Virginia: A Tragedy, and Other Poems

by Marion Forster Gilmore

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?
Appius.'Twas more than vision, thanks to Vulcan be,
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 bestowed? [A pause.
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?