University of Virginia Library

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.)