University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Maximian. Albinus.
Albinus.
And yet such Horrors I have fill'd his Heart with,
Methinks, even I could pity him. See him start;
Distraction in his Look, and wildest Rage—
Even when he weeps, for still he weeps her Name,
His softest Transport's Madness. Then he swears,
As with a Moment's Interval of Reason,
'Tis all a Lie, and with a Lover's Rapture
Talks o'er her Form, her Beauties, and her Virtue.

Maximian.
These Intervals of Reason may be dangerous.

Albinus.
Rather, like Lightnings flashing o'er a Storm,
They shew the Danger, and insure its Terrours.
His Jealousy, sagacious Self-Tormentor,
Prevents all farther Witness. Every Look,
Each trivial Circumstance of Joy, or Sadness,
That careless Innocence throws off the Heart,
Are now, by painful Memory, treasur'd up,
And brought in Proof with Shadows, with Suspicions,
Light as a Madman's Dreamings.

Maximian.
But Aurelian—
How does he brook his Prison?

Albinus.
Struck with Wonder,
He saw th'imperial Order to arrest him;
Then cried—“O Constantine, most gracious Master,
“The Hand of Blood is on thee, and Aurelian—
“It was my Guilt conceal'd the fatal Secret;
“I am indeed thy Murderer.” While the Soldiers
Stood wondering round; I took him at his Word,
And call'd him Murderer; with a chosen Party
Then dragg'd him to his Dungeon.

Maximian.
There to lie,
Where never Sun-beam pierc'd the solid Gloom,
Where rattling Chains, and Doors, that grind the Hinge
To let in new Distress, make hideous Concert.
There let my Vengeance find him. But Albinus,
The Emperor must not see his Wife.

Albinus.
He shall not.
We will not trust his Weakness, or her Power.

Maximian.
I will not trust his Rage. Do not his Passions
Start from his Soul in Tempests? Should he kill her—

Albinus.
My Lord, he dares not see her. Look, he comes.
Despair, and Grief, and Shame—No deeper Darkness
Dwells on the Face of Night, than on his Heart.
Stand and observe him: here.

Enter Constantine.
Constantine.
Is there no Cure
For Ills like these? No wond'rous Art to heal
These Agonies of Sense? To endless Ages
Mark'd out a Thing of Vileness—Oh! my Heart!—
I must not dare to name? Shall all my Glories—
They are already lost—My Honours, Triumphs,
Lost by a Woman's Falshood. I, who thought her
The Excellence of Virtue, as of Beauty;
That no unhallow'd Thought—O Woman! Woman!
Tainted her Breast—to me so icy chaste,
My Love's pure Kiss was cold upon her Lip;
Even then her hot Imagination glow'd
With lewd, luxurious Wishes. Hell and Devils!

Maximian.
If Duty, Sir, and Friendship may approach you—

Constantine
talking to himself.
Her Death—What can her Death! Oh! poor Attonement
For what I feel—a thousand Deaths at once.
Seeing Maximian.
Where is my Wife? my Wife! O Memory,
Reflexion, Reason; ye were given to heal
The wounded Spirit, not increase its Anguish.
But tell me, how she looks. Her faded Cheek—
Has it not lost that holiest Blush of Innocence?
Bear with my Weakness—There was once a Time,
Had Virtue worn the perfect Form of Beauty,
Or cloath'd it in an Angel's Robe of Radiance,
It would have look'd like her. Is she not chang'd?
Is she not alter'd much? Haste, bring her hither.
[To Albinus.
I will myself, mark the first Starts of Shame;
The guilty Colours, that must taint her Cheek.

Albinus
aside.
Oh! would he stab her now, and give our Cause,
With somewhat better Grace, to call him Tyrant.

[Exit.
Constantine
to Maximian, as he is going out.
Come back, my Lord, you shall yourself be Witness,
Tho' my firm Nerves will tremble when I see her,
And my Eye start with Horrour, yet unheard
She shall not be condemn'd.

Maximian.
Has a Father's Love
Condemn'd his Child, and were the Proofs so weak
To need a second Trial? Then, my Lord,
Is your Heart firm? Its Beatings all secur'd?
Her Eye still holds its Lustre; Beauty still
Grows fresh upon her Cheek. When she shall weep,
When she shall wind her Sorrows round your Heart,
When Love's soft Language, melting from her Lip,
Charms you to hear, to pity, to believe her,
Your Soul may in its Rage reproach, upbraid her,
And in its Rage forgive her.

Constantine.
Ha! Forgive her!
The very Thought is Insult. Oh! should Mercy,
Fairest of heavenly Beings, descend to Earth,
Such as, when offering to the Throne of Grace,
The Sins of Human-kind, she weeps their Pardon,
Here she should weep in vain.

Maximian
aside.
This only Means,—
Ye Powers, instruct, assist me to preserve her,
Your own, best Gift. But, Sir, her Fate is mine,
And should she die by any other Hand,
My great Revenge were lost. Could a Plebeian
Assume a Nobleness, his Birth denied him,
And kill his only Child, his lov'd Virginia,
To save the humble Honours of his House?
And shall Maximian's Name be stain'd with Vileness,
Thro' Ages tainted with a Wanton's Frailty,
And shall he trust his Vengeance to another?

Constantine.
There is a savage Justice in thy Purpose
Horridly pleasing. I allow your Claim.
But will you, Sir, be faithful to your Trust?
Search deep into the bosom'd Seats of Pain,
Where Life resides? Wilt thou, when Art grows tir'd,
Renew its languid Rage? When the keen Sense
Grows dull with suffering, wilt thou wake its Feelings
Thro' every trembling Nerve? Wilt thou do this?

Maximian
aside.
My Lord, I will. Dear Nature, hear it not,
Or see the pious Meaning of my Vow.

Constantine.
Then take her to your Wrath; enjoy her Pangs,
And charm me with the Story. If the Story
(Return, my Lord) can charm me, sure the Sight
Will give a fierce Delight, a gloomy Transport.
I will assist you, Sir. Our mutual Wrongs
Shall animate, inspire, relieve each other,
Vary her Pains, and draw them slowly out.
Then both together strike one Roman Blow,
And both run mad for ever.

Maximian
kneeling to Constantine.
Here, my Lord,
Behold me kneel; this Knee, that never bow'd
But to imperial Jove, supreme of Gods,
And him, the fire-ey'd Power of War, Oh! hear me.

Constantine.
No; every Moment, that hath seen her wrong me,
Impatient waits for Vengeance.

Enter Fulvia behind.
Fulvia.
Ha! for Vengeance!
My Father on his Knee! Then all's discover'd.
Now to preserve him, or to share his Fate.

She kneels on the other Side of Constantine.
Maximian starts and rises.
Fulvia.
Mercy—not Justice, is the Throne of Princes;
For what is Power, tho' boundless and almighty?
A Deity of Awefulness and Fear.
But in the Whirlwind of its Wrath, when flies
The burning Shaft, if Mercy's saving Hand
Arrest its Flight; then, then we kneel and worship,
And mix our Praise with Gratitude and Love.

Constantine
to Maximian.
Did she not talk of Heaven, and heavenly Beings!

Fulvia.
Not hear! Not look upon me! What's my Crime?
To ask his Life? The Author of my Being?
Is this a Fault? Then why, great Parent Nature,
Why hast thou pour'd, with such abundant Hand,
Thy filial Instincts thro' the Vast of Air,
The howling Desart, and the Ocean Stream?
Is he not still my Father? tho' his Crimes
Be such as Constantine alone can pardon;
For Constantine is sure the Prince of Mercy.

Constantine.
Is it in all the Stories of her Sex
To make this possible! Accuse her Father!
Add Parricide to Shame!

Maximian.
She has discover'd,
By some dark Means, that all her Guilt is known,
And conscious, that in me she must expect
A Roman Father's Wrath, she would destroy
The Object of her Fears. Then boldly hopes
To win the Heart of Love to hear her Vows,
To doubt, believe, forgive.

Fulvia.
Oh! Sir!

Maximian.
Away.
My Soul disclaims; thy Father knows thee not.

Fulvia.
Take; take my Life; 'tis yours; I here resign
Th'unhappy Gift; but, Oh! in Pity spare
My Innocence; my yet untainted Name.
Let not our holy Matrons hate my Memory,
Or the light Wanton dare, by my Example,
Indulge her Wanderings. By my Mother's Virtue—
She was her Sex's Chastity and Honour—
Will she not rise in Horrour from her Tomb,
Fill the wild Air with shrieking, and demand
Her much-wrong'd Daughter's Fame?

Constantine
to Maximian.
Bid them drag forth
Ling'ring in Death, fresh-bleeding from the Rack;
Then fitted for the Arms, the base Aurelian
[Exit Maximian.
Oh! all ye Powers immortal, see she starts
At Mention of his Name. Spite of her Art,
Spite of the desperate Spirit of her Sex,
When first surpriz'd in Guilt, th'unwilling Blush
Glows on her Cheek, and flashes from her Heart.

Fulvia.
No more of Tears; no more of Woman's Weakness.
In her own Strength my Soul shall take her Flight
Above my Sex's Weakness. True, I started
At Mention of his Name, for then I saw,
First saw, the dreadful Train of Death and Treason,
That spreads around your Life, your Fame, your Empire.

Constantine.
For me thy Fears? My Danger? For my Fame?
Swear it—Oh! could'st thou swear, 'till I believ'd thee!

Fulvia.
Oaths would debase the Dignity of Virtue,
Else I could swear by Him, the Power, who cloth'd
The Sun with Light, and gave yon starry Host
Their chaste, unsullied Lustre; by the Fire,
Which burns unceasing on that sacred Altar,
Where first—O Memory—our Loves were plighted—

Constantine.
If you have aught to plead but Oaths and Tears,
Let me not kill thee uncondemn'd, unheard.
Answer me: Speak; unhesitating speak—
How his Name trembles on my Tongue—Aurelian—
When did you see him last?

Fulvia.
This Morning, Sir;
Some Hours ere your Return.

Constantine.
Why? Wherefore see him?
What! for some holy, some religious Purpose!
Or was it to rejoice for my Return?

Fulvia.
No, thou Insulter, no. For thy Return!
What has it brought me home, but Wrongs and Outrage?
Yet for Aurelian's Sake—

Constantine.
Ha! For his Sake!

Fulvia.
Sure not for thine, who dare insult me thus,
I condescend to tell you, that he came
In Loyalty—in Friendship, to inform me
Of such intended Horrors—that the Sword,
Which ten successive Emperors had worn—
Our first great Cæsar wore it, and with Glory;
For with it Honour, Victory, and Fame
Were girded on his Thigh—

Constantine.
You do not mean
The Sword I gave Maximian! Did I not—
Tho' then I mark'd it not, yet sure I saw
Aurelian wear it. Was it not a Pledge
Of Friendship to your Father? Did he give it—
Why? For what Purpose, give it to Aurelian?

Fulvia.
O dire Necessity! But I must tell you.
Fierce in Resentment of your late Refusal,
And burning to resume th'Imperial Throne,
Unwillingly resign'd—O, tell me, Nature,
How to proceed—may I invoke thy Name,
And call my Father Murderer? Shall his Child
Open the bloody Volume of the Law,
Her Voice call forth the Ministers of Justice?

Constantine
, aside.
Maximian's Plots were ever stain'd with Blood.
His desperate Ambition, his Resentment—
But to accuse his Daughter! Can her Shame—
For it must break my Heart—not torture his?

Fulvia.
Look thro' my Life; is there a Witness there,
To vouch this Guilt against me? Or can Nature
At once start forward to th'Extremes of Vice?
Look thro' the Days; thro' every tender Hour,
Since first our Loves began; did not my Heart
Number with thine its Beatings? All its Joys
I shar'd with you; its Sorrows were my own.
Are these the Proofs of Falshood? Even in Justice
Reflect upon Aurelian's early Worth—

Constantine.
Take heed; be cautious; for you tread on Fires.

Fulvia.
Is not his Life a Copy, drawn from yours,
By Friendship's warmest Hand? You were his Fame,
His Glory, his Ambition, even his Virtue.
When late the Sword of War, with swift Descent,
Was falling on your Life, did not Aurelian
Oppose his Bosom to the Stroke? Is this,
Is this to be a Traitor? This his Crime?

Constantine.
'Tis sacred Reason all, and heavenly Truth.
If she be false—how innocent she looks!—
The Sun is made of Darkness, and the Stars,
Are rayless as the Dust. If she be false,
Then Heaven, that pour'd these thousand Graces round her,
Marrs its own loveliest Work, and mocks all Truth.
Oh! Fulvia, whither has my Heart been wandering
From Love and Friendship; Happiness and Thee?
But Love, impatient to resume his Bliss,
[Embracing her.
Rushes, with wonted Transports, to thy Arms,
Nor will he coldly wait to ask Forgiveness;
But in the calmer Temper of my Joys,
I will implore, and kneel, and weep for Pardon,
Swearing by Beauty's Power, no Thought hereafter,
Of cursed Jealousy, or base Suspicion,
Shall stain thy brightest Image in my Heart.

Fulvia.
Again I melt to Tears; the gushing Rapture,
Unutterable else, breaks forth in weeping.
Be these Embraces—Oh! believe them chaste ones—
My worst Resentments; these the only Marks
I e'er shall think, my Lord was once unkind.

Constantine.
Thou Wonder of all Goodness, as of Beauty!
But now, even now, perhaps, my best Aurelian—
O Tyrant, savage Constantine—thy Friend
Expiring lies in Death. Albinus,
Enter Albinus.
Haste;
Fly; bring him to my Arms; tho' Shame, Confusion,
And fearful Friendship dare not hope for Pardon,
My Fulvia—She shall ask Forgiveness for me.

Albinus.
Whom shall I bring, my Lord?

Constantine.
Whom thou hast wrong'd;
Whom I have injur'd. Him, to whom I owe
My Life, my Love. Why need I name Aurelian?

Albinus.
My Lord, Aurelian's fled—

Constantine.
Ha! fled!

Albinus.
This Morning,
'Tis thought to Italy; soon as he heard
Marcellus, by your Orders, was arrested.

Fulvia.
'Tis false; he is not fled. Why should he fly?
His Innocence—

Constantine.
Oh! Fulvia, was he innocent?
Whence then his Flight?

Albinus.
My Lord, we found this Paper
In his Apartment. Seeing the Address,
We did not dare to open it.

Constantine.
“To the Empress.”
Why should he write to Her? What direful Omen,
What Presage this, that on my trembling Limbs
Hangs these cold, fearful Drops!—

[Reads, then lets the Paper drop.
Fulvia.
What Passion thus
Shakes your firm Frame? Your Eye, now fix'd in Horror,
Stands motionless; and now its straining Sense
Starts into Wildness! Whence that rending Sigh
Of vehement Distress!

Constantine.
Away; begone.
There's Magic in thy Touch.

Fulvia.
My Lord! my Constantine!

Constantine
, to Albinus.
Tear off her Hold; my Senses cannot bear her.
Th'Infection—now—it rises to my Brain!
Charms, Poisons, Incantations are about her,
The Sorceries of Beauty.

[Exit.
Fulvia.
[Taking it up.
Ha! This Paper—
Now your Decrees, ye Fates; then learn to bear them.
Reads.
[Throws away the Paper.
Ye Powers, shall this Intelligence be lost?
Angels, and Ye, who guard the Throne of Princes,
This Night, be watchful o'er your sacred Charge;
This Night, with stronger Pinions hover o'er him.
Let not Ambition, or Revenge approach him.
Now, now, they enter; now they rush upon him.
Ye conscious Stars, that view the impious Scene,
Dart all your baleful Influence, and blast
Yon lifted Arm. But, oh! the conscious Stars,
The smiling Fiends, and weeping Angels see it—.
The Lord of Empire dies.

[Falls into the Arms of her Attendants, and is carried out.
Albinus
, aside.
Now, by the God,
Who thus inspires her, 'tis a glorious Vision,
Methinks, I see it too.

Enter Maximian.
Maximian.
Where is the Emperor?
Retir'd to his Apartment?

Albinus.
Yes, my Lord.

Maximian.
Retir'd? alone? What hinders then, Albinus,
But that I rush upon him, and at once
Strike for Revenge and Empire? How th'Idea
Glows thro' my Blood. My Rage already stabs him.

Albinus.
My Lord, another Hour—

Maximian.
Another Hour!
What! To behold my Daughter at my Feet,
Imploring me to save her Fame, her Innocence!
Thou canst not judge of Nature's Workings here.
Thou hast no Child. Shame, Indignation, Pity—
But they shall now be satisfied with Vengeance.

[Going out to Constantine's Apartment.
Albinus.
Who waits there?

Enter Officers, &c.
[Guards arrest the Prince Maximian.
Maximian.
Arrest me, Villain! Ha! Thou double Traytor!
Soldiers, I charge you, bear me to the Emperor.

Albinus.
Behold th'Imperial Signet, and obey it,
Or Woe upon your Lives. This Instant bear him
To his Apartment.
[The Guards carry off Maximian.
This the only Means
To save him from himself; his own wild Temper.
I now am equal Master of the Fate
Of both these Princes. If th'Imperial Throne—
Suppose it vacant—Rome hath seen her Emperors,
And of no Godlike Strain. O Fortune, Fortune!
If I durst follow, where thy Favour leads—
Down, down, thou swelling Spirit, proud Ambition,
Nor let thy wandering Fires mislead my Reason.

[Exit.