 | Brutus Ultor |  |
Scene II.
—The house of Brutus. By the hearth, Publia.Publia.
The fire is out, cinders on everything,
Yet a fierce hope within me. I have tried
To pass the door, to look into the street;
It's like the brink of a great precipice,
That dizzies to behold. Here on the spot,
Where he has left me by the hearth, I'm held,
A stricken thing. . . . The silence seems to grow
A little colder every breath I draw;
It bars the air from me, and no one comes,—
Not Vindex. . . . Hark, I hear the cooing doves,
The life, the wail, the love! They shall not die.
Life, life! It is impossible. They come.
[Enter Brutus.]
Where are my sons? [He starts, then points downwards.
I cannot faint. I rise
Against you. All my womanhood detests,
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Naked and torn? You were a monster then!
Brutus.
Nay, Publia, not monster, more a man,
Though one that's hurt for ever, with a wound
That Lethe could not heal. But yet the law
Is without hurt, it's sacred body shows
No scar of violence, no red assault,
No desecrating stab of treachery,
And base exception. What though this poor flesh
Is hewn with murder, though my fatherhood
Hath died beneath the fasces, if there stand
Perfect and unattempted that great form
That rules the deeds of men!
Publia.
Child-murderer!
Brutus.
And thou didst yield thee to the servitude
And yoke of marriage simply for the boon
Of offspring! Slavish, mercenary lust!
How worthless is the woman when her name
Of mother is withdrawn!
Publia.
[Aside.]
I'm dumb afraid.
I would that I were far away on wastes,
Where I might call my children back, and shriek.
Brutus.
[Turning away.]
Is this my house? 'Tis after some great change
Things alter thus. I would assure myself
I am where I have lived. Let's look about.
No fire—and bread unbroken. . . . O gods, gods!
This is the little tablet where the boys
First learnt to write their letters. Publia,
Put it away. Mine eyes have borne enough.
Publia, you must not break the news again;
Vile traitors! . . . but to doom the little lads
Scratching their alphabet! I shall become
Brute, idiot, childish, raving, imbecile,
If you will force me to condemn my sons.
[Sinking on a seat with groans.
Publia.
He raves. [Going to the door.]
Your master! Vindex!—All the house
Echoes, yet no one comes. I think I hear
My name upon his breath. I could not go,
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Is fate. I must return—Help!—not to him,
But to the icy hearth. [In low tones.]
I have no home.
Brutus.
[Frantically rising.]
Vindex, come in! He should have lien with you,
Being a slave. . . . You are
Co-mated. . . . I have cast her off; 'twere well
To have my wife debased before mine eyes;
It were a lighter thing
Than in the forum to pour forth my blood
At lictors' bidding. In Avernus' dusk,
I will stretch hands to them: they are my deed,
My act, my infamy, my viler part.
Thorough the throngs of Hades we will pace,
And I will bear them garlanded about
As some triumphal spoil. Think not that e'er
I will resign them to you: they are mine.
You have no home, for here, upon the hearth,
I leave you unespoused, and comfortless,
No Roman matron, a degraded wife,
A stranger, a conspirator, a slave.
[Publia swoons.
[Enter Vindex.]
O Vindex, hither! You have lost your charge.
Take you this woman to your custody,
Treat her in pupilage; 'tis my command
You tend her, Vindex. I shall look on her
No more: it may be you will find her dead;
Bring not her ashes to me. Cling to her.
You have been ever faithful.
Vindex.
Ay, to you.
It's brought us to this pass. [Aside.]
Oh, he's a man
Too fearful to consort with womankind.—
My pretty mistress.
Brutus.
[Turning to look on her as she lies.]
But Tiberius
Had nothing of her looks: he died a man.
[Exit.
| Brutus Ultor | |