University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Favonius and Valeria.
Favon.
Ah, fair Valeria—fair as morning light,
And gentler than its dew drops—hold me not
So churlish, as to close my eyes, or heart,
To thy bright form or mind! I do confess,
I find them, both, pre-eminently lovely—
But—

Valeria.
But what, my lord?—Ah, that impending but!—
Say—strike at once, and let me learn my fate,
In all its horrors!

Favon.
O, that just Heaven had form'd some nobler youth,
Sweet as thy manners, as thy person lovely;
Endow'd with all that Heaven itself could give
Of goodness or of glory—with a heart,
That to thine own struck unison; that own'd,
In all the givings of the bounteous gods,
No blessing but Valeria!

Valeria.
No—rather that the goddesses, who strove
On Ida for pre-eminence, had graced me
With their joint gifts—to wisdom adding empire,
And charms of irresistible attraction!—
Or, to express my every wish in one,
That they had made me worthy—O ye gods!
Must I betray the secret of my soul?—
That they had made me worthy of Favonius!

Favon.
Alas!—even so, Favonius would have had
No heart to give.
Ha!—do ye mock me, gods!—or is it more
Than a bless'd vision?—Yes, she comes upon me,
Like dawning on the darkness, bringing hope,
And healing in her hand!—

SCENE II.

Lavinia
enters, as passing through the apartment.
Loved, loveliest Maid!
Soft seat of every virtue, every beauty!—
Do I once more behold thee?

Lavin.
My heart's master!
Am I so blest to see thee, once again?—
Thus, humbly, let me thank the bounteous gods,
And you, my great preserver!

[Lavinia kneels—Favonius raises her, and, while they converse apart, Valeria eyes them with jealous attention.
Valeria.
Death to my heart, they do not meet like strangers!
He knows her, and is known!—With what an eye
They look their very souls into each other!
Perhaps, long known—perhaps, already vow'd,
Or bound in nuptial bands!—My hopes are blasted,
Wreck'd, lost for ever!—Sick, sick to death!
Undone, undone Valeria!

[Valeria sinks on a sopha.
Lavin.
Alas, my sister swoons!—what may this mean?
What are you, sir?—Perhaps, her late betroth'd!—

Favon.
Your Junius, my Lavinia—your firm Junius—
Junius Favonius Cimbrius!—

Lavin.
Then I do see the powers are bent on ruin!—
Away, my lord, away!—
[Favonius retires.
Valeria, sister!—ah, she's breathless!—Help—
Who's there?—for Heaven's sake, help!—My Lady Julia,
Help, help!—

SCENE III.

Julia and Attendants enter.
Julia.
Who calls?—How's this!—my daughter dying?
O, my lost child!—Fly, all of you—bring odours,
Physicians bring—away, search Rome for medicine!—
Help—raise her to the air!—Speak to me, child!
Look up, my love!—speak, speak to your fond mother,
And snatch her from distraction!

As Lavinia is busy in affording help, Valeria turns from her, and waves her hand in token that she should be gone.
Julia.
Lavinia, go!

[Lavinia withdraws.
Valeria.
I think, I now am more at ease—But, still,
My heart! my heart!—
Dear mother of a wretched child, direct
That we be left alone!—

Julia.
Depart this moment!—
[Exeunt Attendants.
Now tell me; ease my throbbings!

Valeria.
Yes, when tears—
When tears permit me.

Julia.
Ah, my only loved!
What mean these gushing floods, these deep fetch'd sobs—
This passion, that has seized thy tender frame
With rending agitation?

Valeria.
O, Favonius!

Julia.
What, has he dared to treat my child with insult?

Valeria.
No, my fond mother!—Soon as you had left us,
His looks, his accents, actions, all were framed
To gentleness—to pity, so like love,
It seem'd, indeed, the dawn of young affection!
While time was thus suspended in sweet doubt,
Lavinia would have past us—at the view
Favonius started!—his collected spirits
Stream'd from his eager eyes—he addrest her,
In terms so soft, of such endearing rapture—

Julia.
What, at first sight?

Valeria.
Yes—but I soon remark'd,
That they were far from strangers to each other;
While, wrapt in fond and mutual gratulations,
They saw not me, and the entranced Favonius,
Had eyes for her alone—'Tis sure, too sure,
This was not their first interview—perhaps,
Long known—and O, perhaps, already join'd!

Julia.
Sayst thou?—the mighty heir of the Valerii,
The greatest, wealthiest, first hope of Rome,
Espouse himself to scorn, to beggary—
A thing without a name—and thus pollute
The long ennobled stream of our forefathers?
He cannot, shall not!—But I'll rid your sight
Of this plebeian sorceress—sweep her forth
To seek a hungry living on the Dole,
From whence the folly of old Fabius rais'd her.

Valeria.
O mother, why contract me to a stranger?
Would he had been a stranger still!—that I
Had never heard the name, or learn'd the praise,
Or seen the face of this renown'd Favonius!
Ere I beheld him, I had form'd his image
Tender, and kind, and grateful to my wishes—
But, when the light of this day's sun arose
To usher in his triumph—when the shouts
Of distant multitudes all-hail'd his name,
And near, and nearer still, approached mine ear
With swelling acclamations, that proclaimed
The hero was at hand—my pulse beat high;
Through my strain'd eyes my soul went forth to meet him:
And as he came, all glorious in the spoils
Of conquered nations,
His youthful brow laurel'd like fire-eyed Mars,
And his fair form conducted by the Graces;
My heart avow'd his fetters, and attended
The surest captive of his train!

SCENE IV.

Fabius enters.
Fab.
Alas,
They tell me that our dear Valeria here
Was suddenly affected.

Julia.
And is that
Your care, my lord?

Fab.
Why should it be a question?

Julia.
Indeed, I once had hope, that, in this house,
You harbour'd none with purpose to insult us!

Fab.
What may this mean?—Sure, Julia ought to know,
That, o'er my heart and house, and all in them,
She rules supreme.

Julia.
When Julia married Fabius,
Her hand, the world presumed, no trifling honour
To the first man in Rome.

Fab.
The world was just!

Julia.
It brought you wealth, and high alliance, sir—
And, sure, such gifts are poorly recompensed,
By insult to Valeria.

Valeria.
Dearest madam,
Recall your temper to its wonted calmness!—
My lord is not to blame.

Fab.
Tell me, or in this house, in peopled Rome,
Or through her vast domain, who has offended?
And instant satisfaction shall be made,
Till it o'erpass the limit!

Julia.
'Tis well—but, tell me first, my honour'd lord—
This same Lavinia—is she of your blood?—

Fab.
No, madam!

Julia.
Daughter, as I take it, of—
A worthless widow—one—

Fab.
Terentia, madam!

Julia.
The same—and her you took to your adoption,
To heir the honours of the boasted Fabii!

Fab.
I did—but, madam, I was then the master
Both of my proper fortunes and affections.

Julia.
Right, sir—extremely right!—But now be told,
This daughter of your fortunes and affections
Must not expect to brave us, unreproved—
This is no mansion, sir, for her and Julia
To mate together.

Fab.
She shall quit it, then.
Who's there?

Servant enters
Serv.
My Lord.

Fab.
Haste thee to Terentia,
And bring her hither!
[Exit Servant.
But, why should we disturb our houshold peace
With causeless altercation?—Pray, unfold—
Wherein offends Lavinia?

Julia.
She, my lord,
Flies much too high a pitch; an eaglet soaring,
Her eye upon the sun!—My daughter, here,
She holds unworthy of a hero's bed;
Steps in between Valeria and our choice,
And deems herself, alone, of eminence
To mate with the great heir of the Valerii—
To marry with Favonius!

Fab.
With Favonius?—
She knows him not.

Julia.
Most surely.

Fab.
Impossible!

Julia.
She knows him, and is known.

Fab.
Is known?

Julia.
Familiar!—Perhaps—

Fab.
O, fye, fye, fye!—
As chaste, I swear by Sol's unsully'd rays,
As are the virgin-purities, who tend
The sacred vigils of the vestal-fire!
Beside, her honest heart is, long since, plighted
To a young soldier, who once saved her honour.
But come—be temperate—she shall answer this,
Even at your own tribunal, face to face!—
Prepare your heaviest charge—Who waits?

A Servant enters.
Serv.
My Lord?

Fab.
Bid Lavinia hither!—
[Exit Servant.
I now remember,
That when the Pontiff would have join'd your hands,
Young Cimbrius, with a coldness most unseemly,
Drew back, and question'd somewhat, did he not,
Touching another daughter?

Valeria.
Yes, my Lord—
That question sent a dagger to my heart;
And, fatal as a sybil's sentence, told me,
He meant no other than the blest Lavinia.

Fab.
Lavinia? no—it cannot, must not be—
Their births, their stations, are too much unsorted!—
No, Julia, no—although I hold her dear,
Dear from her infant years of lisping sweetness,
Bred at my knee, and cherish'd in my bosom—
Yet would I rather weep upon her urn,
Than see our labour'd structure thus o'erthrown;
Than see her wedded to Favonius Cimbrius.

Julia.
Indeed, my Lord, your justice bade me look
For nothing less—the house of the Valerii,
Can merit no dishonour at the hands
Of Fabius.

Fab.
None—all honour—and shall have it!—
But here she comes—Soft, Julia—good, my love,
Restrain your anger—do not wound her gentleness
By too severe an accent!

Julia.
I am lesson'd.

SCENE V.

Lavinia enters.
Fab.
Come near, Lavinia—nearer—Dost thou know
To what end thou art summon'd?—Speak!

Lavin.
O, sir!—

[Kneels.
Fab.
Why dost thou tremble?—If thou art innocent,
Wherefore thus change thy colour?—

Lavin.
O, my Lord,
The dove, though guiltless, trembles, when Jove's bird
Bears thunder in his talons.—I do see,
In every brow that now is bent before me,
My sentence plainly written.

Fab.
Rise—stand up!
Fear not, but briefly answer me—Who am I?

Lavin.
My master—than the gods scarce less revered;
Who took me in, a helpless, friendless orphan,
To undeserv'd protection.

Fab.
What—no more?

Lavin.
Much, much—Who while your favour was toward me,
Did lift me, from the dust, to high adoption;
And stiled me by the dear, the melting names,
Of child, of daughter!

Fab.
Dost thou owe me aught
Of duty, then?

Lavin.
All, all, my sovereign lord!
The little that I am, without reserve—
Obedience absolute.

Fab.
I, then, should trust
Thou wouldst not bring reproach upon the house,
Wherein thou art ingrafted.

Lavin.
Not for worlds!

Fab.
Dost know Favonius Cimbrius?—Speak—look at me!

Lavin.
I do, my Lord!

Fab.
When didst thou see him last?

Lavin.
Within this hour.

Valeria.
My Lord, they are familiar—
She held him in close converse.

Fab.
Peace, Valeria!—
When didst thou see him first?

Lavin.
Some twelve moons since.

Fab.
That's strange!—And, did he talk of love?

Lavin.
He did.

Julia.
To thee, to thee of love?—a falsehood deep,
As deep as Erebus!

Fab.
Good Julia, patience—
Passion does but defeat its proper purpose!
Tell me, Lavinia—didst thou know him, then,
To be Favonius Cimbrius?

Lavin.
No, my Lord—
The Cimbrii, as I think, were then unconquer'd;
I only knew him, by the name of Junius.

Julia.
I see, I see, it now, clear as the Capitol!
He did deceive thee—he meant thee for his prostitute!

Lavin.
This is hard treatment, sir.

[Weeps.
Fab.
Give me thy pardon for her—Mark me, Julia—
Another word like that, and I dismiss her!—
Yet tell me—tell me truly, my Lavinia—
Wouldst thou espouse Favonius?

Lavin.
No, my Lord—
That were a hard return for his affection!—
Though he were dearly tied unto my heart
By every vital cord, I would not wed him!
Perish Lavinia, die a thousand deaths,
Ere she would bring the man she loved to shame,
Or call upon his high and honour'd head
The just reproaches of his friends and country!

Fab.
Most nobly answer'd—thou art still my daughter!
Wilt thou then promise, wilt thou swear, Lavinia,
No more to see, no more to listen to him,
But yield thy interests in him to Valeria?

Lavin.
It is most meet—before the gods, I swear it!
But know—I yield her more, much more than life!—
This is the soldier, sir, of whom I told you.

Fab.
Your soldier?—what, Favonius?—

Lavin.
True, too true—
The youth, whose valour saved me!

Fab.
O, my child!
I fear—I fear—thou art, indeed, most wretched!

Lavin.
Now, sir—upon my bended knee I crave it—
Return me to my mother!—O, return me,
Back to my native indigence—to light
The lamp of early industry, and earn
The little I may want!—Here I restore you
These costly ornaments, these gems and pearls,
With the proud title of that high adoption,
Wherewith you deigned to grace me—much unequal
To such a weight of honours—needless all!
The world, to me, is empty!

Julia.
Thou smooth enchantress! well thou know'st the way
To wind about my Lord's too easy heart,
And mould him to thy bent—Hence, to thy chamber!
Thou wouldst abroad, like wanton birds in spring,
To chirp it with thy paramour!

Fab.
No more!—
Bear with us, my Lavinia, for this day;
The morrow shall determine of thy fortunes.
Yet mark!—
At thy tenth year thou wast ordain'd a vestal,
When my adoption rent thee from the hand
Of the stern Pontiff—But, if thou swerve
From what thou hast sworn—if thou dost see, or hear,
Or hold the slightest commerce with Favonius—
By the dread mother of the gods, I swear,
To yield thee to her temple, cast thee off
To solitude eternal!

[Exeunt all but Lavinia—who looks after them, weeping.
A Servant enters.
Serv.
Madam, your mother is arrived.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

Terentia enters.
Lavin.
My mother!

Teren.
My child, my dear Lavinia!
[They embrace.
What, still in tears, like mountain rills that flow
Incessant from their spring?—What is thy trouble?
Unlade the burden of thy griefs, and I
Will bear it all.

Lavin.
Then I have still a friend—and that is plenty
To one, so very much a wretch!—Yet, mother,
Were you not cruel?—ah, why cast me from you!
Why break the bands of nature's best alliance?
Why yield me to another?

Teren.
Lest with thy mother thou shouldst share misfortune,
And poverty and scorn be all thy portion!

Lavin.
Is poverty so dreadful?—Poverty,
Parent of rosy Health, and smiling Peace,
Who sits, with Freedom, on the mountain top,
Discoursing with the Virtues!—Poverty,
Who pointed Rome the truest way to greatness,
Held sacred by her honourable sons,
The wealth of our forefathers!

Teren.
Alas, my child, those glories are no more!
Want sculks a lonely criminal in Rome,
And lowers the cheek of shame; while lordly Wealth,
Though leagued with Rapine, lifts the staff of office,
And looks reproof to Virtue. Yet there are
Some, truely Roman, though in Rome! and such
Is Fabius—he, who begg'd thee from my arms,
And swore to love thee with a father's fondness!

Lavin.
No more a father now, your child, no more,
Can find a fostering summer in his looks!
His speech is distant, and his passing eye
Confesses me an alien!

Teren.
Is it possible!—
Wherein have you offended?

Lavin.
I am all offence, an hourly nuisance—
The worm that preys upon a jealous step-dame!
She eyes me as her omen of ill fortune—
As the sad shade of some ill-stationed tree,
That hangs disastrous o'er her daughter's beauties,
And intercepts her hope—Alas, my mother,
This Cimbrius, this renown'd, of whom Rome rings,
Who should you think he is?—even that brave youth,
That very Junius, who, in my defence,
Slew Clodius and his train.

Teren.
The gods are gracious!

Lavin.
How?—
For lifting him, on whom my soul was center'd,
Where even the secret wishes of Lavinia
Must never dare to soar?

Teren.
Be told, then—that Lavinia is a mate
For any mortal hero; any consort,
Less than the son of Jove!

Lavin.
What wild extravagance!—
Beside, he stands contracted, by his father,
To the first heiress of the Commonwealth,
Even to Valeria.

Teren.
No matter—his first vows were yours, firm plighted
Before the gods and me!—But I haste homeward:
Ere night I trust to bring credentials with me,
That shall unfold these riddles.

[Exit.
Lavin.
I stand amazed!—what should my mother mean?
Some sudden malady, I fear, has seiz'd her!

SCENE VII.

Favonius enters.
Favon.
O, my Lavinia!—Blessed interview!

Lavin.
Alas, why venture here, my lord Favonius?—
Are you, then, bent upon my ruin?

Favon.
Hear me—
But for a moment—just to tell my love.—

Lavin.
Alas, I am sworn, no more to hear, to see you—
But yield my interests in you to Valeria.

Favon.
You cannot—I am yours, and you are mine,
By nature's union of connubial hearts,
And every sacred band!—Not all the powers
On earth, shall tear us from each other! no—
Rather despair shall seek the field of Mars,
Where camp my legions, to beleaguer Rome,
As once did Caius Marius—turn the war
Upon my father, country—on the world,
Rather than aught shall rend, from my fond arms,
All that the world contains of estimation!

Lavin.
Away!—I am undone!—the Pontiff comes—
Behold his lictors!—Lost, lost Lavinia!

[Exit Favonius.

SCENE VIII.

Valerius enters, preceded by Lictors—To him, Julia and Valeria, from the opposite side.
Julia.
Justice, Lord Pretor!—we demand strict justice!

Valer.
Say, on whom?

Julia.
The criminal before you!

Valer.
Lavinia, mean you?—'tis not in her nature
To give offence.

Julia.
My lord, you know her not—she's false and perjured!
This very day, she swore, to all the gods,
No more to see, or listen to Favonius;
And yet, the passing moment has beheld her
In secret converse with him.

Valer.
Does she then know Favonius?

Valeria.
Ah, too well—
Too closely intimate!

Julia.
And Fabius vow'd, on their next interview,
To doom her to eternal continence,
In Vesta's temple.

Valer.
Leave us together!

[Exeunt Julia and Valeria.
Valer.
Lavinia! loveliest maid! the gods do know,
You must not marry Cimbrius!

Lavin.
No, my Lord!

Valer.
Not that I think Lavinia undeserving
A greater than Favonius—such, indeed,
I had provided for her!—Say, my child,
Will you commit the chusing of your husband,
To me your anxious friend?

Lavin.
O, my dread Lord,
Let it suffice that I refuse your son,
That I have vow'd no further commerce with him!
Yet, widow'd to all else, the very thought
Of any other choice is horror to me!

Valer.
Then, hasten to the temple.—Julia!—

SCENE IX.

Julia and Valeria enter.
Valer.
Lavinia, with strange obstinacy, turns
My friendship to displeasure!—
Hence with her to the Fane!—by holy Vesta,
I will not sup, till she becomes thy votary!

Lavin.
Do your own pleasure with me—
In all events, I have a sweet associate
Stiled Patience—That I was not born to joy,
My heart long since foretold—and should my lot
Be cast for sufferance, still my spirit says,
So be it, Heaven!

[Exeunt.