Virginia, A Tragedy.

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.

VIRGINIA

A Tragedy

ACT I.

Scene I--The Forum.

_A mult.i.tude 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 n.o.bles; 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 mult.i.tude 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 n.o.ble Ten!

_3rd Cit._ Pah! they announce them like to royal kings!

_1st Cit._ Tyrants are ceremonious to the letter.

_Mult.i.tude._ 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 s.p.a.ce, the while their leader, Appius Claudius, addresses the a.s.sembled 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 cla.s.s-- 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 n.o.bles 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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sions, 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 G.o.ds, 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 pa.s.sion.

_1st Cit._ See, Hortensius, yon man?

What ails him? Like a madman is his gaze, And horrid is his flaming countenance.

_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 pa.s.sionate to be The wound from Eros' feathered shaft.

_Appius_ (_groaning_). Ah! G.o.d!

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 l.u.s.t, 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.