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.
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 Troy.
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.