VIRGINIA
A Tragedy
AND OTHER POEMS
MARION FORSTER GILMORE
VIRGINIA
A Tragedy
AND
OTHER POEMS
BY
MARION FORSTER GILMORE
JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY
Incorporated
LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
MARION FORSTER GILMORE
Dedication
TO MY FATHER
Years can not cloud the light of your clear eyes,Steadfast and bright with high integrity;
Nor rob your spirit of the strength that lies
On those firm lips; nor dim the purity
Of a high soul, which bears the shield of Love
Untarnished, as it was upon the day
When One, with tender faith, desired to prove
Her "Royal Knight," and gave her heart away.
Bear her bright shield, and smile, as years roll by—
Years that have crowned you with the priceless crown
Of steadfast faith and worldwide charity—
Until you reap the joy that you have sown,
In that near land, where, with a light divine,
The eyes you love through all the ages shine.
[Thanks are due to the proprietors of The Cosmopolitan Magazine and Leslie's Weekly, for their courtesy in allowing the republication herein of a number of poems which have previously appeared in issues of their copyrighted magazines.]
CONTENTS PAGE Virginia 1 Stewardship 61 The Sea Gull 62 Mt. Vernon 63 My Mother 64 The Cradle Song 64 Out of the Dark 65 Niobe 66 To the Genius of Death, by Canova 66 To the Winged Victory of Samothrace 67 Beatrice Triumphant 68 The Call of the Irish Sea 68 The Lion of Lucerne 69 Sonnet to Niagara Falls 70 The Lost Heart 70 Is He Not Mine? 71 Two Gifts 71 The Moonflower 72 Three Kisses 72 A Song of the West 73 To Esther 74 The Thrush 75 The Light of the Star 76 The Message of the Pines
VIRGINIA
A Tragedy
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
Appius Claudius,
Chief of the Ten and lawgiver of the Romans.
Marcus Claudius,
His client.
Oppius,
One of the Ten.
Virginius,
A Roman centurion; a plebeian.
Icilius,
A tribune of the commons and lover to Virginia.
Sicinius,
A plebeian soldier and an enemy of the Decemvirs.
Horatius,
Galba,
Marius,
Hortensius,
Four Roman citizens.
Tiberius,
A boy of noble birth; brother to Cornelia.
The Ten Decemvirs.
A Porter.
Virginia,
Daughter of Virginius.
Cornelia,
A patrician lady, secretly betrothed to Sicinius.
Camilla,
Nurse to Virginia.
Julia,
A maid.
A Sibyl.
A Slave Girl in the House of Appius Claudius.
Soldiers, Lictors, Women, Rabble, and Serfs.
Setting—Rome. Time—During Supremacy of the Decemvirs.
ACT I—Scene I—The Forum. Scene II—A Street in Rome.
ACT II—Scene I—The House of Appius. Scene II—Women's Apartments in the House of Virginius. Scene III—Garden in House of Virginius. Scene IV—Home of Cornelia.
ACT III—Scene I—The Forum. Scene II—Home of Virginius. Scene III—The Forum.
VIRGINIA
A Tragedy
ACT I.
Scene I—The Forum.
A multitude of citizens gathered therein. Disturbance shown among them by sullen looks and murmurings. Four citizens, two in patrician and two in plebeian garments, confer together.
1st Cit. Enough, enough! I see we all agree
Upon this common cause of our grievance;
Our ranks, our unmixed blood, our differences,
Are all forgotten—nay, methinks they shall
In time together mingle when our blood
Shall be poured forth in this most righteous cause.
2nd Cit. As ever art thou eloquent, O Marius,
And just; Brutus himself were not more so.
Patrician and plebeian, equalized
By common woe, together whisper menace
To those who work such havoc as, indeed,
Was never known in Rome until to-day.
3rd Cit. Ye two are nobles; we, the commons are;
Yet all are leveled by the grief we feel
For Rome, our mother city, who so low
Hath fall'n. Hark! the multitude itself
Is wroth as we, yet, e'en as we, it lacks
The courage needful for this fierce occasion.
4th Cit. Ay, list indeed! Mark how the murmur swells!
[They turn, and follow with their eyes the gaze of the Roman mob.
Voices of lictors (without). Make way, ye Romans, way for the noble Ten!
3rd Cit. Pah! they announce them like to royal kings!
1st Cit. Tyrants are ceremonious to the letter.
Multitude. All hail to the lawgivers! Life and peace
Unto the Ten!
2nd Cit. Jove's lightning strike them down,
The turncoats! Ah, the cowards and the curs!
Perfidious gang of fawners! Do they thus
Forget their wrongs in the wrongdoer's presence,
Or veil them with that slime, false loyalty?
[Enter the Ten Decemvirs, each preceded by twelve lictors armed with fasces.
4th Cit. Lo! the presumption! How each lictor bears
Amongst his rods an axe to indicate
That life and death lie in his master's word.
Once was each tyrant pleased with one attendant
The way to clear—now must they number twelve.
[The Decemvirs pause a space, the while their leader, Appius Claudius, addresses the assembled citizens.
Appius. Ye Roman citizens! Unto our ears
Murmurings hath arrived laden with strife;
And though this day ye have protested loud
Your loyalty, and hailed us with acclaim,
Ye seem but ill-content. This must not be.
We have been lenient to every class—
What ye demand in reason ye receive.
Ye called for written laws, and lo! they hang
Within the Forum that all eyes may read.
Yet, mark ye! Read not only, but obey,
Else blood shall pour in torrents on these stones.
[Low, angry murmur.
What! would ye show your teeth, ye nobles brave,
Would bare your fangs, O ye plebeian dogs!
Your teeth are drawn, patricians, and your fangs
Are dull, indeed, ye curs!
[A hissing protest.
What, open schism?
Ho, lictors, strike! Ah! would ye calmer grow?
Lictors, enough! Now must we on. Our time
Is pressing.
[As he is on the point of departing with his colleagues, his gaze is arrested by the passing of a girl, clad all in white, attended by her nurse, through the Forum.
(To a companion.) Now, by the ghost of Ixion, behold
Yon perfect vision of most perfect beauty.
Enchanting grace! Exquisite featuring!
Youth lightly shadowed by young womanhood!
My passions, Oppius, are all awake.
Aflame and spreading fast! Why, I would burn
All Rome to own her, touch her, feel her near;
I would receive the curses of the gods,
Be hurled to lowest Hades, and endure
The tortures set for Tantalus himself
If I might call her mine. Her kiss would prove
Sufficient food for me, her liquid eyes
Would quench my thirst if I should look within
And see the tears or draw the starry light
Into my soul! O, Appius, ye are stricken!
Oppius. Peace, peace, mine Appius, the maid is gone—
Thy looks are wild, thy features are convulsed
With passion.
1st Cit. See, Hortensius, yon man?
What ails him? Like a madman is his gaze,
And horrid is his
Oppius. Come, brother, come, my colleague, let's away.
Appius. Hands off, O, foolish man, for I am dead
To protest. I have been by lightning stricken.
Oppius. It is, indeed, too passionate to be
The wound from Eros' feathered shaft.
Appius (groaning). Ah! God!
Where has she gone? I can not see her face
Nor matchless form within the dreary crowd,
Women I spy in plenty. What a mob
Of uncouth shapes and homely featuring
These females are! She was a Cynthia,
And all beside her, hideous and bold
Bacchantes. I'll a lictor straight despatch,
To seize on her, for she belongs to me.
Oppius. Nay, fool! Rash fool! Thou art not Jupiter
In power, that thou darest thus to seize,
In open daylight, objects of thy lust,
When they are daughters of free citizens.
Some shadow of excuse must herald such
Bold actions, lest the rabble rise in arms,
As in the days of fair Lucretia!
Thou canst presume, and yet in thy presumption
Play the sly part of virtue, ay, and justice,
Nor seem a mad and bigoted abductor.
I know the maid; a blameless child of one
Virginius, a soldier and a pleb.
Wait, wait, and on the morrow form thy plans,
But for this moment let the matter rest,
If thou art prudent. Come, let's on; the mob
Follows thy gaze, noting thy steadfast look.
Appius. Speed morrow then. For I am now no better
Than madman; I, who hold the whole of Rome
Under my thumb, am raving only for
Nor heaven nor earth, nor power, nay, nor fame,
But for the captivation of a maid—
But for Virginia. Onward, let us on!
I'll march into the grim, gray gates of eve
And meet the morrow ere it hath arisen,
Tear down the portals of the night and force
My way into the chamber where the morn
Dozes, a lovely slothful soul of hope,
And seizing on her, madly I'll demand
Virginia! [Exeunt.
Scene II—A Street in Rome.
Enter Marius and Horatius, two patricians.
Marius. He dared! he dared! he dared!
Horatius. And will dare more,
Until Rome wakens from her lethargy
And is herself again.
Marius. Till then we wait,
Enduring insult, tyranny, from him,
The common enemy of nobleman
And pleb.
Horatius. Alas! once was he common friend
To both—our lawgiver; what changed him so?
Marius. A worm of pride that gnawed into his heart,
A blast of fiery desert wind that dried,
Withered and seared his noble disposition.
To-day he is a monster, where he was
But yesterday a leader and a god.
Horatius. He angered the patricians by his show
Of democratic policy; the plebs
By barring intermarriage 'twixt the two
Opposing classes!
[Enter Virginius and Icilius.
Virginius. Blessings, health to you!
Good wishes of a Roman unto Romans.
Horatius (bitterly). Say rather, helpless, sullen, brooding curs!
We are no more—methinks thou art no more;
Nor even thou, Icilius, our tribune.
There are no free, courageous sons of Rome,
But victims only, cowed beneath the lash
Of the Decemvirs—curses on their heads!
Virginius. Methinks I'm not the dog that thou hast said,
For 'tis my part and wish to play the man.
The name of Appius I do despise,
And only bide my time to bury it
Deep in the soil, along with him who bears
Its weight. Although I will not fling myself
Upon the altar of Unreason as
A bootless sacrifice, yet am I still
Nor dog, nor worm, but one who waits and prays,
Nor prays alone, but puzzles out his plan
Of action. No, nor plans alone, but strives;
And striving, must achieve, unless the hand
Of sudden Death come in to tear the web.
Friends, we are hard pressed and we pant in pain,
Yet tyrants, howsoever strong, are still
Weaker than Justice and are shorter-lived
Than Liberty, the queen whom Justice serves.
Because our wrongs are heavy must we brood,
And chafe, and curse our stars and Appius?
What war was ever closed successfully
With sullen warriors and men untrained,
Unready or undone by foul Despair?
Icilius. Thou hast inspired me and curbed my wrath,
Which held in it no reason, all unbound,
Ready to leap a lion on its prey.
Ay, there's a time for all things. I shall wait,
Knowing, Virginius, that thy words are true.
Wisdom, the gods be thanked, hath never flowed
Forth from thy lips in words of honeyed sounds,
Nor yet in pompous phrases burdened down
With ponderous eloquence, but bold and frank,
Shining as bright and ringing forth as true
As thy good sword that thou hast borne so well
In camp, palestra, or in battle-field.
Virginius. My words are bold, for I am full of grief
At men's delinquency and heavy souls;
Frank—ay; because 'tis late to talk in riddles
Or metaphors, that veil the precious truth
Within; shining with fervor, ringing true,
Because the cause I do uphold is true
As life and death is real.
Horatius. Thine eloquence
Is worthy of a better hearing than
This little company. I would that thou
Wouldst lead us into action, noble pleb.
Virginius. My duties are at present with mine own—
With her, my fair ewe-lamb; when she becomes
The spouse of this our friend and our tribune,
Virginius shall owe himself to none,
But feel compelled the Commonwealth alone
To serve. And here's my hand in oath that I
Shall serve it well! The gods help Appius!
[Enter Sicinius, in civilian garments.
Marius. Greetings, Sicinius, and health to thee!
Sic. And Heaven's favor unto you, my friends.
How now! All deep in sombre conference?
Icilius (impetuously). Sicinius! What curse hath come to Rome,
That bends her proud and regal head beneath
The yoke of shame? The collar of the serf
Hangs heavy round her haughty neck. Ye gods!
The mightly Romulus, methinks, must find
The grave a cell that keeps him from his Rome;
How must his mighty spirit chafe when he
Receiveth tidings from the newly dead,
Concerning this, his city, now so low
Amid the dust of Wrong and Bigotry!
Tell us, thou man of action, what bold move
We needs must make. Oh! be our Œdipus!
Horatius. Hist, noble tribune! Favor silence. These
Are times of peril; cast thou Caution's die.
Icilius (amazed). What! knowest thou not this man, Sicinius?
He who has bearded all the noble Ten,
He whose brave words of indignation ring
From hill to hill of Rome? Sicinius!
Horatius (sullenly). I have been absent from the town these twelve
Long moons, nor know I all that thou dost know.
Icilius. Why, man, look not so sour and so sad.
Virginius. Peace, youths! Sicinius hath but little chance
To speak his mind. I beg of thee that thou,
Good friend, expound thy views as to these days
Of tyranny, for Romans are at bay.
Sic. If I should speak, then would I speak
Into my grave; so twist mine earnest tongue
As soon would wring it from its fevered roots,
Mine eyeballs blind themselves with fiery tears
Of love for Rome; my life would withered be
With all the curses breathing forth, aflame
With hate for Appius! Oh, ye gods! in what
Have we outraged you that we now are cursed
With such a blight as Famine never cast
Over the fields of plenty, withering
Alike the grain and the wild wayside bloom,
Sweeping across the vast, bright lands of peace,
And leaving staring Ruin in its way?
Oh! Rome, thou much-wronged child of Romulus,
That I might break the seals from off thine eyes,
And place a flaming sword within thy hand,
A watchword in thine ear—"Endure for her
Who is thy rightful mistress, Liberty."
A battle-cry upon thy glowing lips,
"Onward!" A prayer within thy mighty heart,
And prophecy to stir thy godlike soul
To action. But the times are ripening! [A pause.
Could I relate thy wrongs, I would not cease,
Nor spare myself, but speaking, sink to earth,
Worn with the task. Yet who can number them
That are as numberless as Heaven's stars?
I say, as I have said to you before,
We Romans will again secede, again
March, in a body, to the Sacred Mount,
And threaten as of old another Rome,
A nobler Rome, a Rome unbound and free,
To found thereon, or else a revolution,
Bloody and merciless and full of horrors,
Shall ravage Rome, but we be satisfied.
The fire and the sword hath ready tongues;
They fawn not to the great, nor spare the high,
They lick and bite nor fail in eloquence.
So, to the fire and the sword must we
Resort; for city, home, and cherished ones
Demand that guilty blood, as a libation,
Be poured in answer to the blood of Rome,
Which crieth to her children from the ground![Exeunt.
ACT II.
Scene I—the House of Appius.
The curtain, rising, discovers a bondmaid in the center of a spacious court, filling her pitcher at the fountain. It is midday, and the light streams down from above, flooding the entire space with radiance. The woman sings in an undertone, as she turns to water the roses twined around the columns in the background. Enter Marcus Claudius. He approaches the maiden, leisurely.
Marc. Ah! pretty one! Fortune has favored me!
I enter in due time to proffer aid.
Slave. Nay, shame on thee, a man free-born, to thus
Address a bondmaid, when there is no need.
Marc. Thy humble mien is fitting, girl, but I
Am modest, and, thus far, will graciously
Demean myself.
Slave. Demean thyself, indeed!
I only mocked thee, fool; thy proffered aid
I scorn. Low-born plebeian, who art thou,
To set thyself above a child of kings?
Marc. (angrily). Ha! Have a care! Take heed! Thy saucy tongue
Eludes thee, mischief hungry. Fairest slave,
But for that very fairness which is thine,
I'd have thee lashed by him who favors me!
Slave (wheeling about in scorn). Who shelters, who supports, who uses thee,
And for his own vile ends! Lends thee his brains,
His power and knowledge for thy petty, sly
Returns. He, fierce and false; thou, mean and small;
He, merciless; thou, only Marcus' friend—And
both unscrupulous as Mercury.
Marc. (furiously). Thou art too scathing in thy judgment, damsel!
Slave. Nay, I am mild to what thou dost deserve.
Marc. How darest thou, a slave, to judge me so?
Slave. King Tarquin, called Superbus, or the Proud,
He was mine ancestor. And I, alone
Left of his line, in bondage languish. Thou,—
What canst thou boast of? Of the blood of plebs,
Yet lower e'en than they who gave thee birth;
Despised of all, for thou art neither slave,
Nor free; thou hangest slothlike on the skirts
Of mighty men, that they may represent
Thy cause—support, succor, and plead for thee,
In gratitude for thy poor services.
Avaunt! Fawner and client, touch me not!
[She spurns him when he would approach her, and haughtily departs.
Marc. (gazing after her). Adieu, thou helpless scorner, chained despiser,
Thy tongue hath sought to whip me sore—in vain.
A client knows not shame nor injured pride.
Nor is he haughty, for the blood of kings
Heats not his veins. So Marcus, too, is low,
Ready to stoop to aught, however base,
To gain his ends. But triumph over triumphs!
Marcus will issue forth the conqueror.
Flushed with his victory, while other men
Lie low and bite the dust because they clung
To honor! He, clean void of conscience, sucks
The sweets of life down to their sweetest dregs. [Pauses.
Ha! who is that? My master hath returned!
[Peers through a curtained doorway on the right. As he retreats, Appius Claudius enters hurriedly. His toga is disordered, his countenance aflame with wine and passion. He throws himself heavily upon a couch.
Appius. Wine, fetch some wine! At once, with no delay!
Marc. (aside). And drunk as Bacchus at his wedding-feast!
(Aloud.) Which kind, my lord?
Appius. Falernian! Mark ye, dilute it not!
Marc. (aside). I need no prophet's eyes to see his end.
To Bacchus I assign him with due care. [Exit.
Appius (in hoarse undertone). I looked but once, and, looking, she was gone,
Leaving me reeling, drunk with loveliness.
I have imbibed deeply this day in wine,
Yet hath it less intoxicating power
Than hath a tremor of her lashes or
A flutter of her garments! I am struck,
And heavily! [He groans and clasps his head with his hands.
Virginia! Elements
Are in thy name—tempest and burning flame!
My soul is tossed as though it were at sea,
My brain is floating on the vacant air,
My heart consumed in everlasting fire!
[Enter Marcus, bearing a goblet and an amphora.
Marc. Thy rare Falernian.
Appius. Fill me the cup. [Drinks.
Sweet solace and indulgence of the gods,
Unequaled nectar, give me satisfaction!
Better to me this pleasure than the sight
Of fair Elysium. Such ecstasy
As is the privilege and portion of
Souls freed from Hades and its rack and wheel
And snatched to Heaven, can no sweeter be
Than is mine ecstasy, when wafted on
The summer zephyr, comes this breath, divine,
Of nectar and ambrosia in one.
Virginia, to myself, to thee, to Love,
I drink! And now, my Marcus, sit thee down!
I would confer with thee.
Marc. (seats himself). What is thy will?
Appius. Marcus, this morn I made my way in state
Through Rome—and, in the market-place, beheld
A sight that hath undone me for this day.
My heart hath slipped its leash and now is set
Hard on the trail, not to be turned aside.
Marc. What vision hath the gods vouchsafed thee, then?
Who did create that mortal styled a woman,
At once a snare, at once a perfect boon;
At once a curse, at once a lasting blessing.
It was a maid, a lowly, mortal maid,
A maid of mean plebeian birth as well,
Yet beautiful as though she had arisen
From out the golden heart of some fair rose,
Or drowsy, dreamy, tempting, fresh and fair,
Had issued, shyly, from the troubled depths
Of rock-bound spring, a nymph but newly born,
And shrinking from the glances of the morn.
Virginia, child of one Virginius,
Centurion of courage and renown,
She burst upon me like a revelation
Unto a prophet. She is mine as sure
As are the stars possessions of the Night.
She'll have no will but mine, no choice but mine;
She'll yield her body unto me, until
I find the chance to win her heart and soul.
I'll hold her and I'll kiss her heart away;
I'll chain her soul to mine with links of gold.
But whether she shall ever love me true
I little care, so that her lips are mine.
So that I daily touch her hands and feel
Her dusky hair blow cloudlike 'gainst my cheek.
Marcus, thou art the man to work my weal,
By aiding me in this, mine enterprise.
Marc. What! Shall I play the game and thou receive
The winnings?
Appius (haughtily). Ay, assuredly. O, pause,
And pausing, see thyself in honest light.
Thou art my client; thou to me dost owe
Thy safety, standing, possibly thy life.
I know the law—I made, the law, the while
Thou canst not read a letter; as a pleb
Few rights are thine—those few I gave thy class
At the expense of the patrician favor.
Break with me, and thou'lt break thy fortunes, ope
Thy chest of troubles, like the silly maid
Who brought untold misfortunes on herself
And on the world. Assist me and thou'lt gain
My favor, keep my needful, strong protection.
Marc. Enough! I follow thee and will obey.
Appius. E'en to the letter?
Marc. To the letter, lord.
Appius. Then hearken. Choose some morning, soon or late,
And hasten to the market-place. The maid
Receiveth schooling there. When she appears,
Spring forward boldly, seize her by the arm,
(And yet be not too rude in thy demeanor);
When all the multitude around demand
An explanation, say to them that she
Was born of a slave-woman in thy house,
Ere thou a client had become. And add
That she had been in secret borne away,
And, by the wife of one Virginius,
Claimed as a child; her own at birth had died,
And he, Virginius, kept in ignorance,
Grossly deceived, believeth it his flesh
And blood. The tale is wild; no proof hast thou,
Nor witnesses; and yet it is enough
Seeing that I control the Romans as
The Fates control the lives of mortal men,
And need the barest shadow of excuse
To work my will—I, who am autocrat!
Assume a righteous air, if that doth lie
Within the limits of thy doubtful, rare
Accomplishments. When they protest, then say
"To Appius for justice I will go,"
And leave the rest to me.
Marcus. Ay, leave to thee
The cowing of the Roman mob, for that
Lieth within the limits of thy rare,
Doubtful accomplishments. So let it be.
I'll serve thee well—will my returns be worthy
The peril of my venture?
Appius. Also leave
That matter unto me.
Scene II—Women's Apartments in the House of Virginius.
Style of ornaments and hangings very simple. Virginia, bending over her nurse, who is seated in a chair, appears to have just completed the arrangement of the latter's hair.
Virg. Nay, now, let be! 'Tis most becoming so.
What! would'st thou call't presumptious to assume
The style of headdress worn by noble ladies?
Foolish Camilla! Thou art nobler far
Than many score fine dames, however high
They hold their heads or wear their tresses—so!
Oh, 'tis entrancing! Stay, I have not done.
Camilla (groaning in mock despair). Alack! was ever nurse so harried by
A maid as silly and as sweet as thou!
Virg. No, never! for I'm sweet because I've kissed
Thy kind old cheek so oft and have imbibed
Therefrom the sweetness only found in thee.
And I am silly—I suppose, because
The gods have made me so. Now, turn about
Thy head. How white thy hair of late hath grown!
Camilla. Alack! mine age is on me!
Virg. (passionately caressing her). Nay, not so!
Or if 'tis so, I love each silver thread.
Kiss me, Camilla—but I must proceed
With this thy toilet. Now is it complete.
Oh, Jupiter! it is a work of art!
Sweet nurse, thou wilt amaze my father when
He catches sight of thee. [Seizes a mirror.
Come, view thyself.
'Tis not ill-done, for I have marked the style.
Shake not thy head at me, I prithee now.
I only sport with thee. Look not so grave.
Camilla. Sweet one, because thou art so gay to-day,
I fear to-morrow thou wilt be in tears.
Excess of spirits bears excess of grief.
Thou'rt young and fair as Hero; but to her
Misfortune came and loss and heavy woe!
Virg. Now, thou remindest me of Wisdom's owl—
Croak not so somberly. Thou who art one
Whose heart is ever genial with mirth,
Wrong'st Nature to cast shadows over youth.
Camilla (drawing Virginia to her tenderly). My little love, I would not seem to sigh;
Ever have I despised a sorry face,
A gloomy or foreboding disposition.
Thou hast most aptly said that I to-day
Belie my character. Forgive! Forget!
Virg. (pouting). Forget, thou croaking raven of despair?
Thou dost expect too much. I may forgive,
But not forget. What ailest thee to-day?
Art thou not ill or weary with thy tasks?
We'll make thy labor lighter, and thy cares
As to the household now shall rest on me.
Camilla. Not so, sweet child. There is no need for that.
I am not ill nor weary, nay, nor sad,
But fearful and in dread of hidden woe.
What may the morrow bring to thee, my babe,
Or to thy father, or thy lover? What,
I can not see, but only feel and dread.
Virg. Camilla! Something surely ails thee now.
Oh! I am mystified and overcome
By thy prophetic words, thy drear address,
And I would probe thy meaning deeply, lest
A vision should have warned thee of a flood
Of coming tribulation. Gentle nurse,
Hast visited of late the oracle?
Speak! Speak to me! Speak to Virginia! Say!
Tell me, nor torture me upon the rack
Of fear and dread prolonged.
Camilla (slowly). If it were aught
That I might put to thee or e'en myself
In syllables, I'd speak. But syllables
Are clumsy things. Words are inanimate,
Dull, helpless weapons, powerless unless
The thoughts are present skillfully to wield
The blades. Then cut and thrust they mightily,
Ready to wound, or e'en with menace kill.
I know not what I fear. I know not why
Nor wherefore. Has the gift of second-sight
Been by the gods this day on me
I seem to see great sorrow brought about
By shameless wrong; I seem to see a cloud,
Laden with anguish which may soon descend
In burning drops on Rome, where'er I turn.
Who are the victims I can not discover,
But when I close mine eyes from out the black
That blinds them, lo! a knife like lightning sent
By Jove flashes upon me—and is gone!
Virg. (sobbing). Alas! My joy is fled and all is gloom.
Sure 'tis some peril scowling o'er my father.
Mayhap e'en now he lieth in the camp,
Struck down by men who envy him his fame!
Oh! horrid thought! most dread, most cruel thought!
Camilla (arousing herself with effort). Nay, weep not, my Virginia; I regret
Those vague emotions which are doubtless false
Deceiving dreams, sent me by Mercury,
Who oft delights in filling mortal minds
With gray forebodings, as thou art aware.
Quick! Kiss me, child, and dry those silly tears.
Lo! now methinks I hear thy father's step.
Virg. (joyously). Father! mine own dear father!
(Voice of Virginius without.) Little one!
No welcome at the door?
[Virginia runs to the curtained doorway, through which her father enters, and flings her arms in tearful ecstasy around his neck.
Virginius. What! tears, dear heart?
Virg. But smiles will clear them soon. I feared for thee—
Most foolishly, yet ne'ertheless, I feared.
Virginius. Most foolishly, indeed, my dark-haired Psyche,
Thou pure-embodied soul, my spirit's light.
Look up, dear child, and kiss thy father fond.
He's wearied and he needs his heart's restorer.
[The two come forward, he in his shining armor, she nestling birdlike in the shelter of his arm.
My daughter, I have seen Icilius.
Virg. Ah! Father!
Virginius (mockingly). "Ah! Father!" Ay, I saw him. Me he held
Firmly, besieging me with queries, all
Concerning thee. How had Virginia fared
While he was absent?—the presumptious boy!
Couldst thou fare otherwise than well with me?
And then with eager eyes he questioned as
To thy remarks, thy thoughts concerning him,
Thy attitude to things in general.
Where did Virginia spend her days? In school?
Was she by chance affrighted at the state
Of Rome since he had left her? Like unto
A feverish flame, he reached on every side,
Hungry for news of his Virginia.
Virg. (dreamily). My Love! My Love! Mine own Icilius!
Oh! gentle gods, my happiness exceeds
My worth. But yet, amen! So let it be. [Exeunt.
Scene III—A Garden overgrown with Roses.
Enter Virginia and Icilius. Twilight deepening into night.
Icilius. This is an eve of witchery, an hour
Alluring, swelled with love and weighted down
With dreams.
Virg. A time when all our best ideals
Are perfected. Reality is dead,
Deep-buried in her grave, and Heaven and Earth,
Swayed by the wand of sweet Imagination,
Languish beneath the velvet robes of Night.
Icilius. And 'tis a night more fair than when Dian
Cast lustre on the young, unwitting face
Of that deep-slumbering boy, Endymion.
Virg. Oh! happy boy! a goddess kissed thy hair,
Mused o'er thy brows, and sighed above thy lips.
Icilius. Thrice happy man, who treasures human love,
And humbly may accept that precious gift,
A mortal maiden's heart, nor sigh for more.
There is no more, nor anything so fair,
As such a dear possession. Happy he,
Who can, though but one instant, close and warm,
Hold woman's form, or kiss the starry light
Into her eyes, the blood into her cheeks!
And such a man, Virginia, am I.
Virg. (shyly). Not once in life, dear Love, but many times.
Icilius. Not once, not twice, not thrice, but many times.
Virg. What might lies in the warmth of kisses given!
Like wine they strengthen, quicken, stimulate,
Like flame they warm, like moonlight satisfy.
Like stars uplift above the common world.
Dear Love, I am a weak and fearful child
And need my wine, my flame, my moon and stars,
To fit me for the years that lie ahead.
Icilius. Thou lookest pale, in need of stimulant— [Kisses her.
Once more, sweetheart! Nay, wouldst thou draw away?
Virg. Not so. Mine ears deceived me, hearing sounds
Of stealthy listeners.
Icilius. Virginia,
Rest here upon this bed of roses. They
Are "red with anguish for Adonis' death,"
That mortal love of Venus. Dear, recline,
And let thy tresses, darker than the night,
In the breeze fluttering, caress my cheek,
Breathing thy love for me.
Virg. Icilius,
'Twas only yestereve I wandered here.
The sun was casting forth his fading beams
In final efforts most supreme; my thoughts
Were full of peace and thee. And in the light
Shed by the homing sun—the purple, red,
And gold—I dreamed fair dreams, imagined visions.
Methought I saw the coming years of bliss,
Deepened with sorrow, lined with simple care;
The sorrow of a mortal, and the care
Of wife and mother. Then, at once, arose
Longings that I might always worthy be,
As was Eurydice of Orpheus.
Never to falter, howsoe'er I feared,
Turn not, stay not, fail not; a woman in
My services and steadfast faith, as well
As my most passionate love. My thoughts are grave;
Perchance they do accord not with thy mood?
Icilius. Not so, thou spirit of sweet harmony,
My life and soul, my one bright guiding star.
Thy lover is a rude and careless man,
A Roman tribune, weighted with affairs,
Stern to my fellows, tender but to thee.
Yet when I look on thy beloved form
And perfect face, my sins are swept away,
As is the unclean wrack, upon the shore,
Swept by the ocean. Ay! and in its place
Are left pure pearls and shells and wonders such
As only dwell where man can never go—
Thy thoughts, Virginia, pure as virgin snow.
Virg. Last night I lay awake amid the dark,
Hearing the music of the fount without
My window; sharply, trebly sweet it broke
The heavy, voiceless gloom of slumbering
Nature and sleeping men. Awake, I dreamed
Of all the bliss the gentle gods have placed
Within my hold. Then, like a swelling sea,
High in my bosom rose the newborn love.
I thought of how it grew, so shy, so slow,
At first like faltering breeze that lightly stirs
And lifts the tiny feather o'er the heart
Of nesting bird, then gaming courage, grows
Into a gentle wind until the soul
Within leaps up, and mighty, strong, and free,
Soars on celestial wings above the raving sea.
[A silence falls, during which a light begins to break in the eastern sky.
Icilius. We have outsighed the day; the rising moon
Her benediction smiles upon this spot,
Where breathes and hopes and loves Virginia.
Virg. She signals faintly, from the brightening east,
To thee, my hero and my love.
Icilius. One kiss,
One kiss in honor of fair Cynthia.
May blessings
From yonder orb which rises o'er the hills
Of Rome and lights a glory in thy hair.
Elusive soul! this moment dost thou seem
A chaste, pale spirit of the lonely moon,
A white Diana of nocturnal glades,
Yet in the magic of the ardent sun
I've seen thee flame into an Aphrodite,
A glowing type of passion and desire.
My love, my full and perfected ideal,
My Helen and my delicate Ænone.
My nymph and my incomparable queen
In one. Come closer to my arms, beloved!
I would not lose in any sense or thought
A moment spent with thee, Virginia.
Virg. (in his arms). Closer, ay, closer, as the days go by,
Deeper and deeper, stronger and more strong,
Each in the other till we are not two,
A man and maid, but one, but one. Oh! say
How close I am to thee, Icilius?
Icilius. As close as vein to leaf, or leaf to stem;
As close as is the rose-flush in the heart
Of ocean's shell unto the shell itself;
Close as the star is to its atmosphere;
Wedded as day and night, no break, no void
Between, but only faintest change and lights,
Born of a higher world, a purer sphere,
Heaven-conceived, begotten of the sky.
[The light visibly brightens, shining down upon the two. After a silence they stir and slowly walk apart, watching the sky. Icilius presently rejoins Virginia.
Love, thou art weary. Come within and sleep.
Virg. Nay, I could never weary in thy sight.
Have I not called thy kisses and embrace
My wine, my flame, my moonlight and my stars?
I am not weary. But I'll come within—
The morrow brings a fresh Elysium.
Icilius. Oh! but the night is fair; behold each rose,
How tenderly preserves and cups its dew,
Barely awakened, lifting up its head
And smiling at the moon. One kiss before
We go within. And now, farewell, thou rose;
Farewell, thou garden of nocturnal dreams
And noon-day musings. Come, Virginia,
Let us within.
Scene IV—Home of Cornelia.
Apartment spacious and luxurious, with hangings of various kinds. Cornelia, who is reclining in an arm chair, occupies the center of the room; a female stands behind her in the act of arranging her hair. On the left is a boy in rich patrician dress, seated beside an oblong bath, engaged in sailing a tiny fleet of vessels on the surface of the water. On the right are a number of attendants, conversing in undertones.
Cor. Ah, gods! I am most sad and most aweary
Of this routine of state, unrestful splendor.
My lovers love not me but my possessions,
My friends are envious of my delights.
Wretched aristocrats! Unhappy we
Who call ourselves patricians, and who swear
Our race is blessed of the most blessed gods!
Say rather cursed, and with a heavy curse!
How can I give my heart to those who are
By noble blood worthy and eligible,
After the Roman laws, to sue for it?
Eros with them is but an empty name;
Passion and lust and horrible ambition
Form the emotions of these "blessed" ones.
And I, unhappy, love with pure desire
Sicinius, a soldier and a pleb!
Yet hath the Ten forbidden intermarriage,
Just when those bars of difference were about
To fall away and Heaven ope for me.
[To the attendant.
Sufficient, Julia.
Julia. Nay, a few light touches
And thou wilt shine more fair, my lovely mistress,
Than heavenly Venus in her myrtle bower.
Cor. (smilingly). But I am dark as night; she as the day,
Thou foolish maid.
Julia. Believe me, thou in thy
Rich, languid charm would cast enchantment o'er
Adonis, as would keep him from the chase
Where Venus pled in vain.
Cor. Tut, flatterer!
Julia (slyly). Methinks I'd make a model lover then
If I do flatter. Is't not so, sweet lady?
Cor. (bitterly). Lovers are mockeries in this blackened age.
A maid may wed the low-souled fool so long
As he's high-born! The man of noble mind
Is numbered, if a common, 'mongst the dead.
Julia (idly). Methinks Sicinius comes here anon?
Cor. (in displeasure). What! Insolent! Who bade thee speak, I pray?
Julia (softly). Lady, mine eyes are clear and quick to see,
And thy heart's sentinels are slumbering.
I mean no insolence, by all the gods!
My motive only love and sympathy.
I, too, am a plebeian, and rejoice
To see thy gracious, noble condescension.
Yet in my joy I well could weep with pain,
Seeing the darkness of thy doubtful future.
Cor. Darkness! It is a void as empty as
My heart this day is full. Begone, I pray,
Each one of you; nay, thou, my Julia, stay
And bid the bards perform a soothing lay.
[Exeunt maids. Sounds of a harp without in soft accompaniment.
Cor. Tiberius, come hither unto me.
[The boy approaches her.
Now kiss me, child, and talk a space with me.
Tib. What melancholy broods upon thy brow,
Curves thy dear lips, and glooms within thine eyes?
Cor. Brother, thou art too young to comprehend.
Tib. Mayhap, for I am only twelve years old;
Yet I'm no dullard, sister, and I weep
Because I see thee sad. Methinks Sicinius
Would weep for thee as well.
Cor. (starting in dismay). Ye gods of love!
Does all Italia observe my heart,
Which I had deemed secure within my breast?
Or possibly (although the gods forbid!)
My maidens have been gossiping to thee?
Tib. (disdainfully). No, never; gossip reacheth not mine ears.
But oft I hear thee sigh and then, within
The selfsame breath, breathe forth a name I know;
A name all Romans know—Sicinius.
Ay, and I oft have heard thee sob, although
I fain had heard it not, since thou desirest
Thy grief held secret. Sister mine, how canst
Thou hope to wed a soldier and a pleb?
Cor. Alas! Alas! Mine own Tiberius!
No hope have I, and yet I love my strength
Away—my heart and soul are all aflame
With a wild conflagration. Boy, thou seemest
Inclined to comprehend my fierce emotions,
Bitter despair and strange besieging hope,
That scarce is conscious hope, but mocked and crushed
By the stern laws of Rome and tyranny
Of the false Ten, since ever it was born.
Thy bright brown eyes are luminous with soul;
Wise, gentle brother, dost thou weep for me?
Tib. (sobbing passionately). A curse upon those false and dreadful Ten!
Cornelia, would that I might succor thee!
Cor. Most dear, my brother, weep no more for me;
The gods, who love true lovers, do despise
Tyrants and murderers, and sure will aid
Our cause if we be patient to the end.
Time is a greybeard, and he will not haste
At any whim, and Fate, a bigot stern,
Who acts according to his quick desire;
He preys on Innocence as well as Guilt,
And none can change the fashion of his ways. [A pause.
Now, tell me, wast thou playing mariner,
But now, and was yon bath a mighty sea?
Tib. (brightly). I was Æneas, our great forefather,
And I was sailing from our ancient
Oft Juno dashed our ships against the rocks
In spite, because the Trojans she abhorred;
Yet, by a miracle, lo! I was saved.
Cor. And didst thou then encounter and escape
Scylla's dread arms, Charybdis' frightful jaws?
Tib. Ay, and therefrom lost I three goodly men—
Two oarsmen and my helmsman.
Cor. Cruel fate!
Perchance thou hast survived these perils, so
Thou mayst give comfort to thy troubled sister.
Methinks—but what familiar sound is that?
Surely his voice dismissing his attendant—
And now a knocking on the outer door!
The porter cometh nigh. Tiberius,
'Tis he! I dreamed not he could come this day!
Tib. Then I'll begone, sister; give me a kiss;
I'll seek thee later and relate my voyage. [Exit.
Cor. Ah! gods! I feel as fluttered as a maid
Of the plebeians might. Thus do I share
The simple nature of his simple class,
Through my deep love for him. My haughty mien,
Patrician dignity, desert me when
Mine own beloved cometh unto me.
(Voice of porter without.) Most gracious mistress, I await thy pleasure,
To usher in a visitor to thee.
Cor. (aside). I must not seem too eager, comprehensive,
Lest e'en my faithful porter, noting it,
Let slip without my doors some foolish scandal.
[To porter.
Who is the visitor?
Porter. Sicinius.
Cor. Admit Sicinius into my presence.
[Enter Sicinius and porter.
(Aside.) Dear Heaven! My Love! (Aloud.) Thou Gaius, to thy post
Begone! And Julia, do thou too withdraw.
[Exeunt the two. A silence falls. Cornelia remains seated, a still form, most beautiful, endeavoring to calm her loving passion, one hand upon her bosom and her eyes fixed on the face of Sicinius, who stands motionless with admiration.
Sicinius!
Sic. What can I say, oh, God!
Thou art too fair, thou art too wondrous fair
For me to break the spell. Awake! Awake!
Dreamer I am not wont to be, save when
Thy beauty casts a web of visions o'er me.
Cor. My beauty paleth in the greater light,
O my Sicinius, of thy manhood's worth.
Awake, indeed, and greet me. I can face
Thy gaze no longer; art thou turned to stone?
Sic. (advancing, with his arm outstretched in a sudden warmth of passion). I turn to stone only upon the day
When I can neither claim nor clasp my love.
Till then mine arms continue flesh and blood,
My lips as warm as thine; thou radiant Soul! (Embracing her.)
Cor. Oh! stay a space! Is every curtain drawn?
Sic. I do not know, for thou hast dazzled quite
My goodly eyesight, and I only see
Cornelia here and there and everywhere.
Cor. Alas! I fear so greatly for our love;
Pray Heaven thou lose me not entirely!
Sic. Nay, rest thee, rest thee, tremble not, beloved.
The life of Appius will soon be spanned,
And a great wave of revolution shake
Rome's center; soon I drop a mighty pebble
On her dark surface, and the rings therefrom
Into a rush of water thence shall widen.
Cor. (partly rising from her chair, her eyes alight).
The Fates be thanked that now the foul stagnation
Of Rome, enslaved, is stirring into life;
And thine the hand! Thou'rt worthy of the cause,
Thou patriot and model of a man!
Sic. Oh! but I love my city and my race!
Thank God that my stern duty lieth on
The selfsame path as love for thee, my sweet.
My conscience and my happiness alike
Demand that I should aim to liberate
Rome and the Romans from the yoke of men
Who are defiling and defiled—the Ten! [Starts suddenly.
I came, that I might steal one glimpse of thee.
The sun is high—I may not tarry more.
Cor. So soon departing? Whither wouldst thou go?
Sic. Straight to the Forum—then unto the camp.
The movements of our foemen, the Sabines,
Are grave. Methinks I'll soon be called upon
To enter into active services.
Farewell, Cornelia! kiss me once again!
Sweet mistress, noble lady! fare thee well! [Exit swiftly.
Cor. Gone! Gone! So swiftly, like an eager shaft
From Roman bow. Vanished, my gallant love!
Where shall I see him when he doth return
To me? May Mars attend and favor him,
And Victory with laurel wreath adorn
His earnest brows. Sicinius, farewell!
ACT III.
Scene I—A Cloudy Morning in the Forum.
Busy passing to and fro of citizens. Enter Cornelia and Tiberius, attended by two slaves. The former appears embarrassed, fluttered, and distressed, the latter troubled and concerned.
Cor. Gods! How the people stare upon me, brother!
Alas! They reek not of a woman's heart,
But judge me bold and courting their attention,
I who am hungry for one gaze alone,
Yet can not find. So many days have passed,
No tidings from my love hath reached mine ears,
And rumors that he's dead hath driven me
Close unto madness. All my slaves have sought,
But failed to find him. I am desperate!
Surely the ears of one who loves will hear,
Surely the eyes of one who loves will see,
And learn his fate, whether for good or ill.
He will forgive me for exposing her
He loveth to the gaze of multitudes!
Tib. Ay, but most likely he was called to serve
Rome in the latest skirmish with her foes.
Thy fear it is unfounded.
Cor. Nay, my child,
The skirmishing they say is discontinued,
And all who fought therein returned unto
The camp, save only those who fell beneath
The Sabine spears. My Love hath not been seen,
And I can rest no longer in my house.
[While they speak, the already clouded sky darkens so rapidly that all start and look out across the populated hills. A distant peal of thunder is heard, followed by a second, greater in volume. All press together, then a cry arises: "Way, make way! The sibyl of the vale would speak! She is inspired!" The dense crowd parts and all swing backward in confusion. A flash of lightning breaks the heavy gloom, followed by a muttering of thunder. A few large raindrops fall. The sibyl enters through the multitude, a weird, mad form, with tossing hair and wild, disheveled garments.
Sibyl. Wail, walls of Rome, and weep, ye tender vales
Of sweet Italia!
[A murmur and a swaying. Voices contend for silence.
Oh! day of dole!
Oh, day of perfect woe! Oh, Furies' day
Of fever and of tears! Oh, black despair!
The night of tyranny hath settled o'er
Our city, roof-like shuts her from the air
Of Heaven! And the hollow, brazen dome
Of despotism closes o'er our heads;
Black tyranny and red-hot despotism!
Had I hands long enough and nails as sharp
As Hate, I'd tear in shreds the infernal web!
[Another peal of thunder resounds. She points toward the heavy clouds.
My tongue is laden with the vast commands
Of Jove,
The gods cry out upon this tyranny,
The heavens in thunder clap their wrathful hands!
Yet Rome, the Rome of Romulus, the Rome
Of Numa and the martial kings of old,
Is deaf—is deaf and mad! Oh! woe, woe, woe!
[With a prolonged, shrill wail of despair she vanishes amid the crowd. Great agitation now displayed by the majority of citizens. Enter a runner.
Run. Ye men of Rome, I bear ill news with me!
The Cit. What is't? Out with it! Dally not at all!
Run. Sicinius, our leader, he is dead!
[A murmur of horror.
Cor. (starting wildly forward). Sicinius? Sicinius, the pleb?
Oh! gods of Heaven! Ye have struck me hard!
[She sinks insensible upon the ground. Her slaves bend over her. Tiberius kneels beside her, sobbing bitterly.
The Cit. How died he?
Run. It is said by some that he,
Being sent by the Decemvirs to select
A spot most suitable whereon to camp,
Fell into ambuscade and died along
With several comrades.
The Cit. Slaughtered by the foe?
Run. So it hath been reported by the few
That did escape. [He pauses, then proceeds.
But hearken, citizens!
The bodies lay unspoil'd, with faces turned
All toward one—that one, Sicinius.
The Ten hath hated and hath feared this man!
No more. Construe the meaning as ye list;
I must away.
[Exit runner. The four citizens, Horatius, Galba, Marius, and Hortensius, approach the prone form of Cornelia.
Hor. A lady of patrician birth! Good slaves,
Can we assist thy mistress, who appears
In such a piteous and hapless plight?
Slave (sobbing). Alas! Alas! I know not what to do,
Or what hath come upon her suddenly.
Ah! see, she stirs! Lady, awake! awake!
Cor. (opening her eyes, but making no attempt to raise herself). Those words he used when last he came to me.
Oh! bitter, bitter fate! Say not awake,
But sleep eternally! Sicinius!
Galba. It doth appear affection did exist
Betwixt Rome's great plebeian and this lady.
Tib. Ay, sir, she loved him e'en as he loved her;
But naught was said because they feared the Ten.
Nay, I was wrong! Sicinius and fear
Are alien the one unto the other!
But rather did he bide his time until
These men should be o'erthrown and Rome be freed
From their most hateful laws and government.
One of the multitude. Hark to the boy! He is a demagogue.
Another. Nay, he is innocent, and therefore bold.
Parroting sentiments that are not his own.
A third. And yet he speaks the truth, the naked truth.
See how this woman hath been sadly wronged,
And how her life is marred by these Decemvirs;
For surely they gave orders for the death
Of him who was a leader and a man!
Have they not feared him for these many months,
Because his tongue is sharper than a sword?
And these two, a patrician and a pleb,
Each representing classes now united
By common misery, are foully hurt,
And scarred by fierce injustice from the Ten.
Vengeance! The time is ripe for vengeance. Rome
Can bear no more. Sicinius is dead!
[Murmurs of "Sicinius is dead!"
Cor. (moaning as in pain). Sicinius is dead!
Sicinius!
[Enter Virginia, followed by Camilla. She espies Cornelia and at once approaches.
Virg. Kind citizens, let me to her, I pray.
[She kneels beside the fainting girl.
Oh, tearful sight! Ah me, most sorrowful!
Thou art Cornelia, whom I oft have seen,
Of whom I've heard from thy dear lover's lips.
I knew him well; he waits for thee beyond
The sea, in the broad Islands of the Blest,
Where heroes find a haven and a rest.
[She smooths the other's brow in silence for a space, and then proceeds.
Look up, poor broken spirit, and discern
A friendly face and weep upon my heart.
She will not rouse herself! Good people, pray,
Press not upon her. Bring a car, O slave,
The lady is unable to return
On foot. The carriage waits without the place?
'Tis well. And now to bring her to herself!
Cornelia, waken! But look not so cold.
Thou gentle heart! relieve the strain of grief
With tears of passion. Then come home, come home.
Cor. (rousing herself). Tell me, who art thou, O thou noble maid?
Virg. I am Virginia, whom thou knowest not.
Cor. Canst thou not take me from this staring crowd?
Their eyes are knives; the very air is poison.
Oh, God! He is not dead?
Virg. (assisting her to her feet). Come home, sweet sister.
Tib. (sobbing). Cornelia, my Cornelia! Speak to me!
Virg. Art thou Tiberius, thou tender child?
Weep not; assist me with thy stricken sister.
[As the three, the slaves in close attendance, are about to make their way through the multitude, there comes a sudden disturbance, and Marcus Claudius springs forward.
Marc. Ho! stay a bit, my servant; stay with me!
[He seizes rude hold on Virginia, who shrieks aloud in terror. At once the four citizens make their way to her side.
Now by the gods! I only take mine own.
Virg. Aid me, in Heaven's name, ye citizens!
Deliver me from shame! Icilius!
Icilius, my love, where art thou now?
Marc. (in undertone). Thy struggles, maid, succeed in binding thee
But closer in mine arms. Hast thou a lover?
He hears thee not, and thou art my possession.
Now, still thyself. Gods! Proserpine, thou art
As strong as is Cybele's lioness!
Marius. Foul slave! Loose thou the maid! Oh, insolence!
Hor. Beast! I will kill thee, maim thee like a dog,
Unless thou takest thy hand from off the maid!
Marc. (panting). Reserve thy threats and play thou warily,
Justice upholds me!
The multitude. Justice!
Marc. (coolly). Shout less loud,
Look not aghast, my masters. I will take
This girl by law—she is my rightful slave.
Hor. 'Tis false!
Marc. Soft, friend, be calm, hold off, I pray!
Hark! she was born a slave within my house,
And thence was stolen and declared to be
The offspring of the man Virginius,
Whose wife had borne an infant at the time,
Which on the moment of its birth had died.
Virginius himself was then away,
And on returning deemed it was his babe,
And deems so to this day. I waited long,
And now have found in this Virginia
My property. A woman hath confessed;
The one who stole her thence and fled away,
Returning but to die within the house
Of Appius, my patron, whom I serve.
Cam. Oh, liar! I first clasped her in mine arms
When she was born! Remove thine impious hand!
In childhood and in girlhood I have watched
Her growth, and guarded her from shame or harm.
Multitude. Ay, ay! She speaks the truth! Loose thou the maid!
She is no slave. We know Virginius.
Marc. Now, I'll have justice, though it cost me
My life, itself.
Hor. Which it is like to, dog!