University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

To Fabius, Julia and Valeria.
Fab.
Welcome, my ladies!—Come ye from the triumph?

Julia.
We do, my lord.

Fab.
I, also, had been there,
But these old wounds, I thank the Catti for them,
This in my hip, and this within my ancle,
Grow troublesome at seasons. Then you have seen him,
This youthful hero, this all-praised soldier!—
Cimbrius, I think they stile him.

Julia.
Yes, Cimbrius—
The name of honour which the Senate gave him;
And which, appointed heralds, at sun-rising,
Proclaim'd thro' all the shouting streets of Rome.

Fab.
Well—but the manner of his triumph—tell us.

Julia.
Impossible—it beggars all description!
From gate Capena to the Capitol,
Even through the whole Triumphal Way, each interval,
Floor above floor, was scaffolded so high,
As made all eyes below to ach.—The world,
The world was empty—Rome, alone, was full
Of heads and eyes; no other part appear'd
From windows, pinnacles, and chimney-tops!
At length, a deafening shout was heard, that rent
The upper element, and made all Rome
Shake to her deep foundations!—Then began
The pomp, in full procession.

Fab.
Well—pass that,
And hasten to the Victor.—
I mean it not in boast; but, sure, my Julia
Has seen a triumph before this.

Julia.
True, sir—
When first my Fabius, ere he was my Fabius,
Gave me to be enamour'd of his glories!

Fab.
No more of that, I pray—haste to young Cimbrius.

Julia.
After the passing of some miles in length,
Of Lictors, Magistrates, and troops of war,
Follow'd by carriages of corselets, helms,
And pikes, and mingling swords, whose martial din
Shiver'd our organs—there appear'd a company
Of laurell'd youths, bearing the richer spoils
Of antique vases, goblets high-emboss'd
With gold or pearls, and silver houshold gods,
Paintings and sculptures, works of art that made
The rich material poor!—Next came, adorn'd,
The bulls for sacrifice, whose whiteness match'd
The snow upon Soracté!—Distant far,
High on his car, the Victor then appear'd,
Preceded by a length of breathing flutes,
And many a sweet according instrument,
That suddenly gave way, or were all sunk
In the loud trumpet's brazen sound—again,
The trumpets were as quickly sunk, and lost
In deafening acclamations!—

Fab.
Now, at last,
We have him—here comes Cimbrius!—Well, how look'd he?—
Say, like a Victor, was it?—like a man
Deserving this supremacy of glory?

Julia.
How shall I speak it?—O, my noble Fabius,
Never did such a lowliness of aspect,
Such humbled grace of person and demeanour,
Pluck insolence from exaltation's seat,
And put all pride to shame!

Fab.
Then I am happy!—
But what am I to look for, now, my Julia?—
Hast thou bethought thee, how to bear thyself
Beneath this weight of aggregated glory?—
What, aunt and mother to this first of heroes!—
So richly blooded, and so highly raised,
These honours may be held as all thine own,
And we look little in thine eyes.

Julia.
No, no,
No fear!—my noble lord knows rightly well,
How to maintain his port, as well at home,
As in the field or senate.

Fab.
Tell me, Julia,
Is this the first time thou hast seen thy nephew,
This topic of all tongues?—I am inform'd,
That, from his cradle to his car of triumph,
He scarce has seen his country, scarce has set
His virtuous foot in Rome.

Julia.
'Tis true, my lord—
He had scarce forgot the milk of his fond mother,
When he was sent to Athens. Having finish'd
An early education, he pass'd, thence,
To Crete, to Egypt, Palestine, Assyria;
And, last, return'd to Rome, the most accomplish'd
Of all the youths that Rome had ever boasted.

Fab.
Then, sure, you saw him.—

Julia.
No, my daughter, here,
And I, were absent at our country villa.
'Twas at the time the Teutones and Cimbri
Had made their dread irruption; and Favonius,
Now titled Cimbrius, scarce had time to greet
His sire and kinsfolk, ere he was dispatch'd,
With high commission, under the great consul,
Attilius, general of the war.

Fab.
The rest,
I have learn'd from fame—his deeds of high atchievement;
The general's death, and the approved succession
Of Cimbrius to command; his following conquest;
And now, his triumph!—But, what says Valeria—
Does she approve our choice?—

Valeria.
O, my good lord,
I need not blush—and yet I blush to own
I think myself too blest, too much exalted
Above my little merits!—Ah, might Cimbrius
Approve your choice alike!—there, there's the doubt,
The fear that trembles at my heart!—

Fab.
No, no,
No doubt, no fear!—But here the Pontiff comes.