Kitobni o'qish: «Cato: A Tragedy, in Five Acts», sahifa 3

ACT THE SECOND

SCENE I

The Senate sitting

Flourish

Enter Cato

 
Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in council;
Cæsar's approach has summon'd us together,
And Rome attends her fate from our resolves.
How shall we treat this bold aspiring man?
Success still follows him, and backs his crimes;
Pharsalia gave him Rome, Egypt has since
Received his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cæsar's.
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow,
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands
Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree
What course to take. Our foe advances on us,
And envies us even Lybia's sultry deserts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts: are they still fix'd
To hold it out, and fight it to the last?
Or are your hearts subdued at length, and wrought,
By time and ill success, to a submission?
Sempronius, speak.
 
 
Sem. Gods! can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to chuse, slav'ry or death!
No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And, at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick array
Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest,
May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.
Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help;
Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens,
Or share their fate! —
To battle!
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow;
And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us.
 
 
Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason;
True fortitude is seen in great exploits,
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides;
All else is tow'ring phrensy and distraction.
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion.
 
 
Luc. My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'd on peace.
Already have our quarrels fill'd the world
With widows, and with orphans: Scythia mourns
Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions
Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome:
'Tis time to sheathe the sword, and spare mankind.
Already have we shown our love to Rome,
Now let us show submission to the gods.
We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves,
But free the commonwealth; when this end fails,
Arms have no further use. Our country's cause,
That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands.
And bids us not delight in Roman blood,
Unprofitably shed. What men could do,
Is done already: Heav'n and earth will witness,
If Rome must fall, that we are innocent.
 
 
Cato. Let us appear nor rash nor diffident;
Immod'rate valour swells into a fault;
And fear, admitted into public councils,
Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both.
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs
Are grown thus desp'rate: we have bulwarks round us;
Within our walls are troops inured to toil
In Afric's heat, and season'd to the sun;
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us,
Ready to rise at its young prince's call.
While there is hope, do not distrust the gods;
But wait, at least, till Cæsar's near approach
Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late
To sue for chains, and own a conqueror.
Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time?
No, let us draw her term of freedom out
In its full length, and spin it to the last,
So shall we gain still one day's liberty;
And let me perish, but in Cato's judgment,
A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty,
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.
 

Enter Marcus

 
Marc. Fathers, this moment, as I watch'd the gate,
Lodged on my post, a herald is arrived
From Cæsar's camp, and with him comes old Decius,
The Roman knight; he carries in his looks
Impatience, and demands to speak with Cato.
 
 
Cato. By your permission, fathers – bid him enter.
 

[Exit Marcus.

 
Decius was once my friend, but other prospects
Have loosed those ties, and bound him fast to Cæsar.
His message may determine our resolves.
 

Enter Decius

 
Dec. Cæsar sends health to Cato —
 
 
Cato. Could he send it
To Cato's slaughter'd friends, it would be welcome.
Are not your orders to address the senate?
 
 
Dec. My business is with Cato. Cæsar sees
The straits to which you're driven; and, as he knows
Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life.
 
 
Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome.
Would he save Cato, bid him spare his country.
Tell your dictator this; and tell him, Cato
Disdains a life which he has power to offer.
 
 
Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Cæsar;
Her gen'rals and her consuls are no more,
Who check'd his conquests, and denied his triumphs.
Why will not Cato be this Cæsar's friend?
 
 
Cato. These very reasons thou hast urged forbid it.
 
 
Dec. Cato, I've orders to expostulate
And reason with you, as from friend to friend:
Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head,
And threatens ev'ry hour to burst upon it;
Still may you stand high in your country's honours —
Do but comply, and make your peace with Cæsar;
Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato,
As on the second of mankind.
 
 
Cato. No more;
I must not think of life on such conditions.
 
 
Dec. Cæsar is well acquainted with your virtues,
And therefore sets this value on your life.
Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship,
And name your terms.
 
 
Cato. Bid him disband his legions,
Restore the commonwealth to liberty,
Submit his actions to the public censure,
And stand the judgment of a Roman senate.
Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend.
 
 
Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom —
 
 
Cato. Nay, more, though Cato's voice was ne'er employ'd
To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes,
Myself will mount the rostrum in his favour,
And strive to gain his pardon from the people.
 
 
Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror.
 
 
Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman.
 
 
Dec. What is a Roman, that is Cæsar's foe?
 
 
Cato. Greater than Cæsar: he's a friend to virtue.
 
 
Dec. Consider, Cato, you're in Utica,
And at the head of your own little senate:
You do not thunder in the capitol,
With all the mouths of Rome to second you.
 
 
Cato. Let him consider that, who drives us hither.
'Tis Cæsar's sword has made Rome's senate little,
And thinn'd its ranks. Alas! thy dazzled eye
Beholds this man in a false glaring light,
Which conquest and success have thrown upon him;
Did'st thou but view him right, thou'dst see him black
With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes
That strike my soul with horror but to name them.
I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch
Beset with ills, and cover'd with misfortunes;
But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds
Should never buy me to be like that Cæsar.
 
 
Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Cæsar,
For all his gen'rous cares and proffer'd friendship?
 
 
Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain:
Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato.
Would Cæsar show the greatness of his soul,
Bid him employ his care for these my friends,
And make good use of his ill-gotten pow'r,
By sheltering men much better than himself.
 
 
Dec. Your high, unconquer'd heart makes you forget
You are a man. You rush on your destruction.
But I have done. When I relate hereafter
The tale of this unhappy embassy,
All Rome will be in tears.[Exit Decius.
 
 
Sem. Cato, we thank thee.
The mighty genius of immortal Rome
Speaks in thy voice; thy soul breathes liberty.
Cæsar will shrink to hear the words thou utter'st,
And shudder in the midst of all his conquests.
 
 
Luc. The senate owns its gratitude to Cato,
Who with so great a soul consults its safety,
And guards our lives, while he neglects his own.
 
 
Sem. Sempronius gives no thanks on this account.
Lucius seems fond of life; but what is life?
'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air
From time to time, or gaze upon the sun;
'Tis to be free. When liberty is gone,
Life grows insipid.
 
 
Cato. Come; no more, Sempronius;
All here are friends to Rome, and to each other.
Let us not weaken still the weaker side
By our divisions.
 
 
Sem. Cato, my resentments
Are sacrificed to Rome – I stand reproved.
 
 
Cato. Fathers, 'tis time you come to a resolve.
 
 
Luc. Cato, we all go in to your opinion;
Cæsar's behaviour has convinced the senate
We ought to hold it out till terms arrive.
 
 
Sem. We ought to hold it out till death; but, Cato,
My private voice is drown'd amidst the senate's.
 
 
Cato. Then let us rise, my friends, and strive to fill
This little interval, this pause of life
(While yet our liberty and fates are doubtful)
With resolution, friendship, Roman bravery,
And all the virtues we can crowd into it;
That Heav'n may say, it ought to be prolong'd.
Fathers, farewell – The young Numidian prince
Comes forward, and expects to know our counsels.
 

[Exeunt Senators.

Enter Juba

 
Juba, the Roman senate has resolved,
Till time give better prospects, still to keep
The sword unsheathed, and turn its edge on Cæsar.
 
 
Jub. The resolution fits a Roman senate.
But, Cato, lend me for a while thy patience,
And condescend to hear a young man speak.
My father, when, some days before his death,
He order'd me to march for Utica,
(Alas! I thought not then his death so near!)
Wept o'er me, press'd me in his aged arms,
And, as his griefs gave way, "My son," said he,
"Whatever fortune shall befal thy father,
Be Cato's friend; he'll train thee up to great
And virtuous deeds; do but observe him well,
Thou'lt shun misfortunes, or thou'lt learn to bear them."
 
 
Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince,
And merited, alas! a better fate;
But Heav'n thought otherwise.
 
 
Jub. My father's fate,
In spite of all the fortitude that shines
Before my face, in Cato's great example,
Subdues my soul, and fills my eyes with tears.
 
 
Cato. It is an honest sorrow, and becomes thee.
 
 
Jub. My father drew respect from foreign climes:
The kings of Afric sought him for their friend;
Kings far remote, that rule, as fame reports,
Behind the hidden sources of the Nile,
In distant worlds, on t'other side the sun;
Oft have their black ambassadors appear'd,
Loaden with gifts, and fill'd the courts of Zama.
 
 
Cato. I am no stranger to thy father's greatness.
 
 
Jub. I would not boast the greatness of my father,
But point out new alliances to Cato.
Had we not better leave this Utica,
To arm Numidia in our cause, and court
Th' assistance of my father's powerful friends?
Did they know Cato, our remotest kings
Would pour embattled multitudes about him:
Their swarthy hosts would darken all our plains,
Doubling the native horror of the war,
And making death more grim.
 
 
Cato. And canst thou think
Cato will fly before the sword of Cæsar?
Reduced, like Hannibal, to seek relief
From court to court, and wander up and down
A vagabond in Afric?
 
 
Jub. Cato, perhaps
I'm too officious; but my forward cares
Would fain preserve a life of so much value.
My heart is wounded, when I see such virtue
Afflicted by the weight of such misfortunes.
 
 
Cato. Thy nobleness of soul obliges me.
But know, young prince, that valour soars above
What the world calls misfortune and affliction.
These are not ills; else would they never fall
On Heav'n's first fav'rites, and the best of men.
The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert
Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice
Virtues, which shun the day, and lie conceal'd
In the smooth seasons and the calms of life.
 
 
Jub. I'm charm'd, whene'er thou talk'st; I pant for virtue,
And all my soul endeavours at perfection.
 
 
Cato. Dost thou love watchings, abstinence, and toil,
Laborious virtues all? Learn them from Cato;
Success and fortune must thou learn from Cæsar.
 
 
Jub. The best good fortune that can fall on Juba,
The whole success at which my heart aspires,
Depends on Cato.
 
 
Cato. What does Juba say?
Thy words confound me.
 
 
Jub. I would fain retract them.
Give them me back again: they aimed at nothing.
 
 
Cato. Tell me thy wish, young prince; make not my ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.
 
 
Jub. Oh! they're extravagant;
Still let me hide them.
 
 
Cato. What can Juba ask,
That Cato will refuse?
 
 
Jub. I fear to name it.
Marcia – inherits all her father's virtues.
 
 
Cato. What wouldst thou say?
 
 
Jub. Cato, thou hast a daughter.
 
 
Cato. Adieu, young prince; I would not hear a word
Should lessen thee in my esteem. Remember,
The hand of fate is over us, and Heav'n
Exacts severity from all our thoughts.
It is not now a time to talk of aught
But chains or conquest, liberty or death. [Exit.
 

Enter Syphax

 
Syph. How's this, my prince? What, cover'd with confusion?
You look as if yon stern philosopher
Had just now chid you.
 
 
Jub. Syphax, I'm undone!
 
 
Syph. I know it well.
 
 
Jub. Cato thinks meanly of me.
 
 
Syph. And so will all mankind.
 
 
Jub. I've open'd to him
The weakness of my soul – my love for Marcia.
 
 
Syph. Cato's a proper person to intrust
A love-tale with!
 
 
Jub. Oh, I could pierce my heart,
My foolish heart!
 
 
Syph. Alas, my prince, how are you changed of late!
I've known young Juba rise before the sun,
To beat the thicket where the tiger slept,
Or seek the lion in his dreadful haunts.
I've seen you,
Ev'n in the Lybian dog-days, hunt him down,
Then charge him close,
And, stooping from your horse,
Rivet the panting savage to the ground.
 
 
Jub. Pr'ythee, no more.
 
 
Syph. How would the old king smile,
To see you weigh the paws, when tipp'd with gold,
And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoulders!
 
 
Jub. Syphax, this old man's talk, though honey flow'd
In ev'ry word, would now lose all its sweetness.
Cato's displeased, and Marcia lost for ever.
 
 
Syph. Young prince, I yet could give you good advice;
Marcia might still be yours.
Jub. As how, dear Syphax?
 
 
Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops,
Mounted on steeds unused to the restraint
Of curbs or bits, and fleeter than the winds:
Give but the word, we snatch this damsel up,
And bear her off.
 
 
Jub. Can such dishonest thoughts
Rise up in man? Wouldst thou seduce my youth
To do an act that would destroy mine honour?
 
 
Syph. Gods, I could tear my hair to hear you talk!
Honour's a fine imaginary notion,
That draws in raw and inexperienced men
To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow.
 
 
Jub. Wouldst thou degrade thy prince into a ruffian?
 
 
Syph. The boasted ancestors of these great men,
Whose virtues you admire, were all such ruffians.
This dread of nations, this almighty Rome,
That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds
All under Heav'n, was founded on a rape;
Your Scipios, Cæsars, Pompeys, and your Catos
(The gods on earth), are all the spurious blood
Of violated maids, of ravish'd Sabines.
 
 
Jub. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine
Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles.
 
 
Syph. Indeed, my prince, you want to know the world.
 
 
Jub. If knowledge of the world makes men perfidious,
May Juba ever live in ignorance!
 
 
Syph. Go, go; you're young.
 
 
Jub. Gods, must I tamely bear
This arrogance, unanswer'd! Thou'rt a traitor,
A false old traitor.
 
 
Syph. I've gone too far.[Aside.
 
 
Jub. Cato shall know the baseness of thy soul.
 
 
Syph. I must appease this storm, or perish in it. [Aside.
Young prince, behold these locks, that are grown white
Beneath a helmet in your father's battles.
 
 
Jub. Those locks shall ne'er protect thy insolence.
 
 
Syph. Must one rash word, the infirmity of age,
Throw down the merit of my better years?
This the reward of a whole life of service! —
Curse on the boy! how steadily he hears me![Aside.
 
 
Jub. Syphax, no more! I would not hear you talk.
 
 
Syph. Not hear me talk! what, when my faith to Juba,
My royal master's son, is call'd in question?
My prince may strike me dead, and I'll be dumb;
But whilst I live I must not hold my tongue,
And languish out old age in his displeasure.
 
 
Jub. Thou know'st the way too well into my heart.
I do believe thee loyal to thy prince.
 
 
Syph. What greater instance can I give? I've offer'd
To do an action which my soul abhors,
And gain you whom you love, at any price.
 
 
Jub. Was this thy motive? I have been too hasty.
 
 
Syph. And 'tis for this my prince has call'd me traitor.
 
 
Jub. Sure thou mistakest; I did not call thee so.
 
 
Syph. You did, indeed, my prince, you call'd me traitor.
Nay, further, threatened you'd complain to Cato.
Of what, my prince, would you complain to Cato?
That Syphax loves you, and would sacrifice
His life, nay, more, his honour, in your service?
 
 
Jub. Syphax, I know thou lovest me; but indeed
Thy zeal for Juba carried thee too far.
Honour's a sacred tie, the law of kings,
The noble mind's distinguishing perfection,
That aids and strengthens Virtue where it meets her,
And imitates her actions where she is not;
It ought not to be sported with.