University of Virginia Library

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,