradle claim'd me, I was Thine:
Sorrows, and Pains, must come:—They come to All,
But, sure! they shou'd not come from those, we love.

CALPHURNIA.
They cannot come from Love:—They may from Justice.

PORTIA.
Let Foes, and Strangers be, severely Just:
Friendship declines to punish, tho' 'tis wrong'd.

CALPHURNIA.
Think of the present Hour.

PORTIA.
Think of the Past;
When pratling Childhood, yet, had learnt no Power,
To lisp its little Meanings, into Sense;
Stammering our untaught Instinct, Side by Side,
We wander'd, fearful of each other's Fall,
And tripp'd, and smil'd, and totter'd, into Love.
Scarce felt our rip'ning Years a Sense of Woe:
'Twas Foreign, all—for all, within, was Peace.
While the divided City, round us, glow'd
With cruel Discord, and domestic Rage;
Even, while our dearest Friends took different Sides,
And Civil Fury shook the partial Soul:
We, still superior, to a Nation's Hate!
Smil'd on—confided, mix'd embracing Minds;
And all our Contest was—which, most, shou'd Love.

CALPHURNIA.
Why would'st thou, thus, recall past Hours of Joy?
Those were the sun-shine Days, of Mirth, and Peace.
Now, 'tis all win'try Darkness,—War, and Blood!

PORTIA.
Brutus is dear to Portia.

CALPHURNIA.
—Not less dear
Is Godlike Cæsar, to Calphurnia's Soul.

PORTIA.
If Brutus lives.

CALPHURNIA.
—Cæsar, he swore, must die.

PORTIA.
Cruel Impatience! Not to hear Distress!

CALPHURNIA.
Patient I heard, till he confess'd it sworn:
Heard, till he told thee,—each dire Murderer dar'd
Vow Cæsar dead,—when Brutus Wills it done.

PORTIA.
Brutus will not.

CALPHURNIA.
—Away—'twas Sworn, 'twas Sworn.
Hear that, all-judging Heaven! And think, by whome!
Ingratitude's a Guilt, that startles Nature,
And, with a Fury's Foulness, stains Mankind!
Constrain her, Curio!—Force her gently, on:

PORTIA.
Stay, Stay—I will be heard,—cruel Calphurnia!

CALPHURNIA.
Alas! What woud'st thou say?

PORTIA.
—Wou'd I cou'd tell!
Wou'd I were skill'd in Woe, to touch thy Pity!
Perhaps, I shou'd be Humbler?—Teach me, tell me.
Oh! I'm not stubborn.—If the Queen of Cæsar,
Waits for the bended Knee; and, looking down
To suppliant Homage, tastes the Flatterer's Prayer:
See! Portia, prostrate on the Dust, implores thee.
(Kneels.)
See her Soul agoniz'd,—and ease her Terrors.
Grant him but Life! Spare his mistaking Virtue:
Banish him—far from Rome, and Power, and Cæsar.
To unhous'd Scythia's bleakest Wilds, expose him:
Leave him one—one—but one! Sad, humble Shelter!
His Portia's aching Bosom!—Never—ah?—Never,
Will she forsake him!—Off, ye glittering Trifles!
(Tears off her Jewels.)
Ye Toys! That help to blind unbless'd Distinction!
Come—in their Place—Despair! Affliction! Penitence!
Be these my Claims!—For these my Brutus shares in.
Shuddering, and bare, I'll trace th' unsheltry Desert
Tread the bleak Wilderness of Want, unsighing,
Unwishing Comfort, and content with Pain.
Sleepless, myself, I'll watch his weary Slumbers,
Feed his pale Fire, hang o'er his heedless Bosom:
Break ye rude Snow-drifts, which the Storm blows round him,
And love him into Taste of safe Distress.

CALPHURNIA.
(To the Soldiers.)
Why will ye wound Compassion, by Delay?
The Sorrows of a suffering Friend, are Torture,
None, but a Devil, at once can cause, and bear.
Relieve me, and, with tenderest Force, obey.

PORTIA.
(To the Soldiers,)
Reverence, ye Slaves of Power! The Race of Cato:
His unsubmitting Soul survives, in mine:
And swells against Compulsion.
(Soldiers step back.)
—Dare not think,
I dread to die.—But know, that Portia's Death
Shall be the Choice of Portia.
At a Signal from Calphurnia, they seize her Hands.
—Hope, as soon,
To claim impassive Spirit!—High Disdain,
Resisting Insult, at a Thousand Doors,
Can let out Life, and laugh at vain Restraint!
I will, with stubborn Pain, imprison Breath,
And burst, indignant, from a World, that holds me.
I will, on stony Pavements, hard and cold,
As deaf Calphurnia! Dash my dizzy Brain:
I'll swallow Fire:—Rend, with impatient Teeth,
This suffering Flesh, and plunge from hated Light:
Unhand me, Torturers! Murderers!—Help! Help!
I will extend my Voice, if Brutns hears not,
Till the forgetful Gods are rous'd to Justice!

CASSIUS.
(From the Garden.)
Where are you? say! Whence flow'd that suffering Sound?

PORTIA.
Blest be th' attentive Powers!—'Tis Cassius calls.

CASSIUS.
(Without.)
Haste, Cimber! Join Marcellus; guard the Postern:
Cross those arm'd Enter'ers, e're they reach the Grove:
Fabius!—Fulgentius!

CALPHURNIA.
Save me, righteous Jove!

CURIO.
Scorn this new Terror. Think, whose conquering Fortune
Summons a Sword, untaught to wrong his Cause.

(Exeunt Curio, and Soldiers, drawing their Swords.)
CALPHURNIA.
Heaven guard my Cæsar,

PORTIA.
Save my Brutus, Gods!

(Clashing of Swords heard, without.)

SCENE VIII.

CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, CASSIUS.
CASSIUS.
(Entering.)
Guard well those Priso'ners, while I—
(Starts.)
Calphurnia, here!
Nay then, some Villian has betray'd our Cause.

PORTIA.
Torbilius bears your listed Names to Cæsar,
And Brutus, if you save him not, must die.

CASSIUS.
Freedom has Friends, in Heaven, too strong for Cæsar;
No Note of Danger, ever, more shall reach
The Tyrant's watchful Ear:—Rome's vow'd Avenger's,
Now, at his Entrance to the insulted Senate,
Led on, by Liberty's returning Gods,
Shall, there, appease them, with his offer'd Blood.

[Exit hastily.

SCENE IX.

CALPHURNIA.
(Aside.)
Hold firm my frighted Heart! Tis but a Moment!
Suffering with Dignity, disgrace not Glory:
Ev'n, in this dreadful Turn, preserve thy Greatness:
Nor let thy trembling Fears, alarm'd for Cæsar,
Lose the Distinction, due to Cæsar's Wife.
(Advances to Portia.)
Portia! A Change, like this, might prompt weak Minds,
To justify Despair, and give up Virtue.
But I, who trust the Gods, with good Men's Safety,
Know, that, in Cæsar's Triumphs, Heaven but guards
Th' assaulted Greatness, which, Itself, inspir'd:
Rising against Distress, Calphurnia smiles
At Traitor's Threats, and brightens from Eclipse.
Fearless, to persevere her Lord has taught her;
And, from meant Evil, force unwilling Good.
All, Thou must hope, when Cæsar's cloudless Star
Meets, and shines through, and burns above this Tempest;
Is—that my Sentence may remain suspended,
Till the Dictator's never-wearied Mercy
Pours Penitence, on the touch'd Heart of Brutus.

PORTIA.
Slow Blessings come too late, and bring new Curses:
This, but a Moment past, had sav'd us, Both:
Now, Portia rules not, here:—Tis angry Cassius:
The proud Conspirators possess my Gates,
And Brutus, absent, leaves me to their Power,
He flew, to warn those rash, discover'd, Romans:
But hasty Rage makes frustrate every Care.
—Yet, claim what e're my Weakness can:—Tis due
To kind Forgiveness of a Friend's first Fault:
To our past Wishes, and our present Fears:
For, ah! Who knows, what dire Events impend,
To blast eluded Hope, and make both wretched?
—Come, to my Chamber, let us sadly move,
Pensive, from Fear, and terrified for Love:
There, let us mourn Ambition's restless Rage,
And mutual Mise'ry mutual Help engage.

CALPHURNIA.
Warm, from my willing Heart, I join that Prayer,
Ne're may Ambition waste a good Man's Care!
Vain are his Hopes reluctant Foes to bless:
And still, the more his Toils, his Praise the less.