 | Catiline |  |
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ACT III.
SCENE I.
An Apartment in a Cottage, in the Roman Suburb. Aspasia sitting, listening anxiously; a female Attendant, with a Distaff, at a Table; a Lyre, a laurel Chaplet, and Scrolls of Music in different Parts of the Room. An open Casement. Night.ASPASIA.
The hour's gone by. But, hark!—He comes at last.
No! 't was the whisper of the cheating wind.
When he returns, he shall not have a word;
And I'll sit thus, half turn'd away, and hide
My face; till he has woo'd my hand from it,
And called me Dian, lingering for her love;
Or Ariadne, weeping by the wave,
That show'd the Athenian's galley like a speck;
Or Sappho, all enamour'd, full of dreams,
Gazing upon her sea-grave ere she died.
For such fond punishments are food to love.
I cannot sit, nor rest in mind, nor think.—
[She rises.
He left me,—but he loves me,—he'll return:
Yet there was strangeness in his eye—a flash
That died in sudden gloom; his parting kiss
Was given as wildly as 't were given by lips
That parted for the scaffold.
[Listening.
No! 't was the whisper of the cheating wind.
When he returns, he shall not have a word;
And I'll sit thus, half turn'd away, and hide
My face; till he has woo'd my hand from it,
And called me Dian, lingering for her love;
Or Ariadne, weeping by the wave,
That show'd the Athenian's galley like a speck;
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Gazing upon her sea-grave ere she died.
For such fond punishments are food to love.
I cannot sit, nor rest in mind, nor think.—
[She rises.
He left me,—but he loves me,—he'll return:
Yet there was strangeness in his eye—a flash
That died in sudden gloom; his parting kiss
Was given as wildly as 't were given by lips
That parted for the scaffold.
Hark! 'tis he!
I'd know his step among a thousand. Hush!
[To the Attendant.
Give me that lyre, Campaspe, and begone.
I'd know his step among a thousand. Hush!
[To the Attendant.
Give me that lyre, Campaspe, and begone.
[Aspasia plays, turning from the door. Hamilcar enters. She ceases.
HAMILCAR
(joyously).
Play on, fair Greek; but let it be some song
That has a triumph in 't,—a kingliness,—
Let it discourse of crowns.
ASPASIA.
Why did you stay?
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You are a Circe. Last night's prophecy
Has turn'd the brains of the Allobroges;
I come, to thank you for 't.—Their spell is sure!—
You shall be rich.
ASPASIA.
Aye, in my early grave.
HAMILCAR.
No; ere those lips are riper by a week.
[He points to the Casement.
Look! where the Ethiop beauty, Night, comes forth,
Veiling her forehead in thick woven clouds;
But soon shall all her glory be disclosed,
From her pale sandal, silver'd by the moon,
To her starr'd turban! She's your emblem, girl!
Look on these gems!
[He throws jewels into her lap.
ASPASIA.
All presents are but pain
To slighted fondness.—Take your jewels back.
[She repels them.
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(exultingly).
You shall have all that ever sparkled yet,
And of the rarest. Not an Afric king
Shall wear one that you love. The Persian's brow,
And the swart Emperor's by the Indian stream,
Shall wane beside you: you shall be a blaze
Of rubies, your lips' rivals; topazes,
Like solid sunbeams; moony opals; pearls,
Fit to be ocean's lamps; brown hyacinths,
Lost only in your tresses; chrysolites,
Transparent gold; diamonds, like new-shot stars,
Or brighter—like those eyes: you shall have all,
That ever lurk'd in Eastern mine, or paved
With light the treasure-chambers of the sea.
ASPASIA
(gazing on him).
You startle me; you have grown thin of late;
There's an unnatural rapture in your speech—
Fire on your lips, but death in your sunk eye.
HAMILCAR.
Death!—at this moment I could face a lion!
I have the giant strength of hope.
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Of hope?
The icicle, that melts, even in the ray
In which it glitters.
HAMILCAR.
Things are now afoot,
That shall shake hearts like fearful prodigies;
Strip the patrician's robe from many a back,
And give it to his slave; make beggars rich,
And rich men beggars; drag authority
Down on its knees; they'll wake your commonwealth
With a last thunder-peal.
ASPASIA
(in astonishment).
Some treason's here!
[Aside.
Hamilcar, where's this wonder to be done?
In Africa?
HAMILCAR.
No!
ASPASIA.
Is 't in yonder clouds?
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In Rome!—The word's let loose!
(aside).
[He draws his poniard.
Young traitress, swear,
Upon this dagger, that my idle word
Dies on your lips;—'t is your own cause, fair spy,—
Wait but a week—you shall have palaces!
Upon this dagger, that my idle word
Dies on your lips;—'t is your own cause, fair spy,—
Wait but a week—you shall have palaces!
ASPASIA.
This cottage is but homely—
HAMILCAR.
'T is a den!
Your halls shall be a pile of gorgeousness;
Tapestry of India; Tyrian canopies;
Heroic bronzes; pictures, half divine,
Apelles' pencil; statues, that the Greek
Has wrought to living beauty; amethyst urns,
And onyx, essenced with the Persian rose;
Couches of mother-pearl, and tortoise shell;
Crystalline mirrors; tables, in which gems
Make the mosaic; cups of argentry,
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Has dazzling, rare, delicious,—or the sword
Of conquerors can master, shall be yours.
ASPASIA.
Those are wild words, my prince!
HAMILCAR.
Words, true as Jove!
You shall be glorious!—Ay, this little hand
Shall, in its slender white, a sceptre bear:—
On this smooth brow, fair as young Cupid's wing,
Shall glitter the rich circle of a crown;
Catching your beauty's splendours, like a cloud
Above the bright pavilion of the morn.
ASPASIA
(doubtingly).
'T is fancy's revel!
HAMILCAR.
No, my nymph of Greece!
I feel the sudden and delighted blood
Swelling my heart—dear, as to sickness health—
Home to the exile—freedom to the slave—
Light to the blind! Am I not by my queen?
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When will the dream be up?
HAMILCAR
(loftily).
When I am king!
ASPASIA
(she weeps).
Oh! Semele!
This tale occupies a large space among the ancient mythologists, and is variously told by Ovid, Hesiod, Pausanias, &c. It was the jealousy of Juno, disguised as her nurse, that excited Semele to her dangerous request. There may be some true and striking catastrophe shadowed under this romantic death. If Richmann, or Pilatre de Roziere, had perished in early Greece, he would have been transmitted to us as a Prometheus, or a Salmoneus. I have adopted the tale in its obvious sense, of a warning against a too ambitious marriage.
HAMILCAR.
In tears! What melts you now?
Such tears are folly.
ASPASIA.
'T was a wandering thought.
HAMILCAR
(sternly).
Let it have speech, and die.
ASPASIA.
It was of one,—
Your brow looks gentler now,—who loved—a king!
HAMILCAR.
Then comes the worn-out moral—She was scorn'd!
ASPASIA.
Too much he loved her! 'T is an ancient tale,
One of the ditties that our girls of Greece
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On winter nights; and by the vintage urns,
When grapes are crushing. I have seen the spot,
Still ashy-pale with lightning, where she died.—
She was a Grecian maiden; and, by some,
Was thought a daughter of the sky; for earth
Had never shaped such beauty: and her thoughts
Were, like her beauty, sky-born. She would stray,
And gaze, when morn was budding on the hills,
As if she saw the stooping pomp of gods—
Then tell her lyre the vision; nor had eve
A sound, or rosy colour of the clouds,
Or infant star, but in her solemn songs
It lived again. Oh, happy—till she loved!
HAMILCAR.
By Cupid, no—not happy until then!
Say on.
ASPASIA.
But may not love be misery?
HAMILCAR.
So would the shower, but that the sun will come.
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And must we have no sun without the shower?
HAMILCAR.
The spring is sweeter for the winter's wind.
ASPASIA.
But does the winter never blight the spring?
Oh! I could give you fact and argument,
Brought from all earth—all life—all history;—
O'erwhelm you with sad tales, convictions strong,
Till you could hate it;—tell of gentle lives,
Light as the lark's upon the morning cloud,
Struck down, at once, by the keen shaft of Love;
Of hearts, that flow'd like founts of happiness,
Dried into dust by the wild flame of love;
Of maiden beauty, wasting all away,
Like a departing vision into air,
Love filling her sweet eyes with midnight tears,
Till death upon its bosom pillow'd her;
Of noble natures sour'd; rich minds obscured;
High hopes turn'd blank; nay, of the kingly crown
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And all by Love. We paint him as a child,—
When he should sit, a giant on his clouds,
The great disturbing spirit of the world!
HAMILCAR.
Thou cunning Greek, the ruby on thy lips
Is deeper with the tale. 'Tis the true red,
He tips his arrows with. Yes; turn away!—
There is a death to wisdom in those eyes.
ASPASIA
(bending before him).
Speak to me thus, and I will be Love's slave;
I'll build him altars,—he shall have all flowers
Of vale, or hill, or fountain,—and all fruits,
That melt in autumn's baskets; nay, the gold
Of Hesperus' garden were too slight a gift
To honour him. We'll never part again.—
I have forgot of what I talk'd just now.
HAMILCAR.
Of Semele, fair Greek.
ASPASIA.
The tale is done.
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Loved him, and wedded him: and passion's flame,
That had bewitch'd her loneliness, now burn'd
Richer in Hymen's lamp. But, one night came,
And with it came no husband,—and she wept;—
Another, and she knelt to the cold moon,
Praying, in pain, the mother's deity,
That she might show him but his babe, and die.
The thunder peal'd at midnight, and he came—
And then she fell upon his neck, and kiss'd,
And ask'd him, why he left her desolate?
His brow grew cloudy,—but at last she wrung
The lofty secret—
HAMILCAR.
Woman's ancient arts!
The tale sounds true.
ASPASIA.
Of his inconstancy?
HAMILCAR.
No; of her sex's teazing. Girl, say on;
Your voice has music in 't. She conquer'd him?
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He was a god; and to his throne in the stars
He must at times ascend. She dared not doubt:
But love will have wild thoughts; and so, she pined,
And her rich cheek grew pale.
HAMILCAR.
With jealousy?
ASPASIA.
To prove his truth, at length, she bade him come
In his full glory.
HAMILCAR.
And the lover came?
ASPASIA.
He long denied her,—offer'd her all wealth,
Of mine or mountain,—kiss'd away her tears,—
All to subdue her thought.
HAMILCAR.
And all in vain!
Was she not woman!
ASPASIA.
Pity her! 'twas Love
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The deadly oath was sworn.—Then nature shook,
As in strange trouble,—solemn cries were heard,
Echoing from hill to hill,—the forests bowed,
Ruddy with lightnings,—in the height of heaven
The moon grew sanguine, and the waning stars
Fell loosely through the sky. Before her rose,
On golden clouds, a throne; and, at its foot,
An eagle grasp'd the thunderbolt. The face
Of the bright sitter on the throne was bent
Over his sceptre,—but she knew her lord!
And call'd upon him but to give one look,
Before she perish'd in th'Olympian blaze.
He raised his eye,—and in its flash—she died!
HAMILCAR.
Those are old fables. You shall be a queen!
Numidia's queen! Throned by my side—your steps
Shall be on gold dust;—pards and lions chain'd
Shall draw your chariot:—you shall have a host
Of vassal monarchs flashing round your march,
Like living towers of gems.
[He points to the Casement.
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Jove rushes down on Saturn:
I have lately met with the following curious evidence to this astrological conjecture in one of the public journals:—
“Turkish Superstition.—A German paper says, that the Turks are now much frightened in consequence of an old prophecy of an Arabian astrologer, Acham, who maintained, that the conjunction of the planets Saturn and Jupiter would be productive of important effects on the Ottoman empire.
The near conjunction of these planets renders the terror of the multitude very great. There are some extraordinary circumstances respecting the Turks and this astrologer in a history of the Polish war in 1673, by Rubin Kowski.”
Of war throughout the nations. In the east
The Crescent sickens;—and the purple star,
Perseus, the Ioanian's love, lifts up his crest,
And o'er her stands exulting!
ASPASIA.
The pole is set to midnight.
HAMILCAR.
Would 't were come!
I think that time has stopt. Sweep on, ye orbs!—
There was no deeper torture in all hell
Than his, who turn'd upon the fiery wheel,
Rolling, yet fix'd for ever!
[He starts up.
I think that time has stopt. Sweep on, ye orbs!—
There was no deeper torture in all hell
Than his, who turn'd upon the fiery wheel,
Rolling, yet fix'd for ever!
Loose my hands!
This night has heavy business. Fate's at work!
This night has heavy business. Fate's at work!
ASPASIA
(weeping and clinging to him).
Where would you go?—You have not told me yet.
I'll never part with you.—You go to die!
HAMILCAR.
My death's not made for Rome!
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(suddenly).
Let's fly at once:—
Cast off the desperate business of the dark,
And see to-morrow's sun rise on the sea,
The happiest of all exiles!
HAMILCAR
(trying to disengage himself).
Sweet—farewell!
ASPASIA.
To Greece—to Greece! We shall be light of heart,
As birds in summer skies: fond, as two doves,
That have escaped the fowler's cruel snare;
Our vine and myrtle fence shall be a bound,
That earth's pale vanities, its hatreds, fears,
Fiery ambitions, pining discontents,
Dare not o'erleap: and we'll have dance and song,
And hymn the sun with touches of the lyre,
As morning sows with pearl the Athenian hills.
And we will wander by the evening shore,
And hear the mellow music of the waves,
And read strange fortunes in the speckled sands,
And make sweet pictures in the crimson clouds;
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Till the day sinks, forgotten in our talk,
And Hesper's twinkling lamp must light us home.
HAMILCAR.
I shall return.—By all the golden dreams
Of royalty!
ASPASIA
(hanging on him).
But swear—that you will come.
HAMILCAR
(taking her hand, and pressing it to his lips).
By this white hand, thus shook with such sweet fear;
By the deliciousness of this droop'd eye;
By the red witchery of this trembling lip;
By all the charm of woman's weeping love.
ASPASIA.
Here will I stand, until my lord comes back,
Like Memory's statue on the grave of Love!
HAMILCAR.
You shall be Memory, living Memory,
Gazing upon the spot i'the clouds, where Love,
Fresh crown'd, shall on his swiftest wing descend.
ASPASIA
(despondingly).
You will be slain.
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I will return—this night!
[He draws a paper from his bosom.
Still unbelieving!—Woman, read my heart,
Writ in this scroll. Earth has no deeper pledge:
But keep it like the apple of your eye.
If it is seen, the death of one—or both,
Is sure as destiny.— (He embraces her.)
—Once more—farewell!
[Exit.
ASPASIA
(opening the scroll).
What have we here? Oh, Juno! 'tis in blood!
A list of names:—a plot against the state.
This was the pageant in the cave last night!
The helmet on that Roman's brow.— (Reads)
—“Plunder,—massacre—
Troops from Apulia—Spain!” If it should fail!—
'Tis madness, and must fail. He shall be saved!
For all his wildness and proud fantasies,
I love him!—Now to Cicero!
[Exit.
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SCENE II.
THE SENATE HOUSE.The Temple of Jupiter Stator. The Senate at night; a Consul in the Chair; Cicero on the Floor, concluding his Speech.
CICERO.
Our long debate must close. Take one proof more
Of this rebellion.—Lucius Catiline
Has been commanded to attend the Senate.
He dares not come. I now demand your votes;—
Is he condemn'd to exile?
[Catiline comes in hastily, and flings himself on the Bench; all the Senators go over to the other Side.
turns to CATILINE.
Here I repeat the charge, to gods and men,
Of treasons manifold;—that, but this day,
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That he has leagued with deputies from Gaul
To seize the province; nay, has levied troops,
And raised the rebel standard;—that, but now
A meeting of conspirators was held
Under his roof, with mystic rites, and oaths,
Pledged round the body of a murder'd slave.
To those he has no answer.
CATILINE
(rising calmly).
Conscript Fathers!
I do not rise to waste the night in words:
Let that plebeian talk; 'tis not my trade;
But here I stand for right. Let him show proofs,—
For Roman right; though none, it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there,
Cling to your master; judges, Romans,—slaves!
His charge is false;—I dare him to his proofs,
You have my answer now! I must be gone.
CICERO.
Bring back the helmet of this Gaulish king!
[The Lictors return with the helmet and axe.
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Within his house. You know them, Catiline?
CATILINE.
The axe and helmet of the Allobroges! (aside.)
Know them; What crimination's there? What tongue
Lives in that helm to charge me? Cicero—
Go search my house, you may find twenty such;
All fairly struck from brows of barbarous kings,
When you and yours were plotting here in Rome.
I say, go search my house. And is this all?
I scorn to tell you by what chance they came.
Where have I levied troops—tamper'd with slaves—
Bribed fool or villain, to embark his neck
In this rebellion? Let my actions speak.
CICERO
(interrupting him).
Deeds shall convince you! Has the traitor done?
CATILINE.
But this I will avow, that I have scorn'd,
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong.
Not he who brands my forehead, breaks my sword,
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,
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The gates of honour on me,—turning out
The Roman from his birthright; and for what?—
[Looking round him.
To fling your offices to every slave;—
Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb;
And having wound their loathsome track to the top
Of this huge mouldering monument of Rome,
Hang hissing at the nobler man below.
CICERO.
This is his answer! Must I bring more proofs?
Fathers, you know there lives not one of us,
But lives in peril of his midnight sword.
Lists of proscription have been handed round,
In which your general properties are made
Your murderers' hire.
Fathers, you know there lives not one of us,
But lives in peril of his midnight sword.
Lists of proscription have been handed round,
In which your general properties are made
Your murderers' hire.
Bring in the prisoners.
[The Lictors return with Cethegus, and others.
CATILINE
(startled).
Cethegus! (aside.)
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Fathers! those stains to their high name and blood,
Came to my house to murder me; and came
Suborn'd by him.
CATILINE
(scornfully).
Cethegus!
Did you say this?
CETHEGUS.
Not I.—I went to kill
A prating, proud plebeian, whom those fools
Palm'd on the Consulship.
CICERO.
And sent by whom?
CETHEGUS.
By none.—By nothing, but my zeal to purge
The senate of yourself, most learned Cicero!
[A cry is heard without: “More Prisoners! The Allobroges!” An Officer enters, with Letters for Cicero; who, after glancing at them, sends them round the Senate. Catiline is strongly perturbed. The Allobroges come in, chained.
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Fathers of Rome! If man can be convinced
By proof, as clear as day-light, there it stands!
[Pointing to the prisoners.
Those men have been arrested at the gates,
Bearing despatches to raise war in Gaul.
Look on these letters! Here's a deep laid plot
To wreck the provinces: a solemn league,
Made with all form and circumstance. The time
Is desperate,—all the slaves are up;—Rome shakes!—
The Heavens alone can tell how near our graves
We stand ev'n here!—The name of Catiline
Is foremost in the league. He was their king.
Tried and convicted traitor, go from Rome!
CATILINE
(haughtily, rising).
Come, consecrated lictors! from your thrones;
[To the Senate.
Fling down your sceptres:—take the rod and axe,
And make the murder as you make the law.
CICERO
(interrupting him).
Give up the record of his banishment.
[To an Officer.
[The Officer gives it to the Consul, in the chair.
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(indignantly).
Banish'd from Rome! What's banish'd, but set free
From daily contact of the things I loathe?
‘Tried and convicted traitor!’ Who says this?
[With growing violence.
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head?
Banish'd?—I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain!
I held some slack allegiance till this hour—
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords;
I scorn to count what feelings, wither'd hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you in your lazy dignities.
But here I stand and scoff you:—here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face.
Your Consul's merciful.—For this all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline.
(The Consul reads)
“Lucius Sergius Catiline; by
the decree of the Senate, you are declared an
enemy and an alien to the state, and banished
from the territory of the commonwealth.”
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Lictors, drive the traitor from the temple!
CATILINE
(furious).
‘Traitor!’ I go—but I return. This—trial!
Here I devote your Senate! I've had wrongs,
To stir a fever in the blood of age,
Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel.
This day's the birth of sorrows!—This hour's work
Will breed Proscriptions.—Look to your hearths, my lords!
For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus!—all shames and crimes;—
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning the brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave!
THE SENATORS
rise in tumult, and cry out,
Go, enemy and parricide, from Rome!
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(indignantly).
It shall be so!— (Going. He suddenly returns.)
—When Catiline comes again,
Your grandeur shall be base, and clowns shall sit
In scorn upon those chairs;—your palaces
Shall see the soldier's revels, and your wealth
Shall go to deck his harlot and his horse.
Then Cicero, and his tools, shall pay me blood—
Vengeance for every drop of my boy's veins;—
And such of you, as cannot find the grace
To die with swords in your right hands, shall feel
The life, life worse than death, of trampled slaves!
THE SENATORS
cry out,
Go, enemy and parricide, from Rome!
CICERO.
Expel him, lictors! Clear the senate-house!
[They surround him.
CATILINE
(struggling through them).
I go,—but not to leap the gulf alone:
I go;—but when I come—'t will be the burst
Of ocean in the earthquake—rolling back
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You build my funeral pile, but your best blood
Shall quench its flame. Back, slaves! (to the Lictors)
—I will return!
[He rushes through the portal; the Scene closes.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
| Catiline | |