University of Virginia Library

View of Ctesiphon. Troops pass.
Enter Nevitta, Anatolius, Hormisdas, &c.
NEVITTA.
We have had stout marches and a gallant struggle;
But there 's the goal at last. Hail, Ctesiphon!
In sooth, Hormisdas, you have more taste, you Persians,
Than I had credited.

ANATOLIUS.
'Tis a fair prospect;
Those temples standing out in light, from groves,
With all their pediments and porticos
Glowing amid the sober cypresses,
Look from their hills into the glassy river
Like beauty on her mirror. With what grace
Those accidental shadows from light clouds
Partially veil the distant mass o' the city,
Breaking it to intelligible parts;
Each by its dome, column, or arch of triumph,
Reveal'd to the discriminating sun
With an appropriate beauty.

HORMISDAS.
My eyes fill
To see thee thus, and hear thee praised—my country!
Yet hast thou been a step-dame unto me.

ANATOLIUS.
Why dost thou look with that sardonic smile,
Nevitta, on this goodly scene? Why, man,
If 'twere a virgin trembling on thy knee
Thy leer could scarce be more portentous.

NEVITTA.
Ha, ha!
Thou talk'st oracularly. It is a scene
That stirs up my barbarian blood within me;
My Gallic veins do bound again.

ANATOLIUS.
I take it now,
Thy thoughts are with forlorn hopes, hot onsets,
Bloody repulses, glorious rallyings;
Torn standards, flying foes, victorious cries;
The strife from street to street, and foot to foot;
And then the final sack—hot tongues of fire
Licking the fair walls of yon' palaces—
Their steps well strewn with the rich harnessed dead,
Their portals thronged with booty. Then, fair matrons
Clinging to altars, with their timorous brood
Of loose-haired virgins crouching down around them,
Like scared birds, when the hand is on the nest.

NEVITTA.
Soothsayer! thou read'st my eyes, like stars; Hormisdas
Thou tak'st this gloomily.

HORMISDAS.
Would'st have me smile
Upon my country's desolation? Think thou—
Picture Lutetia thus.

NEVITTA.
Well, Sir, suppose it—
And sixty thousand Persians at the leaguer.

HORMISDAS.
Would you then smile?

NEVITTA.
Ay, Sir, and that I should;
To think how the accommodating fools
Had come so far to take our yoke—recruits,
Anticipating slaves, to man our gallies.

HORMISDAS.
Hold! though I be an exile, a poor orphan,
Untimely severed from my parent soil;
Think you that I 'm so heartless as to hear
The voice of scorn unmoved? Am I so mean
Of lip and arm not to resent it? Gaul!
I love my country, and I have a sword
That shall protect us both from insult.

NEVITTA.
Give me
Thy hand, brave man: I wronged thee, and repent it.
But see—here 's Maximus, that prince of plotters.
I ne'er can read him rightly: he is ever
Clothed in his natural shadows. What now conceits him?
Good day t' ye, Priest: what news hast thou?

MAXIMUS.
Rough soldier,
None that concerneth thee.

NEVITTA.
Whence com'st thou from?

MAXIMUS.
The imperial quarters.

ANATOLIUS.
How doth the Emperor?

MAXIMUS.
Well, Sir.

NEVITTA.
Why, Priest, thou hast been tutor'd by an augur.
Thou art as economical of words
As any oracle.

HORMISDAS.
His mind is full then.
When stars are thick in the sky, then is there silence.

MAXIMUS.
Hast heard of this new Persian fugitive?
Hormisdas! crave your pardon: I was ignorant
Of your much-honoured presence.

HORMISDAS.
Be at ease, Sir;
You touch not me.

NEVITTA.
What! he that hath the bloody scalp? Oh, ay,
This new Zopyrus? He has been closetted
These two hours with the Emperor. A spy!

MAXIMUS.
Humph! say you so? Cæsar thinks otherwise.
There 's mischief in that firebrand soldier's eye. (Aside.

Nevitta, I would speak with you. My Lords,
Behold how beautiful is Ctesiphon!
That treasury of unimagined sweets,
Whose very key we hold: the consummation
That tip-toe hope steps like a bridegroom to.

NEVITTA.
Most eloquent prophet!

MAXIMUS.
Nay, Nevitta, these
Are but most false temptations. Let us to council.
The Emperor may need advice: his sorrows
Grow thick upon him.

ANATOLIUS.
Ah, the poor Empress! soon
Her weariness will find a bed of rest:
We pitch her tent this evening here.

MAXIMUS.
Perhaps
For the last time—the last! This grief o'erwhelms him,
Shadowing the light of his mind. Now, Sirs, these moments
Are pregnant with Rome's fate. Again I say
There lies fair Ctesiphon—but, shall we plant
The limits of our conquest here? or rather
Shall we not bravely pluck the Persian down
From his last hold of refuge?

NEVITTA.
Is it not there—
The last, the noblest?

MAXIMUS.
Oh, Sirs, do you dream
That Sapor there coops up his hopes? Even now
His march is in the desert. Far he flies,
Wild as the tiger from the toils: and shall not
The hunter track his foot-prints? Ay, 'tis his hope
That Ctesiphon may prove our Capua.

NEVITTA.
Why speak you thus?

MAXIMUS.
This spy—this new Zopyrus,
As you are pleased to call him, but, as Julian
(Wherefore I need not now descant upon)
Deems a most trusty witness:—(and his wrongs
Speak in his favour)—this poor fugitive Persian
But last night saw their rear-guard pass the gate—
And there were troops of virgins in their train,
(Mark that Nevitta,) and rich caravans,
Piled with the wealth o' the city: which now lies
A cheat, a sorry trap, a rifled coffer,
A cup, whereof the very lees are drained.
You muse, Nevitta.

NEVITTA.
At your story, Maximus—
If it be true—

ANATOLIUS.
If but in part 'tis true—

NEVITTA.
I know a soldier's duty.

MAXIMUS.
Come to the Emperor,
Rome conquers Sapor now, or fails for ever.

(Exeunt Nevitta, Anatolius, &c.
MAXIMUS.
Now is the bark of Maximus afloat,
Cresting ambition's topmost wave—and bravely
Doth she acquit her prowess to the storm!
Yet is th' adventure dangerous, and needs
A bold and wary pilotry. Take counsel—
Take counsel, Maximus, with thy subtlest thoughts.
How stand thy fortunes? What I seem, I am not;
Nor am I what I was, and shall be. Men
Envy my greatness, nor conceive it frail.
Yet many wish it so:—therein lies danger.
If I once fall, how many knees, now bending,
Would stamp the heel of hate into my breast:
Ay, spit their venom on this loathed form!
Take counsel, Maximus. Thy lofty stand
Is as the eagle's, in the eye o' th' sun.
But is 't secure? Or, rather, know'st thou not,
That even now it fails thee? Julian—no matter
Whether it be he needs me not—or whether,
Even in the full fruition of the crime,
Guilt fears his tempter: or—(why, what's't to me?)
But, ever since I did that deed on Mark,
I have been shunned. Sapor, what sayest thou?
“He need not seek the favour of a king
That may be king himself.” Subtle barbarian!
Yet was not this my aim: I sought but power,
Nor grasped I at the vanity of things.
I leant on Julian—with his growth I grew:
('Twas my best hope of rising) now am I shorn
Of that which had contented me, and therefore
Again take counsel for advancement. Sapor—
Yes, I will lead this Julian to thy toils.
So, if he triumphs, I partake the glory,
And may resume my sway: but if he fails—
Oh! if there 's faith in plots, or zeal in men
For their imagined interests—then, Julian,
The laurel that now wreaths thy warrior-brow,
Shall make pacific diadems for mine.

(Exit.