University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

ARUNS, ALBINUS, MESSALA.
ARUNS.
[A Letter in his Hand.
Now in my bosom hope begins to build
On surer grounds; thy speedy care demands
My utmost thanks; prosperity attends;
And every lucky circumstance accords
With my warm wishes. Yes, inclosed, Albinus,
Within this letter is the fate of Rome,
The fate of Tarquin.—Didst thou in the camp
The purposed scheme concert? And regulate
The fatal hour? Hath the Quirinal gate
Been duly reconnoitred? Or, should chance
Hinder the malecontents from yielding up
Their guarded post, is our assault prepared?
And valour ripe for action? Doth the king
Approve our services? Did he express
His satisfaction?—What is thy opinion?
Shall he re-enter Rome, bedew'd with blood,
Or prostrate, and submissive to his will?

ALBINUS.
All will be ready at the midnight hour.
Tarquin well-pleased, anticipates th'event
Of your designs; and fancy, to his eye
Holds forth the golden fruit. To you alone
Professing that he owes his crown; to you
A sum of gratitude beyond the claim
E'en of Porsenna.

ARUNS.
Either heaven itself,
Must interfere, those gods, whose hate pursues
Ill-destined Tarquin, to confound a plan
So great, so worthy their sublimer natures,
Or by to-morrow's sun, shall Rome again
Acknowledge him her lord. Rome sunk perhaps
In ashes, or deep deluged with her blood.
Better however thus, his throne regain'd,
To stretch the sceptre o'er obedient subjects,
Humbled by their afflictions; than to strive
With pains incessant, on a haughty race
To fix the curb, pamper'd by luxury,
Stubborn, and with rank, vicious humours fraught
By too much happiness.—The princess, here,
In secret I attend; go thou, Albinus.
Messala stay.

SCENE II.

ARUNS, MESSALA
ARUNS.
And what, my friend, from thee?
What hath thy zeal effected? Hast thou moved
The rigid soul of Titus? Will he bend
High-soaring as he is? May we conclude
On his assistance? Will he, dost thou think,
Join in the royal cause?

MESSALA.
There I presumed
Beyond my strength. Inflexible he stands.
Too much of that fond foolish patriot love
Sticks to his breast; too much of Brutus' blood
Runs bounding through his veins. Indeed he murmurs
Against the senate, and for Tullia feels
Love's warmest ardour. Conscious pride of heart,
Ambition, the strong frenzy of desire,
And Jealousy aroused, youth's vivid flame,
And its wild hurrying passions, form'd methought
An easy track for soft seductive art
To glide into his soul. Yet, (past belief!)
The tyrant liberty usurped o'er all
Exclusive sway. Tho' his affection mounts
To an enthusiast height; that, Rome controuls.
Cautious and by degrees I tried t'erase
That hate of Kings which false republic notions
Have on his mind impress'd; a fruitless trial;
Unchanged the savage prejudice remains.
The very name of Tarquin stirr'd him up
To sudden rage. He would not hear me speak:
Brake off abrupt our converse, and retired.
Had I our final aim disclosed to him,
All had been lost.

ARUNS.
Too well I see, Messala,
That we can never hope by any lure
To win him to our purpose.

MESSALA.
Not thus arm'd
I found his brother, not the toil so great
To fix him all your own. Yes, mighty consul?
One of thy sons at least by me is vanquish'd.

ARUNS.
Hah! Tiberinus! And engaged so soon!
What secret wheels were thine? What prosperous arts
Of mystic policy?

MESSALA.
His own ambition.
That work'd my whole machine, its ruling spring.
Long hath he mark'd with jealousy's keen eye
Those honours which so visibly distinguish
His brother from himself. These waving spoils
On each fame-destined arch, these laurel wreaths,
This proud triumphal splendour, all the sons
Of Rome, nay Brutus self, before th'approach
Of Titus, ushering on the festive pomp,
Their hearts with exultation wing'd; hence flow
His torments, there are also many wrongs,
Which in his rankling mind inflame the sore
Of latent envy, till it swells and bursts
Imposthumate with venom. Meanwhile Titus,
To malice and revenge a total stranger,
Too far above his brother, e'er to cherish
A thought of jealousy, oft t'ward him stoop'd,
From the victorious car, his out-stretch'd arms;
As if he meant, by that expressive act,
In his warm breast t'infold him, and bestow
A large participation of his glory.
I seized the lucky moment; to his view
A sphere more truly glorious pointed out,
Bright-beaming in a court; I urged him home;
And promised, in the name of Tarquin promised,
The most exalted honours Rome could give
Short of the throne; I saw his senses dazzled;
I saw his resolution shake before me;
His soul is thine: in proof of which, he seeks
A speedy conference.

ARUNS.
Will he surrender
To our possession the Quirinal gate?

MESSALA.
Titus alone that post commands; it seems
As if decreed that his preventive virtue
Should ever check your fortune in its course.
To him the existence of the state belongs,
Its tutelary god.—On this assault,
However sudden, let us not determine;
The risk is infinite. Could he be won,
Success were manifest; without his aid,
It is a desperate trial.

ARUNS.
Would he stoop.
A candidate solicitous, to gain
The consular authority? And scorn
Imperial grandeur's highest seat? The throne
Affianced firm with Tullia?

MESSALA.
Regal honours
So offer'd, his stern virtue would refuse,
Nay deem an insult of the deepest die.

ARUNS.
Yet he loves Tullia.

MESSALA.
E'en to adoration.
The more he strives against his flame, the more
Its ardour blazes; his desires are fix'd
With passionate excess upon the daughter,
While he detests the father; at her name
Fearful he starts, yet, silent, is a prey
To bitterest grief; he seeks, he flies her presence;
Swallows his hidden tears; and struggling still,
Feels nought of love, but its infuriate transports.
In the wild rage of such conflicting storms,
A moment, may the firmest mind subdue.
Titus full well I know; of fiery mould;
Impetuous; should he yield, my sanguine wishes
Would halt behind him; while the proud ambition,
Now smother'd in his breast, would burn anew,
Rekindled at the glowing torch of love,
He could not but with utmost joy behold
These humbled senators, with trembling hearts,
And abject looks, low crouching at his feet.
But not to feed you with delusive hopes,
This passion, tho' so fatal to his peace,
He may resist, superior to temptation.
Yet once again at least, I will assail him,
And this, the hour of trial.

ARUNS.
Since his heart
Is not to love impassive; I despair not
To list him with my friends. A single glance
From Tullia's eyes, one magic word of hers,
Will soften more his ruggedness of virtue,
Than all the subtle windings, all the arts
So potent to seduce, of him who form'd
This daring plot, or which the teeming brain
Of an ambassador could e'er supply.
We must attack the part less surely arm'd,
And from their weakness alone expect
The service of mankind.—In his ambition,
And her prevailing tenderness, I see
Conspirators, on whose effectual aid
The king may safely lean. To them I trust
The whole of our success; conscious, how poor
My utmost efforts, when compared with them.

[Exit Messala,

SCENE III.

TULLIA, ARUNS, ALGINA.
ARUNS.
[Presenting Tullia a Letter.
This letter, from the king; to me inclosed.

TULLIA.

ARUNS.
My only aim is reverence to my king,
Attention to his words, respectful silence,
And zeal to do you service. Far from me
Be it removed, those sentiments to trace
Kept undisclosed by you! My eyes shall ne'er
Presumptuous glance upon the sacred veil
Around them cast.—Yet duty bids me say,
That heaven by you this empire will restore,
And place its golden sceptre in your hand,
The just reward of virtue.

TULLIA.
Hah! To serve
My father! And engage without reproach
My love to Titus!—But will he—

ARUNS.
Reject
All doubts of him; the royal race is now
That heroe's warmest care. Indignant scorn,
The thoughts sublime which swell his generous heart,
No longer can endure the gloomy malice
Of these austere republicans. Denied,
By the base senate what his valour claim'd,
He feels, nor strives to soothe, th'imbitter'd pang.
Now, pity t'ward his prince, and loyalty
Resume their seat; Oh! Fix them in his soul!
Not that I boast with accurate survey
His bosom to have read; but knowing thee,
He cannot but adore transcendent worth,
And dignity of charms. What eye undazzled
Can view a crown, by Tullia's hand presented?
Herself, (a more inestimable gift,)
To all the sparkling radiance of its gems
Communicating lustre? Meet him then,
Meet him alone, with power resistless arm'd.
Triumph at once o'er this sworn foe of kings,
Tear from the senate, to thy father give,
This bulwark of the state, this guardian god.
Oh! Struggle to deserve, the greatest honour,
That ever was to human hands intrusted,
The cause of Tarquin, and the fate of Rome.

SCENE IV.

TULLIA, ALGINA.
TULLIA.
All-gracious powers! What gratitude is due
For this your bounty! By my tears disarm'd,
Your's is this total change; the passion, erst
Staining my cheek, your justice hath pronounc'd
Spotless and pure; the fetters of restraint
Are by your kindness loosed—Haste, fly, to seek him!
Gods! Still he shuns my presence: shall I therefore
When now he may be happy, suffer him
To dwell in ignorance?—Yet—doth not hope
Wave her delusive wand, and raise before me
Vain, flattering images? And is it true,
That Titus with such vengeful rage is fired
Against the senate?—Oh, tormenting thought!
Must I from spleen and hatred then derive
All that should flow from tenderness and love?

ALGINA.
I know the senate hath inflamed his anger,
Know him ambitious; but his soul is thine,
Thine every ardent wish.

TULLIA.
And that alone
Will be the ruling motive of his actions.
I doubt it not; each feebler principle
Must yield to love. Hence then, with speed! Away!
[Exit Algina.
Yet, this extreme, this unexpected change.—
My father's letter—in my mind arise
A thousand anxious and perplexing thoughts.
Dart forth thy rays, conspicuous shine, O love!
And emulate my virtue! Glory calls,
Reason impels, and filial piety
Precedes my steps.—Hah! and shall I replace
The crown on Tarquin's honour'd brow! Shall I
'Twixt him and Titus knit the strong-link'd chain
Of cordial amity! Shall I behold
The public happiness upspring from mine!
Together blooming!—Thou, who could'st alone
Subdue my heart, Oh, wherefore this delay!
When to thy list'ning ear shall I disclose
This wonderous turn of fate, beyond the stretch
Of daring fancy's most excursive wing?
When the now-hallow'd transports of my soul
Shall I indulge? Attend to thee my Titus,
Without regret? Without a pang reply?
Dispers'd is every cloud of woe. Thee, Rome!
Thee I forgive. Titus abandons thee,
Rebellious Rome! And thy stiff neck must bend.
Titus is mine; proud senate, thou must fall.
His soul is mine; tremble with conscious dread!
And recognize thy king!

SCENE V.

TITUS, TULLIA.
TITUS.
Am I deceived? Or wilt thou deign once more
To cast thy eyes on this detested Roman,
Whose presence shocks thy heart? So justly hated?
So criminal t'ward thee? The bitterest foe
Of Tarquin's race?

TULLIA.
Each envious star declines,
And all is changed. Yes, fate will now permit—
Oh, Titus!—Speak! Assure me, that I hold
A true undoubted empire o'er thy soul.

TITUS.
Ah! Canst thou question whether that exists,
Which long hath made me wretched? Bear I not
In character most legible, the marks
Of fervent love, of guilt, and of despair?
Too surely have I proved thy absolute
And fatal empire; my subjected heart
To thy disposal willingly resigns
A life not worth the name.—Command! Exhaust
Thy justly-hoarded vengeance. In thy hands
Is placed my destiny.

TULLIA.
Mine springs from thee.

TITUS.
From Titus! Hah! Still trembling with its fears
This bosom can with difficulty trust
Even the voice of Tullia. Shall I then
No more be hated by thee? Oh! proceed!
Unfold the mystery!—What enchanting hopes,
Thus in a moment, rap me on their wings,
To the sublimest pitch of human bliss!

TULLIA.
[Giving him the Letter.
Read; and let happiness be thine. Confirm it
To me, and to my father.
[While he is reading.
Thus shall all
My tender wishes.—Hah! That angry frown!
And now a cloud of sorrow dims his visage!
Now consternation reigns! Immortal powers!

TITUS.
Surely I stand alone, the most accurst
Of human beings. Treacherously kind,
Intent t'o'erwhelm me with her blackest horrors,
Fate gave a sight of happiness and snatch'd
At once the transient vision. That my heart
Might groan beneath the burthen of affliction
Fully accumulated; she inspired
The conscious thought that Tullia might be mine;
Doom'd me to love, and see her ravish'd from me,

TULLIA.
Doom'd thee! Can Titus?—

TITUS.
I perceive my life
From this sad moment is condemn'd to bear,
The direst pangs of torture, or the load
Of basest ignominy; to betray
Thee, or my country; I can tread henceforth
No path of safety; no alternative
Remains, but that of misery, or of guilt.

TULLIA.
Hah! Could such words escape the lips of Titus!
When from this hand I offer thee a crown!
When I myself with-hold not! When thy eyes
Have read the soft emotions of my heart,
Open and undisguised! A father's power
Giving a sanction to each tender thought,
Converting love to duty!—I believed
This day would shine pre-eminently graced,
The brightest of my life. Alas, vain hope!
For the first moment, when my soul o'erjoy'd,
Might all its hidden sentiments disclose
Without a blush, that moment is become,
By thy ingratitude, the lasting source
Of deep repentance.—Darest thou hint at misery?
Thou talk of guilt? To serve a rebel crew
Against their lawful king, plunge me in woe,
Profess to love, hate and abjure my kindness,
These are my miseries, and these form thy guilt.
Oh! Titus, with enlighten'd sight behold
What lies before thee, in impartial balance:
There the refusal of the injurious senate
Here, plenitude of power. Now make thy choice.
Stoop to tyrannic laws, or be thyself
The law-giver; ascend the regal throne,
Or herd with the base multitude; determine
To fix on Rome, or me.—Inspire him, gods!
With your own breath! And teach him how to act!

TITUS.
My choice is made.

[Giving her back the Letter.
TULLIA.
And wilt thou not reveal it?
Doth fear, doth shame restrain thee? Speak! Deserve
Thy pardon, or my anger. Say, at once,
Thy purpose.

TITUS.
That my actions shall evince me
Worthy of thee; still equal to myself;
And still unshaken in my zeal for Rome.
To love with ardour, to resist with firmness;
Adore thy virtues at an aweful distance,
Yet strive to imitate them; lose thee, Tullia,
Yet feel a conscious pride that I deserve thee.

TULLIA.
Thus then forever—

TITUS.
Oh! Forgive me, Tullia!
Heed not the rash offences of my tongue;
Scorn not my weakness; view with generous pity
A heart its own worst foe, a thousand times
More miserable now, than when condemn'd
To thy severest hate. Oh! Frown not thus!
Can I those charms resign! Impossible;
Nor dare I forward look, and cherish hope.
My life cannot be thine, without thee, death
Must be my portion; yet would I confront it
In its most ghastly shape e'er see thy faith
Given to another.

TULLIA.
Oh! This heart, my Titus,
Most frankly pardons all; its faith is thine,
Still sacred and entire.

TITUS.
Transporting sounds!
Rewarded thus! Thus blest with thy affection!
Love me then, Tullia, with a Roman soul!
Love the republic! Nobly soar beyond
A queen's mean sphere! In lieu of regal state,
The gawdy gems, and tinsel of a crown,
Bring for thy nuptial gift, a breast which glows
With patriot love! Thy country's laws revere!
Be Rome henceforth thy mother! In thy chaste
Encircling arms embrace the man, who fights
Her battles, and supports her glorious cause!
Let Brutus be thy father! And the sons
Of Rome, by thy superior excellence,
Thy generosity of mind o'ercome,
Confess the daughter of a king hath laid
Th'eternal base of freedom!

TULLIA.
Shall I then
Betray;—

TITUS.
No; never. By despair impell'd,
Where wander'd my vague thoughts? In every form
Treason is base and horrible. I know
The duty which a father claims; his rights
Are absolute.—I know—thy image fills
My breast—to each idea lost beside,
Lost to myself.

TULLIA.
Let Tullia then direct thee!
Attend! Nor let her father speak in vain!

TITUS.
And have not I a father to obey?
Shall I not hear, his, and my country's voice!

TULLIA.
Thy country! Barbarous Titus! Canst thou call
By that dear name, the soil whence I am banish'd!

TITUS.
Alas! We must henceforth be enemies.
Nature to thee, to me the laws command it?
A savage duty to which both must yield.

TULLIA.
Henceforth be enemies! How could thy tongue
Pronounce those dreadful words!

TITUS.
Oh! Witness heaven!
My soul, and all its feelings give the lie
To what I utter'd.

TULLIA.
Let those feelings prompt
Thy future actions! Nobly in my cause
Dare shew thy zeal! and whom thou lovest, avenge!

SCENE VI.

BRUTUS, ARUNS, TITUS, TULLIA, MESSALA, ALBINUS, PROCULUS, LICTORS.
BRUTUS.
[To Tullia.

TITUS.
[Aside.
O agonizing love? O brain! the seat
Of madness and despair!—
[Advancing to Aruns.
And shall I thus
Permit?—I will not—let me tell thee, Aruns—
[Exeunt Brutus and Tullia with their Attendants.
Aruns and Messala remain.
Gods! Can I live thus tortur'd with the pangs
Of shame and grief?
[To Aruns.
Hear me! a moment hear me!

ARUNS.
The time forbids; my presence is required
By Brutus and the princess; her departure
I can retard for one short hour alone.
Fear, to delay; fear, lest thou should'st resolve
To speak too late. We may converse together
In her apartment, fix her future fate,
Perchance determine thine.

SCENE VII.

TITUS, MESSALA.
TITUS.
Capricious fortune!
Didst thou conjoin our hearts, with savage force
To disunite them thus! Hast thou decreed
To place the brand of enmity between us!
Oh, friend! This generous sympathy restrain!
Heave not (if possible) the indignant sigh!
Nor waste a tear on me!

MESSALA.
Such matchless virtue,
Love so refined, and beauty in distress,
Who can behold unmoved? A soul like hers
Thou only can'st deserve.

TITUS.
The time is past.
That soul must ne'er be mine.

MESSALA.
What power withstands!
Rather what idle scruples form a bar
To thy desires?

TITUS.
The cruel maid herself.
Conditions odious, unsurmountable,
Have been by her imposed. Despotic kings,
Who oft have shrunk before my lightening spear,
Can I then stoop to own myself your slave?
Romans! Who underneath this sheltering arm
Repose in safety, can I ever dare
So meanly to betray you! Shall a passion
Whose fierce assaults I have so long repell'd,
Now with so dire a mast'ry triumph o'er me!
Shall I expose my father to the rage
Of these unpitying tyrants! Heavenly powers!
And such a father? Nature's chosen hero!
The paragon of men! His country's first,
And great support! By whose instructive care,
I fill the secondary rank of glory!
By whose example perfected, I thought
A time would haply come, when I might gain
The same conspicuous eminence with him!
Thus with the virtues leagued, inspired by them,
And every action their's.—Oh, dreadful fate!
Heart-racking grief! Event most horrible!

MESSALA.
These were the virtues of inferior life,
And well adorn'd a citizen of Rome.
With what superior grace would'st thou display
Those of a higher station! And behold,
Where royalty obsequious, waits thy nod!
Surely on this auspicious day, heaven looks
Benignant down, and gives thee to possess
Dominion, vengeance, and thy Tullia's love.
Are these weak motives? Know this mighty consul,
This chosen hero, with the titles deck'd
Of public father, Atlas of the state,
Founder of Rome, who sitting idol-like,
Upon the ruins of the very throne
Thy hands have crush'd, deceives thy dazzled eye;
By prostrate crouds adored, and even drunk
With their thick-steaming incense; had he proved
In this adventurous struggle unsuccessful,
Had not thy victories spread a lustre round him,
Would only have been mark'd and stigmatiz'd
As a seditious traitor.—Thus renown'd;
Covet augmented fame! Amid thy laurels
Twine the more glorious olive! Oh! Recall
Those milder days of harmony and peace,
When liberty, in friendship knit with power,
Content with sovereign sway, our ancestors
Pois'd in due balance, and esteem'd as one
The people's interests, and the monarch's greatness!
Rome's hate of kings is not eternal, soon,
Were thine the sceptre, she again would view them
With eyes of filial love; for monarchy,
Once by her wavering people highly priz'd,
Tho' now abhorr'd; as different states incline,
The object of their terror, or desire,
Reason must own to be the best or worst
Of human governments; a tyrant prince
Will make it dreadful; and a good, divine.

TITUS.
This to my ear! Can I henceforth survey thee
In any other light, but as begrimed,
And foul with horrid treason? And myself
The stain participating, who have suffer'd
Thy converse uncontroul'd

MESSALA.
That as it may.
But know, a man there is, prepared to snatch
Th'inestimable meed, which thy faint soul
Thus hesitates to enjoy. The work untried,
He shall accomplish.

TITUS.
Hah! What man exists—
Cease thy dark hints.—Gods! Who will dare?—

MESSALA.
Thy brother.

TITUS.
My brother!

MESSALA.
He. To Tarquin he hath sworn
Inviolable faith.

TITUS.
Will Tiberinus.
Betray his country?

MESSALA.
No: he means to serve
Rome, and his sovereign. Who of thee regardless,
Will give his daughter to th'intrepid youth
Who shall with warmest zeal defend her father.

TITUS.
Just heaven! O fraught with perfidy!—What words
Can adequately paint thy crime? My soul
Long facinated, saw not underneath, the dark
And dread abyss, o'er which by thee led on
I stood unconscious. To the fatal choice
Thou think'st me now reduced, t'accuse my brother,
Or join in guilty partnership with him.
But sooner shall thy blood—

MESSALA.
My punishment
Is in thy hands; strike this unguarded breast:
Its cares, its ardent wishes for thy service
Demand the blow; slain'd with thy friend's warm blood,
Go, stab thy brother, murder her thou lovest;
Plunge the yet-reeking dagger in their hearts;
Their corses drag before the senate; boast
The glorious deed, and for the great reward
Of all thy virtues, ask the consulate.
Do this; or with anticipating step
I haste before thee, to their listening ears
Proclaim th'accomplices, and strait begin
The sacrifice of horror.

TITUS.
Stay, I charge thee,
Or dread ill-destined as thou art, the rage
The madness of despair.

SCENE VIII.

TITUS, MESSALA, ALBINUS.
ALBINUS.
By Aruns sent;
The time for his departure fix'd, permits him
Once more to see thee; He is now with Tullia.

TITUS.
With Tullia! Oh! I hasten to her presence,
Swift as the wing of thought.—Ye gods of Rome!
Ye ever-watchful powers, who guard my country!
Here aim your vengeance! Pierce a heart which shrinks,
Which feels the terrors of self-gender'd shame,
Which had it never loved, would still have beat
Responsive to the sacred touch of virtue.
For you, must the devoted victim fall
Ungrateful senate? Must it bleed for you,
Pure, ardent, faithful love?—I come, my Tullia!
[To Messala.
See where the capitol in every part
With trophied arches shine, the monuments
Of my integrity.

MESSALA.
There likewise meet
This hateful senate.

TITUS.
Thou fore-run'st my thoughts.
There doth it meet indeed!—But—o'er my head
Heaven's vollying thunders roll.—I hear a voice
Awefully warning.—Hold! Advance no further!
Ungrateful Titus, thou betray'st thy country.
No, Rome! No, Brutus! That shall never be.
Ye gods, who stopp'd me on the verge of madness,
I am again myself. Fame's brightest rays
Have my past life illumed; nor have I tainted
The clear and spotless fountain of my blood.
Your victim is unblemish'd; and if doom'd
To crimes involuntary, or to sink
Beneath the load of fate, ye gods, avert
All ill from Rome! Let Titus only perish!
But strike in mercy, e'er he taste of guilt.