Brutus Ultor :: :: University of Virginia Library

Why, he's dull outside; it vexes them. He
walks to the forum, with his face working. He doesn't
mind folk when he's anxious. All the same, it's not right
he should be jeered at by his boys. Mistress, you must
speak to them. They used to have a fear of their father.
I've carried them up squalling; they grew quiet when he
took them. Now they're all duty to his face; but to hear
them laugh at him behind his back! Oh, it grates on
the ear, that crisp, light laugh of a youngster, who does
not know the meaning of things, never guesses where a
groan comes from, and yet will jeer at the jerks and
tremour of one who has a weight of cares on his shoulders.
It's curious to watch Master; he doesn't seem like a freeman.
He's under some great patron in his thoughts; for
he never takes his pleasure as others do; it's must, must
with him all day. I thought it was the scourge taught
one the habit of saying must.

Publia.
They call him Brutus; he indeed affects
A dulness; but his boys to mock at him!

Vindex.

Affects a dulness! Yes, yes; and it takes a
man of sense to play the fool. Whatever he does, there
is a must behind. There's no chance in his circumstance.
If one has a heap of gold, the best way to keep envy off is
to protest it's in the charge of a simpleton. Master

might have been in bondage, he's learnt so many shifts.
But I take it ill his own children should mis-judge him.
It's just lightness.

Publia.
I'll speak to them. [Aside.]
Ah me, beshrew my heart,
But I, when I was young, oft laughed at him.
Yet, when I laughed at him, 'twas to prevent
The gravity of loving; for his moods
Were each most precious to me, and his faults
Right welcome, 'twas so sweet to pardon them.
[Aloud.]
I will reprove the boys, and smartly too.
Vindex, go, fetch me these unduteous sons.
You've cut me to the heart.

Vindex.

Tiberius is at the palace; he stalks in like a
lord. And he doesn't learn there to think much of his
parents. They're so masterful, these princes. But as
for the younger one, he'll come, if you want him. He
never refuses any one, and his mother!—

[Goes to summon Titus.
Publia.
Oh, she just dotes on him! It's wonderful!
In all his pranks there is an innocence.
I never could rebuke him.

[Enter Titus.]
Titus.
What a brow!
Mother, you never fetch me but to scold.
You trade on my sweet temper. Now, confess,
You dare not trouble your Tiberius;
Whilst I, who cannot suffer the least crease
Of this white forehead, must endure the frown
Of your displeasure. What's the new offence?
Too boisterous at the banquet yester-eve?
And idle? Well, when the great pedagogue
Has turned his back—

Publia.
Titus, you shall not thus
Speak of your father; 'tis undutiful.
You love him, and he bears with you, because,
Like your mother, you are foolish, gay, and yet,
Like her, most loving, Titus.

Titus.
Loving? Yes.
Mother, he puts us to too great a strain,

Forgetting that you gave us suck, and not
A grisly wolf that reared up Romulus.
He's no compassion.

Publia.
But you must be brave,
Being his son.

Titus.
Whew! I am sensitive;
I'm not made all of armour; underneath
I have a woman's skin. I'm just like you.
Tiberius can bear things; but I wish
Father would not o'er-task us past our years
In the way of our behaviour. We must have
Carouses, ay, and liberty.

Publia.
To-night,
'Tis pity you're abroad, he will return;
[You smile,—I say the priestess at my heart
Foretells his entry] he will look around,
And yet not ask for you. I dread that look.

Titus.
The age is past we clambered on his knee.
Sweet mother, you grow dearer to your sons
Each day; and father is so hard to reach.
Farewell.

[Kisses Publia and goes out hastily.
Publia.
[Aside.]
I am not wifely in my love
To dote upon the boy resembling me,
And yet 'tis not my fault.—This saucy slave
Has quite unsettled me. He's meddlesome,
And needs reproof. [Aloud.]
Vindex, I will to rest,
For there's no comfort in your company.
You're full of evil omens.
[Exit Publia.

Vindex.

Pretty lady! She's in the sulks, and doubtless
to-morrow Vindex will be whipt. They look so tender,
these ladies, but they never treat one fair. Master would
not hurt a messenger for bringing ill news. Why, there's
knocking. Two hours after supper-time, and our young
masters under starlight!

[He unbars the door.
[Enter Brutus.]
Brutus.
Good Vindex, is the household gone to rest?
Your mistress,—but my sons?

Vindex.
They're both without.
I fear me, master, they are something worse
For all this liberty; they're much abroad;

I dodge about and keep an eye on them.

Brutus.
You had no order; they will soon be men,
And must be practised in self-government.
Doubtless they are detained. You're not a spy;
You are my trusted servant. Get you hence,
And fetch your mistress hither, for my time
Is short; I must, ere dawning, to the camp.
[Exit Vindex.
I dare not tell her all,—she would be filled
With a too great ambition. Lord of Rome!
'Twould take a woman's fancy—and the cost:
These princes, who are kinsmen, torn from power;
The slaves, who should be citizens—What change!
What woe! for, when I strike, the Thunderer
Takes not a truer aim. Ah me! ah me!
Let the great Strangers see that right be done!
They are not of a race that giveth suck;
No urns are in their houses; they possess;
They have no words for welcome and farewell;
No tombs where frailty and transgression couch;
They have not grown gray hairs. Sweetheart, she comes!

[Re-enter Publia.]
Publia.
Dear, dear my lord, what kept you on the road?

Brutus.
The gods, my Publia. All, I trust, is well?
Our sons are duteous?

Publia.
Who is lord of Rome?
You come from Delphi. Love, disburthen straight,
And ease my curiosity. All swear
Our city's fortune hangs upon a kiss.

Brutus.
O Publia, you do not apprehend.
Heaven is not wanton with its yea and nay;
It lets men bear the issue of their deeds.
Hear what befell. I lay down on the earth,
In the grass, as it had been my mother's tomb—

Publia.
Then, Brutus, do you think the gods meant that,
And after all my Dullard caught the sense
Swifter than flying princes? It may be.

Brutus.
No, Publia; I had no thought at all
Save one of wonder. 'Tis a miracle

The Lord of eloquence should put my dumb
Beast-mouth to music; yet a god himself
Must stutter when he breaks the truth to men.

Publia.
But you will win great honour, if you speak.
Silvius the orator—

Brutus.
A flaccid man,
Of large, loose body, and ungirdled mind!
Not so doth Heaven purpose. Dear, be still:
There's much to bear.

Publia.
You do not tell me all.

Brutus.
I cannot, love. Think o'er my broken words,
While you are weaving for us. May the gods
Look kindly on our household peace. Farewell.

[Exit.