University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—The Ruins of Carthage; the Ocean in the distance: the Moon rising.
Enter Tubero, two Citizens of Minturnæ, and Soldiers.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Amid this labyrinth of ruin'd walls
'Tis thought he lurks; and watches, in his turn,
With the hyæna and the haggard wolf,
The setting orb of day, meeting, the morn
Like them, with blood-shot eye; here hoping aid
From far but restless friends. To lure him hence
Were half a miracle.

TUBERO.
We'll venture for 't.
There is an old and ocean-cradled air—
'Tis said a wafture from this Carthage here—
Which, as a signal, the rude seamen sing
Along the Thracian coasts; wild as the waves
And rocks, to which 'tis kin. To Marius' ear
'Twas common from a child; and when in rage,
Like one that's stung by the tarantula,
I've seen it draw the venom from his breast
With a most healing music. That wild strain
I have set some to chorus from the sea.
Haply 't will draw him forth, sounding like signal
Of friends upon the main.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Let us stand close.
There; where the rising moon beneath that buttress
Casts solemn shadow, hardly pervious
To aught but lynxes' eyes. Softly; there; there.

[They retire stealthily.
AIR—CHORUS.
Lo! the crested billows, glancing,
Like white-maned steeds advancing!
'Mid the darkness lo! the lightning
O'er the anguish'd ocean bright'ning!
Now engulf'd, our galley toiling;
Now the breakers round her boiling;
Not a star to twinkle o'er us;
Waves behind, and night before us!
'Mid the restless, wild commotion,
Of the storm-tormented ocean,
Steady, seamen!—still be steady;
'Mid all dangers, ever ready!
Tho' to-night there's skies of sadness,
'Morrow brings us light and gladness:
Darkling now may be our duty,—
Day shall shew us joy and beauty!

[Marius appears amongst the ruins and comes forward.
MARIUS.
Whence came that strain? It is, at least, no traitor—
No liar to the heart. For, even now,
It stirs me, as, methinks, long since it did,
In far-fled, happier hours, when life was new,
And hope was high, when fame was bright, and sunset
Had not become my morn!
If friends of Marius
Be on the deep, and this be from their tongue,
Speed them, propitious Neptune! And thou, Moon,
Shine, like some Pharos, on these mouldering towers,
Gild each green wave that ripples past their prow,
And with thy beam pilot and point their course,
As with a silver wand.—The strain hath ceas'd.
Night falls apace. How awful is this spot!—
Here fell the bolt of Scipio! And here Carthage,
The naval crowned queen, blue Neptune's daughter,
Strong as the storms, and richer than the seas,
With all their untold gems, before the Roman
Sank down in blood and ashes. Here, ev'n here,
That swarthy Senate, dark as wintry waves,
Was quell'd for ever!
On these umber'd ruins
The sun doth wonder why he shines; the moon
Doth trim her silver lamp only to light
The fox and owl, obscene, that haunt these walls;
Aye or the grizzled wolf that couches there,
And prowls amid their shadows, as if scent
Of carnage still remain'd. You dank, black marsh,
Where the coarse flag and bristling reed choke up,
Mix'd with the fragments of the former time,
The hot and stagnant waters, once did hold
A thousand ships, that swept the azure seas
In glorious domination. Yea; where now
The melancholy her'n or peaceful crane
Doth wade alone, a gay and varied throng
Brought riches home from many a distant clime,
And sung amid their toil.
Oh! such a scene
Doth fit the fate of Marius. Ruin to ruin!
Deserted 'mid deserted—death in death!
And yet is Rome more blest than this? Her streets—
Do they not shelter wolves? Doth rapine never
Stalk 'mid her walls? And 'mongst her stately throngs
Is there more peace—more safety—than amid
These awful relics of her fallen foe?
Oh! no! the ghost of dark and ruin'd Carthage
Is not more foul than is the living spirit
Of yon, her fell destroyer! Hover round me,
Gaunt, grimly spectre of a fallen state,
For Marius is like thee; and, haply, soon
Shall be with thee, e'en here!

Enter from behind Tubero, Citizens, and Soldiers.
TUBERO.
'Tis he; this winged vulture's caught at last,
And now shall soar no further.
[Comes forward.
I' the Senate's name,
For treason foul, and manifest rebellion,
I do arrest thee, Caius Marius,—Consul,—
But now the Senate's prisoner.

MARIUS.
(Aside.)
'Tis as I thought,
Their bloodhounds are e'en here.
(Aloud)
By whom sent, sir?
By what authority?

TUBERO.
By that of Sylla,
Empow'r'd and armed by the Roman Senate,
For safety of the state.

MARIUS.
(Aside.)
For blood; for pride;
For safety of patrician tyranny!—
(Aloud.)
Well, sir,—I am your prisoner, deal with me
As it seems best to you and to your masters.

TUBERO.
You must accompany us unto Minturnæ,
And there await the Senate's pleasure.

MARIUS.
Sir,
I go; nor wish delay. Where fear is not,
Nor hope, 'tis all alike—the dungeon or
The palace! Nay, lead on; I have nought to say,—
Save this, my friend; and this e'en tell the Senate,
Amid their triumph.
When their pulse is high,
And pride grows drunken over foes o'erthrown,
And deems that now its sun shall never set,
But that which had a dawn shall know no night—
Tell them, amid their extacies o'er me,
And these white hairs dishonour'd in the dust,
Tell them, that thou beheldest Caius Marius
Sitting 'mid ruin'd Carthage! Tell them this;
For there 's a moral in 't—a deep one too,—
And worth the Senate's marking! Now, sir, lead on—

[Marius and Soldiers go out.
FIRST CITIZEN.
What is the Senate's pleasure as to this
Unhappy man? Goes he to Rome?

TUBERO.
Not so.
The Senate's orders are close custody;
The rest is left to Sylla.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Be it so;
We have dungeons deep enough.

TUBERO.
For Sylla's liking?
Not so, believe me, sir! There's but one prison
Sylla thinks strong enough for Caius Marius!

FIRST CITIZEN.
And what is that?

TUBERO.
The grave! You understand me.

FIRST CITIZEN.
I do— (aside)
too well.

TUBERO.
If that you would avoid
Sylla's displeasure; aye, and more than that,
Win his good favour,—you will strait seek out
Some resolute hand that 's fit for such a deed,
And prompt to undertake it. For his reward,
As well as yours, depend on 't, Sylla's bounty
Shall fail not of your hope.

FIRST CITIZEN
(aside).
The price of blood
Is mostly paid, whatever else be left
Ungifted and unguerdon'd!

TUBERO.
Sir! you answer not!

FIRST CITIZEN.
Your pardon, sir. I was in thought—and now
I do bethink me. In the citadel
There toils a slave; a Gaul, methinks, by race;
Who seems as he were of the very stones
That Pyrrha and Deucalion cast behind them
To renovate mankind; hard as the rock
On which he works—to whom both tears and smiles
Are equal strangers,—and who sits i' the sun,
Not knowing that he shines. This clod of earth
Shall do our work; and, if he's paid with freedom,
Will be far over-paid.

TUBERO.
This is your business.
Mine is to say, solely, “it must be done.”
Come, let us see this fellow.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—A Dungeon. Marius asleep on a couch.
Enter First Citizen, followed by Lygdamis.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Softly!—he sleeps. 'Tis well. Hist!—hither, fellow;
Here, take this sword, and, on him who lies there
Do present execution—without pause.

LYGDAMIS.
Ho! Kill him, in his sleep?

CITIZEN.
But only kill him,
And take thine own way. See! All this is gold.
Do this—and freedom and that gold are thine.

LYGDAMIS.
Freedom for murder! Free to stab men sleeping!
Who is 't that ye would kill?

CITIZEN.
What 's that to thee?
Do it; and there is thy reward. Refuse;
And we 'll find one shall do as much for thee.
Remember—and be prompt—and speed thee well!

[Citizen goes out.
LYGDAMIS
(looking at Marius).
Well!—I am sent to kill this poor old man—
Here, on the couch—and sleeping too; and if
I had a heart, as some men seem to have,
Would I not shrink to dabble yon white hairs
In blood?—aye, blood that 's innocent, perhaps!—
I have no heart!
Lygdamis' heart is dead;
For love, and fear, and hope, are strangers all
To the vile slave. Conquer'd; spar'd; sold to toil;
Degraded; trodden on; mock'd; scourg'd; and scorn'd;
Life is to him a blank, or worse than that;
And, therefore, recks he not to take anothers,
Who would with equal ease toss down his own.
Thus, then, I earn my hire.
[He prepares to strike.
The old man stirs;
I cannot strike him thus. Whate'er his features,
His hairs are reverend white.

MARIUS
(struggling in his dream).
Hah! hah!—well put!—
Well struck! but 't will not do!—no. Now—I have thee—
Down with thee!—yield, thee, Gaul—down, 'tis in vain!
Thou art mine, giant!

[Marius starts on his feet. He and Lygdamis glare on each other. Lygdamis trembling violently.
MARIUS.
Who art thou? and wherefore
Art thou come hither? Speak!

LYGDAMIS
(with great difficulty.)
To murder thee!

MARIUS
(after looking at him long and intently.)
Thou murther Marius?
Why! ere I awoke
I saw that quailing eye? Do I not know thee?
What? Thou! whom in that red Numantian field
I vanquished and then spared!—Thou more than slave,
Whose very breath is alms—who hold'st thy life
On sufferance merely—who defraud'st the kites
Of that which then was theirs—for I lack'd not
Thy clumsy limbs and huge anatomy—
What! Thou kill Caius Marius!
[Lygdamis drops his sword.
Thou dost well!
This is no feat for thee. Go tell thy masters,
If they would murder Marius, they must send
A better instrument! Begone.

[A trumpet sounds.
Young Marius, Saturninus, &c., rush hastily in.
YOUNG MARIUS.
Down with the ruffian! Thank th' immortal Gods
Marius yet lives!

Marius.
Harm him not. He 's a friend.
What does this mean?

SATURNINUS.
It means that Caius Marius
Shall yet be seven times Consul! Sylla's pride
Hath oped the eyes o' th' people, who now say
Give us back Marius—often injured Marius!
The stay o' the Commonwealth! The greater worn,
Aye, and alarm'd, with thirst insatiate
Of blood and never-tired proscriptions, wrung
By fear-own'd debts or base life-ransoms, look
Cold and averse, and Rome but waits for Marius
To shake off her dictator—all Campania,
By Glabrio rous'd, and his Illyrian cohorts,
E'en now is in rebellion.

MARIUS.
Sir, Rome never
In vain shall wait for Marius. Boy, your hand.
Have with you, sirs. And come thou too, good fellow,
I know thee, and will find thee better service
Than killing Caius Marius.
As for you,
(Citizens kneel.)
I know that force compelled you to the deed.
You 're pardon'd. As we go along, my friends,
You 'll tell me all hath chanc'd.
Follow me, sirs,
Justice goes hand in hand, now, with Revenge!

[Exeunt Omnes.

SCENE III.

—Rome. A Chamber. Flavia alone.
FLAVIA.
Alas! what load of grief wing'd time can carry,
And oh! how swiftly bear it! O! how brief
The little space since I could say that never
I had known pain or fear—and now, too well
With both, I am familiar: Sylla exiled—
My mother absent—and our enemies
(I shudder at the thought), the lords of Rome
And Roman destinies. Great Gods protect me!
Not to be known is now my only safety:
Obscurity my refuge.
Heav'ns! who's here?
(Enter Valerius.)
Valerius!—

VALERIUS.
Now all blessings that the gods
Store up for innocence and grace await thee,
And ever be about thee—Flavia!

FLAVIA.
Valerius—
What do'st thou here?

VALERIUS.
Flavia—what do I here?
When thou 'rt in peril, say where should I be?

FLAVIA.
Oh! but thou know'st the danger—the dread risk!
Thou know'st that Marius is our enemy.
Well, thou do'st know all that hangs o'er us now,
And what fell passions wait on this sad hour!—
If thou wert traced here—
[Shudders, and pauses.
Why, wilt thou risk
A life so precious for the sake of one,
Who, if she own'd a hundred times the means,
That in these civil tempests e'er she can,
Could ne'er repay thee?

VALERIUS.
Risk a life for thee!—
Why, that I 've done for cold and formal duty;
That would I do for sake of innocence,
Howe'er endanger'd—Risk my life!—I've don 't
Even for a soldier-like punctilio—
A thing of drum and password—but for thee—
Oh! let me use some other better word:
Let me for thee say I'd lay down my life,
Happy—because assured one tear of thine—
One priceless tear—would drop upon my grave,
And consecrate the flowers that there, thenceforward,
Methinks would grow for ever—thro' all change,
Changeless—e'en like his love who lay below.

FLAVIA.
This is wild talk Valerius!

VALERIUS.
It may be so,
Flavia, tho' it be sweet. Let me be calm then
For calmness now is duty.
Hear me Flavia:
Rome is—the heav'ns do see 't—no place for thee
Till these dark times be gone. I'm weary of them;
But let that pass—and my solicitude,—
All that disturbs the rest of poor Valerius,
Is, that thou should'st be safe. Thou shalt be so,
If that thou wilt confide in me, and link
(Oh! trust too precious!) for a few short hours,
Thy destinies with mine.

FLAVIA.
Valerius!
I am—as well thou know'st—a helpless outcast,
Scarce worth a thought—but were I twenty times
More than I am, I would confide in thee.
I pray thee say no more upon this theme—
At least, not now, Valerius!

VALERIUS.
Not now, Flavia!
Oh! were I sure—sure that another now—
Some happier hour than this—some summer hour—
Some halcyon moment—born of azure skies,
And nurs'd in sunshine—were in store for us,
Then would I speak no more. Alas! this darkness
May not—oh! God, that I should say the word!
May never find a morn; and therefore, Flavia,
I will speak one word more upon this theme
And ask thee but to hear it—not to answer,
Save by such hearing. I do love thee, Flavia,—
Love thee above what eloquence could tell,
With such an hour as this to utter it.
What would'st thou say—?

FLAVIA.
Oh! talk not so, Valerius,
At such an hour as this: but let us rather
Pray that these troubles shall be well o'er past
And summer smile again;—that goodness may
Have breathing time, and better suns come round
When innocence hath safety.

VALERIUS.
Only say
That when that summer comes, thy breath to me
Shall bring not winter—only say thou wilt not
O'ercloud this halcyon time—Heaven send it soon—
And I am blest.

FLAVIA.
(Faintly)
Oh! no—no—no, Valerius—

VALERIUS.
No more!—oh no word more!—that tremulous silence,
Is breath enough for me! Time flies apace.
We that are perill'd must be firm, my Flavia,
When firmness is best love. Come in with me;
There's yet an hour to spare,—and thy departure
Shall soon be plann'd. But ere we go, first tell me,
Can'st thou, dear Flavia, trust in that old slave
That tends upon thee?

FLAVIA.
I know not, Valerius.
One time methought I could; but treachery now
Methinks doth enter at our very casements,
Ev'n with the air we breathe!

VALERIUS.
It is too true!
We will not trust her. Let me tend on thee,
And tremble not. Flavia, the day will come
When we, who shake, shall smile at this dark hour!
Come, cheer thee, dearest Flavia.

[They go in.