University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Stage is faintly lit by an Antique Lamp, which burns in the Palace.
ROSCIUS, METELLUS.
ROSCIUS.
An unexpected summons, which I dare
Not understand, bids me to-night appear
Within the palace; there is no excuse;
And an unconquerable fear enthrals me:—
At such an hour—at such a place too.

METELLUS.
Fear
Need not be thought of, Roscius, by the man
Whom Sylla favours and protects; for you
The stern Dictator softens down his pride,
Termed by th'audacious vulgar, Cruelty:
Admitted to his counsels, he allows
Your words to charm his soul; he hears, believes you—
You boast alone that happy privilege,
To bid his wrath relent; and I have seen
That proud and gloomy spirit more than once
Bend to thy voice and yield it to thy prayer:
Sylla beholds in you the living painter
Of the noble actions of our ancestors.

ROSCIUS.
Yes, Sylla shews a perfect worshipper
Of our old Romans; he allows their praise
To be resounded in the theatre;
He honours Scævola, admires too Brutus,
Yet he proscribes their virtues in their children.

METELLUS.
Henceforward tyranny's our safeguard;—Rome
Accepts the yoke of this all-powerful genius;
Without him all had perished; no restraint—
No rights, availed us aught; force had usurped
The laws' high majesty; the senate, forum,
Alike within the city, as without it,
All, all in civil discord wide blazed forth,
What time rash Marius, leading on a mob
Glutted with executions, shared with them
The remnants of the state;—all was restored
By Sylla:—Fortune from the Melas' banks
Leads back the conqueror of Orchomenes:
He fights, o'ercomes, attains the highest honour,
While Marius and his party whelmed in gore,
Expire, and Peace again revives in Rome:
A mortal's arm achieved what the Gods could not.

ROSCIUS.
Oh! could but Nature spare our noble Romans
Those lofty, superhuman, dangerous spirits!
Too much of grief, too many ills attest
The track of those bright stars, sons of the tempest.
Yet I admire that man, Metellus, whom
An unknown merit to all eyes marks out;
His genius is to me as the hot furnace
Whence Etna pours forth her devouring flame,
Without a sound that to th'affrighted world
May tell the hidden fury that torments it.
To the supreme ascendant we alike
All yield us, which thus to itself chains down
The people and the senate; and our eyes
Measure with awe the pinnacle's proud height
Where the dictator hero seats himself:
But when we probe the cause that sways our feelings,
The admiration that we have for Sylla
Leaves in our breasts regrets, alas! how bitter!
The arbiter of Rome hath given her chains;
Fair Freedom is no more, sons of Cornelia!
Or only slumbers in the tomb with you.

METELLUS.
And who regrets it, since it only proved
A name, 'neath which the factious hid their treasons?
When an unbridled people, blind with rage,
Betrayed their country at a tribune's mandate,
O'erturned the altars, broke the law's strong yoke,
And dared to weigh the rights of the patricians?
Then let us bless that tutelary arm,
O Roscius, which can to the people's rage
Oppose a barrier: Sylla checks the ills
That spring from discord, and his happiness
Rewards his noble deeds.

ROSCIUS.
The happiness
Of Sylla!—I can better read that soul
His violence racks, his course of life enflames:
This hot, intrepid, and audacious mortal,
This Ajax, fearless of the blaze of Heaven,
While in that Heaven the day-star reigns supreme,
Would brave the ruin of a crashing world,
And view with unpaled cheek th'immense destruction.
But when 'tis night, he starts e'en at the sound
Of his own footsteps, and amid her shades
His fearful soul but slumbers painfully,
So gloomy are his dreams—he, even he,
Who during day governs whole destinies,
Consults at dead of night dark auspices,
Fearful of solitude, of shade, of silence:
Such is the happy Sylla!

METELLUS.
Hist! they come.

SCENE II.

ROSCIUS, METELLUS, CATILINE, BALBUS, CATULUS, OFELLA.
METELLUS.
Methinks you're late, Ofella, Catulus:
And your delay might have kept Sylla waiting.

OFELLA.
The lictor here, that brought the message, can
Bear witness of our haste.

CATILINE.
And Catiline
Does of the zeal of Balbus.

SCENE III.

ROSCIUS, METELLUS, CATILINE, BALBUS, OFELLA, CATULUS, SYLLA, Chief of the Lictors.
SYLLA,
(speaking to ROSCIUS, who is retiring).
Draw nearer, senators;—stay, Roscius,
You seem embarrassed; whence is this constraint,
And wherefore?—Banish in my presence fear:
Lavish of hatred t'wards mine enemies,
There's no one showers more favours on his friends;
'Tis none of you my present aspect threatens;
Then fearless hear me, and let each be seated.
[The Lictors seat themselves in order at a marble table, upon which the Chief of the Lictors, on a given signal from SYLLA, places a roll of parchment.
You know at what price I've acquired a power
Of which the duty was imposed on me
By an expiring state; what matters it,
That Sylla, glorying in his feats of war,
Had carried to the earth's extremest bounds
The Roman name; that by me Mithridates
Had been compell'd to fly; and to my car
In triumph yoked Jugurtha; that for me
Fortune, with miracles so vastly pregnant,
Had given you glory, and the world repose;
If Marius, reaping of my daring deeds
The fruit, had dictated to the senate laws;
And, bursting of a frantic mob the bonds,
Given the republic up to its blind fury?
Rome then, triumphant tho' abroad, at home
A slave, would have expired beneath the blows
Of her own children;—from so sad a fate
Whose arm was it that snatched her?—it was Sylla's;—
Sylla propitious shews before Præneste;
All flee or fall; all yield to my first efforts,
And Marius' son attends his father's shade.
With me, abjuring counsels of false mercy,
Terror and vengeance enter into Rome;
The safety of the state demands proscriptions,
And waves of blood must quench each raging faction.
Behold me master of the people, and
Alike the senate: the one learns to fear,
The other learns to know me: while my power
Hated so much, stands as the last support
Of that same freedom I oppress to-day.
Far, far from Rome the God of battle roars,
And in your walls breathes mild the calm of peace;
Yet, yet you murmur, and some voices e'en
Give vent to rebel plainings, and the shade
From Arpinum aloft uprears its head,
And from the bosom of the tomb invokes
The tempest; guilty whispers heard around
Announce dark plots;—but they must be prevented.
The safety of the state in justice asks
A rigorous duty, one last sacrifice:
Look at the names inscribed upon that list—
They are the proscripts that Rome yet demands,
'Tis the last red flash of a healthful storm;—
Then give we to the public peace this pledge;
Yet I would know before you sign it, if
There's any Roman we can safely spare:
Look;—but remember well the case is such,
That each must answer for the friend so spared.

[Giving the list to METELLUS.
METELLUS.
In Cimber's favour I dare raise my voice;
Living retired, and to thy laws submissive,
Weighed down, protected by his load of years,
He had hoped, Sylla,—

CATILINE.
Did he dare to hope?
We know, tho' exiled, he augments his griefs,
Pours forth loud lamentations to his sons,
And treasures up the statues too of Marius.

SYLLA.
Age has well nigh consumed his waning fires:
Metellus shields him—'tis enough—he lives.

OFELLA.
Dare I of Sylla in my turn demand
What secret power, what guardian shade, can thus
From Cesar ward off dilatory justice?

SYLLA.
Like you I've weighed his vices and his virtues,
And I see more in Cesar than a Marius:
I know what hopes his young pride bacchanal:
But Pompey lives, and even so must Cesar.
'Mid all the Romans to my power submissive,
I have no rivals: I have need of foes;
Foes generous, tho' proud, whose presence serves
But to attest my genius as my might.
History will then my name associate
With that of Marius; Cesar will have lived
To do me justice.

CATILINE.
Of obscure criminals
The which thy mercy spares, I speak not; but
Excess of zeal tends to increase my prudence:
I see not Claudius' name upon the list;
Of all thy foes he's the most dangerous.

SYLLA.
I ask not whether thine emboldened hatred
Pursues in Claudius fair Valeria's husband;
Or whether this advice of Catiline,
So fatal, tends to serve my cause, or thwart
A rival.

CATILINE.
Son of that detested tribune,
Who sold thy goods, proscribed thy wife, Sulpicius;
'Tis he that threatens, it is he conspires,
Already hath his fury sworn revenge
To his paternal manes.

METELLUS.
While he boasts
The friendship of thy son, Sylla will surely
List to his pleading voice—'tis Catiline
Accuses, Faustus that defends him.

CATILINE.
I
Accuse his hatred, his designs—I know
Metellus, and my inexperience owns
Him wise in aught but this, but who to-day
Can say that Catiline's so much to blame?
For what does Claudius, but conspire 'gainst Sylla?
My feelings and my duty bid me speak;
A plot exists, and Claudius is its leader.
[SYLLA, (writing down the name of CLAUDIUS).
His ancestry's his crime, and 'tis Sulpicius
That feels my vengeance, tho' 'tis Claudius dies.
[Rising up.
What matters after all one man's existence?
I see nought, have seen nought, but Rome's fair safety;
No private interest now excites my rigour,
'Tis to avenge the laws that I'm dictator—
Rome will yet one day learn from me with what
Contempt I treat her highest power. Ho! lictors,
Be sure this law outstrips the sun.
[Gives the list to the Chief of the Lictors.
To the Senators.
And you,
Give me your answer when I rise to-morrow.

[He bows to them, and beckons ROSCIUS to remain.

SCENE IV.

ROSCIUS, SYLLA.
SYLLA.
Now, Roscius, speak with freedom.

ROSCIUS.
Rather bid me
The more keep silence—it hath made you mark
How deep a grief this moment fills my breast.
And why?—for ever tears, for ever bloodshed!
Unceasing sorrows and eternal fears!
Thou, formed by Heaven to conquer heroes, thou
Who'st signalized thy name by godlike labours,
Whose genius all-submissive earth attests;—
Oh! while thou reignest as her lord and master
Within the bosom of thy country, while
All, all thy sovereign orders prompt obey,
For what crimes, Sylla, dost oppress the Romans?

SYLLA.
Their crimes?—that they accept the chains I give them,
Yet dare to hope for Sylla's pardon;—Roscius,
Thou know'st me not, I see it, and my soul
Is still to thee a mystery—Liberty
Was e'er the darling idol of my vows,
Though victim of my power;—I've fought for her,
Ay, in the Senate, in the Forum, in
The fields of Cheroneus, on the sands
Of Arpinum; it was for all I sought her.
But on the Tiber's banks none save myself
Saw I that courted liberty—the tribunes
Shewed rivals of the consuls, and intrigue
Upreared her fasces at the price of gold;—
Nought could I find but venal dignities,
Insolent slaves, long saturnalia,
Unpunished crimes, degenerate hearts, that with
Impunity their own sole interests watched;—
Too proud of his own baseness, a stern soldier
'Neath the plebeian yoke drove the patricians.
From that time did I promise me to make
The tribune Marius some not distant day
Account for all his haughty scorn;—his name
For more than one proud victory was vaunted,
And yet by nobler deeds I paled his glory—
More, I've beheld that hateful rival forced
(And in the capitol) to thank the Gods for't.
My hope was to preserve the State, and ruin
And exile was my recompense.—I veiled
My head, t'avoid the lictor's fasces; quitted,
Proscribed my country;—I return dictator.
In times like these I deem it little worth
To tell the blood from which I'm sprung, or shew
The scorn I bear mankind;—the Romans have
No claim upon me, save 'tis as their foe.
Unbiassed I have judged them, without hate
As without pity.—I have broke your fetters
Spite of yourselves, I cried;—What, citizens,
And will you still be slaves? poor cowards!—No,—
I deem you worthy of a nobler fate.
You ask for chains—behold, I give you death!
And as you die thank me for this last favour,
That to the Gods you yield your souls still free-born.

ROSCIUS.
Oh! Sylla, soften down your proud disdain;
There are, there are souls still how truly Roman.

SYLLA.
I know it:—Cesar, glorious in his valour,
And high exalted by illustrious birth—
Pompey the hope of Rome, and the young Cato—
Noble Metellus, and the eloquent Cicero—
By challenging the world's regards, have rather
O'ercome mine anger than aroused my hatred.

ROSCIUS.
If such is Sylla, if his angry soul
Would give us freedom but by blood, oh! let
Him then be satisfied—she lives in tears;
By her youths' parting breath her flames are fanned,
And she will one day triumph past your wishes!
Remark the generous crowds that fill the theatre,
When I in antique toga to the Romans
Identify myself with those great men,
The honour of the State, proud sons of Mars,
The noble pillars of our laws in battle,
Warriors, yet true-born citizens:—There's Curtius
That sought an unknown glory,—Cincinnatus
Rolling his victor chariot,—stern Camillus
That weighed his sword against the gold of Rome,
And saved her,—Decius, crowning his exploits
By death,—and Brutus, he who played the fool
But to mature th'idea of hardiest daring,—
Lucretia plunging in her breast the dagger,
And arming freedom to expel the Tarquins,—
Triumphant, though in bondage, Regulus,
And thy sire, Scipio, who so well avenged him,
E'en at the gates of Carthage:—Roused by these
Recitals of their valour, they're transported
To those same days of glory, and their breasts
Glow with the fires of renovated life,
And rise renascent for their country's safety.

SYLLA.
On these young Romans, then, go try thy power;
I'll nor deceive thy wishes nor their hopes.

ROSCIUS.
Son of Cornelius! call to mind that deed,
That generous deed, thy glory's opening dawn,
When, erst upon proud Nola's ramparts saved,
Her citizens for Sylla's brow enwove
The civic wreath.—Oh! pardon Claudius!

SYLLA.
I hear, admire thee, Roscius, and I know
Thine empire o'er my heart; 'tis with regret
That I withdraw me, but it is my duty,
And I must list to things of deeper interest.

ROSCIUS.
He's thy son's friend.

SYLLA.
His sentence is decreed.

ROSCIUS.
But thou know'st not the man that prompted it!

SYLLA.
I may p'rhaps change my purpose; my decrees
Are fixed as those of fate—they never change.
Yet Claudius may be absent when arrives
The order which regret...

ROSCIUS.
Sylla, I trust
I understand your meaning.

[Rushes out in haste.

SCENE V.

SYLLA,
—Alone.
Go, run! thy haste can scarce be urged too much,—
Else Catiline more zealous will prevent thee.
I know the agents of my dark commands:
See here my minions! Balbus, Catiline!
These cruel slaves, hired to fulfil mine anger,
Degenerate Romans, were right worthy of you.
I wished for power but to restore the laws;
I have found servitude, and not obedience,
And all my useless efforts have at length
Convinced me I'm mistaken in the age
That I have lived in.—This supreme ascendant,
This destiny so singular, whose power
Thus hurries me along, who shall explain it?
Born for voluptuous pleasures, I allow
My duty to enchain me. Liberty
Is what I seek, and I find power. I check
My inclinations; fiery, yet sincere
And full of pity, I instruct myself
How to deceive mankind, and I become
Blood-stained. I abhor Marius, and the ills
He has committed, and I imitate
His crimes in seeking to repair them; fortune
Absolves me from them. I must go: the night
Around the palace spreads a lighter curtain:
Yet I invoke but waking whilst I seek
Repose; for Nature at the hour of slumber
Avenges all her quarrels.